Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End Page 6

  According to intel, Thell’eon women live separately from the men. I’m guessing this means Thell’eon place little value on women (metatabulous!) because of the next little nugget of knowledge.

  No. 3. Thell’eons’ value-system is rooted in the concept of brotherhood. Apparently, they’re an incredibly competitive species, and form bonds (and their military structure) on physical and mental feats of achievement—contests, challenges, games, and so on. What enables them to function as a cohesive unit instead of a heaving pile of ceaseless power struggles is winning. Prove you are better, or at least worthy, and your fellow Thell’eon will lay down his life for you without hesitation. How this will apply to me, a human woman, I have no bloody idea.

  “How do we know all of this, anyway?” I ask the officers at the table when we’ve finally exhausted their knowledge pool. Adm. O’Reilly left some time ago to work out clearance details for a few plan changes, or I would have asked him. My head’s crammed full, and I need a break. The officers share a glance and direct their cool gazes on King and Lt. Lazarus, who both glanced up when I asked the question.

  I refuse to make eye contact with Lt. Lazarus. I can’t adequately pinpoint my feelings toward my combat trainer. Deep down, I always hoped maybe he was so hard on me because he wanted me to succeed. But after what happened in my H2H test, even if he didn’t plan the surprise himself, I’ll never trust him again. Worse yet, a tiny part of me feels like I let him down, and that pisses me off. To top it off, the vision I had of him and Lt. King messing with the file on Daz tickles at the recesses of my mind like an itch I can’t scratch.

  “Lt. Winters’s mission was to collect the asset at an agreed location on Taxata,” starts Lt. Lazarus.

  I stare at the table about three feet in front of him as he talks, hanging onto every word. Just hearing Daz being spoken of, after so long, offers a weird sense of consolation even though I am certain, now, that he must be in real trouble.

  “This asset had informed ESE that he had a weapon, the sift, that could advance the power of one species irrevocably, and that he was willing to sell it to the highest bidder. ESE obviously jumped at the chance, not only to obtain the sift but to learn more about the Thell’eon, since this asset claimed to have lived among them. Lt. Winters was . . . unbelievable.”

  I can’t help but look Lt. Lazarus in the eyes after that remark. So, Command respects and values what Daz has done for them.

  He continues, “Not only did Da— Lt. Winters manage to get there before the Thell’eons did, he managed to escape with the asset before Thell’eons could overpower his velo.” Of course Daz beat the Thell’eons despite their powerful ships. “He obtained an incredible wealth of information before the asset . . . disappeared. So, to answer your question, most of what you have learned tonight is from the intel your brother got, and some other pieces we’ve recently acquired.”

  “Daz was a close friend of mine, too,” adds Lt. Lazarus.

  Huh? What? I had no idea. Daz never mentioned Lt. Lazarus.

  “Lt. Lazarus, what happened to my brother?” I venture.

  He rubs his forehead, frustrated-like.

  “We don’t know.”

  I could break something.

  King shakes his head, as if he disagrees. Huh?, but Lt. Lazarus continues.

  “As I mentioned, the asset ‘disappeared’ unexplained en route to ESE station but not before he passed along what we now know about the Thell’eons to Lt. Winters, as well as some chip-files with limited military information. Unfortunately, the weapon itself was not on the asset, and Lt. Winters reported that the asset did not reveal where the sift was before he . . . disappeared.” He pauses.

  If my face heats up one more time today I think it might blister. I’m surprised how icy my fingers are and I hold them on my cheeks, then run them along my forehead for good measure.

  “Sometime within the hour, before his debriefing, Lt. Winters vanished from the station.”

  What?

  “What?” I ask, my voice following a second later than my brain. “So he’s not really on top-secret SOSA mission?” I clarify, recalling the ‘misplaced’ comment by Adm. O’Reilly. I grip the table, registering vaguely that I can’t fall over because I’m sitting.

