Aris shifted her bag to her other shoulder as she followed the rest of the soldiers. Before her sprawled a collection of rounded buildings, a bubbled line of blisters along the dusty, sun-bleached skin of the plain. In the fading light the buildings reflected the shadowy silhouettes of the approaching men. Aris could tell by the way the windowless walls glittered, just slightly, that the material itself was solar, like Theo’s wingjet.
She shivered, pulling her arms tight to her sides. This far north, the warmth of the day seeped away quickly with the setting sun.
A tinted glass door in the nearest domed building hissed open as the line of men straggled forward. By the time Aris and the rest of the soldiers had been ushered into the building, the massive transjet had taken off once more.
Aris followed the line of soldiers down a long corridor to a large room with a padded floor, low ceiling, and mirrored walls. It smelled faintly of old sweat and onions. She fought the urge to wrinkle her nose.
“Specialists!” a voice shouted, “Two rows, tallest in back. Now!”
She shuffled through the milling soldiers to a place up front. The men around her all shared the same short hair or shaved heads, trim green uniforms, and stern expressions. She tried to look serious too, instead of scared, and she tightened the muscles of her legs to keep her knees from trembling.
When the muffled thud of feet and the whisper of moving fabric finally stopped, five officers took their places before the group of soldiers.
In the center of the line, one of the officers stepped forward. He was of average height, heavy-legged, with a series of blood-red scars that crisscrossed his neck. He looked at them all like he could easily—and happily—squash them under his boot. His steely gaze reminded her of Dianthe’s. “My name is Commander Nyx,” he said, “and you will address me as Commander Nyx or sir, only. Is that clear?”
Together the unit shouted, “Yes, sir.” Aris mouthed the words, the breath to voice them locked in her throat.
“As a member of this search and rescue unit, you will be responsible for putting yourselves in great personal danger to save or extract those who have no other recourse.” His voice echoed in the silent room. “You will rescue your stranded comrades, non-Military Atalantans who have been captured or otherwise put in harm’s way, and even take into custody enemy forces. You will learn to assess danger, make life or death decisions, and, above all, protect and support the members of your unit.”
Aris stared at the officer, transfixed. Even with all of Dianthe’s lectures, Aris’s new role as soldier hadn’t actually felt real. Until now. She swallowed.
Commander Nyx continued, gesturing to his right. “This is our Operations Officer, Major Vidar, my second in command. He will be in charge of your training.” Major Vidar needed no scar to hold her gaze, though he had one, a knife-thin pink line that ran from his left temple to the edge of his lip, hitching his mouth into a permanent sneer. He was younger than she might have expected for someone of his rank—maybe twenty-one or twenty-two—and tall, with the palest skin she’d ever seen. In the brightness of the training room, his eyes glowed a shockingly clear blue.
He must be from the North. His coloring and the sharp edges of his jaw and nose reminded her vaguely of her father, though her father’s features were softer, well padded and grooved with age.
“Lieutenant Wolfe will lead flyer training,” Commander Nyx said, nodding to the man on his left. Wolfe was pale like Major Vidar, but taller and thinner, with a large, narrow nose and air of disdain that was palpable, even from a distance. On the Major’s other side, Commander Nyx introduced Lieutenant Daakon, the gunner expert. He was wide rather than tall, and dark-skinned, a solid shadow next to Major Vidar.
“And finally, Lieutenant Talon, our retriever,” Commander concluded. As Lieutenant Talon nodded, his hand swung slightly away from his side. He was missing two fingers. Aris’s fingers clenched automatically, in sympathy.
“Lieutenant Daakon will give you your room assignments. You will be bunking with your sectormate. I expect you to work together and support each other at all times. Is that clear?” Commander Nyx barked.
“Yes, sir!”
“Lights out in twenty minutes. Tomorrow we’ll begin combat training and conduct your physical evaluations.” With that, he nodded and swept from the room, Major Vidar and Lieutenant Wolfe following.
