Ad Noctum: Chapter 5

Maybe Dale of the Sixth House was a nice guy.

Chapter warnings: Stressors of all kinds. Abduction. Anxiety. Panic. Purposefully insensitive discussion of mental health issues. Boundary problems. Manipulation. References to torture. References to suicide.

Text iteration: Midnight.

Additional notes: None.

Chapter 5

The rings collapsed back into their housing, revealing the dim gold of the transporter room. Volker felt his own mass settle into the artificial gravity of the ship. Rush’s not-so-subtle tremoring dialed itself up at the same time.

The question of what had happened to Rush and Telford while Volker had been cooling his heels in that cell was almost too much to bear.

He was afraid to find out.

Worse than that, he was afraid because, even if they gave him a blow-by-blow account, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to trust it.

And with listening devices on the ship, he couldn’t ask. He couldn’t say anything. All he could do was edge closer and take as much of Rush’s weight as possible.

He caught Telford’s eye, trying to convey what-the-heck-do-we-do-now?? via gaze alone.

Telford shook his head in warning. “Rush,” he said, his voice unnecessarily loud, his tone at odds with the caution in his face. “Can you plot a course, or are you fucking useless?” He scanned the room as he spoke.

“Piss off, David,” Rush muttered.

“You watch your mouth.” Again, Telford used more volume than was necessary for the small room and close quarters. He caught Volker’s eye and angled his head toward the door. “It’s what got you into this state in the first place.”

Together, Volker and Telford moved toward the door, pulling Rush with them.

“I’m sure Kiva—” Rush lost what little footing he had, and Volker winced at the pull on the stitches in his injured shoulder, “—appreciates my witty commentary,” his voice turned breathy, “as much as your next pseudoenlightened despot.”

Volker gave Telford a look he hoped said: your-crazy-friend-is-about-to-pass-out-so-we-better-not-drag-him-much-farther.

Telford gave Volker a nod of agreement. When he spoke again, it was low and wry and mostly into Rush’s ear. “Oh, yeah. You’re making a great impression.” Telford grabbed the front of Rush’s jacket, swept the mathematician’s feet, and lowered him to the floor in a precisely orchestrated fall.

Volker was impressed.

Rush wasn’t. He tried to sit, but Telford pressed him back.

“Just stay here,” Telford mouthed silently at Rush. “Stay.”

Rush glared at him.

Telford glared right back.

Rush tried to get up.

Telford pushed him down, stared at the ceiling like he was praying for patience, then said in a loud voice, “Dale, keep an eye on him. I’ll get us out of here.”

“Don’t you need—” Volker began.

“No,” Telford said before Volker could finish the question. “Stay here. Make sure he doesn’t set the ship on fire.” He held Volker’s gaze, pointed a finger into his face, and mouthed, “No. Talking.”

Volker nodded.

Telford left the room.

Volker took a breath. His nerves felt like overdrawn violin strings, and his heart wouldn’t hold to its usual bass line. Probably that was because of the academic colleague lying in a puddle of leather at his feet. Volker dropped into a crouch next to Rush and tried to catch the other man’s eye.

Rush wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were mostly shut, and he was still—ugh, gosh. He was still shaking. Was he cold? Or was this maybe a neurological thing? Or a poison thing?

Volker had the urge to take off his jacket and give it to the other man, but he hesitated.

That probably wasn’t something Dale of the Sixth House would do.

Or.

Maybe Dale of the Sixth House was a nice guy. Maybe he’d had a nice Fourth House mom. There must be nice people in the Lucian Alliance. Ginn had seemed pretty okay.

To heck with it.

Volker peeled off his jacket and draped it over the other man; Stockholm Syndrome and concealed video surveillance equipment be damned.

What had they done to Rush?

Had they brainwashed him? If they had, would it look like this?

Volker had no way of knowing, and he didn’t, he couldn’t, trust Rush or Telford enough to ask them.

The walls pressed in on him and Volker shut his eyes, trying to think of anywhere but where he was, trying to think of fields, of panoramas, of vistas, of the endlessness of space that humans had no choice but to traverse in glorified coffins—

No.

