Текст книги "Chain Reaction"
Автор книги: Zoë Archer
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 10 страниц)
Chapter Two
“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 thWing 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 thWing, 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 thWing soldiers, who all stared at Nils as if he were walking to the neutralizing capsules.
He couldn’t let them intimidate him. If he let his concentration waver for a microsecond, everything would spin out into chaos. He liked Engineering because it meant he could harness chaos, tame it. The variables and the parameters were his to control. Science and tech could be relied upon, behaving in precise ways that could be predicted and even subverted if one understood them properly.
Much better than dealing with people. Early in his career with 8 thWing, he’d been given the option to pursue medical training. He preferred the constancy of tech. Besides, if he kept all the equipment running properly, there’d be less need for medical attention. 8 thWing troops could engage the enemy in the best ships and with the best weapons he could construct, keeping losses to a minimum. A fair trade.
They approached the SimCom section of the base. He was minutes away from the biggest physical challenge of his life.
“Any advice, Commander?”
“Just watch your ass.” Frayne smiled darkly. “And your balls.”
Waiting outside the SimCom were Admiral Gamlyn, Ensign Skiren and Celene. Skiren’s pretty face lit up when she saw Frayne nearing. Nils’s gaze moved past her to Lieutenant Jur.
She’d changed from her flight suit into PT cargo pants and tank top, divulging in aching detail the strong, sleek lines of her body. Like him, she had a plasma blaster on her thigh. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing the curves of her high cheekbones and the brilliance of her silver eyes. At his approach she raised one brow and her full lips thinned with impatience. She wanted to fight and she wanted to get the mission started, and she looked so damned fierce and beautiful it felt like a sonic blade piercing his chest.
His palms began to sweat. Not precisely the scenario he’d envisioned when he finally claimed her attention. And he had envisioned many, many scenarios.
“Last chance, Calder.” She stalked toward him and put her hands on her hips. “Sub someone else. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
He didn’t want to get hurt, either, but he’d do whatever it took to earn his place on this mission.
“Whenever you’re ready, Lieutenant Jur.”
She growled in frustration and then stalked to the SimCom chamber door.
“Are you sure about this, Lieutenant Calder?” Admiral Gamlyn asked.
“Absolutely, ma’am. I’m the best person to accompany Lieutenant on this operation and if I have to go through SimCom to prove that to her—” he spread his hands, “—so be it.”
“SimCom with the safety protocols off.” Ensign Skiren sounded almost gleeful. Given that she used to be part of the galaxy’s criminal element, her delight in possible bloodshed was not a surprise.
Nils nodded. “I can do this.”
“Your call, Lieutenant Calder.” The admiral punched in a combat sequence into the panel beside the chamber door. She keyed in her secure code and performed a genetic scan in order to unlock the safety protocols. Had he wanted to, Nils could’ve breached the security protocol—he’d been the lead engineer on the SimCom overhaul two years ago. Hardly anything on base didn’t wear his fingerprints. Hardly anything tech, anyway.
With a hiss and beep, the door to the SimCom chamber slid open.
Celene strode into the chamber without faltering. She grinned at him over her shoulder. “Time to fight, NerdWorks.”
He straightened his shoulders, took a breath and then walked inside.
He strode right into anarchy. Plasma shots burst around him and he lowered into a ready stance to avoid their blasts. The SimCom had been programmed with an insertion mission. He found himself outside a guarded compound on a hill, and as he took shelter behind a low retaining wall, beside Celene, he assessed the situation.
“Armed sentries, two-story structure, one front entrance, back entrance as yet undetermined. The number of sentries indicates the objective is likely located on second story.”
Celene ducked as plasma blast shot overhead. She fired back, hitting one of the sentries, then ducked low again. “Who are you talking to?”
“Myself. I need to verbalize the parameters in order to create an appropriate response to the scenario.” He edged up and felt the weight of his plasma blaster in his hand. He took a breath, then fired. Two of the mechanized sentries patrolling the exterior went down.
Celene stared at the smoking forms now lying upon the ground. He was uncertain whether to feel flattered or insulted by the look of shock on her face. Clearly, she hadn’t anticipated him using his weapon, let alone hitting a target.
