by Susan Grant
Better to have been paired and severed than to never have been paired at all, the saying went. Hawk didn’t agree, but sometimes Falcon made him wonder.
“We have little choice but to remain patient with the Terrans’ way of doing things,” Hawk said. “Captain Ritz said they’re still running tests on volunteers, narrowed down by age, health, and gender. It’s to be a carefully curated and controlled experiment. Strict protocol. No exchange of personal information until the first meeting. Only code names of letters and numbers. The initial meetings will happen under supervision.”
“Chaperones.” Falcon made a face, then frowned. “Are the Terrans worried we’ll act improperly with the women?” He glanced at Ellfen. “Or men.”
“It’s new to them, the concept, so they want to be cautious.” The joining could be intense. Few outside of Sky’s End understood it. Few in the galaxy understood his people period.
A soft chirping noise interrupted their conversation. Falcon pushed upright and twisted around in his seat. A few soldiers of Drakken origin openly eyed them and made bird calls as if daring them to respond.
“Ignore it,” Hawk warned in a low voice.
“Do you hear them taunt us? They mock our blood.”
“To react is not our way. Rise above it, Falcon. You’re a sky warrior.” Hawk wanted to add that they were superior to these dirt-dwellers in every way but thought better of it, remembering his earlier words. As a commander, he had to follow his own orders. “Why don’t you lead our formation when we arrive at the Terran base? It’s an opportunity to display your fine aviation planning and execution skills to your future Sky Mate.”
Falcon seemed at a loss for words for once. “You honor me with this task, sir. And I hope so—I hope my mate is there.”
As do we all.
When Hawk had prepared to launch from the VIP spaceport in Cloud City, his crew chief had handed him his helmet, hand-polished so thoroughly that he could see their reflections in it. On one side was a half wing, the traditional symbol of a Solo sky warrior. The chief had bowed deeply, his eyes grave. “Sir, we’re counting on you.”
Hawk’s entire planet was counting on him to return with Sky Mates for his candidates, from the lowliest dockworker to the most orthodox of sky warriors on the Council of Elders. If he was successful, if he proved their faith in him was warranted, he’d bring renewed hope for his people and honor to his parents.
With a solid thump, the transport docked. Finally they could board their Raptors.
Voices rose in volume as the other passengers jumped up. The troops jostled each other, reaching for their carry-on bags, calling out to friends.
Hawk’s team remained in their seats. Their gazes flicked to him, their leader. He answered with a slight nod. Only then did they gather their things.
For a moment, the gravity of the moment and his mission weighed on Hawk’s shoulders. Then he strode forward and ducked through the hatch of the transport. It was time to fly to the land called Texas.
Chapter Two
Captain Kelly “Crackers” Ritz peered at the horizon with a mix of awe and nerves. Her helmet dangled from one hand as she shielded her eyes from the fierce August sun. It was noisy on the flight line at Webber Space Force Base—jet engines roaring, the West Texas afternoon wind howling—but a distant rumble stood out.
The sound was unique, not like Earth jet engines and not like any of the alien ships she’d heard before.
It’s them. They’re here.
The delegation from Sky’s End.
A jolt of adrenaline shot through her. The part-cyborg sky warriors were said to be the best aviators in the galaxy. They were genetically modified and bioengineered to interface with their ships. Their top warcraft were so advanced flying them was possible only with a bonded pair, Sky Mates, who were soul mates working in tandem, tethered mentally and emotionally to each other and their ship.
Which was weird and also fascinating.
But there was a shortage of mates at home. In exchange for supplying compatible volunteers, Earth would gain access to some fancy tech no one else had.
Pretty smart move for the new kids on the galactic block. Even though they were in a group hug with a couple of advanced civilizations—aka the Triad Alliance—Earth seemed to have no qualms about cutting a side deal with one of the most technologically advanced of the Triad planets. With Webber as the host, they’d rolled out the welcome mat for Sky’s End with a smile.
“And so it begins.” Lieutenant Dee “Rainbow” Wilson, the squadron intelligence officer, joined her on the apron. “Did you get your results back yet, Crackers?”
