“Yeah, well. He did.” Dysis glanced at her knowingly. “How are things with Major Vadim?”
Aris ignored her, though a traitorous blush climbed her cheeks. “How are things with Daakon?” she countered.
Dysis looked away, her face tightening. “Awkward. Messy. Just as you’d expect.”
“I’m sorry.” Aris squeezed her arm, knowing the words were nothing, wishing she could do something to ease her friend’s pain.
“It is what it is,” Dysis huffed. “Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”
***
“Ugh, Otto. Being a porkpie doesn’t give you permission to be gross. Close your mouth.” Aris rolled her eyes when Otto ripped another bite of lamb off the bone with his teeth.
“Liked it better when you pretended not to care,” he mumbled around the giant mouthful.
“So much of this I missed”—Dysis stabbed a shriveled olive with her fork—“and yet, somehow, the food didn’t make the list.”
“It grows on you,” Otto returned.
“It certainly has for you,” Dysis said, eyeing his belly.
All around them, the cafeteria was filled with the rumble of voices and the clink of silverware. Pallas and Baksen sat with them but didn’t say anything. Pallas had been subdued for days, ever since the mission that had killed Evander. Tonight, she slumped over her plate, picking at the greasy lamb, and didn’t grin at Otto’s jokes. Her eyes kept flitting to the empty seat at the table across the aisle, where Evander used to sit. Like Galec’s chair, it was tied with a black ribbon and left alone out of respect.
Evander hadn’t been particularly welcoming of their new female “status” but he hadn’t been a complete idiot about it either. And, before the integration, he and Pallas had been friends.
“My fat is my camoflauge,” Otto continued. “Works better than whatever contraption you females were using.” He waved his fork toward Aris, Dysis, and Pallas.
Aris snorted. “You didn’t have a clue.”
Otto wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “My dear Lieutenant, you are wrong. We all knew there was something off about you three. Too much . . . feeling.”
“Surely you mean the feeling of humiliation when we did better than you at, well, everything?” Dysis said, smirking. “If you’d really known you’d have reported us.”
Otto shook his head and popped a small, round potato in his mouth. “Nah. Then I’d have lost my favorite splots players. At least you made winning a bit of a challenge.”
Aris cracked a smile, but Otto’s words were more than an awkward joke. Maybe, somehow, he had known, or suspected. And still he fought at their sides with no complaint, then and now, despite the derision of the others.
“When do you leave for Ruslana, Lieutenant?” Pallas asked, filling the sudden void of conversation.
“In two days.” Aris was already anxious about it. Milek had said she’d have to sit on the dais, in front of everyone. It would also be the first time reporters would have access to her. Commander Nyx had already warned her that she might have to speak to them.
Her parents had sent her a comm after their interview, furious at the leading questions and the reporter’s obvious disapproval of Aris’s choices. Aris hadn’t brought herself to watch it yet. She tried to stay away from all news vids these days, but the other soldiers loved to turn them up whenever she dropped by the rec room looking for Pallas or Otto. She couldn’t miss the dismissal and derision with which the more conservative reporters spoke of her, or the footage of angry protestors like the ones she and Dianthe had run into.
“Commander Nyx said we have to wear dresses,” Dysis groused. “I don’t understand why we can’t wear our uniforms for the ceremony. All the men will be in theirs.”
“You’re going, too?” Pallas raised her brows.
Dysis nodded. “Jax invited me. He couldn’t decide on an actual date. Too many women to choose from apparently.”
“Where does one find a ball gown in two days, anyway?” Aris glared at her plate. “It’s not as if I’ve got a heap of the stupid things lying around. I guess I’ll have to ask my mother to bring a dress to Sibetza.”
A dark shadow loomed at Aris’s elbow. “I see you in a sequined number. Short and tight.” Specialist Contas’s eyes wandered along her body, his hands clenched at his sides. “The kind of dress you can rip right off.”
Aris stood, drawing herself to her full height, aware of Dysis moving behind her. “You need to walk away. Now, Specialist.”
