by Kate Donovan
“No.”
“Captain Stone? Can you?”
Rem nodded. “Their mechs are newer. It’s possible the technology is more advanced than ours. For example, the armor on that colossus looked pretty innovative.”
“Exactly.” Carrak turned to the panel of experts. “Have we determined whether the new design gives them an advantage?”
“We are still studying the data.”
Carrak raised her brow. “I was there. That giant withstood a direct hit from me—a hit that would have made a Malaran giant careen backward, and perhaps even topple. That is a tribute to the new armor, is it not?”
“Or they might have improved their jets,” Zia suggested. “Right?”
Carrak glared. “Their jets?”
Zia cringed in exaggerated apology. “Sorry. I was just remembering something Captain Stone said. That giants can’t jump, but they still have jets to help keep their balance. I guess I misunderstood.”
“No,” Rem interrupted. “That makes sense. Doesn’t it, Carrak? Just because we didn’t see the jets fire doesn’t mean they didn’t.”
Carrak turned to the experts again, and one of the males stood up, announcing, “I will ask my staff to explore this possibility immediately.”
“If it is not superior armor, but only better jets,” Carrak told the prime minister bluntly, “then I agree with Quito. Two giants, one skirmisher. The Alluvans will not expect it. And their pilots are not as experienced with colossal mechs as we are. We can compensate for the new jets by hitting them in a different spot, or at a different angle, depending on what our engineers recommend.”
I agree with Quito . . .
Zia shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to be responsible for the new configuration. It had been too stressful the first time.
“Remember my first choice was one giant, two skirmishers,” she told the group firmly. “That’s the proven winner for Malara, time after time. Right?”
The prime minister shrugged. “We will await the data. In the meantime, I suggest we all get a few hours sleep.”
* * * *
Accommodations had been prepared—one room for the males, one for the females, and a special, luxurious suite for “Quito,” courtesy of the prime minister’s wife, who had long since gone to bed. Zia tried to stay awake for a few extra minutes, just in case Rem decided to sneak in and join her, but she couldn’t hold her eyes open.
The next voice she heard was that of the chief strategist, Taryak, who roused her gently with news that the data had been analyzed and the experts were reassembling. It was almost dawn, so Zia hurriedly dressed and returned to the conference room. They had only gotten three hours of sleep, but everyone looked awake and alert.
There’s so much at stake, Zia told herself grimly. As much as she wished they’d take another day or two to decide, she also knew this strategy was brilliant. The Alluvans would be stunned to hear that the next round would take place in less than five days. They would take it as a sign of tremendous confidence on the part of Malara.
The ultimate mind grub, assuming we choose the right configuration. And as long as they don’t blame it on me.
The doctors were fussing over Carrak, but she ordered them away as soon as everyone was seated. Then she sat up straight in her hospital bed and demanded of the engineers, “What have you learned?”
The male who had left to consult with his staff gave a confident smile. “We have determined that it was a jet, not the new armor, that allowed the colossus to withstand your blow. We believe we can help you compensate for that.”
“Well then.” The prime minister smiled at Zia. “We will honor Quito’s selection—two giants, one skirmisher. Taryak? Arrange for notice of our decision to be sent to Alluva immediately.”
* * * *
“I still say she did it just to annoy me,” Zia complained to Rem when they met for lunch in the main room of the rec center later that day.
“You’re crazy. It was a compliment. Plus, I got the feeling Carrak wanted two-one all along, and just manipulated you into suggesting it because the prime minister defers to you so much.”
“I hope so.” Zia gave him a teasing smile. “You were pretty obnoxious the way you kept suggesting skirmisher versus skirmisher.”
“It worked for your grandfather.” Rem’s eyes twinkled. “The one I really wanted was three skirmishers against three skirmishers. Then I could have talked Carrak into letting me pilot one of them.”
“And I’d be having a heart attack right now,” Zia complained. “She says you’re not ready, and since I don’t want you to get crushed like that pilot yesterday, I agree with her.”
“I’m ready,” Rem murmured. “But yeah, that was tough to watch. I heard good news about Gannor’s cousin, though. They think Annyak will make a full recovery.”
Zia leaned back and sighed. “What a relief.”
He nodded, then stood and picked up his lunch tray. “I’d better get back to work. What are you going to do this afternoon?”
“The same thing I always do. Nothing. I feel so useless.”
“Useless? You dreamed up the configuration, remember?” he teased. “I sure hope you’re right about that, Quito.”
“Be quiet.”
She followed him to the service area to dispose of her tray. As soon as she was done, Rem pulled her into a corner and murmured in her ear, “Do we still have a date?”
“I thought you forgot all about that. There’s so much going on. You’ve got to stay focused.”
“Believe me, I’m focused,” he said with a chuckle. “I keep picturing your legs, and kicking myself for being such a sound sleeper.” He tilted her face up toward his and gave her a quick kiss. “So?”
“We still have a date,” she confirmed.
“Good. I’ll see you in a few hours. Stick close to Gannor, okay?”