Kelly nodded. “Good news. My DNA sample failed the whatever-they-look-for test.” Now she could devote her full focus to overseeing the highly scrutinized Project Sky Mates study.
“I’m putting you in charge, Crackers,” her commander told her last month. “Make sure these so-called sky warriors stay in line. They’ve got a bit of a reputation, but nothing you can’t handle.”
She had to handle it. More than that—she had to excel. Her selection as co-liaison had been a major coup. It was the perfect opportunity to prove she was ready for the squadron Assistant Director of Operations position, giving her a chance to extend her assignment at the base a few more years. Webber, Texas, was home. Even after living all over the world, she’d never stopped feeling that way. Her roots were here, and Dad was buried here. Her best memories were from here too—from before everything changed, from before she went from being the center of a couple’s life to a third wheel. She didn’t want to leave, not yet.
“You didn’t want to be part of the study?” Dee sounded shocked. “Being Sky Mates sounds like a dream.”
“I don’t need help flying.”
“It’s more than being flying partners.”
Kelly scrunched up her face. “I definitely don’t need help with men.”
Dee threw her an amused sideways glance. “True enough.”
Kelly laughed. “I mean, I’d love a chance to fly one of their secret spacecraft, but you have to pair up—for life. No, thanks.”
When it came to relationships, she’d learned her lesson. You didn’t have to tell her not to touch a hot stove twice. Okay, not three times. A person had to figure out what they were good at and focus on that. “Long term never works for me.”
Work worked for her. She loved her job more than anything. At least that was what her last serious boyfriend had told her before he broke off their engagement, accusing her of being more passionate about flying than him. Which was true.
Easy fix: keep things casual. When the good times waned, she gracefully bowed out.
As a Sky Mate, she’d be a total fail.
She turned to Dee. “Major Hakkim isn’t genetically viable either. He strikes me as an honorable person, putting the needs of his people first.” Driven to find matches for others when his own chances were nonexistent. “I respect him for it.”
On his world, to reach the highest rungs of success and influence, you needed to be part of a Sky Mate pair, the people who could fly the secret Dragon ships. Even where you lived was based on whether you were a Sky Mate or not. His was a caste-based society. Yet here he was, helping five officers navigate through a process he himself couldn’t attempt.
She’d always been a sucker for an altruistic man. It explained her stupid crush on Hawk.
Which she’d never reveal.
Ever.
She kept her tone light. “So neither of us has a horse in the race. Zero conflicts of interest, zero distractions.” Their goals were crystal clear: he wanted mates; she wanted to remain at Webber. Together, they could achieve both. “All we have to do is make sure his candidates show up for their tests and training and”—she crossed her fingers—“get matched. Piece of cake! As a bonus, I’ll see that they have a nice time while they’re here. What about you, Rainbow? Haven’t you gotten swabbed yet?”
The color drained from Dee’s face. Freckles appeared
like summer stars. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can. You don’t have to be a pilot to submit your DNA.”
“I mean, I’d have to learn to fly.” Dee pressed her hand against her stomach. “The thought alone makes me want to puke. It’s why I’m in intel, not aviation.” Yet a look of longing crossed her face as she searched the sky.
“Could be you’re just smart.” Kelly grinned. “You respect your survival instinct.” Sometimes Kelly wondered if she lacked one. Before the aliens had come, when they still had intra-Earth wars, she’d flown in combat. She’d volunteered for the most dangerous missions, pushing every boundary—personally and professionally—but nothing changed. She came home with a box of air medals and the same unexplained empty place inside her she’d been trying her whole life to fill. Now that she was older, living on the edge didn’t have the same appeal, not if she wanted to be taken seriously.
The rumble was louder now; the vibration echoed in her chest. Kelly gasped as six drop-dead-gorgeous starfighters appeared over the mountains. They soared down to the valley floor in a tight, diamond-shaped formation—dark-gray-and-lavender delta-shaped ships, white vapor trails streaming behind them, not a wingtip out of place.
