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her, too. But do not say you will hurt her, even if you are joking. It is not funny.”
    “Look at ’em,” said Travis as the couple shared a kiss. “Broad daylight, like nothing’s wrong with it at all. They’ve got some nerve.”
    Max slipped on his boots. “How do you like the way she’s been cakin’ herself with makeup? Viktor must be into mimes.”
    “Don’t stare,” Svetlana warned. “You will only make it worse.”
    “I could break both their necks.”
    She slapped his shoulder hard. “Stop that, Max, now . We just had good mission, we do not need to ruin it. This is the only problem with the unit right now—there are a thousand other good things to think about.”
    “I’m not like you, Sveta,” Max said. “I can’t just turn it off.”
    She sighed exasperatedly. “I am not turning it off. Do you think I am not just as frustrated as you? But we do not need this. Jayden does not need this, Scott does not need this, and you most certainly do not need this.” She looked him in the eyes. “You work with Viktor. He is a lieutenant, like you are. You must get along.” Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by Varvara’s voice.
    “Excuse me.”
    The younger blond medic cautiously made her way past them to reach her own bunk. No one said a word as she scooted by. At least, not until she was through.
    “Whore,” said Max.
    Varvara spun around. “What?”
    That was all it took to make the whole room react. Every head whipped to the scene.
    “I am not a whore !” said Varvara, pointing her finger squarely at Max. Then, before Max could rise to his feet, Viktor was there. The slayer-medic grabbed hold of Max’s collar, slamming him against a bunk. Max punched Viktor back. The street fight began. Grabbing Viktor from behind just as Svetlana stepped in to try and break up the fight, Becan tackled the adulterous slayer to the floor.
    “Everyone, stop!” Dostoevsky, wrapped in a towel in preparation for a shower, grabbed Becan by the jersey and tore him off.
    Becan maintained his balance. “He started it—”
    “Shut up,” Dostoevsky cut the Irishman off, turning to Viktor. The slayer’s lower lip was busted open.
    “It was not Viktor,” Varvara said. “He came here to defend me. Max called me a whore.”
    “That’s ’cause you are a whore,” Max said.
    Surging around Dostoevsky, Viktor charged at Max again. Dostoevsky snagged him by his collar and slung him toward the showers, where he narrowly missed Esther’s wet head.
    “The next person who moves—” Dostoevsky caught his own anger. He drew a breath, then turned to his fellow Nightman officer. “Viktor, go to your quarters.”
    Viktor’s eyes bore into Max. “Da, commander,” he answered, straightening out his collar and storming for the door.
    “Egor, go with him.”
    The hulking slayer complied.
    As soon as Viktor and Egor left the room, Dostoevsky, still draped in a towel, directed his glare to Svetlana. “Sveta, how did this begin?”
    The first look that hit Svetlana was shock. Desperation ensued. “Yuri, please do not make me—”
    “Answer me,” he interrupted her. “Now.”
    A suffocating silence blanketed the room. From those closest to the scene to those watching from afar, everyone seemed to be holding their breath.
    “Don’t,” Max whispered, looking at Svetlana. “Please.”
    She shook her head disgustedly. “I cannot lie for you, Max. You have a problem!”
    Dostoevsky spoke immediately. “Max, go to the lounge.”
    “Veck,” Max muttered.
    “Go to the lounge, close the door, and defuse your temper.”
    Eyeing Svetlana bitterly, Max disappeared through the lounge door.
    “Do you see what you did?” Svetlana asked angrily, turning to the now red-eyed Varvara.
    “Sveta...” warned Dostoevsky.
    “Do you see what you did to this place?”
    “Svetlana Voronova!”
    Svetlana flinched, her blue eyes breaking away from her younger blond counterpart.
    “Go and tell the captain what happened,”