“As I call your name,” Lieutenant Talon said, tapping the screen of a small digitablet with his maimed hand, “please step forward and pick up your room number from Lieutenant Daakon. Barracks are to the left, down the second corridor on the right. When you’ve received your number, you are dismissed. You’ll find your bags just outside the door.” He paused for a second, then called, “Specialist Galec.”
A short, freckled man with ginger eyebrows stepped forward. Lieutenant Daakon handed him a small passcard before calling another name. The longer Aris stood there, the more the room shrank around her, filled with the rustling and breathing of strangers. A sudden, inexplicable homesickness slammed into her stomach like a battering ram.
Finally, her name was called. “Aristos Haan.”
When she moved, the muscles of her legs protested. She couldn’t meet Lieutenant Daakon’s eyes when he handed her the card. “Room 2410,” he said. “Welcome to Spiro.” His voice wasn’t quite as gruff as Commander Nyx’s. But when she glanced up, his eyes were already turned to the next soldier stepping forward to collect his key.
Aris stumbled into the hall and tried to remember the directions to the barracks, her bag banging against her sore leg. Once she found her room, it didn’t take long to unpack. Her clothes went into a cubby on the wall, her empty bag into a chrome trunk at the foot of her cot. There was another cot and collection of cubbies on the other wall, and a narrow doorway led to a small washroom that she and her sectormate would share. She hoped Dianthe had been right about pairing her with another woman; there’d be no way to hide the truth in such close quarters.
Just then the door hissed open.
A tall, olive-skinned man stalked into the room and threw his bag onto the other cot. He had the Tech brand—a small key—emblazoned on his temple. His dark brows drew together over narrowed brown eyes.
“What you staring at?” the man growled.
Aris blinked, startled. “I’m sorry. I—”
“The tech brand’s a beast, yeah? I wish they’d just remove our old brands when we volunteer.” He—she, Aris reminded herself—stabbed a finger to her temple as if shooting herself.
“Um. Yeah.” Aris bit her lip. This woman would have no trouble maintaining her disguise. Even knowing what she really was, Aris couldn’t see past the tall, terrifying man standing before her.
“I’m Dysis Latza.” She bent to yank the neatly folded towel from the foot of her cot. When Aris didn’t say anything, Dysis glanced back at her, eyebrows raised. “And you are?”
“Oh, I’m, um, Aristos Haan,” she said, the words tumbling over themselves. Come on, you’ve got to do better than that. Dianthe would be ashamed.
Without another word, Dysis removed her jacket and shirt. Her flat chest was bound in a thick, bandage-like bra. The diatous veil made them look male, but their real breasts were still there beneath the disguise and had to be kept secure.
She twisted away from Aris and began to remove her pants. “If you want to shower, you better hurry. Only ten more minutes before lights out.”
Aris drew in a breath. She was still frozen in the middle of the room.
Dysis put her hands behind her head, touching the edges of the black brand on the back of her neck; in the bright light of their room it glittered slightly. When the veil released, the small, clear rectangle fell into her hand.
She turned back around, sighing. Now that Dysis was a she, her nose was thinner, cheekbones more pronounced, and her lips fuller. Aris tried not to stare.
“I hate the way it hums. I can’t seem to get used to it.” Without the veil, Dysis’s voice was still deep
, low and smoky like the singers that performed at The Toad.
“You coming?” the girl asked, impatience creeping into her voice.
“Of course.” Aris stopped fiddling with her jacket and removed it. It was stupid to be self-conscious anyway, after weeks of Dianthe sticking electrodes all over her body while she was dressed only in her underclothes.
Dysis disappeared into the washroom. A second later, the sound of running water filtered into the room.
Aris removed the rest of her clothes and wrapped herself in the towel at the foot of her bed, then she gingerly reached up to release her own veil. She breathed deeply. She didn’t like the hum either. It made her feel oddly disconnected from her own skin, shivery and disjointed.
In the washroom, there was a little cubicle with a toilet and sink on one side of the room and two frosted shower stalls on the other. She hung her towel on the hook outside the second stall and slipped inside, pressing a panel on the wall to turn on the water.
“So what’s your position?” Dysis asked.
