A wicked grin broke across his face, making him look much younger. “That is good news. When will it be fully operational?”
Galena tried not to let that smile derail her thoughts. It had a bad habit of doing so. “It’s ready now. With your approval, I’ll have it sent to Spiro, to aid Milek’s efforts to find Elom. He’s been back at the stationpoint for a few weeks now.”
“You have my approval, and gladly,” Pyralis replied. “If the tech proves as useful as we hope, Atalanta will begin large-scale production immediately.”
Galena smiled. “That’s not all. Milek visited the Haan girl a few days ago.”
“And is she rejoining us?” He rubbed a hand along his chin.
“She’s still adjusting, but Milek thinks she’ll be back at Spiro soon.” Truth be told, Milek hadn’t been as certain as she made him sound. But Galena was hopeful anyway. Aris Haan, the girl who’d saved her life, was why she’d fought so hard to change Atalanta and Ruslana’s policies toward women within Military sector. If a woman could lead a dominion, why shouldn’t she be able to fight for one?
“We should alert the media,” Pyralis said, turning toward his desk. “Perhaps you could hold a ceremony in her honor? A single face leading the ‘women in Military’ movement would do a lot to smooth the process and get the public on our side.”
Galena stiffened. “We should wait until Aris has officially returned. And I’m not so sure announcing her name is smart either way. What if Ward Balias’s men go after her?”
“If she rejoins her unit, she’ll be in harm’s way whether her identity is public knowledge or not.” Pyralis’s earnest gaze was as weighty as a physical touch. “We need this, Galena. Our female soldiers are being insulted, harassed, and worse. There’ve been protests in Panthea against allowing women to serve. We need to give the movement a hero.”
“Don’t you mean a target?” Galena argued. “And not just for Ward Balias. The dominion itself could easily turn on her, if the political climate remains this volatile.”
Pyralis stopped short of reaching for her hand, though she could tell he wanted to. “I mean a hero.”
If he’d had any other expression on his face, any hint that he relished the thought of using Aris for his own ends, Galena would have fought his plan. But the tension in his shoulders spoke of a man reluctantly putting the needs of his dominion above all else.
And she couldn’t fault him for that.
“I want her consent before we splash her across the news.” Galena bit the corner of her lip, thinking of the scared but resolute girl who’d braved so much to save her. “But when the time comes, I’ve no doubt she’ll make a compelling champion for our cause.”
Pyralis touched Galena then, the briefest brush of his fingers against her wrist. They didn’t say anything, didn’t move any closer, but the moment lingered in Galena’s mind long afterward.
Chapter 3
Aris rubbed the twisted ivy of the Environment brand on her arm, a nervous tick she hadn’t quite outgrown. Because she’d been selected for the Enviro sector first, and then volunteered for Military, she would always have two brands.
“You know it doesn’t hurt.” Dianthe’s reminder cut through the antiseptic silence of the lab. The gleaming chrome chair and blinding white walls of the secret room in Dianthe’s apartment were just as Aris remembered them, but now Dianthe didn’t bother closing the false wall to hide the room away. With the new law, the diatous veil—and Dianthe’s clandestine services—were no longer necessary. But she was still helping female soldiers find their way. She’d greased the wheels for Aris, procuring her uniforms, paperwork, and now stamping her with the Military brand. Aris’s first had been removed when she’d been sent home after the mission to rescue Ward Vadim.
Dianthe grinned at Aris in the mirror. Aris wasn’t used to seeing Dianthe smile. It was almost as disconcerting as the crimson snake that curled across the woman’s bald head, screaming black fire.
“Ready?” Dianthe asked.
“Of course.” Aris tried to relax. The last time she’d felt the cool pressure of the branding tech, she’d had far more to worry about than she did now. Back then, she’d faced the prospect of hiding her true identity and living as a soldier for the first time. She’d been afraid of exposure, afraid of being sent to prison, afraid of not finding Calix.
Now, she didn’t need to fear exposure or prison. She didn’t need to find Calix or prove herself. She just needed to fly.
It’s easier now. It’ll keep getting easier.