  “Now we do not know that is not true, do we, Marcus?” interjects King. “Cassiel, this all just wild speculation. I agree with Lt. Lazarus that it is odd that Daz would leave without a word to anyone, but not,” he lowers his voice, “if he is on a SOSA mission. Few in Command would know the truth. Now you and I have both been told he is away on a mission and we should trust ESE.”

  Breathe, Cassiel.

  Oh shut up! I rush to speak and choke on my own saliva. “But why didn’t you tell me any of this, King?” I sputter. “All this time, Daz could be genuinely missing!”

  A rush of red splotches streaks his cheeks. First time I’ve seen that. Oh. Because I’ve attacked him in front of the officers. Wait a second. Is he actually angry? At me? Awkward moment, us staring each other down. Of course. He has no intention of responding to my outburst. I give up first, staring, without focusing, at my hands clasping the table.

  The vision of Daria and him messing around in what had to be Daz’s mission report, for whatever reason I don’t know or understand, replays in my mind. I want to pretend it doesn’t mean anything, but my other visions had connections to reality. So . . . there’s something he’s not telling me (or us). And then what about Lt. Lazarus showing up? Is it possible that Lt. Lazarus was spying on King? Was the report changed somehow? By who? King told Daria that whatever they were doing to the report would help Daz. Wait, maybe King’s protecting Daz. My heart embraces this notion and holds on with a tight grip. Why would Daz need King’s help? This is point that bothers me the most.

  I look up, instantly uncomfortable that both King and Lt. Lazarus were observing my obsessing. What should I do? Wait— Daria!

  Uh-oh. I check my com-tab, nineteen forty-nine. If I hurry, I can just get to Proxy to meet her in time. I fire her a Missive that I’m on my way.

  “I have to go.” I stand up abruptly. “I need a break,” I think to add. Good cover, Cassiel.

  The officers concede this might be the case. King’s occupied with his com-tab.

  “What more do we have to do?” I ask, a wide open question for the room.

  Lt. Lazarus speaks up. A chunk of his thick black hair’s sticking out funny. It makes him seem . . . less intimidating. I can’t help but feel my wall lower a smidge. His concern for Daz seems genuine.

  King’s still absorbed in his com-tab. I hope he feels the same fears for Daz, and is choosing not to express them. How can he trust ESE so readily?

  Lt. Lazarus mentions they will Missive me the details of the mission, including travel coordinates and information about the planet Taxata and its galaxy.

  I’m annoyed when he adds that I’ll need to spend as much time as possible tonight being coached yet further in various situations that could arise when I engage the Thell’eon. I should be terrified. Nauseous. I’m no good at faking anything, never mind sexual allure. Instead, I’m totally exhausted, and, clearly, partly in denial, about the whole thing.

  Lt. Lazarus explains that he’ll do the coaching along with Prof. Xeno and a specialist they brought in from Earth’s largest trans-space corporation Yamalda. Her name’s Cora Smith or something.

  “Fine. Can you give me half an hour? I’ll meet you back here.”

  Lt. Lazarus nods. King doesn’t raise his head from his com-tab.

  Whatever. I decide to ignore him, too. I’m upset by the vision, and if I’m willing to admit it, put out. He should have told me what he knew about Daz, about Lt. Lazarus’s speculation a long time ago. He should be more supportive of me now. Suicide mission or no suicide mission, Daz’s life could be at stake.

&nb
sp; By the time I get to Proxy, it’s twenty-thirteen, and the place is in full swing. I wander around quickly glancing at tables and combing the bar for Daria’s pretty face. One cadet mistakes my glance for a come on and winks. I smile back. I’m feeling reckless.

  She’s not here. Women stand out in here like Tellurium Crystal.

  Frustrated beyond words, what a flake!, I’m about to leave when I decide, I deserve a drink. There’s just enough time before I get back. I make my way to the bar, more relaxed than I have ever felt in Proxy, I wonder why?, and wait for one of the three bartenders to come by.

  “Can I buy?” asks a loud voice to my right.