“Flyer.” Aris’s hands slipped along her bald head. “You?”
“Gunner.”
“I hope we start specialty training soon.” The warm water pounded against Aris’s shoulders, and she tried to relax.
“It’ll probably be a week or two. We’ll have to do the physical evaluations and combat training first. Probably weapons training, too.”
“Oh Gods, two weeks? Really?” Two weeks of walking on quicksand, terrified each step could be the one to sink her? She wanted so much to feel the caress of sky, the freefall in her stomach as she spun and twisted through the air. Flying was her solid ground.
“It’s no bother for me. As long as I get to shoot something, I don’t care if it’s the big guns or the small,” Dysis said.
How could Dysis be so casual about it? The thought of shooting a solagun—or any weapon, really—made Aris’s stomach churn. As a flyer, she hoped she wouldn’t be asked to carry one. Dianthe hadn’t mentioned weapons training.
“Have you done this sort of thing before?” Aris asked.
“Nah. This is my first assignment,” Dysis replied.
“What’d you do before you joined?”
“Taught mechanics to the children in my village.” Dysis’s voice took on a hard edge.
“You went from children to weaponry? What made you choose this?”
There was a thud and the water in the other girl’s shower stopped. “That’s kind of personal, don’t you think?”
Clearly it was personal to Dysis. Very personal.
“You’re looking for someone, too?” Aris said, hurrying to finish rinsing off. At last, here was someone who would understand the longing that had brought her here. The desperation.
A pause. “Who are you looking for?”
“His name is Calix,” Aris replied eagerly. “We were going to Promise, but he was selected for Military and sent to be a field mender. I joined so we could work together. I’ll rescue people, and then he’ll make them well.”
Dysis’s glass shower door banged against the wall. She muttered angrily to herself, something that sounded like, “. . . so stupid . . . .”
Aris bristled. “Did you just call me stupid?” she demanded, turning off her own shower.
Dysis stared at her over the top of the shower door, unself-conscious and angry. “You came all this way for some lovesick suicide mission? Yeah, I’d say that’s stupid.”
Aris matched her glare. “And your lovesick suicide mission? Who is he?”
Dysis ripped her towel from its hook and wrapped it around her body so tightly the edges dug into her skin. She didn’t say anything, letting the challenge build in the steam-filled air. Finally, lips twisting bitterly, she growled, “Well, he’s not a little mender puppy, safe in his little mender cage.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aris grabbed the top of the shower door with both hands. “How can you stand there, mocking me, when you’re here to do the very same thing?”
“It’s not the same thing! I’m not looking for someone who’s safe and sound at a stationpoint somewhere. For all I know, my brother’s dead!” Dysis’s voice echoed in the small room.
Aris shivered, suddenly freezing. She grabbed her own towel and dried off. Brother? She hadn’t expected that. “Are any of us really safe and sound?” she asked gruffly, but her anger was ebbing.
“Safety is relative. I bet you hear from your little mender all the time. I haven’t heard from Jax in almost six months.”
“Six months?” Aris didn’t want to admit she’d gotten a comm from Calix that morning.
“Yeah, six months. I’m here because our damn dominion hasn’t gotten around to finding him yet.” Worry overtook the anger in her voice. She kept her mouth pinched and her eyes narrowed, but her mask had slipped.
Aris softened. “Do you know what happened to him?”
“He was captured,” Dysis snapped, her words like hard stones falling loudly in the silence. “No one knows where he is or if he’s even alive.”
Dysis acted as if she were an injured animal, protecting herself by lashing out. Aris forced her eyes to remain blank. She knew pity would only rile Dysis up more. But Gods, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, well, our parents died when we were young, so he’s all I have. I refuse to let him just disappear.” Dysis’s voice went low and dangerous. “I’ll find him. No matter what it takes, or who I have to kill.”
A shiver kicked up Aris’s spine.
They moved back to the bedroom and slipped on the loose olive-green pants and tunics Military issued as night clothes.
Aris cleared her throat, swallowing against the perpetual lump made by the voice modulator. “We’re both stupid, you know,” she said wryly. “Doing this, coming here for them.”
