Chapter 6

6

" W ell, today is FUBARed and no mistake."

Zara shook her head as Burner's voice sounded in her ear on the One-Ten's private comms channel.

"Yeah, tell me about it," she said as she settled into the pilot's seat of her fighter with a sigh, her fingers dancing over the controls as she started to go through preflight checks. "Honestly, I knew we'd be up against it, but I didn't expect their big guy in charge to be quite so resistant."

Nova snorted over the airwaves, somehow making the sound seem elegant when Zara would have sounded like a constipated donkey. "Pity Mr. Tall, dark and hot as hell has such a stick up his ass."

"For some reason the handsome ones are always assholes." Zara chuckled, still flipping switches. The cockpit hugged her like a second skin, the familiar scent of leather and recycled air filling her nostrils with each breath. "This is why I'm team cute-AF all the way."

"Oh yeah?" Havoc piped up. "This why you're practically joined at the hip with Wolfe?"

"Arrrroooo!" Crash howled through the comm. "Now there's a guy I'd climb like a fucking tree. I'm with the boss on this one. Cute is the way to go. Like that commandant. Those eyes! And that voice… fuck me, he can talk me into bed any day of the week."

"From what I've heard, getting them into bed isn't the problem," Zara replied, pursing her lips as she checked her readouts. Fuel levels, green. Oxygen levels, optimal. Comms, online. "It's getting them out again. They don't do casual."

Silence settled over the comm. Then Crash's voice. "What… no one-night stands? You mean we're surrounded by all this fucking beefcake, and we can't tap it up, not even just a little?"

"Not unless you wanna put a ring on it, ladies. Otherwise, keep it in your pants. Or their pants. No one gets married to an alien on my watch."

Zara flipped her comms to main. "Fighter Launch Control, this is Ghost. Requesting permission to depart," she said, her voice crisp and professional.

The response came swiftly, the controller's voice tinny through her headset. "Ghost, this is Fighter Launch Control. You are cleared for departure. Good hunting out there."

She allowed herself a small smile. "Roger that, Control. One-Ten, prepare for launch on my mark."

Movement on the command level for the flight deck caught her eye, and she stiffened as she realized that Lord Arrogant himself had arrived. His words from earlier were burned into her mind, his dismissive tone grating on her nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

"I don't have time to waste training a bunch of females who have no business being in a cockpit."

What annoyed her more, though, was the instinctive interest and the way her body had reacted to him. The flutter in her stomach, the heat that crept up her neck. No. No way, no how. He wasn't attractive at all, she told herself firmly. He had the personality of a slug. An arrogant, self-obsessed, narcissistic, misogynistic slug. But she couldn't deny he had magnetism and sheer presence. It was enough to make her scream.

She shook her head, trying to banish his sneer from her mind, the way he'd looked down at them. She pointedly ignored him now standing on the command level above her, dressed in what must be the Latharian equivalent of a flight suit.

"Christ on a bike, do they use leather for everything?" Nova murmured over the comms as Roic joined his boss looking down at them, a flight helmet loose in his hand.

"Want me to find out?" Crash chuckled. "I'd happily take a shot at getting that one out of those leathers. See if they go commando or not."

"Remember, no weddings, ladies. Ready for launch," Zara reminded them and taxied to the middle of the flight deck to align herself with her assigned launch tube. She heard a click as the launch systems locked into place on her fighter's undercarriage. Either side of her, the other women were also moving into place.

"Launch when ready, One-Ten. See you out there!"

The launch tube stretched before her, a long, dark tunnel illuminated only by the pulsing guide lights along its walls.

She took a deep breath, her hands tightening on the control yoke. This was always the most exhilarating part of any mission, the moment when she was propelled from the safety of the ship or station into the vast emptiness of space.

"Ghost, launch in three… two… one ."

The launch systems engaged with a jolt, and the force of the acceleration slammed her back into her seat. She felt as though an invisible hand was pushing down on her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs as the G-forces increased.