He thought of Caltech. Of the lawn outside the Planetary Sciences Building, where the undergraduates would do their problem sets when the weather was nice. Rectangular. Green. Framed by elegant buildings.

There, no trees blocked the sun.

He wasn’t there, but the undergrads were.

Nupur was there.

And even if his lab was gone, the radio array was intact.

She’d be okay. Caltech would be okay.

He pulled in a breath.

He was a scientist. A good one. Right now, all he needed to do was define his question. Something like: who, if anyone, had been brainwashed?

He needed to gather data.

Volker opened his eyes and found Rush watching him.

That was progress.

“You okay?” Volker mouthed.

Rush gave a choppy shrug that Volker decided to translate as: “Absolutely not.” The mathematician reached into his jacket, pulled out his glasses, and unfolded the frames with shaking hands.

Gently, Volker helped him settle them into position.

They waited in silence while Telford scanned for bugs, or started the engines, or plotted a course, or all three.

The quiet felt raw against Volker’s edged-up nerves. The need to talk to Rush was overwhelming.

But Telford had said no talking.

Plus…what would he even say?

Rush had just gone through something horrible, the kind of thing that didn’t exactly come with a manual or a standard set of condolences. The internet might have helped him, but the internet was whole star systems away.

Probably Volker would just say normal things. Whatever. Anything.

He wondered if Rush liked music.

God.

No engines yet; Telford must be scanning the ship.

Maybe he was slow at plotting courses by himself.

Rush’s eyes were mostly closed. The shaking continued.

Volker couldn’t sit here and watch this. He wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t about to let his circumstances make him into a monster, either.

Surreptitiously, he shifted closer to Rush. He repositioned his own jacket, then reached into the space between himself and the mathematician, which was hopefully sheltered from the view of any surveillance equipment. Without looking, he found one of Rush’s hands and gently pried it open, flattening it palm up on the deck.

Rush seemed to do his best to hold it there.

Using the tip of one finger, Volker traced a single line across Rush’s palm. Then another. Then he traced a three. Then a five.

Rush looked up, his gaze sharpening.

Volker repeated the sequence.

1, 1, 2, 3, 5.

Then he offered his own palm, positioning it at an angle that Rush could reach.

Rush slowly traced an eight. He paused, and then added the number thirteen, the one and the three coming in quick succession.

Volker traced a new set of numbers.

2, 7, 1, 8.

Almost immediately, Rush responded with a two and then an eight, after which he smacked Volker’s palm with two fingers, unimpressed with Volker’s choice of integer sequence.

Volker shot him a look that hopefully telegraphed, I’m ramping it up, okay? You look pretty rough over there.

Rush replied with a look of haughty irritation that put across, I’m humanity’s best cryptographer; do better.

Ha. Volker had never met a mathematician who didn’t go after an integer sequence like a cat with a laser pointer.

2, 3, 3, 5, 10, 13.

He waited a few seconds with his palm out, then retraced the pattern. Rush came up with 39 and 43.

Volker pursed his lips and angled his head, trying to telegraph, Not bad.

Rush looked insulted.

Volker jumped as the engines roared to life. The deck shuddered, then the sound and vibration faded to a low hum.

Rush looked at him expectantly.

Clearly, something harder was called for. He angled his head and considered his options, watching Rush watch him impatiently.

Finally, he had one.

13, 17, 31, 37, 71, 73.

This one was trickier in that it didn’t involve computation per se, but Rush nailed it after half a minute with a 79 and a 97.

Damn it.

Rush smacked his hand again, signaling his distaste for Volker’s chosen sequence.

This time, Volker flicked him back.

Rush flinched, the movement punctuating his almost continuous shuddering, and making Volker feel like a complete jerk. He caught Rush’s eye and made a face that he hoped conveyed a horrified sorry!!

Rush narrowed his eyes in a fuck-off-and-do-better glare.

Volker shrugged.

Rush flattened his hand against the deck plating.

0, 3, 8, 15—

Volker broke off as the door swished open and Telford strode in. The man shot Volker an irritated look, which Volker guessed was probably due to the extra jacket draped over Rush. There was no way Telford could have seen the integer sequence game from where he’d been standing.

Right? Right.

“Is he still alive?” Telford sounded bored, but his movements were crisp as he dropped into a crouch and surreptitiously passed Volker a folded note.

