Second star, p.28
Second Star, page 28
From the corner of her eye, she saw Dawes’ intent stare and she stretched her forehead to unknot the look of concern tangling her features. “Let’s see if they respond this time,” she offered, forcing a smile.
Dawes nodded slowly, sitting quietly for a moment before she brightened. “And if not, we get Michaels to bug the showers.”
A begrudging laugh escaped Wendy’s chest. “Deal,” she agreed. “But not a word to Johns, or I’ll never hear the end of it. He’s already convinced he could be an international pop star—let’s not make his ambitions intergalactic.”
Dawes grinned, then glanced at the blinking transmission light. “That’s one message down, Captain.”
Wendy’s heart clenched as she met the pilot’s meaningful gaze. After Michaels had ensured he could loop the outgoing transmissions, she had instituted a strict rule to comm the Fleet sparingly to conserve the Roger’s energy. While the outgoing messages utilized little in the ratioed outputs, she was determined to preserve as much energy as she could.
With one exception.
Each week, after hailing the Brigade, she recorded an additional transmission that went strictly against protocol, one that only Michaels and Dawes knew about—a message that returned to Neverland. Each one carrying a promise that she would return.
Wendy glanced shyly at Dawes, whose lips twisted in a knowing smile.
“I’m going to take a walk,” the pilot stood and stretched. “Page me if you need anything.” She saluted, then turned to leave, her braid swishing like a mermaid’s tail.
Wendy waited until the doors whizzed shut, then gazed at the comm, her mind strangely blank. It was a sensation she felt only before her Neverland transmissions. There were a million things she wanted to share, yet none of them seemed important enough except what she really had to say.
I love you.
She nibbled the inside of her lip as she gathered her scattered thoughts, then slowly activated the comm. Her breath shook as she spoke into the receiver, but she soldiered through, her heart’s unsteady cadence spurring her onward.
“This is Captain Darling of the Fede Fiducia—but if you’re listening, Peter, it’s just me, Wendy. It always feels so strange to begin these transmissions. Formal seems more appropriate, but then—these are intended solely for you, so… formal also seems strange. I never thought I’d experience a time where formality would be in question. It’s been my home for so long that…well, formal is comfortable. Except with you.”
Wendy cleared the lump in her throat with a nervous laugh. “But, that’s a discussion for another day. Our return is proceeding well, at least, as well as can be expected. The modifications to the Roger are holding, considering her age. If it weren’t for the care you put into her all those years, I doubt we’d have even made it this far. But she misses you. And so do your Boys. They’re adjusting to the crew, some better than others. Their spirits have remained intact, but they’ll all be happy to get home. And as soon as we do, I’m coming back for you.”
A guilty twinge pulled her chest as she spoke those words. She wanted to assure Peter that she was on her way, but her conscience couldn’t promise it. She would do her best—it was all she could do.
“It’s strange to think we aren’t just stretching in distance, but in time. When I return, you will be exactly the same as I remember—to the day. I worry what you will think of me.”
Her voice broke and she dipped her head as she chased the anxious thoughts skirting the edges of her mind. Forcing a smile, she brightened her voice, determined to reassure the last Lost Boy.
“I will return. After your men are home safe, I will come for you. Be ready for me.”
Wendy pressed her thumb against the button, ending the comm. She dropped her gaze to the blue mission file and slowly flipped it to a half empty page with a few simple lines of text. In the top right corner, a small photo was glued crookedly to the page. From the frame, a handsome young man in a mechanic’s suit flashed a challenging smirk under a crop of dusty red hair. Wendy brushed her fingertips over his smile, remembering the warmth of his lips pressed against hers.
“I miss you,” she whispered, then glanced at the StarBoard’s charted course. They had only been traveling four weeks, but they already seemed billions of miles away. Sighing, Wendy cast her message, releasing it after the others, wondering if Peter would ever receive them.
She hoped he did.
* * *
* * * * *
TWO
WENDY
The transmission finished spooling, and a low whine groaned through the Roger. Followed by a tired shudder. The sudden turbulence jerked Wendy from her brooding and set her storming across the room to the illuminated StarBoard.
