Collision Course

Chapter Eleven

An 8th Wing carrier ship met them a few solar hours after they left the Smoke Quadrant and collected them like stray birds. Smiling 8th Wing troops and officers waited for them in the docking bay.

Applause echoed as she, Kell and Lieutenant Jur emerged from their ships—a far different experience from Mara’s last encounter with 8th Wing. She felt uncharacteristically shy at being the object of so much celebratory attention.

As she stood beside the Black Wraith with Kell and Jur, people thronged around them in a sea of gray uniforms. The silence of space made their clapping jarring and loud, their eager faces too bright, too demanding. She felt herself shrink away, seeking peace. Kell’s arm curved around her shoulders.

Immediately, she felt the chaos within her calm, a sense of anchoring when she would have floated away.

He knew this, instinctively, knew what she needed. She looked at him as applause and shouts of congratulations thundered. He did not revel in the attention, but he didn’t shun it, either. He looked like a man who expected to get the job done, and did exactly that. Tough, assured, and, to her eyes, achingly handsome. Familiar, yet wondrous.

How had he become so necessary to her in such a short amount of time? Planets formed over millions of years, yet her own system had changed tremendously within a few days. No wonder her gravity was out of alignment.

Kell saw her looking at him, and bent close. “Welcome home,” he murmured for her ears alone.

A confused flush spread through her. Home. Hers, if she wanted it to be.

Gods, she needed time alone to think.

8th Wing officers came forward, trying to look stern but largely failing.

“You look shocked to see me, sirs.” Kell drew himself up so he seemed, if possible, even taller.

“Only surprised to have you back so quickly, Commander,” a captain answered.

“We placed bets,” said another commander.

Kell raised a brow. “Who won?”

“Ensign Neta.”

A young woman with an ensign’s single stripe hooted. “That’s five hundred creds and Lieutenant Orji has to clean my bunk for a solar month.”

Someone, presumably Lieutenant Orji, groaned. “She’s messier than that sipkaswine Ensign Garek smuggled aboard.”

“Status, Lieutenant Jur,” said a captain.

Jur, looking tired but relieved, answered, “A little weary and bruised, ma’am, but I’m in fighting form.” She eyed the medical personnel working their way toward her. “I don’t think the doctors are necessary.”

“Standard procedure following a rescue mission. Go, Lieutenant.”

Jur saluted and made to follow the medical personnel. Before she departed, she turned to Mara and stuck out her hand.

“They strong-armed me into the mission,” Mara said. “Thanks aren’t necessary.”

But the lieutenant smiled. “What I saw weren’t the actions of someone being coerced. You had your own stake in the mission.” Her gaze slid toward Kell, talking with an officer.

“And you?” Mara struggled to keep the tension from her voice.

Jur’s smile turned melancholy at the edges. “That ship has flown. It flew away years ago.” Then she left with the medical team, with a volley of new applause following her as she departed the docking bay.

The captain noticed Kell’s arm still wrapped around Mara’s shoulders, but said only, “You two must be exhausted and,” she added, eyeing their wounds, “you need treating, as well. Commander Rigg, escort the commander and our honored guest to the medical bay.”

“Honored guest?” Mara repeated.

“That you are.” Kell’s gaze was a warm caress. “The 8th Wing is honored by your presence. As they should be.”

Shouts of agreement rose up from the assembled crowd.

She had no answer to that, to them. She felt herself dropped into someone else’s life—someone who did not run with criminals, who was not an exile. Someone who belonged. A similar feeling to whenever she had set foot in that tawdry bar on Ryge. But here, the currency was honor, not cunning.

That life was lost to her now.

Her chest tightened with panic. She belonged to no one, and no one would have her.

She told herself that again, when Commander Rigg escorted her and Kell from the docking bay and more cheers sounded from the throng. Disturbing, to walk through the 8th Wing ship and see not suspicion or curiosity in the faces that passed her, but welcoming smiles.

It did not take long for her wounds to be cleaned and mended. The medical team worked quickly,

with a minimum of fussing, which she appreciated. She remembered the hovering nurses and nannies from her childhood, the oppressive atmosphere that barred her from playing outside like other children, lest she hurt herself. Of course, that had made her desire to sneak off and roughhouse with the groundskeeper’s children all the stronger.