“Yep.” Volker unfolded the note.

With a deeply annoyed expression, Telford grabbed the extra jacket off Rush and threw it at Volker, probably so Volker could use it to conceal the small piece of paper.

Okay. Jeez.

Telford’s handwriting was neat and fluid.

There are three devices on the ship. One on the bridge. One in the sleeping quarters. One is in this room, probably on you or Rush. Check your clothes.

“Fucking scientists,” Telford said conversationally as he turned Rush onto his back. “They fall apart under the slightest pressure.”

An ironic widening of the eyes was the only expression of dissent that Volker allowed himself. “Yeah, they’re pretty worthless.”

“Who needs math anyway?” Telford asked with a hint of a dark smile.

“Not me.” Volker tried to keep the irony in his tone from becoming at all noticeable.

Telford caught Rush’s eye and held a finger to his lips. Then he pulled the other man’s jacket open.

Volker couldn’t help but take a closer look. The coat had a burgundy lining checkered with concealed pockets. Rush’s vest was an intricate weave of stitched and buckled leather straps. Each had a subtly different hue. Most were shades of black, but there were narrow strips dyed midnight blue, dusty purple, pine green. It reminded Volker of drow armor.

Telford hesitated, a little taken aback, like maybe this was the first time he’d gotten a detailed look at Rush’s Space Pirate outfit.

Even though Rush looked to be hanging onto consciousness by his fingernails, he still managed to telegraph spiteful amusement as he put his hands behind his head and quirked a fuck-you eyebrow.

Telford ran his fingers over the leather, tracing seam lines and plunging his hands into pockets.

Rush didn’t put up any kind of fight.

Volker started to copy Telford’s methodical examination of his own jacket until he realized with a sudden thrill that he likely knew exactly where the device was.

It had to be the small sphere that Varro had given him.

Was there any conceivable harm in telling Telford about it?

Maybe.

Volker shot the man a sideways glance. He was working his way through the mismatched buckles on Rush’s vest. They were silver and gunmetal, copper and bronze.

He held his pocket open and looked at the little sphere glinting in its depths. If he gave it to Telford, it would negate what edge he had. If things really went downhill, a direct line to Varro might be his only chance of coming out of the situation alive. Granted, if it came to that, if he took Varro’s offer and joined Kiva, he’d be signing himself up for a life of Space-Pirating—not exactly something he was excited about.

It beat death, though. Probably.

Volker looked at Telford. The other man had Rush’s jacket off and his vest open. Volker could see the vest straps were each intricately stitched to a stiff leather liner, which Rush wore over a black sleeveless shirt that had seen better days.

He couldn’t imagine successfully concealing his Earth origins without Telford’s help. He couldn’t imagine he’d ever go unpunished for being someone other than whom he appeared to be.

Telford was unlacing one of Rush’s knee-high boots.

This was getting ridiculous. Volker needed to say something before it looked to Telford like he was covering something up.

Volker tapped Telford on the shoulder as the man was easing off Rush’s boot. He pulled out the small silver sphere and held it aloft for Telford’s inspection.

Telford looked up.

The metallic surface of the sphere shivered. A blue shimmer passed over it like a wave.

Telford dropped Rush’s boot and hit the sphere out of Volker’s hand with so much force that it cracked against the opposite wall and rebounded. It hit the floor and rolled toward them. Telford hurled Rush’s jacket at the thing, stopping its momentum and trapping it beneath the leather.

Volker stared at Telford in astonishment.

Telford glared at Volker, then shifted to wrap the sphere in Rush’s jacket. He was careful not to touch it with his bare hands.

“What?” Volker mouthed, starting to worry the sphere was less a communications device than it was a grenade.

“Later,” Telford mouthed back. He got to his feet, holding the jacket in both hands. He shifted his gaze pointedly to Rush, then back to Volker. “No talking,” he mouthed.  

The door hissed open and then shut again.  

Volker looked over at Rush. His eyes were half open, and he was still shaking. As he watched, Rush twisted onto his side and curled into himself, his head resting on one arm.