“Or what? I’m on a transjet out of here tomorrow, thanks to you.” His handsome face twisted. “You can’t touch me, bitch.”
Dysis stepped forward. “You’re right. She’s too polite.” She grinned, adding, “But I’m not” as she punched him in the face.
Chapter 12
Long before dawn the next morning, a soft knock woke Aris. Dysis and Pallas moved sleepily, but she waved them off, slipping out of bed on silent feet.
When she pressed the panel, the door slid open to reveal Milek. Her heart did an automatic cartwheel.
“What is it?” she whispered. The bright hall lights made her squint.
His short hair was rumpled, his own eyes still heavy with sleep. But his voice was urgent when he replied, “A transjet flying troops to Bieza picked up chatter from a Safaran unit just over the border. They’re protecting an ‘asset’ that needs to have direct comms to Ward Balias.”
“Elom?”
“We think so.” His gaze flicked behind her, into the dark room. “We’ve got a forty-eight-hour window. That’s it.”
“I can be ready in ten minutes,” she said. “Meet you at the landing pad?”
He nodded and with a quick, private smile, he strode down the hall.
Aris collected her uniform and body armor and dressed in the small washroom. In the dim glow from the emergency lights, her scar shone a dull silver. She said a fast, silent prayer that this mission wouldn’t be a waste of time. Elom needed to answer for his crimes, and she wanted to be the person who dug him out and exposed him to the world.
“Meeting Major Vadim for a morning . . . workout?” Dysis leaned against the wall by the washroom door as Aris returned to the bedroom.
Aris nearly jumped out of her armor. “Blighting hell, Dysis,” she whispered. “You scared me.”
“Imagine my surprise to find you and Major Vadim sneaking around before ‘lights on.’ What’s happened?” She shifted; in the faint light from the washroom, Aris could see she’d crossed her arms.
She didn’t want to lie to Dysis, but Milek hadn’t authorized her to tell anyone about the missions with the invisible wingjet. With a shrug, she said, “Just a quick recon run. I’ll be back by lunch.”
“You and Major Vadim like your secrets, don’t you?” From her tone, it sounded like Dysis thought Aris’s covert activities were of a more personal nature. Another secret Aris wasn’t supposed to tell.
“I’ve got to go.” Aris escaped quickly, but she was pretty sure Dysis noticed the bright red blush that lit her cheeks as she hustled past her and out of the room.
Fog cloaked the landing pad, giving the lights that lined it golden halos. A faint glow to the East hinted at dawn. The air held a heaviness, a volatility that sent Aris’s gaze to the sky, looking for lightning.
Milek waited for her near the invisible wingjet with a red secure-tech digitablet. “Sorry for the early wake-up.” His voice sounded strangely muffled by the fog. “But I didn’t want to waste any time.”
“I’m glad you got me. I wouldn’t have wanted to wait either.” Aris brushed her hand against his hip as she leaned in to look at the digitablet. “Where am I going?”
He brought up the map. They stood a little too close as they huddled over the tablet, but there was no one to see. “Our intel suggests Elom is holed up in this hilly region at the base of the mountains,” he said, pointing to an area just over the Safaran border. “We need you to do a flyover to look for any troop buildups or suspicious act
ivities.”
“No problem.” At least this mission was along the border and not as far into Safara as the last.
Aris took the digitablet and hopped into the wingjet, powering up the nav so she could input the coordinates. When that was done, she climbed back down and handed him the secure-tech device.
As he reclaimed it, Milek let his fingers linger against hers. She drifted closer, his body pulling her like a string. It was dangerous to stand this close.
Milek cast a quick glance around the landing pad. They were alone, cocooned in the mist and the quiet. He pressed a fast, hard kiss to her lips. When he might have pulled away, she clung to him, coaxing him to kiss her longer, deeper. She knew they were taking a risk, that there was a chance they could get caught. She promised herself she’d stop, move away, be professional, even as she drew him against her, their breath and heat and lips mingling until she was wild with it.
