Breaking Cover

The air of the hangar smelled sharply of ozone. Although I was safely away from the welding and cutting, so many ships were undergoing maintenance that the sheer volume of the fumes was overwhelming the expansive space's ventilation. The floodlights from the ceiling were faintly dimmed by the haze. I ruefully thought back on the captain's assurances to me and the senior officers of an easy payday. At least the bonus we'd secured would cover the repairs.

I'd arrived just before half past three, in time for the next shuttle. We were taking extended shore leave while the ship and the fighters were repaired, and the shuttles left every two hours to ferry people to and from the station. Our windfall had opened the captain to being convinced to splurge on a nicer station, not one of the seedy ones in Extra-Corporate space frequented by pirates and other outlaws. I was looking forward to stepping foot on solid hull without keeping my head on a swivel.

I had to ignore the heads turning as I approached the small ship. Mechanics and engineers noticing me out of the corner of their eyes and doing a double take, spacecraft handlers taking quick glances at me between waves of their flags as they tried to keep their focus on their work. And the passengers of the previous shuttle openly staring as we passed each other.

As one of the few women in the company--and a psion, no less--I was naturally attention-grabbing. But they were used to seeing me in my psysuit, or in a baggy shirt and shorts when I was off-duty. This was the first time any of them had seen me properly made up.

Beyond subtle pink blush giving my cheeks a nice glow, striking bronze eyeshadow to match my loose hair, and dark brown mascara to complement my citrine eyes, my outfit only enhanced the effect. My top was a ruffled white long-sleeved blouse, my bottom a red below-knee pleated skirt. The legs below were covered in dark pantyhose that gave the faintest hint of the pale skin beneath. I would have liked to go with more delicate heels, but knowing I would need to traverse the hangar, I'd settled on a pair of black block-heeled pumps. I looked ready for a photoshoot.

Still, as more and more eyes burned on me as hot as the laser welders across the hangar bay, I gritted my teeth to keep from scowling at the blatant leering. I was especially annoyed at the ones staring at my chest, prominent despite being hidden under three layers. But I also felt a thrumming anticipation as well. How would Heron react to seeing me like this? I hoped he'd at least be able to keep his eyes where they belonged.

I was one of the last to board the shuttle. It was a small cargo craft, capable of quickly transporting supplies or troops. Six seats lined either wall, though despite the ten or so men lounging on the floor, only one side was filled. The other was occupied solely by a single man who sat near the door. The Executive Officer.

I gritted my teeth again to bite back a sigh, trying not to let my distaste show on my face. Etiquette dictated that the rank and file give the officers room, but I was nominally part of the senior staff. I had no excuse not to join his row, nor to sit anywhere but right next to him.

He let out a low whistle as I passed by, giving sound to the energy following my entrance. "Damn, Nessa," he said. "Didn't think you could get any hotter. You should paint yourself like that before missions." He at least kept his attention on my face, showing the bare minimum of decency most of the spectators were lacking.

I settled into the seat beside him. I considered going without the harness like the XO, but a glance at the pile of horny men I'd be flung into if we hit turbulence led me to pull the x-shaped straps across my chest. I didn't dignify his comment with a proper response, instead asking, "Have any fun plans on the station, Commander Waltz?"

He couldn't resist a glance down as the buckle clicked under my assets, propping them up further. But he returned his gaze to mine as he replied, "Apparently there's a circus aboard. You ever seen a tiger?" When I affirmed that I hadn't, he continued, "Me neither. I'm planning to hit up the clubs after. I would say I'd call it a win if I wake up next to a lady as gorgeous as you, but regular girls just don't compare to psions."

"I'm sure you'll do fine, commander," I lied. The cargo bay door closed past him, and I kept my hands closed around the straps to hold myself steady. My attention was fixed on him as I tried to keep as many pairs of hungry eyes out of my peripheral vision as possible. All other conversation had died down, the whole crowd hanging on the XO's every word. Or mesmerized by my chest.

"Means a lot coming from you," he replied with an oblivious wink. After taking a moment to enjoy what was probably the most positive female attention he would be getting today, he took another glance down at me. He made his intentions clear by saying, "Smart to dress conservatively."