After Milek had visited her, it had taken another month to get to this moment, here with Dianthe, the black rectangle of the Military brand once more emblazoned on the back of her neck.
Aris still hadn’t been able to erase all of the effects of those last few missions. But blighting hell if she hadn’t moved past them. The strongest people she knew—Milek, Dysis, Dianthe—believed in her. The least she could do was believe in herself.
Now, Dianthe accompanied her to the hub of the city. Their trip was an eerie echo of their first foray into Panthea together, when Aris had her first experience in the outside world as Aristos, and she’d showed Dianthe how she could fly. Only this time, neither of them hid who they were.
And people noticed.
Across from the nearest metroline stop, a group of men and women marched back and forth in front of the capitol. They held signs and chanted, “Women should be moms, not dropping bombs!” over and over.
Aris nodded her head toward the commotion. “Are they here all the time?”
“More or less.” Dianthe didn’t glance in the protestors’ direction. Her loose, ivory dress billowed as she walked, an interesting contrast to her tattooed, hard-edged face.
An older, gray-haired woman at the edge of the group caught Aris looking. Her eyes widened at Aris’s uniform. She ran across the street, her IF THEY VOLUNTEER, OUR FUTURE WILL DISAPPEAR sign bobbing. Her soft face would have been grandmotherly if it weren’t so twisted as she screamed, “Don’t throw your life away! Don’t throw our future away!”
Dianthe hustled Aris up the stairs to the metroline platform, leaving the woman yelling after them. Aris tried to ignore the stares of the other passengers as they boarded the train. Not all of them were hostile—a young girl and her mother even smiled openly at Aris—but she didn’t like feeling on display.
The metroline train rocketed them through the city. Outside, blue sky battled with the tall, silvery buildings that glinted in the sun.
“Will you grow out your hair, now that you don’t have to wear the veil?” Aris asked, casting a glance at Dianthe’s tattoo, the red ropes of snake that encircled her skull.
Dianthe shot her a look. “I told you once that my tattoo served as a distraction—that if people were looking at it, they were less likely to notice the rest of me.”
“Yeah, so—”
“So what makes you think I want them to notice the rest of me now?” Dianthe turned toward the panel of glass.
Aris watched her, wondering how Dianthe could possibly think she wouldn’t be noticed, tattoo or no tattoo. The woman was a force.
When Aris boarded the transjet, they didn’t hug, but Dianthe flicked a little smile and winked. “Best of luck to you, Haan.”
The machine shivered to life, its hum drowning out the voices of the other soldiers strapping themselves in, as Aris found a seat and pulled out her digitablet. The last time she’d boarded a transjet, she’d done it as Aristos: disguised, hoping to disappear within the ranks. Now, as herself, there was no hope of that.
Her eyes flitted around the echoing, thrumming jet; rows of soldiers lined its curving, windowless belly, surrounding the pile of bags and other cargo in the center. She was the only woman. Around her, the men laughed and talked with one another, occasionally shooting her sharp looks. No one sat next to her, but they didn’t scream at her like that protestor had either, so she counted that a blessing.
With a swipe of her finger, she opened a c
omm from Dysis.
So you’re really going back. It’ll be odd, I bet, being yourself, no veil needed. I wonder who you’ll room with, now that you’re a big-time lieutenant. And a girl. I know you want me to come back, too. But I can’t. I’m sorry. Jax still needs me. Maybe . . . no. I won’t make you empty promises. Be safe, Mosquito. Show those men what you can do. ~ Dysis
She had hoped that when Dysis found out she was going back, Dysis would want to as well. Aris knew that her former sectormate couldn’t be content to remain in her old life, away from the front lines, reading about enemy raids and female integration on her digitablet. She was too good a soldier. But Dysis’s brother, Jax, had spent months as a prisoner of war, and when he’d finally escaped with the intel that led to Ward Vadim’s rescue, he’d been severely injured. Until Jax returned to his own job as a spy for Atalanta, there was no way Dysis would leave him.
She just needed more time.