She sat on an exam table, watched from across the room as medics treated Kell’s leg. His pants had been cut open, exposing the hard muscles of his calf and thigh and the burned flesh surrounding the plasma pistol wound. Even though the treatment required a bit of probing and some heat sutures, he bore it all with stoicism, talking the entire time with Commander Rigg and giving no notice to the painful work being done on his leg. Yet in the middle of all this, he caught her staring at him and sent her a look of searing, carnal intent. It was a wonder the medical team crossing between them didn’t burst into flames.

Her pulse hammered, and her body responded immediately, growing sensitive and aware. She wriggled on the examining table as she glanced away. It had been too long since she touched Kell, felt his body against and within hers. Her need for him frightened her. Somehow, she would have to acclimate herself to this new paradigm: life without Kell.

But what new life awaited her?

“Ms. Skiren.” A fresh-faced lieutenant stood beside the exam table. “Do you think you have the energy for a debriefing?”

“I’m not 8th Wing. I can’t be debriefed.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless it’s mandatory, and I’m being taken into custody.”

“What’s the problem, Lieutenant?” Kell, against the protests of the medical tech, stood and crossed the bay, scowling.

“No problem, sir,” said the lieutenant at once. “Command just wants to get Ms. Skiren’s statement about the mission, and then she’s free to go.”

“Am I not free now?”

The lieutenant, clearly not expecting this kind of hostility, stammered. “Of…of course you’re free. But it would be…very helpful for future missions if we could get your statement about what happened on this one.” He shot a nervous glance toward Kell. “If that’s acceptable, sir.”

Kell held Mara’s gaze, and the concern and protectiveness in his eyes threatened to shatter her heart. “You don’t have to.”

“Where will you be?”

“Doing the exact same thing. Talking myself hoarse to a debriefing panel.”

She turned to the lieutenant. “Let’s get this over with.” She hopped down from the examining table and, even though all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around Kell’s long, solid body, she made herself walk toward the medical bay doors.

“Mara.”

She turned at Kell’s voice. He stood next to the exam table, with medical staff busily milling around, and yet all he saw was her, and all she saw was him.

“Think about what I said.” His voice was graveled, low. “It’s here if you want it.”

If I want it. What was it? Life with him? Joining 8th Wing? As she left the medical bay, his words resonated over and over within her, like the tolling of an ancient bell announcing either celebration or disaster.

She didn’t see Kell again. The next few hours were spent in a small room with two 8th Wing officers, recounting every detail of the past few days. Mara left out some details, namely the times she and Kell made love. Those memories belonged to her and Kell. No one else. She hoarded them like gems, to be guarded jealously, possessively.

The 8th Wing officers listened and recorded her statements, asking her questions or requesting clarification of certain details. She had initially braced herself for antagonism, or sneering condescension. She was a scavenger. They were 8th Wing. Her clothes were grimy from battle. Their uniforms and insignias gleamed.

Yet no one made snide remarks. No one treated her poorly. If anything, she felt embarrassed to be the recipient of the officers’ unadorned praise. They marveled at her piloting ability, and how she fought side-by-side with Kell and Lieutenant Jur.

“You distinguished yourself, Ms. Skiren,” said a commander. “And your actions went far beyond what any of us had anticipated.”

“Commander Frayne has also had nothing but praise for your contribution to the mission,” a captain added.

At the mention of Kell, her cheeks heated. “What did Kell…I mean, what did Commander Frayne say?”

“He’s still being debriefed. We can’t discuss that.” The captain studied a digitablet. “But I can tell you that he’s pushing hard for a special commendation for you.”

“Commander Frayne overstates my involvement.” She didn’t want that commendation, not if it meant she’d earned it with her body rather than her skill.

“Lieutenant Jur is seconding that commendation,” said the commander. “Do you disagree with them both?”

“I…no.” Breath left her. She wondered briefly if the ship’s gravitational mechanism had gone off line, then realized it was her own equilibrium being unsettled. Rules and certainties as she’d known them did not exist, leaving her to find new truths. About the world as she knew it. About herself.

After the interview concluded, Mara wandered around the ship, searching. She found neither Kell nor even Lieutenant Jur. When the ship landed at the 8th Wing base, she oversaw the unloading of the Arcadia, checked her ship for any damages, but even after she found everything to be in good condition, she lingered. Still no sign of Kell. He hadn’t come out of the carrier ship.

“We’ve prepared special quarters for you, ma’am,” an ensign informed her.

“I’ve got quarters on my ship.”

“These are a little more spacious. Besides, they come equipped with a water shower.”

A water shower sounded like the Starfields of Eternal Bliss. Yet, even with this temptation, she was reluctant to stray far from the docked carrier.

