Alara’s lower lip began to tremble, but she clamped down on it with a smile. “After all the years we spent working together, with you insisting you couldn’t ever be more than just my friend, I thought this day would never come. I’d contented myself with that and accepted that, and now . . .” Alara shook her head as a pair of tears spilled down her cheeks. “Now I’m afraid that I’m the one who’s dreaming, but if I am, I don’t ever want to wake up. I promise to love you and support you, to be there for you in every circumstance and every trial. I’ll be there the way I’ve always been there, Ethan. I love you more than I love my own life.”
Ethan felt a suspicious warmth begin coursing through his veins, and his eyes began to itch with the threat of tears.
The rest of the ceremony went by in dreamy haze. They put on each other’s rings and kissed. Before he knew what had happened, he was grinning from ear to ear and rushing down the aisle, back to the hangar where he and Alara had been only half an hour ago.
Ethan led his bride toward their waiting ship and keyed the boarding ramp to open with the keycard in his pocket. Alara poured on a sudden burst of speed, leaving him to wonder how she could run so fast in that dress.
“Slow down!” he said, breathless as they ran across the hangar floor.
“Can’t blame a woman for wanting to be alone with her husband,” Alara said, angling for the boarding ramp now hissing open at the back of their ship.
Ethan sent Alara a wry grin as they reached the foot of the ramp. They stopped there to turn and wave goodbye. The entire wedding party had followed them into the hangar.
“Should we wait to say goodbye to your parents?” Ethan asked, scanning the crowd for their faces.
Alara shook her head. “We’ll comm them from orbit. Come on.”
Ethan allowed her to lead him up the ramp. “After you, Kiddie,” he said through a smile.
All aboard the Trinity, he thought. Next stop—us.
Chapter 6
Atton stood in the XO’s office aboard the Intrepid, watching the stars blur by in whirling streaks of light as the cruiser travelled through superluminal space. Most of the next week would be like that, travelling between the stars at hyper light speeds. They’d left Dark Space less than an hour ago, using their cloaking shield so that the Sythian fleet wouldn’t see them go. By now they had to be halfway out of the Stormcloud Nebula and Dark Space itself.
“Sit down, Commander. Make yourself at ease,” Donali said.
Atton turned from the viewport with a frown. “Sir, how am I supposed to be at ease when you’ve called me here to tell me that my mission is more dangerous than I think, and the admiral hasn’t told me everything I should know about it.”
Atton noticed the glowing red iris of Donali’s artificial eye grow smaller to match his real one as it narrowed. “Very well, you can hear about it standing up. You’ve been told that the immortals in Avilon won’t harm you, and while that might well be true, you should know that they’re not going to welcome you either.”
“With respect, sir, I already know that.”
“But do you know why? Did Admiral Heston tell you why he left Avilon all those years ago?”
Atton hesitated. “He said something about it being easier to compete with mortals. He could make something of himself more easily when he had the hidden advantage that he was immortal and no one else was.”
“Yes, that is true, but that’s not why he left. He left because they would have executed him if he’d stayed.”
“So he’s a fugitive.”
“Immortals have no patience for those who don’t conform to their society. To their rules. Admiral Heston advocated that people should be allowed to be mortal if they wished to be. He wasn’t an advocate of mortality for himself, although apparently your mother has since changed his mind about that. Back then, however, all he wanted was a freer system, where people could choose to live however they wanted in Avilon.”
“And I’m guessing the Avilonians didn’t like that.”
“No, they didn’t, and for good reason. Mortals and immortals have fought many times in the past, and twice the immortals were forced to flee—once to our galaxy, and once again to Avilon.”
“You know about that?” Atton asked, not sure why he was surprised that the admiral had told his XO what he’d discovered aboard the Sythians’ command ship.
Donali nodded. “I know the Sythians were human once, and I know that history has repeated itself enough by now for the Avilonians to be very wary of us. Why should they come out of hiding to help mortals when mortals were the ones who forced them into hiding in the first place? They must have felt like our demise was justice for what we did to them.”
“Where are you going with this?”
“The admiral has sent you on a mission that you can’t hope to achieve. You’re not the right man for the job.”
Atton crossed his arms over his chest. “So who is the right man?”
Donali gave a slow smile. “We shouldn’t be sending a mortal to speak with immortals. We should be sending someone who is just like them—another immortal.”
“You just said that the admiral is a fugitive.”
“I’m not suggesting we go back and convince him to go.”
“Then . . .”
“Have you forgotten that I have a Lifelink implant, too, Squadron Commander? I also have clones to revive myself when I die. I’m just like them, and because of that, they’ll be far more willing to listen to me.”
Atton’s eyes narrowed. “With due respect, sir, if that’s true, then why didn’t the admiral send you?”
Donali shrugged. “Who knows . . . the admiral has been distracted lately,” he said as he stood up from his desk and walked over to the viewport to stand beside Atton. “There’s political unrest in Dark Space. The fleet tax is higher than ever, and food is being funneled to the frontlines so fast that the agri corps can’t keep up. There’s the very real danger that having over a hundred thousand Gors to feed is going to push us all to the brink of starvation. And now, with the appearance of a Sythian fleet, the admiral knows that we’re running out of time. Perhaps the Sythians are content to wait at the entrance of Dark Space because they know we’re in trouble, and that given enough time, we’ll self-destruct.”
