CHAPTER V

Later that night; it was empty.

The hibernating kiosk built into his desk blinked a dim red light.

He was craving another sitting with a palatable plaything.

So with desire curling his smile, Vaughn sat down at his desk and tapped the sleeping screen of the kiosk. The screen, now brightly lit, displayed the D.M.I. network, though access would need to be granted to delve any further. He pressed his thumb firmly into the T. I. receiver attached to the keyboard and a sharp light scanned his print, lifting the restrictions on the kiosk. After a quick glance at his more urgent messages, he’d be ordering from another suitable agency. Just a quick glance.

Forwarded by the I.S.O. Council Chief Maedrell.

Vaughn smiled. It must be their apology letter for suiting him with such an inferior bridge crew. Though it wouldn’t ever be worded as such, the Captain wouldn’t see it any other way.

He loved when they groveled.

His assumptions were correct. It was indeed a letter stating the names, rank, and index numbers of the newly appointed bridge crew. The names on the short list were of no matter, the Captain was simply reveling in the fact that he finally got his way.

And then he read the final name on the list: Commander Sara Elizabeth Luxidon. Index Number: 173979. Dred swept over him like a stinging wave of chilling, wet air. The Commander was to be stationed as ESURTA’s weapons officer. It was as far as Vaughn would humor the message.

He reached down and frustratingly tugged the I.C. from its holster on his belt. Outside of the next sentence stating it was all a ruse, the rest of the message didn’t matter. What mattered was who he needed to contact in order to keep the statements he read from becoming a reality. Vaughn shook his head in disbelief. They knew where he stood on this subject, that he wanted nothing to do with Sara Luxidon. His mind burned through each and every reason why she didn’t belong on ESURTA, or at least in his vicinity. Ever. He rehearsed the venomous complaints he’d riffle off in his head as he skimmed through the list of index numbers.

Beep.

“Not, fucking, now!” He was in no mood for an interruption. This matter needed to be resolved before she was aboard the ship – before he had the displeasure to lay eyes on her.

Bingo! He found the number he needed.

Beep.

“Leave now! I need to—”

“Did you not read the entire message? No, of course you didn’t. Why would Vaughn Mayve make life any easier on anyone else other than himself? They aren’t going to answer if you call them. Just so you know. Something about… refusing to clean up after the filthy child that pisses vinegar every time something doesn’t go his way. So just cut the shit and let me mosey in.”

It was too late. Sara was already there.

Vaughn’s hopes sank into his stomach. “Go. Fuck somebody else in the ass, okay? I’m still a bit sore.”

“Just open the door.”

“You need to—”

“Open it now!”

Vaughn hesitantly tossed the I.C. on his desk, watching it slide across the surface and over the edge, clacking to the floor. He stood slowly and carried himself to the entrance of the cabin, slamming his open palm against the release panel. The door retracted, and there stood Commander Luxidon, looking distraught, disheveled, and out of uniform.

The latter of the three Vaughn used to spark the first argument.

“You aren’t wearing a uniform, Commander,” he stated. “Find one or exit my ship.”

“Try not… being yourself, okay? I’m exhausted.” She let herself in. “Can you do that? Just once. Obviously I was in a rush. Council Chief Maedrill just informed me—”

“I really couldn’t care less about Maedrill or the sack of bullshit she carries around with her.”

“That’s funny. Even you should realize how profound a person she is. Without her you couldn’t be the life-loathing, selfish prick you strive to be. Don’t forget it’s the Council Chief who – for some reason unknown to literally everyone – believes you are what this expedition needs to be successful. Agonizing. I know.” The dark circles under her light eyes only slightly sapped them of their beauty. “You should be thanking – no – worshipping, literally, the very ground she walks on.”

They steadied interlocking glares.

“Well it’s my ship. My command. And frankly, I don’t remember sending you an invitation to board. Free to leave anytime. Like an annoying little bird. …Anytime.”

Sara shook her head in disgust as she walked further into the room. In her eyes, Vaughn was a gifted fighter and nothing more. And although these thoughts had been repeatedly voiced to the Council, she still found herself curtailed by his foolishness. ‘Maedrill believes in him,’ a mantra she often said to herself to settle her temper. Though Sara did her best to respect the Council Chief’s decision, she would not, however, believe in Vaughn’s leadership abilities herself.

Just a talented soldier and nothing more.

Sara’s I.C. vibrated and she retrieved it off her belt, looking over the message. It was a greeting from Gavril welcoming her to ESURTA.

“I don’t need you.” Vaughn walked back to his desk.

“Yeah well, I’m not going to let a few bad orgasms ruin my chance to explore the fucking universe. Okay?” She quickly snapped back, staying transfixed on the glowing screen, responding respectfully to the greeting.

“I’m sorry. Did you somehow forget what you did during—”

“Keep just – Ya know… You really are an asshole. When will you let it rest?” She was sincere, scraping her words across the tarnished surface of sadness. Vaughn said nothing, feeling his unfinished comment biting inside his chest. He made his way over to the liquor bottles neatly displayed on the wall behind a small bar. The Captain indiscriminately snatched one from its home and inspected it.

“Vaughn… I miss him too. You aren’t the only one. I miss him too.”

He paid her no attention and walked to the outer lip of the bar, leaning against it and unscrewing the cap. He upended a shot glass – paused – and set it back down, deciding that the mouth of the bottle would suffice.