  Hey, it’s Mister Smiley, the one who checked me out before the test this morning, which feels like a lifetime ago.

  I think of all the reasons I would have said no just yesterday. I haven’t got a single one now. In fact, he could be of some use to me. “Sure,” I say, forcing a smile onto my face.

  “I hear the test didn’t go so well.”

  “Wow.” Does everyone know? There’s pity in his eyes; maybe regret, too. “News does get around,” I mumble.

  “Hey, don’t be upset. Women can’t change their shirt without it being noticed around here. Nature of the ratio, if you know what I mean,” he adds apologetically. “For what it’s worth, we think they were way too hard on a first-year cadet.” He seems sincere and gestures to a table of his friends, all third and fourth year cadets, including Stoddard. Ugh. If this guy’s pals with Stoddard, he’s bad news. They’re all smiling at me, except Stoddard. One lifts his drink in a cheer. I smile reluctantly.

  My Kir Imperial arrives. I take a sip. And then a big gulp.

  I change the subject, relishing how the alcohol settles a happy cloud over all of my thoughts. “Been here for a while?” Oh, that sounded so cliché. My heart has dropped somewhere in my stomach, and my eyes are glued wide open with panic. Super. My attempt to flex my flirting muscle (if I have one), hey I’m pretty desperate considering what I’m about to face tomorrow morning, is lame, at best. What I really want is to know whether he’s seen Daria.

  “About an hour,” he says, extending his hand, “I’m Todd Meyers.” Either he didn’t notice my panic, or he’s smooth enough to ignore it.

  I look at him. Really look at him. He seems to notice this, and his body language changes. He leans in just a touch. I clasp his hand lightly, and smile, mostly with gratitude at his keeping up the act. He smiles back, glancing down at my lips, now at my eyes, now at my breasts, quickly back to my eyes. The gratitude I’m feeling’s replaced by shyness. “Cassiel,” he cuts my introduction off, announcing my name like I have just won some kind of award. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while. Maybe we could do dinner?”

  “Oh.” He doesn’t waste time. “I can’t,” I blurt out. His face drops just a smidge, or did I imagine that? Doesn’t matter. A pang of guilt opens a door for him. “But I’ll light-Missive you when I get a chance. Er, it might have to be during your next EL since I might not be around for long,” I tack on, really thinking that the truth’s far worse. I may not be around, ever again, to go for dinner with any cadet, Earth Leave or not.

  King.

  “Hey, don’t sweat it,” says Todd. Wipe the devastation off your face; he thinks it’s for him. “You know, you could always apply for the civilian side of operations. They’re always looking for smart staff.” He follows up his compliment with another smile.

  This would put me in a safe, comfy, mind-numbingly boring job at ESE (now I know why so many women take those jobs; sure beats being translocated by breeders).

  “Yeah, we’ll see.” I try to brighten up. “Hey, I was actually supposed to meet a friend here. Lieutenant Daria Preston. Maybe you know of her?”

  “Oh sure. She was here about 15 minutes ago.”

  She was?

  “Where’d she go, do you know?” It takes some effort to rearrange my surprised features and to ask this casually.

  “She was waiting at the bar. Talked to a few officers. But she left quickly. Didn’t even finish her Pink Beluga.” His dejected tone suggests he’s put out by that.

  I think it’s mildly disturbing how he knows what she was drinking.

  I glance back over his shoulder. A face, among the dozens of male faces in my sight line, stands out for some reason. Oh, Lt. Lazarus.

  Wait, what’s he doing here?

  No, it isn’t him. The messy black hair I spied is gone. Er, was that him? I could swear I just saw him near the exit. Did he follow me here?

  Ah, there’s no law against an officer grabbing a quick drink, Cassiel. You’re really starting to lose it, I think, checking myself.

  “Did you see her?” Todd asks, glancing back where I’m staring.

  “Ah, I thought I did, but it wasn’t her,” I lie.