She nodded. “He’s going to give me another blaster lesson. I have his undivided attention for a change, since Maryak is spending time with her mom.”
“Really?”
“Waiting on her hand and foot. With no thanks,” Zia reported in disgust. “It’s so frustrating.”
“Well,” Rem murmured, “play it smart and don’t interfere.”
Zia rolled her eyes. “Spoken like a true guy.”
He laughed and kissed her again, then ambled off toward the door, where other pilots were assembling. As always, it was fun seeing Rem in the midst of so many furry hulks. He exuded such good-natured confidence they had completely accepted him as an honorary Malaran pilot, even when he diligently affixed his mask and goggles to his face as he was doing now.
She watched until he was out of sight. Then she walked over to one of the sofas and took a seat. Delayed exhaustion was settling in, thanks to the nighttime strategy session, and she wondered how Rem managed to stay so alert and cheerful.
Sheer adrenaline, she reminded herself. And the hope that by some miracle, Carrak will choose him to pilot the skirmisher in the next challenge. And you’d better prepare yourself for that, Zee, because if this war lasts long enough, he will get chosen. He could end up like that orange mech pilot—twisted and smashed, instantly dead.
Gannor plopped down beside her, then patted her arm with his clawed hand. “You are missing him already?”
“And you’re missing Maryak?”
“Yes, but I have the perfect cure for us.”
“Blowing something up?”
“Exactly.” He stood and pulled her by the hand. “It is important for you to learn to defend yourself. The Vekzori have been quiet, but not forever. You must be prepared.”
She winced at the reminder that her blaster lessons weren’t just a way to pass the time. They might actually save her life one day, or at least help Rem and Gannor protect her.
So she forced herself to be as energetic as the pilots. “Okay, handsome, you talked me into it. Let’s go incinerate some targets.”
* * * *
If Rem was tired from l
ack of sleep and a day filled with demanding maneuvers, he didn’t show it during the transport ride to the hotel that night. While he didn’t exactly attack Zia, thanks to the presence of Humber’s nephew, she loved the way he sat close and whispered to her, with some occasional sniffing of her hair and neck, his breath warm on her skin. And while he mostly talked about the thrill of piloting mechs on sand, now that he had seen how important that skill could be, he interspersed all that with compliments about her eyes, and legs, and hair, and just about everything else.
As soon as they were alone in the suite, he completed his routine inventory of possible Vekzor hiding places, then grabbed Zia and pulled her onto the sofa, where he leered playfully into her face. “Hi, beautiful.”
“Hi.” She bit back a smile. “In case you didn’t notice, you’re scaring me.”
“You’re not afraid of anything, remember? All that great DNA wrapped up in a really great body. Speaking of which—” He licked his lips. “Has our date begun yet?”
“You’re so obnoxious,” she told him, but she knew he could tell from her laugh that she couldn’t wait either. Not with him looking so hot-bodied and heroic. His eyes were bluer than ever, and his arms felt so strong, and those cheekbones . . .
“I need to shower first, Rem. It’s been more than twenty-four hours. You got cleaned up at the rec center, but I’m icky. Trust me, it’s not a pretty sight.”
“I doubt that. But whatever you say. I’ll mix up some shakes for dinner while you shower. But we’re still on schedule, right?”
She laughed at the hint of desperation in his tone. “On schedule for a typical first date. I’m not promising any more than that.”
“But you’ll be wearing my shirt again. Right?”
“Right.” She wriggled away and stood up. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Hurrying into the bedroom, she found a fresh gray shirt and headed for the shower.
Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, she warned herself. He’s so much fun. So sweet really, even when he’s trying to sack you. Forget about his dad. And mech battles. Pretend you’re back on Earth, and you just met him at a party, and he asked you out.
Don’t think of him as Rem Stone, she added, her heart beginning to pound. He’s just a guy you’re crazy about. And he’s sooo crazy about you too.
* * * *
Rem figured there was a fifty-fifty chance Zia would change her mind, so he prepared himself for that possibility while he whipped up the shakes in the multi-bladed blender supplied by the hotel. He was actually willing to settle for just seeing her in that shirt again, at least for the moment.
Anything to show they were headed in the right direction, sacking-wise. Because she was truly driving him crazy. She was so unbelievably irresistible, and he knew her body was responding to him too. They were perfect for each other in tons of other ways, too. She even liked planning mech strategy!
Just don’t mention the thing with Dad, he pleaded with himself. Don’t even think about it. For once in your frigging life, just let it go.
“Rem?”
He turned toward the bedroom doorway and chuckled in relief. She was wearing the shirt, which was a great first step, especially compared to the humongous tent nightgown.
Her hair was all loose and flowing. That was a good sign too. And her legs were so long, and her feet so bare . . .
Best of all, her eyes were laughing at him, like she knew how much he wanted to sack her, and she was going to enjoy making him wait.
“You look pretty,” he told her. Then he motioned toward the glasses on the counter. “I made the shakes.”
“Yum.” She walked over and picked one up, took a sip, then licked her lips.
