“Occasionally. Today when I was running, for example. This food is excellent, by the way. We have a five star chef on board the Nebula Zephyr and I’m no expert, but this tastes just as good.”
She put her utensils on her plate with a thump and studied him with a serious expression. “If I go, there are parts of the ship I want to see. Parts passengers don’t get to see.”
Feeling like he was suddenly deep in a vital negotiation with no warning, Trevor blinked. “For example?”
“If I go, I want this trip to counteract the one I was on as a child,” she said, fiddling with her napkin and twisting the fabric into a tight curl. “I don’t want to cower in my cabin, praying to the Lords of Space we arrive in one piece. I want to do the usual passenger style things like hit the casino and see the shows and whatever else your ship has to offer, but I also want to try to replace the awful pictures in my head from my childhood with whatever your ship looks like. Operating normally, full of happy healthy people, not deserted and wrecked and full of dead bodies and other horrific things. The sights I see in my nightmares pretty much every time.”
The Tajikka sat up and went to her side, nudging her elbow until she gave in and began petting him. After smoothing out the napkin, Gianna took a deep breath and drank a sip or two of wine. “I suppose it sounds like an odd idea to you.”
Considering the issue, Trevor didn’t answer right away. How would he react if he had a chance to revisit the prison camp where he’d suffered and nearly died? Would such a trip help him conquer his demons?
Not only no, but hell no.
Glancing at Gianna, who was watching him, he understood the cases weren’t similar. He’d been an adult, trained elite soldier. She’d been a child, probably bewildered and terrified. It might work for her. “I think it’s worth a try. It’s an unorthodox idea, certainly, but that’s no reason to shoot it down out of hand. You do realize we’re not an exact duplicate of the ship you were on? And I imagine the trim and outfitting must be different, given so many years in between.”
Undaunted, she pushed back on his warning. “But the ship is the same configuration, right?”
“Pretty much.” Not sure what she wanted to hear or what might encourage or discourage her, he offered a detail he knew to be a fact. “The engine decks are totally different because no one uses the unproven tech your ship had.”
She shook her head. “I never saw the engine rooms anyway. I want to see the bridge, the hold, the storeroom behind the galley, the casino, the observatory, the beach deck—you do have one, don’t you?”
He nodded slowly, considering her list. “I’m pretty confident the captain might agree to most of the requests, maybe all of them. Your list isn’t too different from a special ship’s tour and of course anyone can spend time in the last three places.” Trevor suspected she hadn’t presented her full list of demands but knowing how much trouble his shipping line’s president was going to on this venture, he was confident she’d get her wishes granted. Unless of course the unusual tour set off a PTSD incident. He assessed the service animal but Verlaine was peacefully seated, to all appearances not bothered by his mistress’s demeanor. “Perhaps we could start with the simpler stuff, the places any passenger can go and work our way up to the more complicated stops, like the hold. I’ll need the cargo master’s permission there, so I can’t promise access there. Which area has the greatest significance for you?”
Gianna closed her eyes, going white-faced. “I—I don’t know if I’m going to risk that.”
Verlaine rested his front paws on the arm of her chair and licked her face with his long pink tongue, whining.
Kicking himself for upsetting her, although he wasn’t sure what had been the trigger aside from his asking a question, Trevor left his chair and hovered, unsure what she might need from him.
Rising from her heavy, carved wooden chair, which he pulled out of her way once he realized she wanted to leave the room, Gianna opened her eyes and stared at him. Verlaine pressed close to her and she laid her hand on the hound’s head, rolling the silky ear between her thumb and fingers as if for comfort. “You’ll have to excuse me.” Her voice was breathless, the words rushed.
“I’m sorry—”
“It’s not your fault, it’s me and my damned memories,” she said, jaw clenched. “Please finish your meal. I’m going to the studio to paint because creativity always relaxes me. See you in the morning.”
Trevor wasn’t sure she should be allowed to go off alone but there was no one else in the room with them and he clearly wasn’t invited to accompany her. He watched as she and the Tajikka exited and then turned to go find Duffy. The elderly servant came through the door and took in the situation with a glance.
“Miss Gianna having a bad evening?”
“We were discussing the upcoming voyage and she gave me a list of places on board she wants to visit,” Trevor said. “I guess the discussion became triggering the longer we talked.”
A robo server came into the room and Duffy stacked the plates and utensils on its tray. “Don’t worry about it. We learned a long time ago there’s no predicting what will set off either the anxiety or an actual incident. My advice, if she goes on the voyage, is to keep an eye on Verlaine. If he acts overly concerned, then you must be as well.”
“She went to paint, or so she said.”
“Good.” The elderly man gave him a sad smile. “She almost always rebounds with an elevated mood after she’s been in the studio. Her gift for painting is a blessing. One of the caregivers her father engaged theorized the act of creativity pulls Gianna out of the traumatic incident and takes her to a better place, in her head. Did you need anything else tonight, sir?”
Realizing he’d been dismissed and by the servant at that, Trevor shook his head, grabbed a big piece of fruit for later and headed toward the stairs. But as he went past the library, he felt drawn to study the paintings one more time, especially the one of the man with the three shadows. Standing in front of the art, he admired the brushwork and the way the colors flowed from one part of the painting to the next. The central figure didn’t appear to be in distress, but stood at ease, as if the trio of unsubstantial beings were comrades or friends. I wish I could achieve the same level of peace in my soul.
He wondered how much Gianna charged for her paintings, not that he had an ideal space in his quarters on board the Nebula Zephyr for such a major piece of art but he found it relaxing to contemplate. As if he could study and analyze it long enough to find the answer to his own inner demons. I wish I’d had a handy hobby to pull me out of my funk. With a rueful laugh he remembered there had been therapists at the military hospital where he rehabilitated who’d offered what he and his fellow vets dismissively called arts and crafts. “Yeah, I’m no interstellar creative talent, that’s for damn sure.” He was good at fighting the alien enemy and defending the Sectors but was no longer called upon for such duty.
Too damaged. Too unstable for combat situations. Washed up.
At least he could exhaust himself enough with physical activity like the running to attain a few moments of peace.
Glancing out the open patio doors, he saw the lights on in Gianna’s studio and without too much internal debate, headed in that direction. He still had his military implants, so his night vision far exceeded an ordinary human’s, and the darkened paths posed no obstacles for him. The cheerful glow of the studio drew him like a beacon. The closer he got, he was able to hear soft instrumental music playing.