The launch tube flew by in a blur, the pulsing lights merging into a continuous stream. Her vision narrowed, her focus solely on the rapidly approaching end of the tunnel.

Then she was out, shot from the side of the station like a bullet, and for a moment, she felt weightless, her body adjusting to the sudden change in velocity.

Her training kicked in, and her hands moved over the controls with practiced ease. She fired her maneuvering thrusters, bringing herself onto the patrol's assigned flight vector.

One by one, the other pilots of the One-Ten emerged from their launch tubes, their sleek Shadowbolt fighters joining hers in a tight formation. As they waited for Nova, the last out, Zara took a moment to savor the view. The curve of the Earth stretched out beneath them, a majestic blue and green orb that housed billions of lives. From up here it looked pristine, like a jewel in the inky blanket of space. The sun's rays glinted off her wing as she turned away, heading for the outer edge of the system.

"One-Ten, sound off," she ordered, her voice sharp and crisp over the comms in the familiar call and response.

"Nova, moving into position."

"Crash, locked and loaded!"

"Burner, present and correct."

"Havoc, on your six, boss."

"Echo, good to rock and roll."

"Okay, ladies, let's take a loop around the station, and then head out," she ordered, turning her fighter and taking the lead.

The space around the station was busier than she expected, and she easily picked out the human vessels among the alien ones.

"Looks like they really beefed up security since the Lathar arrived," Havoc drawled over the comms, her voice tinged with something like amusement.

"Yeah." Zara hummed in agreement. "It's a bit like shutting the barn door after the horse is out, though."

The arrival of the Lathar had changed everything, and no amount of security patrols would take away from the fact that if the Lathar wanted to go to war, Earth had fuck all chance against them.

"Turning for the edges of the system. We're going to do a fly-by of the museum on Triton and then head out."

"Roger that, boss"

"With you all the way."

Her pilots chorused in agreement as they sped through the system, leaving Devan Station and Earth behind. Deliberately, she slowed down as they passed by Triton and what had once been Guardian Station One.

She smiled as they passed it. The once-formidable structure encasing most of the moon hung in space like a slumbering giant, its weaponry silent and its hull adorned with museum markings. It was a relic of a bygone era, now reduced to a tourist attraction, but it still occupied a special place in her heart.

As a child, she'd been obsessed with stories of Guardian One and its role in launching the great arc colony ships. The ships had been twice the size of the station, big enough to carry everything the pioneers had needed to start new lives out there on far-flung planets. They'd gone into the unknown, trusting in the arc ship technology as they slept in cryogenic chambers and hurtled through the stars toward new worlds.

Most of the ships had reached their destinations and established the Earth alliance colonies… apart from Edania, that was. But every family had a black sheep. Didn't they? Some of the ships had never been heard from again, though.

She often wondered about them. Were they still out there, drifting through the endless expanse? Or had they met some unknown fate and were lost forever? She preferred the former. At least if they were out there drifting, there was still a chance.

A glint of movement caught her eye, and she turned her head slightly. Latharian fighters, their sleek forms cutting through the void of space like knives through silk as they sped toward the One-Ten.

"Contact starboard," she called the warning, her heart rate kicking up a notch as adrenaline flooded her system. What were they doing out here? This was the One-Ten's patrol route, not theirs.

"Evasive maneuvers!" she barked, already banking hard to the left as the Latharians drove through their formation like darts. "Don't let them box us in!"

The One-Ten reacted instantly, their fighters scattering like startled birds. The Latharian ships were fast, their movements precise and coordinated. She hit the comms. "This is Earth Alliance squadron One-Ten to unidentified Latharian fighters. You're in our flight vector, please identify yourselves."

But there was no reply. Just static.

"What the hell are they doing?" Crash's voice was tense.

"I don't know, but I don't like it," Nova replied, her tone grim.

"Watch out. They're herding us." That was Burner, her voice strained as she pulled a tight loop to avoid a Latharian fighter. "Looks like they're trying to push us off course."

Zara gritted her teeth. What the fuck were they playing at? Were they trying to provoke a response, or was this some kind of twisted test?