The ensign saw her gaze straying toward the ship. “Commander Frayne was escorted off the ship as soon as it docked.”

Alarm prickled the back of her neck. “Escorted off? Is he in trouble?” Mara began to stride away —exactly where she was heading, she didn’t know, but if Kell needed help, she would provide it, however she could.

“No trouble at all, ma’am,” the ensign said, trotting quickly after her. “But a mission like this, complicated and important as it was, requires a long debriefing before a panel of admirals. Standard operating procedure.”

Her pace slowed as some of her righteous anger and determination evaporated. “I see. How long do these panels last?”

“Could be hours, or longer. More than enough time to rest and clean up. Ma’am.”

She glanced down at herself, seeing the blood and dirt covering her clothes. She probably did not smell particularly pleasant, either.

A water shower. A bed. Solitude. Time to think. She wanted and needed all of this.

Summoning her years of training, she gave the ensign a regal nod. “Escort me to my quarters,

Ensign.” However, she was no longer a princess, so she added, “Please.”

The junior officer led her through the base, and she found herself accepting congratulations and handshakes from many 8th Wing personnel. She felt inundated by faces and voices. Reaching her quarters was a relief.

They were, indeed, much more spacious that her cramped quarters on the Arcadia, and a decided contrast from the seedy lodging room she had shared with Kell. Though, what she and Kell had done in that lodging room hadn’t been seedy at all. It had been…breathtaking.

Needing to be alone with her thoughts and memories, she dismissed the ensign. The grime of Ryge needed to come off. She remembered her purification ritual after her first menses. At dawn, she had been bathed by priestesses, symbolically marking the transformation from childhood to adulthood, one life ended, another begun.

After stripping, she stepped beneath the water. The drain carried away the final relics of her life as a scavenger. Who was she now? There were millions of paths to take—cargo pilot, merchant, or,

hell, mercenary. She now possessed what she had been denied on Argenti—choice.

She finished and wrapped a towel around herself, then staggered toward the bed as weariness overwhelmed her. Mara collapsed onto the bed. She would just rest her eyes a moment before getting dressed and going in search of Kell. Against her will, she fell asleep in seconds. And found herself adrift in dreams.

She woke later to a fleeting sensation of panic. An unfamiliar room, unfamiliar bed. Voices outside in the corridor discussed a training session, griping to each other about a tough warrant officer.

I’m at 8th Wing base. Kell’s home.

And hers, if she wanted it. Considering the praise she’d been given from the 8th officers, his offer might very well be genuine. The question was, what did she want?

Him. She wanted him. A palpable ache in the center of her chest. Lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, Mara pressed the heel of her hand against her chest, trying to contain the need that threatened to open her from the inside out. She had to see Kell. Needed to see his face and hear his voice and touch him, everywhere. He alone would understand what it was she felt to be on the 8th Wing base, the strange conflict of emotions to become, suddenly, a hero. He would know the curious emptiness that came with one life ending and another waiting to begin.

Gods, he had become her friend.

She checked the time. Three solar hours had passed since she had fallen into bed. He had to be finished with the debriefing by now. He would come to see her. The idea of waiting for him in nothing but a towel appealed, but just in case someone other than Kell showed up at her door, she ought to get dressed.

Her grimy clothes held little charm after getting herself clean. Rummaging around a storage locker, Mara found a woman’s 8th Wing uniform. No identification, no markers of rank. Unclaimed,

clearly. Feeling a little strange, as though putting on someone else’s identity, Mara donned the jumpsuit. Looking into the mirror, her self-mocking smile died before it fully formed. She’d thought she would appear ridiculous, a criminal pretending to be a defender of the law. A fraud.

But no. She had her own dignity, and the uniform only highlighted what was already there. It felt surprisingly good, purposeful. As though she was part of something bigger than herself, yet contributed her own strength. And, she thought with an inward smile, the gray fabric flattered her cream-colored hair.

She stuck her tongue out at herself and moved away from the mirror. It was just a uniform. Some fabric woven on a digiloom and stitched together by a sewing bot.

An unwelcome thought crept into her mind. Perhaps Kell had finished the debriefing long ago and chose not to see her. Perhaps, now that he was back in his home territory, he realized how foolish he’d been—treating a casual fuck like someone he truly cared about. She was a scavenger, after all, no longer a princess. Perhaps he hoped she would read the unspoken message in his absence, that he wanted her gone, and what they had shared was forgettable and momentary.

