Star Crossed

by C. Gockel

  “I tried.” She kept having weird dreams, not bad exactly, just weird. She was in this city, looking for something, but she didn’t know what it was. Usually her anxiety dreams revolved around not being ready for a test in school. For some reason the new dream made her feel edgy.

  “Climb in the cockpit and check for light leaks. I don’t really need your help yet.” His voice was gruff, annoyed, but his eyes were worried.

  She opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again. She needed the nap. She could feel it.

  Not everyone considered the cockpit of a Dauntless a good place for a nap, but for Sara, it was as good as the womb. She settled down and closed her eyes. No light leaks—the wave passed over her head…

  It felt good to be back in a cockpit again, even if it was a sim. Fyn was interested to see how Sara’s people had already adapted from their encounter with the Dusan. The Dusan might be in for a surprise when they came back. The Dauntless was a fast ship, the fastest he’d ever flown.

  Kalian would kill to get his hands on just one of them.

  They finally had to call it quits. Carey wanted his squadron to practice with the updates the computer had made from Fyn’s flying. Released from the sim, Fyn made his way down to the repair bay. He couldn’t help himself. And he didn’t know where else to go, except maybe the cafeteria, and the crew only seemed to go there three times a day for what they called a gut bomb. He should have brought something from Kikk for them. Now that was a gut bomb. He’d been issued a key card and ID that got him into a few places, but not that many. The SO, the security officer, had made it pretty clear that if he tried a door he wasn’t supposed to, bad things would happen, possibly involving fast moving projectiles.

  Fyn didn’t plan on wandering where he shouldn’t. Part of him didn’t want to find out too much. In the repair bay, he found Briggs working on Sara’s bird, but there was no sign of its pilot. Briggs waved a tool at him, then pointed up at the cockpit.

  “She came down here last night and worked some more. I told her to check for light leaks.”

  After a minute’s thought, Fyn figured out this meant sleep. He bent over and examined the engine.

  “How’d it go in the sim?” Briggs stuck his head back inside again.

  “Good.” Fyn reached over and made a small adjustment. He wished he could study the propulsion in more detail. How could they get so much thrust and hyper-speed capability in such a small space?

  Briggs studied it for a moment. “You got a good feel for engines. You been flying long?”

  “Be longer if I hadn’t crashed.” He made another adjustment, aware Briggs watched him closely.

  “Anyone tell you,” Briggs said, “you talk too much?”

  He heard a sleepy chuckle and looked up. Sara was watching from the cockpit, her arms resting on the edge, her chin on her arms. She looked better.

  Fyn grinned. “So I hear.”

  “So, it went good in the sim. You’ll be happy to hear he out flew me. I’m only a little bitter about it.”

  They both looked up at her.

  “How do you know?” Briggs rubbed his face, leaving a streak of grease across his cheek.

  A touch of color popped into her cheeks. “I have a computer in here, you know.”

  Briggs shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “I could tell you, but then you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Briggs drawled, “Higgans can’t quick step for shit.”

  Sara blinked a couple of times. “Okay, there’s a picture in my head that is not pretty.” She bumped the side of her head. “Whew. That was scary.”

  “Higgans?” Fyn asked. “Isn’t he—”

  Briggs glared at him.

  “I don’t think I know Higgans.” Fyn knew when to play dumb.

  Briggs straightened and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, Tall Girl, I think she’s ready for her test flight.”

  Sara straightened. “Really?”

  “You check the avionics for me, while I radio the Colonel.” He looked over at Fyn. “Shouldn’t have taken your zoombag off.”

  Chapter Three

  That night Fyn got a chance to learn about “booming”—and to see yet another side to Sara. Music wasn’t an alien concept. The way her group did it was beyond alien. The room they’d set up in was bigger than the cafeteria but still not huge. There were a few tables and chairs around the edge of the room, and the “band” was situated on a small platform toward the rear. Sara played something she called a keyboard. There was also a set of drums—his people had something similar, though not so complicated—guitar things, if he remembered the name right, and a tangle of equipment that Sara said was to make them loud.

  They were warming up when Fyn arrived with Carey. The room was already starting to fill up with people, but they managed to snag a spot close to the small stage, on the side where he could watch Sara. The discordant sounds weren’t, in Fyn’s opinion, a promising beginning, but eventually they began to sound more orderly. Sara had warned him that Major Foster liked to start with a bang. He wasn’t sure what that meant. Suddenly the sounds stopped. The room quieted and a sense of anticipation filled the room.

  “Evening,” Foster said. “Let’s do this.” He nodded to his group, then started to sing without instruments, something about a baby liking to rock, but it wasn’t a sound that would put a baby to sleep.

  Sara came in on her keyboard, her hands dancing across the keys, the movements complicated to see and hear. She didn’t look down and he didn’t know how she kept track of where she was. The song ended to applause, then the music turned slow. Couples began to move into the center of the room, wrapping their arms around each other and swaying. After a while, Sara began to sing. Her voice was liquid smooth as it flowed out into the room. She didn’t look at him as she sang, but it felt like she was singing to him. He didn’t understand all of the words, but he did know it was about how men and women dealt together. As he watched her, he realized this was another place that Sara lived. He looked around, but it didn’t seem as if anyone saw her. It was almost as if she were just another instrument and not a person at all.

