Authors: Zoe Archer
“
Was
.” Calder’s voice glinted with anger. “Lieutenant Commander Torrin Marek. He resigned six solar months ago. Said he’d had enough of working for no profit.”
“That’s what he put in his withdrawal log?” Celene couldn’t believe Marek’s arrogance. She scrutinized his image. A perfectly average face looked back with unseeing eyes. Marek had ridges down his cheeks, common for people from the Alua System. Everything about him seemed ordinary. But treachery appeared harmless—she knew that now.
Calder shook his head. “It’s what he told me.” His lips tightened. “Marek was in Engineering. I used to work with him.”
Different as she and Lieutenant Calder were, they shared anger and feelings of betrayal. She saw it in his face, in his eyes.
She wanted to hit something. Wanted to shout herself hoarse. Bad enough knowing there was a device out there that completely hamstrung the 8
th
Wing’s most crucial weapon. But the fact that it had been created by one of their own…
“I’ll kill the fucker,” Kell said.
“No, you won’t, Commander.” The admiral stepped between Kell and the holo of Marek. “The traitor will be court-martialed. When we find him.”
“This is to be a stealth mission, then,” Celene said. “So he can’t see us coming and run.”
“Correct, Lieutenant. I debated whether or not sending you would be a good idea—”
“I
need
to do this,” she pressed. Vengeance belonged to
her
.
The admiral raised a brow, and Celene collected herself. She couldn’t prove her fitness for the mission by unleashing her anger in front of Admiral Gamlyn.
“Ultimately, Command and I determined that you would be the best pilot for the operation. You’ll have a partner, but the mission shall be yours.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Celene turned to Calder. “So, a ship can be tuned to track the disruptor’s power signature. How long will it take for you to make the necessary adjustments?”
“It’ll be ready to fly today.”
“Lieutenant Calder is one of Engineering’s best,” the admiral said.
As someone who never apologized for her skill as a pilot, Celene appreciated that Calder didn’t mumble something self-deprecating. He looked well aware of his abilities and confident in them. Another surprise.
The admiral continued, “Which is why he is going to be your partner.”
Celene stared at Admiral Gamlyn. That couldn’t be right. She had to have misheard. Her gaze drifted to Calder, hoping to see the same expression of disbelief on his face.
He looked calm. Determined. Not surprised at all.
“Ma’am?” She turned to the admiral.
“As I said, Lieutenant Calder is one of Engineering’s finest. The technological requirements of the mission demand his presence.”
“The power source’s wavelength fluctuates,” Calder explained. “I’ll have to continually adjust the ship’s sensors to trace it accurately.”
“That doesn’t have to be done manually.” Celene stepped closer to Calder.
He didn’t back down. “Actually,” he said, voice and eyes cool, “it does. And when we finally reach Marek he’s going to have very complex security systems in place. You don’t have the skill to disable them.”
The admiral narrowed her eyes. “It sounds like you’re questioning my decision, Lieutenant Jur.”
Damn, she did
not
want to piss off her commanding officer. “This mission is extremely important to me, ma’am.”
“It’s important to all of 8
th
Wing,” came Admiral Gamlyn’s level response. “Not just you.”
Heat crept into her face. “I’m aware of that, ma’am. But couldn’t Commander Frayne be my partner? He’s very adept at engineering.”
“I’ve seen him build some convoluted stuff,” Mara volunteered, then added, “ma’am.”
“Skilled as Commander Frayne is,” the admiral said, “he doesn’t have the abilities the mission demand. Lieutenant Calder’s expertise, as well as his personal knowledge of Marek, make him the ideal candidate.”
“I’m sensing some reluctance to partner with me,” he said drily.
This was not a conversation Celene wanted to have in front of the admiral, nor her friends. She glanced at Admiral Gamlyn. “Permission to speak with Lieutenant Calder in private, ma’am?”
“Briefly, Lieutenant Jur. This mission needs to commence as quickly as possible.”
Celene nodded, then grabbed Calder’s forearm to lead him out of the chamber. He was solid and muscled beneath his uniform, and tension spread through him at the contact of her hand on his arm. Pushing these details aside, she guided him to the door and then out into the corridor. She glanced around. No one was nearby.
Looking up at Calder, she hoped to see some of the easy humor he had displayed in the briefing chamber. Instead his expression was remote, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t going to make this easy. Fine by her. She’d faced tougher obstacles than Lieutenant Calder—like flying through the Qing Meteor Shower with no navigational systems and almost no oxygen in the cockpit.
“Marek’s struck at the heart of the 8
th
Wing. He could cripple the entire resistance movement, letting PRAXIS take whatever they want. Enslave everyone for profit.”
Something flared in his eyes before retreating behind cool distance. “That outcome’s already occurred to me.”