She keyed her comms again. "Attention, Latharian fighters, this is Major Reid of the Earth Alliance. Please identify yourselves and state your intentions."

Silence. The Latharian ships continued their dance, ignoring her comms as if she were nothing more than a buzzing insect. Irritation prickled along Zara's skin, hot and sharp.

"They're not responding, Major," Burner said. "What's our play?"

Zara's mind raced, scenarios playing out in rapid fire. Engage? Retreat? No, fuck that… No way would she give them the satisfaction of a retreat that Lord Asshole would absolutely hold over their heads.

She rolled again to avoid a collision as another Latharian fighter entered her flight vector. They might be more heavily armed and armored, and more powerful… on paper. But they were definitely slower and less maneuverable than the Shadowbolt spaceframes.

A slow, wicked smile spread across her face.

"Scatter and burn, ladies," she ordered. "Let's teach these alien assholes a lesson."

The human squadron broke formation, sleek fighters darting away from the larger Latharian ships only to dive right back in to harass them. She grinned as she watched Havoc set up a bait and switch, letting two Latharians follow her in hopes of tagging her, only for her to stand on her back thrust engines so they flew right by… then found themselves right in her crosshairs.

"I've got one in my sights, Major," Havoc reported, her voice tight with excitement. "Permission to engage?"

Zara hesitated for a split second, temptation warring with duty. It would be so easy, but no, that wasn't the plan. They were here to send a message, not start a war.

"Negative, Havoc," she said finally, her tone firm. "Weapons lock only. Let's just give them a little scare."

"Roger that, weapons lock only."

Burner dove beneath a Latharian ship, the larger vessel's engines glowing a brilliant blue as it tried to match her maneuvers. But Burner was too quick, her ship rolling and spinning in a dazzling display of aerobatics.

Nova and Crash worked in tandem, their fighters crisscrossing in a deadly dance. They wove in and out of the Latharian formation, drawing the enemy ships away from each other and isolating them for the rest of the squadron to target. Nova's fighter was a blur of motion, her precise movements seeming to anticipate the Latharians' every move, always one step ahead, always just out of reach as she herded them toward Crash.

"Set 'em up and knock 'em down!" the blonde pilot caroled over the comms.

Echo, on the surface the gentle soul of the group, was no less deadly than the rest. She flew through the Latharian ranks, silent and lethal, right beneath their wings where they couldn't see her, striking with pinpoint accuracy before fading back into the darkness of space.

The comms were soon filled with the sound of weapons lock confirmations as the women ran rings around the bigger, less agile fighters, their targeting systems locking on with ease.

"Weapons lock again , Major," Nova reported, a hint of smugness in her voice. "They're not so tough."

Zara grinned, her eyes scanning the Latharian formation until she found what she was looking for. There, at the head of the pack was a fighter with different markings than the rest. A scarlet stripe ran down the side of the blackened paintwork. It had to be the lord starfighter. He was arrogant enough to insist on a different paint job.

"Well, heeellllooo ," she murmured. "What do we have here? Have you joined us just for an ass-kicking, my lord?"

Hitting the engines, she followed Echo's example and used the blind spot beneath the Latharian fighter's wings to slice through their group like they weren't even there. She didn't fly fancy. That wasn't her style. Her style was ruthless and brutally effective.

There was a reason her call sign was Ghost… because her targets didn't know she was there until she took them out. Within seconds she had him in her sights and locked on, the sound of weapons lock filling her cockpit.

"And boss goes in for the win!" Havoc crowed as Zara's targeting system painted the Latharian ship with an ominous red glow.

She grinned. Let him see how it felt to be in someone else's crosshairs for a change.

"Major Reid, this is Traax K'Saan. Stand down immediately." The lord starfighter's distinctive voice crackled over the comms, harsh and demanding.

Zara's grin widened, petty satisfaction running through her. He'd ignored her hails, and now she would return the favor. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the hum of her engines.

