She wasn't sure what love was, but she knew that what she felt for Dax was stronger than anything she'd ever felt before. He was more than a friend, much more.
After a while she reluctantly pulled away, taking his hand the way Belix had hers earlier and pulling him back towards the galley. “Come on, let's go eat.”
Chapter Fifteen
Digging
Lana had a plan.
Specifically, her plan was that if Dax was determined to act as animated as a railgun slug all the time, she was going to find a way to get through his rigid discipline to the person inside. The first step was to shock him into showing some reaction, something besides his usual professional composure.
Or well, actually, the first step was to change her shifts around so she was awake the same hours he was, so she could spend more time with him. That way she'd have every waking hour available to implement her plan.
She started small the second day out from Callous, doing things like taking his hand, touching his shoulder as she passed, hugging him hello and goodbye. It was a bit awkward, but at the same time, she found herself enjoying the opportunity to touch him, even in those simple ways. Not to mention longing for more opportunities, and for longer and more intimate contact.
Those desires were a bit confusing, and she'd probably die of embarrassment if she tried something like sitting on his lap or kissing him at this point.
But she planned to get there eventually. Just to break through his self-control, of course.
Which was going to be a real challenge, because the young man stubbornly refused to show any reaction to her affection. Although he didn't complain about it or try to stop her, either, which she hoped meant he was enjoying it as much as she was. Or at least didn't find it terribly unpleasant.
“So where are we headed now?” she asked that afternoon, as they were doing routine maintenance on the life support system. Or at least he was, while instructing her on the process and letting her do the stuff that required zero knowledge or skill. Like handing him tools.
Dax turned to look at her. “Now, following the Captain's standard protocol, we power hard for the other side of the galaxy, where with any luck the heat will be off us. Then we'll start visiting systems, gathering intel, planning our next raid.”
“So we'll be fighting again in a few days?” she asked worriedly.
He continued to stare at her, which meant she'd probably said something silly. “You must think we spend all our time going from one battle to another,” he finally said. Was that amusement teasing his blank features?
Lana blinked. “Don't you? So your attack on the Fleetfoot, then that pirate attack about a week later, wasn't usual?”
“It's somewhat hard to predict when someone's going to attack you,” the young man said, tone very nearly wry. “But the attacks we can predict, we take our time with. Try to imagine the immense stress if we went through three or four battles a week for years on end?”
“Oh.” She felt a bit silly, since she'd kind of assumed that was exactly what they did. “Then how does it usually go?”
Dax made a motion with his hand like waves. “Like the tide. It goes in, and there's a flood. Then it goes out, and there's a lull. We usually spend weeks going through the data we took from previous targets to find good new ones, planning out a hit, as well as visiting stations, planets, and communications hubs for more intel. Then we pick the safest lucrative target and go after it, at most two if the rewards are good and the first attack goes cleanly. Then we leave the sector and even the quadrant to give the heat a chance to die down, pick out the next set of targets, and choose one. Rinse, repeat.”
He made a more vague gesture around them. “Right now, for instance, transit alone will take at least a week, and gathering intel might be another week or two for the initial stage, and perhaps that same time to select a target from available options. Then we need to plan and prepare the attack, which can sometimes take days or even weeks. We don't take chances.”
Lana frowned. “If that's your pattern then why don't trading vessels just make their movements random, so you can't predict them in advance?”
“They try, of course, at least as much as they can. But it's impossible to run any sort of stable trading business without at least some semblance of a routine. Traders have to rely on contacts, business partners, a profitable route, and orders made in advance, which all give them some predictability.”
Dax adjusted his multitool and buried his head back in the life support system's wiring, digging around for what he wanted to work on next. “Besides, we try to use different ID transponders and change our ship's profile after each attack, so the Deeks have a harder time recognizing our patterns.”
Well, she supposed it was a relief to know the life she'd recklessly chosen to throw herself into wasn't going to be nonstop fighting. She wiggled a bit closer to Dax and looked over his shoulder to see what he was doing, as he got back to explaining routine maintenance.
Lana knew she was getting through to the young man the third day into her plan when, almost without seeming to realize it, Dax didn't hesitate to put an arm around her shoulders when she leaned up against his side, as he was showing her something on his station's display on the bridge. And later, on their way to the galley for lunch, he was the one who took her hand and held it.
She practically skipped the whole way.
Although progress or not, she was a bit ashamed
