She blinked back at him rapidly. Was he too candid? Well it’s a lounge, regardless of their purpose for being here—it was a relaxing atmosphere. And by now, their relationship was informal. No more Lieutenant and Commander.
“Thank you,” she said. “Maybe I will.”
Did she just wink at him? He was sure of it!
Aaron’s eyes quickly shifted back to her, it was his turn to blink rapidly while staring.
She seemed genuinely concerned. “Are you alright, Aaron? I thought you’d begin to feel better once we disembarked the air-car.”
Those eyes burned into him.
“Of course. Yes, I’m fine. Thank you! And how are you?” he blurted out.
Why couldn’t a hole in the floor swallow him right now?
His foot rapidly tapped the flooring. Had his host tampered with his drink? Maybe they mixed it incorrectly—it was an odd and old mix to get right but it tasted fine. His cheeks felt warm. He had to calm himself. There wasn’t much light, maybe she couldn’t see his discomfort.
She might not be able to see him, but her hearing wouldn’t have the same issue, and he was bumbling.
“Are you sure you’re alright, Aaron?” She studied him for a moment and put her hand on his. “Severe motion sickness can be intense.”
He flinched at the touch and withdrew his hand. It wasn’t an intentional reaction. He felt so out of control. Her scent itself seemed rigged to intoxicate him. He bit down hard and the pain helped him focus.
“Aaron, your lip is bleeding,” she said.
Damnit, he bit down too hard. He touched the offending lip. Looking at his fingers, he saw a small spot of blood.
Before he could do anything else, Rachael pulled a napkin from the table and dabbed the lip.
“Hold it there,” she said. “Use the ice from your drink, it’ll stop the oozing.”
He took the tissue from her and pressed it to the cut lip. It’s just a slight thing and she’s so . . . so caring. So soft and genuine. He didn’t want to look anywhere else, but at her.
“There you should be good now,” she said.
As the drum in his chest began to beat at a steadier rate, the activities of the room came back into focus. He heard something familiar in the background. It can’t be. Oh it just cannot be!
This isn’t happening.
A song was playing over the lounge speakers it was mum’s favorite. A classic. Very few people besides him would know it. Next to him Rachael was humming, she wasn’t humming right, but she was humming. She turned and saw him looking at her.
“Aaron, let’s dance!” she said.
Something was definitely wrong with their drinks.
“I don’t dance, really. Ask Vee he’ll tell you.”
“That’s fine! I’ll show you. Come on!” she insisted.
“No really, I’ve got two left feet. I’d just step on your toes, then you couldn’t stand tomorrow to work and we have a mission—”
“What?” She cut him off midway. “Oh shut up. It would be strange if we didn’t dance, this is a couples club remember?”
Aaron was sure this had to be some pre-arranged signal she’d deliberately not mentioned. Meeting at a couples club and dancing—how clever.
She grabbed his arm and yanked him up from the booth.
Damn she was strong.
She led him to the dance area where one or two other couples had already begun to dance slowly. He kept his eyes closed and allowed her to lead him on the floor. Like a child who closes its eyes and says to the world you can’t see me. He was lying of course. He knew how to dance. He might not be the smoothest hot stepper, but he knew basic steps. Rachael stopped. He opened his eyes staring directly into hers. She took each of his hands and placed them on her. She stepped slowly and led him.
Overhead the music boomed.
She leaned in closer to him with an amused look on her face. But still a genuine one. She was enjoying this!
“What are you feeling?” she asked.
“Panic,” he said, inclining his head, “yes, definitely panic.”
She laughed. And he caught himself smiling.
Her expression turned serious. “You know you’re really handsome when you smile. You should do it more often.”
They both laughed again. And for the first time in a long time, he forgot about the Fleet. He forgot about the mission and about Trident. The only thing important was being here, right now, in this moment, with her. Her warmth, the feel of her slightly against him, the music—nothing compared.
He didn’t think it was possible anyone could make him forget the things that seemed to be the most part of him.
“My mother loves this song. It’s one of her favorites,” he told her, just as she stepped back and he spun her back towards him. She held his arms around her waist and giggled. There wasn’t a more comforting sound than her giggle.
“I love the song. I’ve never heard it before, nor have I ever heard anything like it,” she said.
Bump!
Either the dance floor got a little crowded or—
Thick arms closed in around both their necks and squeezed their heads together.
“Booth six, two minutes,” a voice whispered.
Aaron had the disturbing feeling of familiarity.
Although startled he maintained his composure and finished the dance. Rachael leaned towards him. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Describe bad feeling, like we’re about to be whisked away and chopped into fine pieces kind of bad or—”
“Not quite,” she said.
She didn’t elaborate. Instead, she grabbed his hand and held it as they strolled over to booth six. The round doors parted sideways and he took a deep breath and stepped through.
His eyes widened and he blew out his breath as the doors sealed behind them. Despite the dim lighting, the figure standing before them was unmistakable.
This was the last person he was expecting to see.
Chapter 18 – Separatists
Upper City
Atlas Prime
They had come a long way to meet their contact.
Yet, Aaron found himself unable to form words. Out the corner of his eye he noticed Rachael looking from the “stranger” to him and back again.
“Son,” his father finally said.
“Dad?” Aaron muttered. The lump in his throat didn’t permit him to say more.
Patrick Rayne stepped forward and embraced him. “It’s great to see you, son. The things you have to do these days, just to get a glimpse of your own son. You don’t know the hollow feeling inside when they first told me about Trident.”
Their bond hadn’t diminished although separated by time and space. He spoke to his father as often as he could, but the responsibilities of command meant he’d been unable to see him in the flesh for five years.
A single tear streamed down Aaron’s cheek.
He hugged him back. “I’ve missed you so much, dad . . . you don’t know.”
“I’m pretty sure I do, son.”
Ahem!
Rachael!
They parted and he introduced them. “Rachael, this is Patrick Rayne, my father. Dad, Rachael. Dad, how—”
Rachael spoke over him. “Mr. Prime Minister, you need to explain your presence here.”
“It’s complicated, and it’s simple. I am not your contact within the separatists. I am the separatists. Their leader anyway although not even they know it. I am the leader of Atlas and this movement,” Patrick paused, likely to give them time to munch on that. Aaron still stood staring. Patrick continued. “We don’t have much time son, don’t speak just listen. The USS isn’t the USS your mother and I raised you in. After the war, the Fleet in particular began to make USS policy. The civil government had no choice to defer to the demands of our mighty Fleet heroes who saved us from the clutches of the Empire. They used the horrors of the war forever etched on our psyche to push a military agenda. But they took their policies to the extreme, not simply content with ensuring our safety, but rather ensuring it through galactic dominance. In the last thirty years, the United Systems on insistence of the Fleet has executed an aggressive expansion policy. The so-called galactic civil war sees large budget increases to the Fleet while everything else languished. Many former high-ranking USSF commanders are now the leaders of the USS, essentially a passive military coup with the support of fear mongering.