ë Archer - Chain Reaction

Calder’s jaw tightened. “I also went through the data and sensor logs in your ship after it was returned to base. Ran diagnostic protocols and did some calculations. I was able to extrapolate the basic construction of the disruptor device.”

The holo changed from an image of the Black Wraith to an innocuous collection of circuits and cables. With her not being a tech, it could have been a schematic of a Voaxian self-pleasuring device, but she studied it, trying to make sense of its configuration.

“This is just a theory as to its appearance,” Calder went on, “but the operation of it remains the same. In order to create the disruption pulse that’s keyed to the Black Wraith’s energy profile, the device requires a particular power source. The power source has a distinctive wavelength signature.”

“Can we track the wavelength signature?” Kell asked.

“I can tune a ship to trace it.”

“Leading us right to the bastard who disabled my ship.” Celene could already taste blood, and she welcomed it. “Nicely done, Lieutenant.”

Calder accepted her praise with a terse nod, though his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. It was clear he took pride in his work, a sentiment she understood well.

“I’ve also determined the identity of the bastard in question.”

She started, hearing the edge in his voice and the change in his language. Who knew tech-heads could sound so angry?

He entered some information into the holo display and the image of a man appeared.

Everyone cursed, including Admiral Gamlyn. The man wore an 8^th Wing uniform.

“He’s one of us?” Mara spat.

“Was.” Calder’s voice glinted with anger. “Lieutenant Commander Torrin Marek. He resigned six solar months ago. Said he’d had enough of working for no profit.”

“That’s what he put in his withdrawal log?” Celene couldn’t believe Marek’s arrogance. She scrutinized his image. A perfectly average face looked back with unseeing eyes. Marek had ridges down his cheeks, common for people from the Alua System. Everything about him seemed ordinary. But treachery appeared harmless—she knew that now.

Calder shook his head. “It’s what he told me.” His lips tightened. “Marek was in Engineering. I used to work with him.”

Different as she and Lieutenant Calder were, they shared anger and feelings of betrayal. She saw it in his face, in his eyes.

She wanted to hit something. Wanted to shout herself hoarse. Bad enough knowing there was a device out there that completely hamstrung the 8^th Wing’s most crucial weapon. But the fact that it had been created by one of their own…

“I’ll kill the fucker,” Kell said.

“No, you won’t, Commander.” The admiral stepped between Kell and the holo of Marek. “The traitor will be court-martialed. When we find him.”

“This is to be a stealth mission, then,” Celene said. “So he can’t see us coming and run.”

“Correct, Lieutenant. I debated whether or not sending you would be a good idea—”

“I need to do this,” she pressed. Vengeance belonged to her.

The admiral raised a brow, and Celene collected herself. She couldn’t prove her fitness for the mission by unleashing her anger in front of Admiral Gamlyn.

“Ultimately, Command and I determined that you would be the best pilot for the operation. You’ll have a partner, but the mission shall be yours.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Celene turned to Calder. “So, a ship can be tuned to track the disruptor’s power signature. How long will it take for you to make the necessary adjustments?”

“It’ll be ready to fly today.”

“Lieutenant Calder is one of Engineering’s best,” the admiral said.

As someone who never apologized for her skill as a pilot, Celene appreciated that Calder didn’t mumble something self-deprecating. He looked well aware of his abilities and confident in them. Another surprise.

The admiral continued, “Which is why he is going to be your partner.”

Celene stared at Admiral Gamlyn. That couldn’t be right. She had to have misheard. Her gaze drifted to Calder, hoping to see the same expression of disbelief on his face.

He looked calm. Determined. Not surprised at all.

“Ma’am?” She turned to the admiral.

“As I said, Lieutenant Calder is one of Engineering’s finest. The technological requirements of the mission demand his presence.”

“The power source’s wavelength fluctuates,” Calder explained. “I’ll have to continually adjust the ship’s sensors to trace it accurately.”

“That doesn’t have to be done manually.” Celene stepped closer to Calder.

He didn’t back down. “Actually,” he said, voice and eyes cool, “it does. And when we finally reach Marek he’s going to have very complex security systems in place. You don’t have the skill to disable them.”

The admiral narrowed her eyes. “It sounds like you’re questioning my decision, Lieutenant Jur.”

Damn, she did not want to piss off her commanding officer. “This mission is extremely important to me, ma’am.”

“It’s important to all of 8^th Wing,” came Admiral Gamlyn’s level response. “Not just you.”

Heat crept into her face. “I’m aware of that, ma’am. But couldn’t Commander Frayne be my partner? He’s very adept at engineering.”

“I’ve seen him build some convoluted stuff,” Mara volunteered, then added, “ma’am.”

“Skilled as Commander Frayne is,” the admiral said, “he doesn’t have the abilities the mission demand. Lieutenant Calder’s expertise, as well as his personal knowledge of Marek, make him the ideal candidate.”

“I’m sensing some reluctance to partner with me,” he said drily.

This was not a conversation Celene wanted to have in front of the admiral, nor her friends. She glanced at Admiral Gamlyn. “Permission to speak with Lieutenant Calder in private, ma’am?”

“Briefly, Lieutenant Jur. This mission needs to commence as quickly as possible.”

Celene nodded, then grabbed Calder’s forearm to lead him out of the chamber. He was solid and muscled beneath his uniform, and tension spread through him at the contact of her hand on his arm. Pushing these details aside, she guided him to the door and then out into the corridor. She glanced around. No one was nearby.

