Breaking Sky

by Cori McCarthy

  When she blinked back to Tristan, she couldn’t quite tell how much she’d said aloud. He had that affect on her. And his eyes put Tanner’s to shame. The blue was so focused. It was worse than warm; it was acceptance. But then maybe Tristan did this to everyone. Maybe that’s why people liked him. After all, he’d already proved he was a social chameleon.

  “You do realize this is the first real conversation we’ve ever had.” She paused. “Why are we talking about my exes?”

  “You brought it up.”

  A few freshmen passed, and Tristan bumped fists with two of them.

  She was annoyed all over again, and it was much more familiar than being honest. “You think you know me because you watched my tapes at JAFA. But you only know how I fly. You don’t know anything about me on the ground. Besides the fact that…”

  She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t bring up her father.

  Tristan eyed her. “I bet you think you know me because you’ve seen me fly a few times.”

  “I know you’re—” Chase’s voice cut off because they’d turned the corner. The auditorium door was open, and Riot stood cross-armed in the entrance. He looked from Chase to Tristan, and his face twitched.

  “You stood me up last night.” Riot was angry, but he forced a smile, which made her want to punch him.

  “We already talked about this, Riot.”

  “Are you breaking up with me?”

  “Did you think we were together? Wouldn’t that involve dates or hand-holding or anything vaguely romantic?” Riot looked more hurt than she had intended, and she was overly aware Tristan was listening. “We’re friends. Just no more…you know.”

  “Nyx,” he said. Chase tried to pass him, but he tugged on her bag. She checked the desire to throw him off, not wanting to embarrass him. To make a Tanner of him. “I knew you were a tease when we started this, but—”

  Tristan stepped closer. She expected to see some variety of testosterone overkill, but he was wearing that polite I-love-everyone look.

  “Riot. I thought you were a RIO. I hear it’s pilots only for this class.”

  Chase pushed Riot. “He’s leaving.”

  Riot’s eyes lit up for a fight. “You fuc—”

  Sylph flew out of the auditorium. She got Riot by the ear and dragged him down the hallway. “Everyone can hear you blabbering at Nyx. Get your head together and get to class!” She shoved him and stomped back toward the door. “You,” she snapped at Chase. “You fix him ASAP.” Her braid swung as she whipped into the auditorium.

  “Wow,” Tristan said. “You guys definitely have more fun than we did at our academy.”

  “How’s that?” Chase felt a creeping blush. “You guys didn’t mess around?”

  “There were thirty-four cadets at JAFA. Eleven girls. We were close like a family. I think it would have been like dating my cousins. I mean, consider the breakups…yikes.”

  Chase felt judged. No doubt Tristan was hearing that her breakups always ended badly. Tanner was among the worst, but others had become favorite stories in the rec room. There was Killian, who became a booze-in-his-water-bottle drunk. And Meg, who bitched Chase out so loud in the chow hall that even Ritz had overheard, spawning a super awkward conversation about “alternative sexualities.”

  The flash of heat in her face was giving away her embarrassment, which only brought about an even deeper flush. This was why she didn’t like to talk to people. It was a steep fall from telling someone nothing—to everything. She had to push him back beyond her walls and out of her way.

  Chase was shaking her head without realizing it. “I’m glad I’m American then. JAFA sounds like it would have been way too small for me.”

  “Good thing I’m no longer stuck there.” Tristan’s expression darkened. The recollection that his academy—his world—had burned came a little late. Chase saw the deeper side of him in that moment. The hard as steel pilot. Right before he blew it with a Sylph-quality insult. “I hear you’d find someone no matter the situation.”

  He was over the wall all right. He was light-years away in a blink. But then she’d known since that first moment she saw him that he knew how to hit the gas. Nonetheless, something dense sunk inside as she scrounged up a retort.

  “True. I hook up with everyone. Except Canadians.”

  17

  BOUGHT THE FARM

  Killed in Action

  The overhead lights were already off in the auditorium, and the only light came from the projector screen on the stage.