A couple hours later, the transjet landed at Spiro. Aris and a few of her fellow soldiers unstrapped themselves. One of them unclipped the netting that secured the cargo. As she reached for her bag, a strong hand shot out and grabbed it. “Here, let me get that for you.”
She looked up at the soldier, ready to thank him. Until she saw the smirk on his handsome, angular face. “I’ve got it,” she said warily, reaching for the strap.
He dangled it just out of her grasp, his face twisting with mock concern. “Don’t worry yourself, doll. I wouldn’t want you to break a nail.”
Aris made a single, sudden swipe for the bag, but the man anticipated the move, yanking it above his head. He laughed.
Behind him, several other soldiers gathered.
“Give me my bag,” she said, ashamed when her voice came out too soft to carry over the hydraulics of the ramp lowering onto Spiro’s landing pad.
Her tormentor cocked his head. “Why on earth would you need it?” The mirth fell from his face for an instant as he glared at her. “Bitches like you don’t belong here.”
The men snickered. A ginger-haired kid jostled her roughly as he headed down the ramp.
Aris’s frustration, anger, and helplessness threatened to boil over. She kept her chin up with an effort. She suddenly felt like a limping, awkward child again, teased by a group of boys playing keep away with her lunch. Back then, Calix had stepped in to save her.
Now it was up to her. This was her fight. Her life.
She glared at the man still holding her bag, ignoring the others. This time, when she spoke, she made sure her voice came out loud and steady. “Your name, Specialist?”
“Why? Fancy a meet-up later?” The man’s gaze dipped from her face to a slow sweep of her body. His grin cane back.
She kept her expression blank. “I asked you a question.”
“Aero Contas.” A flicker of doubt stole some of his arrogance, but only for an instant. “And your name, beautiful?”
She stared him down. “Lieutenant Haan. Give me my bag.”
His eyes widened and the bag sagged lower in his hands. He sputtered as if she’d made a joke. The men behind him shifted.
She didn’t crack even the smallest smile. “Now, Specialist. It’d be a shame to have to report you on your very first day at Spiro.”
Without giving him time to recover, she yanked the bag out of his hand, whirled, and stomped down the ramp.
The sudden sunshine and swirl of bodies disoriented her. For a moment, while her eyes adjusted, all she could see were shadows moving through a glaring light. And then, like a mirage, a figure appeared before her. Tall, with short golden hair and a knife-thin scar that ran from eye to lip.
Milek.
“Welcome back, Lieutenant Haan.” His gaze flicked to the other soldiers disembarking, all of whom gave him a wide berth.
“Thank you, sir. I’m sorry it took me so long.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lieutenant Daakon leading the others inside. He was stout and dark skinned, a gunner like Dysis had been. Aris had once walked in on the two of them about to kiss. Dysis had denied it, but Aris knew what she’d seen. The potential romance was complicated, of course. Same-sex relationships were forbidden by the same antiquated set of laws that had prevented women from joining Military, but even if the rule were to change, the simple fact remained: Dysis wasn’t actually a man.
Aris wondered what Lieutenant Daakon’s reaction had been when he found out the truth, and if they’d gotten a chance to talk about it. Dysis never mentioned him in her comms.
“Did you have any trouble with the reenlistment process?” Milek asked, interrupting her thoughts. He turned toward the collection of rounded buildings that made up Spiro stationpoint. In the bright sun, they glimmered a silver beige.
“It was no problem,” she replied. Which was only true because Dianthe had taken care of the details.
Aris followed him toward the entrance. Behind her, the hum of the transjet intensified as it heaved back into the air, continuing to other stationpoints to deliver the rest of the soldiers.
“How are you doing?” Milek asked. “With the flying, I mean.”
“I’m managing.” With a swish, the thick glass doors opened. The two of them stepped into the quiet halls of Spiro. “I’m flying every day now, and there’s been no nausea or flashes of panic in weeks. I . . . I feel mostly like myself again.”
As he glanced over at her, his habitual gruffness slid into understanding. “War remakes us, teaches us lessons we’d rather not learn. Some of those scars remain for a long time, under the surface.”