More sentinels appeared and he took cover as they opened fire.
His blood raced. The sentries shot live ammo. A shot couldn’t kill him, even with the safety protocols off, but getting hit would hurt like a son of a bitch and put him out of commission for several solar weeks. Which had to be Celene’s intention.
“You ever operate on instinct?” Celene asked.
“Instinct isn’t a substitute for informed action.”
She rolled her eyes. “Gods, you really are NerdWorks.”
He had no response to that. He had no response to her, especially when, without warning, she bolted from the shelter of the retaining wall and sped toward the building, firing as she ran.
He shouldn’t stare. This was about the mission and he needed to pass this test, which meant he needed to focus on getting into the structure and obtaining the objective. But he was a man, and a man with functioning eyes. He couldn’t not watch as Lieutenant Celene Jur raced into battle. Her long legs made quick work of the distance. She moved fluidly, yet was deadly and direct, shooting with precision as she ran.
All 8 thWing personnel needed to keep themselves in top form. PT was required of everyone. But Celene was more than fit. She was the faultless alloy of physical capability and unadulterated beauty, lean and elegant as an ancient dueling rapier.
The stories about her are true. She’s the best we have. An untouchable legend. And I am partnered with her.
But not yet. First he had to prove himself in combat. Which meant he couldn’t waste precious time watching her. Nils took a breath, then launched himself from behind the retaining wall. He blasted into the converging sentries as he sprinted toward the entrance of the building. With his free hand, he pulled a device from a pouch attached to his belt and then lobbed it at the guards still standing.
The device detonated, releasing a wave of energy. The sentries remained standing.
“It didn’t work,” Celene shouted at him. Stationed by the front entrance, she continued to fire at the sentries.
He took up position and joined her in keeping the guards from advancing. “Give it a microsecond.”
“We don’t have—” Explosions shook the air. She threw herself down onto the ground, taking cover, then glanced up when she saw the threat wasn’t to her or Nils. “The hells?”
The automated sentries had fired on each other and then detonated in small novas of sparks and metal. Only burning piles of scrap remained.
“A device I built,” he explained. “It scrambles E-grade circuitry, which the sentries clearly had.”
Celene stared up at him, admiration in her silver eyes. It quickly disappeared behind cool efficiency.
He held his hand out to her, and held his breath, waiting for the touch of her skin to his.
She eyed his hand, then stood up on her own. He stifled his disappointment.
“What if we encounter something that isn’t E-grade?”
“Modifications can be made in the field.”
Her nod was clipped, her expression opaque. What’d he expect? Her arms thrown around him as she showered him with praise? Celene was legendary. She expected not just competence, but excellence—from herself and her squad members. Clearly, he had big boots to fill.
Fortunately, he wore very large boots.
A control panel was embedded in the wall beside the front entrance. A quick visual assessment told him that this wasn’t a simple monolevel security system, but a polyplatform defense mechanism. He moved in to hack the computer’s security protocol, but stepped back in surprise as she beat him to it.
She stared at the panel in edged concentration and her fingers flew over the keys. A moment later, the thick door slid open.
Seeing his look of amazement, she grinned. “NerdWorks hasn’t cornered the market on tech savvy.”
Her grin faded when plasma blasts shot through the open doorway. She became the focused soldier once more. Within the chamber were armed human guards. Celene took up position on one side of the door while he took the other side and dropped to one knee. They fired back at the guards, Celene taking the higher targets, Nils aiming for the lower ones.
“The structure’s ground floor,” he catalogued as he shot. “A single, large chamber. Staircase at the far end, metal cargo crates scattered throughout. Must be a storage facility. Six guards armed with plasma blasters. Five,” he amended as Celene took out one of the guards.
“Hey, NerdWorks,” she snapped at him, “keep your play-by-play in your head. Can’t think with your intel spurting all over me.”
How was he was supposed to think when she put images like that in his head?
She jerked her head toward a row of crates inside and they both sped toward the waiting cover. The firefight continued as the guards blocked the path to the second level. He took down one sentry, Celene the other. He allowed himself a moment’s confidence. Practice several times a week on the firing sim ensured that he could hit a moving target from a distance of over a hundred meters. All he needed to do was wait the guards out, and between him and Celene, they’d quickly clear the area, leaving the way free to the objective on the second floor.
