Breaking Sky (8 page)

The syrup was a golden brown lake spreading across Chase's plate. Her French toast was a raft to nowhere.

“Hey, Ender, come back to the starship,” Pippin said from across the table.

“I hate when you call me Ender.” She skewered her fork through the starchy stack. “And what does that even mean?”

“It means I'm worried about you.”

“Wasn't Ender the boy the military used to beat all those bugs?”

“It's just a story,” Pippin said. “What I wouldn't give to be battling swarms of crickets instead of the Ri Xiong Di.”

Crickets?
What was happening? Chase's ears still hummed from the roar of collapsing buildings, her throat stung from the smoke, and yet it was French toast morning in the chow hall. “This doesn't feel right.” She motioned to the crowd of cadets elbow-jostling over vats of syrup. “Everything seems normal.”

Six hours ago, the flight back to the Star had been the tensest experience of Chase's life. Her fists had stayed tight, her body hunched forward—all the while expecting red drones to drop in at her, missiles hot. Her still-depleted adrenaline levels left her feeling like her head was sliding off her neck.

Chase skewered her stack with her fork. “Surely we're at war after last night.”

“The whole thing'll be classified.” Starchy globs rolled around Pippin's mouth with each word. She knew better than to try to talk to him now; he was serious about breakfast.

“So many people died,” she murmured. It couldn't be swept under the rug. And what about Streaker Team
Phoenix
? As soon as they landed at the Star, Kale and a handful of other officers had swept the Canadians into the cadet-restricted section of the base. Chase might not see Tristan again until they faced off at the government trials in two and a half months.

Tristan
. She couldn't think of him as Arrow. Not after the way they had blown into each other through the explosions and flames.

There had to be aftermath. Not the least of which might be that she'd broken direct orders in landing on JAFA's runway,
and
she'd rammed that hangar door open. Would Kale call Tourn again? Would her father appear to discipline her? She could only imagine what Tourn would say if he found out that she used a multibillion-dollar jet as a battering ram…

When she looked up, Pippin had paused mid-chew. Stunned. “Can we help you?” he asked.

Sylph sat down beside Chase, nearly on top of her. The blonde's tray banged into Chase's, knocking her fork across the table. “The enemy of our enemy is our friend.”

“Come again?” Pippin asked.

Riot put his tray down beside Pippin and gave Chase a smile that she glanced away from.

Sylph sighed. “It means—”

“I know what it means, Sylph,” Pippin said. “Do
you
?”

“We need to stick together.” Sylph took Chase's shoulder, violating their long-standing “no touching unless assaulting” policy. “That third Streaker team is our enemy.”

“For the trials,” Chase amended.

“For everything. We have to win, and we'll last longer if we gang up on them.” Sylph looked around the table like she was about to give an executive command. “We're going to take
Phoenix
down. I don't know what they're playing at, but I'm. Not. Going. To. Lose. Especially not to Canadians.”

Chase shifted under Sylph's glare. Before last night she might have had a similar drive, but things had changed when she'd worked with Tristan and his RIO to get the wreckage off
Dragon
's nose. “So your plan is what exactly?”

“Step one is discussing our weaknesses. I'll tell you what you do wrong, and then you share how you think I might improve.”

“That sounds like it will go well,” Chase muttered.

Pippin started choking on a muted laugh.

Sylph wasn't budging for humor. “We're going to best them
before
the trials. Learn their weaknesses and exploit them.”

Chase fetched her fork and reskewered her breakfast. “Sylph, we probably won't even see them again until January. No doubt they're on the other end of North America by now.”

“Lesson one.” Sylph turned Chase's head by her chin, aiming her attention to a table overflowing with cadets. Tristan and his RIO were seated among them.
Laughing
. The image hit her all wrong. After last night, what in the world could they find funny?

“You have no peripheral vision, Nyx. It's how I've outmaneuvered you like ninety percent of the time.”

Chase shrugged out of Sylph's hold at the same time Tristan eyed her across the room. He got up immediately and began to cross the distance between them, RIO in tow.

