what emotion caused such a change
in his demeanor. Maybe he wasn’t pleased that the Institute recorded everything, since that would mean they would have an unprecedented knowledge of
his actions.
"I assume," he said with a bite in his tone, "that I can authorize removal of that thing."
"Of course," she said with some surprise. "You are my commander. As long as I am on this ship, I report directly to you and follow all
your orders unless they contradict Institute law regarding telenetics."
"Take it off, then," he said with such revulsion that she blinked, taken aback.
Eyeing him warily, she reached up and touched the release pads at each temple. When she felt the loosening of the net, she slid it from her head and draped
it over the arm of her chair.
"Is it possible for you to leave it off?" he asked, surprising her again.
"My handlers would not approve," she said softly, weaving her fingers together in her lap. "If you are concerned for your privacy,
I’m sure they will allow me to remove it whenever I am in your presence."
"Privacy," he spat, as if she’d said a dirty word.
Tension spiraled up her spine. How had she offended him?
Rising, he began to pace again, his hands fisted in the small of his back. This time, his movements held the controlled power of a hunting animal. As he
paced, he addressed her formally without looking at her, "Mims Soliere, I have had many dealings with the Institute. Never before have I had cause to
consider them barbaric or sadistic. Putting a pain inducer on a child is not something I can accept."
Ryelle opened her mouth and then closed it again, unable to think of a thing to say. He was concerned for her. She had just told him how dangerous she was
and instead of reacting with fear or revulsion, he’d shown concern for her well being. It was so astonishing that she felt a wave of dizziness wash
over her. She pressed her feet against the floor, pushing her back into the chair to steady herself. It had been so long since anyone had treated her like
this. So long…
She closed her eyes against the well of grief that surged through her. "Sir," she started to say then had to clear the unsettling rasp from her
throat. "Sir, if it’s any consolation, I haven’t experienced pain in quite some time. I have very good control."
He was suddenly in front of her, his light blue gaze pinning her in place. "Then why haven’t they stopped putting it on you?"
She swallowed, taking a slow, steady breath before answering, "Because they need to be sure that I can control myself in the field, too."
He made a harsh noise in his throat, his head lifting and nostrils flaring like an animal scenting prey. But he took a deliberate step back and settled
into his seat again, his expression turning wry. "That scared of you, are they?"
She didn’t want to say it. This was the first person to show her real human kindness since her mother. She didn’t want to alienate him, but he
needed to know what he was up against. "You should be scared of me, too, Commander Task. If I lost control or if I went rogue, no one could stop
me."
Instead of looking wary or nervous, he raised a mild eyebrow. "Having any destructive thoughts about my ship?"
A frown creased her brow. "No, of course not."
"Feel like slaughtering my crew?"
"Commander—"
He held up a hand. "I understand. Not having met the crew, you couldn’t really say if you felt homicidal about them yet." There was a
twinkle in his eye.
She stared at him with blank incomprehension.
"So let’s make a deal. You get to know my crew, and if you start wanting to kill somebody, let me know. I suspect your first victim will be the
cook."
She continued to stare at him.
He sighed and rose to his feet again. "We’ll have to work on your sense of humor. Do you feel up to a demonstration of this incredible power of
yours?"
"Of course," she said stiffly, gathering the net in her hands and standing.
"Please," he said with a grim look at the
JJ Carlson, George Bunescu, Sylvia Carlson