by Trisha Telep
Berell paced the length of his office, hands clasped behind his back. “We need a navigator who can . . . think on his feet, Miflin. Steer the ship through unknown obstacles in a foreign, hostile environment.” He paused for effect. “The ship will be striking a target in the center of Asort, the capital city of Stovia.”
“That . . . wow.” Rand tried to come up with a response that would let his dropped jaw do something useful. “That’s going to take one hell of a pilot.” Could he navigate it? Yeah, probably. But no pilot he’d ever met would be able to follow his instructions quick enough to keep them both from getting very dead, very fast.
Berell smiled. “I don’t think that will be a problem. If you accept the assignment, your pilot will be E. L.Tyler.”
As if on cue, the door opened. The short, broad man who entered wore a full zero-g suit, including a laser and a bullet-scarred face shield that hid his features. The helmet alone spoke of firefights most pilots could only imagine. Rand felt a rush of fear flow through him. Captain El Tyler was a legend. And not just a run-of-the-mill hometown legend, but a freaking galactic legend. Everyone from schoolkids to five-star generals spoke of him in hushed, reverent tones, like those reserved for dead presidents on old paper money, hall-of-fame rock stars and five-time winners of the Super Bowl. He’d been the primary sty in the emperor’s eye for twenty-plus years. One-on-one starship dogfights, five to one, ten to one. He’d taken every job and had come back. Not always with a ship, and not always untouched, but never on his shield. Not only had Rand never met El Tyler, he’d never actually met anyone who had met him. Wow.
Rand stood in a rush, nearly knocking over the small table next to his chair. He held out his hand and stammered a greeting. “Captain Tyler. Wow. What an honor, sir.” Then, to his great embarrassment, words just started coming out in a rush and he couldn’t seem to stop. “I am such a huge fan! I’ve read stories of nearly every battle you’ve fought. The Venusian ring conflict, the Pluto stronghold attacks, and even that chase through the Sirian asteroid belt last month. That was amazing! I even dug up why everyone calls you ‘El’ instead of E. L. It’s just such an honor.”
And through it all, while he gushed his praise and held out his offering hand, Tyler just stood there, palms on hips, not even acknowledging his existence. Finally, after a long moment, Rand dropped his hand, feeling both like a fool and a chastised child.
The gravelly, metallic voice from behind the blast-shield cut Rand to the bone. “I don’t know what you were thinking, Commander. I can’t possibly fly with Miflin.”
As Rand was about to open his mouth to protest the slur to his skills, Commander Berell growled what sounded suspiciously like an order. “You can and will, El. Miflin’s the best, and you damned well know it. Don’t make me pull rank.”
“He was a smuggler, Walter – for sale to the highest bidder. He can’t be trusted.”
Rand felt his cheeks grow hot. But he couldn’t deny his past. It had certainly been thrown in his face enough times. “That’s behind me now. I’m in this for the long haul. I’m loyal to the Terran rebellion.”
Now Tyler turned that shield to stare blankly at him. Rand could see his own head reflected in the mirrored surface. His face was a mix of emotions: angry, embarrassed, betrayed by a childhood hero; a thousand things. He adjusted his muscles until the expression that stared back in the reflection was calm and cold. But the words from behind the helmet quickly twisted them again. “For how long, Miflin? You’ve been loyal for what – six months now? I have stains in my coffee mug older than that.”
“People change, El.” Berell’s voice was soft but matter-of-fact. “You did. I think it’s time to show him how much. I’ll vouch for him.”
That made Rand’s brows rise. How had El “changed”? He thought he knew everything about El Tyler’s past. Perfect student, jet-fighter pilot in the last war between two minor Middle Eastern countries – back when there were only Americans, French, Greek, Iranians and other nationalities. Before the Stovians. Before the real world war began. But he’d never heard even a hint about any sort of shady past. There was nothing to change there, that he’d heard of.
“If one single word of this gets out, Miflin—” Tyler reached up and touched a spot on his helmet Rand hadn’t noticed before. The voice behind the shield suddenly altered. It became higher-pitched, lighter. “Well, let’s say nobody who matters will ever fly with you again . . .”