Looking up at Calder, she hoped to see some of the easy humor he had displayed in the briefing chamber. Instead his expression was remote, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t going to make this easy. Fine by her. She’d faced tougher obstacles than Lieutenant Calder—like flying through the Qing Meteor Shower with no navigational systems and almost no oxygen in the cockpit.

“Marek’s struck at the heart of the 8^th Wing. He could cripple the entire resistance movement, letting PRAXIS take whatever they want. Enslave everyone for profit.”

Something flared in his eyes before retreating behind cool distance. “That outcome’s already occurred to me.”

“I want Marek. I want to make him pay for betraying the 8^th Wing.”

“We want the same things.”

“Then let me take someone else. Someone trained for combat.” She could name half a dozen Black Wraith pilots she trusted implicitly, and all of them knew their way around a circuit board.

“You think I won’t be able to hold up my end of the fight.” His voice deepened, took on an edge.

“Face it, Calder. You’re NerdWorks. The closest you tech geeks come to combat is all-night Nifalian chess tournaments.”

“I won the last three tournaments.”

She tossed her hands up. “Exactly. I know you’re ranked in Engineering, but no matter what Admiral Gamlyn thinks, eventually this mission is going to boil down to a fight that Marek can’t survive.”

“Agreed.”

She released a breath, relieved. “Good. We’ll just tell the admiral that you will provide all the necessary tech info needed for the mission, and then I can pick a more suitable partner.” Celene started toward the door of the briefing chamber, but she stopped when she realized Calder wasn’t getting out of her way.

He stared down at her, his jaw tight. “The most suitable partner for this mission is me.”

“But we just agreed—”

“I agreed that this mission will ultimately culminate in a battle, and that Marek won’t return to base for a court-martial. I didn’t agree to slink away so you could pick one of your Black Wraith hotshot buddies to take my place.”

They glared at one another, neither budging. Apparently she’d underestimated him. She had never backed down from a challenge, and she certainly wouldn’t start with Lieutenant Calder. At least he didn’t try and lick her boots, the way some other crew members might.

“So you believe yourself perfectly capable of handling yourself in a fight?”

He lifted his chin. “Yes.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “All right, Calder. Let’s put all that Nifalian chess knowledge to the test. It’s based on ancient war games, after all.”

He raised a brow. “A tournament?”

“Better than a tournament.” She took a step toward him and saw the faintest trace of alarm in his eyes. Perfect. “You and me. One round in the combat simulator.”

“I’ve trained in SimCom,” he said, confident.

“Fine. No problem, then. We go in together, fight a round against the generated opponents. If you leave on your own two feet at the end, then you can partner with me on this mission.”

He nodded. “I agree to your terms.”

She had to give him credit—he seemed undaunted. “Oh,” she added, “and the safety protocols will be off.” She smiled. “It’ll be much better than chess.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

Nils glanced up from strapping on his protective gauntlets to see Commander Frayne standing at the gear room entrance. Frayne was big and could look mean as hells when he wanted to, but right now Nils’s mind was on the other side of the SimCom Room door.

“I know how to fight.” Satisfied with his thick gauntlets, Nils checked the readings on his plasma blaster. Everything looked optimal. He never expected any less from his equipment, but he couldn’t risk any kind of failure. Not for this mission. And not in front of Celene.

Don’t think about her. You’ll only fuck things up if you let her get into your head.

“Not fighting the SimCom.” Frayne stalked further into the gear room and leaned against the storage lockers. “Celene.”

“I can handle her.” His voice held a lot more confidence than he felt.

Frayne chuckled. “If you think that, you’re definitely crazy.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and Nils fought the urge to check his own arms for bulging muscles. Sure, Nils trained, and hard, but when it came to sheer physical intimidation factor, Frayne’s readings were off the charts. It was rumored that the commander used to be a street brawler on his homeworld. Based on the available evidence, Nils didn’t doubt it.

“I’ve seen Celene in combat,” Frayne continued. “Hells, I’ve even gone a couple of rounds with her in SimCom. She didn’t beat me, but damn if she didn’t give me a run for my creds.”

“You can’t discourage me, Commander.” Nils replaced his plasma blaster in his thigh holster. He checked the rest of his gear on his belt. Everything was exactly in place, as he knew it would be. He didn’t get to the top of the Engineering food chain by being sloppy.

Nils stared hard at Frayne. “Marek betrayed the 8^th Wing and he betrayed me. I want on this mission. And neither you nor Lieutenant Jur can dissuade me.”

At the mention of the traitor’s name, Frayne scowled. If Nils wasn’t prepping for another fight, he might have been intimidated by the commander’s anger.

“Wish I had your tech skills.” Frayne’s jaw tightened. “I want to be the one who kills that sipkaswine. Not just for his treachery to the 8^th Wing, but because his actions caused Celene to be captured.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “The Wraith wasn’t the only thing that was going to be sold.”

Nils’s gut clenched. “I’ll find Marek. And make him pay.”

Satisfied with this answer, Frayne smiled. Actually, it was more of a teeth baring than a smile, but the intent was clear. “If Celene has her way, you’ve got to survive her and the SimCom first.”

Nils moved past him, and they walked out of the gear room together toward the area of the base reserved for the combat simulator chambers. As they walked, they passed 8^th Wing soldiers, who all stared at Nils as if he were walking to the neutralizing capsules.