“Thank you, ma’am.” Celene turned to Calder. “So, a ship can be tuned to track the disruptor’s power signature. How long will it take for you to make the necessary adjustments?”

“It’ll be ready to fly today.”

“Lieutenant Calder is one of Engineering’s best,” the admiral said.

As someone who never apologized for her skill as a pilot, Celene appreciated that Calder didn’t mumble something self-deprecating. He looked well aware of his abilities and confident in them. Another surprise.

The admiral continued, “Which is why he is going to be your partner.”

Celene stared at Admiral Gamlyn. That couldn’t be right. She had to have misheard. Her gaze drifted to Calder, hoping to see the same expression of disbelief on his face.

He looked calm. Determined. Not surprised at all.

“Ma’am?” She turned to the admiral.

“As I said, Lieutenant Calder is one of Engineering’s finest. The technological requirements of the mission demand his presence.”

“The power source’s wavelength fluctuates,” Calder explained. “I’ll have to continually adjust the ship’s sensors to trace it accurately.”

“That doesn’t have to be done manually.” Celene stepped closer to Calder.

He didn’t back down. “Actually,” he said, voice and eyes cool, “it does. And when we finally reach Marek he’s going to have very complex security systems in place. You don’t have the skill to disable them.”

The admiral narrowed her eyes. “It sounds like you’re questioning my decision, Lieutenant Jur.”

Damn, she did not want to piss off her commanding officer. “This mission is extremely important to me, ma’am.”

“It’s important to all of 8^th Wing,” came Admiral Gamlyn’s level response. “Not just you.”

Heat crept into her face. “I’m aware of that, ma’am. But couldn’t Commander Frayne be my partner? He’s very adept at engineering.”

“I’ve seen him build some convoluted stuff,” Mara volunteered, then added, “ma’am.”

“Skilled as Commander Frayne is,” the admiral said, “he doesn’t have the abilities the mission demand. Lieutenant Calder’s expertise, as well as his personal knowledge of Marek, make him the ideal candidate.”

“I’m sensing some reluctance to partner with me,” he said drily.

This was not a conversation Celene wanted to have in front of the admiral, nor her friends. She glanced at Admiral Gamlyn. “Permission to speak with Lieutenant Calder in private, ma’am?”

“Briefly, Lieutenant Jur. This mission needs to commence as quickly as possible.”

Celene nodded, then grabbed Calder’s forearm to lead him out of the chamber. He was solid and muscled beneath his uniform, and tension spread through him at the contact of her hand on his arm. Pushing these details aside, she guided him to the door and then out into the corridor. She glanced around. No one was nearby.

Looking up at Calder, she hoped to see some of the easy humor he had displayed in the briefing chamber. Instead his expression was remote, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t going to make this easy. Fine by her. She’d faced tougher obstacles than Lieutenant Calder—like flying through the Qing Meteor Shower with no navigational systems and almost no oxygen in the cockpit.

“Marek’s struck at the heart of the 8^th Wing. He could cripple the entire resistance movement, letting PRAXIS take whatever they want. Enslave everyone for profit.”

Something flared in his eyes before retreating behind cool distance. “That outcome’s already occurred to me.”

“I want Marek. I want to make him pay for betraying the 8^th Wing.”

“We want the same things.”

“Then let me take someone else. Someone trained for combat.” She could name half a dozen Black Wraith pilots she trusted implicitly, and all of them knew their way around a circuit board.

“You think I won’t be able to hold up my end of the fight.” His voice deepened, took on an edge.

“Face it, Calder. You’re NerdWorks. The closest you tech geeks come to combat is all-night Nifalian chess tournaments.”

“I won the last three tournaments.”

She tossed her hands up. “Exactly. I know you’re ranked in Engineering, but no matter what Admiral Gamlyn thinks, eventually this mission is going to boil down to a fight that Marek can’t survive.”

“Agreed.”

She released a breath, relieved. “Good. We’ll just tell the admiral that you will provide all the necessary tech info needed for the mission, and then I can pick a more suitable partner.” Celene started toward the door of the briefing chamber, but she stopped when she realized Calder wasn’t getting out of her way.

He stared down at her, his jaw tight. “The most suitable partner for this mission is me.”

“But we just agreed—”

“I agreed that this mission will ultimately culminate in a battle, and that Marek won’t return to base for a court-martial. I didn’t agree to slink away so you could pick one of your Black Wraith hotshot buddies to take my place.”

They glared at one another, neither budging. Apparently she’d underestimated him. She had never backed down from a challenge, and she certainly wouldn’t start with Lieutenant Calder. At least he didn’t try and lick her boots, the way some other crew members might.

“So you believe yourself perfectly capable of handling yourself in a fight?”

He lifted his chin. “Yes.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “All right, Calder. Let’s put all that Nifalian chess knowledge to the test. It’s based on ancient war games, after all.”

He raised a brow. “A tournament?”

“Better than a tournament.” She took a step toward him and saw the faintest trace of alarm in his eyes. Perfect. “You and me. One round in the combat simulator.”

“I’ve trained in SimCom,” he said, confident.

“Fine. No problem, then. We go in together, fight a round against the generated opponents. If you leave on your own two feet at the end, then you can partner with me on this mission.”

He nodded. “I agree to your terms.”

She had to give him credit—he seemed undaunted. “Oh,” she added, “and the safety protocols will be off.” She smiled. “It’ll be much better than chess.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

Nils glanced up from strapping on his protective gauntlets to see Commander Frayne standing at the gear room entrance. Frayne was big and could look mean as hells when he wanted to, but right now Nils’s mind was on the other side of the SimCom Room door.

“I know how to fight.” Satisfied with his thick gauntlets, Nils checked the readings on his plasma blaster. Everything looked optimal. He never expected any less from his equipment, but he couldn’t risk any kind of failure. Not for this mission. And not in front of Celene.

Don’t think about her. You’ll only fuck things up if you let her get into your head.

“Not fighting the SimCom.” Frayne stalked further into the gear room and leaned against the storage lockers. “Celene.”

“I can handle her.” His voice held a lot more confidence than he felt.

Frayne chuckled. “If you think that, you’re definitely crazy.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and Nils fought the urge to check his own arms for bulging muscles. Sure, Nils trained, and hard, but when it came to sheer physical intimidation factor, Frayne’s readings were off the charts. It was rumored that the commander used to be a street brawler on his homeworld. Based on the available evidence, Nils didn’t doubt it.

“I’ve seen Celene in combat,” Frayne continued. “Hells, I’ve even gone a couple of rounds with her in SimCom. She didn’t beat me, but damn if she didn’t give me a run for my creds.”

“You can’t discourage me, Commander.” Nils replaced his plasma blaster in his thigh holster. He checked the rest of his gear on his belt. Everything was exactly in place, as he knew it would be. He didn’t get to the top of the Engineering food chain by being sloppy.