Mimi looked away and bit her lip.

  “Mimi?” I pressed.

  “I needed some fresh air,” she murmured. It was a lie.

  I released her hand and stepped back from the bed. Her sad eyes found mine again.

  “Now’s not the time to galavant around the building, Miss Wylde,” I said.

  Her lips twitched as if she were trying not to laugh.

  I turned my attention to Rider; any longer looking into Mimi’s eyes and I would have made an even bigger fool of myself than I already had.

  “When can she return to duty?” I asked.

  “Twenty-four hours if she behaves herself,” he said.

  Mimi scoffed. Rider tapped his chart against his thigh.

  “If she doesn’t,” he said. “Then I’ll extend that to forty-eight.”

  Mimi rolled her eyes.

  “For every misdemeanour, I’ll add another day to her sentence.”

  Mimi crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him.

  I smiled.

  “Very good,” I said to Rider. “Keep me informed.”

  The doctor nodded, and I spun on my heel, leaving the room.

  I waited outside for Dave to join me.

  “Why did she release herself early?” I demanded.

  His eyes met mine. Regret. Sadness. Guilt. It was all there. But I couldn’t tell whether that was for what his team member had done or for the predicament RATS now found itself in.

  Until he said, “She was checking up on Sally Groves. Who was in the library in tears.”

  I let out a sigh. Dave hung his head.

  Everyone assumed Mimi was here for nefarious reasons. Everyone chose to believe she had a hand in her family’s betrayal of RATS. Everyone. Sometimes, everyone included me.

  “Well,” I said. “Fuck,” I added.

  “Fuck,” Dave muttered and walked off down the hall.

  I stood outside the infirmary for a good few minutes longer, wanting nothing more than to go back in there and hold Mimi in my arms. I contemplated the wisdom of that thought for a while and then I finally admitted to myself that where Mimi was concerned, I could not be trusted at all.

  When Clive found out how I’d reacted, Mimi would be removed from my team.

  I’d lost Rafe. Now I’d lose Mimi.

  I clenched my fists and strode off down the hall. Every single person who saw me turned and ran the other way.

  If only I could scare Sergei just as easily. Then none of this would have had to happen at all.

  29

  I Wasn’t Sure

  Mimi

  I stared down at the internal memo on the data pad I’d been given and read it for the third time.

  “Bad news?” Dean asked as he stuffed his face full of chocolates. Chocolates that Dave Sanders’ Security team had delivered the night before.

  I hadn’t been able to stomach them, but Dean didn’t have the same problem trusting their motives as I did. If he ended up with a severe case of the runs, then so be it. But I was not so inclined to think Security was as squeaky clean as they’d have us all believe.

  “I...” I said, but no further words emerged.

  Dean slowly lowered his feet to the floor and leaned toward me.

  “Mouse?” he pressed. “What is it?”

  “I’ve been reassigned,” I said.

  “What? To where?”

  “Dispatch.”

  “What?”

  I looked up and met Dean’s startled gaze.

  “I’m off Jack’s flight crew.” It was like a slap to the face. Another slap to the face. But the real slap to the face was who had replaced me.

  “Ah, bloody hell,” Dean muttered. “Go on, who’s flyin’ with Evans, then?”

  “Bryan Fawkes’ old flight crew.” I couldn’t say her name. I just couldn’t.

  Dean knew. His face fell. And then fury ignited, and his eyes blazed red.

  “Fuckin’ Harding and Malcolm? No fuckin’ way.”

  “They don’t have a Surgeon,” I managed to say. “And they have seniority over me.”

  “And Jack don’t ‘ave an Intern no more, neither,” Dean spat. “How bloody convenient.”

  I stared out of the infirmary window and watched the clouds scud across the sky.

  The memo didn’t say I’d been grounded, but then everyone had been grounded and with only one Orion left working, there could only be one team flying.