Not more than a few hundred tree-skimming feet off the deck.
Her smile evaporated. Holy fuck.
Was this some kind of stunt?
Kelly racked her brain, trying to recall her last conversation with Hawk. As always, he was reserved and a little socially awkward—okay, a lot socially awkward—taking courtesy to the extreme. “I thank you for your due diligence on the matter of seeing to our comfort.” Seeing to his comfort? Come on, how could she not smile at that? Especially with his somber, smokin’-hot headshot staring her in the face. But he hadn’t strayed off topic, and he definitely hadn’t revealed his plans for a splashy grand entrance. Yet here he was, leading a six-ship formation to the base at a dazzling speed and at an altitude too low to think about.
“Jiminy,” Dee said, a hint of worry in her tone. That the intel officer used expressions like “Jiminy” was comic gold, especially during briefings, but Kelly was in no mood to grin. She could picture her commander’s reaction already.
A stickler for rules, Lieutenant Colonel Mike “M&M” Miller was going to be furious. When it came to the sky warriors, he’d asked only one thing of her: “Keep them in line.”
Things were not off to a good start.
The starfighters streaked across the scenic valley toward downtown Webber. Kelly bit back a groan. This wasn’t tornado country, but she hoped everyone in the quirky little town had nailed down their roof shingles. Anything loose was in danger of being blown off. After giving the town what was surely an eyeful, the sky warriors banked toward the base.
If they planned to land, it sure didn’t look like it. They were closing fast, clouds of dust billowing in their wake.
Hawk, tell me you’re not planning to buzz the tower.
Several air traffic controllers were visible behind the glass. One of them looked to be shouting into a hand mic as he waved his arm. Whatever the controller was saying, it seemed to have no effect on the starfighters. A collective shout rose up as people scattered.
“Rainbow—get your head down!” Kelly warned.
At the last second, all six starships snapped into a roll, flipping belly up.
And then it was chaos—people yelling, wind gusting, everyone ducking or diving for cover as the spacecraft shrieked overhead while inverted.
Kelly peeked over her raised forearm, glimpsing a perfect formation—enviably tight, impossibly close, wing tips only a whisper apart. Upside fucking down, all six starships!
A deafening boom thundered as they passed. It echoed in her chest, pummeling her eardrums. Grit and pebbles pelted her. Glass shattered somewhere, adding to the crescendo as the alien ships soared skyward, almost vertical.
Within seconds, their glowing thrusters were as tiny as fireflies.
It was frikkin’ awesome.
But ridiculous too. The starships couldn’t have cleared the control tower by more than a few feet. No controllers were in view now. She’d bet they were flat on the floor.
Hawk, are you batshit crazy? Who did he think he was—flight lead for the interstellar Thunderbirds? Maverick from Top Gun? Her heart drummed against her ribs, her hands shaking as she dusted herself off.
Some WUGs—weapons school undergrads—of Drakken origin walked past. They stared hard at the Raptors regrouping high overhead. Body art peeked out above their flight suit collars. All the former Imperial fighter pilots had a hard edge to them, like felons on a work-release program. Knowing the toll the war had taken on their lives, she’d never hold it against them.
They peered at the Raptors and pursed their lips. “Cheep-cheep.” A chirping noise.
“Freepin’ birdies,” they said in their native language. She was fairly fluent in the Queen’s Tongue by now, a job requirement for being part of a galactic alliance, but birdies? She frowned. The comment struck her as a slur. But she wasn’t proficient enough in QT to understand the context.
“Crackers!” M&M bellowed as he barreled toward her.
She straightened, preparing for the worst, and kept her mouth shut. She knew better than to make excuses. It always made things worse.
Her commander yanked the soggy tip of his unlit cigar from between his lips. “What was that? What just happened?”
She stood at attention. “My clue bag is empty, sir. Major Hakkim said nothing about this.”
M&M’s scowl deepened. “I’m responsible for the safety and welfare of the aviators at TopGun school. All the aviators, alien or ours. I do not tolerate hotdogging—”
A loud, musical crash interrupted him. A window in the squadron building fell to the sidewalk in a waterfall of glass.
