“That’s just Sylph,” Chase yelled over the fire’s destruction. She loosened his grip on her chest and pushed him away with both hands. “She’s on our side.”
“Mostly,” Pippin croaked. Arrow’s RIO laughed at that—a desperate sound amid the chaos.
“Come on. I’ll lead you—” she started, but Arrow cut her off.
“We’re forgetting something.” His eyes searched the runway, his demeanor slightly frozen. Black smears ran down his face and into his long hair. Finally he pointed.
The fuel truck was mere feet from one of the burning buildings. Chase watched as the ground underneath it began to burn.
“Down!” Arrow yelled. He was on top of her so fast, over Pippin and his RIO too, shielding them with his body.
The sky lit up like daylight.
The explosion shook the air and speared his hearing.
Moments later, they were all standing, staring. Dazed. Pegasus flew by again, but this time Arrow was struck still. Chase gripped the shoulders of his T-shirt and yelled his call sign into his face. The orange blare of fire danced over his blue eyes, but they were static.
She shouted at his RIO. “Help him!”
The RIO smacked Arrow. Hard. “Tristan!” he yelled. “Snap to. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Arrow pulled at his ears and worked his jaw like the blast had taken out his hearing.
She took hold of his shirt again. “Tristan.” His eyes locked on hers. Unlike his call sign, his name was a link straight through to him. “Get in your bird. Follow me home.”
He nodded.
Chase and Pippin climbed into their Streaker while Phoenix’s team returned through the hole in the smoking hangar. In a few rasping breaths, she’d flung Dragon up into the night. Pippin held on to her shoulder while they circled what was left of JAFA.
“You think they’ll make it?” His question was barely out when the hangar roof began to collapse.
“Come on,” Chase whispered.
As if he didn’t want to make her wait, the rest of the building flew apart as Phoenix broke through the flames and into her sky.
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.