As Rand watched in amazement, the hands reached up and pulled off the helmet. Then Rand’s mouth gaped so wide he could feel air on the back of his tongue. Blonde hair, the color of a sunflower, flowed down and down, past a heart-shaped jaw and a slender neck, to the heavy armor of a suit that he now realized obviously didn’t fit a woman’s slender frame. Worse, it wasn’t just any woman. Officer Ellen Grayson was the cop who’d finally caught him and put him in jail. A cop, by the way, who had worked for the Stovians, after they’d taken over, before the rebellion started.
It couldn’t be. The great Captain Tyler . . . a woman? No. There was no way El Tyler could be the same person as this cop. “You’re not El Tyler.” And he could prove it. Before he realized it, he was five steps forward, sticking a finger in her face. To her credit, she didn’t flinch. “You were a beat cop, flying patrols, when the real Captain Tyler was running raids on the Stovians’ moon base. You’re the same age as me – too young to have been the pilot at the Pluto armory attack.” Also too gorgeous. Damn, she had looked good in her tight black planetary police uniform. The shapeless mess she had on now wasn’t worthy of that figure.
Her voice was calm when she responded. “Like the commander said . . . people change. Sometimes legends have to change, too.” He wasn’t sure how to take that comment, and neither she nor Berell elaborated. She paused and then accepted a glass of water the commander was holding out. “But you can be sure that I am El Tyler. I did fly in the Sirian asteroid battle and I kicked butt. And I am the best damned pilot you’re ever likely to meet.” She drank the water slowly, giving him time to think.
Did he trust her? No. But Berell did. And as much as he hated to admit it, she was the only one who had ever managed to catch him. If he had anyone to thank for being in the resistance, it was her.
Damn it.
“Fine. I’ll do it. Just tell me where and when to be.”
Commander Berell gave him a short nod and held out his hand to shake Rand’s. Grayson, aka Tyler, didn’t say a word. But he could swear he saw her smile before she put the helmet back over her face.
Two
Why had she agreed to this? Every warning signal in her head, plus several more scattered through her body, told her it was a bad idea. Yet here she was, squished less than a foot away from the most dangerous man she’d ever met.
“Cozy, huh?” Rand Miflin whispered inches from her ear. The rush of warm air against her skin made her shiver. “Been waiting to get this close to you for a long time.”
She didn’t respond. Couldn’t. After a long pause, he changed tack to try humor. “Should we have mentioned to the supply sergeant we’re more than four feet tall?”
A safe topic. Good. El likewise kept her voice low enough not to be heard by any passing sound-detectors. The words came out in a gravelly baritone. “I know it’s uncomfortable. But making the run in a Jupiter Javelin is the only chance we have to get close enough to Stovia for this to work.”
Miflin grunted and struggled to extend his leg into a space not meant for a six-foot male. “Yeah, yeah. I read the briefing too. It’s the only ship small enough to fit into the hold of the grain transport that makes regular runs to the planet. It’s dense enough from the heavy metals that it’ll look like an asteroid on scanners. But I do actually need to have feeling in my feet and hands in order to operate the equipment.” He unlatched his restraints and crawled clumsily out of his seat. “I’m going to wiggle back to what’s considered the lavatory on this heap. Don’t . . . wander off while I’m gone.” He chuckled at his own jok
e while El rolled her eyes.
As soon as he disappeared through the tiny doorway, she was able to take her first deep breath in the last hour. She hadn’t dared to breathe normally while Rand was in the cockpit. That cologne he wore affected her just as badly as it had when she’d first met him. The vital-sign monitors would pick up her racing heart if she wasn’t careful. She wished she could have lied and told him the Stovians had “human sniffers”, so he couldn’t wear the subtle, musky fragrance.
How in the hell was she going to concentrate on this mission if she couldn’t think when he was close to her?
