Breaking Sky(4)

Pippin did that annoying thing where he knew what she was thinking. “Kale’s not going to react when you tell him about Mr. Red Helmet. Not the way you want him to.”

Her RIO’s continued dismissal of the phantom Streaker finally hit her too hard. She unhooked her harness and turned around in her seat to face him. Dragon jerked off course, and they headed for the side of the hangar, still taxiing fast.

“How can you think we should drop this?”

Pippin unstrapped his mask and flipped up his visor. “Remember when Crowley said he saw drones over Florida? They put him on the Down List before he’d finished filing the report. Also”—he pointed forward—“there’s a wall there.”

“You’re really not curious?”

“I’m really not worried. There could be three Streakers instead of two. Wall. The military is a labyrinth of lies. Wall.”

“Interesting career choice you’ve made.”

“Wall, Chase! WALL!”

“All right!” She swung around and turned too fast. Dragon careened through the hangar doors and scattered ground crew like pigeons before sliding into a neat stop beside the other Streaker, Pegasus, with a light bump of wing against wing.

Chase popped off her helmet. “I need you on my team, Pippin.”

“Do I get a Team Nyx T-shirt?”

“I’m serious.”

“As a bullfight.” Pippin unstrapped his harness and flipped up his visor. Their eyes met the way they always did after a long hop. With relief and exhaustion and whatever was on the shadow side of trust. Chase thought it scanned like regret, but whatever it was had been rooted throughout their friendship. What they did, they did together. Hands down.

“I know you’re serious,” Pippin said, giving the word its full meaning for once. “I’ll back you up.”

She swatted his helmet affectionately and opened the canopy. Densely cold air sunk into the cockpit, but she took a deep, leveling breath. She was home.





3


    COLORFUL ACTIONS


   Safety Is Overrated


Chase spent the next five minutes getting chewed out by the deck officer. Irresponsible. Show-off. Reckless. Maverick. He spent all the standard criticisms so fast that she couldn’t help being impressed. All that for a slightly rushed parking job—he didn’t even know about the stunt she’d pulled in the air.

A couple of freshman ground crew waited by the fuel tanks, chatting up Pippin. They gave her thumbs-ups from behind the officer’s back. Chase knew her fan club by sight, but she hadn’t bothered to learn their names. That might have seemed flyboy elitist like everything else at the Star, but she really just wasn’t the kind of girl to focus on anyone or anything outside of Dragon.

When the officer finally stomped away, Chase strode over with her helmet under her arm. She couldn’t keep back a smile. She loved riling up an officer—putting on a show. It was better than being overlooked, and it also kept people at a manageable distance.

“You flew Dragon to her vapors, Nyx,” one of the freshmen said. He had a zit the size of Mount Vesuvius on his forehead, but his eyes were headlight bright. “What happened? Red drones?”

“You know I can’t answer that.” Chase dropped her helmet into his outstretched hands. She rubbed the now cold sweat through her short hair and respiked her fauxhawk.

“So what happened?” a girl asked. She had acne too. Working in the grease mist of the hangar wreaked havoc on skin. “Did you almost die?”

“Would you say twice?” Chase asked Pippin.

“Counting the wall? Three.” Her RIO was sweatier than normal after their garden-variety flights, and when she tried to catch his eye, he rubbed the back of his neck and looked elsewhere.

“Sweet.” The freshman cradled Chase’s helmet. He started to talk a little too fast about a secret party that he was throwing in his barracks that weekend. Chase wasn’t really listening until the girl broke in.

“Don’t ask her. She’s just going to say no.” The last name on the girl’s jumpsuit was HELENA. “Flyboys never hang out with the ground crew.”

Her comment was aimed at Chase, but Helena was sending missiles at the wrong bogey. Chase wasn’t the one who set the rules. Flyboys kept their own company. Ground crew kept theirs. Add to that the divisions of the grades… These guys were not only ground crew but freshmen to boot. They were circles away.

“Thanks for the invite, Jameson, but I’m busy with train—”

“See?” Helena broke in. “Told you, Stephens. She doesn’t even know your name.”

Stephens didn’t seem to care. He was giving Chase I-want-to-hug-on-you eyes. She redirected. “I need Kale. Is he in the tower?”

Helena said yes while Stephens said no. Chase left them to debate, taking off at a tired jog and weaving a path through the cavernous hangar with Pippin at her heels. They both knew that when they finally stopped moving, really stopped, they’d knock out. Flight was exhausting; non-flyboys never quite got that. A few hours in the air and she was beat—and that was at lower speeds. The faster she flew, the harder the strain on her body to fight the extra gravity. Kale said it was the equivalent of running a half marathon every time she broke mach speed for more than five minutes.