“It helped, knowing I could come back. That you—” He looked away and she panicked. “The unit, I mean—needed me. That made all the difference.” Of course she didn’t mean he needed her. It would be colossally stupid to have feelings for her superior officer, no matter what history or perceived closeness they might have.
“Good.” Milek kept walking, unaware of her inner turmoil. “Commander Nyx would like to see you right away.” His voice dipped a little. “And, uh, my mother as well.”
Aris paused. “Ward Vadim is here?”
“Come on.”
They walked down the corridor without saying more, the only sound the thud of their boots.
Despite herself, Aris tensed at the thought of facing Commander Nyx. He was even more intimidating than Dianthe, with ropes of scar that encircled his neck and a glare that could freeze a Safaran heat wave. The last time she’d seen him, he’d forced her to sign a confidentiality agreement and told her she faced imprisonment if she told anyone about Ward Vadim’s rescue.
Milek led Aris to Commander Nyx’s office. “I’ll wait outside,” he said, pausing at the door.
Aris couldn’t hold back a gasp as she entered the room. It wasn’t Ward Vadim’s scarred face that shocked her. It was Commander Nyx. The person sitting at his white desk had his close-cropped hair, steely gray eyes, and determined jaw, but the heavy brows had thinned and the mouth, while still pulled into a tight line, was more delicately shaped than Aris remembered.
“You’re . . . you’re . . .” Aris stuttered.
“No one told you?” Nyx raised a brow.
“No, um, ma’am.”
“It’s sir still, Lieutenant,” Nyx replied, her eyes flinty. “All officers, male and female, are to be referred to as such. A different label implies a different level of respect, which I will not tolerate.”
“Yes, sir.” Relief flickered through her. The ma’am hadn’t fit.
“You remember Ward Vadim of Ruslana,” Commander Nyx continued, without looking up.
Aris bowed to the Ward, who stood beside Nyx. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Ward Vadim.”
“And you,” she replied, stepping closer to shake Aris’s hand. “I was thrilled when Milek told me you were considering joining us again.”
Aris shrugged a little, biting back an awkward laugh. “Thank you.”
“Sometime today or tomorrow,” Commander Nyx said, her no-nonsense voice little changed from its f
ormer, male iteration, “Ward Vadim would like to reveal you as the female soldier who was instrumental to her rescue.”
Aris’s mouth dropped open.
“But I will not do so without your permission,” Ward Vadim interjected. “Whether or not to become a public figure is your choice.”
A public figure? Aris’s stomach churned. “I . . . I only thought about coming back here. Doing my job.”
“If it were up to me, your role would stay classified,” Commander Nyx said, her expression softened. Ward Vadim shot the Commander a look. “But I believe you coming forward would do some good. No doubt you’ve seen the reports.”
Aris thought of Specialist Contas and the group of protestors shouting outside of the capitol. “I’m aware of the issues,” she allowed.
“Women can be smarter than men, just as political,” Ward Vadim said, an old frustration creeping into her voice. “We can lead Tech or Enviro sectors, become menders or business owners. Holy, we can even become Ward. But heavens forbid we prefer jobs requiring physical strength, weapons, or danger. Men have been taught that we’re not capable, and they’ll keep thinking that way until we prove them wrong.”
Aris thought back to who she’d been before she’d first visited Dianthe. Before she’d become Aristos. Maybe it wasn’t just men who thought that way. A year ago, she never would have dreamed she could become a soldier, fight a war.
“We need someone to be the face of the integration movement.” Commander Nyx rubbed the back of her neck, maybe noting the lack of her diatous veil. How strange it must be to live without it after so many years. In the few short months Aris had worn hers, she’d grown so used to it that she hadn’t even noticed when it shattered. “The question is, will that person be you?”
“If it is, what would that mean?” Aris wasn’t sure whether to address her questions to the Commader or the Ward. Both women were staring at her too closely. “What about the hunt for Elom?”
“You’re here to do a job, and we need you here to do it.” Commander Nyx sat up straighter, her red ropes of scar bulging. “Your new Military photo may appear in news vids, and you’ll surely be a point of discussion among reporters. But that should be the extent of it.”
Storm Fall Page 2
