Nils stared hard at Frayne. “Marek betrayed the 8th Wing and he betrayed me. I want on this mission. And neither you nor Lieutenant Jur can dissuade me.”
At the mention of the traitor’s name, Frayne scowled. If Nils wasn’t prepping for another fight, he might have been intimidated by the commander’s anger.
“Wish I had your tech skills.” Frayne’s jaw tightened. “I want to be the one who kills that sipkaswine. Not just for his treachery to the 8th Wing, but because his actions caused Celene to be captured.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “The Wraith wasn’t the only thing that was going to be sold.”
Nils’s gut clenched. “I’ll find Marek. And make him pay.”
Satisfied with this answer, Frayne smiled. Actually, it was more of a teeth baring than a smile, but the intent was clear. “If Celene has her way, you’ve got to survive her and the SimCom first.”
Nils moved past him, and they walked out of the gear room together toward the area of the base reserved for the combat simulator chambers. As they walked, they passed 8th Wing soldiers, who all stared at Nils as if he were walking to the neutralizing capsules.
He couldn’t let them intimidate him. If he let his concentration waver for a microsecond, everything would spin out into chaos. He liked Engineering because it meant he could harness chaos, tame it. The variables and the parameters were his to control. Science and tech could be relied upon, behaving in precise ways that could be predicted and even subverted if one understood them properly.
Much better than dealing with people. Early in his career with 8th Wing, he’d been given the option to pursue medical training. He preferred the constancy of tech. Besides, if he kept all the equipment running properly, there’d be less need for medical attention. 8th Wing troops could engage the enemy in the best ships and with the best weapons he could construct, keeping losses to a minimum. A fair trade.
They approached the SimCom section of the base. He was minutes away from the biggest physical challenge of his life.
“Any advice, Commander?”
“Just watch your ass.” Frayne smiled darkly. “And your balls.”
Waiting outside the SimCom were Admiral Gamlyn, Ensign Skiren and Celene. Skiren’s pretty face lit up when she saw Frayne nearing. Nils’s gaze moved past her to Lieutenant Jur.
She’d changed from her flight suit into PT cargo pants and tank top, divulging in aching detail the strong, sleek lines of her body. Like him, she had a plasma blaster on her thigh. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing the curves of her high cheekbones and the brilliance of her silver eyes. At his approach she raised one brow and her full lips thinned with impatience. She wanted to fight and she wanted to get the mission started, and she looked so damned fierce and beautiful it felt like a sonic blade piercing his chest.
His palms began to sweat. Not precisely the scenario he’d envisioned when he finally claimed her attention. And he had envisioned many, many scenarios.
“Last chance, Calder.” She stalked toward him and put her hands on her hips. “Sub someone else. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
He didn’t want to get hurt, either, but he’d do whatever it took to earn his place on this mission.
“Whenever you’re ready, Lieutenant Jur.”
She growled in frustration and then stalked to the SimCom chamber door.
“Are you sure about this, Lieutenant Calder?” Admiral Gamlyn asked.
“Absolutely, ma’am. I’m the best person to accompany Lieutenant on this operation and if I have to go through SimCom to prove that to her—” he spread his hands, “—so be it.”
“SimCom with the safety protocols off.” Ensign Skiren sounded almost gleeful. Given that she used to be part of the galaxy’s criminal element, her delight in possible bloodshed was not a surprise.
Nils nodded. “I can do this.”
“Your call, Lieutenant Calder.” The admiral punched in a combat sequence into the panel beside the chamber door. She keyed in her secure code and performed a genetic scan in order to unlock the safety protocols. Had he wanted to, Nils could’ve breached the security protocol—he’d been the lead engineer on the SimCom overhaul two years ago. Hardly anything on base didn’t wear his fingerprints. Hardly anything tech, anyway.
With a hiss and beep, the door to the SimCom chamber slid open.
Celene strode into the chamber without faltering. She grinned at him over her shoulder. “Time to fight, NerdWorks.”
He straightened his shoulders, took a breath and then walked inside.
He strode right into anarchy. Plasma shots burst around him and he lowered into a ready stance to avoid their blasts. The SimCom had been programmed with an insertion mission. He found himself outside a guarded compound on a hill, and as he took shelter behind a low retaining wall, beside Celene, he assessed the situation.
“Armed sentries, two-story structure, one front entrance, back entrance as yet undetermined. The number of sentries indicates the objective is likely located on second story.”
Celene ducked as plasma blast shot overhead. She fired back, hitting one of the sentries, then ducked low again. “Who are you talking to?”
“Myself. I need to verbalize the parameters in order to create an appropriate response to the scenario.” He edged up and felt the weight of his plasma blaster in his hand. He took a breath, then fired. Two of the mechanized sentries patrolling the exterior went down.
Celene stared at the smoking forms now lying upon the ground. He was uncertain whether to feel flattered or insulted by the look of shock on her face. Clearly, she hadn’t anticipated him using his weapon, let alone hitting a target.
More sentinels appeared and he took cover as they opened fire.
His blood raced. The sentries shot live ammo. A shot couldn’t kill him, even with the safety protocols off, but getting hit would hurt like a son of a bitch and put him out of commission for several solar weeks. Which had to be Celene’s intention.
“You ever operate on instinct?” Celene asked.
“Instinct isn’t a substitute for informed action.”
She rolled her eyes. “Gods, you really are NerdWorks.”
He had no response to that. He had no response to her, especially when, without warning, she bolted from the shelter of the retaining wall and sped toward the building, firing as she ran.
He shouldn’t stare. This was about the mission and he needed to pass this test, which meant he needed to focus on getting into the structure and obtaining the objective. But he was a man, and a man with functioning eyes. He couldn’t not watch as Lieutenant Celene Jur raced into battle. Her long legs made quick work of the distance. She moved fluidly, yet was deadly and direct, shooting with precision as she ran.
All 8th Wing personnel needed to keep themselves in top form. PT was required of everyone. But Celene was more than fit. She was the faultless alloy of physical capability and unadulterated beauty, lean and elegant as an ancient dueling rapier.
The stories about her are true. She’s the best we have. An untouchable legend. And I am partnered with her.
But not yet. First he had to prove himself in combat. Which meant he couldn’t waste precious time watching her. Nils took a breath, then launched himself from behind the retaining wall. He blasted into the converging sentries as he sprinted toward the entrance of the building. With his free hand, he pulled a device from a pouch attached to his belt and then lobbed it at the guards still standing.
The device detonated, releasing a wave of energy. The sentries remained standing.
“It didn’t work,” Celene shouted at him. Stationed by the front entrance, she continued to fire at the sentries.