Star Trek: Corp of Engineers - 072 - Ghost by Ilsa J. Bick

Author:Ilsa J. Bick [Bick, Ilsa J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General, Science Fiction, Space Opera, Adventure
ISBN: 9781416549758
Google: c-cda-Z9DA4C
Amazon: B000TFNG70
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2007-07-01T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

“You want wha…? What…what time is it?” Throbbing head in hand, Faulwell teetered on the edge of the bed. The room was in semi-darkness, and even that was too damned bright.

Six hours before, he’d dressed, debated about going after Anthony, left his room intending to do just that—and then detoured into the Officer’s Club because, well, what the hell. He wasn’t a drinking type but had somewhat romanticized notions of what someone did when his heart was broken: cry in his beer, go on a bender, drink himself blind, get pissed…Yes, all clichés, but he was a bookish kind of guy.

The first bourbon—real bourbon, not this synthehol crap—burned a fiery finger all the way down then exploded in his stomach like a photon torpedo. The second still hurt, but by the fourth, he thought he’d gotten the hang of it. Somewhere between his seventh and eighth, he’d started to cry and that’s when the bartender started with the coffee.

Now he had a hangover that was melting his eyeballs; sudden tilts of vertigo if he moved too quickly; his mouth tasted like something furry had peed, crapped, and then died about a week ago in there; and his stomach had crawled up somewhere just south of his throat.

“It’s only ten your time,” Lense came back, impatience dripping from her voice. “Around one here.”

“One…where…what…”

“I’m in Washington at Jennifer’s place and…”

She said something else but Faulwell sort of phased out and then back in, said, “Did…did you just say killed…?”

Exasperated Lense noises. “I don’t know. It’s just…strange. I was going to run a couple tests back at the Academy, but I don’t want Stern to know what I’m doing, not yet. There’s only one place where I might get the information I want without too many people getting wind of it before I’m ready.”

“Ready for…?”

“Don’t know yet. Anyway, I need you for Jennifer’s computer.”

Had she mentioned that already? “For what?”

There was a silence on the other end, and then Lense said, “Are you with anyone? Is Anthony…?”

“No, no,” Faulwell said, sitting up too quickly. The room spun, and he slid a little sideways until his shoulder met the headboard. Just rest here awhile… “I’m fine.” He hiccupped, felt the bourbon fumes burn his nose. “Fine.”

“Okay.” Not convinced. “So…will you do it?”

“Sure, sure.”

“Great.” She waited while he fumbled for a stylus, then rattled off transporter coordinates and an address, then said, “And here’s the code to get into her apartment and for the privacy shield. Put it back up when you leave.”

“Uh,” he said, in a sudden burst of clarity, “is this legal?”

“Of course it is.”

So, okay, why couldn’t Stern know? He thought about asking, decided he really didn’t want to know the answer, gathered his fraying wits long enough to muster: “So…uh…what am I looking for? Something suspicious?”

That just broke him up. He collapsed in a fit of spluttery giggles and stopped only because he worried his head would fall off.

Another silence from Lense. Then: “Are you drunk?”

“No.” Faulwell puffed out his chest so he was only half-slouching against the headboard.

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