Breaking Sky (12 page)

Chase headed to the chow hall alone. She swallowed hard, but the feelings wouldn't go down. Pippin was…upset about something. Did it have anything to do with the Canadians?

With Chase?

She caught herself searching the crowded cafeteria for Pippin. She watched for him in the food line, swathed in loud conversations and moving toward the buffet a few steps at a time.

Until Sylph stepped in front of her.

Instinct kicked in. Chase held her tray before her face.

“You've finally done it. You've broken my RIO. His hand at least.” The blonde sighed and pushed down her shield.

“Are you going to kill me?” Chase watched Sylph's expression morph into an assassin's smirk. “Oh God, you really are going to kill me.”

“I should,” she said. “But I've been making a study of you, and I think you can't help it. You're drawn to people only to push them away. It's like a disease.”

“Better step back, Sylph. I might cough on you.”

“There was even a moment freshman year when we could have been friends, but you had to be so
bizarre
.”

“You mean the forty-two seconds you were my roommate before you demanded to switch?”

“I don't remember it that way.” Sylph plucked a few grapes off the fruit bar and popped them in her mouth. The chow line moved forward, and Chase elbowed Sylph out of the way. Sylph didn't seem bothered, though, and her calm was a lot more frightening that her usual fervor. “Nyx, I've decided you should use your unhealthy skill set on our new enemy.”

“Excuse me?”

“You should slay Arrow. It's obvious he likes you.”

“You want me to seduce him? On purpose?” Like Pippin, Sylph must have read into the way Tristan pulled her out of the centrifuge. “You've got the wrong idea, Sylph. Nyx was the Daughter of Chaos. Not the goddess of lust.”

“Like you even have to try. Just do that thing you do. Lead him on…and then…” She lifted the corner of Chase's tray and let go so that it slapped down on the food-serving cart like a gunshot. Three people in line spun around until they saw it was Sylph—which made them turn back even faster.

“Why do you hate them so much?” Chase asked. “I've never seen you so motivated. Except when you were trying to beat me during the pilot ranking.” Sylph had been merciless in those days. They hadn't known then that there was more than one Streaker, and Sylph wanted it so badly that she did everything outside of poison Chase. When Kale revealed that the top
two
pilots would be chosen, Sylph had backed off like a tiger receding into the jungle.

Something clicked. “Sylph, why don't I go ask Kale if they're going to cut one of us? Then you don't have to do this ‘snake in the grass' thing.”

“Maybe I like being a snake.” Sylph's face was sly and leaning in. “So what do you think about seducing the Canadian?”

“I think you've finally started drinking your peroxide shampoo.”

“I'm not the one getting summoned by the shrink. Kale asked me to pass this on.” Sylph tucked a slip of paper in the front of Chase's uniform and stole her tray, hip-checking her out of the line. “Oh, and Kale said no ducking out if you want to fly the hop tomorrow.”

“We're flying tomorrow?” Chase flooded with relief. “Thank God.”

“You better thank Dr. Ritz if you want to fly. And bring her a cake. That woman has wanted to put you on the Down List since the moment you arrived.”

“That's because I don't take her crap.” Chase headed to the psychiatrist's office. Without flight in her veins, she was all wound up, and spinning her wheels against Crackers actually sounded like fun.

• • •

Chase banged her way into Dr. Ritz's office without knocking. The psychiatrist sat at a small table with Tanner of all people. He looked shirtless for a hot minute, but that was only Chase's memories making a cruel play.

“Crackers. You wanted to see me?”

Dr. Ritz touched her forehead like it pained her. “Wait in the hall please.”

Tanner picked up his bag. “I'm okay.” He caught Chase's eye. “I'm done here.” He shut the door right before she remembered his
love vampire
reference. She should have snapped her teeth at him.

Ritz stood by her desk. “Chase Harcourt, you get your way once again. Have a seat.” This was always the tricky start to Crackers's system. There were only two spots in her office: a couch with a box of tissues on the armrest where the psychiatrist could sit beside her or the small table where Crackers could stare her down, eyeball to eyeball.

