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Chapter 4

This wasn’t so bad. Dallin looked around the shuttle as he let the autopilot take him to the waystation.

He hadn’t been off the Apocalypse in such a long time that it had taken him a few minutes to get familiar with the controls of the shuttle, but then the information he needed flooded his brain, and everything clicked into place.

Travelling through space on his own felt good. He could handle this. There was nothing to it.

His stomach clenched as his thoughts flitted to the noise and chaos waiting for him when he got to the waystation. His breath shortened and his chest tightened as a panic attack threatened.

Dallin took in several deep diaphragmatic breaths. This style of breathing calmed his nervous system and slowed his heart rate. He could do this. This was for his crew, and they needed protecting. He’d locate the source of the poison, reverse engineer an antidote, and everyone would be safe. He just needed to keep his shit together long enough to make that happen.

Dallin wouldn’t have thought twice about doing this before he’d volunteered for the enhancement program. He’d always enjoyed exploring new places, heading out into the wilds for a few days with friends, and going on adventures to see what they could discover.

But he’d never thought he was good enough, and always had a point to prove, like some jerk on an ego quest to self-destruction. Dallin had always been certain he could be better and stronger than anyone else.

Why couldn’t he have been satisfied with his lot?

The enhancements had worked for about five weeks. He’d needed less sleep, could focus for longer, and all his senses were heightened.

Then the shit hit the airlock. And now he was just a fuck up on a path to imploding.

Dallin traced a finger over the faint scar behind his ear, where one of many chips had been grafted. He couldn’t go back and change what had happened to him, he just needed to learn better coping strategies.

And he had one that worked, where no one could mess with him. He’d created a haven on board the Apocalypse in his lab. He had his experiments, his octo-squibs, and he had Sloane.

No, he didn’t have her, not in the way he really wanted. His cock hardened as his thoughts went to that moment when he’d almost kissed her. They’d been standing so close that her breasts had brushed against his chest, and he’d felt her nipples harden.

Sloane had always made her attraction to him clear, but she didn’t know what she was toying with. She needed more than some messed up science experiment. She wanted parties, adventure, and new experiences. All she’d get from him was let down, disappointment, and someone who couldn’t control his screwed up abilities.

“ELVIS, are you linked in with me?” Dallin had to focus on the mission. That was the only thing that mattered.

“I’m still within range. I’m on long range sensors, so I can stay with you until we reach the waystation.”

“Do that. I need you to map out all routes the crew took while they were on the waystation during their last visit. Don’t miss anyone. I need to investigate all sites.”

“Processing your request now.”

Dallin sat back in his seat and tried to get used to his new surroundings. It was strange being away from the Apocalypse. And it felt stranger still to not have Sloane nearby.

Even though he acted like her presence annoyed him, he loved her being around. She was always looking out for him, and everyone else. She had that natural instinct to care and make other aliens comfortable and happy.

As hard as he tried to pretend Sloane didn’t affect him, most of his thoughts were taken up with her. And when she wasn’t in the lab, her honey scent lingered like a ghost, making sure he didn’t forget her. Although there was no chance of that ever happening.

“Here’s a schematic of crew movements while on board the waystation,” ELVIS said. “Sending it to your display screen now.”

Dallin’s throat tightened as he stared at all the different routes the crew had used. What was wrong with them? Why couldn’t they simply find one or two spots they liked and remain there?

His eyes narrowed. For stars’ sake! One crew member had visited twenty sites. He ran his fingers over the different routes, and his gut spasmed.

He couldn’t do this. There were too many places to visit. He’d see too many aliens. And the noise would overwhelm his senses. He wouldn’t be able to process anything, let alone discover where the Siblet had slipped the poison to the crew.

His vision blurred as his brain went into overload. He was a screw-up. He’d fail in this simple task before he’d even tried.

Maybe he should turn back. He should have listened to Sloane and Cleo. The rest of the crew knew he wasn’t capable of doing this.

Even though Dallin knew how important this was, he couldn’t get a handle on all the thoughts spinning through his head. He needed to visit a gym, fifteen bars, twenty-five restaurants, two spas, a library, sixty-eight stores, and... he slumped forward in his seat as his system overrode his senses, and everything dimmed.

When he got this bad, he was nothing more than a damaged machine in need of a hard reboot, and maybe in the head.