Breaking Sky

by Cori McCarthy

  “Sure, I remember,” the broad-shouldered man-boy said. “No hard feelings?”

  “’Course not,” Pippin said.

  “I’m Romeo.”

  Pippin seemed like he’d gotten conked in the head. Chase wondered if he was about to execute some revenge for getting stomped on, but that’s not what came out. “Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?”

  It was a weird moment. Even Riot was dumbfounded, or at least he looked dumber than usual.

  Romeo clapped Pippin’s shoulder. “La loi est-elle de notre côté, si je dis oui?”

  “Non.” Pippin laughed real hard at that, and it got right under Chase’s fingernails.

  “That’s great. There’s a RIO trio now,” she said to herself, enjoying the rhyme. She watched the boys walk toward the door and a scowling, cross-armed Sylph. “What was all that about anyway?”

  “They just had a Shakespeare moment,” Tristan said. “In French. Romeo loves that stuff. He thinks it helps him win favor with the ladies.”

  “Pippin loves that stuff too,” Chase said. “Guess that means he’ll forgive your RIO for the bashing the other day.”

  She had to sidestep Tristan to put her tray on the conveyor belt. While she plopped her silverware into the sudsy tub, a group of freshmen surrounded Tristan. She recognized Stephens and Helena from her ground crew fan club.

  “Arrow, have you seen the rec room yet? We could meet you there tonight. Show you around,” Stephens said.

  Tristan said he would meet them. And then he said good-bye to half of them by name, apologizing to the three he didn’t know yet.

  The laid-back, overly friendly attitude Chase had hated the moment she met Tristan was back. Once more, he reminded her of someone who’d never known a second of crap in his whole life. But now she knew that wasn’t true—it couldn’t be after last night.

  Chase took in every angle and curve of his profile as they walked toward the conference room. The insanely heroic boy who’d shielded her from a fuel blast with his body had to be under that civil expression. So where was he? What was this act about?

  “You’re off to a running start, Arrow,” she said.

  “I have a feeling I’m going to be here for a while. Might as well make friends.”

  She grunted.

  “You’re not very pleasant considering what happened.”

  “And you’re too pleasant”—she paused—“considering. Aren’t you the least bit upset about last night?”

  Tristan stopped, turned sideways in the hall like he’d forgotten where he was going. Where he was. His face had the exact same washed-blank look that he had after the fuel truck exploded. Like everything he loved had just burned…

  Oh God.

  “I’m sorry.” Chase touched his arm, but he didn’t move. “I’m a jerk. You’ll see. No one really likes me, except for Pippin, but I think he’s been stuck with me for too long. Stockholm syndrome, you know?”

  Tristan looked down at the spot where she held his sleeve. She let go. Chase’s heart was beating faster than it should. What in the blazes had she just said? It was like she’d sneezed truth all over the front of his uniform.

  His voice came up from somewhere deep. “I’m fine, Chase.”

  “People call me Nyx.”

  He smiled, but it wasn’t the polite, all-purpose look from before. This was a little sad. A little…beautiful. He pulled his hair into a ponytail and eyed the conference room door. “I think we’re about to find out what happened last night.”

  “Or that we’re not a high enough rank to merit answers,” she said.

  “We figure out what they’re hiding by the way they try to hide it, Chase. Isn’t that how you tracked me down?” He opened the door for her.

  14

  CHECK SIX

  Watch Your Back

  Chase hadn’t considered the fact that Tourn might be there. That he might have flown in during the night to attend this meeting. But those were her immediate thoughts when she entered the room overflowing with officers.

  The Canadian uniforms were a lighter shade of blue than Kale and the other U.S. officers’ deep navy, but otherwise they were very much the same. She went shoulder by shoulder, looking for the circle of five stars that denoted her father’s elite position. She didn’t check faces, unwilling to make eye contact without warning.

  But he wasn’t there.