Chase chose the chair at the table where Tanner had been.

Ritz sat opposite her. “I've called you in because I spoke with Garret Powers in the infirmary earlier.”

“Who?” Chase asked.

“Your boyfriend.”

“Try again.”

“Your
ex
-boyfriend then. The one who will bear scars from you for the rest of his life.”

“Yikes.” The woman had a gold star in melodrama. “You mean
Riot
. We were never dating. Just friends. With some benefits.”

“There are no call signs here, Chase Harcourt. In this room, we use our birth names.”

“Wrong again, Ritz. I wasn't born with this name.” In her excitement to show up the shrink, the truth had slipped out.

The tiny woman sat up and rifled through Chase's file. Christ. Did she keep it on hand at all times? “Your last name was Tourn until you were twelve. Let's talk about that.”

“Oh,
let's.
”

“I should remind you, Chase Harcourt, that you need my approval to keep your wings.”

“Bully,” Chase murmured. She relented with a breath big enough to let the truth out fast. “Janice thought it would be easier to get money from my dad if I had his last name. What she didn't factor in is that after their one-night mambo, he'd all but disappear.” Chase laughed emptily. “When she finally tracked him down and learned who he was…let's just say she spat a few choice four-letter words.”

Chase debated telling Ritz about the look on Janice's face when she had watched Tourn on TV, confirming to the whole world that he had dropped the nuclear bomb on the Philippines.

“Tell me about your father,” Ritz said.

“Nothing to tell. I knew him for one summer when I was twelve, and I haven't seen him since. It was his decision to change my last name to my mother's, and it was the best parenting move he ever made.”

“Because your father has a reputation.” Ritz clicked her pen. “He wanted to help you avoid that.”

“Crackers,
I
have a reputation. My father has a body count.”

“Interesting.” She lifted her fine wire glasses to the top of her head. “Let's talk about your reputation.”

Chase's seat was still warm from Tanner's butt. “Tanner was complaining?”

“What is it you think he might be complaining about?”

“I used to like him. I changed my mind. He didn't take it so well.” Chase crossed her legs. Uncrossed them. Folded them beneath her.

“And this has happened with several other boys. At least four I'm aware of.”

“Don't forget the girl,” Chase half-joked. “Curiosity and all.” Ritz's frown bent severely, and Chase felt the demarcation line of dangerous territory. “Are you patterning my love life?”

“Do you see a pattern?” Ritz asked. Chase had admitted that much to Tristan, but like hell would she give Ritz the same clearance level. She played with the front point of her hair while the psychiatrist continued. “Have you felt any deep connection to the boys—the people you've become intimate with?”

Chase cringed.
Intimate
was the word adults used to make her feel guilty. “I say, ‘kiss me.' They kiss me. It's that deep. And I only kiss, no matter what Riot says. I'm no skank.” Crackers's face went canvas at the word. “I get a little skin to scatter heavy thoughts and—” She cut herself off.

“So it's about escape,” Ritz said, and Chase hated how close she'd flown to the mark. “And you feel guilty about hurting these boys. That's good. That's the burden of caring.”

Chase opened her mouth to say that she couldn't care less, but that's not what came out.

“I'm careless.”

“With whom you date?”

Chase really didn't want to talk about this, but she was cornered now. “I don't date. I sidle up to someone. Wait to see if they like me. Then when I don't feel the same, I go my own way. That's normal teenage stuff.”

The psychiatrist grimaced. “There is no
normal
when it comes to teenagers. That's what I've learned working here.”

Chase rubbed her face and switched tactics. “You know what I need? Speed.” Ritz's eyes got huge. “Not drugs, Crackers. I need to get up in the air. It…centers me. I haven't been skyward since the Canadians party-crashed.”

“We should talk about this new addition to the academy. How do you feel about them?”

“I feel like they're here,” Chase said. “And I feel bad they lost their academy. If that happened to me…”

Ritz seemed pleased. “The makeup of this school is very much like a family, and the introduction of this team changes things. Like when a parent remarries or has another child.”