“I want Marek. I want to make him pay for betraying the 8
th
Wing.”
“We want the same things.”
“Then let me take someone else. Someone trained for combat.” She could name half a dozen Black Wraith pilots she trusted implicitly, and all of them knew their way around a circuit board.
“You think I won’t be able to hold up my end of the fight.” His voice deepened, took on an edge.
“Face it, Calder. You’re NerdWorks. The closest you tech geeks come to combat is all-night Nifalian chess tournaments.”
“I won the last three tournaments.”
She tossed her hands up. “Exactly. I know you’re ranked in Engineering, but no matter what Admiral Gamlyn thinks, eventually this mission is going to boil down to a fight that Marek can’t survive.”
“Agreed.”
She released a breath, relieved. “Good. We’ll just tell the admiral that you will provide all the necessary tech info needed for the mission, and then I can pick a more suitable partner.” Celene started toward the door of the briefing chamber, but she stopped when she realized Calder wasn’t getting out of her way.
He stared down at her, his jaw tight. “The most suitable partner for this mission is
me
.”
“But we just agreed—”
“I agreed that this mission will ultimately culminate in a battle, and that Marek won’t return to base for a court-martial. I didn’t agree to slink away so you could pick one of your Black Wraith hotshot buddies to take my place.”
They glared at one another, neither budging. Apparently she’d underestimated him. She had never backed down from a challenge, and she certainly wouldn’t start with Lieutenant Calder. At least he didn’t try and lick her boots, the way some other crew members might.
“So you believe yourself perfectly capable of handling yourself in a fight?”
He lifted his chin. “Yes.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “All right, Calder. Let’s put all that Nifalian chess knowledge to the test. It’s based on ancient war games, after all.”
He raised a brow. “A tournament?”
“Better than a tournament.” She took a step toward him and saw the faintest trace of alarm in his eyes.
Perfect.
“You and me. One round in the combat simulator.”
“I’ve trained in SimCom,” he said, confident.
“Fine. No problem, then. We go in together, fight a round against the generated opponents. If you leave on your own two feet at the end,
then
you can partner with me on this mission.”
He nodded. “I agree to your terms.”
She had to give him credit—he seemed undaunted. “Oh,” she added, “and the safety protocols will be
off
.” She smiled. “It’ll be much better than chess.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
Nils glanced up from strapping on his protective gauntlets to see Commander Frayne standing at the gear room entrance. Frayne was big and could look mean as hells when he wanted to, but right now Nils’s mind was on the other side of the SimCom Room door.
“I know how to fight.” Satisfied with his thick gauntlets, Nils checked the readings on his plasma blaster. Everything looked optimal. He never expected any less from his equipment, but he couldn’t risk any kind of failure. Not for this mission. And not in front of Celene.
Don’t think about her. You’ll only fuck things up if you let her get into your head.
“Not fighting the SimCom.” Frayne stalked further into the gear room and leaned against the storage lockers. “Celene.”
“I can handle her.” His voice held a lot more confidence than he felt.
Frayne chuckled. “If you think that, you’re
definitely
crazy.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and Nils fought the urge to check his own arms for bulging muscles. Sure, Nils trained, and hard, but when it came to sheer physical intimidation factor, Frayne’s readings were off the charts. It was rumored that the commander used to be a street brawler on his homeworld. Based on the available evidence, Nils didn’t doubt it.
“I’ve seen Celene in combat,” Frayne continued. “Hells, I’ve even gone a couple of rounds with her in SimCom. She didn’t beat me, but damn if she didn’t give me a run for my creds.”
“You can’t discourage me, Commander.” Nils replaced his plasma blaster in his thigh holster. He checked the rest of his gear on his belt. Everything was exactly in place, as he knew it would be. He didn’t get to the top of the Engineering food chain by being sloppy.
Nils stared hard at Frayne. “Marek betrayed the 8
th
Wing and he betrayed me. I want on this mission. And neither you nor Lieutenant Jur can dissuade me.”
At the mention of the traitor’s name, Frayne scowled. If Nils wasn’t prepping for another fight, he might have been intimidated by the commander’s anger.
“Wish I had your tech skills.” Frayne’s jaw tightened. “
I
want to be the one who kills that
sipkaswine
. Not just for his treachery to the 8
th
Wing, but because his actions caused Celene to be captured.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “The Wraith wasn’t the only thing that was going to be sold.”
Nils’s gut clenched. “I’ll find Marek. And make him pay.”
Satisfied with this answer, Frayne smiled. Actually, it was more of a teeth baring than a smile, but the intent was clear. “If Celene has her way, you’ve got to survive her and the SimCom first.”
Nils moved past him, and they walked out of the gear room together toward the area of the base reserved for the combat simulator chambers. As they walked, they passed 8
th
Wing soldiers, who all stared at Nils as if he were walking to the neutralizing capsules.
