Dr. Ritz was quiet for a long moment. “Your flying is not a matter of winning or losing. I keep having this conversation with Leah Grenadine—you teenagers need to put everything in terms of competition. These trials are about improving national security, Chase Harcourt. They’re for the future of the Air Force.”
Chase rubbed her neck. “Never pegged you as a patriot, Crackers.” The woman gave Chase a sharp look. “I mean, Doctor.”
“Keeping your eye on the real ball might be what you need. Especially if you can’t see what’s festering at your core.”
Chase winced. That sounded graphic. “Right. I’ll keep doing what I always do. Talk about a freakin’ circle.” She didn’t wait to be dismissed. She headed toward the Green, taking a few minutes in one of the glass tunnels that connected all the buildings at the Star.
High above, the yellow-green northern lights writhed against a black sky. Chase blew hot breath on the glass and drew a circle in the fog. Then she wrote Pippin in its center.
It didn’t work.
It didn’t make her realize that she trusted him. That he was “central in her life.” It only reminded her of his distant-blank expression—and his recent demand for space.
Chase smeared the circle and name away a little too forcefully, making the glass wobble in protest. If she were being honest with herself, these days Pippin felt more like a stranger than her best friend.
21
PLAYMATES
Friends for the Mission
Chase strode into the hangar with her helmet under her arm, all but jumping to get into the air. The rest of the Streaker teams were standing before the brigadier general, and she fell in line with nothing more than an annoyed look from Sylph.
Kale touched Phoenix’s wing while he spoke. “The original plan was to have the American Streaker teams dogfight with Phoenix. The Canadian pilots had the advantage of having studied Harcourt and Grenadine’s flying patterns. Should the Streakers pass the military trials, it will only be a matter of time before the New Eastern Bloc either steals or duplicates the technology. We need to understand how the jets perform against similar machines.”
He looked from Tristan to Chase. “But since you have all had a taste of each other’s styles, we’ve seen fit to change the trials. You’ll be facing a different sort of combative test. Not even I know what it will entail”—he shot a look at Chase—“so don’t pester me.”
Kale continued. “One element of the trials will be based on your maneuverability at high speeds. This might be the most important factor in determining whether or not the Streakers will be accepted as a large-scale military investment, particularly because we still don’t know the redlining speed of the drones.”
Chase raised her hand. “Permission to speak, General?”
“If you have to, Harcourt.”
“I do.” She glanced at Sylph. “Are you taking one of the Streakers out of the trials?”
Kale narrowed his eyes. “Who said that?”
Pippin was looking around like he wasn’t interested. Like he hadn’t been the person to tell her exactly that. It made Chase redden from the neck to the cheeks. “No one. It just felt like that’s the way things were headed.”
“You’re all factored into the trials,” the brigadier general said. “All three teams.”
Sylph’s relief showed in the way her shoulders released. Tristan was at the far end, his hair tied back tight and his eyebrows sunk into a v. He looked distinctly uneasy.
Kale noticed Chase’s stare and snapped his fingers in her face. Romeo and Pippin laughed together, while Sylph looked pleased. Riot examined his bandaged hand.
Tristan didn’t notice. He really was out of it.
“What’s the hop today, General?” Sylph asked.
“You three are going to…” Kale sighed. “The easiest way to explain this is that you’ll be racing. But it’s not a competition.”
“Buuullshiiiit,” Pippin sang. Everyone laughed.
Kale’s eyes couldn’t hide their delight. “It’s a bit of a competition, but we’re collecting speed records, not ranking you. Stay safe but also let loose.” A whoop came from several of them, including Chase. It was exactly what she needed: to get in the air and open up. “The three of you will be linked via shortwave radio. It won’t connect you past a few dozen miles, so stay close. It should be clear from hacking.”
“Espérons que,” Romeo muttered. Pippin muttered something back in French. Apparently her RIO had found his nerd brother in Romeo. It stung a little. She wasn’t used to seeing him joke with anyone other than her.
“One more thing,” Kale said over the chatter. “Stay out of the gray zone. If you begin to lose your colors, throttle back immediately.” He looked at Chase again. “The satellite restrictions needed to fend off Ri Xiong Di’s overrides also mean that we cannot control the jets remotely. Should a team lose consciousness…” He didn’t have to say it. They all knew the “crash and burn” gist. “Is that understood?”
Chase nodded.
“Trust each other up there. Work together. Help each other. That’s an order. Dismissed.”
Everyone except Tristan and Chase climbed the ramp stairs into their cockpits. Tristan was stiff. He took a little too long getting his helmet on, and Chase secured the strap for him.
“You ready?”
He didn’t respond. His eyes were glassy and downcast.
“Don’t make me kiss you again,” she muttered.
He looked at her, his expression beyond serious. “Don’t play with me, Chase.”
“I was trying to help you.” She avoided his apology by slamming her helmet over her ears. “Don’t care. Just fly.”
Chase pushed past him, her chest strangely hot. Tristan headed to Phoenix, and Kale touched her shoulder. He had been watching them talk.
“Did you notice Powers, Harcourt?”
“Riot?” She couldn’t stop herself. “What? That he’s a child?”
“He needed a few stitches. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”