She raised her arms slightly, bumping the propulsion-indicator readout. A sigh escaped her. It wasn’t just Rand’s presence that was bothering her. The whole mission was risky, and probably suicide. It was better if she didn’t dwell on it. She had to think positive. I can do this. It’s only two days. I just need to concentrate on the details. It’s a critical job. And it really was. The fate of Earth and every colony in the solar system hung in the balance.
She looked up automatically when a tone sounded above her. Miflin crawled through the doorway just as the transport’s captain came over the com. “Captain Tyler? We just entered the wormhole. You’ll have about five hours to stretch, talk and get something to eat before we enter the Polaris system. You’re free to turn on the signal jammer. I’d rather not hear the details about why you’re here. Bridge out.”
“Well, at least he’s honest.” Rand shrugged one shoulder as best he could, and started to crawl backwards. “Let’s get out of here into the main hold.”
El pressed a button on the console before taking off her helmet and crawling out of her seat. One foot was completely numb. Even the pressure suits weren’t enough to keep the blood flowing to all her limbs. At least Javelins had the advantage of mostly using hand controls. The only problem would be if they crashed. After a dozen more hours in the cockpit she didn’t know if she’d be able to walk away. A beep sounded, indicating the signal jammer had finished its search of all available wavelengths, and had implemented a countersignal. They could now talk without being overheard.
She stepped down the gangplank to the overwhelming smell of wheat. When they’d arrived on the transport she’d closed her eyes and imagined she was back in Kansas, standing in her father’s wheat field right at harvest. There was nothing quite like the scent of fresh-cut wheat. Her father had told her stories about wheat grown under blue skies and sunshine, instead of underground in hermetically controlled hydroponic farms housed in towering salt caverns. Maybe one day she’d have her own farm. Once the planet belonged to the humans again.
“You’ve got your eyes closed again. Thinking about a better place to be?” She opened them. Rand was sprawled on a beach lounger, eating a steaming ration of what smelled like beef stew.
“This bubble makes me nervous. There’s more than a hundred tons of wheat surrounding us, held back by nothing but a thin sheet of plastic. One nick and we could be crushed.” El shivered.
He looked up and around and then shrugged. “Then I wouldn’t run with scissors.” She felt her frown deepen when he smiled broadly; that damned infectious smile. He motioned to another antique metal-and-fabric lounger, folded up and leaning against the Javelin. “Pull up a chair and have some dinner. You got the Chicken à la King, and you’ll be happy to know that no chickens were harmed in the making of the dish. Yum.”
He really had pulled out a ration and started the heater inside. But as hungry as she was, she couldn’t help but distrust him.
He noticed her staring with suspicion at the innocuous brown bag, and let out a small noise. “No, I didn’t poison it. I’ll trade if it’ll make you happier.”
She stared him down for a long moment. “Yeah, actually, it would.” She held out her hand for the beef stew. “I’ll take yours.”
It took him aback. His sapphire-blue eyes showed honest shock. “Wow. You really don’t trust me. I thought you were just objecting to the commander because you were afraid of being alone with me. You know, the whole sexual thing we’ve got going on.”
She felt her face settle into a sneer and couldn’t seem to stop it. “What thing? Why in the world would I be afraid of you? Besides your obvious odors, that is. I really don’t trust you.” It was such a reflex to deny it. She’d done it the last time they’d met, too.
What was wrong with admitting she was attracted? But no. There were too many good reasons not to get involved with someone like Rand Miflin. He was a criminal. There was no getting around that he didn’t think the rules applied to him. People like him didn’t change their basic nature. Sure, he was charismatic, and he even might believe he was being loyal, but there had to be something in this for him, and that made him dangerous. “Now, are you going to give me the stew, or do you want to admit you’re trying to sabotage this mission?”
He shook his head and straddled the lounger. “From making you dinner to a Stovian saboteur in less than a minute. Screw this.” Dumping the plastimetal fork into the bag, he tossed the meal at her hard. She barely managed to avoid wearing the stew, but tried to school her features so that she didn’t look as embarrassed as she felt. He stood up and stalked to the top of the gangplank.
“Don’t you want the chicken?” She didn’t move from where she stood. She wasn’t positive he was above punching her.