  It’s odd and kind of annoying that Daria would leave suddenly, right around the same time I Missived that I was on my way. I drink the rest of my Kir Imperial in two gulps. “Well, thanks for the drink Todd. But I’ve got a meeting I’ve got to get back to.”

  “Now?” He’s not buying it. “Come on, stay for another.”

  I smile but I’m sure he can tell that was forced. “I can’t, honest, another time,” I add, shifting away from his penetrating eyes. He can see right through you. My ears burn hot all the way to the exit.

  Wow. Tomorrow’s going to go real well if that was any indication. Daz always said my face is an open book.

  The Thell’eons. If they look at me anything like Todd just did, I’ll disintegrate. I will. I mean, am I really just supposed to strut onto their ship and seduce the sift out of them? How will they react? What if they’re all moist and crusty like the Gogols? Oh sweet supernova, no. How am I supposed to pretend to be attracted to that?

  I can’t breathe. What’s that ringing?

  Your brain. Sending out alarm bells!

  Calm down. This Cora Somebody can work some magic, show you how to be cooler, much more in control of these kinds of situations. Pinning my hopes on her, I practically dash back to the prep team, energized with renewed fear, willing to sacrifice sleep entirely.

  Chapter 7

  It’s zero two hundred hours. We depart for the operation in less than seven hours. I know I need to go to my pod and sleep. Lt. Lazarus cautioned me it’s vital to be well rested, but my head’s so full, I can’t think straight. I guess that’s good; it keeps me from properly focusing on running to the nearest velo and flying my ass back to Earth. You’re doing this for Daz.

  I run over the condensed coaching, sitting where they left me, in an officers’ meeting room on Level C.

  Cora Smith, my coach, was not at all what I expected. The short, middle-aged, matronly woman sported a chopped, gray bob, which matched the sharp angles of her gray suit and skirt. She was calm, assertive, and commanding, which I attribute to her thick Brit accent (only humans from the region that used to be called the United Kingdom retain the unique English accent thanks to a preservation society). I took an instant liking to her. But then, I’m always searching for a mother figure.

  When we were introduced in the emptied officers’ mess (I didn’t realize they had their own special quarters), she didn’t do what most women do, which is to put up a defensive wall or put out an offensive vibe around me. She smiled at me warmly, directly.

  “Well, well, looks like you could show us a thing or two, my dear,” she said, appraising me. When I was confused by her remark, she in turn seemed surprised.

  Her face fell.

  “How many years has she been with ESE?” she demanded of Lt. Lazarus, hostile.

  I almost laughed because Lt. Lazarus submitted to her female authority like he was 12.

  “She’s a first-year cadet, ma’am.”

  “Don’t worry,” I interj
ected. “I agreed to do this. I’ll do my best,” I added, smiling, hoping to inspire more confidence in her. I really needed her to believe in me.

  But she just sighed and said, frowning, “I’m sure you will, my dear.” She seemed more detached after that. No matter how I tried to impress her, I couldn’t reestablish that connection.

  The time flew over the five or so hours they spent with me. Mrs. Smith focused strictly on improving my ability to identify and interpret patterns in actions, dialogue, and behavior. She’d screen hypothetical scenarios on the mini LightvisionTM.33 pad, each with an objective, like ‘spot the mole’ or ‘eliminate the red herring.’ She gave me suggestions, hints, pointed out clues that helped me to catch lies, to read body language, to connect the dots.

  I wondered what Yamalda, the company Cora works for, was really all about considering the private sector’s permitted only to engage with alien species on business matters. But, of course, I couldn’t ask.

  Lt. Lazarus spent time talking me through what’s known about Thell’eon technology, in the hopes I might be able to access their systems and download information. We know so little. Several blueprints of Thell’eon warships were recovered from the failed mission (Will they be Daz’s salvation?), but there’s no way of knowing if any of them will apply to the ship I’ll be on tomorrow. The blueprints will be downloaded to my com-tab, and I plan to do my best to memorize them before I fall asleep.