Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars

by Melisse Aires

  They were brave people, to leave their galaxy and risk it all out here. He wished he had a better galaxy for them to explore. Maybe that’s what spoke to him about them, their willingness to push the boundaries, to risk everything to go somewhere they’d never been.

  Sara had explained the sim, but he didn’t understand that either until she introduced them. According to her, it mimicked anything a Dauntless could do in space.

  “We have to ration all our resources, so this is the only way we have to practice, to keep it sharp, though we do shake the cobwebs out once or twice a month, make sure everything still runs.” She stopped at the base of a ladder. “When my bird is up again, she’ll need a test flight. That’ll give you a chance to compare.”

  “You’re going to let me fly your bird?”

  Sara slanted him a look. “Well, much as I’d like to take credit for being that generous, it was Colonel Carey’s idea.”

  That meant order, he’d bet.

  “He has this funny idea that the Air Force owns my bird and not me. You have to gear up completely. It’s a pain, but a necessary one.” She handed him gloves and a helmet. “Your zoombag is fire and weather proof. Unlike earth bags, this one is fitted with speedjeans.”

  “Speedjeans?”

  “A g-suit? To keep your blood from pooling in your legs in tight turns when you’re pulling G’s? So you don’t pass out?”

  Pulling G’s? He thought he knew what that meant.

  “How fast does your bird go?” Fyn asked.

  She smiled. “Fast.”

  When he was geared up, he climbed inside. He expected her to give him a verbal tour, but she just waited quietly beside him, letting him explore the mocked up cockpit. He had a few questions and some of the controls had labels he wasn’t used to, but it wasn’t that different. He’d flown a lot of different craft.

  “Ready to give her a go?”

  He nodded and she showed him how to hook in to the radio and control oxygen flow.

  “Just take her out and get a feel for her, then I’ll set the computer to run a variety of sims for you. I’ve even uploaded what happened to me. Maybe you can figure out how I could have done it like a guy.” She grinned at him. “Kick the tires and light the fires.”

  Sara closed the hatch and secured it. She looked around, but they were alone for the moment, so she activated the computer from where she was, then jumped down from the ladder. She keyed her radio.

  “You reading me?”

  “Roger.”

  Sara grinned. Soon he’d sound like one of them, even if he didn’t exactly look like them. Who knew a head full of dreads could be so hot? She’d never been interested in the bad boys in school. She’d grown up in the danger zone, didn’t need to invite more of it into her life. Danger probably ran scared from Fyn. And she should, too. She’d seen him in the jungle and tested his strength on the mat. She didn’t know what had happened to him since his planet was over run, but it couldn’t have been good. And then getting stranded on Kikk for who knows how long. Dang. That was some bad luck.

  She knew about bad luck. And about getting a chance to turn things around, thanks to Evie. One reason why she couldn’t run. Or at least it made a good excuse.

  “I’m going to start you from the basement—the hanger bay.” She walked over to the control panel. She could see him inside the sim on one screen and also see what he was seeing on the next screen. He made a smooth exit, then did some loops, getting a feel for the stick.

  “Nice.” His voice was deep and smooth, like rich, dark chocolate, with a hint of an unfamiliar accent. He went full throttle and did a series of bat turns, testing the outer limits. He was good, better than she was, darn him.

  “Let me know when you’re ready to try some scenarios.” She kept her voice cool. Maybe it would send the rest of her a message.

  “Let’s do it,” he said.

  She keyed in the first scenario, their battle from the other day.

  The doors to the sim bay slid open and Carey came in.

  “That Chewie in there?”

  “Yes, sir. We just started the first scenario.”

  He joined her at the panel. “Not bad. That the battle the other day?”

  “I uploaded the data from all our computers.”

  Fyn dove into the battle without hesitation, forward guns blazing. He took down one, then another. As near as Sara could tell, he got the ones she’d gotten.

  “There goes three, now four. You got hit right after this, didn’t you?”

  Now he was seeing what she’d seen, her wing man in trouble. He went in, just as she had, scattering bandits and eliminating the threat to her wingman, but swarms of bandits were closing fast. She’d been able to dodge most of their fire. Unfortunately, most wasn’t good enough. He jinked to avoid a salvo, swinging the Dauntless like it was a hammock. Enemy fire singed by on either side, but he was still flying. Then he hit the space brakes, almost bringing on a stall. He seemed to know just how much he could slow. When he accelerated, he took out two more. Just when they thought it was over, he caught a stray blast.

  “Doesn’t look like he’s going down, though,” Sara said. “He’ll make it back to mother. He’s good.”

  Carey keyed the mike on the panel. “Good shooting, Chewie. How does it feel?”

  “It’s good.” He brought the “damaged” bird back into the hanger, dropping it lightly in place.

  “You’re right, he is good,” Carey said. “Nice find, Donovan.”

  Sara blinked, not quite sure who’d found whom. “Thank you, sir.” She hesitated, “Since you’re here, I’ll go get to work on my bird.”

  He nodded absently. “Hey Chewie, let’s try you with this scenario I worked up…”

  Sara left, hiding a grin. Boys would be boys.

  Down in the repair bay, she found Briggs working on her ship.

  “You and Chewie got a lot done yesterday,” he said, without looking up.

  They had got a lot done, but she’d gotten more done when she came back later. Couldn’t sleep last night and finally gave it up and came back. Now that lack of sleep was catching up with her. She could feel it like an incoming wave, trying to take her legs out from under her.

  She pushed it back. “Where do you want me to start?”

  He looked at her then, his gaze piercing and thorough.

  “You were supposed to rest last night.”

  She managed to meet his gaze for a twenty count, then gave it up as a bad job. She never could bluff him.

  “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 t
hem. 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 enough 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 c
ome 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.