Into the Black Hole

Chapter 33: Whiplash

Shifting my feet and fidgeting, at midnight, I knock on the Quartermaster's door. Scratch that. I pound on his door. The sound of opera playing over electronic hip hop music is muffled by the airtight entrance, but whoever's in that cabin is steadily losing their hearing.

The music cuts. The door opens, and the sharp scent assails me.

Guess sobriety didn't last, and now he's making up for lost time. Hopefully, this signifies he'll be in a better mood.

Then I survey his presentation: Bloodshot eyes, puffy cheeks, cedar-brown sweatpants, no shoes, no bandana, white shirt unbuttoned, the way his weight hugs the doorframe...

Felix is drunk—a miracle, considering he's constantly intoxicated—meaning he must've emptied an entire bathtub full of whiskey. Once his eyes focus on my face, he groans, grabbing my hand and yanking me inside before shutting the door behind us. I yelp.

He turns on me, backing me further into his dim room. "What are you doing here?" he questions, the brusque tone implying he's not in a better mood at all.

I sidestep the discarded liquor bottles, keeping my gaze locked on his. "You've been ignoring my calls."

"Yeah, that's usually what somebody does when they don't wish to speak to you. Or see you, for that matter." He brushes past me, pouring himself a glass of gin and downing it like it's a shot. Teetering, he sets the glass on his desk with enough force to almost shatter it. "You were an idiot today. For a multitude of reasons."

Annoyed when he doesn't continue, I prompt, "Such as?"

Twisting around, he leans against his desk and stares at me with dark, liquid eyes. "You're being too obvious. What you did earlier? You cannot address me as though I'm your friend. What you're doing now? You cannot materialize here in the dead of night. How am I supposed to ensure your safety when you aren't taking the necessary precautions?"

"I don't think he suspects anything," I state, recalling that hours ago, Huxley apologized for Felix's behavior.

"That's what he wants you to believe. Everyone on this ship is loyal to Boss. They're his eyes and ears. Don't you have a couple guards spooring you?"

"Timour's covering for me. They think I'm staying at his place for the night, so they're guarding his door."

"My, my." Felix's lips curl distastefully. "And what does Boss have to say about this little... liaison?"

"He..." I rack my brain for a sufficient defense, but the truth is, Huxley was furious that one moment he brought it up. I doubt he's forgotten. "I don't know."

"That boy's going to end up dead."

My eyes snap up to his. "You think Boss will kill him?"

"If I were Boss, I would. Timour's a connection to your past. Erase him, and Boss is all you have left."

"No. If Timour dies, Boss knows I won't help with his precious NeuroQueue agenda."

Felix shrugs. "Perhaps he's prepared to take that chance."

Restless silence drags for half a minute, before I ask, "Why didn't you come see me in the hospital?"

His answer is different this time, "I already told you: I can't give the impression that I care about you. It's too perilous."

"Actually, you didn't tell me anything."

"It was implied."

"Bullshit. You couldn't call? You couldn't text a quick 'are you okay?' Or do those words cross into 'care too much' territory? Also, your argument is unfounded, because I've spent weeks on this ship, and I'm bound to meet a few people. They've seen us eat meals together. Thomson and Nupan visited. My coworkers. But not you. You could've even pretended that you were simply keeping an eye on Boss' asset."