  Chief Master Sergeant Black fussed with the media equipment while every pilot at the Star sat tall in flip-down chairs. Chase took a spot toward the back, more than a little aware that Tristan settled in her row, two seats over. She got the feeling that although they had just traded barbs, he still wanted to be pals with her.

  No way.

  Sylph sat a few rows down and threw a threatening look over her shoulder. Chase felt the girl’s glare like a laser scope. Riot was now a problem. A problem that came with Sylph. He had been fun because she had assumed he wasn’t like Tanner. He wasn’t sweet or innocent. He wasn’t trying to make her his girlfriend—but apparently he had been. How could she keep missing these signs?

  “What are we going to watch today, Chief Black?” Baron, the Star’s token idiot, yelled. “More Soviet MiGs? They were fun.”

  A few people laughed, but the chief ignored them as the screen turned a solid blue-green, what the ocean looked like from the onboard cameras beneath a wing.

  Chase felt a chill she couldn’t place.

  “Today we’re watching Taiwan in 2020,” Black finally said.

  The flyboys went mute; the room deadened. The Battle of Taiwanese Independence could do that—strike a whole room of jock pilots into silence. After all, it was the most infamous dogfight in the history of military aviation.

  Chief Black cleared his throat. “On January 21, 2020, Taiwan declared independence from China without the support of Ri Xiong Di.”

  Several people booed, but Chase wasn’t among them. Neither was Tristan.

  He leaned across the seats between them with a whisper. “Ri Xiong Di translates to ‘sun brothers.’ It’s supposed to imply divine right.”

  “I know. I went to elementary school,” she returned. “Nice flat-hatting, Arrow.” He leaned back with that annoyed yet engaged look that she actually enjoyed seeing on his face.

  The chief continued. “On January 26, the U.S. stepped up to help Taiwan defend its freedom.”

  “The day of my grandmother’s funeral,” Chase said absently.

  “What?” Tristan asked.

  The video began, and no one could look away. Fighter jets flew in packs, the view switching between multiple onboard cameras. It felt like thousands of birds, but Chase knew from her history class that there were five hundred and seventy-nine fighter jets in that sky and eight hundred and twelve U.S. drones.

  Chase’s heart started to pound.

  The distant horizon showed smoke above the tiny island of Taiwan, while from the south, a scarlet cloud appeared. The jets attempted maneuver after maneuver as the dogfight commenced. There was no sound, but Chase could hear the pilots like a nightmare looping through her thoughts. They were all calling Mayday. All asking what was happening.

  All cursing prayers to an absent God.

  In flashes that felt too closely edited, the tape proved what had happened in the sky that day: a complete loss. A mess of explosions and the swirl of crashing jets. The blue-green sea peppered with sinking, smoking heaps of American metal.

  Chase’s whole body hurt from gripping the armrests.

  The screen went black, and her eyes found new focus on Kale’s silhouette beneath the red glow of the emergency exit light. She hadn’t seen him come in.

  “You might be wondering why we’re watching this tape,” Kale said, w
alking toward the center of the room.

  Someone sniffled. Chase was shocked to see Sylph off to the side, wiping tears. So the girl did feel things.

  “We’re watching this to remind you that although you are safe at the Star, no one is truly safe while we are at the mercy of Ri Xiong Di’s control. Should they appear in our sky tomorrow, we would have to surrender. We would be absorbed into the New Eastern Bloc’s empire. The only reason it hasn’t happened already is that they’re still more focused on Europe, but…the hourglass is turned. We are all on a clock. This is why the military is experimenting with new defenses. New offenses.”

  “The Streakers,” Baron threw in.

  “Yes, and there are other attempts to fortify our borders. The Navy is developing new submarines while the Marines train for large-scale domestic defense. Everyone is preparing.” He sat on the front of the stage before the screen, his hands folded in his lap. “Only three of you here fly Streakers right now, but you’re all pilots. Someday soon, if the trials are successful, you’ll all be flying Streakers. You’ll all be facing red drones. What I want to ask you today is if you feel prepared.”