Somehow she ended up with her back against the wingjet’s cool side, her hands tangled in Milek’s hair. She wanted to curl her leg around his thigh, slide her fingers under his shirt to feel the smooth muscles of his stomach. Instead, with a regretful sigh, she forced a small distance between them.
They looked at each other for a moment, eyes wide, their quickened breaths beating against the fog like birds’ wings.
Reluctantly, Aris scrambled into the wingjet. Milek winked at her as she yanked on the lever to close the dome. She tried to erase the big dumb grin off her face. It was time to concentrate. She flipped the switch to engage the veiling tech and pulled gently on the controls, bringing the machine up to a hover over the airfield.
“Comms up?” she asked as she cut through the fog to a clear patch of sky above.
“Coming in loud and clear.” Milek added, a smile in his voice, “Take care of yourself, alright? I’d like to have another . . . er, discussion . . . as soon you as you get back.”
“A discussion, huh?” Aris’s pulse still fluttered through her, igniting every nerve ending.
“I felt like we were communicating quite well.” She could practically see the mischievous glint in his eyes.
She laughed.
As she flew toward Safara’s border, the fog burned off with the sun, but a thick bank of clouds marched toward her from the horizon. The summer storms were rolling in early today. Aris stayed below the cloud line, afraid the featureless mass of gray would be disorienting without visible wings and a nose to ground her.
She glanced at the nav panel and noticed a large pixilated patch obscuring part of the map. She toggled a few things; it wasn’t until she’d flipped off the heat-seeking tech that the map returned to its former clarity.
“There’s a glitch in the heat-seeking tech,” she shared with Milek over comms.
“Has that happened before?” He sounded more annoyed than concerned.
“No. But it might be the weather. Heavy cloud cover here. Everything else is working just fine.”
“Keep me updated. You notice any other issues, you get out of there immediately. Don’t take any risks.”
“Yes, sir.” Aris smiled at his protectiveness.
She kept to a steady, northwesterly track, moving ever closer to the border with Safara.
In the distance, a jagged bolt of electricity pierced downward through the darkening clouds. “Blighting fantastic,” she muttered. Disorienting or not, she needed to make it through the clouds to the clear sky above, at least until she passed the storm cell. She checked her progress; only a few minutes from the outside edge of the search area. She had to dodge the storm quickly; her best chance at finding Elom’s camp was to stay low to the ground so she could get a visual confirmation.
With an inner sigh, she pulled up on the controls, spiraling through the thickening storm clouds. Immediately, her vision contracted to a swirling mass of gray and silver white. Rain spattered against the glass dome with the sound of thrown pebbles. She caught herself flinching.
Just a little dance. Nothing you can’t handle.
Aris pushed through the mess at an angle, gaining altitude. Wind buffeted the small jet, throwing her off course. She clenched her hands around the controls so they wouldn’t shake. Ahead, a wedge of blue sky muscled through the clouds.
Almost there.
Aris pointed her wingjet’s invisible nose toward the widening gap. Lightning flashed uncomfortably close, blinding her for an instant.
“Status?” Milek’s voice filled her helmet, drowning out the crack of thunder.
She glanced quickly at the nav panel before returning her eyes to the chaos outside. “Just reaching the search area. Stuck in some weather, but I’m coming out of it.”
At that moment she burst from the clouds into a fall of sunlight . . . and saw a shimmering patch of the wingjet’s nose flicker before her.
“Blighting hell!” She swore. “The veiling tech’s been damaged. I have to—”
“Aris, get out of—”
A loud hiss of static garbled their words.
“Damn.” Aris spun and dove, desperate to change course and get the hell out of there. She didn’t like the signal interference. That meant more than one system was affected. As soon as she crossed back into Atalanta, she needed to assess—
A piercing whine clashed with an urgent beeping from the nav panel. Incoming fire.
How is that possible?
Aris pulled straight out of the dive, shifting direction as fast as she could to outrun the missile. She needed to disappear into those storm clouds. She flipped belly up and began a steep climb.
