The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing (11 page)

Target practice was
the last place Aris expected to think of Echo.

Once, about a year ago, Echo had invited Aris to her house before a night out at The Toad. When Aris walked into her bedroom, two canvases were set up—one a newly finished painting and the other a large square of unblemished white.

Her dark curls bouncing, Echo gestured to the blank canvas. “I need to relax for a minute before we go out. Do you mind?” When Aris shook her head, Echo grinned and handed her a brush. “You can help.”

Echo took her own brush and swept a glistening vermilion trail across the stark white canvas.

“Are you sure?” Aris asked, holding the brush gingerly between two fingers. “I’ll ruin it. I’m a terrible painter.”

Echo added another slash of color, cobalt this time. “You can’t ruin it. This is just for fun. Come on, Aris, throw a little paint up there. Get dirty. I promise, you can’t make a mistake.”

But holding that brush had felt like a mistake. Aris was certain that if she tried to put paint to canvas, she would ruin everything. She couldn’t relax. An irrational fear of failure held her back, kept her from painting her first colorful line.

Eventually she did, of course, and she enjoyed swirling the emeralds and silvers and crimsons into a great big mess, but in that first moment she was consumed by insecurity.

Now, with a solagun shaking in her hands, the fear that coursed through her wasn’t irrational. It wasn’t insecurity. The brilliant green shots of energy with which she was supposed to paint the sim monitor wouldn’t make a pretty picture. They’d paint pain, danger. Death.

Beside her, a steady series of hisses punctuated Dysis’s shooting. She’d already gone through two sim targets, and Aris hadn’t taken a single shot.

Noticing the silence to her right, Dysis glanced up. “Everything okay?”

Aris nodded, swallowing. The sim room was loud with the sibilant whine of solagun fire. On her other side, another soldier, Specialist Pallas, was having trouble with his aim. His blank, human-shaped target only had two hits—one at the edge of the shoulder and the other just grazing the line of the head. Pallas was skinny with a pointed chin and short, white-blond hair that fuzzed up around his head like a halo. He kept lifting his weapon to aim, eyes wide, and then letting his hands fall as if unsure of himself.

“Is there a problem?” A voice rumbled over Aris’s shoulder. With a start, she twisted and came face to face with Major Vidar. He regarded her steadily.

“Um, no,” she replied, flustered.
Keep it together.

“You haven’t fired your weapon.”

“I—I . . . I’m just getting used to it. This is my first time,” she said, then wanted to smack herself. He was going to see right through her. What man didn’t want to practice firing weapons?

The thin pink scar pulled at the edge of his mouth as he gave her an odd look. “Didn’t you do weapons training at Pono?”

Oh Gods. Why hadn’t Dianthe done weapons training with her? All they did was run and spar! Aris scrambled for something to say, some excuse. “They mostly had me in the air, sir,” she said at last, staring at the solagun in her hands to avoid his eyes. “This isn’t my
first
first time,” she cleared her throat, “just, you know . . . first time
here
.”

He gave a little groan. She glanced over in time to see him run a large hand across the back of his neck. His equally large arm muscles bulged. “Blighting hell.”

Aris’s throat closed. Had he figured it out? “I’m sorry, sir. I—”

Major Vidar sighed and said, “Not your fault, Specialist,” in a long-suffering way. “Not the first time green ears have come to us with subpar training.” He reached for her solagun and held it up, aiming for the sim target. “Keep your elbows relaxed, wrists firm, hands steady. Like this. See?”

She nodded, so relieved she wasn’t exposed that she almost didn’t cringe when he handed the sleek, chrome weapon back to her. He waited while she drew the solagun into position. Her hands still shook, and her breath, trapped between her raised arms, sounded loud in her ears.

“Do flyers really need to carry solaguns?” She couldn’t imagine actually aiming at someone, let alone pulling the trigger.

He grabbed the butt of the weapon, curling his fingers over part of her hand. The physical contact nearly made her drop the solagun. “You have to be able to protect yourself. You won’t always be in the air.” He pulled up on her hands to adjust her aim, then let go. “Good, sight down the line, there. Okay, now fire.”

She squinted at the target, took a deep breath, held it, and did as he ordered. The hiss of the solagun was swallowed by the sounds of other guns firing around them. She lowered the weapon and stared at the target; a green hit showed against the lower center of the human shape’s stomach.