  No one answered.

  Sylph’s hand went up after a long moment. Her voice was wired. “Tell me why they didn’t retreat. All those fighters just went after the red drones. It was suicide.”

  Kale checked the room. He found Chase. “Does anyone have an answer?”

  Tristan spoke up. “The U.S. had never seen the drones before. The fleet snuck up from the Philippines, unveiling their superior speed, firepower, and maneuverability.”

  “Boola-boola,” Baron tried to joke. Chase wanted to pummel him, but someone got there first. He yelped.

  “Boola-boola?” Kale looked pained. “No pilot has ever been able to take down a red drone. Not one. None of our pilots survived that day. Those drones don’t just aim for a jet. Their missiles lock on the cockpit, not the wings or engines.”

  “They’re pilot-killing machines,” Sylph said.

  The room died once again.

  “Nyx has seen the drones and lived to get away,” Tanner said, turning in his seat to face her. His pride made her more uncomfortable than the general conversation. “Tell them.”

  Chase looked from Kale to the span of eyes in the crowd. “Wasps,” she said. “I got too close to the d-line a few months back.”

  “What was it like?”

  “Like nothing else mattered.” Remembering them thrilled Chase, and not in a good way.

  “Like we’re already at war,” Tristan added. Chase could tell by his tone that he’d seen them too. She fought the sudden urge to grab his sleeve like she’d done in the hallway before the debriefing.

  “Cool,” Baron said.

  “Not cool,” Tristan said at the same time Chase threw her pen at Baron. It connected with his stupid skull with a satisfying thwick.

  Baron rubbed his head before turning a question at Kale. “But the drones can’t overtake the Streakers, right?”

  Kale didn’t answer because there was no answer. No way to be sure. The U.S. had never captured a drone to chart its capabilities. Could the Streakers best one? They hoped and planned, but they sure as hell didn’t know for sure.

  Chase disappeared into her memory. She had been able to fly away at Mach 4 the day she saw the drones, the fastest she’d ever flown, but she never bragged about it. That many drones could take down a Streaker, no matter how fast they could fly. If they all fired their missiles, there wouldn’t be a direction to flee in.

  That’s what Pippin had said, and he was never wrong about these things.

  “Cadets.” Kale cleared his throat. “Pilots. It’s important you know that a cold war only means our aggressions aren’t public. But you should all bet your military-owned butts that things are always happening: in the sky, on the ground, at sea.”

  Chase could feel the heat of JAFA’s blaze on her cheeks. Tristan stared at his boots. He didn’t look like he was breathing.

  “Where were you during the battle in Taiwan?” someone asked Kale.

  “Still at the academy. It was my last semester.” He didn’t appear happy about the question.

  “You know what though? Ri Xiong Di knows we’re serious now,” Baron said. “They got their fill a few months after Taiwan when Tourn got through with their drone base on the Philippines.”

  Chase crossed her arms to restrain her fists. Of course, an idiot like Baron would be a fan of her father’s nuclear legacy.

  “That bomb killed thousands of innocent Filipinos as well as destroying that fleet of red drones, Baron,” Tanner yelled. No one hated Tourn like Tanner, which had always made Chase feel on the edge of disaster when they were together. “Tourn’s nuke didn’t stop anything. They had dozens of red drone fleets waiting.”

  Kale held up a hand. “Do not give General Tourn credit or blame for that bomb. He was operating under orders. That should be clear, despite the media’s delight in blaming him.”

  Chief Black flicked on the lights. Chase was relieved this discussion wasn’t going to devolve into a “let’s bash Tourn” party. She appreciated that Kale had pointed out the hard truth about her father’s past. Tourn had been a young hotshot pilot back in 2020. His higher-ups commanded him to fly over the Philippines and drop a bomb.

  And he did it.

