Cold Victory

by Fiona Jayde

  He had a good idea why it shuffled to keep up with them. “Pretend we're deaf, and outrun it.” He used his wrist unit to punch in a command, keeping the comm audio only.

  “You sold me out.” A small laugh tried to bubble up from somewhere inside him.

  “Fucking shit.” Without a visual presence, the general sounded his age. “I don't want you going through with it. If CR scoops you up for a few months, it's a damned good way out.”

  “I don't have time to donate fluids for science.” Stark heard his father snort. “And Zoya threatened to blow up any medical device approaching her.” He sobered up. “We're soldiers. This is what we signed up for.”

  “Soldiers, my ass.” Tired, frustrated tone. “You're my son. Forgive me if I don't want you to explode your fucking ship.”

  Stark didn't know whether to laugh or pretend to be pissed. He chose the latter. Easier that way. “This is a private matter between Scott and I. As such, neither of us cleared you to report it.”

  A change in tactics. He could almost hear his father straightening his spine. “Per protocol, you'll both submit to testing of your DNA. If a match is confirmed, you will be cleared for Central Research. I have approved it.” Desperation under the rapid-fire words.

  “Our course will continue as scheduled.”

  “Damnit—”

  “Good fight, Father.”

  “Fuck it all to hell.” The general sighed again cleared his throat. “Good fight.”

  As he switched off the comm, Stark caught Hahn's amused glare. “They're threatening to charge us with obstruction of priority research.” Her fingers mimicked air quotes. “They didn't buy that we've 'gone deaf.'”

  Snorting, Stark switched to the comm from the CR vessel.

  “I repeat. We request to board immediately.”

  No visual, just a clipped, irate female voice.

  “Acknowledged, CR. We're having difficulties with our systems. Hold.”

  “The fuck are they doing here?” Dex handed him a clear, flexible tube, his gaze locked on the hologrid.

  “My father had a change of heart.”

  Dex looked as if he couldn't tear his gaze away from the CR vessel. “Less than a minute for whatever's in there to hit the fuel ducts. Should give you a time cushion to get us nice and close.”

  A comm grid lit up white, then faded. “Incoming. They're gearing up to play.”

  Stark plugged a call into his wrist unit, saw Zoya's face on the holodisplay. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.” She looked composed, save for those wild gold eyes.

  “Central Research wants to take you back to Earth.”

  Her eyes widened for a second, then shone with a by fierce light. “I bet they do. Tell them to go to hell.”

  Stark hadn't expected her to say anything different, but something loosened in his throat. He wouldn't let her die. No one would die today if he could help it.

  “Movement across all sectors.” Hahn enhanced two grids to show a breaking-up pattern of red.

  “CR vessel, you are too close to the blockade. Victory can't guarantee your safety.”

  The audio output let out a low chuckle, and Dex's eyes went huge before the sub-commander visibly forced himself to calm.

  “You got it your way, Victory. Good fight.”

  The central holo showed the vessel backing away. Dex stared at it as if he saw a ghost.

  “You all right?”

  “Up to my ass in cherry blossoms.”

  Stark nodded and plugged in an outgoing to all Victory's comm relays. “We're joining the fight. I thank each and every one of you for choosing to remain here.” Zoya walked into the command post, the wilting yellow bloom stuck in her bound hair, her face both fragile and stubborn.

  “I want to stress that we fight first, and we kick every Murk ass we can get. We aren't in this to die. But if we do, we'll take a good number of those bastards with us.”

  He looked at Zoya and noted the pale skin of her face. “You need your meds?”

  “I…ah… They fuck with the neutrinos.” She gave a nervous shrug.

  He spared a moment to take her hand in his. “You'll monitor the flight crew.”

  She managed a slow, gorgeous smile. “Yes, sir.”

  The net of green dots on the hologrid opened up larger as Victory moved in closer. Small flashes indicated single shots, energy masses outlining heavier ships. Green for humans, red for Murks.

  “This is battle cruiser Victory.” He met Zoya's gold gaze. “We're in position.”

  “Glad you could join the party, Victory.” The fleet admiral's voice was mixed with static. “Good fight.”

