Chain Reaction

Chapter Twelve

Celene’s grip tightened on the controls as she neared the planet. She entered the planetary atmosphere and approached the coast where the compound was situated. Details came into focus as she flew lower—the individual treetops, the peaks of waves pounding against the shore. And there, the compound, with its walled perimeter. Her gaze moved quickly along the top of the wall, scanning for signs of Nils. Nothing.

Her heart contracted sharply. She’d suffered losses of comrades in the past, seen some of her squad mates die right off her own wing, and mourned. The memories and absences never truly dissipated, remaining a low, constant ache. Yet it was a tolerable ache, more readily borne by the fact that this was war, and war meant death and loss.

But if Nils had fallen… She knew she would survive. As a husk, empty of everything inside.

She brought the Phantom around and lowered down to the landing pad. As the ship touched the ground, she saw a figure running toward her.

Her throat closed, and her pulse stuttered. The figure wore an 8^th Wing uniform, and sped toward her with a long-legged stride. Nils.

Fumbling with the buckle of her safety belt, she struggled to rise. The moment the buckle came undone, she slammed from the cockpit and out of the ship.

Nils collided with her. She barely had time to notice how bruised and dirty he was, the fatigue sharpening his features. All she saw was his face, the long lines of his body, and then they were embracing. Her arms wrapped around him, and he held her just as tightly, cradling her head with one hand, stroking the length of her body with the other as if to confirm that she was real.

One of them shook. Or maybe they both did. She didn’t know. She did know that relief poured through her so hot and furious she felt almost ill with it.

Eventually they managed to separate. Only a few inches. Grime streaked Nils’s face and she gently rubbed at it, then decided to leave it be. He looked like a fighter, the furthest thing from a NerdWorks recluse who never left the safety of Engineering, and emotion tore through her.

For a moment, they simply stared at one another, until the savage tenderness in his gaze made her look away. In the heat of battle, she had turned her back on him, and it felt like an open wound.

“Marek?” she asked.

He shook his head. “There isn’t going to be a court-martial.”

“Was it good and painful?”

A dark pleasure lit his eyes. “Extremely.”

8^th Wing regulations demanded the lengthy justice process, but for once, she was happy to subvert it. If his disruptor had made it into PRAXIS’s hands, Marek would have wiped out the 8^th Wing in a slow, ugly death. She wanted him to suffer. That might go against principles, yet she didn’t care. Let Marek hurt, then rot. He deserved it, and worse.

“PRAXIS?” Nils asked. “The disruptor plans?”

“Cosmic dust.”

A grin spread across his mouth. “Never expected anything less.” His gaze heated, and he lowered his head for a kiss.

Much as she wanted that kiss, she pulled away. He stared at her with a puzzled frown as she paced away to the edge of the landing pad. Strange, she’d once faced seven PRAXIS ships without a molecule of real fear, but what she had to tell Nils made her heart pound and her mouth go dry.

She stared out at the debris-strewn compound, parts from the sentries and bots lying in smoking heaps. Desolation washed over the compound, the sound of the waves a dull roar, and heavy, tropic air listlessly stirring the dust.

She drew a breath. She had to say this now. No turning away.

“I left you,” she said on a rasp. “When PRAXIS was getting away, and I flew after in pursuit. I left you.”

“Of course you left,” he answered, clearly puzzled. “You had to go after them and destroy the plans. The only rational action.”

She spun to face him. “But I saw you, as I was flying away. You and Marek, on the wall, fighting. And I kept going. I left you.” The throb in her injured arm faded beneath the raw ache of her confession. “I’m sorry, Nils.”

He stared at her for too long. Then, “I don’t accept your apology.”

She ought to have suspected this, but it didn’t stop the hurt. “I understand.”

To her surprise, he didn’t back away. Instead, he stepped closer, threading his hands behind her neck. Securing her, giving her support.

“I don’t accept your apology,” he said hotly, “because there’s nothing that requires it.”

