I stared at the words on my viewscreen. Camille had mirrored her terminal to mine; I could see everything she was seeing. Could see everything she was doing.

I was a hairsbreadth away from tearing down to engineering and making sure she was all right.

when you go to rome, do as rome does

Clarify, she wrote back.

rome will be a ugly customer to you, if you don’t

“Is he threatening us?” Camille asked over the comm.

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head in reply.

Clarify, she wrote again.

i’m your rome, you know

“That’s all from the book?” Camille asked.

“Yes.” I’d already found the passage.

“What shall I write back? I’m not sure ‘clarify’ is going to get us far.”

I swiped pages on my datapad, trying to decide what would be best. But the character the lines were for in the book, didn’t say anything for several pages. I finally found his next words.

“Let me write something, Chief,” I said.

“Go for it,” she offered, taking a step back from her console on the viewscreen. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her terminal. I could almost feel sorry for the damn thing.

I typed in a line, wondering if confronting the saboteur like this would backfire on me.

You oppose yourself to the profit of the business and me and my partners suffer.

For what felt like a very long time nothing happened.

Then the saboteur responded.

i try to be a good wife

“Oh, this just gets more and more bizarre,” Camille muttered.

I stared at the screen and then stared down at the datapad. I huffed out a breath of laughter and started to write.

Is it being a good wife to oppose your husband’s business?

Silence. Or, in this case, a blinking cursor on the viewscreen.

“Well, that went splendidly,” Camille said dryly.

“Give it time,” I murmured. “He’s trying to decide if he wants to carry on quoting the book at me or deviate from it. And if the saboteur is male, I’m sure he doesn’t like being called my wife.”

Camille sniggered.

“Some would, you know,” I offered.

“Yes, Captain,” Camille said levelly.

“They would! I’m a catch.”

“Of course you are, sir.”

“I am,” I muttered.

Camille burst out laughing.

“Just because you love your machines more than me, Chief doesn’t mean I’m not a good catch.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, sir.”

“You implied it. With your Frenchness.”

“My Frenchness?”

“Yes. That French way you have of laughing at me.”

“Sir, that’s not French. That’s female.”

I started to chuckle. “Fine. Fine. I’m married to this blasted ship, anyway.”

Camille blinked at me on the viewscreen.

“Are you?” she asked.

“Am I what?”

“Married to the Chariot?”

“I’m thinking of getting a divorce,” I said, deadpan.

“Well, she is opposing your business.”

“Women!” I said dryly.

Camille grinned widely at me.

God damn it, why couldn’t she like me more than her machines? I’d be prepared to share her. I wouldn’t get jealous if the main boost thrust demanded a little more attention from time to time. As long as she came back to my quarters after she soothed its spooling or whatever the hell it is she does to the thing.

“Captain?”

“Yes, Chief?”

“I don’t think he’s going to reply.”

“Well, that is a shame. I’d already selected my next quote from the book.”

“Does it involve divorce?”

“Do you want me to divorce the Chariot, Chief? Do you have a better offer for me if I do?”

She looked down, her lashes spreading across her creamy cheeks. Sometimes I took the jokes a little too far.

“All right, Chief. What’s the next step?” I asked, trying to move us along.

She looked up at me and blinked, something wistful flittering across her eyes.

I sat up straighter.

“I’m not sure, sir,” she said, and I deflated. We were back to sir. If there had been something there, I’d missed it. “He’s aware of my programme now, but so far, he hasn’t tampered with it.”

“But it can no longer catch him unawares,” I guessed.

“I’m afraid not, sir. He hasn’t removed it. In fact, he’s danced with it.”

I frowned. “Danced with it?”

“Written code to complement it, sir. His code and my code have interacted.”

“Sounds dirty.”

She rolled her eyes.

“The point is, he’s improved it, sir.”

I stared at my chief of engineering and tried to think.

“That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever,” I finally announced.

“This saboteur makes no sense, sir.”

She sounded tired. I checked my watch. It was late. Or extremely early; whichever way you wanted to look at it. And if Camille had been finding it difficult to sleep as much as I had for the past few nights, then she would be dead on her feet.

“Get some rest, Chief,” I said, stifling my own yawn.

“You too, sir.”

“I need it. Not sure if I’ll get it, but…”

“We’ll both count sheep.”

I smiled at her; wanting nothing more than to have her lying beside me and doing just that. Counting sheep.

I almost said it. I almost offered to help wear her out in another manner, in a way that would leave her sated and floating and blissfully sleepy.

But I was on the bridge, surrounded by the third shift flight crew. And she was in engineering, surrounded by her team.

“Perhaps we’ll think of something by morning,” I offered.

“I’ll certainly try, Captain.”

“Me too.”

She looked at me; her face shining brightly on the viewscreen. Tendrils of soft blonde hair framing her delicate bones. Her cheeks pale, her lips rosy. Those soulful brown eyes staring right into me.

“Goodnight, sir,” she said.

“Goodnight, Camille,” I offered.

The screen went blank, and the bridge appeared darker all of a sudden. I stretched, stood from my seat, and bid my farewells to the flight deck.

I’d made it as far as the door to my quarters when the klaxon went off.

The orange alert on the gel floor was instantly replaced with red.

I turned on my heel and ran back to the bridge. It looked like neither of us would be counting sheep.