Chain Reaction

Chapter One

Lieutenant Celene Jur wanted vengeance. And now she was going to get it.

She strode down the corridors of the 8^th Wing Base, adrenaline pumping through her body. As she walked, soldiers and pilots hurried out of her path—they knew when the fire gleamed in her eyes, nothing stood in her way. That’s how she’d gotten through the grueling Black Wraith training in only sixteen solar months. Only Commander Kell Frayne had ever surpassed her record. He’d completed training in ten solar months, but her old friend was as determined as a siyahwolf on the hunt. Just like her.

Three solar months. It had been three solar months since she had been tricked by a false distress signal. When she had flown to investigate, someone had used a device to temporarily disable her Black Wraith ship. She’d been helpless, powerless. Taken captive. If Kell and Mara Skiren hadn’t rescued her from the auction block, she’d be someone’s pleasure slave now, and her ship torn apart, its secrets sold to PRAXIS.

By the Ten Hells, the person responsible would pay.

Striding into the mess hall, she surveyed the rows and rows of crowded tables. Normally she enjoyed the sound of hundreds of 8^th Wing servicemen and servicewomen sharing a meal. Laughter and banter was a necessary counterpart to the life-or-death battles they faced every day. Today, the sound was simply noise. A few people saw her standing at the entrance and waved, but she kept scanning faces until she saw the two she wanted. She walked quickly through the mess, her heart pounding.

Kell and Mara sat at a table, and though there were others sitting nearby, they were deep in a private conversation. Usually Celene left them alone when Kell and Mara looked at each other like that, like they were the only two people in the universe. And they looked at each other that way often. But today, nothing could distract her from her purpose. Not even love.

She braced her hands on the edge of their table. It surprised her that the table didn’t shake with the amount of energy she exuded.

“We got the bastard.”

“Yes, I’d love a refill of kahve, thanks.” Kell smiled up at her. Since Mara had joined the 8^th Wing, Kell smiled more than Celene had ever seen him smile before. When he saw Celene’s face now, though, his smile faded. “The bastard?”

“The one who made the disabling device.” She tried to sit, but couldn’t relax enough, so she remained standing. “Command says they have a lead, and I’m going to follow it.”

“I’d like to use that fuck’s head for target practice.” Mara might be 8^th Wing now, and far along in her training to become a Black Wraith pilot, but she still had the heart—and language—of a scavenger.

“You can’t,” said Celene. “Because when I find him, I’m going to cut off his face and decorate the cockpit of my ship with it.”

“What’s the intel?” Kell demanded.

“Don’t know yet. Got a meeting at 13:00 to talk details.” Celene checked her chronometer. “That’s in ten minutes.”

In unison, Kell and Mara stood, wearing equally determined expressions. “We’ll go with you.” Mara swallowed the last of her kahve and slammed her mug on the table.

“I’d like you to,” Celene answered, “but if you’ve got something else scheduled…”

The fierce look on Kell’s face showed why he was one of the most decorated pilots in the 8^th Wing. He fought hard, and with deadly intent. At the controls of his Black Wraith, or even when he trained in hand-to-hand in the combat simulator—there wasn’t a more merciless fighter.

He growled. “Some lowlife makes a device that hamstrings Black Wraith ships, our best weapon against PRAXIS. Endangers all of us, and hurts you.” His jaw tightened. “This fight belongs to all of us.”

His fighter’s spirit had attracted her, once. Years ago, for a few solar months, she and Kell had been lovers. But they soon realized they were better friends than lovers, dedicated more to the war against PRAXIS than each other.

Determination and loyalty gleamed also in Mara’s eyes. “And if there’s anything left over after you’re done with him, I know some parts dealers who’d love to buy his spine and organs. Preferably while he’s still using them.”

It pleased her that Kell and Mara could find happiness together, unlikely as it had seemed at the beginning. A Black Wraith pilot and a black-market scavenger made an unexpected pairing. But it worked, and well.

“Let’s go.” She turned and strode back through the mess, with Kell and Mara right behind her.

Her parents had thought her crazy to leave behind a quiet life of ferrying passengers to and from her homeworld’s moons. But PRAXIS threatened everything. Joining the war against the corporate giant had gained her a cause and a new family.

As they walked through the base toward Command offices, her thoughts were too focused to join the conversation, though she heard Mara and Kell.

“Stop scratching at it, princess,” Kell said.

“It itches.”

