by Noah Harris
I shove him down on the bed, laughing in his face, still pretty angry.
“I’m not getting you anything this year, Dare. With no warning, they spring this on me. And your weird little plan has resulted in your nightmare scenario.”
He looks up suddenly, surprise warring with a certain grim delight on his face, and then stares out into the courtyard, where a squad’s doing pushups in the grass.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure you do, Darius. I walked into that jacket review with no concept of what you’d been up to. I spent the whole time arguing for Forrester, of all people. And then I’m told you’d already opted out. I feel like an idiot.”
“You know you want him on the mission, buddy.”
He pats our bed softly, and I can tell he’s still raw about it, just as Margot said. I need to tone it down.
“I know I don’t have a way around it,” I grumble. “He’s the right fit for the job. I just wish it was on somebody else’s ship. That kid rubs me the wrong way.”
I would never cop to having doubts, worries or fears, especially not in front of my superiors. But wherever normal people keep those feelings, way down in their stomachs, that’s where Julian Forrester makes me nervous.
“You spent the whole meeting going to bat for the kid,” Darius laughed, falling backwards into our nest of pillows. “Bet Sergeant Hell loved that!”
“I blame her entirely,” I grouse, no longer angry but still in the mood to complain, as he pulls me down beside him. “She didn’t argue fair. I had to take his side.”
Darius speaks carefully, rubbing slow circles on my stomach as we stare at the ceiling.
“You know it’s the right move. Trust that feeling and move on.”
“And we’re taking Cortez, too. Obviously.”
Darius rolls his eyes elaborately. “Of course.”
Darius has a private fondness for Philippa Cortez, one he’d go to his grave denying. Technically as my oldest friend, he views her as his natural enemy. But where he’s generally angry, she’s funny, and where he’s aimless she’s curious. I know myself well enough to admire those qualities in other people, even if I’ve accepted my own lack of them.
“So, you, the twins, Harbaugh and Hell? That’s the five?”
I wink at him, just like Harbaugh. All professionalism, with just a hint of a smile behind my eyes.
“I mean, we won’t know until the banquet.”
I can’t keep up the act with Darius giggling and leaping at me, pulling me down into the blankets like a child with a puppy. His joy is infectious.
Looking down at me now, through lush eyelashes, Darius goes very still.
“Congratulations,” he says quietly, beaming when I finally smile with pride.
“Thank you, Dare,” I whisper, and he hides his face against my neck. I can already feel my heart rate slowing, once I’ve recovered from his sudden pounce. My last thought before I fall asleep is, I’ll never get to sleep now.
Hours later, I chuckle at the two of us, still twisted in our sheets, with Darius in his Flight School jumpsuit and me still in dress uniform. I shake him awake, and as we’ve done forever, we change quietly in the dark and climb back in before the sheets are cold, sleeping straight through until morning.
“Rise and shine, Marshmallow.”
Darius is still cozy, curled against my chest, so his voice is as loud as an alarm bell. My legs shoot straight out, stiff with fear.
“What time is it? Did we miss it?”
“It’s morning,” he giggles. “We still have twelve hours before the banquet. Which should be just enough time for you to help me decide what to wear.”
What I love about helping Darius pick out clothes is that he ignores my suggestions without even breaking stride.
“Green or blue?” he’ll ask, and I’ll say, “Green.” And sometimes the green shirt goes back in the closet, and other times he pops it on. His decisions are based on nothing I can understand, and certainly nothing I say. It’s meditative, just letting go of having to choose.
I will, of course, be wearing my dress whites. I would regardless, because they’re what I prefer. Formal dress whenever it’s appropriate. All I need is help with my necktie, after a general once-around with the shaver. Two duties Darius took over so long ago I can’t even remember how it started. I’m fairly certain I could still do them myself, but not entirely sure.
“Okay, do me first so I can go out and make sure everything’s set for the banquet. And then we can powwow about your situation.”