  Kale ushered the Streaker teams to sit around a grand oak table along with a white-haired civilian, who had pencils stuck through the worn holes of her lab coat like safety pins. Tristan sat beside her, speaking into the woman’s ear, and Chase was surprised to recognize her as one of the survivors Tristan had escorted through the hole in the hangar door.

  When he caught Chase watching him, he stared back, and she could sense the lingering pain she’d evoked in the hallway. He was messed up about what had happened at JAFA—and why shouldn’t he be? If Chase lost the Star, she had no doubt that the whole sky would fall. But she couldn’t help wondering why he was so interested in pretending like it didn’t bother him.

  Sylph elbowed Chase so hard, so sharp, that she let out a gasp. “Eyes on your own paper,” the blonde muttered.

  Kale stepped closer and put a hand on Chase’s shoulder. The other officers were finishing their individual conversations, passing stacks of forms around. Kale stayed close to her back, and what felt like favoritism turned into a distinct warning when he started to speak.

  “You’re here to be debriefed about the events of last night.” Kale pressed a button on the console at the center of the table, and a screen emerged, buzzing with static. “General Tourn, we are all present.”

  Her father’s face was there. Clipped gray hair and a uniform with such sharp lines that it already felt like it was cutting her. The room hummed with people responding to her father—the way rooms always went electric because of his name.

  Kale squeezed her shoulder. “He can’t see us,” he whispered.

  The image of her father grunted, followed by a voice that sounded like an avalanche of gravel. “On October 28, 2048, the Royal Canadian Junior Air Force Academy was bombed from within. Casualties are estimated at eighty-seven. Two spies associated with Ri Xiong Di are in custody.”

  The rest of the room probably thought he was reading a prepared statement because he sounded so unemotional. Chase knew better. He always sounded collected. Arranged. He lived and breathed orders and assignments. “Honed detachment,” she called it. It’d been one of his genetic gifts to Chase, although it was failing her now. Failing big-time.

  She began to shake, and Kale’s other hand clamped down on her shoulder.

  Tourn continued. “It is our understanding that Ri Xiong Di is aware of the events of five days ago when a U.S. cadet pilot interacted with a Canadian pilot, breaking the Declaration of No Assistance.” Chase glanced to Tristan, but his gaze was locked on the grain of the wood table. “Neither Canada nor the U.S. has received an official message from the New Eastern Bloc, and we have decided not to release the news of the bombing to the public. JAFA’s destruction will be attributed to a fire. You will all sign confidentiality documents.”

  Kale handed out a sheet of paper to everyone seated, and Chase looked down at the blur of words. Her father was there. Sitting at the center of the table like a Roman bust. Did he have any thoughts about her? Anything at all?

  “Now. What I’m about to tell you is top secret and will not leave this room.” He cleared his throat again, and she might have been the only person to understand that he meant it as a sort of sigh. “An American-Canadian Alliance is beginning to emerge. We hope the public news of this arrangement will coincide with the government boards’ favorable decision on the Streaker models. As a united front, and with advanced airpower, we will stand a chance at breaking the Second Cold War standoff.

  “In the meantime, the Can
adian cadets designated as Streaker Team Phoenix will continue training at the United Star Academy in anticipation of the trials in January. Is Dr. Adrien present?”

  The elderly woman sat forward, speaking with an accent that, like Romeo, belied her French Canadian heritage. “I am, General Tourn.”

  “Will you be able to continue your work from the Star?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You are all dismissed as soon as you have signed the documentation.”

  The cadets bent over the sheets of paper, signing without reading. Chase squeezed her capped pen, distracted. More military secrets like the third Streaker—except this time Chase was on the side of those who knew. It was a slight shock to realize that knowing wasn’t any better or easy. Secrets were still secrets. She listened to the scratch of signatures—and before she was ready, everyone was standing. Leaving. She hurried to catch up, but she wasn’t fast enough.

  “Cadet Harcourt, remain,” Tourn said. “Everyone else is dismissed.”