“Game on,” Sylph whispered in Chase's ear. Chase swatted her away just as Streaker Team
Phoenix
stopped before them.

Riot broke the silence. “Hi…guys. How are we liking our stay at the Star? Looks like you've already made some ground crew friends. A little tip? Flyboys don't hang out with them.”

Chase caught herself rolling her eyes on that point. After last night, she had trouble imagining how it could possibly matter who hung out with whom. They could all be at war by tomorrow. She was just about to tell Riot to shut up when Tristan maneuvered first.

He stuck out a hand to Sylph much like he'd done to Chase when they first met, an easy smile on his face. “You must be Sylph. I'm Tristan Router. Lovely flyby last night.”

Sylph ignored his hand, stood, and swept her long braid behind her shoulder. “I'm aware of who you are. Don't daydream that I'll celebrate it.” She faced the group. “Kale ordered us to report to the conference room next to his office for debriefing at oh eight hundred. All of us.” Her whole body seemed to go ice-hard as she shouldered past Tristan and his RIO. More so than she ever did around Chase.

Sylph headed for the door, and Riot and Pippin stood to empty their trays.

Riot banged his tray over the trashcan and chatted up
Phoenix
's RIO. “I'm Riot. This is Pippin.”

“Really, I'm Henry,” Pippin said. “You remember me. You stood on my face.”

“Sure, I remember,” the broad-shouldered man-boy said. “No hard feelings?”

“'Course not,” Pippin said.

“I'm Romeo.”

Pippin seemed like he'd gotten conked in the head. Chase wondered if he was about to execute some revenge for getting stomped on, but that's not what came out. “Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?”

It was a weird moment. Even Riot was dumbfounded, or at least he looked dumber than usual.

Romeo clapped Pippin's shoulder. “
La
loi
est-elle de notre côté, si je dis oui
?”

“
Non
.” Pippin laughed real hard at that, and it got right under Chase's fingernails.

“That's great. There's a RIO trio now,” she said to herself, enjoying the rhyme. She watched the boys walk toward the door and a scowling, cross-armed Sylph. “What was all that about anyway?”

“They just had a Shakespeare moment,” Tristan said. “In French. Romeo loves that stuff. He thinks it helps him win favor with the ladies.”

“Pippin loves that stuff too,” Chase said. “Guess that means he'll forgive your RIO for the bashing the other day.”

She had to sidestep Tristan to put her tray on the conveyor belt. While she plopped her silverware into the sudsy tub, a group of freshmen surrounded Tristan. She recognized Stephens and Helena from her ground crew fan club.

“Arrow, have you seen the rec room yet? We could meet you there tonight. Show you around,” Stephens said.

Tristan said he would meet them. And then he said good-bye to half of them by name, apologizing to the three he didn't know yet.

The laid-back, overly friendly attitude Chase had hated the moment she met Tristan was back. Once more, he reminded her of someone who'd never known a second of crap in his whole life. But now she knew that wasn't true—it couldn't be after last night.

Chase took in every angle and curve of his profile as they walked toward the conference room. The insanely heroic boy who'd shielded her from a fuel blast
with
his
body
had to be under that civil expression. So where was he? What was this act about?

“You're off to a running start, Arrow,” she said.

“I have a feeling I'm going to be here for a while. Might as well make friends.”

She grunted.

“You're not very pleasant considering what happened.”

“And you're too pleasant”—she paused—“
considering
. Aren't you the least bit upset about last night?”

Tristan stopped, turned sideways in the hall like he'd forgotten where he was going. Where he was. His face had the exact same washed-blank look that he had after the fuel truck exploded. Like everything he loved had just burned…

Oh God.

“I'm sorry.” Chase touched his arm, but he didn't move. “I'm a jerk. You'll see. No one really likes me, except for Pippin, but I think he's been stuck with me for too long. Stockholm syndrome, you know?”

Tristan looked down at the spot where she held his sleeve. She let go. Chase's heart was beating faster than it should. What in the blazes had she just said? It was like she'd sneezed truth all over the front of his uniform.

His voice came up from somewhere deep. “I'm fine, Chase.”