Her finger hovered over the trigger, as the temptation to fire filled her. She could imagine the look on his face, the shock and anger as his ship shuddered under her assault. He tried to shake her lock, his fighter's movements growing increasingly erratic. But she wouldn't let him go, her pursuit relentless as she matched his every twist and turn.

Traax… now she knew his name. Right before she blew him out of space.

"Major Reid, answer me!"

His voice was filled with frustration, and she grunted. Let him see what it felt like to be outmatched. Let him feel the same frustration she had when he had dismissed her and her pilots so easily.

But… despite the fact he and his group had been assholes and tried to show her ladies up, the Lathar were their allies. Her point made, she disengaged, pulling up and away from Traax's fighter and waggling her wings in a taunting flourish. She knew it was petty, knew she shouldn't take such pleasure in his discomfort.

But damn, it felt good.

"Approaching the end of our patrol route, Major," Echo reported. "Should we head back to base?"

She exhaled slowly, bringing herself back to level after the impromptu "dogfight."

"That's an affirmative, Echo," she said, her tone even. "Ladies, let's head back home."

The One-Ten disengaged and left the Latharian fighters in their wake. They'd made their point, loud and clear. The Latharians might have superior technology, but Earth had pilots with more than enough skill and courage to play them at their own game.

The journey back to base passed in a blur as she repeated the encounter in her mind, noting how the Latharian fighters had moved and responded to their plays. She barely registered the chatter of her pilots over the comms, their voices tinged with excitement and pride at their successful maneuvers.

She didn't bat so much as an eyelid when the Latharian fighters sped past, their ships cutting through the void like blackened arrows.

"Looks like they're in a hurry to get back," Burner commented. "Perhaps they left the oven on."

They approached Devan Station, and Zara keyed her comm to announce their arrival, but flight control beat her to it.

"One-Ten, this is Devan Station Flight Control. You are cleared for landing on the secondary flight deck. Welcome home."

She landed precisely, feeling the moment the ship's automated systems took over. The magnetic clamps engaged with a soft thunk as the ship settled onto the pad.

Either side of her on the flight deck, the other human pilots were going through the same process, their ships settling into their assigned berths like pieces on a chessboard. The deck was a hive of activity, deck crew and maintenance bots swarming over the ships to check for damage and refueling them ready for the next mission.

She popped her canopy, the rush of cool air a welcome relief after the close confines and recycled air of the cockpit. Clambering out of the ship, she bit back a groan as her joints complained about being in the same position for so long.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath. "I'm getting too old for this crap."

As her boots hit the deck with a dull thud, she straightened, spotting him immediately.

The lord starfighter himself.

Traax stood at the flight deck, his expression dark and forbidding. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his posture rigid and unyielding.

"Fuck, he looks like a bulldog chewin' a wasp and no mistake," someone said behind her.

Anger hit Zara hard and fast. Of course he would be here, waiting to confront her… He was probably about to demand that she explain her actions. As if he and his sodding fighters hadn't carved up her squad's flight vectors.

Well, if he wanted a fight, he was going to get one. Her teeth clenched, she stormed across the deck toward him, each step ringing out like a gunshot. Her pilots followed behind her in a silent show of support.

As she drew closer to him, she could see the tension in his frame, the way his muscles seemed coiled beneath his uniform… like a spring ready to snap. His amber eyes blazed as his gaze locked on to hers.

She refused to be intimidated by an arrogant Latharian, no matter how imposing he might be or what his fancy titles were.

She stopped mere inches from him, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body through her flight suit, and jabbed a hard finger into his chest.

"Don't you ever put my squadron in fucking danger like that again," she snarled, her voice low and deadly.

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a sharp shake of her head.

"I'm not done talking yet. You ever do that to my pilots again and I don't care who the fuck you are, you could be the emperor himself, I won't just stop at weapons lock. I'll do the fucking universe a favor and pull the goddamn trigger."

Humans confused him.

Traax leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath his weight as he surveyed the Nebula Lounge. The pilot's bar was a hotbed of chaos, voices and laughter clashing with the pounding bass of the music. Latharian warriors, still in their flight leathers, crowded around the tables the humans sat at, curiosity in their eyes.