  “Good fight, Admiral.” The grid flashed a dark red.

  Hahn raised a finger. “Sabres ready.” The grid redrew itself, red dots weaving between green lines.

  Stark felt his pulse starting to pound. “Launch the birds.”

  “Poll, Navarette, Techeon, keep the squads spread. Watch for friendly fire.” Zoya's voice stayed calm, her hands steady as she gripped the central comm. Stark glimpsed her narrowed eyes as they both studied the rapidly changing hologrid.

  “Just keep your fingers off the trigger.” Poll's voice, distorted by the noise of engines, came through with static on the comm.

  Three large masses of energy rapidly approached the green dots of the Sabres.

  “Heavy hitters on intercept.” Zoya enlarged them on the grid. “Spread out if you can.”

  “Cannon controls are set.” Stark leaned over the comm and plugged in coordinates. “Sabres, go low on my mark. Two. Mark.” He heard the whine of fuel, then saw the grid flash in a rapid succession of white light. The green dots became lines as Sabres joined their fire, spitting single shots at the smoldering Murk baseship ahead.

  “Some heavy hitters,” Stark muttered as Zoya threw him a blank look. “They're as wiped out as we are.”

  “Heavy damage at Sector Delta.” The comm chief switched her hologrids to show a flashing chaos of red. “We lost two…make it three battle cruisers.”

  “Not many fighters out,” Poll shouted. “Mostly the heavy shit.”

  “Target small areas. Cannons, exhausts.” Zoya threw him a questioning look. For now, Stark ignored it.

  “Poll, see if your boys can light us up some targets.”

  “Yes, sir, Commander.” More flashes on the grid, green lights mixing with red.

  The grid displayed a stab of orange just as Victory was violently shoved off course amid the acrid smell of smoke and screech of metal.

  “Direct hit!” Dex jumped over a smoking station to where Hahn was lying on the floor.

  She shook him off and wiped the blood spilling at the corner of her mouth. “Bastards scratched our ass. Just off the cannon.”

  “They got close enough.” Stark returned fire, three single shots that found their mark. The grid showed a lit-up Murk baseship before the hologrids went white again.

  “Enemy fighters coming in.” Zoya leaned over the comm.

  “I see them,” Poll shouted over the sounds of his engines whining. “Bastards closing—”

  More noise. The grid flashed white again. Three greens lit up bright and then winked out.

  “Squad four, regroup.” Navarette's voice, calm mixed with an edge of grief.

  Zoya just beat a fist over the comm, her eyes huge, her lips pale.

  Another flash of heat, another vicious shove. Then Stark could see the target on the grid—three large ships forming a barrier around something small and somehow delicate.

  “Dex, you're cannon.” He couldn't take his eyes off the small ship on the hologrid. “Victory to fleet admiral. We're going to need cover.”

  “Victory, I didn't give a go.”

  “Now or never, Admiral.”

  He could see the target formation backing away slowly, still in position around their charge.

  He caught Zoya's gaze and sent her a quick fierce grin even as his heart pounded double.

  “Sabres, we
're plotting our final course. Watch for friendly fire.” The silence on the command post lasted a short second before a new burst of activity shattered it to pieces.

  “Engines are go.”

  “Cannon board go.”

  “Comms go.”

  Zoya reached for his hand.

  Stark gripped her palm and took in a breath of the smoky, acrid odor composed of burning stations and human blood. “Dex, you'll have to compensate our course. Aim at the small ship in the middle.”

  He didn't get an answer, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dex nod.

  He lifted Zoya's hand and punched in a series of commands into the Central Comm unit. “This is Commander Stark of battle cruiser Victory. This ship contains a massive weapon which we'll detonate unless there is an immediate cease-fire.”

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  He gripped Zoya's trembling hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “This is the battle cruiser Victory. Our weapon will produce a massive localized explosion. We're set on a collision course unless you respond.”

  Except for sparks and quiet groans of injured humans, the command post was awash in silence.

  His heart pounded so hard, Stark wondered if the Murks could hear it over the comm frequencies. “This is the battle cruiser Victory. We're prepared to die and take your people with us unless there's an immediate cease-fire.”

