Adequin received courteous acknowledgment from the few passersby, but at mid-shift the halls were mostly unoccupied. She couldn’t count how many times she’d cut this path over the last five years. The Legion’s retrofit should have included moving the brig closer to the bridge; this was a post for criminals, after all. Though she appreciated any excuse to be up out of that damn chair.
She stepped onto the lift as it slid open, and Cavalon took a few quick steps to catch up before the door slid shut. “So, there was another fight, huh?”
She clenched her teeth, preparing her judgmental glare again.
“You come up with some of those creative punishments for them?” he asked. “Maybe one of those completely unnecessary cavity searches?”
Her readied glare faulted on deployment, overtaken by a scowl of disbelief. Though she really shouldn’t have been surprised, he clearly wasn’t the type to keep his mouth shut for very long. That he’d been quiet for almost five full hours actually impressed her, a fact which in turn nauseated her, but the bar for this one had been set painfully low. Pretty much on the ground.
He stretched out his right arm, the static gold and bronze Imprint squares glinting in the overhead lights as the lift descended. “Too bad I wasn’t there to straighten them out, I guess.”
“That fight was your fault, you know,” she pointed out.
He scoffed. “I’ve never even been to hydroponics.”
“Out here, unrest spreads.”
“We talking viral or bacterial?”
Her gaze hardened, but he didn’t seem to notice. “There was another fight shortly after in the research annex,” she explained. “Two oculi ended up in medical. And those are only the ones that were reported—there were probably a half dozen more. The first round we’ve had in weeks.”
He scratched his chin. “Interesting conjecture … Is this based on the verifiable science of being super bored at the edge of the universe, or do you think it’s more magical in nature?”
“Maybe I should throw you in the brig with Barrow and let you collect some firsthand data.”
His amusement melted away, then he mumbled, “Surprised you don’t just drug everyone into submission.”
“That’s not sounding like a half-bad idea,” she growled. The lift door slid open, and she marched out into the corridor toward Tres Sector.
This fucking guy. She’d never had an oculus act like this toward her before—in fact she didn’t think she’d heard one voluntarily offer up more than a “yes, sir” or “no, sir” in the last five years.
He’d been so docile all morning, she’d thought they must have actually made some progress in her office yesterday, that at least some of what she’d all but beaten into him had stuck. Yet he still spoke to her like she was one of his vapid drinking buddies. He didn’t think of her the same way that everyone else on the Argus did—they all saw their commander, someone to obey and respect. But he hadn’t come up through the Legion; he didn’t see any levels between them. That had to change.
As they approached the entrance to the brig, she rounded on him. His scuttling boot squeaks echoed down the empty hall as he stopped short and a splash of water sloshed over the edge of his bucket. She drew her shoulders back and faced him squarely. His chin dropped, posture slouching as he took a half step back and bumped into the wall, gaze flitting like a trapped animal.
“Uh, sorry, sir,” he began. Some mix of regret and frustration tightened his grimace. “Just trying to lighten the mood … Everything’s so doom-and-gloom around here. Hell, maybe I’ve caught a case of that viral unrest too.”
She flexed her jaw, resisting the urge to raise her voice. “Shape up, or you can kiss that animus offer goodbye. We’ll see how much your pile of diplomas helps when you’re buffing floors for the next decade.”