Then she put the glass down and stepped up to him. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
“Yeah.” He pulled her close and kissed her carefully. When she draped her arms around his neck, encouraging him to really enjoy himself, he didn’t hesitate. Running one hand up under the shirt, he contacted warm, bare skin and groaned in relief. “Zee.”
“We need to take it slow, Rem,” she reminded him in a breathless voice. “I’m not the wild girl you see in the tabloid vids. Or at least, not exactly.”
“Yeah, well . . .” He rested his hands on her hips. “We’re just going to kiss and talk, remember?”
She nodded, then bit her lip in the way that made him crazy. “On the sofa?”
He nodded and followed her over to it, then sat and patted the seat next to him. She knelt on the cushion and put her arms around his neck again, and he kissed her, then pushed her back until she was laying against the arm of the sofa. Then he started kissing her and petting her, stroking and daring to fondle her breasts, growing more worked up—more madly, insatiably in love—by the second. And she was responding just as eagerly, right up till the moment when she pulled back enough to tell him breathlessly, “Rem? When I said slow . . . This is actually fast.”
“Yeah, sorry.” He stroked her hair and cheek, giving himself a chance to power down a little. “You’re amazing, Zee.”
“I love kissing you,” she whispered. “I just don’t know where we go from here. Do we even have a future?” She adjusted her shirt so that it covered more of her thighs, then smiled apologetically. “I don’t mean an important future, or even a romantic one. But—will we even be friends after the war is over? Will we even be alive?”
“You’ll be alive. That’s my number-one priority for as long as we’re on Malara.”
“And then, after that, your number-one priority is the other thing?”
“Yeah.” He gave a frustrated chuckle. “The other thing. Which I’m really starting to hate, by the way.”
“Me too.” She rustled her fingers through his hair. “I keep trying to understand why you can’t let it go. And I do understand. But meanwhile, what about us?”
Before he could answer, she admitted, “The worst part is, I keep asking myself how I’d feel—what I’d do—if anything happened to you. What if Carrak lets you pilot a skirmisher and the Alluvans kill you? Nothing else will matter then, and we’ll wish we hadn’t let your problem with your father—and my mother—come between us.”
His brow wrinkled. “If I get killed during a challenge, you need to go back to Earth right away. Don’t trust anyone but Humber and Carrak. Understand?”
“You’re such a bodyguard,” she said with a sad smile.
“Yeah, well”—he moved his hand under her shirt again—“I love this body of yours.”
She jumped free, then walked over to the counter, where she grabbed the shakes and brought them back to the sofa.
“These are delicious.” She drank hers down, then set the glass on the table. “Are you half as tired as I am?”
“Yeah, we didn’t get much rest last night.”
She hesitated, then suggested carefully, “Maybe you should move the cot to this side of the door. Just for tonight.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“More like I don’t trust me,” she admitted.
“Do I get a good-night kiss at least?”
She didn’t hesitate, pulling his head down and kissing him like it was the middle of their date, not the end of it.
Then she was gone, and he didn’t dare follow her, except to move the cot and to use the bathroom briefly. She was under the covers with the lights out by then, which he figured was for the best.
But he couldn’t sleep. So he positioned the cot against her closed door, then paced the floor of the living room, trying to calm down while thinking about what they had just said. They could have had a future—as friends at least, and maybe a lot more. But instead, because of what her mother had done to his father, none of that was possible.
Unless he decided to let it go.
That’s not even an option, he reminded himself. They didn’t just frame Dad. They murdered him in his cell and called it suicide. That’s not the kind of thing a guy lets go, no matter what else is at stake.
If Commander Logan supports you in the election, and Zee doesn’t support Jared, you’ll win. But you won’t go nuts. You’ll launch a low-keyed investigation. No fiery rhetoric or name-calling. Just get some new experts—some unbiased ones using the latest technology—to prove that Elena—or rather, some unnamed conspirators—falsified that security vid. Simple as that. It’ll be tough on Zee if it turns out her mom was involved, but you can help her through it by making sure it doesn’t feel personal.
There was only one problem. It would feel personal. No one knew that better than Jeremiah Stone.
* * * *
Once she heard Rem move the cot into place outside her bedroom door for the night, Zia switched on the bedside lamp and quietly activated the vid equipment, keeping the sound as low as possible. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to find. She was only sure of one thing: she needed to help Rem clear his father’s name. Otherwise, they’d never have a future together.
And she wanted that future. Her body was still reeling from pure need for that future. Not that she was ready to go any further with him than they’d gone, at least not under these circumstances. But someday, if things kept going this way, she wanted the option of full-on sacking and wild declarations of undying love.
Aengus Stone admitted that he stole the codes, but not that he killed the guard. The vid shows him stealing the codes and killing the guard. So the vid is fake. Right?
There were only two problems with that theory: Elena Quito had witnessed the masked man kill the guard. Had seen it with her own two eyes. That was the first problem.
And Aengus Stone had identified himself as the masked man. That was the real problem—a seemingly insurmountable one.