Chapter 5

5

Z ara watched the Latharian lord starfighter's broad back as he stormed off the flight deck, his long braids slapping against his leather-clad shoulders with each stride. Aware that she was being watched, not only by the two Latharians standing in front of her but by an unknown level of interior surveillance, she kept her expression calm and level. As though being disrespected by a senior officer was an everyday occurrence.

Why were the best-looking ones always assholes?

As the disgruntled lord disappeared from view, she turned her attention back to the two Latharian men. The intel packet she'd studied before leaving Earth said the one on the left was Kaaz T'Saar, the flight deck chief, but she didn't know who the tall blond-ish one was.

He stepped forward, his bright blue eyes striking against his tanned skin. He had an air of easy confidence about him that said officer, and when he spoke, his voice was smooth and charming.

"Please forgive the lord starfighter's departure, Major," he said with a smile. "He has pressing matters to discuss with the emperor. My name is Zhain Roic. I'm the commandant of the Starfighter Hall on Lathar Prime. Please allow me to welcome you on behalf of the Latharian Empire to Devan Station." He gestured to the man beside him. "This is Kaaz T'Saar, deck chief on the station."

She returned Roic's smile. Like the lord starfighter, he was handsome as hell, but less brooding. A twinkle in his eyes said he knew he looked good, but she didn't get a sense of arrogance about it from him. The deck chief was also striking, with teal hair shot through with silver streaks and piercing pale eyes. He had to dye his hair, surely… unless such vivid colors were natural among the Lathar.

"Thank you, sir. Chief. It's a pleasure to meet you." She nodded to each of them in turn.

She motioned to the women standing around her, each with their packs slung over their shoulders and their helmets tucked under one arms. "Allow me to introduce my team… Nova, Crash, Burner, Havoc, and Echo," she said, indicating each woman in turn.

Roic's eyes swept over the group, his smile never faltering. If anything, it just got wider. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ladies."

The big deck chief nodded in agreement. "Indeed. Your engineers are currently moving onto this deck, but in the meantime, if you'd like to leave your helmets with my warriors, we will ensure a smooth handover."

He motioned to a group of Lathar in engineering leathers, who stepped forward to collect the pilots' helmets. She handed hers over, feeling a bit strange without the familiar weight in her hands.

"Please, if you would like to follow me," Roic said and turned to lead them out of the flight deck. "I'll give you a brief tour of the facilities and show you to your quarters."

"That would be great. Thank you," she replied as she fell into step beside him. Her team followed close behind, their boots echoing on the polished floor in unison.

The sights and sounds of the station surrounded them as they headed out into the corridors. For all that the Lathar were supposed to be humanity's ancestors and that their design protocols needed to accommodate a bipedal form, everything else was very different.

The walls were made of a sleek, metallic material she didn't recognize. It wasn't like anything she'd seen on Earth or the Terran colonies, with a pattern like Damascus steel and a faint iridescent sheen like a beetle wing. Strips of light ran along near the floor and then at the top, near where the corridor sloped into the ceiling, casting a soft glow. The air, at least, had a familiar scent, the distinct, slightly stale odor of recycled oxygen mixed with something metallic, probably from the environmental scrubbers.

"I never thought I'd set foot on an actual alien space station," Nova murmured behind her.

"Check out these walls," Crash added. "Never seen anything like it before. Can't see any joins or welds. Looks like they're all one piece."

Zara nodded. Everything about this place was just slightly off what they were used to—from the technology and the architecture to the very air they breathed. Slightly off yet oddly familiar all at the same time. The dichotomy made her head ache, so she stopped thinking about it and focused on her team instead.

Despite the unfamiliar environment and the fact they were out of their fighters and on foot, they still acted like the team they were. They moved as a unit, their movements in sync as they subtly but constantly scanned the surroundings. She hadn't expected anything different. They were all ace fighter pilots, the best of the best. They were trained to be alert and ready for anything, even on foot in the heart of an alien space station. She would be surprised if Nova hadn't already thought of seventeen ways to incapacitate every alien around them and Crash wasn't making plans to prize one of the nearby wall panels off to see if she couldn't get a look at the power controls that ran through them.

