~ by Stella
âHow am I to deal with you?â Frustration evident in her voice, Dion brushed back the hair from her eyes, and then absently started to worry at a fingernail. âNo matter which way I turn, youâre there, blocking me.â She continued to mutter to herself. âYouâre too dangerous to ignore, and too unpredictable to trustâ¦â The object of her conversation with herself, an image of a dark haired man on the screen, offered no answers. Once more, she leaned towards the computer to key in yet another series of command codes, searching for the files that would yield the information that she needed. She impatiently coaxed and teased information on shipping routes, Federation Security activities, and anything on the subject named Avon. Of all the wild cards in the deck currently stacked against her, he was the most worrisome..âDamn computers, not my job playing nursemaid to a piece of junk like this. Come on, you damn box, give me access, or Iâll rearrange you with a laser drill.â The woman continued to mutter angrily to herself, so engrossed in her task that she didnât hear the man who walked softly into the sparsely furnished room.
âStill abusing the computer, Dion?â The manâs shoulder length hair was so blond as to appear white, and it framed a face that showed the cares of thirty-four eventful and often troubled years. At the moment, a quiet sad smile was the only overt expression on his face, as he thoughtfully considered the unresponsive woman sitting at the console in front of him.
Dion wasnât prepossessing, being of average height and average attractiveness. This trait had allowed her to blend in easily in crowds in the past-very much to her benefit. Dark haired, with grey beginning to thread, she still managed to occasionally look younger than her thirty-eight years. This was especially noticeable when she forgot her dignity or her reserve, enough to smile. Just now, however, she appeared tired and irritated. Jared wasnât entirely convinced about his earlier decision to ensure that his problematic friend got a decent meal and some sleep. With luck, it would be several hours of sleep.
âLookâ, he said, as she finally deigned to notice his arrival, âYou are so tired youâre not getting anything productive accomplished. You need calories, and some overdue sleep.â Ignoring Dionâs reflexive scowl, Jared leaned over her shoulder and keyed in the sequence to store the data and to clear the screen. As she started to protest his highhandedness, he chuckled. âYou can argue about it later. After food. After sleep.â âBesidesâ, he continued, âwhen was the last time you won an argument with me?â
Dion said nothing as she stared up at him, then she slowly levered herself from her chair, and moved past him, towards the corridor. As she vanished into the hallway, Jared turned back to the console and removed the data disc. Her quiet compliance with his suggestions made him nervous. Reflecting that he would have preferred an outburst of some kind, he pocketed the data disc and decided to head for the control centreâif only to ensure that Dion hadnât gone there.