Dysis raised a brow and looked ready to argue, but Aris continued. “It’s okay, though. Because in the meantime, while we’re looking . . .” she paused, thinking of Dianthe. “We’re going to save a lot of people.”
Dysis broke into a sudden, only mildly bitter laugh. “You’re a real romantic, aren’t you?”
Aris smiled and shrugged. “Just ask my friends back home. Practically the moment Calix was selected, they were telling me to move on, ring around. Thought I was silly for not letting go.” Except for Phae, who had Rakk and understood. Aris wondered what she’d think now. “But I am a romantic,” she said. “I don’t care what anyone says. I want to believe things will work out. I’ll be with Calix. You’ll find your brother—”
“We’ll win this war.” Dysis voice was quiet, her face serious. No hint of bitterness or sarcasm. In that moment, the look they shared forged them as sectormates—friends—as surely as any two soldiers in any dominion, in any time. In any war.
“Yeah,” Aris echoed softly. “We’ll win the war.”
Dysis gave herself a little shake and laughed. “We better finish up. Lights out any minute now.” They clicked their veils into place, and with a nearly imperceptible shimmer, their curves smoothed and faces hardened. As if on cue, the room plunged into darkness, a faint glow along the floor of the washroom the only hint of light.
In the dark, they felt their way to their cots. Aris sighed as she sank onto the hard bed. She was exhausted. And tomorrow, with the physical trials and combat training, it would be even worse.
“Goodnight, Dysis,” she whispered into the darkness.
“Goodnight, Aristos.”
That night Aris dreamed, as she so often did, of flying. Only this time, Calix had been captured. She flew over the endless deserts of Safara seeking him until, in a great flash of light, she was shot down and the earth rushed toward her, a terrifying golden blur.
Chapter 20
When the lights flashed on the next morning, Aris dragged herself off her bed and slowly pulled on her uniform. Smoothing her shirt, she thought of Calix and their last night on the beach, as she always did when her fingers touche
d the sleek fabric. She buttoned up the fitted jacket, making sure the collar was folded precisely, so her Military brand was visible. The diatous veil hidden in the stamp was solar powered; it needed little sunlight to fill its reserves.
Dysis was silent as they dressed. “Nervous?” she asked.
Aris shrugged. “I know I won’t be any good at the physical stuff. It’s flying I’m good at. I just need to survive the next few days and I’ll probably be okay.” Her gravelly voice sounded unconcerned, but her stomach jumped and twisted.
“Yeah, I’m nervous, too,” Dysis said, and then she opened the door.
In the cafeteria, Dysis and Aris got their food and sat at the end of a long, empty table. Soon, a short, barrel-chested soldier paused beside them. A closely cropped layer of ginger fuzz clung to the curve of his skull, and tiny wrinkles radiated from the corners of his eyes. “Mind if I join you?”
“Of course. Yeah.” Aris said, trying to keep up her nonchalant act.
The man held out a hand. “I’m Tavis Galec, but you might as well call me Galec. Everyone does.”
Aris shook his hand, remembering to squeeze tightly and give a firm grip. Dianthe had explained that the slenderness of her fingers would be less noticeable if she gave short, strong handshakes. “Aristos Haan.”
Dysis half-stood and held out her hand as well. “Dysis Latza. We’re sectormates.”
Another man, narrow-shouldered with an impressive potbelly, plopped down beside Aris. “I’m Otto,” he said, then got to work on his plate of gelatinous eggs.
Galec sat beside Dysis. He did a double take when he noticed the key-shaped brand stamped into her temple. “You’re a volunteer, eh?” Approval filled his voice.
She nodded. “Both of us. Couldn’t let you old men do all the fighting.”
Otto rolled his eyes. “Green ears. Don’t worry, we’ll show you a thing or two. You’ll wish you had our experience soon enough.”
Galec sighed. “To be eighteen again. The stupid things I would’ve tried.”
“Have you been with this unit for long?” Aris asked, hoping her voice came out politely curious rather than insecure and uncertain.
The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing Page 9