The wingjet jerked sideways off its trajectory, its left wing bursting into visibility as it was engulfed in flame.
“Milek!” Aris shouted, her voice as urgent as the nav’s beeping. “I’m hit.” Oh Gods. She was too high. Without a wing, there was no way—“I’m going to have to punch out!”
“No! It’s too dangerous! Just take her down easy. You can do it.”
Aris pulled the chute straps tighter across her chest. Punching out was always a last resort; it was usually safer to try to land a malfunctioning wingjet. But sometimes it was necessary if there was too much damage—or if you were too high. And sometimes it didn’t matter. Sometimes you were dead either way.
“I’m sorry, Milek.” Static crackled, interrupting her again. “I’m too high. There’s too much—”
Another blast shook her. She tried to keep the jet level, but the controls did nothing to stop its sudden descent. Punching out would probably kill her.
But an uncontrolled fall would definitely do the job.
She jerked on the dome lever with all her strength, letting in the screaming wind.
She drew in a last, desperate breath as she was sucked from the burning jet and flung into the deadly freedom of the naked sky.
Chapter 13
If Pyralis were the type to suffer tension headaches, this meeting would have produced a crushing one. Atalanta’s top Military commanders had already informed him that Safara’s troop levels were increasing—and no one knew how. They’d also insulted Galena’s planned security measures for the ceremony, which was just a day away, and complained about the weather in Sibetza. And now . . .
Galena stared incredulously at the sat-projection on the table. “So you’re saying all those red dots are Ward Balias sightings?” There were dozens of them, hovering above a three-dimensional map of Safara. Many regions of the dominion were black, empty swatches that cut through the map, where Atalantan surveillance didn’t yet reach. Too much dark space.
Commander Freni, a grizzled soldier with short graying hair and pockmarked cheeks, shook his head. “No. Those are the Balias sightings this week. And that’s just within the areas where we’ve been able to access news feeds and hack into surveillance.”
Pyralis shook his head. “But that’s impossible. These locations are too far-flung. There’s no chance he could have traveled that far so quickly.”
“And he’s been silent for weeks,” Galena added. “No statem
ents to the press, no sightings by our surveillance tech. This type of behavior, even if it were physically possible, is entirely unprecedented.”
Pyralis paced the length of the room, a wood-paneled, secure-tech office in Ruslana’s capitol. Galena chose a different room each time Atalanta’s Military commanders met here, and kept guards stationed inside and outside the only entrance. She was probably being overly cautious, but he didn’t blame her. Her abduction had made it clear that Ward Balias’s reach was frightening in scope.
“We’re looking into it,” Commander Freni said. “On the tech side, it could be possible they’ve wised to our hacks and are feeding us faulty intel.” The other two commanders let Freni do the talking, as usual.
Pyralis turned his attention to the youngest of his advisors, Commander Quin. Scrawny and bespectacled, he always looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t often speak up.
“Commander Quin, in your experience, do you think it probable they’re sending us these sightings to derail our efforts?” Pyralis asked.
Quin glanced up from the sat-table in surprise. But it only took him a moment to recover. “If Ward Balias suspects our plans to infiltrate his inner circle, he might flaunt his obvious well-being and safety as evidence he’s untouchable. But most leaders tend to lie low when they’re aware of a threat. He could be sabotaging our surveillance access points to feed false sightings, but that would require a considerable amount of skill and effort.”
Pyralis stared at the splatter of red dots hovering over the map. So many for one man, but if you looked at them as the movements of multiple men . . .
A sudden conviction filled him. “He’s not sending us faulty sightings. He’s got the blighting veil tech.” Pyralis seethed. “He’s made decoys of himself.”
Galena studied the map more closely. “Gods, you’re right.”
She looked like she wanted to kiss him. Pyralis wished she would.
“Ward Nekos, you have an auditory comm on line ten,” a tech voice echoed through the room. “A Commander Nyx.”
Storm Fall Page 7
