Fathom (Mermaids of Montana #3) - Elsa Jade Page 0,21

here, let her expend her electrical energy before he went to all the effort of repairs. Likely he’d take some damage himself, but how much power could she really draw?

He pursed his lips. That was the kind of question a thoughtful commander would’ve asked and, more importantly, expected answered before the parameters of the mission were decided. Perhaps he should channel some of Coriolis’s strategic cunning before he tried to tackle the little nul’ah-wys.

The thought of tackling her sent an unexpected tingle through him. Somehow electrical in its own right although he wasn’t even touching her.

Yet.

Brooding silently, he finished their tour at the cockpit. The comm—still powered down to emergency levels—flickered with a single light for the status report sent from the AI. He settled in the captain’s chair and toggled the indicator.

The panel lit up with error codes and the AI rattled off another long list as he scanned through the report.

“That’s a lot of lights,” Lana said. “What else did I break?”

Sting glanced over his shoulder at the second row of seats where she had settled. When he gestured at the copilot chair beside him, she pursed her lips then moved up.

“Nothing beyond fixing,” he said. “Your electrical charge seems to have triggered a protective subroutine in the ship’s main systems. The AI didn’t have a protocol for zaps like yours, so it did its best to protect the ship and you as it came down.”

She tilted her face upward. “Thank you, Diatom. I’m sorry I scared and hurt you.”

“Thank you,” the AI intoned. “Your concern is noted.”

Sting cranked his jaw to one side. “It can’t really be hurt or afraid,” he told her. “It’s just a construct with enough neural connections to approximate sentience for smooth interaction with its users.” With extra focus, he prioritized the error codes. “Like me.”

“Sting—”

“According to the status report, several specific relays were fused and are now inoperative. Navigation, command, life support.” He summoned up a chart of the affected parts. “Some very specific relays. Almost as if you were targeting those systems.”

With a huff of affront, she swiveled her seat to scowl at him. “I don’t have any control over my zaps.”

He made a sound under his breath, deliberately echoing her.

Her frown deepened more obstinately. “You think I wanted to crash? Why would I do that? Why would I go to all the effort of coming back here when the Tritonesse seemed like they were half a breath away from offing me themselves if I looked at them funny.”

“You were escaping,” he murmured. “First you were willing to leave Earth because you thought Tritona would have your answers. When the Tritonesse rejected you, you took off again. Only this time you were getting away from yourself.”

The stricken expression on her face reminded him of the fighters who’d died near him during the war—some beside him, some in front of him, depending on whether they were Tritonyri or Cretarni. In the end, death left them all looking the same.

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” she said in a choked voice. “I crashed because I didn’t know how to fly a spaceship and I panicked, and the zaps got away from me.”

“If you don’t want to hurt yourself or others, control your power,” he told her. “Otherwise it’s just a matter of time.”

She hissed out a harsh breath. “Oh, and what about you? Like you’re so pure and strong? You had a spaceship all to yourself, one you knew how to fly, and you still ended up going back to the place that made you, abused you, calls you a monster.”

He blinked at her. “But I don’t mind hurting myself or others.”

For a long moment, she stared at him, her glistening dark eyes churning like a maritime landslide. Would it bury or reveal?

Then another breath burst out of her, this time a harsh laugh. “Oh, sure, if you claim you’re a happy monster it doesn’t sting as much, does it? You got me there.”

“I don’t got you,” he said flatly. Yet. “And I sting the same no matter what you call me. Even if you call me nothing.”

She bit at her lip. As she often did, he’d noticed. And he wondered what she tasted like…

“You…actually sting?” she asked softly. “Like me?”

He had to drag his attention from her not-very-sharp teeth. “You zap,” he reminded her. “Not the same.”

“But…the sting is part of you, not just something you do?”

“Is that different?”

When she didn’t answer—and since he wasn’t interested in comparing the depths of their