  Everyone at the Star knew about following orders, and yet everyone hated Tourn. It didn’t help that he had a reputation for being the absent lord of the Star—the one to hate for rules, restrictions, and leave time cuts. The one to blame.

  Fault was a strong wind. She’d always felt it blowing in Tourn’s direction, but she was starting to feel it on her own skin. Did her recklessness inadvertently cause JAFA’s destruction? She glanced at Tristan. Did he blame her? As much as she didn’t want to get friendly, she had to admit they had unfinished business.

  “Wonder what it was like,” Chase said, not realizing she was speaking aloud. “All those birds flying in. Outnumbered by the drones, a hundred to one.”

  “I imagine it was a nightmare. And then it was over.” Kale clapped once and Chase jumped. “That fast.”

  All of Tourn’s fellow pilots—his friends—had died in the sky over Taiwan that day. If he hadn’t been on leave for his mother’s funeral, he would have been up there with them. He would have been shot down. The five hundred and eightieth jet.

  Then he never would have met Janice at a diner one night.

  Chase swore her existence wavered like a match flame.

  18

  GRAYOUT

  A Loss of Blood to the Head

  “The Streakers can travel twice the speed you know.”

  Chase almost tipped out of her chair. This was what she’d been waiting for since the moment the French Canadian engineer had appeared.

  Dr. Adrien kept talking, but Chase was too busy thrusting her hand in the air, waiting to be called on. The elderly engineer didn’t notice. She stood before a massive metal tube that looked like a gun scope with a grated vent at one end. The machine was so large that Chase could have walked through it.

  The Streaker teams had been taken out of their usual classes for a special session. Chase couldn’t help noticing that they were a dysfunctional group. Pippin scribbled, Riot ignored Streaker Team Phoenix, and Sylph shunned the whole room like she’d been elevated to a superior rank.

  Chase waved her arm, leaning too far over the flip-top desk and dropping her notebook to the floor. The noise caught Adrien’s attention, and Chase didn’t hesitate. “How fast?”

  “The speed is restricted to the pilot’s ability to withstand intensely high G-force,” Adrien said. Riot scrambled to pick up Chase’s notebook, knocking heads with Tristan who had also leaned over to help. Tristan graciously handed Riot Chase’s pen and—did Chase imagine it?—Riot growled at him.

  That sealed it.
Boys really were subpar humans.

  Chase stole her things from Riot and turned her attention back to the lab-coated engineer.

  “In short,” Adrien continued through her strong French-Canadian accent, “how fast you can stand is how fast they will go.” She walked to the larger end of the machine and opened a narrow door. Inside, Chase made out a pilot’s chair and throttle.

  “Up to this point, we have seen fit to keep a dampener on the Streakers’ power so none of you accidentally go so fast that you lose consciousness. But it is time to ‘open up’ the engines, so to speak. And for that, we need to practice.” She touched the huge metal machine. “This is the Star City Centrifuge, originally Russian-made. It will simulate high-g that you have hitherto only imagined. Speed equivalents to Mach 7, even 8.”

  “Wicked,” Romeo said.

  Chase couldn’t keep down a smile. It was wicked. It was just about the coolest thing she’d ever heard.

  “Akin to testing astronauts for takeoff, we need to gauge how well you handle prolonged G-force upward of, say, eight or nine. You have flown fast enough to feel more than that for brief moments, but today we will endeavor to keep you there for a significant duration.” Adrien stopped by Tristan and put a hand on his shoulder. “You must keep your wits and fly.”

  Adrien flipped a switch, and a large view screen rolled down the wall. “You will have a monitor with a computer-generated landscape, and we will watch your progress here. Just pilots today. Tomorrow we will test RIOs.”

  “It looks dangerous,” Sylph said.

  Dr. Adrien waved her hand absently. “You might pass out. Or experience grayout. This is when the blood is restricted from the brain, creating a loss of colored sight followed by a complete loss of vision. Recovery is rapid in these situations, usually within minutes. Although, I have heard a few stories of brain aneurisms occurring.”