Kelly winced, and M&M swung his glare back to her.
“I’ll talk to Hawk,” she said. “We’ll establish parameters.”
“Let me be clear—the parameters will be the same for them as they are for everyone else. The same rules. I don’t care how bad the goons in the Pentagon want their hands on that fancy hardware, the reputation of Galactic TopGun school is on the line.”
“There won’t be a repeat of today, sir.” She’d see to that.
From behind them, a familiar rumble grew louder. A crowd of onlookers applauded and whistled. The sky warriors circled the base in their Raptors and lined up for an approach. One by one, the sleek ships touched down on the runway, the landings flawless.
Kelly almost sighed. What I wouldn’t do to get behind the controls of one of those babies.
Watching the landings, M&M grunted as if in admiration, then jammed his cigar in his mouth. “I’ll hold you to your word, Crackers,” he grumbled and stormed back to his office.
Glad to be out of the line of fire, she exhaled. “That’s what I get for thinking this assignment would be a piece of cake.”
Dee reached for Kelly’s helmet. “Go on. Talk to Major Hakkim. I’ll stow this for you. You might need both hands free.”
“Why? So I can strangle him?”
“As the intel officer, I can only suggest tactical options,” Dee answered with a sly grin.
Kelly let Dee take her helmet. Then she pivoted on her heel and strode away. It was time to meet her co-liaison and get him straightened out. Her ass was on the line—and her dream job—if she didn’t.
Chapter Three
Captain Ritz, K: I’m on my way. Wait there.
A spark of pleasure warmed Hawk when Captain Ritz’s message appeared. It was terse, briefer than her usual communications, but she was likely sidetracked by protocol. He imagined she’d enjoyed the show of respect displayed by his team. Falcon had done an outstanding job leading the formation. What better way to convey their appreciation for the Terrans’ help than to treat their settlement of Webber and its military base to their precise maneuvers?
He climbed down from his Raptor. The Texas wind gusted—hot an
d dry, like a blast of air from thrusters. Exposure to wind and to raw sunlight had been rare in his life. His skin warmed in the sunlight and tingled. Micro machines in his body protected him from sunburn, but he liked the rare sensation of being out in the elements.
There would be more of it to come. The tailors on Sky’s End had crafted civilian clothing for his team’s stay, painstakingly copied from images Captain Ritz had supplied. There were even short pants and short-sleeved shirts, designed for outdoors to allow maximum sunlight to bathe their skin. Odd but intriguing.
His mind traveled to the thought of Captain Ritz wearing such clothing items—bare legs, bare arms—before he snapped it back. Discipline.
He loosened the collar of his exoarmor and filled his lungs with air, cataloging the various odors: dust, plant life, sunbaked concrete, and an acrid but sweet odor he’d smelled before but couldn’t immediately identify.
Fossil fuel. Yes, that was it. The Terrans had not yet fully abandoned the antiquated energy source. Not only had he traveled across the galaxy, it was as if he’d journeyed back in time. When Terran jets taxied past, the fumes were downright eye watering.
Rigel and Rowan wrinkled their noses, and Narekk shook his head. Ellfen’s lips were pressed together, and Falcon looked as if he were trying not to breathe.
“You’ll get used to it, being landside,” Hawk assured the Solos, but he was no expert. Having been born in the sky, raised in the sky, and dedicated to a career in the sky, he was used to air that was tasteless, colorless, and odorless—or intentionally fragranced, as it was in the mile-high towers of Cloud City, the capital of Sky’s End, where most of the population lived.
“The Terran controller sounded agitated, sir,” Falcon said, his narrowed eyes sliding sideways at the onlookers. “He kept barking warnings.”
“Of hazards that weren’t applicable to us,” Hawk pointed out. He’d tried to reassure the Terran controller over the comm, patiently explaining the capabilities of their Raptors, but there was no reasoning with the man. “He didn’t recognize the differences between our ships and those of the rest of the Triad.”