Before Volker could start up the Integer Game again, Telford came back into the room and dropped into a crouch, with Rush’s jacket and a Lucian Alliance version of a military canteen. It was gold-plated, and an embossed glyph had been scored and scratched at, revealing cheap plastic beneath.

He covered Rush with the coat, then caught Volker’s eye. “Listen up,” Telford said, like they were a room full of soldiers rather than two college professors pretending to be Space Pirates.

Rush lazily raised his middle finger, then let his hand fall back to the deck.

Telford ignored the gesture. “This room now reads as clear, but I don’t know how sensitive the other two devices are, so we need to keep it down until we figure out what to do about them.”

“Can’t we just shut them off?” Volker whispered.

“That won’t look good,” Telford replied absently. His focus was on Rush, still curled on his side, one cheek pressed to the dull gold floor. “Hey.” Telford’s hand closed on Rush’s shoulder. “Nick.”

“What?” Rush snarled.

“What happened?” Telford asked.

“What does it look like?” Rush muttered into the floor. “I achieved all my objectives with flawless execution.”

Telford smiled faintly. “Were you ever unconscious?”

“No,” Rush whispered. “I don’t think so.”

“That’s something,” Telford said.

“She was in a very reasonable mood.”

Volker exhaled, short and incredulous.

Telford rolled his eyes subtly. “Yeah, she seemed pretty chipper.” He inverted the canteen he held a few times.

“She likes me,” Rush told the floor. “I can tell.”

“Let’s hope she didn’t put you into renal failure,” Telford replied. “Sit.”

“Renal failure?” Volker echoed, nonplussed. He helped Telford pull Rush up, then held him steady while Telford inverted the canteen a few more times.

Rush, his stitched-together vest split open like a carapace, said, “I’ll not be drinking your fuckin’ water. Y’put something in it.”

“Yeah,” Telford admitted. “I did. There’s a shit-ton of bicarbonate in here, which you’d damn well better drink.” His eyes shifted to Volker. “Electrical current used to elicit pain also causes intense prolonged skeletal muscle contraction for the duration of the stimulus,” he said shortly. “If you’re subjected to it for hours—your muscles are injured enough to break down, which can fuck over your kidneys if it’s bad enough.”

“Great,” Volker said. “How do you know if it’s ‘bad enough’?”

“Your piss turns black,” Telford said.

“And you know this because…”

“Because it’s happened to me,” Telford replied.

“Oh,” Volker said weakly. “Sure. And bicarbonate helps?”

“Yeah.” Telford eyed Rush forbiddingly. “So drink it.”

“No,” Rush said.

“Rush,” Telford hissed, “what the hell do you think is going to happen? It’s not poisoned.”

Rush dug in. “I’ll not be drinking that.”

“Why. Because I want you to?”

“Yes,” Rush hissed. “That’s exactly why. Now fuck off. I’ll make my own bicarbonate water. Later.”

“God damn it,” Telford hissed. “I’m trying to help you. You can’t even sit.”

“Untrue.” Rush pulled away from Volker. “Get the fuck away from me, both of you.”

Telford stared at Rush, his jaw locked, his eyes dark and glittering. “Fine. I’ll just leave this here.” Telford shook the canteen. “You can drink it, or you can lie here while your kidneys necrose.” He got to his feet. “I’ll come back in half a day to see if you’re dead.”

“Umm.” Volker looked skeptically up at Telford. “Why don’t we just—”

Telford hauled him to his feet and dragged him to the door, away from Rush. Volker was too surprised and unbalanced to pull away until they were already out the door, but as soon as he got his feet beneath him, Telford shoved him into the hallway, hard enough to cause him to lose his balance and fall against the opposite wall.

What the heck?

“What the—”

Telford cut him off with a furious look and a short hand gesture. “Quietly,” he hissed. “LA surveillance devices are sensitive.”

“Okay, fine,” Volker whisper-hissed back, “but you can’t just leave him in there. He—”

“And you’ve been here for what?” Telford hissed right back. “Thirty-six hours? You think you understand anything about what’s really going on here?”

“No, but I know you can’t leave an injured person on the floor. He can’t even get up. He—”

“He needs to drink the bicarb,” Telford whispered, “and the more I try to convince him he should, the more he’ll resist. It would take fucking hours. It would fucking exhaust everyone.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Volker said. “I—”

“Sure. You wanna go in there and spout some sensitive NPR bullshit? Give him a fucking hug? Go right ahead. Try it. See how far it gets you.”

