Words died again. Why would they do anything special for her?
“You’re the least bother I can imagine.” Yorso shot Osopa a glare before smiling at her. “What is it, my Matara?”
“My friend—well, she’s more of a mentor—Sister Bernadette?”
“I’ll check on her and let you know how she’s adjusting. Anyone else?” Osopa took out his handheld and tapped it for a couple of seconds. He glanced up at her, poised to enter another name.
His readiness to gather information for her peace of mind flustered her. “Oh, any of the rest are fine. I wonder if they’re okay. I’m sure they’re being treated well,” she added hastily.
“I’ll get a general report on the children and elders—we’re keeping them together on Europa, where they’re more comfortable. I’ll also inquire how those who’ve been clanned and those to be taken to Kalquor are doing. And a specific inquiry on your Sister Bernadette.”
“Do you need our Nobek to look into anything else?” Yorso asked.
“No. That’s wonderful. Thank you.”
“I’ll bring word at the end of the evening. Have a pleasant day, my clanmates.” Osopa dropped the all-business attitude to offer them a quick smile before he left.
A warm glow filled Tina. Osopa’s willingness to do her such a favor, without her earning it, was a pleasant surprise.
* * * *
Following his conversation with Degorsk, Tukui hurried through the ship to reach the bridge. He was in no danger of arriving late to his duty station. He’d developed the habit of showing up several minutes early, having figured out that it looked good to Captain Tranis. Though he’d still be a few minutes ahead of schedule, it felt wrong that he’d be slightly later than had become his usual.
The unease of not being on the bridge when he preferred joined the general disquiet he felt after talking to the head medic. His thoughts churned as he tried to come up with some method of proving to Tina she didn’t need to earn her place in his clan.
Though he was a Dramok, the breed of Kalquorian inclined to leadership, Tukui was used to feeling less capable than most Dramoks. It was his own fault. He’d long gotten away with letting fate blow him where it would, and he’d been fortunate in that it usually sent him in the right direction. His talents were good enough to allow him to succeed with little effort.
It was becoming clear that natural aptitude and luck weren’t enough to help Tina. If he were a better Dramok, he’d be on top of it. She needed him to be that better Dramok.
The stakes are too high to screw this up for her. I’m afraid I’m out of my depth to provide what she requires. What she deserves.
Unfortunately, he had no clue what it was he was supposed to provide. If he could just—
He was so deep in his thoughts, that he failed to notice the foot traffic as he neared the bridge. He walked into another man.
“Oops, sorry.” Then he noticed who he’d bumped into. “Oh. Zevs.”
“Someone’s not with us in the real world,” his former rival snorted. “Are you thinking, Tukui? Must hurt, engaging your brain for a change.”
“You wouldn’t know a lot about it,” Tukui shot back, trying to step around him.
Zevs moved to block him, his ugly smirk filling Tukui’s gaze. “Are things going poorly? New Matara not working out…or are you not working out for her?”
“Typical jealous Zevs. Get out of my way.”
Maybe something showed on Tukui’s expression, because Zevs sneered. “I’ve often wondered whether Yorso doesn’t regret his choice. Congratulations. Now you’re a disappointment to two clanmates.”
The urge to pound the scorn off Zevs’ mug walloped Tukui, and he obeyed the impulse without a second thought. He swung. The flash of pain that resonated in his fist as it scored satisfying contact with Zevs’ jaw made him absurdly happy.
They bounced from one side of the corridor to the other, trading blows as a crowd gathered. For every punch Zevs landed, Tukui got in two. It was sheer joy to bleed out the worries of the past day—not to mention give his opponent the thrashing he deserved.
Someone yanked them apart, violently enough to fling them both to the floor. Tukui’s heart stuttered when he discovered Weapons Commander Lidon staring down at him.
It took Zevs longer to figure out what was going on. He jumped to his feet with a curse, to be promptly knocked on his ass again by the glaring Nobek. The look on his face when he realized