Darius nods obediently, stretching his long limbs like a cat and stripping on the way to fetch the razor.
“Shirt off, cadet.”
I love it when he plays house like this, and I immediately obey. It’s the low voice, like we’re married and he’s being naughty.
Face, neck, and most of all along the collar. My hair grows unreasonably thick and fast, it seems like it’s always nearly in my eyes. It was such a relief when we came to Flight School and I realized they wouldn’t care if I let my scruff grow a bit, otherwise I’d need a shave two or three times a day, and Darius would riot.
He drops back onto the bed, popping up on his knees to finish my tie, and spends a moment just staring into my eyes when he’s done.
“One last look,” he sighs sadly, and suddenly I’m right there with him emotionally, overwhelmed by tonight.
We have to go out there eventually, and the whole world will change. But right now, I can wrap him up in a big bear hug, like I’m never letting go.
“The trick is not minding that it hurts,” he whispers, and I nod. Exactly.
3
On the Shore
Julian
“Three…two…one…liftoff...”
I’ve imagined myself just like this, many times before. Strapped in, lying on my back, a thousand strong hands pushing me down against the headrest. Heavier than any person. My body feeling like a bronze statue, hurtling down into the ocean. I’ve always imagined Alden Armstrong strapped in beside me, although he’s usually naked.
I’d always thought it would be Captain Harbaugh’s voice, here in the command module of our shuttle, the Orion III. But the roar of the engines is so loud I can barely hear him counting down at all. To me he sounds the same as the crowd out there; tinny and staticky. Elated. Maybe just slightly crushed, like the rest of us.
The pressure’s too great to even think about opening my eyes. One thing I’d imagined was that it would feel like a roller coaster, I was wrong. My body’s trying hard to understand what it’s feeling, and the loose, floating, crushed feeling of a rollercoaster as it plummets downward is the closest its memory can get. But that’s thrill without pain. This pressure hurts.
The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was Alden Armstrong, fixing straps around his thick thighs, chest in the air as he breathed, slowly and proudly, and then looking over at me, grinning encouragement. His eyes are wild, passionate as a lover’s, ready for space and whatever comes next.
Indescribably sexy, I thought, as my stomach began turning circles and I shut my eyes against the nausea. I didn’t even bother to smile back. By the time I popped my eyes back open to look, he’d closed his own. But that huge smile still sat upon his lips in delight. He was lost in his own pleasure.
We stood around the banquet hall in our dress whites for what seemed like hours, waiting for everyone to arrive and take their seats. I’d entered with Pippa, downing a quick glass of Champagne to calm my nerves before we’d even gotten our bearings.
Everywhere we looked, our classmates and superiors milled about, looking as glossy and perfect as a recruitment poster. I knew my uniform was flattering, clinging to my strong arms and lean frame, and I could feel it cupping my behind, perfectly tailored. Every other person there in uniform would be feeling the same familiar tension. Back straight, shoulders back, chest out, chin up. The few and the proud.
I had gone commando, because so
metimes it’s nice to have a secret, and my thick cock lay slumbering against one thigh, pointing down. I hoped nothing would wake it, but knowing it was there made me feel sexy, and a little braver.
As if on cue, and just as I was beginning to regret my choice, Alden Armstrong came into view, on the arm of his platonic life partner Darius, who was himself wearing the perfect blue-gray to bring out his beautiful eyes. He knew he looked amazing, oiled curls framing that wise, mysterious face. He knew all eyes would be on them as they entered.
Once inside, Darius abandoned Alden almost immediately, running straight into the center of their group of friends. Alden didn’t really seem to notice, staying at the edge of proceedings like it was a junior high dance, taking in the scene. I noticed he took the Champagne when it was offered, although he didn’t gulp it desperately, as I had.
When Alden saw me, he didn’t smile, but I got a curt nod for once. I bowed my head in turn, looking away, before my eyes got caught on him as usual, like a sweater on a nail, and unraveled me across the dancefloor. Not before we’d even had a chance to fully enjoy my humiliation tonight.