“But I abandoned you—”

His fingers tightened, as did the line of his mouth. “Celene, this is war. Each of us has a duty to carry out, and if we let personal feelings hinder us from performing that duty, we don’t deserve to wear these uniforms. I’m not angry. Not disappointed. You fulfilled your responsibility, just as I fulfilled mine.” A crease appeared between his brows. “This kind of regret doesn’t seem like you.”

“It’s just that…” She struggled to speak. “This is new for me—caring for someone the way I care about you. Leaving you behind as you fought for your life…it tore me apart.”

His gaze flared, yet he said levelly, “But you did what you had to.”

She nodded, her neck stiff with the effort.

“Then there’s nothing to regret. I’m proud of you, Celene.”

The strength of his words felt like the notes of a Ellalian bell, chiming low and melodious, lifting her higher. “And I’m proud of you, Nils.”

“Good,” he rumbled, “because now I’m going to kiss you until we knock this planet out of orbit.”

They came together, mouths hungry, hands gripped tight. The kiss awakened every nerve within her, transforming the fury and terror of the fight into consuming desire, creating a chain reaction of need. Her body tightened, and she soaked in the feel of him against her, hard with muscle, alive, purposeful. He met her with his own strength. It felt as though they could generate enough power to realign whole solar systems.

She reluctantly took her lips from his. “Until we reach home base, the mission remains ongoing.”

“Meaning,” he said with disappointment, “we don’t get to see where this kiss leads.”

“Need to make a sweep of all the buildings.” She glanced around at the wreckage. “Marek might have stashed more copies of the disruptor plans.”

“Or other weapons. But first, let’s tend your wounds.”

After Nils saw to her injuries, she said, “Now let’s clean this place out like we’re defleaing a vihond.”

Weariness weighted her body, but she forced herself to go through the entire compound. She and Nils moved from building to building, sifting through debris, piles of equipment and months of accumulated detritus. Nils cursed long and creatively when he uncovered a cache of experimental weaponry—the functionality of which she could only guess at, but, knowing Marek, they would’ve been brutal. Fortunately, they found no more assembled disruptors, nor plans, but everything suspect they gathered into a heap in the central of the compound.

“I would almost suggest taking these weapons back to base for further study,” Nils murmured, staring down at them, “but that means a slim chance that they might be put into use.”

So, he concocted an accelerant from materials found in Marek’s workshop, and the lot of it was turned to smoldering remains.

“The smoke reminds me of the old-fashioned purification ceremonies they still perform on my homeworld every Solstice.” She stared at the column of smoke as it rose into the sky. “Wonder if Marek’s greed and malice are being scattered amongst the clouds, never to be seen or experienced again.”

“I wish that were true.” Nils’s arm came up to wrap around her shoulder, and she knew he felt the same weight she did, the fight with PRAXIS that seemed endless. What would life in peacetime be like? She’d been born into war, and it might continue long after her. But the alternative was worse—a galaxy completely enslaved to a massive corporate monster. The fight had to continue, for as long as it took.

She turned away from the smoking debris. “We ought to raze the compound, as well.”

“Keep PRAXIS from finding anything when they come back.”

“And they will when their emissary fails to return with the disruptor.”

“Let’s leave them nothing but ashes,” Nils said.

Together, she and Nils set up charges all over the compound. The sun began to set by the time they returned to the Phantom, long shadows streaking the dusty ground. They buckled in, and she engaged the thrusters for liftoff. As soon as they were high enough, Nils triggered the charges. Vibrations shook the ascending Phantom as detonations tore through the compound, large fireballs decimating the heavy perimeter walls and leveling the structures.

“It’s kind of pretty.” She watched the riot of color below as the explosion encountered more flammable material.

He chuckled. “Trust you to find an explosion aesthetically pleasing.”

They broke the atmosphere, the planet disappearing behind them. Not an ounce of regret touched her when the planet finally disappeared from their sensors.

“Time to head home,” she said.

But she didn’t know what awaited her at home. Would she be Stainless Jur or Celene? A fling Nils could boast about? Or did he want more?

Could she truly allow herself that kind of vulnerability? She prided herself on her courage, but in so many ways, the heart was more fragile than the body. A body could be destroyed only once, but one’s heart could be torn apart again and again.