“Not too bad,” Major Vidar said, nodding.

Aris let out a shaky breath.

“Next time, don’t close your eyes when you pull the trigger.”

He moved down the line. “Pallas, it works better if you aim at your
own
target.”

Aris and Dysis
slipped out of breakfast early to comm up before morning formation. When a comm from Calix flashed on her digitablet screen, Aris let out a silent breath.

I’m glad the job is going well, Aris. I wish I could say the same. I haven’t slept in so long, I feel that if I closed my eyes they might never open again. There was a fight in a village near our stationpoint a few days ago, and we’ve been picking up the pieces ever since. For every person I save, it seems another one dies. Can’t the whole world close its eyes, just for a moment? Can’t it all just rest?

Sometimes at night, I pretend the rumble of distant explosions is the crash of waves, and we’re in our cave on the beach, just you and me. I know you’re in Panthea now, but I always imagine you in Lux, standing at the edge of the water with the sun setting behind you, all red and gold. I think about you all the time: your smile, the wind blowing your wild hair around, the way you laugh when you fly. You keep me going. Knowing that you’re safe, that you’re waiting for me . . . right now it’s one of the only comforts I have. I love you. ~ Calix

Aris quickly looked up the news on her digitablet. What village was Calix talking about?

Finally, after several different searches, she found a two-line mention in a war report from several days ago. A small village in Atalanta’s Mittaka region had been the site of a skirmish between Atalantan and Safaran forces. Wounded fighters were being sent to the two mender points close by: Revening and Mekia. She filed the names away.
Revening
.
Mekia
. She’d know soon enough where Calix was. He wasn’t allowed to tell anyone exactly where he was, but Dianthe had said Aris’s S and R unit would take their victims to a single mender stationpoint. Calix’s. Her first mission, and she’d know.
Revening or Mekia
. Soon, she’d see him in the flesh.

“Anything good?” Dysis asked, glancing over Aris’s shoulder.

“Well, I heard from—”

Lieutenant Daakon’s voice cut her off. “Latza, Haan, the Commander would like to see you in his office. Now, please.”

Aris started. Lieutenant Daakon stood just behind them.

Aris and Dysis jumped up, exchanging nervous glances. As they hurried down the hall, Dysis whispered, “Do you think it could be about Jax? Everyone knows I’m looking for him. Do you think . . . maybe there’s some news?”

Aris wanted to say yes. But—“Why’d they call me, then? Wouldn’t Commander Nyx just want to see you?”

“Then what?”

Aris’s stomach dropped. “Do you think . . .” She tensed and clamped her jaw shut. They’d reached the office, and the Commander’s door was open.

“Latza, Haan, come in,” Commander Nyx ordered.

Aris stepped into the small, windowless room first and stood stiffly before the Commander’s desk.

He indicated that Dysis should close the door. “Sit.”

They sank into the chairs set before the desk. All the furniture was old-fashioned, beat up. The white finish was chipped in some places, and a leg of the desk had a chunk taken out of it, exposing the grain of the wood.

Commander Nyx tapped his monitor. Aris tried not to stare at the ropes of red scar that circled his neck, but she couldn’t stop herself from wondering what had happened, if it was a wound sustained in battle, or something older. She couldn’t imagine what might have caused the marks, short of someone trying to strangle him. With fire.

“Specialist Haan, you’ve done poorly in hand-to-hand training. Worst of any soldier at this stationpoint,” Commander Nyx said.

Aris swallowed. She wanted to defend herself, to demand that they hold off judgment until they saw her fly, but she was afraid if she spoke up she’d get lambasted for insubordination, so she simply nodded. She squeezed the chair’s armrests so tightly her knuckles went white. She couldn’t go home. Not now.

“You passed your physical assessment, and your run times have been improving,” he continued. “So that’s something.” Commander Nyx then turned to Dysis. “Specialist Latza, you’ve shown prowess in target training and your physical assessment was sufficient. In addition, you’re quite skilled at hand-to-hand.” The stout man sank back in his chair. “And Lieutenant Jax Latza is your brother.”

Dysis stiffened at the name but nodded, though it hadn’t been a question.

“He was well-known in Military even before his disappearance.” Commander Nyx paused.

