Zarya cocked a slender brow. "Trouble is what we're about, Lieutenant"-she read his nametag-"Blair."
He could live with the retort, but they had already met, and she had not remembered his name. "Maniac here deals in a particular brand of trouble that will get you booted off this ship before you've finished checking in."
She nodded. "I'll take my chances."
Maniac smiled tightly, eyes aglow in the fire of a new ally with whom he intended to bump uglies. "Lady's got taste. Can't fault her there, Ace."
"Ten-hut!" someone shouted.
Lieutenant Commander Jeanette "Angel" Deveraux hustled into the room, stepped onto the dais, then moved behind the holograph control podium. "At ease. Give us another moment, people." She flipped nervously through pages on a clipboard and frowned.
Blair remained at attention, noting how Angel's long, wavy mane had been pulled into a bun and how the overhead lights cast her in a sheen that suggested her call sign. He imagined himself close to her and reminisced on the moment he had nearly kissed her pouty lips. He felt the sudden urge to damn social convention and military regulations to hell, march up there, and take her. If nothing else, that would leave Maniac speechless. He sighed inwardly and continued to stare.
Yes, she looked well for a woman still recovering from frostbite and hypothermia. She had saved the Tiger Claw by destroying a Kilrathi Skipper missile, but her Rapier had been wrecked by the blast wave and she had ejected in her pod. Blair knew very well what it felt like to float powerless and adrift in space, waiting for the cold to take you.
A blow to the shoulder broke his thought. "Hey, lover," Maniac cooed, leaning in front of Zarya. "I see our squadron commander's up. Shouldn't you get her back into bed?"
Blair found his black look.
Maniac draped an arm over Zarya's shoulders. "He talks about me getting into trouble. Well, what if I told you that he and our dear squadron commander-"
"Ten-hut!" Blair shouted as acting Captain Paul Gerald arrived, offered a curt nod, then headed for the dais.
Though Gerald's promotion remained unofficial until the paperwork came in, most officers had already taken to calling him by his new rank. Blair wouldn't go that far. Not yet. He called Gerald "sir." After all, the guy still hated Pilgrims, half-breeds, and Pilgrim sympathizers since fighting in the war against them. Blair's mother Devi Soulsong had been a Pilgrim. Blair couldn't change that. He didn't want to. Pilgrims might have originated as religious fanatics who saw themselves as the "elect," as the only humans destined for the stars, but the war had ended over twenty years ago, and most Pilgrims had peacefully rejoined Confederation society. Gerald simply had to get over the past. Admittedly, the man had confessed that he needed Blair, that he did respect Blair's skill as a pilot and had made him a command-approved wing commander, but that was as far as it went. There would never be any love lost between them. That was a shame. Blair could learn a lot from the man, but if Gerald continued to treat him indifferently, he would return the same.
"Have a seat," the captain said, wearing a new haircut to complement his new command. Gone were the dark curls in favor of a low maintenance flat top. He self-consciously patted his hair, then pursed his lips as the squadron settled in. "Our scheduled space dock has been delayed again." This to a chorus of moans as an opportunity for shore leave-once so close they could taste it-withered before the pilots' eyes. Even Blair, usually silent during such collective complaints, added his voice to the discord.
"All right," Angel snapped.
"Our own Damage Control Crews will continue as scheduled," Gerald went on. "Yes, we're still licking our wounds from our last engagement with the Kilrathi, but this war won't wait for us, and I wanted to brief you myself because matters have grown, in a word, delicate. Admiral Tolwyn has ordered us to Mylon Three." He tapped a control on the podium, and a holograph of the Mylon system shimmered into view. Four planets orbited a medium-sized star that a data strip indicated was slightly more massive than Sol. The aforementioned third planet tossed up a verdant glow with jagged continents splayed like leather patches over its watery backdrop. "You can consult your data readers for more detailed information on Confed settlements there. According to a drone intercepted by the CS Rigaria, on zero-seven-seven at nineteen hundred hours local time an unmarked Confederation supercruiser launched a planet-wide attack."
Murmurs erupted.
Lieutenant Adam "Bishop" Polanski, who sat to Blair's left, leaned forward, his expression of incredulity buckling the ragged scar on his cheek. "Sir, was the ship captured by the Kilrathi?"
"Maybe there was a mutiny," Zarya chipped in.
"Mutiny?" Polanski snickered. "No way."
"Intelligence is still gathering data," Gerald said. "As it stands, we're the principal element of a Space Warning and Control Mission. Our Marine detachment will deploy to MyGov, the primary settlement's capital, while Black Lion Squadron will recon the area of operations, eliminating any unfriendliness or mines and searching for survivors."
"Sir. Just one squadron to recon the entire zone?" Blair asked. "With short-range sensors that could take hours, maybe days."
"I'm aware of that, Lieutenant. We'll be entering the system in stealth mode. Those people were just attacked by-for the sake of argument-a Confederation ship. The arrival of another Confed ship will alarm them. And there's a strike base on planet. If it hasn't been taken out, we could encounter SAM fire and elements of the nineteenth fighter wing."
"We'll run three patrols on this one, Ladies," Angel said. "Bishop, Hunter, and Cheddarboy got point. Sinatra and Gangsta? You're with me. Maniac, Blair, and Zarya? You got reserve."
Maniac snorted.
Angel's gaze locked on. "Problem, Lieutenant Marshall?"
"No, ma'am."
"I take it you'd rather fly point."
"Absolutely, ma'am."
"Which is exactly why you will remain close to the ship, in ready status. Showboaters call too much attention to themselves."
"Yes, ma'am." Maniac bit his lower lip, and Blair read the curse balanced there.
"If we do encounter resistance, you will not engage," Gerald said. "We're going there to bandage the wound-not rub salt in it."
"Sir? How many people are we talking about?" Zarya asked.
"Five major settlements. As Confed colonies go, it's a small one. Five, maybe six million. Most of them reside on the northern continent."
"And supercruisers routinely carry strategic munitions," she said gravely.
"Yes, they do. We'll hope for the best." He regarded the group. "Other questions? No? Dismissed."
Blair stood and headed for the door.
"Lieutenant Blair? Can I see you for a moment?"
As he moved back toward Angel, Maniac passed him and whispered, "Can I spank you for a moment?"
Hiding his reaction, Blair forged on. "Yes, ma'am?"
"You're in command of your patrol. Keep a close eye on your people. I don't want the past to repeat itself. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
The past to which she referred involved Maniac and Lieutenant Rosie Forbes, best pilot in the squadron and Angel's best friend. Horseplay and reckless courage had resulted in Forbes's death. Before Maniac had come aboard the Tiger Claw, Forbes had been a textbook flyer, much like Blair. But Maniac had lured her into his bed and into his flying style. He would do the same with Zarya. At least Blair wasn't the only one who saw that coming.