It’d be easy to fall back into her old role again. To take up the armor of Stainless Jur, surrounding herself with other Black Wraith pilots who never truly knew her, and be content with the sterile admiration from the rest of the 8^th Wing. Nothing touched her. Nothing hurt her.

Or she could take the chance with Nils. And possibly have her heart cut open with all of 8^th Wing watching.

Nervousness danced in Nils’s stomach as the 8^th Wing home base came into view. For the past solar weeks, he and Celene had been essentially alone. The flight back had been an exercise in delayed gratification—they’d kissed, and touched, but that was all. The stretches of space between Marek’s former hideout and home base were too dangerous to trust to autopilot, so Nils and Celene had stolen moments here and there, yet never made love.

They hadn’t talked about what would happen when they got back to base.

Anxiety and sexual frustration roiled through him. What was she going to do once they returned to their normal lives, their normal roles? She was Stainless Jur, one of the Black Wraith Squad’s best, if not the best. He was the pride of NerdWorks. The two didn’t intermingle, let alone become lovers.

During this mission, something had taken shape between them, an intimacy greater than sex. But would she try to deny it once she settled back into her world, and he in his? Would she push him away, or, worse, grow indifferent? He’d seen her eyes burn with passion. He couldn’t stand to have her look at him with cool detachment.

Resolution straightened his shoulders. He wasn’t going to cling to her boots, beg for her affection. If she wanted to move on without a backward glance, he’d let her go. Their time together had been…the best of his life. But he had more life left in him. He could move on, too.

A tense silence filled the Phantom’s cockpit as they approached the dock. The easy conversation and lingering touches fell away, leaving them precisely where they had been at the beginning of the mission.

The ship finally touched down. Outside the window, he saw Admiral Gamlyn, Commander Frayne, Ensign Skiren and a dozen other members of the 8^th Wing—Black Wraith pilots, members of Engineering and Major Ishan, the head of Engineering. Though the higher-ranking officers looked serious, as befitting their station, many others smiled. Especially Ensign Skiren, who alternated between clapping and hooting something through her cupped hands.

Celene did not immediately rise from her seat. Instead, she stared out the window. “I thought I’d be glad to get back.”

Before he could ask her to clarify this, the door to the Phantom opened, and Admiral Gamlyn entered the small ship.

He and Celene finally got to their feet and saluted. It felt oddly uncomfortable to have the admiral on board, as if she were trespassing. Ludicrous. She was an admiral of the 8^th Wing, and had every right to be on the Phantom. Yet it felt like a violation of privacy, just the same.

“Excellent work, Lieutenants,” said the admiral. “The fleet let out a collective sigh of relief when we learned that the disruptor will no longer be a threat.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he and Celene said in unison.

Admiral Gamlyn gestured for them to precede her out of the Phantom. With peculiarly heavy feet, he did so. When he stepped out of the ship, he felt a strange tightness over his skin, as if his old self tried to reclaim him. But he refused to sink into that former identity. When Commander Frayne strode forward to shake Nils’s hand, Nils returned the shake firmly and looked the commander right in the eye. The commander’s grip did not seem as crushing as it once did. Or maybe Nils had more strength than before. Frayne’s brow rose, and new respect appeared in his gaze.

“Lieutenant,” Major Ishan stepped forward, “you’ve given Engineering bragging rights for the next twenty solar cycles.”

“Should be thirty,” Celene said before Nils could speak.

Murmurs of agreement rose up from the gathered Engineering crew.

“Looks like the legend of Stainless Jur is only going to grow.” Ensign Skiren knocked a fist into Celene’s shoulder. “They’re using Jur as a verb now. You know, ‘If you want something done right, you have to Jur it yourself.’”

The Black Wraith pilots chuckled amongst themselves, nudging each other with their elbows.

Admiral Gamlyn cleared her throat. “Pleased as Command is by your results, we will need to conduct a thorough debriefing, as well as an inquiry into why Marek was not brought back for court-martial.”

“Impossible to court-martial a dead man,” Nils answered. Then added, “Ma’am.”