Atton frowned. “So, what are you saying? That I should give you my mission and what . . . stay on the Intrepid with the Gors in case you need extraction?”
Donali spread his hands and smiled. “It would be the wiser move. Besides the fact that you’re a mortal, you are also a particularly young mortal. What makes you think the Avilonians, who are by now thousands or millions of years old, will listen to a boy who is only seventeen?”
“Eighteen,” Atton corrected. “I celebrated my birthday a week ago.”
Donali looked like he was about to laugh. “Of course—I apologize—eighteen.”
“The admiral believes I’m the right man for the job.”
“He believes you’re the only one he can trust for the job. Remember his mistrust of the Gors and what that nearly cost us? The admiral does not trust anyone easily. One can hardly blame him, but that doesn’t mean we have to let his mistrust usher in another catastrophe. He very nearly alienated the Gors, and right now they are the only thing standing between us and utter annihilation. Ironic, isn’t it?”
Atton pursed his lips and shook his head. He turned back to the dizzying swirl of light beyond the viewport, considering everything Donali had said.
“I understand this is a lot to process. You have to think for yourself, to think beyond your orders. It’s the opposite of what a good soldier does, but it is the essence of what a good leader does. You played the part of the Supreme Overlord for a time, Atton. You know how to think for yourself, and deep down, you know that I am right.”
Atton sighed and turned back to Donali once more. “We have a week’s journey ahead of us. There’s no rush for me to decide anything.”
Donali nodded. “Of course,
take your time. You know where to find me. Until then, Commander.”
“Yes, sir.” Atton gave a curt salute before turning to leave the office. The door swished shut behind him, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. As he stalked down the corridor from Donali’s office, Atton had to work hard to control his indignation. The commander was telling him he couldn’t hope to succeed in his mission, that he was too young. That was a sore point. His entire squadron thought he was too young to be in command, and apparently so did the admiral’s XO.
Atton heaved a sigh. With the survival of the human race at stake, he knew better than to make it about him, and when it came right down to it, Donali was right. He was the more logical choice for the mission. So why hadn’t the admiral sent him?
Now it was his call to make—follow his orders or let Donali go instead. Atton reached the lift tubes at the end of the corridor and punched the call button. One of the lifts arrived a moment later. He stepped inside and rode it up to level 17, the Spacer’s Rest. It was an officer’s lounge, located conveniently just below the bridge deck. The first leg of the Intrepid’s journey was over 12 hours straight, so he wouldn’t be back on duty until the scheduled reversion to real space at 0200, and even then, the chances that they’d been followed were fewer than zero. All of which meant that right now he could afford to knock back a few drinks and enjoy some downtime with his squadron.
The lift tube slowed to a stop at the 17th floor and Atton strode straight out into the lounge. A cacophony of merriment assaulted his ears—laughter, clinking mugs and bottles, the not so distant mechanical clanking of robots as sentinels played their favorite game—Mech Rally. It involved using a pair of miniature assault mechs to battle each other remotely in a ring. Nova pilots and assault mech pilots—known as stompers by the former—would usually stand around taking bets on the winner. More often than not the games would devolve from simulated to real as sore losers resorted to climbing into the ring themselves to beat live opponents senseless.
A week ago, while celebrating his birthday with the squadron, Atton had to jump into the ring to stop Gina from knocking Horace “Hawkeye” Perkins unconscious for an ill-advised comment he’d made about wanting a piece of her. He hadn’t meant the comment quite the way Gina had taken it, and he’d ended up spending half the night in med bay for his trouble.
Atton smiled. He spotted Gina now, sitting by herself on one side of the bar counter, and he angled her way. He walked up beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder while waving his other hand to get the bartender’s attention. “Hoi, Kerk!” The bartender turned his head. “Can I get a Black Maverick over here?”
“Coming right up, sir.”
“So,” Gina said, “you finally decided to join the common people.”
Atton’s drink came sliding across the counter in a shatterproof mug and he caught it with a nod of thanks. He raised the mug for a quick sip and turned to Gina. The strong, bittersweet flavor of the beer drew a sigh from his lips, and he hopped up on the barstool beside Gina. “I was in a meeting with the XO.”
“Which one—Delayn or Bug Eye?”
Atton smiled. The ship’s regular XO was also her chief engineer, Deck Commander Cobrale Delayn, but Master Commander Donali outranked Delayn, making him the XO for the time being. “Bug Eye.”
“Mmmm,” Gina said, taking a sip of her own beer.
“How’s everyone taking it that Four is gone?”
“You mean Lieutenant Thales, right?”
Atton winced. “Right.”
“You’re going to have to stop thinking of them as numbers, Atton.”
“Sometimes it’s easier that way.”
“Easier for you.”
“Hoi, take it easy on me, okay? I barely knew him.”
Gina shrugged. “We all barely knew him. There’s a memorial planned at 1900. You might want to say a few words.”
“You think it will help?”