  The grid flashed orange-white. He heard a scream of engines as Victory was shoved forward and to the side.

  “Damage to Secondary Comm. Backup on line.” Dex wiped a palm over his scars. “Return fire?”

  Stark shook his head. “Time index?”

  “Forty-five seconds till mark.”

  Zoya took out a slim pen laser. Stark's pulse roared inside his ears as he eased the laser from her shaking hand. Those gold eyes remained huge but steady.

  “This is the battle cruiser Victory.” Stark turned the laser on, the slim red line delicate and sharp and deadly. “We will deploy all weapons unless—”

  The shrill shriek of the comm nearly had him shoving his hands over his ears. “Vekran of Murak.” A mechanical and low computerized voice.

  The hologrid shifted and rebuilt itself to show a humanoid, its body inside a heavy exoskeleton, its thin limbs and reptile-looking head twitching in a coordinated rhythm. Every grid on every comm station replicated the image, showing similar-looking aliens gathering in the background behind the speaker, studying the humans with the same awed fear as the humans studied them.

  Vekran let out high-pitched shrieks that the comm garbled up before spitting out a translation. “Agree cease-fire.”

  “Relay this to the fleet. Hit every comm relay you can get your hands on.” Stark kept his voice soft, his eyes on the Murk.

  “On it.” Dex kept his voice whisper-soft.

  Zoya's hand was trembling in his. “We greet you. Vekran of Murak.”

  A second passed before a high-pitched trio of shrieks was relayed to the alien. Those flat eyes closed halfway, a thin limb reached out toward her in the holo-output. “Honor. To greet.”

  * * *

  “There're still plenty who'll oppose the cease-fire.” Bone-tired, Zoya stood next to Stark inside his quarters, their hands clasped, both of them looking out the small window. Starboard of Victory, the dark gray triangle of the alien ships was joined by three midsize carriers from Central Diplomacy. “Probably on the Murk side as well.” She leaned her head on his wide shoulder. Hopefully there would be no new marks on his arms after tonight. “What made you think of it?”

  He shrugged. “Blind luck. And suddenly acquiring a bloodmate.”

  She snorted. “That does tend to fuck up plans.”

  He brushed his palm over her hair. “It's not just hormones. Started out that way but didn't stay there.”

  She should've been surprised he'd said this. Somehow she wasn't. “Same with me.”

  His steel blue eyes remained somber. “That being the case, I have a proposition. After this business with the talks, we take a leave.” He lifted his brows. “It is prescribed by protocol.”

  “About that.” She took a steadying breath. “I've heard things. I don't want Central Research monitoring us 'breeding.' When”—she coughed—“if it ever comes to that, we do it on our time. They want to confirm a DNA match, fine. But nothing beyond that.”

  With a swift movement, Stark snatched the clasp that bound her hair and watched the silky strands fall down her back. “I agree. But I still say we take that leave.”

  Heat stirred again. Zoya tilted her head and looked up at him. “The talks will last awhile. You think we'll stick around that long?”

  “I'm sticking around.” He brushed her lips with his and then said something Zoya couldn't quite hear.

  “What was that?”

  He sighed. “I said, I love you, Zoya Scott. Or would you like your earpiece?”

  The warmth that flooded her nearly spilled out as tears. Unable to contain the joy inside her chest, she crushed her mouth to his, wrapping both arms around his neck. Clung for a second, savoring the moment, before she brought her lips closer to his ear.

  I love you too, she mouthed just before he lifted her up high and carried her to bed.

  Fiona Jayde

  Fiona Jayde is a space pilot, a ninth degree black belt in three styles of martial arts, a computer hacker, a mountain climber, a jazz singer, a weight lifter, a superspy with a talent for languages, and an evil genius. All in her own head.

  In life, she is an author of kickass, action packed, steamy romances, and possesses a brown belt in Tae Kwon Do and blue belt in Aikido. She's also a web developer, scared to death of heights, loves jazz piano, can bench-press about 20 pounds—with effort, speaks English and Russian fluently, and when not plotting murder and mayhem enjoys steamy romance novels, sexy spy thrillers, murky mysteries and movies where things frequently blow up.

  She can be contacted through her website at www.fionajayde.com