Taking a sip of his drink, he savored the burn as the amber liquid slid down his throat to his stomach. Beside him, Zhain nursed his own glass, his pale hair picking up the pinks and purples of the lights above them. They'd come here to unwind after a long shift, but Traax couldn't stop his mind from racing, replaying the earlier encounter.

He didn't want to admit it but the human pilots had surprised him. He'd expected them to be weak, their skills no match for Latharian precision. But they'd held their own. More than held their own. Their formations had been tight and their maneuvers sharp. Especially hers. Major Reid. She'd flown like a demon, her ship a blur of speed as she'd danced through his wing's defenses.

His jaw clenched. He'd underestimated her, and that got to him in ways he hadn't anticipated. He was lord starfighter, the best pilot in the Latharian fleet. But she'd managed to get him in her crosshairs, her weapons locked on his ship. Even if just for a moment, it was something he wouldn't forget for a long time.

"I don't think she likes you," Zhain said in a low voice, tipping his glass toward the human group across the bar, but Traax knew who he meant.

"Indeed," he replied, his voice clipped as he watched the human major. She sat with her pilots but off to the side, watching them as they chatted with the Latharian pilots who had approached them.

The memory of her stalking away from him earlier was etched into his brain. He'd never seen a female so furious, and… by the gods, she'd been glorious.

Zhain leaned in. "And it looks like Kaaz has definitely taken a shine to that little human."

Traax followed his gaze to where the deck chief stood, deep in conversation with a tiny human engineer. Kaaz's face was softened by an uncharacteristic smile, his posture relaxed as he listened to her talk.

"Hmmm." He grunted and took another swallow of his drink.

He wasn't surprised at the younger pilots flocking around the humans. They were a novelty, their presence on the station a source of endless fascination for the Latharian warriors. But normally, they were contained to the mate program area, safely away from the warriors, as they waited to be matched to their mates. But these humans were different. While they were just as beautiful as the other human females, they were harder somehow. No one would mistake them for anything other than the warriors they were.

His gaze drifted back to Major Reid. She was different from the females he'd glimpsed on his few trips to the mate program area. She had a strength, a steely determination that defied her small frame. He watched as one of her pilots reached for another drink. Reid shook her head in a silent command. The woman hesitated and then chose water instead.

Intrigued, Traax stood up. Zhain's eyebrows shot up, but he stayed silent as Traax crossed the bar. The other warriors' eyes followed him, their conversations pausing as he passed, and the two young pilots heading toward Reid quickly stepped aside, not daring to challenge the lord starfighter.

He dropped into the seat next to her, and she glanced at him. Instantly, the expression in her eyes hardened. This close, he could see the dusting of freckles across her nose and the way her auburn hair curled at the nape of her neck, trying to escape from the band she'd caught it in.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, indicating the young pilots as they skulked off.

He shrugged, balancing his glass on his knee. "Because I wanted to."

She frowned, a tiny crease appearing between her brows. He instantly became fascinated with it, wanting to lean forward and smooth it away with his thumb.

"Okay," she said. "Let's try this again. Why are you talking to me? You don't like me."

She was blunt. He'd give her that.

Shaking his head, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I didn't say that."

"You don't like humans then." Her eyes narrowed in challenge.

Traax paused to consider his words carefully. She was right. He didn't like humans. They were weak, genetically and technologically inferior. But... she was different. A fire in her, a strength, called to something deep within him.

"Humans, no. You, yes. Maybe."

"Well, aren't I the honored one."

He tilted his head. "Yes, you should be. I am lord starfighter."

She snorted; her expression unreadable as she matched him look for look.

"Latharians really don't get sarcasm. Do they?"

He blinked. The idea that she wouldn't be honored by his attentions hadn't occurred to him. But it was written as plain as day on her face.

The tension grew, the sounds of the bar fading as they locked eyes. His heart raced, his skin tingling with an unfamiliar sensation. What about her got under his skin?

