Zoë Archer - Chain Reaction

Everyone turned to face the newcomer as the door slid open. He stepped inside, then stopped abruptly when he saw everyone staring at him expectantly.

She had an indistinct impression of having met this man before, but she wasn’t completely certain. 8 thWing was thousands strong, with hundreds on base at any given time. Black Wraith Squad usually kept to themselves. They were an elite group, and more than a little insane. Adrenaline junkies who lived to fly. No wonder everyone gave them a wide berth.

The man walking into the chamber gazed at her. Alarm and fascination combined in his eyes.

Not a surprise. She was given a wider berth than most. Few people made friends with a legend. And as for having a romantic relationship…by becoming one of the best pilots, she’d inadvertently consigned herself to celibacy. She could never be the flawless paragon her lovers wanted. Stainless Jur—that’s who they desired. Tough experience had taught her that it was better to be alone than see the disappointment in her lovers’ eyes when they learned she wasn’t a goddess, only a woman. A very skilled woman who could fly better than most sentient beings in the galaxy, but a woman, nonetheless.

The newcomer stared at her like she was a tigeren that had escaped its cage.

He wasn’t an unpleasant specimen of maleness. He didn’t have Kell’s height or impressive build. Instead he had a lean muscularity that nicely filled out his uniform without being showy. Sandy hair, deep green eyes that gleamed with intellect, a face more rugged than handsome. His mouth surprised her, with its full lips better suited for a fashion vid model than a soldier.

That mouth…seemed so familiar. As if she knew its taste, warm and masculine. No—she’d remember lips like his.

“I believe you all know Lieutenant Nils Calder,” the admiral said.

It took Celene a few moments to place him. “From Engineering.” A vague recollection flitted through her mind of her consulting Lieutenant Calder about the navigational controls of her Black Wraith.

“NerdWorks?” blurted Mara.

Kell groaned, Celene choked and even the admiral reddened.

Calder only smiled. “I’ve also heard Dork Corps, Geek Brigade and Dweeb Patrol.” His voice was deep, with a faint rasp. “But NerdWorks is my favorite.”

Much as Celene appreciated his sense of humor, she wanted intel right now, not jokes. She turned to Admiral Gamlyn. “The briefing?”

“I have the intel here.” Calder held up a digitablet. He walked to the holo display, and everyone shuffled to get out of his way. Their bodies brushed against each other as he moved to the display. His breath caught at the contact, and his cheeks darkened.

Guess NerdWorks doesn’t usually mix with actual humans.

This close to him, she realized he was bigger than she’d first thought, over half a foot taller than her. The only other man in the room was Kell, and he had a tendency to make other men seem smaller by comparison. But Lieutenant Nils Calder was long and lean as a swimmer, impressive in his own way.

He turned to address everyone in the chamber. Yet his gaze caught Celene’s and held.

Astute, those eyes of his. And aware. Of her.

“The intel, Lieutenant.”

Admiral Gamlyn’s directive broke the odd spell that had fallen, and Calder looked away as he moved to the holo display.

Mara sent Celene a glance and mouthed, What the hells was that all about?

All she could do was shrug. I have no damned idea. She focused her attention on the holo display.

Calder tapped a few keys on the display, then studied his digitablet. An image came up of the Black Wraith’s distinctive sleek lines, and the hologram rotated to display every angle of the unique ship. She flew her Black Wraith every day, but even looking at a holo of the ship filled her with pride. A perfect union of pilot and machine. Beautiful and elegant as a moonrise, but deadly in the right hands.

Or disastrous in the wrong hands. Which was why PRAXIS couldn’t obtain a Black Wraith.

Calder cleared his throat. “I’ve gone over Lieutenant Jur’s logs and the debriefing vids, analyzing her description of the effects of the device used on her ship. A total system shutdown that renders the Black Wraith completely inoperative, with only enough emergency capacity to power life support, and even that for only a brief period.”

Memories flooded Celene. Acidic currents of remembered anger as she’d floated in space with no means of protecting herself and no way of calling for help. She grasped at her rage, a useful emotion.

“I was there.” The words felt taut in her throat. “So tell us something helpful.”

Calder’s jaw tightened. “I also went through the data and sensor logs in your ship after it was returned to base. Ran diagnostic protocols and did some calculations. I was able to extrapolate the basic construction of the disruptor device.”

The holo changed from an image of the Black Wraith to an innocuous collection of circuits and cables. With her not being a tech, it could have been a schematic of a Voaxian self-pleasuring device, but she studied it, trying to make sense of its configuration.

“This is just a theory as to its appearance,” Calder went on, “but the operation of it remains the same. In order to create the disruption pulse that’s keyed to the Black Wraith’s energy profile, the device requires a particular power source. The power source has a distinctive wavelength signature.”

“Can we track the wavelength signature?” Kell asked.

“I can tune a ship to trace it.”

“Leading us right to the bastard who disabled my ship.” Celene could already taste blood, and she welcomed it. “Nicely done, Lieutenant.”

Calder accepted her praise with a terse nod, though his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. It was clear he took pride in his work, a sentiment she understood well.

“I’ve also determined the identity of the bastard in question.”

She started, hearing the edge in his voice and the change in his language. Who knew tech-heads could sound so angry?

He entered some information into the holo display and the image of a man appeared.

Everyone cursed, including Admiral Gamlyn. The man wore an 8 thWing uniform.

“He’s one of us?” Mara spat.

“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 thWing’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.