Dysis’s square jaw was clenched, eyes burning. “If he’s so well-known, why hasn’t anyone found him yet? That’s why I’m here, sir. To find him. Whatever it takes.” she said, a dangerous edge to her voice.

Commander Nyx placed his hand on the desk, fingers spread, and stood. His movements were slow, deliberate; it was like watching a snake coil to strike. “No. You’re here to do your
job
, Specialist,” he said.

For a second the silence built, tight and dirty in the small room. But as Nyx’s scars pulsed red and his eyes bored into Dysis, she finally murmured, “Yes, sir.”

Aris let out the breath she’d been holding.

The Commander straightened, his hands falling to his sides. “As you are women, I am already taking a risk with you. I need to be able to trust that you’re committed to the mission of this unit, above all else. And capable of doing your jobs without exposing yourselves.”

Aris’s jaw slackened. “You
know
? But . . . but how—”

“And how would the deception work if I didn’t, Specialist?” he interrupted. “You have paperwork excusing you from medical evaluations, special dispensations in the event of an injury. Who exactly did you think authorized such measures?”

“I . . .” No words came. Of course she should have known, but the shock kept Aris rooted to her chair.

“Specialist Latza, you’ve proven yourself to be a useful member of this team. So long as your specialty training remains at a similar level of proficiency, and your brother’s circumstances don’t distract you, you are welcome to continue with us.”

“Thank you, sir,” Dysis murmured.

Commander Nyx turned narrowed eyes on Aris. “Specialist Haan. Given your performance to date, I cannot continue to offer you a place at this stationpoint. For you to stay, I would need to see some spectacular flying out of you. And even then, I’m not convinced you have the physical strength and skill necessary for this job.”

At first the words didn’t register. Then a burning anger caught Aris out of nowhere. Without a second’s thought, she stood up and slammed her hand on the desk. “You
will not
tell me I can’t do this. I have worked
too blighting hard
to be sent away now.”

“Aristos.” The warning in Commander’s Nyx voice was clear.

Aris lifted her chin. “I’ll prove I’m an important part of this team. You’ll see.”

“I better see you sit down
right now
, or I’ll kick you out before you even get the chance.” The hardness in his eyes said he was deadly serious.

Aris sat. The shock of her outburst was catching up to her. Did she really just yell at her commander? Another thought sent her reeling. “If . . . if I don’t make it, are you going to send me to jail?”

Commander Nyx sighed. “No. That would put the other women embedded here at risk. If you don’t make it, we will deal with your dismissal internally.”

Aris swallowed hard.

Nyx sat back in his chair. “Specialist Haan, I will give you my decision on your future here within the week. In the meantime, I expect you both to be vigilant in keeping your real identities to yourselves. For any issues arising from your unique situation, you will come to me and me only. You will not discuss this meeting or your ‘special circumstances’ with anyone outside this room. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Aris and Dysis said together.

Within the week.
At least Aris wasn’t getting kicked out now. At least she had one more chance to earn her place.

Commander Nyx turned to Dysis. “Specialist Latza?”

“Sir?” Dysis stood and met the Commander’s glare straight on. The air thickened between them, and Aris wanted to slink away before something—or someone—exploded.

“Your priority, while you’re here, is your team.
Not
Lieutenant Latza. There are people far more important than you looking for him. Understood?”

Dysis gave a slow nod, but the mutiny in her eyes remained.

“Dismissed.”

Aris hurried down the hallway, ignoring Dysis’s angry muttering. She could barely breathe.
Please let my flying be enough. Please, Gods, make them let me stay.

“Total bloodbath,” Dysis
mumbled at dinner that night, her mouth full of pea-and-piggin pie.

Galec nudged Aris’s arm. She winced. “Hand-to-hand wasn’t that bad, was it?” he asked. “Better than yesterday, anyway. Looks like you got one good shot in.” He gestured toward Dysis and the puffy, purple bruise along her chin.

Aris grunted, for once sounding like a man without even trying. “I was aiming for his shoulder, but his face got in the way.”

Galec laughed. Aris’s stomach twisted. She’d tried even harder in combat training today, pushing herself until she thought she’d pass out, and she still got whipped. She could just imagine Commander Nyx’s cold eyes when he sent her home.

“Still counts,” Otto said, then he belched. The skin around his mouth was shiny with piggin fat.