"Is it just me, or does this place seem a bit crowded?" Burner asked, as they continued down the corridor.

"Just keep smiling, ladies," Zara warned in a low voice. It hadn't escaped her that rather a lot of leather-clad men seemed to be in the corridor. It was huge, yes, but even given that, allowing space for movement and general foot traffic for a space this size, there appeared to be more than normal.

Every hallway and junction they passed seemed to be filled with tall, muscular figures in various uniforms and armor. Their gazes were intense and curious as they watched the human women walk by. A prickle ran down her spine, and she forced herself not to rest her hand on the gun holstered under her flight-rig.

"They're staring at us," Echo added softly. "It's a little unnerving."

"Let them look." Crash let out a low wolf-whistle. "Look at how pretty they all are… They're all fucking models and then some!"

Roic chuckled as he glanced back over his shoulder at them. "I'm afraid you fe… ladies are quite the novelty here. Most of these warriors are all young and aren't lucky enough to have been accepted to the mating program, so they've never seen women who look like them."

Zara clenched her jaw.

"Well… we're not curiosities for them to gawk at, and we're not here as potential mates," she said firmly. "They're just going to have to get used to us being around. We're here to do a job. That's it."

He smiled, a glint of appreciation in his eyes. "Of course, Major."

He inclined his head. "Now, if you'll follow me, I'll give you a quick tour of the facilities. The mess hall is just down this way, and the training rooms are on the level below."

As they walked, Roic kept up a steady stream of conversation, pointing out various features of the station and sharing bits of Latharian history and culture. He was a charming guide, his easy manner and quick wit putting them all at ease. Even Crash, normally the most irreverent of them all, was actually paying attention.

"So, Commandant," Zara said during a lull in the conversation. "What can you tell us about the lord starfighter? He seemed a bit... intense."

That was putting it mildly. She'd realized they likely wouldn't be popular, but she hadn't expected a total "throwing teddies out of the pram" moment like that.

Roic chuckled. "He can be a bit brusque at times, but he's a brilliant strategist and an exceptional pilot. He's also fiercely loyal to the emperor. Don't let his gruff exterior fool you… He's a worthy male."

She just nodded, filing that information away for later. Given his position on the station, there was no way she could avoid dealing with the man. It couldn't hurt to have a better understanding of who he was and what his motivations were.

They reached a doorway, and Roic led them through to reveal a barracks. "Here we are. These will be your quarters for the duration of your stay. I hope you find them adequate."

Zara stepped into the large, open space, taking in the high ceilings and the rows of bunks lining the walls. It was the same as every other barracks she'd been in throughout her military career, just on a larger scale.

"This will do nicely, thank you," she said, turning back to the big Latharian with a polite smile.

" Ohmygod , would you look at the size of these?" Havoc let out a low whistle as she approached one of the bunks.

"They're huge!" Nova exclaimed, her eyes wide.

The women began to claim their beds, tossing their bags onto the mattresses. Crash, unsurprisingly, made a beeline for a top bunk.

"Dibs!" she called out, clambering up the ladder with ease.

Burner flopped down on her chosen bed, sighing contentedly. "I could sleep for a week on this thing."

"I'll leave you to get settled in," Roic said, half-watching the women's movements with an odd look. "If you need anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask. It's been a pleasure meeting you all."

"Likewise," Zara replied, holding out her hand to shake. "We appreciate the warm welcome."

He froze for a split second, his gaze flicking down to her hand.

She winced. "Shit. I didn't just… propose marriage or something. Did I?"

His warm chuckle filled the air, and he shook his head as he took her hand, shaking it firmly. "No, not at all. I'm just not familiar with the gesture."

She tilted her head in curiosity. "A handshake? Why? How do you normally greet someone?"

"We use a warrior's greeting," he said and indicated her arm. "If I may?"

She nodded and he rearranged his hand, gripping the inside of her forearm just below the elbow. She copied the movement, and he smiled.

"It's a mark of respect from one warrior to another. Well met, Major Reid."

She inclined her head. "Well met, Commandant Roic."

Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she turned to see a group of Latharian pilots from other barracks lingering in the doorway, watching the human women with curious, appraising eyes. She kept her expression neutral.

Roic leaned in closer. "Major, should I ask the other pilots to give you some space?"

She shook her head. "No need. Best to let them get it out of their systems. They'll soon get bored of the novelty, and we can handle a little attention."

He frowned, looking around at the women on the bunks. They were ignoring the men in the doorway completely, but she knew they were more than aware of them.

"Are you sure? I… this could be dangerous for you. If any of them force a claim."

"Force a claim?" She raised an eyebrow, her voice pitched to carry. "Commandant, these women are highly trained fighter pilots with combat experience in the air, in space, and on the ground. If any man does anything they don't like or want, I can assure you that man will leave holding his balls."

Roic blinked and then a slow smile spread over his handsome face. "I have no doubt about that, Major. No doubt at all."

Traax strode into the briefing room, scattering guards in his wake.

"My lord! My lord! You can't go in there!"

Traax ignored them all, his jaw clenched with barely contained fury as he stalked into the room, coming to stand in front of the sleek black conference table.

The council members—of which council he had no idea as there seemed to be hundreds on the station with more cropping up every day—gawked at him in surprise. They weren't all Latharian, members of the different species occupying the civilian sector of the base represented. Which was why they were gawking at him, no doubt. It was rare to see the inner workings of the royal line played out in public like this.

He ignored them, his hard gaze boring into his cousin seated at the head of the table. Daaynal's expression was unreadable, his hard features giving nothing away. Traax didn't allow his gaze to so much as flicker to the two drakeen combat-bots hunkered down in the corners of the room. Just two today. His cousin must feel secure with this group. Although…

"With all due respect, Your Majesty," he bit out, "integrating human pilots, female pilots, into my wings is a grave mistake. They are too small, weak, and inexperienced to be effective pilots. You are setting them and me up to fail."

He paused, forcing his anger back down to manageable levels. "I cannot fathom why you would risk the integrity of our fighter wings with this."

"Your objections are noted, Your Grace," he said evenly. "However?—"

"If I may, Your Majesty," one of the councilors interrupted, his reedy voice grating on Traax's ears. He was one of the few Latharians in the room, but one way below the status normally required to weigh in on such matters and speak to the emperor directly in such a manner.

"Lord Traax raises valid concerns. Integrating the humans too quickly could disrupt squadron cohesion and effectiveness." He spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Perhaps a more gradual approach, allowing Lord Traax input on their training..."

"It's Duke K'Saan or Lord Starfighter to you," Traax snarled, irritated by the male's presumption to use his given name. He slammed his palm on the table. The sharp sound echoed in the suddenly silent room. "And I don't want any input on their training. I don't want them here at all!"

"Then it's a good thing it's not up to you, Lord Starfighter." The clear, cutting voice was feminine. He yanked his head around and met the hard-edged gaze of Lynara Varaant, the newly appointed academy commandant. A lifelong princess of the empire, she technically outranked him, but she'd avoided using his name. Traax whipped his head around to glare at her, his lip curling with disdain as he wondered what game she was playing.

She rose gracefully to her feet, her petite frame belying the strength in her squared shoulders and lifted chin. Her hair was bound tightly back in the warrior's style from the time of the first emperor, the time she'd originated from, as she met Traax's heated gaze without flinching.

"I find your attitude deeply disappointing, Your Grace," she said. "And an insult to everything I and countless other women have fought and bled for."

A humorless smile quirked her lips as Traax opened his mouth, and she raised her hand, cutting him off. "You forget yourself. I am the daughter of Kalyna Varaant, hero of the Tanel wars. I grew up in a military where a woman's abilities were never questioned, where we served with distinction alongside the men."

She shook her head. "It pains me to see how far the empire has fallen, to have its best and brightest spouting such backward views. My mother would weep to see it."

Traax surged forward without thinking, his movement stopped by the table between them. "You dare?—"

"I dare." Lynara met him head on, unflinching. "I dare to remind this council of the countless Latharian women who have served and sacrificed for the empire. Who have commanded fleets, led armies, and held the line against our enemies. Who have fought and died… before my time, and since it, to the present day. I dare to remind the council that human women are descended from those women. Descended from my crew. So, to dismiss their contributions and to deny human women the same chance to prove their worth is not just misguided… It is a betrayal of our very values and our own heritage."