“To hell with that.” If he wanted her to quietly, meekly disappear, he was mistaken. Scavenger she may be, but she had pride too.

She marched from her quarters but stopped short of accosting the first 8th Wing ensign she saw.

No need to broadcast to the whole base that she was looking for Kell. So she used her own internal guidance as she roamed the base, righteous fury pushing her on with every step.

Her strides halted on a catwalk when she heard Kell’s angry voice one story below her.

“I’m not giving you any more,” he snapped.

“But we still need to review the captured Wraith’s data collectors.” This, from an unknown voice.

Mara peered over the railing. She saw Kell standing in the open doorway of what appeared to be a conference room, with a group of 8th Wing senior officers gathered behind him. Seeing him again,

muscular and lean, handsome beyond reckoning, she felt her heart contract, even after an absence of merely half a solar day. He was still dressed in his smuggler’s clothes, though they were torn and dirty. She realized abruptly that, while she had enjoyed a shower and rest after the long ordeal of the mission, he had not.

“And I’ll go over the damn data collectors.” He planted his hands on his hips. “Later. She doesn’t know anyone on base, doesn’t know where I am. I have to go to her.”

Me. He’s talking about me. So much for her anger. It shorted like a fuse, leaving her with energy that had no outlet. Speeches and declarations died on her lips. She could only manage one word, the most important word she knew.

“Kell.”

He spun around, quick as a whipstrike, and looked up at her. For a moment, she and Kell just stared at each other, him standing below, her on the catwalk a story above.

More officers’ voices sounded behind him, but he paid them no attention. Instead, holding her gaze with his own, Kell sprinted toward the catwalk. Her breath snagged as he leapt up, beautiful motion, dark and dangerous. He caught the bottom edge of the catwalk with his hands, then, arm muscles tightening and flexing, pulled himself up enough to grab the bars of the railing. Sinuous and quick, he vaulted over the rail to stand in front of her.

“Mara.”

His voice sounded raw, as if he’d been speaking nonstop for a long time. He stepped close, and she saw the strain of weariness in his face. He had been going solidly for over a day without a single moment’s respite—yet all he saw or cared about was her.

When he reached for her, she could not stop herself from going to him.

His arms surrounded her, holding her tightly against the warm, hard contours of his chest. She lost herself in his embrace, wrapping her arms around him as they pressed closely together. The hollowness inside her filled with his presence, his strength and soul.

“We can resume the debriefing tomorrow, Commander,” someone said below.

“Doesn’t look like they’ll be available for a few solar days,” another said wryly.

“Or weeks.”

Kell threaded his fingers with hers and stepped back. His gaze burned her. Without speaking, he led her away. Her heart pounded with every step as they moved quickly, purposefully through the base. She paid no attention to where they were going, seeing only him. Within moments, she found herself in a barracks corridor. And then she was inside his quarters.

His quarters were larger than hers, but just as impersonally utilitarian, scrupulously neat. No holoimages of friends or family. If she wanted to find indications of the inner man, she would not find them here. The absence of personal touches revealed only that he lived for his work. His quarters were not a haven, nor a place of retreat, only somewhere to sleep between missions. Home that wasn’t home, not truly.

Immediately, he pulled her close. She felt the tough, hard strength of him, and the warmth too.

“If anyone treated you poorly, tell me. I’ll have them thrown into the brig. After I beat them senseless.”

“I can’t fault 8th Wing for its hospitality. Not this time. Everyone acts like I’m some sort of hero.”

“They aren’t mistaken.”

“Only doing what I was obliged to do.”

“Now you’re mistaken.” He brushed his fingertips over her face, and she fought to keep her eyes open. “Don’t forget, Mara. I know you now. You handed the controls of the Arcadia over to Celene to stay with me. Nothing obligated about that.”

It had been exactly the right thing to do, an instinct she’d had to obey, yet she felt herself blush.

She could not have made her feelings more plain, not even if she had written and recited a thousand-stanza epospoem.

“Brash princess.” A corner of his mouth turned up. He glanced at her uniform, and his smile turned puzzled. Pleased, but puzzled. “They inducted you already?”

“This is borrowed glory.”

A flicker of disappointment in his dark eyes. “No. You make it shine.”

Ah, there went another piece of her heart. “I do flatter the uniform.”

“It doesn’t have to be borrowed.”

“Will they have me, then?”

“There are a few tests you will have to take, but I have every confidence that you’ll not only pass, but set new records. You aren’t the average cadet.”