After ducking to avoid a volley of plasma fire, he leaned up and took aim. Celene did the same. Just then, one of the guards triggered a device on his gauntlet. An invisible pulse of energy swept through the chamber.
Whatever the guard had activated, Nils didn’t like it. The most dangerous weapons were often the ones you couldn’t see. He aimed and fired.
Or tried to fire. Nothing shot from his blaster, not a plasma burst, not even a spark.
“Fucking escumalhabeast.” Celene glared at her now useless blaster. She shoved it back into her thigh holster and crouched down behind the crates.
He hunkered beside her. “I can take the weapons apart, subvert the malfunction.”
“No time. Any minute, they’re going to rush us.”
His mind spun through the many possibilities as he scanned the environment. Though everything within SimCom was computer generated, it still behaved according to the laws of science.
“There’s delinium chloride in that flame containment canister. I can combine it with—”
She shook her head. “Again, not enough time.”
He scowled. In the absence of a functioning weapon, there had to be something he could do. “Suggestions?”
Celene grinned, and she was once again an intoxicating amalgam of beautiful and dangerous. “We use the best weapons we’ve got.” She tapped her head. “This, and—” she held up her curled fists, “—these.”
“I—”
“Guard my back.” And then she was gone, vaulting over the crates in a blur of motion.
“Damn it.” He wanted more time to think, to prepare, but he holstered his weapon and followed. He ducked behind another row of crates to avoid more blaster fire. The storage containers were staggered throughout the chamber, and he saw Celene diving from one to another, closing in on the guards.
Three of the armed enemy, two of him and Celene, with no weapons. An uneven match, yet she continued to get nearer. He’d have thought her completely out of her mind if he wasn’t busy marveling at her sheer bravado.
If he wanted on this mission, he had to match her audacity with his own.
But simply rushing the guards wouldn’t get the job done. He looked up, searching for inspiration.
Lighting fixtures suspended from cables lined the ceiling. He scanned for an object to throw, but nothing was in reach. He had to act fast, because the guards were edging closer to him and Celene. A projectile was needed, something big and heavy.
His boots. He remembered the supply officer’s comment when he’d come in to replace them. Gods, Calder, you could canoe the damned Light River of Kitara in your boot. Nils had to custom order his gloves too. For a member of Engineering Corps, he had some damned big appendages.
He tore at the straps and buckles of his boots and tugged them off as soon as they were loose enough. Then he leaped up and threw them, one and then the other, at the lighting fixtures.
The boots slammed into the lights. Sparks rained down on the advancing enemy. Celene seized the distraction, just as he’d hoped. She sprinted forward and kicked the gun out of a guard’s hand, then spun to ram her elbow into another guard’s shoulder, forcing him to drop his weapon.
Nils leaped into the fray, feeling the hard concrete floor beneath his feet and trying not to feel too vulnerable without his boots. He tackled the third guard. They rolled on the floor, fighting for the gun. Blocking the enemy’s blows, he shoved his forearm under the guard’s chin, forcing his head back and cutting off his air. Choking, enraged, the guard fought hard. Nils pried the gun from his hand. Using the butt of the weapon, he struck the guard across the face. His assailant went limp, unconscious.
Tucking the blaster into his belt, Nils rolled to his feet and saw Celene battling with the other guards. His mouth hung open. She was as ferocious and beautiful as a Samalian lightning wolf, nothing but speed and deadly intent. Though two guards kept charging at her, she held them back with kicks and punches, almost dance-like in her movements.
But this was no solo performance. She had a partner, and he needed to prove that he deserved on the mission. He couldn’t shoot, not without risking hitting her, leaving him with just one option.
One of the guards stumbled back, repelled by her kick. Nils launched himself at the enemy. He traded blows with the guard and then fought for breath when the enemy’s fist connected with his ribs. He remembered the countless hours he spent training and launched into a combination he had practiced so often it became instinct. A kick, two jabs, an uppercut. The guard dodged some of his strikes, but the others hit home. With a final hit to the jaw, the enemy went down.