“People call me Nyx.”

He smiled, but it wasn't the polite, all-purpose look from before. This was a little sad. A little…beautiful. He pulled his hair into a ponytail and eyed the conference room door. “I think we're about to find out what happened last night.”

“Or that we're not a high enough rank to merit answers,” she said.

“We figure out what they're hiding by the way they try to hide it, Chase. Isn't that how you tracked me down?” He opened the door for her.

Chase hadn't considered the fact that Tourn might be there. That he might have flown in during the night to attend this meeting. But those were her immediate thoughts when she entered the room overflowing with officers.

The Canadian uniforms were a lighter shade of blue than Kale and the other U.S. officers' deep navy, but otherwise they were very much the same. She went shoulder by shoulder, looking for the circle of five stars that denoted her father's elite position. She didn't check faces, unwilling to make eye contact without warning.

But he wasn't there.

Kale ushered the Streaker teams to sit around a grand oak table along with a white-haired civilian, who had pencils stuck through the worn holes of her lab coat like safety pins. Tristan sat beside her, speaking into the woman's ear, and Chase was surprised to recognize her as one of the survivors Tristan had escorted through the hole in the hangar door.

When he caught Chase watching him, he stared back, and she could sense the lingering pain she'd evoked in the hallway. He was messed up about what had happened at JAFA—and why shouldn't he be? If Chase lost the Star, she had no doubt that the whole sky would fall. But she couldn't help wondering why he was so interested in pretending like it
didn't
bother him.

Sylph elbowed Chase so hard, so sharp, that she let out a gasp. “Eyes on your own paper,” the blonde muttered.

Kale stepped closer and put a hand on Chase's shoulder. The other officers were finishing their individual conversations, passing stacks of forms around. Kale stayed close to her back, and what felt like favoritism turned into a distinct warning when he started to speak.

“You're here to be debriefed about the events of last night.” Kale pressed a button on the console at the center of the table, and a screen emerged, buzzing with static. “General Tourn, we are all present.”

Her father's face was
there
. Clipped gray hair and a uniform with such sharp lines that it already felt like it was cutting her. The room hummed with people responding to her father—the way rooms always went electric because of his name.

Kale squeezed her shoulder. “He can't see us,” he whispered.

The image of her father grunted, followed by a voice that sounded like an avalanche of gravel. “On October 28, 2048, the Royal Canadian Junior Air Force Academy was bombed from within. Casualties are estimated at eighty-seven. Two spies associated with Ri Xiong Di are in custody.”

The rest of the room probably thought he was reading a prepared statement because he sounded so unemotional. Chase knew better. He always sounded collected. Arranged. He lived and breathed orders and assignments. “Honed detachment,” she called it. It'd been one of his genetic gifts to Chase, although it was failing her now. Failing big-time.

She began to shake, and Kale's other hand clamped down on her shoulder.

Tourn continued. “It is our understanding that Ri Xiong Di is aware of the events of five days ago when a U.S. cadet pilot interacted with a Canadian pilot, breaking the Declaration of No Assistance.” Chase glanced to Tristan, but his gaze was locked on the grain of the wood table. “Neither Canada nor the U.S. has received an official message from the New Eastern Bloc, and we have decided not to release the news of the bombing to the public. JAFA's destruction will be attributed to a fire. You will all sign confidentiality documents.”

Kale handed out a sheet of paper to everyone seated, and Chase looked down at the blur of words. Her father was
there
. Sitting at the center of the table like a Roman bust. Did he have any thoughts about her? Anything at all?

“Now. What I'm about to tell you is top secret and will not leave this room.” He cleared his throat again, and she might have been the only person to understand that he meant it as a sort of sigh. “An American-Canadian Alliance is beginning to emerge. We hope the public news of this arrangement will coincide with the government boards' favorable decision on the Streaker models. As a united front, and with advanced airpower, we will stand a chance at breaking the Second Cold War standoff.

“In the meantime, the Canadian cadets designated as Streaker Team
Phoenix
will continue training at the United Star Academy in anticipation of the trials in January. Is Dr. Adrien present?”