  Part of me selfishly thought that team should not have been Jack’s. He was grieving Rafe’s loss, and Harding and Malcolm should have been grieving Fawkes. But Jack was the senior most Surgeon capable of flight. The most experienced. Bauer and Holt or one of the other Surgeons should have been the ones assigned Orion 6b, though. Winchester was out; he’d lost Jessop, and Sally was unfit to fly. But the others had intact teams. It should have been them not Jack.

  But I couldn’t tell if my opposition to his flying was because I wanted to protect him or because I wanted to thwart Harding and Pratt. And as I realised this was precisely what Pratt had been after when she’d cornered me in my room, I was sure my objections were based on jealousy and not fear for Jack.

  Which made me madder still. Because, eff it all to hell, who thought like that?

  And then I grew angrier because Jack knew flying in Orion 6b carried an extra danger now. His prophetic dream proved as much. But would he ground himself because of that? No effing way! I clenched my fists and blinked back angry tears.

  Anger at myself, at Pratt and Harding, and at him.

  “Mouse?” Dean called cautiously. “It’ll sort itself out, mate. You’ll see.”

  I shook my head and angrily swiped at the moisture gathering in my eyes.

  “Ah, shit, Mouse,” Dean whispered. “Here, ‘ave a choccie.”

  He held out the box of half-eaten chocolates to me. I snorted a laugh and then thought, to hell with it! And took one. Strawberry cream. I sank back on the bed and chewed thoughtfully.

  I was still under infirmary arrest. At least for another couple of hours. I felt fine. The anti-inflammatory meds they had in this century were astounding. Not to mention the healing properties of the gel packs they’d placed on my bruises and bumps. I reached up and absently rubbed the spot where the largest lump had been; my forehead was flat now and didn’t even hurt when I touched the damaged skin.

  There were things about the 23rd Century that were brilliant.

  And some things that made it hell.

  I looked over at Dean. He was studying the remnants of the chocolate box with avid attention.

  “You up for a bit of snooping?” I whisper-asked, my eyes darting to Rider’s office.

  Dean’s fingers hovered over a hazelnut swirl. His eyes sparkled with humour.

  “I’m always up for a bit of snoopin’,” he whispered back.

  “You might need a sidekick,” I offered. “Can’t be me,” I added, waving at the sickbay room.

  “Who’d you ‘ave in mind?”

  Our eyes connected. Sally would baulk at doing anything adventurous right now, but as I couldn’t go to her and she wasn’t coming to me, Dean needed to do the steering.

  “She’ll fight you,” I said.

  “I know,” he agreed.

  “But she needs this.” He nodded. “I need you two, too,” I said.

  “Whatever you need, Mouse,” he promised.

  “Find out when they’re flying,” I whispered, leaning closer to get my point across. “No matter what, Jack can’t be the one to fly.”

  “He can’t?”

  I shook my head. Dean held my stare with a compassionate one of his own. He thought I was jealous; that I was trying to sabotage Jessica Harding’s plans.

  Well, he wasn’t far off on that one, but...

  “Jack had a dream,” I said. Dean pulled back and stared at me. “It wasn’t good.”

  “In what way?”

  I licked my lips, unsure if it was an acceptable thing to talk about prophetic dreams like this. Hadn’t Jack said the fewer people who knew about them, the easier it was for them to be altered?

  I shook my head again.

  “Mouse?” Dean pressed. “Give me somethin’ to go on ‘ere,” he said. “Give me somethin’ to persuade Sally with.”

  I closed my eyes. He was right. We needed Sally to make this work. And Sally needed something worthwhile to fight for.

  “It involved RATS,” I said. “The alternate RATS.”

  He blinked.

  “And his being stranded there.”

  “Bloody fuckin’ hell,” Dean whispered.

  “Will you do it?”

  “Too fuckin’ right,” he said, standing and dusting himself off. “And so will Sal.”

  I smiled. It was tremulous at best. Sally was a mess. Dean was only a Tech. And Harding and Pratt would be out for blood if they knew what we were trying to do here.

  “Be careful,” I urged.

  “Careful is me middle name,” Dean announced with a cocky tilt of his head.

  “I thought ‘Danger’ was?” I teased.

