Bonnie

Appointment. Filing notes. Appointment. Filing notes. Appointment. Filing notes. Lunch break. More appointments. More filing notes. Occasional drug cabinet checks. Bonnie’s days were somehow both monotonous and filled with turmoil.

There was a great deal of trauma and anxiety to be worked through. If there was one thing Bonnie could say for certain with her field, it was that nothing was quickly fixed. Quite a few crew members had made appointments solely in the hope of a quick medicinal fix for their nerves, one of whom had pulled a weapon on her when she refused. Trying to convince them to take the slower and far less immediately gratifying option of talking therapy, while fully aware that her schedule was filled, was a challenge in and of itself. If she didn’t have enough appointment slots, how could she push for more people to opt for therapy instead of, or alongside, a prescription?

At least her busy professional life had allowed her to avoid some areas of issue within her personal life. Avoidance was its own issue, however.

If Bonnie had to look Slate in the face, she would struggle not to throw something large and spiky at it. Yet, she could only avoid him for so long. Many of her patients were referencing one of his decisions as a stressor for them. It fell almost within her responsibility to question the commander on this decision. And even if it was not her duty, her own curiosity needed quenching.

Every step down the grey corridor to his office drained another drop of energy from her. A young officer stepped through the doorway as she approached. He started at her sight and gave her an awkward nod. She would be seeing him again in two days for an appointment. Fighting PTSD and GAD, very valiantly, Bonnie might add. She smiled softly at him and nodded back. He took his leave swiftly. Bonnie waved her hand along the door edge into Slate’s office before it could close, activating the motion sensor.

Slate’s eyes snapped up, black holes sucking her in. He did not appear impressed to see her. No doubt more so because she had snuck in without requesting entrance. She continued her path to his desk, and he sighed, eyelids dropping to half-mast.

“If you keep coming back here to discuss a single kiss, I may yet regret to having done it,” he announced instead of a greeting. As he spoke, Bonnie’s gaze was forcibly drawn to his mouth. His smoky-blue skin was interrupted by black stubble running along his jaw, chin and top lip. It was the first time she had not seen him clean-shaven.

His words prickled at her pride, wounded as it already was it hurt all the more. Bonnie’s skin burned.

“That is not what I am here for, Commander,” she said with barely restrained irritation. “And I would appreciate it if we could move past that incident completely. It was a moment of emotional turmoil for us both. It can be left in that moment.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “What is it you have come here for, then?” Despite asking, he could not have made it clearer through his expression that he did not care why Bonnie had returned to his office.

She began tentatively, “I know that this is not my place to question-”

“Then do not question,” Slate drawled.

She folded her arms over her chest and gave him a flat look. He returned it, unashamed of his poor behaviour.

“We haven’t moved in well over a week,” she said. “I mean, The Sentinel hasn’t-”

“Spaceships are always moving,” he argued. He spoke down to her as though she had never lifted a toe off the face of the Earth prior to this experiment. A naive woman who had never left her hometown. “There is constant force working in all directions-”

“You know what I’m referring to, Commander,” she said with raised brows and plummeting patience.

The Sentinel was deadly still. Hovering in view of the dusty planet where their officers had been attacked. It was unclear to the crew members whether they were the predator or the prey in this silent standoff. No one had orders except to be on alert. All stations were manned to full capacity, although not a soul seemed to have any precise orders. Without a battle plan, anxiety was creeping its way through the ship. Uncertainty was niggling at the officers minds, questioning whether they were the carcasses awaiting picking from the vultures.

Slate grumbled, “Navigation is none of your concern, Doctor.” He flicked at a tablet on his desk, but Bonnie could clearly see he was merely opening and closing reports at random.

“Are we waiting for orders?” Bonnie suggested. If she could at least advise her patients that their commander was awaiting a new mission from the alliance, it would hold off the worst of the hysteria.

A painfully long pause held them. Slate suddenly refused to look her in the eyes, but there was definitely movement behind his own. Bonnie would wait as long as he took to debate his answer, he should know by now that she is too stubborn to be shaken off with the silent treatment.

He finally answered at a barely audible volume. “We are waiting for permission.”

“Permission for what?”

“Demolition.”

If she weren’t so shocked by his answer, she might have questioned where he learnt that word, or why he would need to learn it in English. He had only discovered what ‘dog’ meant the previous week. Quite a few human officers received write-ups once he connected the dots of their muttered insults. It was fascinating to discover which words were considered key vocabulary to learn by the Ailu’t, and which were sidelined as being unnecessary to the mission. Effie using the word ‘aberrational’ but having not even a guess at what ‘weird’ could possibly mean was another prime example.

“Excuse me?” Bonnie whispered.

“That planet,” he said darkly. “I am going to obliterate it.”

“That planet is under neither Human nor Ailu’t control. You don’t know what the consequences of your actions could be.”

“There are criminals under the surface. Murderers.”

“You don’t know that there aren’t innocent people in those tunnels, too.”

Slate replied through gritted teeth, “I will not risk more officers to check.”

“Then you have no right to commit a mass murder of your own,” Bonnie snapped.

“It is not your decision.”

“Neither is it yours,” she rebutted. “You are not the judge, jury and executioner of the galaxy.”

“As it is neither of our decisions, we have no need to discuss it any further.” He was playing at tranquillity, attempting to appear the more rational within the argument by restraining his tone. She could see the difficulty it was causing him though, the wisp-grey skin of his neck looked taut enough to snap with the slightest jaw tic.

Bonnie dragged her dark eyes over him, offloading all of her disgust with his words in a single look. It would do nothing to antagonise her commander. Except feel incredibly satisfying. Bonnie would take any satisfaction she could scrape together these days.

“Fine,” she said dismissively. He was not worth her time, her energy, her counsel. She turned away smoothly and strode out, pouring the last droplets of her confidence into the rhythm of her steps. Even staring at her retreat, she wanted Slate frothing at the mouth with irritation.

“Fine!” he shouted at her back.

She smiled to herself; her commander was nothing if not predictable. His plans did concern her, though. Her first action upon returning to her office was to draft up a message to her Alliance representative, making her feelings clearly known regarding Slate’s request for demolition permission.

When she finally finished all of her appointments and filing for the day, she read over the message and made some tweaks, sprinkling in quotes of Earth laws regarding galactic war and human rights. She could only hope it would be enough to convince the Alliance to refuse Slate’s request. It was all she could do.