He leaned closer, his arm brushing against hers. She didn't pull away, but he could see the wariness in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders. He inhaled, catching a hint of her scent beneath the recycled air of the station—clean and bright, like the first breath of air after a long flight.

"You flew well today," he said, the words feeling strange on his tongue. He wasn't used to giving compliments, especially not to humans.

Her eyebrows shot up.

"Thanks," she said slowly, watching him as if she wasn't sure how to respond. "You weren't so bad yourself."

He chuckled, the deep sound filling the air around them. "High praise, coming from you."

She shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I call it like I see it. You might be a dick, but you can fly."

"A dick?" He barked a laugh. She was honest. Blunt, even. It was refreshing, especially after the endless politics and maneuvering of the Latharian court. "Not many people would dare call me such a thing."

She shrugged. "As I said, I call it like I see it."

"Your pilots, they respect you," he said, nodding toward the group of females nearby. "They listen to you."

Zara glanced at them and smiled. "They're a good team. The best."

"You care about them." It wasn't a question.

She lifted her chin. "Of course I do. They're my responsibility. More than that, they're my friends. I would trust any of them with my life."

He nodded, the ice clinking in his glass as he took a sip of his drink. Zhain caught his eye from across the room, his lips quirking up at the corners. Traax ignored him, keeping his attention on the female beside him.

"Why did you join the military?" he asked suddenly.

An odd look crossed her face, gone before he could analyze it.

"My parents were both pilots. They were killed in a flyer accident a long time ago. Before I joined up…" She trailed off, her fingers tightening around her glass.

He didn't press her, sensing the pain behind her words even though her tone was tight and controlled. He knew what it was like to lose someone. That aching void in your chest. He'd lost his own mother to the plague when he was little more than a boy.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

She shook her head, her hair brushing against her shoulders. "It was a long time ago." She took a deep breath and then shrugged. "I wanted to make them proud. To carry on their legacy."

He nodded. "That's a noble goal."

She cut him a look. "What about you? Why did you become the lord starfighter?"

The question caught him off guard. No one had ever asked him that before. His father had been lord starfighter before him, and it was often assumed he had taken the role because one of his father's sons would take his place when he died.

But the truth was a lot more complicated than that.

"I had to," he said after a long pause. "Even though I am the oldest son and should continue our line, my brother was supposed to take the role. But he was too reckless to be a pilot. He would have gotten himself killed, or worse, gotten others killed."

Her eyes widened. "Oh shit. So you took it on instead?"

Traax nodded, his jaw tight. "A K'Saan of our line must be lord starfighter. I had to protect him. And our family's honor." He shook his head, a short, bitter laugh escaping him. "Not that he ever appreciated it. He resents me for it, I think. And for always cleaning up his messes."

She was silent for a long moment, tilting her glass in delicate fingers to make the liquid within swirl against the sides. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "That must have been hard. To always be the responsible one… the one who had to make the tough choices."

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. He'd never spoken of this before, not to anyone. But something about her, about the way she looked at him, made him want to tell her everything.

"It was," he admitted with a grunt. "But I would do it again. For my family, for my people. It's my duty."

She nodded. "Yeah, I totally get that."

The moment stretched between them. Then she blinked, as if coming back to herself, and glanced around the bar.

"Looks like they want to lock up. I should go," she said, setting her glass on the table. "We have an early start tomorrow."

He stood, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor. She rose as well, her movements graceful despite the long day. She turned to leave but then paused and looked back at him over her shoulder.

"Thank you," she said in a low voice. "For the chat. It was... nice."

He inclined his head, a slow smile tugging at his lips. "The pleasure was mine."

She held his gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable in her eyes. Then she turned and walked away, her steps sure and steady.

He watched her go, his heart beating a little faster in his chest. Then he shook his head, a rueful chuckle escaping his lips. What was he thinking? She was human, and he was Lathar. They were too different, their worlds too far apart.

No way could they be anything other than… colleagues? Could they?