Breaking Sky(26)

BRAVO





13


    LOST THE BUBBLE


   Which End Is Up?


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.