“Might want to choose a different metaphor,” Chase said. “I don't have parents.”

The psychiatrist squinted at Chase's file. “You do have parents. Your mother—”

“Oh no. Janice is a mother, but she's no parent. One of the first times I came in here, you said, ‘You give birth to become a mother, but you have to raise a person to become a parent.'” It had been one of the things that made Chase want to trust Dr. Ritz. Badmouthing Janice was the fastest way to Chase's heart.

“You listened to me?” Crackers looked entirely too touched.

“Well, it's true, isn't it? I don't have parents. I have the Star. Kale.
Dragon
.”
Pippin.
For whatever reason, her RIO's name stuck in her throat.

“Have you thought about what the Star will be like after the trials?” Ritz asked. Chase stared as the doctor continued. “If the Streaker project fails, the jets will be scrapped and you will fly the older models.”

Chase closed her eyes. The older fighters sucked. “The Streakers aren't going to fail.” They had to pass. They had as much to prove as Chase did. It was one of the reasons she loved her prototype jet so much.

Ritz continued. “If they pass, there will be dozens of Streaker pilots. You'll be one of many. Of a fleet. Have you thought about that?”

Chase scowled big-time, turning over a new question. Would Kale still care about her when there were dozens of Streaker pilots? Would he still find her antics clever? Not likely.

“Let's switch gears.” Ritz produced a piece of paper and drew a shape. “This is the heart's circle.”

“Is it made by leprechauns?” Chase asked. Ritz gave her a cool eye and pointed to the drawing. It reminded Chase of an engine—a gaping hole that stole wind and spat scorching vapor in its wake. “I stopped putting stock in love when I was a kid, Ritz.”

“Think of it as a trust circle then. Ask yourself: ‘Who is in my circle? Who is close and important to me? Who do I trust with my secrets?' Write these people in, and I promise you'll realize that those you don't seem connected to are already central in your life.”

Chase surprised herself by being angry. No. Furious. “That is the craziest thing you've ever said, Crackers! You think I should write down some names and people will magically matter to me? I do know
how
to care, you know. I care about flying. About the trials. If I don't win, they'll scrap
Dragon
, so believe me, I
care
.”

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.

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?”

“Oh yeah. I hypnotized him and made him punch a mirror.”

“I don't doubt it,” he said too knowingly. Had he been talking to Ritz? Christ. Chase panicked, looking everywhere but at the brigadier general. “Harcourt, I do try to keep my head above the teenage gossip of the academy, but there are certain lines we should observe.” He cleared his throat. Chase rushed with embarrassment, feeling like she was about to get the Star's version of a sex talk. “There are some concerns…”

“Spit it out.” Chase pulled too hard on her leather gloves and gave herself finger wedgies.

“I'd rather you not get
friendly
with Router.”

If she'd thought she was red before, she was scarlet now, and Kale's neck flushed to match. “Right.” She hurried to her cockpit.

“What was that about?” Pippin asked as she swung into her seat.

She fastened her harness. “A dose of mortification.”

“What?”

“Like you care,” she muttered. She switched the mic connect between their helmets and revved the engines.
Dragon
was warm and ready. It was exactly what she had been missing this past week. It would help her get past everything.

Pegasus
headed onto the runway, followed by
Phoenix
. Chase left the hangar last, watching Sylph shoot into the air, her whole being glittering with impending lightness.

“Ready for the speed of heat, Pippin baby?” A little ire slipped in with her zeal.

“Always, Nyxy muffin,” he deadpanned while messing with his controls. Someone chuckled over the radio, and Chase bristled.

“What's so funny?” she demanded.

“Nothing, honey badger,” Tristan said. Romeo laughed as
Phoenix
swept off the runway. Maybe Tristan was trying to tease her out from under his cold snap a few minutes earlier, but it wasn't working. Especially after Kale's awkward warning.

“Nyx. Quit flirting,” Sylph cut in from roughly two thousand feet. “Time to fly.”