Once the guests of honor had arrived, we were seated. The chairs were high-backed, expensive and uncomfortable, arranged in rows facing the stage. They’d kept the number of speakers limited, for once, since they knew we’d be shuffling and whispering until we’d finally gotten the answers we were after.
I began to regret the Champagne. Looking up at that stage, I suddenly realized how momentous the next hour was going to be. I closed my eyes, briefly, to quell the rising fear.
I only opened them to a quiet cough from above my head.
My eyes were confronted with a crotch, and I knew by the way time seemed to slow and my reactions became blunted, that the crotch could only belong to Alden Armstrong. Standing over me, apologetic, awkward, and somehow taller than usual. His substantial girth just inches from my mouth and impossible to ignore.
Was I in his seat? Had I made some horrible mistake, some breach of etiquette, that he was planning on grinding into the carpet? More of a Darius move, I knew, but I still didn’t trust Alden. He was too good at making me feel out of place to be doing it by accident. Wasn’t he?
“I think we’re supposed to sit together,” Alden mumbled quietly, and I could swear he was avoiding my eyes. I quashed my initial reaction, why the hell would we do that? and simply shifted back as much as I could, trying to become one with the seat to let him pass.
He turned, replacing that crotch with a firm, muscled ass. In some locked-away vault in the furthest reaches of my mind, I was screaming with delight and terror even as I stared straight ahead. Outwardly, I shifted back into place once he’d passed, holding my hands contritely in my lap, and trying my best to pretend he wasn’t there.
Why was he there? I could see Darius over the crowd, still off in the corner with his cronies. For a moment I felt uneasy, thinking I’d have to make way for him too. But as the crowd quieted down for the ceremony to begin, he took his seat with the underclassmen. The situation becoming more and more curious.
A strange, strangled cough coming from the other side of Alden caught my attention, but I kept my eyes forward. When it came again, I chanced a look. It was Philippa, just on the other side of him, wiggling her eyebrows at me suggestively. I bit the inside of my lip, afraid of barking out a sudden laugh at her expression. I frowned at her instead. She was just loving this, wasn’t she?
After a few moments, once the first speaker had begun her address, I risked another look past Alden. Margot Hellstrom, and past her, the captain. It seemed ludicrous to be sitting here with them, in this elite row at the edge of the crowd. And yet here we all were.
By the second speaker, my nose was so full of his scent I was seeing stars, and I couldn’t resist letting my arm rest slightly against his. I hated him more than ever but that didn’t mean it wasn’t intoxicating. The perfect way to go out.
After all, this could be the last time I’d ever see him, assuming he came home safe from his mission. I’d be back in Roseland by then, changing my friends’ babies and doing their dishes, while their alphas showered them with gifts and flattery.
Part of me knew I was just hoping and overcompensating, to avoid jinxing it. But a small part also knew that if I wasn’t on this flight, Roseland was exactly where I’d end up before the year was out. I’d used every connection and every possible rung on the ladder of shifter society to get myself here. There were no more helpers out there. If I didn’t make my name now, I never would. And as scary as it was to imagine, the thought of living on my own among humans, with nothing but loneliness to show for it, just hurt too much.
I’m an omega. Born to breed, to bear children in my womb and rear them in the world. Not every omega relishes that idea, but I’d dreamed of fatherhood ever since I first learned what babies were. I was told that as a kid I carried around any doll or fellow pup that would let me, just like a real father would. I sleep better in a pile, I know that much. Leaving Roseland, that was the hardest thing to adjust to. Sleeping alone felt like sleeping in open space, with nothing to hold me down, keep me from floating away.
My academic career would surely stand me in good stead in the human world. But I could never go back to the pack if I stayed committed to this world past graduation. That was the deal. I’d told my skeptical father I was willing to call this a trial run, so every accolade or certificate felt a little like revenge. Yeah, sure, it’s all just a phase. Shifter rumspringa, you betcha.