He couldn’t let them intimidate him. If he let his concentration waver for a microsecond, everything would spin out into chaos. He liked Engineering because it meant he could harness chaos, tame it. The variables and the parameters were his to control. Science and tech could be relied upon, behaving in precise ways that could be predicted and even subverted if one understood them properly.
Much better than dealing with people. Early in his career with 8
th
Wing, he’d been given the option to pursue medical training. He preferred the constancy of tech. Besides, if he kept all the equipment running properly, there’d be less need for medical attention. 8
th
Wing troops could engage the enemy in the best ships and with the best weapons he could construct, keeping losses to a minimum. A fair trade.
They approached the SimCom section of the base. He was minutes away from the biggest physical challenge of his life.
“Any advice, Commander?”
“Just watch your ass.” Frayne smiled darkly. “And your balls.”
Waiting outside the SimCom were Admiral Gamlyn, Ensign Skiren and Celene. Skiren’s pretty face lit up when she saw Frayne nearing. Nils’s gaze moved past her to Lieutenant Jur.
She’d changed from her flight suit into PT cargo pants and tank top, divulging in aching detail the strong, sleek lines of her body. Like him, she had a plasma blaster on her thigh. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing the curves of her high cheekbones and the brilliance of her silver eyes. At his approach she raised one brow and her full lips thinned with impatience. She wanted to fight and she wanted to get the mission started, and she looked so damned fierce and beautiful it felt like a sonic blade piercing his chest.
His palms began to sweat. Not precisely the scenario he’d envisioned when he finally claimed her attention. And he had envisioned many, many scenarios.
“Last chance, Calder.” She stalked toward him and put her hands on her hips. “Sub someone else. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
He didn’t want to get hurt, either, but he’d do whatever it took to earn his place on this mission.
“Whenever you’re ready, Lieutenant Jur.”
She growled in frustration and then stalked to the SimCom chamber door.
“Are you sure about this, Lieutenant Calder?” Admiral Gamlyn asked.
“Absolutely, ma’am. I’m the best person to accompany Lieutenant on this operation and if I have to go through SimCom to prove that to her—” he spread his hands, “—so be it.”
“SimCom with the safety protocols off.” Ensign Skiren sounded almost gleeful. Given that she used to be part of the galaxy’s criminal element, her delight in possible bloodshed was not a surprise.
Nils nodded. “I can do this.”
“Your call, Lieutenant Calder.” The admiral punched in a combat sequence into the panel beside the chamber door. She keyed in her secure code and performed a genetic scan in order to unlock the safety protocols. Had he wanted to, Nils could’ve breached the security protocol—he’d been the lead engineer on the SimCom overhaul two years ago. Hardly anything on base didn’t wear his fingerprints. Hardly anything
tech
, anyway.
With a hiss and beep, the door to the SimCom chamber slid open.
Celene strode into the chamber without faltering. She grinned at him over her shoulder. “Time to fight, NerdWorks.”
He straightened his shoulders, took a breath and then walked inside.
He strode right into anarchy. Plasma shots burst around him and he lowered into a ready stance to avoid their blasts. The SimCom had been programmed with an insertion mission. He found himself outside a guarded compound on a hill, and as he took shelter behind a low retaining wall, beside Celene, he assessed the situation.
“Armed sentries, two-story structure, one front entrance, back entrance as yet undetermined. The number of sentries indicates the objective is likely located on second story.”
Celene ducked as plasma blast shot overhead. She fired back, hitting one of the sentries, then ducked low again. “Who are you talking to?”
“Myself. I need to verbalize the parameters in order to create an appropriate response to the scenario.” He edged up and felt the weight of his plasma blaster in his hand. He took a breath, then fired. Two of the mechanized sentries patrolling the exterior went down.
Celene stared at the smoking forms now lying upon the ground. He was uncertain whether to feel flattered or insulted by the look of shock on her face. Clearly, she hadn’t anticipated him using his weapon, let alone hitting a target.
More sentinels appeared and he took cover as they opened fire.
His blood raced. The sentries shot live ammo. A shot couldn’t kill him, even with the safety protocols off, but getting hit would hurt like a son of a bitch and put him out of commission for several solar weeks. Which had to be Celene’s intention.
“You ever operate on instinct?” Celene asked.
“Instinct isn’t a substitute for informed action.”
She rolled her eyes. “Gods, you really
are
NerdWorks.”
He had no response to that. He had no response to
her
, especially when, without warning, she bolted from the shelter of the retaining wall and sped toward the building, firing as she ran.