  “Well,” he said, walking backwards towards the infirmary doors, “Danger and Careful. Me mum liked long names, see? Dean Danger Charles Careful Fred Trustworthy Samuel Savage Jordan.”

  I snorted. He winked. And then he slipped through the door and disappeared from sight.

  I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, praying we weren’t making a mistake. But if Jack flew, who knew what would happen to his crew. To him. And with only one Orion left, who would go after them?

  In the dream, it had been me. In Orion 6b. It didn’t make any sense. But I couldn’t help feeling if Jack flew now in 6b, the dream would be set in motion. It could have been an overactive imagination. Or a heightened sense of doom brought on by all the deaths we’d experienced recently.

  Or it could have been simple old jealousy. I wasn’t sure.

  But I also wasn’t prepared to sit back and wait to see what happened next.

  I opened my eyes and came face to face with Dr Rider’s dark gaze at the end of the bed.

  I yelped. He sighed.

  Then said, “Would you care to tell me more about this dream, Miss Wylde?”

  30

  Time Would Tell

  Jack

  I stared down at Dean Jordan’s legs as he lay on his back under Orion 6b. Various tools lay all around him. Grease stains marred the white of his overalls. He rolled out from under the lip of the Vehicle and stared up at me.

  “Can’t find it,” he said.

  “Then keep looking,” I ordered.

  He nodded his head and pulled himself back under the Crew Vehicle.

  I stared at him, my eyes narrowed. That had been too easy.

  The sound of boots clipping across the concrete of the hangar rang out behind me, and I reluctantly turned from the confusing sight of Jordan’s eager acquiescence and faced the oncoming threat.

  Jessica Harding threw me her signature seductive smile.

  “Just like old times, Jack,” she said in what I could only assume she considered a sexy purr.

  “Dr Evans,” I replied.

  “No,” she said, smirking. “Harding actually. But if you insist on a wedding, I’ll oblige.”

  You have got to be kidding me.

  I scowled at the woman. Her smile widened.

  “Are we ready to fly?” she asked innocently.

  I turned back to look down at Dean Jordan’s legs; all we could see of him.

  His hand snaked out and tapped around on the floor for an instrument, found the wrench and then slid back out of sight.

  “Ah, no,” I said, succinctly.

  “What the hell?” Harding exclaimed, ruining any chance of her ever being mistaken for a lady.

  “We have a minor problem with the Orion,” I said, unnecessarily. “At least, Jordan assures me it is only minor.”

  “That’s Dean Jordan?”

  I nodded my head as Dr Harding stepped forward and kicked one of Jordan’s boots.

  “Monkey!” she shouted. I winced. “Get out here!”

  Dean slid out on his backboard again and stared up at Harding with overly round and innocent eyes. I narrowed mine further at him.

  “What’s wrong with it?” Harding demanded.

  “Not sure,” Jordan said with a shrug of his shoulders. “But whatever it is, we’ve gotta take extra care. It’s our last Orion.”

  “If you’re not sure what’s wrong with it then what are you doing?” Harding demanded.

  “Makin’ sure,” Dean said.

  “Of what?”

  “That it’s fit to fly,” Dean replied. “If you don’t mind,” he said and slid back under the Orion.

  Both Harding and I stared down at him. Something was up, and I wasn’t the only one to suspect as much.

  “This is bullshit,” Dr Harding declared.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “What can we do?” I asked. “Can’t fly unless Tech lets us.”

  “Technical is not the boss of me!” Harding declared and turned on her heel, storming off toward Dispatch no doubt.

  Or towards Clive. I pitied the man. Then crossed my arms over my chest and stared down at Jordan.

  “You can come out now, Dean,” I said.

  He slowly slid out on his backboard again.

  “Doctor?” he greeted.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Fixin’ it.”

  “Dean,” I warned.

  “It’s the last one,” he tried.

  “This is your final chance to come clean,” I offered. “If you don’t,” I added, “I’ll throw you to Dr Harding for dinner.”