“I just think—”

“No,” Telford hissed. “No thinking. Right now, you and I are going to the bridge. We’re going to look busy and have a conversation about how fucking annoying Rush is, because until we figure out how to deal with these surveillance devices, we need to give the strong impression that we don’t know they’re there.”

“Fine. But I’m letting my cat out of the wall first.” Volker found rebellious satisfaction in reasonableness in the face of an unreasonable situation.

Telford exhaled, short and irritated. “Make sure it doesn’t make it out of the cargo bay. If we fucking get killed because of that cat—”

Volker turned on his heel and walked toward the aft portion of the ship. He opened the cargo bay door and stepped inside. The lights here, like everywhere, were dimmed down in a sad demi-night that sapped what remained of his energy.

He knelt and pulled the paneling away from the wall, revealing Mendelssohn curled up in a nest of shirts and sleeping contentedly, his nose tucked under his tail.

“Hey, buddy.” Volker leaned his shoulder into the edge of the open wall panel, and felt the tug of his healing knife wound.

Mendelssohn cracked his eyelids open and blinked sleepily.

Volker considered the pluses and minuses of relocating the litter box and the cat food back into the main area of the cargo bay, but decided that maybe it was better if Mendelssohn’s stuff stayed inside the shielded bulkhead.

“You’re not bored?” Volker scratched behind the cat’s ears. “Sorry you got locked in the dark for a while there.”

Mendelssohn gave him a tiny reproachful meow. He sniffed at the cuff of Volker’s jacket, and then batted a paw at his wrist.

“Yeah,” Volker said. “I hear ya.” He lifted the cat out of the small space and settled him over his good shoulder. “Telford can wait for three minutes, right?” He ran a hand over the cat’s back, then stood and scanned the cargo bay.

Nothing looked amiss, so he headed for the door.

“Shh,” he whispered. “No meowing. And no running away, either. Otherwise, no more field trips for you. This is a highly covert operation right here. Are we clear on that?”

Mendelssohn purred sleepily.

“Okay,” Volker murmured. “Here we go.”

The cat tensed slightly at the hiss of the door controls but was otherwise well-behaved on the walk to the transporter room. Volker opened the door and stepped through, then turned to shut it behind him. 

Rush was still on the floor in his split-open vest. His incredible jacket was draped sloppily at his hips. He hadn’t moved. 

“Hey.” Volker dropped into a crouch. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Rush said, his tone bizarrely conversational. “How are you?”

“I’m, uh, supposed to go have a fake conversation with Telford on the bridge, but my cat is pretty lonely after being trapped in a wall all day. Seeing as you’re just lying on the floor anyway—”

“Oh very subtle,” Rush said dryly.

“Eh.” Volker shrugged. He dragged the canteen closer to Rush. Then he shifted Mendelssohn off his shoulder and set him down next to Rush’s nest of half-done leather. “Be nice to my cat.”

“I’ve been nothing but nice to your cat.” Rush watched Mendelssohn delicately sniff the canteen.

“True,” Volker said, “which is why I’m giving you my cat and not some, and I quote, ‘sensitive NPR bullshit’.”

Rush smiled at that, wry and wan.

Volker gave Mendelssohn a final scratch under the chin. He was about to stand up, but Rush’s icy fingers closed on his wrist.

“Were you ever unconscious?” the mathematician whispered. “Is there any time you can’t account for?”

“No,” Volker replied, his gaze locked on Rush. “Is that what they do?” He paused. “But would I even know if I was unconscious? Would I remember? If they can implant loyalties, can they implant memories?”

Rush looked at him and quirked a sluggish eyebrow. “You’re beginning to understand.”

“You have to help me,” Volker hissed. “You have to tell me what you know.”

“But,” Rush said soundlessly, with a twisted smile, “how could you ever believe anything I say?”

“No one can live like this,” Volker’s voice cracked, “without going insane.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” Rush shivered.