The elderly woman sat forward, speaking with an accent that, like Romeo, belied her French Canadian heritage. “I am, General Tourn.”

“Will you be able to continue your work from the Star?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You are all dismissed as soon as you have signed the documentation.”

The cadets bent over the sheets of paper, signing without reading. Chase squeezed her capped pen, distracted. More military secrets like the third Streaker—except this time Chase was on the side of those who knew. It was a slight shock to realize that knowing wasn't any better or easy. Secrets were still secrets. She listened to the scratch of signatures—and before she was ready, everyone was standing. Leaving. She hurried to catch up, but she wasn't fast enough.

“Cadet Harcourt, remain,” Tourn said. “Everyone else is dismissed.”

Her heart took off in too many directions. People sifted out of the room. Sylph cast a look back at her that was tinted with curiosity. Tristan paused at the door until Romeo tugged him along by the shoulder. Pippin hadn't moved. Chase had avoided looking at him throughout the whole meeting. Her RIO was in a unique position to understand how painful it was for her to see her father, and that made Chase completely unable to make eye contact with him.

There were very few things in the world she was worse at dealing with than pity.

Kale took Pippin's paper and pointed toward the exit. Pippin went, and she caught a glimpse of his panic. The door shut loudly, and for a second, Chase thought Kale had left too. But the brigadier general stood by the door, chin raised in a sort of defiant pride. He held a finger to his lips and motioned for her to speak.

“I'm here, General Tourn,” she managed.

“You acted to assist those people.” For a heartbreaking moment she thought he was going to give her a strand of praise. “That is
the
only
reason you are still a pilot. Understood?”

“Yes, General Tourn.”

His watery gray eyes stared hard into the camera, but they were so unseeing that it made her feel transparent. The picture fuzzed and then blanked. He'd hung up.

Chase made a guttural, wounded sound. She'd been so prepared for his harshest words that the brevity of the ones he'd given her smashed her to pieces.

• • •

A half hour later, Chase was still in the conference room. Kale had stayed. He sat next to her and kept quiet while she bled tears as though she were twelve years old all over again.

When she didn't have anything left, Kale finally spoke. “Get some rest. And have a little fun where you can find it. You're off restricted duty. Your father might not share my outlook, but I believe you showed bravery and good judgment when you aided
Phoenix
's escape and rescued those people in the hangar.”

Chase took a breath that was supposed to steady her but made her shake instead.

“We'll get you back in the air as soon as possible.” Kale knew her so well. She needed
Dragon
. Direction and speed.

“Thank you for staying. I know how ridiculous this is.”

“Ridiculous?”

“I've spent so long not caring about him.” She scrubbed at the tears on her cheeks. “But this looks an awful lot like caring.”

“I wouldn't judge. He made me cry once.”

Chase choked on a laugh. “You're lying, General.”

“No. He beat me senseless. It was my first semester at the academy. He was older, overseeing a drill, and I dropped behind during a running exercise and gave up. When he came back to find me, I was sitting on the edge of the road with my head between my knees.” Kale paused. “I was in the infirmary for two nights after he was finished with me.”

Chase stood and it wasn't so bad. She opened the door. “So my father's always been an asshole, is that it? Sometimes I hope that…after what he did…maybe that changed him into the Tourn he is today. Maybe he was once human.”

Kale looked strained. No doubt he didn't want to talk about Tourn's nuclear history. “I'll tell you this, Harcourt. I've never given up midstride again.”

Chase left wondering if Kale was implying there was a method to her father's madness—but her thoughts stalled there. Tristan was on the hallway floor, his arms over his knees and his head back against the wall. He looked like a strange mixture of lost and found.

He looked like he had been listening the whole time.

“The pilot who dropped that bomb. Who killed all those Filipinos…”

She stumbled, trying to walk away fast, but the hall was a tunnel and his voice was strong.

“He's your
father
?”

Chase should have stopped. Turned back. She should have sworn him to secrecy with some massive bribe or threat. She should have done something, but her fear dawned blindingly. And she ran.