Celene understood. Yesterday, Mara finally had her biotech implant grafted just beneath the surface of her right palm, a signal that she was well on her way to becoming a Black Wraith pilot. All Wraith pilots had the implants, since the ships would not run without them. The implants were part of the reason Black Wraiths were so effective—and coveted. They allowed the ship’s pilot to merge with the craft, creating a seamless integration of thought and action. PRAXIS had tried to reproduce the design, but with limited success. Without an actual Black Wraith to copy, they hadn’t gotten far. All that could change, though, with the use of the disabling device. Either PRAXIS would finally get their hands on a Black Wraith and dissect it, or they’d simply knock the paralyzed ships out of the sky.

Neither option was good. She had to make sure neither came to pass.

“Maybe I need to take your mind off of it,” murmured Kell. “Scratch another itch.”

“Later, flyboy. We’ve got an organ donor to hunt down.” But Mara sounded husky, definitely intrigued by Kell’s offer.

Some crewmen whispered to each other as Celene strode by.

“That’s Lieutenant Jur.”

“Stainless Jur?”

She walked on, avoiding the admiration in their gazes and the moniker she had been given. She’d be a fool to let such idolatry affect her. The moment she believed she was the goddess everyone thought she was, she might as well take a plasma blast to the head. An arrogant pilot was a dead pilot. And she couldn’t die. She had too many battles to fight.

A clerical ensign hurried forward when Celene reached Command’s offices and pointed her toward one of the briefing chambers. With Kell and Mara accompanying her, she strode on. If given clearance, she’d leave base today.

Her code at the door of the chamber was accepted, and the door slid open to reveal Admiral Elora Gamlyn standing next to a holo display at the far end of the room. Celene, Kell and Mara all saluted.

“Only your presence was requested, Lieutenant.” The admiral eyed Mara and Kell.

“I’d like them to stay, ma’am, if possible. This intel concerns all of us.”

“What’s said cannot leave this chamber. The mission we’re proposing must be conducted under strictest security protocols.”

“We know the gravity of the situation, ma’am,” Kell said.

“So who’s the sipkaswine we’re after?” asked Mara.

Celene choked down a laugh.

“Mara.” Kell placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry. Who’s the sipkaswine we’re after, ma’am?”

At least the admiral smiled. “Your enthusiasm is heartening, Ensign Skiren. We’re waiting for someone to join us, and then the briefing can commence.” The alert at the chamber door trilled. “And he’s here, now.”

Everyone turned to face the newcomer as the door slid open. He stepped inside, then stopped abruptly when he saw everyone staring at him expectantly.

She had an indistinct impression of having met this man before, but she wasn’t completely certain. 8^th Wing was thousands strong, with hundreds on base at any given time. Black Wraith Squad usually kept to themselves. They were an elite group, and more than a little insane. Adrenaline junkies who lived to fly. No wonder everyone gave them a wide berth.

The man walking into the chamber gazed at her. Alarm and fascination combined in his eyes.

Not a surprise. She was given a wider berth than most. Few people made friends with a legend. And as for having a romantic relationship…by becoming one of the best pilots, she’d inadvertently consigned herself to celibacy. She could never be the flawless paragon her lovers wanted. Stainless Jur—that’s who they desired. Tough experience had taught her that it was better to be alone than see the disappointment in her lovers’ eyes when they learned she wasn’t a goddess, only a woman. A very skilled woman who could fly better than most sentient beings in the galaxy, but a woman, nonetheless.

The newcomer stared at her like she was a tigeren that had escaped its cage.

He wasn’t an unpleasant specimen of maleness. He didn’t have Kell’s height or impressive build. Instead he had a lean muscularity that nicely filled out his uniform without being showy. Sandy hair, deep green eyes that gleamed with intellect, a face more rugged than handsome. His mouth surprised her, with its full lips better suited for a fashion vid model than a soldier.

That mouth…seemed so familiar. As if she knew its taste, warm and masculine. No—she’d remember lips like his.

“I believe you all know Lieutenant Nils Calder,” the admiral said.

It took Celene a few moments to place him. “From Engineering.” A vague recollection flitted through her mind of her consulting Lieutenant Calder about the navigational controls of her Black Wraith.

“NerdWorks?” blurted Mara.

Kell groaned, Celene choked and even the admiral reddened.

Calder only smiled. “I’ve also heard Dork Corps, Geek Brigade and Dweeb Patrol.” His voice was deep, with a faint rasp. “But NerdWorks is my favorite.”

Much as Celene appreciated his sense of humor, she wanted intel right now, not jokes. She turned to Admiral Gamlyn. “The briefing?”

“I have the intel here.” Calder held up a digitablet. He walked to the holo display, and everyone shuffled to get out of his way. Their bodies brushed against each other as he moved to the display. His breath caught at the contact, and his cheeks darkened.