Jealousy flared within her. Aris had no doubt that Galec and Otto were really, truly male, with nothing to prove and no one threatening to send them home. She’d been watching the other soldiers, wondering who among them was hiding, like her. Sometimes she caught a glimpse—a too-graceful movement, a snatch of conversation between sectormates that sounded
too
familiar, too female—and she’d file the moment away. Specialist Pallas, perhaps, was a woman. Or maybe even Lieutenant Talon. But Galec and Otto? Definitely not.

As Otto shoveled another hunk of pie in his mouth, Dysis grinned, an extra hint of sympathy in her eyes. “You’ll get me next time. You just need more practice. Mosquito.”

Galec and Otto guffawed. Aris scowled. She’d made the mistake of telling Dysis about Calix calling her Mosquito, and now she couldn’t get away from it.

She shook her head and tried to ignore its pounding. “On the ground I’m donkey rot and always will be. Just put me in a wingjet. By all that is holy, let me fly. Then we’ll—”

“Tomorrow. Then
we’ll
see.”

She spun in her seat. Lieutenant Wolfe, the unit’s flying expert, kept walking without looking at her, but the faint smirk on his thin face betrayed his skepticism. Not that his derision was a surprise. Hadn’t Commander Nyx made it clear she wasn’t impressing anyone? She’d barely passed her physical evaluation, and even now she spent most of her combat training trying to ignore the disgusted look on Major Vidar’s face.

Target practice was getting better. She had the sharp eyes of a flyer, but she still flinched every time the solagun went off, which always impaired her aim. At least she usually managed to keep her eyes open now. Still, it wasn’t enough.

Aris turned to glare at Otto, who was chuckling openly.

“Have you heard from Helena?” She asked Galec about his wife in an attempt to change the subject.

His eyes glowed with pride. “Got a comm from her yesterday. Calla has started walking. She’s taller than all the other girls her age, and Helena says she looks more like me every day.”

“Poor child,” Otto said under his breath. Dysis punched him in the arm. “Ow!”

“You should be so lucky,” Galec replied with a good-natured smile.

Just then, someone on the other side of the room hushed them, turning up the volume on the monitor mounted to the wall.

In the news vid, a pretty reporter in a slim yellow dress was speaking in front of a steep-roofed stone house. “. . . With a heavy heart I announce the passing of Josef Vadim, husband of Ruslana’s Ward Galena Vadim, who remains in quarantine,” she said solemnly.

Everyone turned to watch, the last murmurs of conversation fading to silence. The woman continued, “Vadim was found early this morning, alone in the home he shared with his wife, dead of catastrophic heart failure. He was taken to the nearest clinic but menders were unable to revive him. Those close to the Ward believe the stress of her illness contributed to his collapse. We’ve been told Ward Vadim will issue a statement. Her son has still not spoken to or been seen by the press; it is unclear if he was with his father at the time of his death or, indeed, if he’s even aware of today’s sad events.”

Otto sat back in his chair and whistled. “That’s a bad business.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t appointed an acting Ward,” Galec said. A vertical line had formed between his brows. “But I suppose they wouldn’t, if she’ll soon be well enough to issue statements.”

The reporter was still speaking, but she’d moved on to interviews with friends and colleagues of Josef Vadim, and the room erupted again into conversation and the clinking of silverware.

Aris took a bite of her pie, staring intently at her plate. That man in Dianthe’s apartment had talked about Ward Vadim’s husband, how he’d been telling anyone who’d listen that his wife wasn’t really sick. It was so odd that now
he
should fall ill. That he should die.

“I wonder why they can’t locate her son,” Dysis said. “How can no one know where he is? Surely he’ll attend his father’s burning.”

“Will Ruslana continue with the sanctions, do you think?” Aris asked.

From Commander Nyx’s briefings, it appeared Ruslana’s pressure on Safara was having some small effect. Without the water and other resources Ruslana normally traded for Safaran energy, the dominion was struggling. A little. But Atalanta was still in danger. And no one here seemed to believe that giving Safara access to the Fex River would actually solve anything.

“They better,” Galec said, running a hand over the ginger stubble on his head. “Otherwise, there’s not much hope for us, is there?”

Aris glanced at Dysis, taking in her worried look, as Dianthe’s words echoed ominously in her mind.
We are losing this war.