He spun when he heard a groan. Celene stood over the prone body of a guard, her hands still raised in a defensive position, her body poised and ready. When the enemy stirred, she dropped to a knee and slammed her fist into his face. He twitched, then went still.
Panting, she glanced up to find Nils watching her. Her gaze slid to the two other guards, also unconscious. When she looked back at him, there was no mistaking the approval in her expression. Approval, and something else. Awareness of him as more than NerdWorks. She actually looked at him as if he were…a man.
Which he most assuredly was. As Celene rose to standing, he became acutely conscious of a very unwanted sensation pulsing through his body. Arousal.
Watching Celene in combat might’ve been the most alluring thing he had ever seen, and he’d watched more than a few sex vids on late, lonely nights. Seeing her in action, with his own blood high from combat, Nils had the strongest urge to stride to her, haul her against him and kiss them both into antigrav.
A number of reasons why he couldn’t do that: they still had to complete SimCom, and she would likely kick him in a very important, very precious place. You didn’t kiss a legend without suffering the consequences.
He turned so she couldn’t see exactly how intriguing his body had found the demonstration of her combat skills. “One level left.”
Holstering the fallen guards’ weapons, she nodded. “I’ll take point. You watch my ass.”
As they slowly edged their way up the stairs, he tried not to watch her ass, but it was a feat even an android couldn’t have accomplished.
“Careful, NerdWorks,” she said over her shoulder. “You’ll get your dick shot off.”
But whether the enemy or she would do the shooting, she didn’t specify. He kept his gaze focused on anything but the sweet curve of her butt. There had been no time to put his boots back on, so he moved quietly up the stairs.
Two more guards waited for them on the second floor. The enemy stood outside a metal-walled enclosure, with a control panel securing the gate. With their commandeered weapons, Nils took down one of the guards, and Celene made fast work of the other.
He reached the control panel before she did. The code took only microseconds to break. Clanging, the bolts within the enclosure released. He pulled the gate open, revealing their objective sitting on a pedestal.
An antique toy blaster.
Chuckling, she strode forward and picked up the toy. She aimed it at Nils and pulled the trigger.
Zap! read the tiny flag that popped out of the barrel.
“Got you.” She smiled and set the toy back down.
As soon as she did, the scene shifted. The storage facility disappeared, as did the fallen guards, the blasters he and Celene had taken from the enemy and everything else. All that remained was him, Celene and his boots lying on the other side of the empty chamber.
She glanced down at his sock-covered feet. “You could crush whole stellar settlements with those things.”
He fought to keep from blushing. Gods, of all things to talk about, and now, the last thing he wanted to discuss was the size of his feet.
The door to the SimCom chamber slid open. Admiral Gamlyn, Commander Frayne and Ensign Skiren walked into the room.
“Well done, Lieutenants.” The admiral held up her digitablet. “Excellent accuracy and problem-solving stats. Top percentile. You two work well together.”
“So, did he pass?” Ensign Skiren directed her question to Celene. “Is he on the mission?”
“The decision is ultimately mine,” Admiral Gamlyn noted. “But I do welcome Lieutenant Jur’s input.”
Celene turned her attention back to Nils. He straightened his shoulders and met her gaze, while his heart beat hard in his throat. The mission to find a traitor was the most important he might ever undertake. He wanted to ensure the safety of the Black Wraith ships, and with them, keep the 8 thWing strong in its fight against PRAXIS. And he wanted Lieutenant Celene Jur’s approval. That victory would be for him alone.
Her expression was cool, assessing, as she gazed at him.
“Cargo is limited,” she said at last. “Don’t pack too much.”
He let out a breath. “Just the essentials and my tech gear. I haven’t confused this operation with shore leave.”
“You’ve got a damned tough mission coming up,” Frayne said. “Not sure if I should envy or pity you.”
“Celene should be careful.” Ensign Skiren chuckled, and eyed Nils. No one doubted that she and Frayne were a couple, but as she sized Nils up, there was healthy feminine appreciation in her gaze. She looked back at Celene, grinning wickedly. “The quiet ones are always the most dangerous.”