"What?" I asked. Some of my bewilderment slipped out in my tone, though my expression maintained practiced deadpan. My question was punctuated by a slight lurch as the shuttle lifted off. My hair swayed with the rotation as the shuttle turned towards the exit of the hangar bay.

Unperturbed by my confusion, the XO explained, "Even though you said you didn't need an escort, we're all concerned about Orion's Bow jumping you. But if you're dressed like this, they won't be as tempted to drag you into an alley."

The comment was wrong on so many levels. Firstly, psions exuded their output from their bare skin, so constricted as I was in an outfit like this, I was significantly less safe than I would be in something like a sleeveless blouse and a short skirt. Secondly, Orion's Bow was acutely aware of how critical I was to Skorpius's combat doctrine, so if they wanted to take their revenge through me, they would kill me as quickly and efficiently as possible rather than giving me the chance to turn the tables.

But I only answered with the third, most ironclad reason: "Orion's Bow isn't a gang of thugs, commander. They wouldn't openly attack us on a station like this. The construct's threat assessment only gave it a 31% chance, and I think even that's too high. More likely they'd pay off someone in navigation to learn our next destination, then leave first to beat us there."

He took on a condescending smile. "Probably only 31% because it knew you wouldn't dress like a skank. We don't pay you to think, Nessa, so leave that to the construct. Try to stay in public areas, and come back to the ship if you want to give your date some passionate thanks for bailing you out in the last mission."

My hands clenched around the rigid cloth straps of the harness, making them dig into my palms. I wanted to tell him that he didn't pay me, the captain did. Or that it wasn't any of his business if I decided to reward Heron for his help during the battle. Or that he could go fuck himself. Instead I said, "Don't spoil your day out by worrying about me, commander."

The trip to the station was mercifully short, since we only needed the shuttle thanks to the captain not wanting to pay a premium to dock. Unlike the dingy, repurposed industrial facilities of extra-corporate stations, this one had a massive dome hundreds of feet above the floor, allowing for a skyline and letting the distant sun warm the streets. Climate control kept a cool breeze blowing, and I was comfortable despite my layers.

I went my separate ways with the group, finding the light rail that would take me to my destination. The car was mostly empty at this time of day, and I took a seat near the back. A few people stole sidelong glances at me, but my lips curled into a sad smile as I realized I was viewing this as a welcome reprieve from the attention I got on Skorpius's ship.

I sometimes regretted siding with them when the captain had revealed his plan to double-cross the rest of the company, back when we were just one ship in Orion's Bow's fleet. But what was done was done, and I was confident their vendetta would go unfulfilled another day. I turned my thoughts to more pressing matters.

Heron was an ace, and the leader of one of our four fighter squadrons. During the climactic battle of our last contract, I'd been warping from enemy battleship to enemy battleship, using my powers to disable them once I was aboard. One of the constructs had realized what I was up to and reacted by propelling the ship as fast as it could away from the battle, out of a range I could warp to safely. Heron had been sent to give me something friendly to ride back on.

I remembered his reaction when I appeared in his lap. Charmingly flustered and apologetic, obviously glad to have controls to keep his hands preoccupied and a viewscreen to keep his eyes off what my skintight psysuit was doing to my curves. Thanks to the cramped one-seat interior, I was sidelong across him with my arms wrapped around his neck to keep any sudden movements from throwing me into something I wasn't supposed to touch.

We were hoping for a smooth return trip, but when the enemies realized who he was transporting, they scrambled an entire wing to intercept us and hold off our reinforcements. Far from being distracted by my presence, however, Heron rose to the occasion and pulled off an unbelievable series of maneuvers that saw us safely back in range of the battle.

I grinned at the memory of his sigh of relief when we'd escaped, then shock and shyness when he remembered I'd been pressed against him the whole time. Before I'd warped to my next victim, we exchanged link codes to keep in touch. Our stilted messaging after the battle had culminated in me inviting him on a date.

The light rail arrived at the aquarium. Heron had left the ship earlier to run errands on the station, and so the plan was for him to be waiting for me at the entrance. I was nervous as I approached the large plate glass windows, which seemed to evoke the tanks within.