Volker shut his eyes against a sudden hot sting, and fought the deep, instinctive anger he felt toward Rush—toward this academic pyromaniac who had destroyed his old life, who’d literally burned it to the ground, who had ripped from him everything he’d spent his life working towards—only to plunge him into an absurdist Space Nightmare.

He took a breath, ran a hand over Mendelssohn’s back, got to his feet, and left the room without a backward glance. He stood in the dim hallway, trying to steel himself against—

Well, the remains of his presumably short life.

He couldn’t see any way for things to end well for him. No matter who the LA got to—himself, Rush, Telford—it was only a matter of time before his true identity was revealed.

Maybe it already had been.

What the heck was he going to do?

He walked toward the bridge.

Telford turned when Volker walked in. “Dale,” he said. “What took you so long?”

Volker shrugged and slid into the copilot’s seat. “I had a few things to take care of.”

“You check on Rush?” Telford asked, his tone casual.

“Yeah,” Volker replied.

“Did he drink the water?”

“Not yet.” Volker tried to guess what Telford wanted conveyed to whomever might be listening. “You gonna keep him trapped in that room all night?”

Telford shot him a look that was probably approval. “Just until he drinks it.”

“You put anything in it?” Volker kept his tone casual.

Telford shot him a look that was a bit more measured this time around. “Of course I did. Standard post-interrogation cocktail.”

Volker nodded, wondering what the heck was in a “standard post-interrogation cocktail,” and also wondering whether Telford had actually given it to Rush.

He hated his life.

After a beat, Telford asked, “Are you testing me?” His tone was low and dangerous. “You think I don’t know the protocol?”

Telford was much better at this than he was.

“Clearly you do know it.” Volker tried to sound offhand and cagey, but he was pretty sure he just sounded nervous.

“You’re damn right I know it,” Telford shot back. “If you doubt my loyalty, I’ll be happy to drop you off at the next spaceport. Because I don’t need that from you. You got that?”

“I was just curious,” Volker said, backpedaling. “Since you’re both from Earth, I wasn’t sure whether the same standards—”

“Of course they do.” Telford’s tone turned cooler. “Even though I’m originally of the Tau’ri—” Telford put a subtle emphasis on the word but coupled it with searing eye contact, “—I take my affiliation seriously.” Telford paused, allowing the manufactured tension to leave the air. Then he said, “You know I was inducted.” The words landed with a touch of pride, a touch of bitterness.

David Telford could’ve had a career on stage if he hadn’t joined the Air Force.

“Oh, yeah?” Volker kept the words offhand, trying to draft off Telford’s talent, settle into the role of Dale, who wasn’t all that impressed by Tau’ri try-hards. 

“Yeah,” Telford said. “Sponsored by Kiva.”

“That’s—“ Volker searched around, then settled on, “—quite an honor.”

“You’re damn right it was,” Telford fired back.

“I didn’t mean to cast any doubt on your loyalty,” Volker offered.

Telford sighed. “I get it.”

There was a short pause.

“What about Rush?” Volker asked. “Was he inducted too?”

“Yes,” Telford said darkly. “Not that it means anything to him.”

“That’s disappointing,” Volker said, the words as offhand as he could make them.

Telford shot him another approving look. “He’s completely insane,” the other man said casually, leaning back in his chair, his posture, his face, his tone all indicating relaxation.

“Yeah, he seems…off,” Volker agreed.

“Do you know he doesn’t sleep?” Telford asked incredulously. “He hasn’t slept in his damn bunk since we set foot on this ship. That’s why I gave it to you.”

“Huh,” Volker said. “He must sleep sometimes.”

“Oh, he does, here and there. Mostly down near the engines.”

It occurred to Volker that Telford had just neatly explained why Rush wouldn’t be appearing in one of the two places the LA surveillance devices were located.

“Is he really worth all this work?” Volker asked.

“Probably.” Telford sighed. “It’s hard for me to say. It’s Kiva’s call. But I do know Stargate Command was leaning on him pretty hard to join up before we recruited him.” Telford shrugged and looked over at Volker. “They generally pick ‘em pretty well.”

“They must be looking for him, then,” Volker said.

“They think he’s dead,” Telford replied.

“I see,” Volker said, but unfortunately, he didn’t see at all.

Nupur had definitely described the man as “vanished.” Not dead.