Guess NerdWorks doesn’t usually mix with actual humans.

This close to him, she realized he was bigger than she’d first thought, over half a foot taller than her. The only other man in the room was Kell, and he had a tendency to make other men seem smaller by comparison. But Lieutenant Nils Calder was long and lean as a swimmer, impressive in his own way.

He turned to address everyone in the chamber. Yet his gaze caught Celene’s and held.

Astute, those eyes of his. And aware. Of her.

“The intel, Lieutenant.”

Admiral Gamlyn’s directive broke the odd spell that had fallen, and Calder looked away as he moved to the holo display.

Mara sent Celene a glance and mouthed, What the hells was that all about?

All she could do was shrug. I have no damned idea. She focused her attention on the holo display.

Calder tapped a few keys on the display, then studied his digitablet. An image came up of the Black Wraith’s distinctive sleek lines, and the hologram rotated to display every angle of the unique ship. She flew her Black Wraith every day, but even looking at a holo of the ship filled her with pride. A perfect union of pilot and machine. Beautiful and elegant as a moonrise, but deadly in the right hands.

Or disastrous in the wrong hands. Which was why PRAXIS couldn’t obtain a Black Wraith.

Calder cleared his throat. “I’ve gone over Lieutenant Jur’s logs and the debriefing vids, analyzing her description of the effects of the device used on her ship. A total system shutdown that renders the Black Wraith completely inoperative, with only enough emergency capacity to power life support, and even that for only a brief period.”

Memories flooded Celene. Acidic currents of remembered anger as she’d floated in space with no means of protecting herself and no way of calling for help. She grasped at her rage, a useful emotion.

“I was there.” The words felt taut in her throat. “So tell us something helpful.”

Calder’s jaw tightened. “I also went through the data and sensor logs in your ship after it was returned to base. Ran diagnostic protocols and did some calculations. I was able to extrapolate the basic construction of the disruptor device.”

The holo changed from an image of the Black Wraith to an innocuous collection of circuits and cables. With her not being a tech, it could have been a schematic of a Voaxian self-pleasuring device, but she studied it, trying to make sense of its configuration.

“This is just a theory as to its appearance,” Calder went on, “but the operation of it remains the same. In order to create the disruption pulse that’s keyed to the Black Wraith’s energy profile, the device requires a particular power source. The power source has a distinctive wavelength signature.”

“Can we track the wavelength signature?” Kell asked.

“I can tune a ship to trace it.”

“Leading us right to the bastard who disabled my ship.” Celene could already taste blood, and she welcomed it. “Nicely done, Lieutenant.”

Calder accepted her praise with a terse nod, though his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. It was clear he took pride in his work, a sentiment she understood well.

“I’ve also determined the identity of the bastard in question.”

She started, hearing the edge in his voice and the change in his language. Who knew tech-heads could sound so angry?

He entered some information into the holo display and the image of a man appeared.

Everyone cursed, including Admiral Gamlyn. The man wore an 8^th Wing uniform.

“He’s one of us?” Mara spat.

“Was.” Calder’s voice glinted with anger. “Lieutenant Commander Torrin Marek. He resigned six solar months ago. Said he’d had enough of working for no profit.”

“That’s what he put in his withdrawal log?” Celene couldn’t believe Marek’s arrogance. She scrutinized his image. A perfectly average face looked back with unseeing eyes. Marek had ridges down his cheeks, common for people from the Alua System. Everything about him seemed ordinary. But treachery appeared harmless—she knew that now.

Calder shook his head. “It’s what he told me.” His lips tightened. “Marek was in Engineering. I used to work with him.”

Different as she and Lieutenant Calder were, they shared anger and feelings of betrayal. She saw it in his face, in his eyes.

She wanted to hit something. Wanted to shout herself hoarse. Bad enough knowing there was a device out there that completely hamstrung the 8^th Wing’s most crucial weapon. But the fact that it had been created by one of their own…

“I’ll kill the fucker,” Kell said.

“No, you won’t, Commander.” The admiral stepped between Kell and the holo of Marek. “The traitor will be court-martialed. When we find him.”

“This is to be a stealth mission, then,” Celene said. “So he can’t see us coming and run.”

“Correct, Lieutenant. I debated whether or not sending you would be a good idea—”

“I need to do this,” she pressed. Vengeance belonged to her.

The admiral raised a brow, and Celene collected herself. She couldn’t prove her fitness for the mission by unleashing her anger in front of Admiral Gamlyn.

“Ultimately, Command and I determined that you would be the best pilot for the operation. You’ll have a partner, but the mission shall be yours.”

“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.”