Gina turned to him with her eyebrows patiently raised. “A commander with heart is the only kind worth following. It might not help Thales, but it will help you.”
Atton frowned. “I’m not heartless, Gina. I’m just trying to keep some distance.”
“Distance is one thing. You’re as cold as a skull face.”
Atton winced at the racial slur. “We don’t call them that anymore,” he whispered, looking over his shoulder and half-expecting to find a Gor de-cloaking behind them, waiting to vivisect them for their disrespect.
“Maybe we don’t, but I do, and you are cold.”
Atton frowned and took another sip of his maverick. He became peripherally aware of Gina sidling closer to him, then he felt her breathing in his ear and heard her whisper, “If you’re interested, I’m sure I could think of a way to heat you up. . . .”
Atton’s heart rate sped up suddenly, and his skin prickled as he felt Gina begin rubbing his knee. Her hand trailed slowly higher, up to his thigh, and then across to his—
He grabbed her hand and removed it slowly. “I’m your commanding officer, Gina.”
“And?”
He turned to her with what was meant to be a serious frown, but his cheeks had flushed bright red. “And . . . we need to keep things professional between us.”
“Some would say I am a pro,” Gina said with an accompanying wink.
“You know what I mean.”
“What’s the matter, are you afraid you won’t know what goes where? I bet you haven’t even been with a woman before, am I right?”
Atton hesitated and she grinned at him, her dark amber eyes sparkling with glee. “That’s what I thought. Hoi, there’s no shame in that. I think it’s sweet.”
Atton shook his head and scowled, trading his embarrassment for annoyance. “Look, Gina, you can save your acerbic wit for someone else. I’m not in the mood.”
“Apparently you never are.”
Atton raised his hands in mock surrender and stood up from the bar stool. “That’s it. I’m leaving.”
“Tucking it between your legs and running is more like it.”
“You realize that I’m your superior officer, right? Those remarks could get you court-martialed.”
“Aww, come on, Atty. You know I don’t mean any harm by it. Besides, no one is getting court-martialed for anything short of murder these days. There are few enough officers in the fleet as it is.”
Atton shook his head and stormed off to a deserted sitting area that lay along one side of the lounge, beside a bank of real viewports. He flopped down into an armchair and sat sipping his beer and contemplating the mesmerizing swirl of SLS—that, and his insubordinate first officer. It was no wonder Gina was alone. She couldn’t stop insulting anyone long enough for them to get to like her.
So why are you alone? asked an annoying voice in his head.
“Hello, sir. Do you mind if I join you?”
Atton turned toward the unfamiliar voice and saw that it was Guardian Four’s replacement, Ceyla Corbin. She was young like him, pulled out of flight training a year early to help fill a desperate need for officers and pilots. Atton nodded to the armchair opposite his. “Go ahead.”
She flashed him a winning smile. “Why are you over here all by yourself?” she asked.
Atton turned from the viewport to study her. Marksman Corbin was a generally quiet, unassuming woman. She had long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, an almost angelic face, and a unique ability to somehow fade into the background of whatever room she entered—not because she was unremarkable—but because she had a way of sinking into the shadows and shying away from attention. Ceyla was almost the polar opposite of Gina, and right now, that was like a breath of fresh air.
Atton released the remainder of his annoyance with a sigh and returned Ceyla’s smile. “I’m not the most popular commander you’ll ever meet,” Atton replied.
“Why not? You seem likeable enough to me.”
Atton shrugged. “Well, for one thing I’m about eight years younger than I should
be to be commanding a Nova squadron.”
“I know the feeling,” Ceyla said. Atton saw her bright blue eyes skip sideways, and he followed her gaze to watch a cluster of their squad mates playing a game of chance at a nearby table. Among them were also some of the pilots from Renegade Squadron, the Intrepid’s other Nova squadron. “I think they feel the same way about me.”
Atton’s eyebrows elevated above the rim of his beer mug as he took another sip. “Young doesn’t have the same negative connotation for a marksman, particularly not for a female marksman. I would have thought a young, pretty girl like you would be very popular with the squadron.”
Ceyla shook her head and shot him a rueful smile. “I was—at first.”
“What did you do, get on the wrong side of a debate about whether or not stompers are real pilots?”
“No, sir. Everyone knows stompers aren’t real pilots.”
Atton chuckled. “Good girl. So what is it then?”
“I’m an Etherian.”
“Oh,” Atton sat back, momentarily stunned. Religions had all but ceased to exist before the Sythian invasion, but they’d seen a resurgence in Dark Space now that humanity was no longer so sure of itself. He tried to recall what Etherians believed. . . . He knew they believed in an afterlife and immortal souls, which they simply called Immortals. If he wasn’t mistaken they also believed in a god of some sort. . . . but he couldn’t imagine why people wouldn’t like her because of her beliefs. “What’s that got to do with it?” he asked.
“Well, among other things . . . I don’t believe in sex before marriage.”
“Oh,” Atton said again. “I think I know what you mean now.”
“Women don’t like me because I’m . . . well, I guess because I’m beautiful and I get too much attention, and men don’t like me because I don’t respond to their attentions.”
“By women you mean Lieutenant Gina.”
“And Tails.”
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