Traax's hands clenched into fists at his sides. How dare this tiny female lecture him on history and heritage? She'd slept in the ice on this damned planet for hundreds of thousands of years. What did she know?

"The Tanel wars were a long time ago," he bit out through gritted teeth. "We face entirely new threats now, Commandant . Threats that require the best of the best to do their jobs, not be hamstrung coddling some human females who want to play at being pilots."

He took a deep breath, reining in his temper with effort. When he spoke again, his tone was flat and cold.

"The biological reality is that while Latharian females were more than capable, human females are physically much weaker. They do not have the size, strength, or reflexes to keep up with my pilots. Putting them in the cockpit will not just impair our effectiveness but actively endanger both Latharian lives and the lives of precious human females, who would be far better off signed up for the mating program, where they can be useful."

He turned to address the room at large, his expression stony.

"I cannot and will not prioritize some stunt over the safety of my pilots. To do so would be to fail in my duty as lord starfighter, which is something I refuse to even contemplate."

"You forget yourself, cousin. Your duty," Daaynal said, steepling his fingers, "is to follow the orders of your emperor."

The emperor's gaze swung to Lynara, something unreadable flickering in its emerald depths. "Commandant, your point is well-made and well-taken. The female pilots will have every chance to prove themselves. There will be no further debate on the matter."

Traax swallowed hard, fury and frustration burning like bile in his throat. "Your Majesty, I must protest. You cannot possibly expect me to?—"

"I expect you to remember your place!" Daaynal's bellow rang through the chamber as he surged to his feet, his fist slamming onto the table in front of him with a resounding crack.

Traax froze as his cousin's gaze locked with his, hard with fury and something else, something cold and implacable that sent a shiver down his spine. In that moment, he saw not his childhood playmate and kinsman but the hardened warrior who ruled an empire… an emperor whose word was law.

"You forget yourself, Duke K'Saan," Daaynal said, his voice low, controlled, and all the more terrifying for its sudden calm. "You are a warrior of the Latharian Empire. You serve at my pleasure. At my command." He straightened up, towering over those seated at the table. "I am commanding you to integrate those pilots and ensure their success. No more arguments. No more excuses. Have I made myself clear?"

Traax's jaw worked, a thousand furious retorts burning on his tongue. He didn't look at the council, their downcast gazes saying that they wouldn't get involved. No one would, not against the warrior emperor.

Traax was many things—proud, stubborn, and fierce in his convictions—but he was no fool. He knew when he was beaten. His cousin, his emperor, had made his mind up. He would not be swayed, and to continue arguing would be to court disgrace… perhaps even treason.

Slowly, he bowed his head, lifting his clenched fist to rest over his heart in a formal salute. "My apologies. As you command, Your Majesty."

Daaynal regarded him for a long moment. Finally, he gave a single, sharp nod. "Apology accepted, Lord Starfighter. You have your orders. See that you follow them."

Traax straightened up, his movements stiff and jerky. Then he turned to Lynara, bowing his head fractionally. "My apologies, Lady Commandant," he said, his voice toneless. "I spoke out of turn. It will not happen again."

Lynara inclined her head. "Apology accepted, Your Grace. I look forward to seeing how you... rise to this challenge."

Traax's jaw clenched at the subtle dig, but he held his tongue. He would not let her provoke him further. With a final nod to the room, he turned smartly on his heel and marched out, his mind whirling.

Human pilots. Female human pilots. In his wings. The very thought made his blood boil. How was he to mold such inferior beings into a fighting force worthy to stand and fly alongside that of the empire? How could he ensure the safety and success of his warriors, of their missions, when they had been rendered as little more than babysitters?

He closed his eyes for a second, exhaling harshly through his nose as he stalked through the corridors back to the flight decks. He had his orders. He would follow them. But by the ancestors, he would make those humans prove their worth, push them to their very limits and beyond. He would not let their weakness be the downfall of all he held dear.