Star Runners: Mission Wraith (#3) (25 page)

*****

Ryker pulled off her flight gloves and set them on the bench in front of her locker. The cool air refreshed her sweaty skin. As she took off her flight suit, her mind lingered on the
Wraith
.
 

We were so close, she thought. I almost had him.
 

She changed into her Tizona blue tank top and workout shorts. Even though she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to hit the rack, she felt a short run would clear her mind before writing her report. Besides, running seemed to be the only time Austin wasn’t at the front of her mind.
 

The techies were currently downloading her gun camera footage, so the images from the brief dogfight would provide more than enough to keep intelligence busy. No one would miss her if she disappeared for a little while.
 

With a quick tie of the laces, her running shoes felt snug on her feet. She tossed a towel over her shoulder and headed for the exit.
 

She paused.
 

Skylar strolled into the locker room, her eyes expanding as she looked at Ryker.
 

Ryker swallowed, unsure what the reaction would be after the heated words they exchanged immediately following Austin’s death. Would she lash out? Since they were alone, would Skylar snap and attack her?
 

Instead, the corner of Skylar’s mouth curled upward in what must have been a grin. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, tension leaving her face. Strolling over to her locker, she slipped off her gloves and unzipped her flight suit.
 

Ryker exhaled, suddenly realizing she held her breath. She knew Skylar had been close with Austin—that was obvious when they arrived on Tarton’s Junction. But the depths of her feelings toward him surprised Ryker, probably would have surprised Austin, too. Ryker watched her for a moment, thinking back on their times on Tarton’s Junction.
 

She didn’t blame her at all. Austin is … was … an amazing man.
 

Ryker wanted to say something to ease the tension in the room. Each movement Skylar made seemed like a laser bursting in the middle of a quiet library. She wanted to tell her she was sorry. She wanted to say how much she would have done to bring Austin back. But she couldn’t find the words to speak, so she remained silent and turned to leave.

She took a step toward the hatch.
 

“Captain?”

Ryker froze, turning slowly to face Skylar. “Yes?”

Skylar locked her fingers together, fiddling with her hands as she stared at them. “I, uh, well, I wanted to thank you for your help out there today.”

Ryker shrugged. “You’re in my squadron. You would have done the same for me.”

Skylar pressed her lips together and stared at the floor. “I suppose so.”

Ryker lingered for a moment, wondering if she should say more. Skylar broke through the quiet.
 

“You really are great, you know?” Skylar said, her voice trembling. “I see why Austin … you are so well thought of. You are so strong. You didn’t hesitate to save me today even though, uh, I said those things.”

Ryker swallowed, stepping toward the Star Runner in front of her who suddenly seemed so fragile, so lost.
 

“You did great out there today,” Ryker said. She placed her hand on Skylar’s shoulder. “I mean it. We stick together, and we’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“I’ll always have your back.”

“No, I’m not talking about today,” Skylar said, shaking her head. “Thank you for not throwing me in the brig for what I said in here.”

Ryker nodded.
 

“I shouldn’t have said it,” Skylar continued. “It was wrong. I was upset. I feel sick about it.”

“Star Runners require short memories,” Ryker said, managing a grin. “Don’t give it a second thought.”

“Well, I don’t think it was your fault. I was wrong about what I said.”

Ryker sighed, gazing down at the deck. “No, you were right about all of it. Everything you said was true.” She locked her eyes with Skylar’s. “And I would trade with him in a heartbeat, but I can’t. That’s what I have to carry with me now.”

She cleared her throat, the familiar emotion welling up inside her.

“You weren’t the only one who loved him,” Ryker whispered. “Remember that.”

Skylar’s jaw dropped as she nodded quickly. Ryker held her stare for a moment longer, then hurried out of the room.
 

Gasoline pumped through his bloodstream.
 

And then someone ignited it.
 

Screams surrounded him. Familiar images ripped through his mind, surging around like a tornado.
 

A voice echoed, the sound bouncing around like footfalls in an empty cathedral. The words indecipherable, the meaning unclear.
 

The pain returned, blazing through his skin. Somehow, an assurance washed over him, a single clear, undeniable feeling it couldn’t last much longer. The agony would end, and the pain would cease.
 

You’re alive.
 

The statement came from an unknown place, spiritual, meaningful. He focused on the words, trying to hope for a connection, something to latch onto in the swaying darkness threatening to wash over him.
 

“Hello?”
 

It was his voice. Was it out loud? Had anyone heard him?

The pain lessened, fading away into tiny pinpricks on his skin. He made a fist with his toes, the movement sending a wave of sensation over his feet, spreading up his legs like an army of ants.
 

“You’re alive.”

The voice was louder this time, booming through his ears like a bass drum. He tried to open his eyes, but they refused, held tight like a vice.
 

“Did it work?” he breathed.
 