  Her heart took off in too many directions. People sifted out of the room. Sylph cast a look back at her that was tinted with curiosity. Tristan paused at the door until Romeo tugged him along by the shoulder. Pippin hadn’t moved. Chase had avoided looking at him throughout the whole meeting. Her RIO was in a unique position to understand how painful it was for her to see her father, and that made Chase completely unable to make eye contact with him.

  There were very few things in the world she was worse at dealing with than pity.

  Kale took Pippin’s paper and pointed toward the exit. Pippin went, and she caught a glimpse of his panic. The door shut loudly, and for a second, Chase thought Kale had left too. But the brigadier general stood by the door, chin raised in a sort of defiant pride. He held a finger to his lips and motioned for her to speak.

  “I’m here, General Tourn,” she managed.

  “You acted to assist those people.” For a heartbreaking moment she thought he was going to give her a strand of praise. “That is the only reason you are still a pilot. Understood?”

  “Yes, General Tourn.”

  His watery gray eyes stared hard into the camera, but they were so unseeing that it made her feel transparent. The picture fuzzed and then blanked. He’d hung up.

  Chase made a guttural, wounded sound. She’d been so prepared for his harshest words that the brevity of the ones he’d given her smashed her to pieces.

  • • •

  A half hour later, Chase was still in the conference room. Kale had stayed. He sat next to her and kept quiet while she bled tears as though she were twelve years old all over again.

  When she didn’t have anything left, Kale finally spoke. “Get some rest. And have a little fun where you can find it. You’re off restricted duty. Your father might not share my outlook, but I believe you showed bravery and good judgment when you aided Phoenix’s escape and rescued those people in the hangar.”

  Chase took a breath that was supposed to steady her but made her shake instead.

  “We’ll get you back in the air as soon as possible.” Kale knew her so well. She needed Dragon. Direction and speed.

  “Thank you for staying. I know how ridiculous this is.”

  “Ridiculous?”

  “I’ve spent so long not caring about him.” She scrubbed at the tears on her cheeks. “But this looks an awful lot like caring.”

  “I wouldn’t judge. He made me cry once.”

  Chase choked on a laugh. “You’re lying, General.”

  “No. He beat me senseless. It was my first semester at the academy. He was older, overseeing a drill, and I dropped behind during a running exercise and gave up. When he came back to find me, I was sitting on the edge of the road with my head between my knees.” Kale paused. “I was in the infirmary for two nights after he was finished with me.”

  Chase stood and it wasn’t so bad. She opened the door. “So my father’s always been an asshole, is that it? Sometimes I hope that…after what he did…maybe that changed him into the Tourn he is today. Maybe he was once human.”

  Kale looked strained. No doubt he didn’t want to talk about Tourn’s nuclear history. “I’ll tell you this, Harcourt. I’ve never given up midstride again.”

  Chase left wondering if Kale was implying there was a method to her father’s madness—but her thoughts stalled there. Tristan was on the hallway floor, his arms over his knees and his head back against the wall. He looked like a strange mixture of lost and found.

  He looked like he had been listening the whole time.

  “The pilot who dropped that bomb. Who killed all those Filipinos…”

  She stumbled, trying to walk away fast, but the hall was a tunnel and his voice was strong.

  “He’s your father?”

  Chase should have stopped. Turned back. She should have sworn him to secrecy with some massive bribe or threat. She should have done something, but her fear dawned blindingly. And she ran.

  15

  MISSILE LOCK

  Oh, F@ck

  Chase hadn’t been in the embrace of the sky for a week. Not since the night flight to JAFA and back again. She missed Dragon. She missed mach speed and all its glorious direction. She missed being able to think about something—anything—other than the fact that Tristan Router knew the secret of her parentage.

  She kept reliving that moment when she’d stepped into the hall. The very focused yet resigned look on Tristan’s face. The way he had seemed small, folded up on the floor even though he was nearly a foot taller than her.

  What had he been doing there? Waiting? Eavesdropping?