He shouldn’t stare. This was about the mission and he needed to pass this test, which meant he needed to focus on getting into the structure and obtaining the objective. But he was a man, and a man with functioning eyes. He couldn’t
not
watch as Lieutenant Celene Jur raced into battle. Her long legs made quick work of the distance. She moved fluidly, yet was deadly and direct, shooting with precision as she ran.
All 8
th
Wing personnel needed to keep themselves in top form. PT was required of everyone. But Celene was more than fit. She was the faultless alloy of physical capability and unadulterated beauty, lean and elegant as an ancient dueling rapier.
The stories about her are true. She’s the best we have. An untouchable legend. And
I
am partnered with her.
But not yet. First he had to prove himself in combat. Which meant he couldn’t waste precious time watching her. Nils took a breath, then launched himself from behind the retaining wall. He blasted into the converging sentries as he sprinted toward the entrance of the building. With his free hand, he pulled a device from a pouch attached to his belt and then lobbed it at the guards still standing.
The device detonated, releasing a wave of energy. The sentries remained standing.
“It didn’t work,” Celene shouted at him. Stationed by the front entrance, she continued to fire at the sentries.
He took up position and joined her in keeping the guards from advancing. “Give it a microsecond.”
“We don’t have—” Explosions shook the air. She threw herself down onto the ground, taking cover, then glanced up when she saw the threat wasn’t to her or Nils. “The hells?”
The automated sentries had fired on each other and then detonated in small novas of sparks and metal. Only burning piles of scrap remained.
“A device I built,” he explained. “It scrambles E-grade circuitry, which the sentries clearly had.”
Celene stared up at him, admiration in her silver eyes. It quickly disappeared behind cool efficiency.
He held his hand out to her, and held his breath, waiting for the touch of her skin to his.
She eyed his hand, then stood up on her own. He stifled his disappointment.
“What if we encounter something that isn’t E-grade?”
“Modifications can be made in the field.”
Her nod was clipped, her expression opaque. What’d he expect? Her arms thrown around him as she showered him with praise? Celene was legendary. She expected not just competence, but excellence—from herself and her squad members. Clearly, he had big boots to fill.
Fortunately, he wore very large boots.
A control panel was embedded in the wall beside the front entrance. A quick visual assessment told him that this wasn’t a simple monolevel security system, but a polyplatform defense mechanism. He moved in to hack the computer’s security protocol, but stepped back in surprise as she beat him to it.
She stared at the panel in edged concentration and her fingers flew over the keys. A moment later, the thick door slid open.
Seeing his look of amazement, she grinned. “NerdWorks hasn’t cornered the market on tech savvy.”
Her grin faded when plasma blasts shot through the open doorway. She became the focused soldier once more. Within the chamber were armed human guards. Celene took up position on one side of the door while he took the other side and dropped to one knee. They fired back at the guards, Celene taking the higher targets, Nils aiming for the lower ones.
“The structure’s ground floor,” he catalogued as he shot. “A single, large chamber. Staircase at the far end, metal cargo crates scattered throughout. Must be a storage facility. Six guards armed with plasma blasters. Five,” he amended as Celene took out one of the guards.
“Hey, NerdWorks,” she snapped at him, “keep your play-by-play in your head. Can’t think with your intel spurting all over me.”
How was
he
was supposed to think when she put images like that in his head?
She jerked her head toward a row of crates inside and they both sped toward the waiting cover. The firefight continued as the guards blocked the path to the second level. He took down one sentry, Celene the other. He allowed himself a moment’s confidence. Practice several times a week on the firing sim ensured that he could hit a moving target from a distance of over a hundred meters. All he needed to do was wait the guards out, and between him and Celene, they’d quickly clear the area, leaving the way free to the objective on the second floor.
After ducking to avoid a volley of plasma fire, he leaned up and took aim. Celene did the same. Just then, one of the guards triggered a device on his gauntlet. An invisible pulse of energy swept through the chamber.
Whatever the guard had activated, Nils didn’t like it. The most dangerous weapons were often the ones you couldn’t see. He aimed and fired.
Or tried to fire. Nothing shot from his blaster, not a plasma burst, not even a spark.
“Fucking
escumalhabeast
.” Celene glared at her now useless blaster. She shoved it back into her thigh holster and crouched down behind the crates.
He hunkered beside her. “I can take the weapons apart, subvert the malfunction.”
“No time. Any minute, they’re going to rush us.”
His mind spun through the many possibilities as he scanned the environment. Though everything within SimCom was computer generated, it still behaved according to the laws of science.
“There’s delinium chloride in that flame containment canister. I can combine it with—”
She shook her head. “Again, not enough time.”
He scowled. In the absence of a functioning weapon, there had to be
something
he could do. “Suggestions?”
Celene grinned, and she was once again an intoxicating amalgam of beautiful and dangerous. “We use the best weapons we’ve got.” She tapped her head. “This, and—” she held up her curled fists, “—these.”