  Fyn got asked to dance. It was okay, though after Sara, the women all seemed really short. When the band took a break, Fyn asked Carey, “Doesn’t Donovan ever dance?”

  Carey looked surprised. “I suppose she could, if she wanted. Or someone asked her.”

  Carey looked at Sara. She was mopping her face with a towel, then she twisted the top off a bottle of water and took a long drink, giving Fyn a lengthy look at the sweet line of her neck. As if she felt their interest, she looked their way. Carey waved at her to join them. She hesitated a moment, as if she weren’t sure he meant her, then crossed the short distance to their table.

  “Yes, sir?” Her gaze was the cool one that gave nothing away.

  Fyn didn’t like being on the receiving end of it.

  Carey pushed the spare chair out with his foot. “Park it.”

  It wasn’t really an order, but Sara said, “Yes, sir,” again and sat in the chair. Carey looked at Fyn, then kind of nodded his head, as if to say, there she is, ask her.

  Fyn saw Sara look from him to Carey, then back at him.

  “Is something wrong, sir?”

  Carey sighed.

  “Fyn was wondering if you dance. Foster ever let you sit one out?”

  Her lashes covered her eyes and she colored slightly. “Of course, sir.”

  Did she want to dance with him or was she only doing it because Carey told her to?

  “Just a minute.”

  Sara went and spoke with Foster. He looked surprised. Her chin up, Sara returned and held out her hand to him. As he led her two steps out, he felt interest ripple out from them, like a rock thrown in a clear pool. Her fingers clenched in his, the only sign she knew it, too. It was as if walking with him made her suddenly visible to them.

  The song was a slow one. He’d been watching enou
gh to know where to put his hands: one at her waist, the other holding her hand. They began to move to the music. As she absorbed the music, he felt her relax, though she didn’t—or wouldn’t—look at him. He eased her closer, so their bodies brushed against each other as they moved. He could feel her pulse pounding where his hand touched hers.

  He liked holding her. It felt right. Nothing had felt right in his life for a long time. He wanted to do like some of the dancers and wrap himself around her. He wanted her to look at him.

  He rubbed his thumb along her wrist and felt the pulse leap. Finally she looked up, probably to tell him to stop it, but he was waiting for it and pulled her against him. He felt the sharp intake of breath, but she didn’t pull—or look away.

  Too soon the song ended.

  “Thanks.” Her voice was cool as ice.

  He turned to walk her back to the stage, but Briggs stepped in their way.

  “My dance, I think,” he said.

  Sara’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

  He snapped his fingers, as if signaling Foster and then held out his hand for her. Fyn stepped back, wondering if they were going to do the song they’d done that morning, but the band started something a bit slower, and a lot smoother.

  At first no one noticed them except him, but then people started to step back, leaving them in sole possession of the floor. The steps they did were complicated and unsettling. It was like a chase, she’d retreat and he’d come after, then they switched with her pacing toward him. Sara was fluid and graceful and she never once looked away from Briggs.

  With his big feet, she probably didn’t dare.

  The cool expression on her face actually made her movements more interesting. It was such a stark contrast to the heat that pulsed through the song and through them. Briggs had his hand at her waist and tipped her back so far her hair brushed across the floor as she swept around, then up again. Fyn didn’t know anyone could bend that far, that direction. When they finished, there was some clapping and a lot of wide eyes. Briggs led her back to the stage. She took her place behind her keyboard, the only sign she was aware of the interest they’d aroused, her slightly lifted chin and two spots of color in both her cheeks.

  No one came near him after that, which suited him just fine. Several times he thought Carey was going to ask him something, but each time he closed his mouth. Fyn noticed he started watching Sara, too. Fyn didn’t mind. Carey couldn’t fraternize was the word, he’d heard. Something about good order and discipline. He was all for both of those things when they worked in his favor. Finally they finished the last song. Sara looked tired as she drank some more water. She didn’t move from behind her keyboard. She’d switched the sound off, but he noticed one hand pressed the white keys, almost absently, as if she still heard music in her head. She seemed to be far away—in a place that wasn’t happy.

  He got up and went to the edge of the platform. He felt interest ripple out again, but he didn’t care. She looked up, her gaze meeting his for a long moment. Then she looked around. Her chin lifted and her mouth thinned. Her eyes narrowed. Fyn shifted uneasily at these warning signs. She stood and closed the small gap that separated them in two steps. The platform erased the differences in their heights. As her gaze met his, her lips curved in a smile that was provocative.

  She touched the side of his face with her hand, her fingers spreading across his cheek. Then she put her mouth on his. He was so surprised, he almost forgot to respond.

  Almost.

  He matched her move for move, and deepened the kiss, only letting her go when he felt her slight withdrawal. She stared at him for a long moment, tiny fires at the back of her eyes, then, without speaking, she stepped down. He turned with her, his hand finding the small of her back, as they walked out. They didn’t talk, though at one point, he thought she was going to say something. He felt her inhale and she looked at him but she sighed and kept going. They reached her quarters, but they still weren’t alone. People always seemed to be going somewhere, all the time.