She gave a wry laugh. “How many cadets have ‘exiled princess’ and ‘former scavenger’ on their credentials?”

He did not laugh. In fact, Mara had never seen him look so solemn, so focused. “Former scavenger.”

“I changed my life once before.” It amazed her that her voice did not quaver, yet she felt herself gathering strength. “It’s mine to change again.” She drew in a breath. “I’m ready to fight for more than myself.”

“The fight against PRAXIS isn’t easy,” he cautioned.

“Nothing worthwhile is easy. I’ve seen what PRAXIS does to worlds, to people. It has to stop,

and I want to help stop it. Are you trying to convince me to say no?”

In response, he kissed her. A demanding, assertive kiss that was also vivid with yearning. He cupped her head with his broad hands to claim better access to her mouth. Her body responded at once.

Kell kissed with every part of his being, as though nothing mattered more.

“I thought I knew fear. Living like an animal on Sayén. It was fear that kept me alive, that made me win every fight. But that fear was nothing compared to what I felt when I thought about you leaving.”

“Would you have let me go?”

He closed his eyes, as if the idea physically pained him. “It would have killed me. But, yes, I would have. Better that than cage you.”

“I can’t stay away from you, Kell. My heart won’t let me.”

“You don’t need to become 8th Wing to have me. Wherever you are, I’ll find a way to you.”

“I want everything,” she whispered. “To join the fight against PRAXIS, to believe in something beyond myself. And you. I want you.”

He was dark and bright as he gazed down at her. Intent. Hungry. “All that I am or ever will be is yours.”

Mara found herself falling back onto the bed with Kell coming down to lie partially atop her. His weight was welcome, needed. She indulged herself by running her hands all over his body. He was hers. This fighter was hers, his body and his heart. A gift she’d never expected.

He used his hands, too, caressing her as if committing her to memory. His touch was possessive but tender, and as he stroked her legs, her belly, her arms, radiance filled her, the twin suns of arousal and emotion. He palmed her breasts, and she writhed at his touch, yet it wasn’t enough.

“Too much between us.” His large hands unfastened her uniform, and he growled like a feral creature when the fabric parted, revealing that she was nude beneath her borrowed clothing.

“Do something for me.” He devoured her with his gaze.

“Anything.”

“Always have underwear on beneath your uniform.”

She raised her brows. “I would think you’d want me naked.”

“I do. Gods, I do. But,” he added as he ran his fingertips down the shallow valley between her breasts, “I could never concentrate on a mission, or anything else, knowing you were bare under your uniform.” He bent his head and licked a tight circle around her nipple, causing her to shudder with need.

“Don’t want to distract you.” She gasped, arching up.

“Distract me, Mara.” He licked her other nipple, then kissed his way up to her throat, his mouth hot and ravenous. “Distract me for the rest of my life.”

She started to pull at his clothing, but realization made her give a husky laugh. “Seems we switched roles. You’re dressed like a smuggler, and I’m 8th Wing.”

“We can be whoever we damn well want to be.” He glanced down at himself. “What I am for certain is filthy. I’ll shower and then join you.”

“We can shower together. Later. First, I need you.”

He wasted no more time on words, hungrily kissing her throat. She felt the sweet pain of his teeth on her neck.

“You like to bite me.”

“I do. It’s how we claim our mates on Sayén.” He bit her again.

She shifted, keeping his teeth upon her, then she sunk her own teeth into his neck. He growled. A deep, resounding joy thrilled her as they claimed each other.

“I love you, Kell.” She released him, feeling primitive satisfaction to see the marks she left upon his flesh. And satisfaction to know that he marked her, as well.

“I love you, me luna.” He brushed kisses across her cheeks, her lips, kisses she met with her own.

“I want to fight beside you during the day, and make love to you all night.”

“My wants are the same as yours,” she whispered, “though I wouldn’t mind making love all day too.”

He smiled. “Just this once, I’ll obey your orders.”

Mara fought to reclaim some of her imperial demeanor, though it was a struggle when his hands and mouth worked magic. “Only this once?”

“Other times too. But not always. I am a commander, after all.”

“Thank the gods for that.”

Before he lowered his head to take her mouth, he glanced around his quarters. “This place never felt like mine before. I slept here, ate here sometimes, but it was just a room, nothing else.” He gazed back down at her. “You’ve made it into a home. My home.”

They stopped speaking then. He peeled off the rest of her uniform, and she removed his smuggler’s clothes. Then they were both naked, their limbs intertwined, bound together by a force greater than gravity.