Volker really wished he’d had time to read a Wikipedia article on Nicholas Rush before leaving the planet and the internet behind. 

They lapsed into silence, watching the blur of the stars.

Volker battled the drag of his own exhaustion for what felt like hours.

Finally, Telford suggested they go check on Rush.

Volker nodded and stood, feeling more awake as his blood started flowing again.

They found Rush where they’d left him, curled on the dull gold floor of the transporter room. The mathematician had stopped shaking. He looked like he was asleep. Mendelssohn was inside the nest of leather, coiled next to Rush’s chest, sleeping on the inner lining of Rush’s open vest. His tail poked out from beneath a fold of Rush’s burgundy-lined coat.

Telford shot Volker a strongly worded glare.

“What?” Volker whispered defensively.

“What part of ‘cargo bay’ wasn’t clear to you?”

“Mendelssohn is a people person,” Volker informed him.

“Mendelssohn? That’s your cat’s name?”

“Yes. After the composer, because, you know, people name their cats Felix sometimes, and—”

“I know who Felix Mendelssohn is,” Telford whisper-snapped, offended. “And I get it. It’s clever.”

“Thanks. Rush hates it.”

“Of course he does. He hates everything.” Telford knelt beside Rush. He picked up the canteen and shook it. It was mostly empty. “Thank god.”

“What was really in there?” Volker dropped into a crouch beside Telford and pointed at the canteen.

“Bicarbonate,” Telford said with a measured look. “Tylenol. A muscle relaxant. All of which he clearly needed.”

“What was supposed to be in there?”

“Bicarbonate, a muscle relaxant, and a psychotropic drug.”

“Which he did not get, right?”

“No.” Telford didn’t look at Volker. He scratched gently behind Mendelssohn’s ears. “Of course not.”

Volker studied Telford without speaking.

Telford looked back at him. “What?” the other man demanded. “You don’t believe me?”

“Not sure,” Volker replied.

“He’s fucked up enough already,” Telford hissed. “I’m not about to fuck him up more.”

“Yeah,” Volker murmured. “I guess.”

Telford stared him down, dark and forbidding, his jaw locked.

Volker fought the urge to recoil.

“I’ll be back,” Telford said after several more seconds of pointed silence. He picked up the empty canteen and stood.

As the door hissed shut, Volker released a shuddery breath.

In the quiet that followed, Volker stroked the top of Mendelssohn’s head, listening to the cat’s quiet, familiar purr. He watched Rush critically, trying to find any sign that Telford had given him something other than what he’d claimed.

Nothing seemed obviously amiss.

Telford returned, carrying a re-filled canteen and an armful of blankets. He dropped into a crouch. “Two below for every one above,” he murmured to Volker, indicating the blankets with his eyes. “Otherwise you get a heat sink on a cold surface like this.”

Volker nodded. “Emergency medicine is a hobby of yours, I guess?”

“Wilderness medicine,” Telford whispered. “As hobbies go, one could do worse.”

They spread the blankets on the deck. Volker lifted his cat away from Rush so Telford could maneuver the mathematician onto the blankets. When that was done, Volker deposited Mendelssohn back onto the liner of Rush’s vest, then re-created his little cat cave out of Rush’s jacket. They spread the last blanket over the jacket.

Mendelssohn peered up at Volker and gave him a slow blink.

Telford put the new canteen where it would be in Rush’s line of sight, if he opened his eyes.

“Will he be okay like this?” Volker asked skeptically. “Lying on the floor of the transporter room all night?”

Telford arranged himself in a cross-legged position next to Rush. He braced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, his back hunched. “First of all, it’s ‘transport’ room, not ‘transporter’ room. This isn’t Star Trek.”

“Oh. Yeah. I don’t know how I could have messed that up.”

Telford looked up with a hint of a smile. “But to answer your question, I’ll keep an eye on him for a few hours, make sure he doesn’t wake up and immediately pass out and concuss himself. Or do anything equally stupid.”

“Wake me when you need a break,” Volker murmured.

Telford nodded. “I’ll try to give you a solid four or five hours.”

Volker nodded tiredly and got to his feet. He headed for the door.

“Remember,” Telford said, “you’re being monitored in there.”

“As if I could forget.”