Shoving the mountain of charts to the side, Wendy revealed a grid of angry flashing lights proclaiming the Roger’s distress. Wendy attacked the board, adjusting the dials she had familiarized herself with while praying the ones she hadn’t learned were nonessential. A red warning slid across her screen, and she swore, ready to smash the panel, when Dawes raced inside, shaking her head.
“You couldn’t make it five minutes without me, huh Captain?” the pilot teased, struggling to man the helm as the lock engaged, denying her control. Wendy planned to reply, but another sharp rock from the ship forced her attention elsewhere. Cursing, she reached for her comm to interface Michaels, but the ship released another tired moan and the jarring stopped, leaving the StarBoard blinking innocently under their’ incredulous stares.
Slumping over the massive panel, Wendy let out a relieved sigh while Dawes slowly eased from the grid with a nervous laugh. They sat in stunned silence until a series of loud pops crackled through the room and everything dimmed as the captain’s lamp flickered and burst. Wendy’s heart ricocheted, shooting a painful surge of adrenaline through her system as she let out a flurry of Johns-sanctioned curses.
“Ditto to that, Captain,” Dawes chuckled as the color slowly returned to her own drained cheeks. “Although I must say, that’s one of the more creative uses of expeditionary terminology I’ve heard. I particularly enjoyed your use of ‘janksy’ as a verb.”
Wendy scowled. “Yes, well. It’s one of the more creative times I’ve used it as well, Dawes. Thank you for noticing.”
Dawes grinned. “Anytime.” She settled into her chair and began readjusting her controls. Wendy cast a final, wary glance at the flashing indicators flickering across the grid before deeming it stable. She bent forward to scoop up the charts strewn across the floor and her weight shifted, shooting a sharp pain through her right knee before her leg buckled and she dropped to the floor. The soft burn pulsed through her limb, and she knelt, waiting for the spasming pain to subside. With a grimace, she braced the ligaments, then reached slowly to retrieve the scattered charts.
Gingerly, she returned the charts to the illuminated StarBoard. Although she tried her best to hide it, she had sustained injuries of her own on Neverland. Their battle with the Shadow hadn’t left much unscathed, and Wendy’s reconstructed knee was proof. It could have been worse, she knew. With DeLaCruz’ help, her leg had been reconstructed, and the few parts that hadn’t techgrafted had slowly begun to heal, but still, she was recovering, and with the Roger’s dated medTech, she would be for a very long time. The limp in her gait was a constant reminder, and Dawes’ sympathetic stares didn’t help. Aware of the pilot’s attention, Wendy straightened her posture, gritting her teeth as her knee strained and cracked in protest.
Noticing her discomfort, Dawes focused intently on the grid, allowing Wendy to settle into her seat before hesitantly breaking the quiet.
“Have you been to physio today?” Dawes forced her attention forward, but her posturing didn’t fool Wendy. Her voice was too bright, the way it always was when Dawes tried—and failed—to be nonchalant.
“No,” Wendy grumbled, “I’ve been busy trying to make sure our rig doesn’t drop from the sky. Then we’d have a lot bigger problems than a sore leg.”
Dawes bit her lip. “I think we’ve passed the worst of the turbulence. I can handle things here for an hour if you’d like to stretch it out.”
“I’m fine. Although the next time I require mothering, I’ll be sure to ask,” Wendy clipped. Dawes’ brows knotted in a tight bow and Wendy winced as she realized how callous she sounded. It wasn’t the pilot’s fault she was broken. And to be honest, Dawes was showing more concern than Wendy’s mother ever would. Mrs. Darling’s only worry would be the extent of her scarring.
Absently, Wendy massaged her aching knee, gingerly prodding the swelling around the bones. Ridges and divots of newly formed scar tissue dotted the joint, remainders of the incisions DeLaCruz had made to reset her leg. They ran tracks along the side and up into the base of her thigh. Wendy was grateful her uniform masked the worst of it.
Wendy puffed her cheeks. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. It’s just—” Wendy searched for the proper words. How could she explain? A captain’s weakness should never be translated to a subordinate—no matter how kind they may be.