The older I got, the more I realized it probably would be a trial run. Or at least, I should get used to the idea. I’d have the chance to care for pups at least, even if they weren’t my own. And of course, there was always that chance, slim as it was, that I’d somehow stand out from the other omegas, and find true love in the shifter world after all.
Plenty of packs back east supposedly didn’t look down on omegas who could ply a trade. They stayed close to home and got pregnant like any good omega should, but they weren’t entirely consumed by it. Maybe I could find myself a pack like that somewhere, shifters that would actually value my skills.
I’d heard that long ago, omegas used to go off and join whatever pack they could beg their way into. But these days, with the shifter population dwindling, our people cramming into smaller and smaller places to hide, that tradition had fallen by the wayside.
Maybe I’d find myself a mate by complete chance. He’d just happen to look and smell remarkably like Alden Armstrong. With blue-jean eyes meant for no other omega, and a fierce grin, and so much love for our pups, and for me, that I’d feel safe all the time.
He’d wrap his arms around me on the porch and we’d look out over the yard at the kids playing in the grass, and I’d choke back a sob with the enormity of it. Filled up by them and by him. Held up in his strong arms no matter what came next.
I had just about conjured up the full image, Alden Armstrong in red flannel and big brown boots, pulling off his cowboy hat as he swept through the door, that I was a bit shocked to feel him squeezing my right arm. I looked over, smiling dreamily, still lost in the haze of his scent and my own fantasy, when I noticed that all around, people were looking at us.
No. At me.
Past Alden, the other three were already standing, beaming at me, and I realized I was standing in their way. They must have been called up to the stage while I was woolgathering, and here I was throwing everything off. I should have eaten something before we came, I thought. Philippa was absolutely right.
I stood up to let them pass and make their way up to the front, but the captain caught something in my eye as he filed out, and took my shoulders in his hands, gazing deep into mine with those penetrating brown eyes.
“You’re coming up there with us. Do you understand what’s happening?”
Confused, I shook my head, and he laughed, throwing his arms around me in a big bear hug.
“Walk to the stage with me right now, cadet. You’re going on this mission.
Don’t question it and don’t act weird. Just put a smile on your face.”
His tone wasn’t cold, but it did have an alpha’s strength behind it. That commander’s voice he so rarely used with us. For a moment I was ashamed he’d had to use it at all. Still confused, I nodded.
Over his shoulder, I could just make out the tops of the nearest heads, eyes smiling proudly, some glinting with jealousy. I was starting to unravel the mystery, but it was all happening so fast, and the lights were so bright, leaving tracers behind my eyelids. All I could think was, just follow the captain.
I plastered a smile on my face that I hoped looked proud, if not brave, and nodded again. The captain gave me a huge, warm smile, nodding sharply in congratulations, and then we were on stage, spotlights blotting out the entire crowd, as we were introduced, one by one. Your future moonwalkers, the crew of the first human interlunar flight in over fifty years. Team Moonshot, soon to board the Orion III and eventually fire up the first colony ever built in space.
Captain Apollyon Harbaugh, Executive Officer Sergeant Margot Hellstrom, First Lieutenant Alden Armstrong, Science Officers Philippa Cortez and Julian Forrester.
There it was again, right at the end, sounding incongruous. My name. And after it, the applause of the crowd, which was almost as confusing. I smiled as I hoped I looked good enough for the cameras going off all over the auditorium. In the promo photos from that night, you can plainly see I’m dazed. But at least I don’t look drunk.
Alden took my hand in his, and the golden hairs shone on his forearm. He lifted our hands in a mighty hurrah, his sleeve hitching up. In that picture, I’m smiling right at him. In that moment, at least, you’d think we were the best of friends.
I’m close to losing consciousness as we hit escape velocity, flattened against our seats. The last thing before me is still Alden’s face, smiling joyfully as if we really were those close friends. But I know the real reason; he wants command, sooner rather than later, and reassuring me is what he thinks he needs to do to get it.