I was a bit worried about my appearance. Showing some skin was the best way to get a man's attention, but I so wanted my intuition about Heron to be proven true. And beyond that, after being forced to flaunt so much in my psysuit with its psionically-transparent materials, I felt more comfortable covering up like this. Even my underclothes (which despite the XO's insinuations, I had no intention of Heron seeing on the first date) were reserved. I had an opaque slip under my blouse and skirt, and under that I had a full-coverage bra to keep my chest contained and tap pants that could have passed convincingly for running shorts if they weren't silk. I would still be perfectly presentable without my blouse and skirt, and on a cosmopolitan station like this, I'd pass as "adventurous" in just my bottom layer.

I entered the aquarium, looking around for my date. I spotted him approaching me, having been sat on a bench near the reception desk and watching the door. He was a bit shorter than me, about the optimal height for a pilot. His flightsuit had been replaced with white slacks and a floral buttoned shirt. The short sleeves showed off his toned arms.

It was actually my first time seeing him in person without a helmet, though he'd sent me a picture so that I could recognize him. He had a shock of blonde hair, combed back and featuring a somewhat old-fashioned undercut that suited his heart-shaped face. And his coal-dark eyes, the only feature I could make out under his visor, were even more striking uncovered.

And those eyes were fixed on me. They lacked the rapacious glint of the mercenaries I'd ridden the shuttle with, though even once he'd stopped in front of me, he just stared. His mouth opened slightly as if he was about to say something, then closed, then opened again as he managed, "You, uh, look--it's... good to see you again. Nessa."

I smiled down at him. Part of me wished his gaze were as steady as when he was doing corkscrews and weaves to keep us unscathed. But mostly I was endeared at how fervently he was fighting to keep his eyes on mine instead of the floor. "It's good to see you too, Heron, especially without your helmet." Realizing the effect I was having on him even completely covered up, my confidence grew enough to tease him a bit. "I didn't realize you were so handsome."

His eyes went wide at that, and he began stammering even more than before. "Thanks--erm, thank you. Your..." he looked me up and down, too nervous to even be self-conscious about how the sweep could be interpreted. "I like your blouse?"

I resisted the urge to give him a hug and watch him short-circuit, instead thanking him for the compliment and asking, "Do you already have tickets? I'm excited to see the fish."

He did indeed already have tickets, and we headed to the exhibits. An aquarium had been my idea, since I wanted surroundings that could stimulate conversation but not distract once we got one going. Though I was worried they wouldn't be stimulating enough as Heron walked beside me, back straight as the barrel of a gun, dead silent as he failed to force an awkward smile.

The first section had a scattering of tanks with a variety of smaller species. The general ambience was subdued and relaxing, the soft blue lighting and mosaic floor creating an almost romantic atmosphere as we milled about the area. There were other visitors, but the aquarium wasn't terribly crowded, allowing us to peruse the tanks at our leisure.

Heron went straight to the closest one, sweating despite the climate control as he bought time by reading the plaque. It explained that this tank, several times larger than the light rail car I'd taken here, held fish from a moon in the station's system. The moon was unsuitable for colonization because of the water covering the entire surface, but the flora and fauna there had served as a convenient source of food for early settlers. These varieties of fish had apparently been a delicacy for the wealthy.

It was not my first time in an aquarium, though it was my first time since before I'd joined the Sisterhood. I looked at the tank's iridescent inhabitants, many of whom almost seemed to glisten in the bright light illuminating the interior of the tank. They swam around the rocks and plants decorating their home, moving with the currents.

I glanced over at Heron, who was also staring at the tank. And also glistening a bit now, thanks to the sheen of sweat on his forehead. His complete loss for words was going from flattering to annoying.

To break the silence, I commented, "I've never seen fish in their natural habitat. I was born on a cargo ship, and my parents and I moved from ship to station. I was finishing an apprenticeship as a cook when my powers awakened and I went to the Sisterhood." Surely he'd have something to react to if I threw that much backstory at him.