  Her anxiety wrestled with the memory, smacked it down only to feel it flip into anger. It almost made her want to catch Tristan and threaten the breath out of him, but her fear held even those more Nyx-like aggressions in check. She was in new territory, and it was like waking up in a room that she hadn’t fallen asleep in.

  It didn’t help that Tristan had assumed an ambitious social agenda, gallivanting around the Star, making friends with everyone. He was already liked and trusted, and if he told one person, just one, she would no longer be the elusive celebrity pilot but the black sheep. The girl who didn’t deserve to be at the Star.

  Chase lay across her bunk like roadkill, exhausted from frustration, when Pippin came in. She rolled over, half falling off the mattress. “How’s the library?”

  “Wasn’t at the library,” he said.

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “Out.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. Out where?”

  Pippin sat down and scribbled in his notebook. “I haven’t been with anyone.”

  “Wow, that wasn’t even my question. What’s going on?” He didn’t answer, so she added, “I’ll tell you what’s going on with me.”

  Pippin eyed her wearily. “Will you?”

  “Um…” Chase braked. She hadn’t told him about her talk with Tourn—or that Tristan knew about her dad. That would mean discussing it. No way. Pippin might be her only real friend at the Star, but she had limits.

  “I just…I need a hop. I feel so meandery without flight in my veins.”

  “Evocative. Also incorrect. Adding a y to the end of word doesn’t make you a creator of neologisms. It makes you ignorant.” Pippin put his pencil down. He closed his eyes like he had to force himself to be civil. “They won’t send us skyward until the terror threat is lowered back to reasonable levels. It should only be a few more days. Unless Ri Xiong Di decides to do to us what they did to JAFA.”

  She rolled the rest of the way off the bunk and landed so hard that Pippin jumped and gripped his notebook against his chest. Chase held her hand out. “All right, give them to me. You know you’re not supposed to take your asshole pill twice in one day.”

  “Me? You’ve been paranoid all week. I know you’re worried Phoenix will take Dragon�
��s spot in the trials, but take a breath. There’s nothing we can do while grounded.”

  “What?”

  They stared at each other.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t figured that out.” He sighed. “Now that they can’t surprise Phoenix on us at the trials, they really only need two jets to face off. Three is overkill. Sylph is going ballistic over the fact. She should. She’s the slowest. They’ll probably run a few hops to suss out the worst candidate and ground him or her.”

  Chase’s mouth was hanging open. Phoenix could replace Dragon or Pegasus?

  Pippin cocked his head. “If that’s not what’s bothering you, what is?”

  “Nothing,” she lied. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind right now.”

  “Spill.”

  “You first.”

  “Touché.”

  Chase bit off the edge of a hangnail while Pippin went back to scribbling. She hadn’t told her RIO a thing, and yet he’d picked up on her anxiety all the same. Maybe she should tell him. Would it help? She felt newly close to giving it a try. After all, if she couldn’t talk to Pippin, then she couldn’t talk to anyone.

  Baby steps, she thought.

  “Pip, how about a change of scenery? Let’s go down to the hangar and see Dragon.” She moved a little closer, and he snapped his notebook shut.

  “The jet is not a grandma in a home. It doesn’t need visitors.”

  Whoa. She stepped back. Pippin didn’t usually dismiss Dragon, although Chase had to admit he didn’t love the Streaker the way she did. He didn’t love anything at the Star the same way. And suddenly, the fact that he wouldn’t even tell her where he’d just been proved that she couldn’t possibly talk to him about what Tristan knew.

  Anger twisted down her arms. Her fists closed tight. “Are you thinking about quitting again? Do I have to remind you about the trials? Christ, I need you up there!”

  “Stop yelling. I’m not going to quit.” He spit the words. “I can’t, if you haven’t noticed. Not unless I want my brothers to starve.”

  She made herself lower her voice. “Look, I’m feeling it too. I don’t want the Star to get leveled like JAFA or to lose Dragon, but—”