“It’s alright, I get it.” Dawes waved Wendy’s apology away. “Just let me know when you need a break.” She grinned and the movement crinkled her bandage, making the tiny, patterned fish swim over her brow. “I’ll do the same,” she winked.
Wendy laughed. “I appreciate that.” She leaned forward to study the charts she retrieved from the floor and frowned. There were so many maps. She had already decoded the ones she needed to find their way home, but several others had caught her eye. Complex, intertwining charts depicting galaxies and plotted coordinates for planets she’d never even seen. All the places that Hooke had been but had never relayed to the Fleet.
There was so much to learn.
Her eyes traveled over the top chart. It was the one she kept coming back to. On the left side of the chart, a constellation hovered with two married stars nestled in the center. One, a bright white spot resting protectively beside its brilliant green counterpart.
The Second Star.
She bit her lip as she looked closer, following the chart. Outside the radius of the Second Star, a cluster of small purple wisps had been scribbled in and notated with a pen-scratched question mark. Wendy brushed her finger over the violet lines, chasing the traces of a memory as the crease in her forehead deepened.
“Dawes, can you—”
Her question was interrupted as the doors whooshed open and SMEE rushed through in a tizzy. If it had been anyone beside the cybernetic first mate, Wendy would have described him as disheveled. An artificial flush crept to his cheeks, simulating exertion. He must have been in a hurry to get here. SMEE stuttered to a stop, then glanced around the room, his golden eyes blinking as he searched for her.
“Apologies, Captain. I thought it might be prudent to provide an update on the status of our resources. Currently, we have ample supplies to make the projected return to Earth,” he paused as his manufactured features twisted into a frown. “However, if Lieutenant Johns maintains his current consumption rate of our hydrogenated biscuits, there will not be sufficient amounts to complete the journey. I do know how much you enjoy them. Shall I say something?”
An exasperated smile crept to Wendy’s lips. She couldn’t help being endeared to the atypical synth. Though many in her crew questioned her decision to allow him freely on board, SMEE was the only one of Hooke’s pirates who had been kind to her. It wasn’t the manufactured mate’s fault he had been designated to a traitor.
“No, SMEE, it’s alright.” Wendy cast a sideways smirk at Dawes, who covered her giggle with a slender hand. “As long as I have coffee, I can do without a biscuit or two. But for rationing purposes, I’ll make sure to speak to Johns. Is there anything else?”
SMEE cleared his throat as he smoothed his uniform. “No, Captain. Nothing pressing. Is there anything I can assist you with while I am here?”
“That will be all for now. Thank you,” Wendy said. SMEE’s head dipped in a clumsy bow before he scurried out, humming a jaunty tune. The door shut behind the synth’s uniformed figure and Dawes let out an amused laugh.
“Pan better watch out; the bot’s gunning for his girl.”
Ignoring the squeeze in her chest, Wendy offered a weak laugh. “SMEE is sweet, but I don’t think it would work,” she shrugged good-naturedly. “We’re just not compatible.”
Dawes laughed again, then stood and stretched. “True. I guess the mechanic should be thankful his competition’s not a real boy.” She followed the path Wendy’s pacing had tread to the door. “I’ll be back in ten. You need anything?”
Wendy responded with a quick shake of her head, but her attention was drawn inward. Although SMEE wasn’t ‘a real boy’ as Dawes had pointed out, there had been some competition for Peter, and while her mechanic had been left on Neverland, his opposition, Aidan Boyce, was very much on board. Wendy hadn’t told anyone about the kiss she had shared with the arrogant Commander—and she didn’t plan to—but it didn’t stop the guilt that gnawed at her whenever she thought about Boyce’s lips pressed against hers.
The door hummed as Dawes departed and Wendy slumped tiredly in her chair while her fingers worked the dull pain throbbing in her temples. She closed her eyes and was met with an image of Boyce’s sapphire gaze searching her face, his chest heaving ever so slightly as he gently brushed the smooth skin of her cheek.
A loud hiss startled Wendy from the memory and she twisted toward the door, thankful for the reprieve until she found herself staring directly at the real Commander Boyce—not a conjured memory. He strode across the room purposefully, his dark uniform pressed neatly into place, adhering perfectly to Brigade standards. The banding on his sleek, black jacket offset the blue in his eyes, highlighting them even more starkly against his pale skin. Or, it might have been the unusual flush to his cheeks.