*****

His muscles throbbed. Swinging his legs off the blue cot framed by cold steel, he touched his feet to the frigid floor and quickly lifted them. The room smelled of rotten vegetables, gasoline, and sweat. A wave of nausea burned up from his gut into his throat. He swallowed, forcing down the acidic taste for another time. He probably needed to vomit, but his body hurt so bad he simply hoped he could hold it off a little longer.
 

Wrapped in an oil-stained blanket that was perhaps once white, he shivered sitting on the edge of the cot for a long moment and took in his surroundings. A crusty, brown mustard substance stained the green walls. A rusty sink was in the corner of the room. Despite the dryness in his throat, he glanced at the furry mold inching out of the faucet and decided it would be better to die of thirst.
 

The constant hum and slight vibration under his feet confirmed he was on board a vessel of some kind. Well, the plan must have worked. He snorted.
 

I hope it worked, he thought.
 

Since he awakened, the memories came back to him in spurts. He thought of the
Formidable
where he began the mission Major Braddock had sent him to accomplish. He had been shocked when Commander Horace and Braddock had said Legion command wanted him to fly the
Wraith
. He wanted to know why they chose him. They said he was the best Star Runner in proximity to the secret Zahlian fighter.

On board the
Formidable
, Austin had covertly trained for weeks to fly a Zahlian Interceptor, quietly spending time in the simulators and discussing the plan with Braddock when he was able. No other Star Runner knew about the mission, so Austin kept to himself. He had wanted to confide in Ryker, tell her of the dangerous mission he was about to carry out. Of all the people he wanted to speak to about this insane mission, Ryker was at the top of his list.
 

Austin’s continuing appointments with the ship’s counselor had been used to disguise his secret briefings on Zahlian military customs and other aspects of his mission. And it was during one of these sessions Austin learned he would have to “die” to begin the mission. To carry out Austin’s staged death, Braddock had said undercover Legion agents paid a group of marauders flying modified fighters for a hit and run attack.

Once Austin had punched out and floated in the escape pod, he had drunk the foul smelling medicine in the plastic test tube Braddock had given him and promptly passed out into the nightmare. Braddock had said he wouldn’t dream, that it would be like being knocked out for surgery.
 

He was wrong. If Austin made it through this, he would be sure to tell the Major about it and see if he wanted to try being put into hibernation.
 

At first, Austin didn’t understand why he had to “die” until Braddock said he feared the effects of the Zahlian forces hacking into the Legion network at the science station. If Austin’s files listed him as deceased, he would be erased from the Zahlian Intelligence and would be theoretically clear to carry out his mission. By now, he knew his comrades had said goodbye to him, thinking he was dead and gone.

Ryker had probably said her farewells. He wished he could get a message to her, but she had her squadron. She would be fine. He needed to concentrate on what was ahead of him. He knew he would have to pass covertly through Zahlian space and steal the
Wraith
. But how exactly this would happen was a mystery.

Braddock said an entire team of Legion agents had organized transportation behind Zahlian lines to put him in a position to steal the
Wraith
. Austin figured a crack team would somehow deliver the
Wraith
to him. The less who knew the entirety of Mission Wraith, Braddock said, the more chance of success.

Although he got the feeling the Legion thought of him as expendable, Austin agreed to the mission. Anything would have been better than battling against an invisible fighter and waiting to get picked off. If this mission allowed the Legion to balance the scales, he was fine with it.
 

And they said time was running out before the
Wraith
would move from its known location. He was the Legion’s only chance.
 

He snorted. It might be a suicide mission.

He shut his eyes. The nightmares from his drug induced coma plagued his mind. Images of burning forests, Mom screaming, Nubern crashing into the ocean …

He shook his head.
 

A high-pitched wail burst through the air. A voice filled the air, speaking in a language Austin had never heard before. Searching the room, his eyes fell on the molded sink. He saw a translator sitting on the edge of the rusty steel.
 

“You’ve slept long enough,” a voice announced through a small, ratty-looking speaker in the corner of his room. “Take a right out of your room and meet us in the common area.”

The speaker clicked, and he was once again in silence. Fighting the urge to lie back down on the bed, he stood on wobbly legs. His joints popped as he walked across the room and opened the hatch. It moved outward with a screech of metal on metal. Steam burst into the room, bringing with it the smell of cooked cabbage.
 

Wonderful.
 

He slowly made his way down the hall.
 

The corridor opened to a small circular space not much bigger than his quarters. Two men sat at the table. On the left, a brawny bald man in a greasy shirt with a dozen holes in the chest hunched over a steaming bowl filled with green and orange leaves. He took an ample wooden fork that looked like a rake in his pudgy fingers, scooped up the food and shoved it into his angular face. Liquid dripped down through the sandpaper stubble on his chin and back into the bowl. He stared across the room with dull, black eyes.
 

His companion couldn’t have been more different. Long, stringy hair tied back behind his head, the wiry man stood and stared. If a stiff wind came through the room, the man would be blown to the floor. The thin man stared for a long moment, his sunken eyes studying Austin.
 

“So whatcha doing way out here traveling in a body bag?” the man said, his voice sounding like a rodent squeaking.