Sara swallowed back the memories, triggering her defenses, and hardening her emotion. “Vaughn.” She waited for him to make eye contact. “I have every right to be on this expedition, more than most. More than you.” Sara tucked her I.C. away in its holster. “I could have easily been ESURTA’s captain – should have – for fucking sake, Vaughn, I basically built it! You and I both know how capable I am. They all do: your crew, the Council, the Trilobians. Everyone knows I can take ESURTA’s tech to a new level. And whether or not you are on board when it happens, I don’t care. It’s going to happen regardless.” Vaughn broke eye contact and took a quick swig from the bottle. Sara watched him, knowing what he was thinking; why he was all of a sudden reserved. She knew the scenario that had forced itself into his head. She knew she was one of two components fixed forever to the hatred and sorrow that cut through their shared memory. “I’m not here to have a power struggle,” she quietly said, “and I really don’t want to argue. I’m tired of it, Vaughn.”

“Then lea—”

“But I do want to see what’s out there!” Sara watched him drain another harsh swill from the bottle. Vaughn again made no effort to dissuade her.

“And…I know it’s going to be difficult working together…again. But. You know… I had nothing to do with his decision.” Her throat tightened, allowing only a whisper to escape. “I’m sorry, Vaughn.” And her saddened face quickly recovered from the depth to which she had fallen, finding her voice unwavering, “I’m not leaving this ship.”

Vaughn still had no response. He simply sealed his lips around the opening of the bottle and gulped back a shot.

“Fine. I’ll allow you to stay on my ship.”

“Not that you had a choice in the matter, but thanks for reconsidering.” She shifted gears after a drawn out breath. “You know how valuable I am. Let’s just keep it professional and this could actually be…enjoyable – like old times” She slowly grinned. “In spite of your attitude, I’m actually pretty excited.”

“Uh-huh.” Vaughn was unimpressed with her reference, feeling that ‘old times’ were never really that enjoyable. The bottle always had more to offer.

“Okay, great!” Sara slapped her hands together and cracked her knuckles, eyeballing the luxury of the Captain’s Cabin, noticing that it wasn’t being utilized to its full potential. “So now that the pleasantries are out of the way, let’s move onto the next argument. This is way bigger than the hole-in-the-wall I was assigned. You want to share?”

“No.”

“But your cabin has its own bathroom – a girl’s gotta have her own potty, ya know?”

“I use it for sluts,” Vaughn stated before drinking back the harsh liquid, adjusting his stance, bracing more rigidly against the bar as the alcohol took effect. “Just got some use out of it earlier today actually. Fucked the shit out of her.” His statement punctuated with a sloppy swig “So, I win. Captain wins.”

Before her face could retract in absolute disgust at the image he planted in her head, Sara resorted, instead, to more desperate measures. She would stoop to puppy dog eyes, displaying the most pathetic expression that ever begged for anything.

It didn’t work. Disapproving noises hummed in his throat.

“Please?”

“Nah.” His mouth collected another sting of alcohol.

“Well it’s bullshit! I don’t like shitting near other people! You know that. I shouldn’t have to say, but I will! I don’t shit next to people, Vaughn! I don’t like it! I need my privacy.” She took a few steps towards him, “So just let me at least use the bathroom, please?”

“No.”

She tried to persuade him with another pathetic look, only somehow, managing to make it more obnoxious than the last. Vaughn laughed at the display, calmly stating, “Nope.”

“I’ll only use it—”

“No you won’t.”

“Seriou—”

“Not gunna happen, Princess.”

“Just—”

“No, Lux.” He smirked, feeling lightheaded and dizzy.

“You aren’t even letting me finish. I was going to say—”

“You’re wasting my time?” His speech dragged with a slur. “’Cause yeah, you are.”

Sara heavily sighed, giving up. “I’ll be back tomorrow and we can give this chat another go around. Okay? Fantastic.” She turned for the exit.

“You know this isn’t... It won’t work. It’s just going to be not really possible – us working,” he burped, “together. You and me? Won’t do.” The next mouthful he gathered dribbled down his chin before he reluctantly swallowed it: the coup de grâce. That final swing began tossing around the contents of his stomach like an industrial dryer, wavering his ability to stand up straight. His vision dismantled; the spinning walls would not be suppressed.

Sara sighed at the debacle that was, Vaughn Mayve, gingerly pressing in the release panel, retracting the door. “Those who say that something’s impossible, accomplish nothing. If you don’t wise up you’re going to miss what the essence of what we are trying to accomplish here.” She watched him from the threshold as he wobbled back and forth. He said nothing. “Good night, Captain,” Sara said, leaving the cabin. The door hissed shut behind her.

Finally. A moment of silence.

Just one step, he said to himself, viewing the world around him as warped nonsense. One step at a time. He stumbled forward to the edge of his desk, bracing, and spilling the bottle across it. Grimly, Vaughn observed the chugging liquid absorb into the letter head, bleeding the ink he had scrawled onto it. It was doubtful that he’d be able to replicate the rant he had so carefully written, but his heart could only sink so far with its destruction as his headache and whirling stomach pains took immediate precedence, sending his blurry thoughts into a tailspin. He awkwardly slipped from the edge of the desk, this time without bracing, hitting the floor hard. His skewed vision still sought the sanctity of the bathroom. Gathering whatever strength he could, he dragged himself across the polished floor, tainting it with droplets of blood that beaded from the fresh cut on his forehead. A red trail smudged the length of his efforts as he finally pulled his numb body into the bathroom.

His eyes closed.

The Captain was well acquainted with the soothing chill of cold porcelain; a comfort that in his mind was more tentative than warm flesh could ever be.

The thought lingered through every jarringly tense upheaval his body produced.

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