"I actually grew up in a fishing town, on a large planet," he replied. He seemed to have an easier time talking when he had something to look at besides me. "Dad owns a fleet of fishing boats, taught me to sail since I was a kid. But they weren't fast enough for me." He started to smile a bit, but it died at a glance toward me, replaced with the grimace.

I took him to the next tank, chagrined at the false start. I was glad he wasn't leering or making the sorts of crass comments that had led me to walk out on so many first dates. But I didn't want a man who was in awe of me--I wanted a man who was into me. One way or another, we were getting a conversation going.

This one was larger, and had a wide variety of exotic creatures unlike any I'd seen before. Spiny balls bouncing along the sandy floor, thin sheets billowing as they floated around the tank, cone-headed creatures beating against the water with pairs of tentacles, and more.

Each of the bizarre things had a plaque, but I forestalled Heron's attempt to distract himself with them by asking, "Is that how you knew you wanted to be a pilot? Because sailing wasn't enough?"

"Yeah," he replied, his eyes darting over to me before tracking the movement of a many-finned green thing near the top of the tank. "And I saw how freely the fish moved in the water, so I wanted that for me. We could afford the pilot lessons, and my brother was plenty eager to take over the company, so..." he trailed off with another glance at me.

This continued as we bounced between tanks, me trying to elicit more out of him each time his replies fizzled out. Most people loved talking about themselves, so what was his problem? But I began to realize he was worried about boring me with his stories of what he saw as his dull old life before he became a cool fighter pilot.

I wondered if I should just come out and tell him how interesting I thought his stories were, having never set foot on a moon or planet before. But I could already picture him completely falling apart as he realized I thought the date wasn't going well. Then, as I was struggling for a solution, we entered the next section labeled "Large Animals".

He stopped and stared at the largest, most central tank and its sole occupant. The fish was big, gray on the top and white on the bottom, with multiple rows of jagged teeth. It didn't even look like it needed to chew, though, with its maw large enough to swallow a person in a single bite. It had one fin on each side, a two-pronged tail, and a single smaller fin on top.

"That's a shark," Heron said, almost running across the room to get a closer look. I was right behind him, eager to ask what had him so excited. And without me even prompting, he continued, "They're an apex predator--my ancestors introduced them to our planet centuries ago to help control mid-level predator populations since those eat the fish we catch. But I thought they couldn't survive in captivity."

"Why not?" I asked, smiling down at him as he read the plaque. I could tell he was genuinely interested in what it had to say this time, not just looking for a distraction.

"They need to move to breathe," he explained, turning to me. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't grimacing either. He had that same, focused expression as when he'd been piloting. "And they like swimming in straight lines. I remember a corporate noble who wanted to keep one as a pet for a status symbol built a tank kilometers long. But the thing kept swimming until it ran straight into the side. It didn't live long after that," he started to frown a bit. "They get stressed out, and their hearts can't take it."

Trying to build back momentum from that surprisingly tender note, I asked, "Have you ever seen one in person? Out in the ocean?"

He laughed a bit at that, showing a tantalizing hint of an unforced smile. "Oh yeah. Got the scars to prove it." He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, revealing a pair of marks resembling the shape of the beast in the tank's teeth.

I physically recoiled at the sight. I wasn't disgusted since the wound was clearly long-healed, but even after so much time it was shocking. Beyond the purpling of the skin, it had been indented several centimeters. I glanced back up at the shark in the tank, filled with newfound respect for its power.

His smile arrived in force at my reaction, almost dazzling despite the dim lighting of the room. "I was out diving. There's a really beautiful reef near my hometown that's a popular spot. We saw her out in the distance, but they don't usually go for humans since we don't look like prey. So we thought it'd be fine." He spoke smoothly, and surprisingly calmly despite how the encounter he was describing would apparently end. "She swam over, though. Didn't notice my buddies swimming like crazy for the boat, and next thing I know, my arm feels like someone hit it with a sledgehammer. I look over and see rows of teeth clamping down on me."

Engrossed though I was by the epic tale--and how charming the man telling it had become--I was vaguely aware of someone approaching us. I tilted my head a bit to watch with my peripheral vision. He was walking too purposefully, his expression too determinedly neutral. And he was heading right toward me.