  Jordan grimaced. Then straightened his shoulders, staring up at me with as much defiance as he could muster while lying on his back.

  “Sorry, Dr Evans,” he said. “But you can’t fly until the Orion ‘as passed all its tests.”

  “I thought Simon cleared it,” I said.

  “He did, but I found an anomaly.”

  “Is he aware of this?” I asked.

  “I sent ‘im a memo.” Simon Cathcart rarely read his memos, and Dean Jordan knew it.

  “What are you playing at, Mr Jordan?” I demanded.

  “Nothin’, sir.”

  He held my gaze with a surprisingly level one. I couldn’t see the deceit in it. But then I didn’t need to see it to believe it was there.

  “Did Mimi put you up to this?” I asked.

  I saw a flash of alarm cross his features and then the insouciant look he usually wore returned.

  I shook my head.

  “You’d better get a move on then,” I offered.

  He blinked at me and then slowly pulled himself back under the Orion.

  I let out a breath of air and scrubbed a hand over my jaw. Just what the bloody fucking hell was Mouse playing at?

  And why did it make me want to laugh?

  This was not a laughing matter. People were being killed. RATS was under threat. Rafe was still lost to us; I refused to consider anything else. And Mimi, confined to a bed in the sickbay, was orchestrating a rebellion.

  I chuckled to myself as I crossed the hangar floor and took the steps two at a time to reach Dispatch. Clive wasn’t there, thankfully; I might have found this all marginally amusing, but I could hardly not act if he had been.

  For now, I was happy to watch this play out. I’d give Mimi an hour of meddling and then we had to fly. Time was not on our side despite the fact we could manipulate it. Returning to Singapore when Rafe went missing and Sergei was there - not to mention the CIA agent, as well - would mean no time had passed at all. But that invisible clock seemed to keep ticking. Making it feel like the longer we took to return, the worse it would be for us all.

  I stretched my neck from side to side, making the joints click. Tension rode shotgun down my spine. My eyes scanned Dispatch, taking note of who was here and where they all stood. Belinda was off to the side, on a telephone call by the looks of it. Amanda was sitting in the dispatcher’s chair, Jessica Harding leaning threateningly over her.

  And Sally Groves was turning an Orion schematic around and around in the air before her. If I wasn’t mistaken, that was Orion 6b’s schematic hanging in 3D and lit up in bright flashes of red before her eyes.

  “See here,” the Novitiate said. “It’s not responding to all the necessary safety measures.”

  “What the hell would you know, Newbie?” Harding spat.

  Good, she wasn’t aware I’d stepped into the room yet. But Amanda was. The dispatcher’s gaze met mine; amusement lighting her eyes.

  Was everyone in on the joke except the doctors?

  “Well, not a lot, I’ll grant you,” Groves was saying. “But I have been studying hard.”

  Like hell, she had been. Sally Groves, last I looked, had been curled up in a ball crying.

  And suddenly this all seemed so ridiculous. So irrelevant and trite.

  I crossed the room and stood behind Harding, offering her my support and staring Miss Groves down.

  Sally swallowed thickly. I felt like an arse.

  Then the dispatcher said, “Category One Rip emerging.”

  An alarm swiftly followed.

  “I don’t think you’ve got much choice, Doctors, but to fly,” the dispatcher said solemnly.

  Sally closed her eyes looking defeated. Harding smirked and strode from the room, heading towards the Orion. I flicked a glance between the dispatcher and Groves, feeling strangely let down on their behalf.

  Whatever game they’d been playing, they’d thought it necessary. That much was obvious.

  And when I made it to the Orion and saw Dean Jordan standing there with the hatch open, Harding reaming him out, I thought that maybe they’d had good reason to try.

  Jessica Fucking Harding. In my Orion. For God knows how long.

  God help us all.

  I glanced up at the viewing platform not sure of who I’d see there. Hoping it would be Mimi.

  But Mouse was confined to the infirmary; the reason why Jordan and Groves had been flying their mission without their captain in tow. And all that greeted me were the cool, hard eyes of Clive Crawford.