Boyce stopped in front of Wendy and handed her a small, hexagonal tablet. Wendy accepted the tech, careful to avoid grazing her fingers against his.
“Here is the Recording Log as you requested, Captain. I attempted to document my weekly correspondence, but the file is corrupted.” Boyce eyed the machine peevishly. “Perhaps Michaels should run a system’s check. Once the error is adjusted, I’m happy to complete my report.”
Wendy accepted the pad and studied the stiff officer. Fine lines traced his features; lines that hadn’t been there when the expedition first began. Her gaze traced the hollows of his cheeks, which had grown more pronounced over the past weeks. The added definition didn’t detract from the commander’s chiseled looks, but it was clear he was settling into his age. Away from Neverland’s mysterious atmosphere, time had resumed, its brief absence enough to make her acutely aware of her mortality. Each morning she woke feeling its claws wringing out another day of her life, strangling her as it ripped the essence from her soul.
She wondered if Boyce felt it, too.
Clearing his throat, the commander alerted Wendy to her stare. Flushing, she briskly tucked the tablet under her arm. “Thank you, Commander. I’ll look into it. Was there anything in your brief that I should note?”
He scowled. “Nothing pressing, unless you’ve finally decided to allow me to evac Pan’s heathens.”
Wendy sighed, but a wry smile crept to her lips. The Lost Boys had been a challenge, but for nobody more than Boyce. They seemed to take his proclivity for protocol as a personal challenge, and Wendy had heard of more than one occasion where elaborate pranks were involved. Most of her intel came from Johns, who delivered each story with impish glee. It made her wonder if perhaps the lieutenant wasn’t involved in the matter himself.
“What’s happened now?”
Boyce’s glower darkened with a huff. “What hasn’t happened is a more appropriate question. They’re like children—noisy, smelly, always underfoot,” his nose wrinkled with disdain. “We’d have been better off rescuing a rogue horde of space monkeys.”
Wendy snorted. “You’ll make an excellent father one day, Boyce, I’m sure your future bride will be—” Wendy swallowed her last words, but the shocked look on Boyce’s face told her it was too late to recover. She tugged the neck of her coat, which was suddenly too tight against her skin. She coughed to clear her throat, then straightened her shoulders, feigning her composure.
“I’ll speak to the boys,” she assured, burying her emotions under a wall of professionalism. “But let’s not be too hard on them. They were separated from society for a very long time. The evacuation hatch is probably a bit extreme for now.”
Her attempted smile fell flat on Boyce’s stoic stance. He watched her carefully, his jaw tight before he gave her a stiff nod. “Thank you, Captain. If you have nothing further, I have other things to tend to,” he said, a glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes.
Wendy met his gaze. Up close, the lines tracing his forehead were even more pronounced, and accompanied by puffy bags under his eyes. She wondered how the commander had been sleeping. Her lips pressed in a tight line as she shook her head. “If there’s nothing urgent, take a break. You look like you could use some rest.”
The crease in Boyce’s forehead deepened, but he nodded. “Yes, Captain,” he conceded before quickly turning to go. Wendy’s gut twisted, and before she could stop herself, she placed her arm on his, stalling him near the door.
“Boyce, I—” she started, but her words were cut off by the hum of the door. She jumped back, biting the yelp that sprang to her lips as Dawes sauntered in, nibbling a dehydrated fruit bar. She nodded at Boyce, then passed a puzzled look to Wendy, who stood guiltily, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. Noticing her stare, Wendy tugged her jacket in place before loudly addressing the commander.
“That will be all, Boyce” she announced, feeling the strain of her unnatural pitch against her vocal cords. She swallowed to stamp away its shrill sound. “I’ll make sure Michaels inspects the log. Until then, a manual entry will suffice.” She returned her attention to the abandoned charts while Dawes settled in behind the grid. Her pulse thrummed as she listened for Boyce’s movement. He stood, silently lingering before his quiet footsteps moved to the door. Wendy strained her ears for the familiar hum of the sliding door. When nothing came, she glanced at the entry, where Boyce stood stiff at attention.