Everyone looked stunned by his response, except Ensign Skiren, who grinned.

The admiral cleared her throat again. “We’ll have the debriefing in a few minutes.”

Friends of his from Engineering swarmed around him, all asking questions. “What was the composition of the disruptor?”

“Did you get a chance to use the code hacking device you were developing?”

“Did you fire an actual blaster?”

As he tried to answer their questions, he saw her across the docking bay. Black Wraith pilots gathered around her, noisy and boisterous as they demanded her account of the mission. She grinned and spoke, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. She wasn’t looking at him.

Both of them in their worlds. Back to who they had been before.

He would go back to Engineering, back to his training and hearing about her daring exploits. And eventually their time together would grow more and more distant, the stuff of a faded history vid.

This had been coming. He knew it would happen. And he’d been prepared to accept it. Walk away as if what they’d shared was an interlude in their normal lives.

No. If she wanted to end things, she would have to say so. He was determined to fight for her, for them.

Major Ishan was saying something to him, but he didn’t hear, didn’t answer. Instead, he paced forward.

He’d have to shoulder a path through the Wraith pilots, push his way toward Celene.

His heart pounded. He could be facing his greatest humiliation, and loss. If Celene rejected him, Engineering would see it. The Black Wraith Squadron would see it, and so would Command. News would be all over the base within minutes.

So be it. He wouldn’t huddle in Engineering, wondering what might have been.

But, suddenly, she moved. She stepped through the circle of pilots and walked toward him. Her face was set, determined.

And then she was in his arms, he in hers. And they were kissing. In front of everyone. No one said anything. All that mattered was Celene’s mouth on his, and the very public message this kiss sent to the 8^th Wing. The tension in him turned to vapor. He felt the disparate parts of himself unite, just as he felt his hunger for her return with the ferocity of a solar storm.

Ensign Skiren broke the silence. “Nice flying, NerdWorks!” she shouted before Commander Frayne pulled her out of the docking bay. The rest of the officers and crewmen followed, the pilots, the engineers, even a startled and red-faced Admiral Gamlyn, muttering something about conducting the debriefing later.

He pulled back slightly. “This’ll tarnish your stainless reputation.”

“To hells with my reputation.” Her silver gaze met his. “It never made me laugh, or feel cherished. It never made me feel like a woman.”

“Of course you’re a woman,” he said immediately. “You’re your own woman, but you are also my woman.”

“Never had a real relationship before. Never cared about someone the way I care about you. I’m still scared.” She traced a finger along his collar.

“Me, too. But isn’t that the definition of bravery? Being frightened by something, and doing it anyway?”

Her mouth met his for another searing kiss. Eventually he broke the kiss with a groan. “Though I want to, I can’t make love to you in Docking Bay 24-Zed.” He took her hand in his. “We’re going to my quarters.”

“We could go to mine.”

He shook his head. “The Nifalian chess set is in my quarters, and I’ve got some very interesting variations on the game I think you’ll enjoy.”

“Never been so aroused by chess before.” She laughed. But just before they left the docking bay, he felt her tug on his hand, forcing him to stop. He turned to face her, and saw an uncharacteristic concern in her eyes. “Nils, if we’re together…it means you’re going to be noticed. A lot more. And the scrutiny can be difficult. I don’t want you regretting your choice.”

He stepped closer, bridging the distance between them. “Love, when it comes to you, I have no regrets. Except,” he added, thoughtful, “wearing a mask all those months ago.”

“No masks now,” she whispered.

“None,” he agreed. They saw each other as they truly were, and he had never felt stronger. He grinned. “Now, let’s play chess.”

About the Author

Zoë Archer is a RITA Award–nominated romance author who writes romance novels chock-full of adventure, sexy men, and women who make no apologies about kicking ass. Her books include The Hellraisers paranormal historical series and the acclaimed Blades of the Rose paranormal historical adventure series. She enjoys baking, tweeting about boots and listening to music from the ’80s. Zoë and her husband, fellow romance author Nico Rosso, live in Los Angeles.

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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9303-2

Copyright © 2012 by Ami Silber

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