  “Can I come in?” He ran a finger down the side of her face, loving the soft, supple texture of her skin.

  Her brows arched, but her eyes smiled.

  “Not when you look at me like that. Despite the evidence,” her cheeks flamed red as her hair, “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  Before he could respond, her eyes widened.

  “Do you know, I’ve never had to say that before? I guess I should thank you for wanting to well, you know.”

  Her eyes widened even more, then narrowed in a frown.

  “You do know don’t you?”

  For a moment, he was tempted to tease her, but she looked so alarmed, he couldn’t do it. He put a hand on the wall on either side of her head and leaned in close. “I do.”

  Her cheeks turned red again. He stroked the heated skin, fascinated by the way color came and went from it.

  “Would like to kiss you without the audience.”

  She bit her lip and looked both ways. For a moment the passage was empty. She looked up at him and he wondered who she didn’t trust, him or herself?

  “Just one and then you have to go. I’m on duty in a few.”

  Fyn followed her inside. She turned to face him, her back against a cabinet of some sort. There was barely room for both of them in the tiny room, once the door slid shut behind him. He started to bend toward her and bumped against her desk. She bit back a grin. He slid his arms around her waist and lifted her up, bringing her mouth to his, erasing the grin. She hadn’t said how long the kiss should be, so he took his time. When she was wrapped around him like wet clothes, he finally lifted his head. They both needed the air.

  “Good night.” He didn’t let her go. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to hold a woman, but now he was remembering.

  She blinked, and peeled herself off, sliding down to the floor again. More color surged into her face. She put as much room between them as she could. It wasn’t much. Not nearly enough. He still felt warm in the places her body had been. Her mouth had been inexperienced but eager.

  “Good night.” Her eyes were wide and surprised.

  He didn’t leave. She didn’t ask him to.

  She bit her lip. “I’m going to take a walk.”

  He dropped his chin, looking at her through the shield of his hair. “Can I walk with you?”

  She nodded.

  “Is there anywhere on this ship you can be alone?”

  She didn’t point out the obvious, that they were already alone.

  “Actually there is, though it’s not for the faint of heart.”

  “I see what you mean.” Fyn looked at the narrow catwalk at the very top of the Doolittle. He looked over the edge. “How did you find this place?”

  That was hard to explain. She shrugged. “I like to explore, improve my situational awareness. Look at this.”

  She reached up and pressed a button and a small door slid back, exposing a small porthole with a view to the outside. “I have no clue why they are here, but there are about ten of them along this stretch of catwalk.” She slipped off her jacket, and felt something in the pocket as she bundled it up. She pulled it out. “I almost forgot I got this for you. I think it was the last one, too.” She held out the Mounds for him to take.

  “What is it?”

  “Coconut and chocolate, dark chocolate, which is, in my opinion, the best chocolate.” She showed him how to open it.

  He looked a little dubiously at the two bars, but popped one of them in his mouth and chewed slowly.

  “Well?”

  “It’s good.”

  He sounded almost exactly like she had after that awful crap on Kikk. Sara tipped her head to the side, her eyes narrowing and he grinned.

  “I like it.”

  He held out the other bar for her, but she shook her head. She liked watching him enjoy the treat. She had a feeling his life, even before his planet was absorbed, had been devoid of the rich experiences she took for granted. When h
e finished, she put her jacket down on the catwalk, then sat down and lay down, so she could look out. Fyn stretched out the other direction, so that their heads were side by side on her jacket. It was nice and safe—as long as they didn’t roll in either direction. She looked out into space, wondering what the stars were called and if there were people on them. When she’d been young, she’d spent a lot of time star gazing, imagining herself far away from her current foster home. Back then only her imagination had wings. Now here she was in another galaxy gazing at different stars with an alien. Amazing.

  “Are there a lot of women in your Air Force?”

  Fyn sounded relaxed, almost sleepy. It was a tiny glimpse into a Fyn before whatever had forced him to be a tough guy.

  “There are women in all the armed forces. Not sure there are a lot. Do you have women in your military?”

  Fyn shook his head. “I’ve never seen a female pilot until you. Our women do—did many things but not battle. They are vulnerable in a way men are not.”

  “That’s true.” She’d considered that, when she thought she might be sent into battle. But war wasn’t the only place a woman was vulnerable. Ten years in foster care taught her that. At least now she could give as good as she got. “I knew it when I joined, but it’s worth it.”

  “You joined?”

  “Our military is completely volunteer.”

  He looked thoughtful. “That’s what makes you different. You choose to fight.”

  “I know it makes us good.” It wasn’t bragging. It was the truth.

  “But this was your first dogfight? Then your world is at peace?”

  “I wish it was, but no, there are always tyrants to battle. I would probably have been deployed to our current conflict, but I was tasked to be part of the Enterprise Project. It’s like top, top, top, top secret. Started out as a test pilot at Area 51, thanks to Briggs, and some aptitude test I had to take. I flew one of the prototypes of the Dauntless, then was tasked for the mission as part of the wing.”

  “Secret?”