Zoë Archer - Chain Reaction

Mara stared at her. “Fuck. Celene, I—”

With a shake of her head, she refused any sympathy. “The cost of expecting the best of myself. If making sure the 8 thWing can beat PRAXIS means I don’t have a date on shore leave—” she shrugged, “—that’s a damn small cost.”

Still, Mara’s gaze held far too much sympathy for her comfort. Mara planted her hands on her hips and directed her attention toward the Phantom.

“Nervous?”

“Hells, no. I just want to get this mission started.”

Mara nudged her shoulder. “Can’t wait to be alone with Calder? It’s a cozy little ship. Room for two. Close quarters.”

She snorted. “You’ve inhaled too much meteor dust, scavenger.”

“We watched you two in SimCom on the vid feed. I’d seen you in action, so I know you could fight. But Calder…” Mara lowered her voice. “Holy gods, that was unexpected. I didn’t know NerdWorks threw down like that.”

“Neither did I,” she admitted.

“He looked incredibly hot doing so.”

Her mouth curled. “Aren’t you Kell’s woman?”

“Kell’s my man. But just between us…” She leaned closer. “Calder’s pretty sexy. The moves on that guy. Not to mention his ass. Nova-level.”

“Didn’t notice. Too busy fighting off sentries.” Untrue. She had noticed, and in addition to being pretty damned impressed by Calder’s fighting skills, she hadn’t failed to appreciate that he had one fine body. She saw it now as he moved around the Phantom showing the admiral the modifications he had made to the ship.

He was leaner than Kell, but no less potent, his 8 thWing uniform hugging wide shoulders and clinging to tight, muscled arms. He’d moved with power in SimCom, his legs long and strong. And, yes, Celene had seen his ass. Taut and sculpted, it was the kind of behind a woman fantasized about digging her nails into.

“Yeah, I can see how much you aren’t noticing,” Mara observed.

“So my eyesight works. Doesn’t matter. All I need is for him to track the power signature and stay out of my way when I take Marek down.” The best she could ever hope for with any man was a quick tumble and an even quicker retreat, before his inevitable disappointment when it was revealed that, yes, she had the same emotional needs as any living being. It would never go that far with Calder. Especially not on a mission.

She strode toward the Phantom. “We ready to go?”

Calder closed a side panel on the ship and dusted off his hands. She tried not to stare at his thighs as he wiped his palms on them. “I ran one final diagnostic protocol. We’re good.”

“All your gear’s aboard?”

The lieutenant crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve been on missions before, Lieutenant Jur.”

“Good. Because this mission is too important to risk on a nebula newbie’s inexperience.” She didn’t like the sharpness of her tone, but this mission was crucial. Nothing could be left to fate.

“No communication with base unless it’s an absolute emergency,” the admiral directed. “Stealth is essential—another reason why you need the Phantom. Since it can hold you both for longer journeys, there’s no need to compromise security by docking at any stations. It will be just you two on that ship, for as long as it takes.”

“Understood.” As Calder spoke, his gaze flicked over to Celene, and a flush darkened his cheeks.

She felt an answering heat in her own face. This was ridiculous. She’d been on long missions before, with other men, and felt nothing, only the need to complete the objective. This must be no different. She had to be Stainless Jur, invulnerable, an ace pilot—never a woman.

“We’ll depart as soon as the last protocols are run,” she said.

“I’ve run them all,” Calder answered. “We can leave immediately.”

“Good luck, Lieutenants.” The admiral gave them a salute, which they returned. “You’ve got the 8 thWing depending on you.”

“I won’t fail, ma’am,” she said.

“We won’t,” Calder added.

She glared at Kell and Mara when they both smirked. But every mission was dangerous, this more so than any other, so she shook hands with her friends, knowing that there was always the possibility that this could be the last time she ever saw them.

Kell glanced over at Calder, who was speaking with the admiral. “You’ve got a good man in your corner. Don’t underestimate him.”

Coming from Kell, one of the toughest men she knew, those simple words carried tremendous weight.

“I won’t.”

“Fly strong.” Kell gave her shoulder a squeeze.

She smiled. “I will.”

“We’ll have that competition when you get back,” Mara said.

“Get ready to be humiliated.”

“Serve it up, Jur, because I’m hungry.” The two women grinned, bound by the need to be better than everyone else—especially each other.

“Shall we, Lieutenant?” Calder stood at the door to the Phantom. If he had any fear about the dangers they were about to face, he didn’t show it. He stood light on his toes, his hands loose at his sides, looking ready to put himself in the thick of danger.

She nodded and headed into the ship. Calder was not her first choice for a partner, but at least she could be glad that he wanted retribution just as much as she did.

“How many?”

Calder looked up from the tracking screen. He blinked at her, as if having forgotten that she sat beside him in the Phantom’s cockpit. For the past solar hour, they’d been flying without speaking except to adjust their course, moving through the vast darkness toward their objective.

“How many missions have you been on?” Celene asked.

“Ah.” He stared down at the tracking screen again and watched the faint pulse of light that indicated the power signature. They were still too far out to determine the actual distance away, but at least Calder had the skill to pick up even the thinnest trace. Still, he hesitated before speaking. “Three.”

She kept her hands on the controls, but gaped at him. “What?”

“I said—”

“I heard you.” She shook her head. “At least tell me they were combat missions.”

His gaze slid away. “Research and discovery.”

“Research.” She cursed. “They saddled me with a damned cub.”

When his gaze met hers again, it flared with anger. “Not a cub. I’m an officer. And I’ve already proven that I can handle myself.”

“In a controlled environment. We don’t know what we’re going to face at the end of this signal.” She tapped the tracking screen. “Whatever comes, I need an experienced fighter at my side, one who can handle anything thrown in his path.”

“I’ll carry my weight.” His voice was tight, his jaw hard. They held each other’s gaze, neither willing to budge. Finally she broke the stalemate, turning back to face the window.

“Yes, I’m being a hardass.” She stared out at the passing stars, the hundreds of worlds bound together in the galaxy. Some were allies, others weren’t, and everything she saw was threatened by PRAXIS. A very long time ago, the 8 thWing had actually been part of PRAXIS, serving as part of its military force. But when the goals of PRAXIS turned from the betterment of the galaxy to its exploitation, the 8 thWing had rebelled. It formed a resistance group, retaining its name as a show of defiance. That same spirit of disobedience and willingness to battle ran through every member of the 8 thWing. Including, it seemed, the engineers.

“And you have shown that you can fight,” she continued. “But I need to make sure this mission is a success.” Not just for the sake of her reputation, but for the cause for which she fought.

“We all have something at stake.” Even though she had been raking him over the plasma coils, his voice held surprising gentleness. “Black Wraiths are the 8 thWing’s best weapon. None of us can afford to lose them. The whole resistance is counting on us.”