Chase gritted her teeth.
Dragon
's throttle hummed in a new, exciting way. She closed her eyes and tried to mold her thoughts around the vibrations. She needed to sink into a place where Crackers wasn't after her wings. Where Riot hadn't confirmed Tanner's colorful title for her.

She opened her eyes and set her sights on
Phoenix
.

Her hands tightened on the stick and throttle until each knuckle strained.
No
worries, Kale
. There was no way she was getting
friendly
with Tristan. Chase was going to knock him out of the sky. The poor boy—he had no idea.

• • •

A half hour later,
Dragon
and
Pegasus
flew wing to wing before a stretch of Canadian wilderness. The pines undulated as the land phased into low mountains. Silvery lakes spotted the woods.

Phoenix
was nowhere in sight, having lagged back not long after takeoff. Chase might have thought something was wrong, but before she could worry, Arrow met them at the coordinates, announcing his arrival over the radio.

“My country,” he said.

“Think they get Wi-Fi out here?” Pippin asked, and Chase snorted.

“Let's get this over with,” Sylph said. “They want to see which one of us is the slowest. As if we don't already know.” Chase felt for Sylph. She
was
an amazing pilot, but speed was not her strong suit, and the Streakers were becoming increasingly about just that. “Who's going to count off?”

“Let Pippin do it,” Romeo said. “We've seen his file. You guys know his IQ is like eighty points higher than the rest of us put together?”

“We know,” Sylph and Riot droned together.

“If anyone's qualified to count from ten, it's him,” Romeo added.

“In what language?” Pippin's voice cracked, and the radio went full volume with laughter. Romeo added a few words in French, and Pippin quipped back.

“All right already,” Chase said. “Pippin, call it.”

Pippin counted down, and Chase glanced at
Phoenix
. Tristan's face was lost behind his visor and mask, but he was looking her way, and she could almost feel the heat behind his eyes.

She had to beat him.

Chase centered her breath and locked her vision straight ahead. A thousand miles due northeast had been cleared of all military and commercial flights. Enough space for a serious drag race. And the new throttle was so sensitive…

Pippin called three, two, one—and Chase shot forward. The press of gravity restrained her for the briefest of flashes before she broke forward, hitting Mach 1…2…3. Sylph fell behind. Her RIO's breath came loudly through his teeth. Tristan stayed too close, his nose under her left wing for a few hundred miles that passed like heartbeats.

“Hey, you have to warn me before you hit the gas like that,” Pippin said. “I need to get ready.”

“Then be ready,” she snapped. There were so many elements out of her control—Tourn, the trials, Ri Xiong Di, and her best friend's increasing distance. But what she could do was fly, beat Tristan, and prove she was not only good enough to fly a Streaker, but also the best pilot among the three of them.

She hit Mach 4, feeling like she was about to turn into a solid strip of silver light. The pressure made her tremble while the land below turned a green bleeding color. Fear trickled through her, and her body agreed. The monochrome crept in.

“I'm feeling pretty gray, Nyx. Talk to me,” Pippin said.

“Oh, now you want to talk.” She hit the throttle even harder.

“Nyx!” Pippin shouted. “This is too much!”

“So tighten up,” she yelled. Tristan could go faster than this—he'd proven it in the simulators. She set herself tighter. Pippin would just have to come back when it was all over.

“Stand down,
Dragon
,” Arrow said. “Your RIO is calling Mayday.”

“Shove off, Arrow.” Chase flicked off the shortwave. “Don't make me lose this, Pip.”

“
I'm
losing it!” Pippin yelled. “Chase, please!
Please!
”

Phoenix
dropped away at that moment, falling back so swiftly that he vanished.

She'd won.

Chase backed off the throttle, realizing how hollow her vision had become. How swilled and tilted her mind felt. She sucked oxygen, hung her head, and swore in a long, slow string.

“I gather you're mad at me,” Pippin said.

Chase turned them back toward the Star. “Mad? Try disillusioned,” she said. “That's one of those fancy words you like.”

“You're a piece of work, you know that?”

“I do.” She hit the throttle without warning, making him grunt.