“Why would I? It’s poisoned, right? I’m going to go inside and try to get some sleep. Shame there’s only room for one to do that without using a zero-g bag. You can stay out here with the wheat.” Before she could react, he pushed the code in the wall and the door slammed shut.
Terrific. Just her, a half-container of stew and a hundred tons of wheat. The moment she thought it, the transport made a course correction. The bubble bulged on one side and the top pressed inward until it was nearly touching the ship. Oh, not good.
But there was no way she was going to give in to her fear. The ship would actually withstand the weight of the wheat. It was the lack of air that would kill them if the bubble broke. She opened the one-way vents on her suit that sucked in oxygen to special bladder compartments. If the bubble failed, she’d at least have a day’s worth of air to give the crew time to dig her out.
El moved the lounger until it was underneath the turanium gangplank, and pulled from a leg pocket the ancient device with the mission details. It would take forever to load. She took a bite of beef stew and grimaced. Probably no cows were harmed either.
A flash of credits appeared on the screen, a melding of a hundred long-defunct company logos in miniature, merged into one larger logo. Who would have thought old analog technology would completely befuddle the best encryption breakers of the Stovian high command? Bits and bytes, competing proprietary codes – hiding things in plain sight. It had been brilliant of the resistance to teach pilots a slew of early proprietary computer language. Xerox, Savin, Altos, Silex and a dozen others. Sort of like twentieth-century pilots learning Morse code.
She was going over the known maps of Stovia for the tenth time when she heard the door above her whoosh open and heavy boots take a few steps. “You really going to stay out here the whole time? I figured you’d be banging on the door to come in long before now.”
El turned off the viewing pad and crawled out from under the gangplank to stretch. “You figured wrong. I need to learn these maps backward and forward in the time we’ve got. It doesn’t matter whether that happens inside or outside the ship.”
That seemed to interest him. “So you weren’t scared? Not worried you’d be suffocated by the wheat?”
She couldn’t help but shrug as she dragged the lounger out from underneath the plank and folded it. “Every second of every day I might die. Why be more scared of one thing over another? I took the precautions I could.” When Rand raised his brows, seeming to question her, she elaborated. “Being under the gangplank would give me a few seconds of shelter to put in my breathing tube and turn on my distress beacon. I’ve already stored up about a day’
s worth of air in the suit, which also gives me some crush protection. That’s as good a chance as I’d have in the ship.”
He was leaning against the doorway, just watching. She could feel his eyes on her, looking her up and down. It was as though his gaze was hands, flowing over her skin, making her shiver. Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore and glanced at him. He pursed his lips and nodded. “Clever. I wondered what the suit was about – other than to hide your figure. Pity. It’s a hell of a figure.”
Had he ever noticed her figure? She honestly couldn’t remember him ever commenting on it. She’d sure noticed his. Broad shoulders, narrow waist and oh, those sultry blue eyes and those dimples. Mmm-mmm. “I could say the same.”
He froze and so did she. Crap! Had she really said that out loud? Eek! There was a long pause where neither said anything. Finally, she needed to break the silence . . . with something safe. “Part of the suit’s bulk is the KevSix breastplate. Disrupts nearly every ranged weapon on the market – including the Stovian pulse rifles.”
His voice was flat when he responded. “KevSix has only been on the market for about a year.”
She sighed. Even though he’d dropped the subject in Berell’s office, that discussion wasn’t over. “Two for me. I’ve been the guinea pig. After all, whose rifle sight am I not in?”
There wasn’t any way for him not to acknowledge that point, so he did with a slightly reluctant tip of his head. But then he dropped the bomb. “Rifle sights for a few years, sure. But twenty?”
She opened her mouth but was saved from responding when the captain of the transport announced, “We’re about to come out of the hole. Two minutes to all quiet. Five minutes to launch.”
It didn’t give them much time. At least it was obvious Rand had done his homework too. He grabbed the loungers that El passed him and stowed them quickly and efficiently. There was economy of motion as he waved her inside the ship – not out of courtesy but because she had to be seated in order for him to get into his part of the cockpit.
