Not everyone was mission ready, she learned. There were pilots and gunners still in training, instructors, and nonflying crew who oversaw operations. Even the mission-ready pilots had different responsibilities. When two fighters flew together, one pilot was in charge. Flight leads commanded a group of two to four fighters, and flight commanders were in charge of missions involving six or more.

  It was a fascinating world of its own, very different from that of the specialists who handled the defensive and offensive weapons built into the Phoenix. Rahel watched raptly, now understanding the true significance of Candini’s position. If there were this many crew for sixty fighters, then the Alsean contingent must number more than four hundred.

  When Candini outlined her plans for a competition to test the flight skills of both Alsean and Fleet fighters, she set off a rumble among the attendees.

  “Are you going to give them a starting advantage?” one called.

  “Twenty points might be enough,” added another.

  “I did think about offering something like that,” Candini said. “To you.”

  They roared with good-natured disbelief and quite a few ritual insults.

  “Don’t make assumptions,” Candini called over the noise. “I haven’t had a chance to assess them yet, but the last time I was here, I saw some impressive flying. And they’ve had four years to practice since then.”

  “On our equipment,” someone shouted.

  “On our equipment that they rebuilt from the landing gear up,” Candini answered. “And over a hundred more they’ve built since then. Don’t you know better than to underestimate your opponents?”

  She was good, Rahel thought. Not so far removed from them that she couldn’t communicate on their level, yet still in command.

  The crew members settled down for the rest of the presentation, some taking notes, others sitting back with arms crossed, all of them attentive. When Candini called an end to it, many went up to shake her hand or clap her on the back before filing out.

  Rahel waited until the last one departed before walking down to the stage.

  “What did you think?” Candini asked.

  “I think they’re looking forward to beating us in the competition.”

  “Who is us, Fleeter?” She grinned and ran a hand through her spiky red hair, making it stand up even more. “Say, Captain Serrado mentioned that you go with her on every leave just to get off the ship. Because of the emotional pressure.”

  Rahel nodded.

  “Want to get off the ship?”

  It took a moment to understand the question. “You’re offering me a ride in your fighter?”

  Candini sighed expressively. “A ride, Seeders, no. You don’t go for a ride in a fighter. You go for a flight. And yes, I’m offering. I need to see how this Alsean build responds in all conditions, so I’ve arranged for some target practice. I was planning to ask one of the gunners here, but I don’t actually need one. There’s a seat if you want it.”

  With a grin she couldn’t control, Rahel said, “I want it.”

  Until now, Rahel had viewed flying in a shuttle as the height of adventure. It combined all of her favorite things about working in space: the freedom, the speed, the glorious vistas, the fact that she was soaring among millions of stars with nothing but a thin hull protecting her.

  As Candini hurtled through a series of maneuvers, the stars spinning madly around them, she revised her opinion. Flying in a shuttle was never going to be the same. She should have realized it from the start, when Candini helped her with the specialized harness and informed her that “you don’t get into a fighter, you strap it on.”

  It did feel like that. This wasn’t a vehicle she was traveling in; it was an extension of her body. It was glorious.

  To top it off, there was only one mind broadcasting emotions within her range, and that mind did not have a single negative emotion at the moment. Candini loved flying with an intensity that permeated her emotional signature. Happiness, satisfaction, bright bursts of glee during certain maneuvers—all of them blended into a depth of focused pleasure that Rahel would have paid for.

  They turned away from the two destroyers in the distance and sped back toward the Phoenix, which grew larger at a startling rate. Nor did Candini slow when the warship’s engine cradle filled their entire front view. Instead, she shot straight up and over, then raced along the dorsal surface at a dizzying speed. They rocketed over Deck Zero and were past the nose of the ship before Rahel could blink.

  “Shekking Mother! Captain Serrado never did that.”

  Candini laughed. “Not in a shuttle, she wouldn’t. She could in a fighter.”

  “Does she ever fly a fighter?”

  “Every now and again, to keep in practice. She’s a good pilot. She’s just not a fighter pilot.”

  “But you said—”

  “I mean, she can fly this. But in combat? She wouldn’t last. It’s not her skill. Or maybe I should say it’s not the skill she’s chosen to hone. She’s a strategist. We need her on the bridge, not out here.” The stars suddenly shot downward.

  Rahel’s seat curved around her, flowing into a new shape to protect her head and neck from the acceleration forces. When the stars stopped moving altogether, the seat retreated and she had full range of motion once more. Straight ahead of them was the Phoenix, hanging upside down relative to their position. Candini had flipped them end over end and brought them to a standstill.

  “If that didn’t make you vomit, you’re never going to,” she declared. “Good job.”

  Though Rahel didn’t see how she could take credit for her biology, the praise warmed her. “Exit transition doesn’t bother me, either. I don’t have to take the foramine.”

  “Really? Damn, that would be nice.”

  “This is amazing.” She indicated the malleable seat. “I don’t know how it moves so quickly. It’s like part of my body.”

  “That’s the idea. Pressure seats revolutionized fighter technology. No more helmets, no more clunky suits to keep your blood pressure from crashing. It makes an even bigger difference in atmospheric flight.”

  “I can understand that. I also understand why you told me to take out my braid.” She patted the bun atop her head, a style she rarely wore. But it kept the hair away from her neck and allowed the pressure seat to do its job. It also stayed out from under the Alsean crash collar both she and Candini wore.

  “You’d have had a Hades of a headache otherwise. Or neck ache. Some pilots put their hair up like yours, but most cut it short. It’s easier.”

  Rahel nodded, examining Candini’s red hair more closely. “What purpose do the spikes serve?”

  Candini gave a great shout of laughter, then covered her mouth and laughed harder. “None,” she finally managed. “My hair doesn’t behave when it’s short. It needs length to weigh it down, otherwise it’s everywhere. I figured out a long time ago that it was better to work with it than fight it.”

  “A good warrior attitude,” Rahel said approvingly.

  Candini pointed both forefingers at her. “I like you. Now, are you ready for some target practice?”

  “Me? I thought you were doing it.”

  “Sure, after you. Don’t you want to try?”

  “Yes! What do I do?”

  Candini tapped her board, bringing up twin virtual targeting screens in front of their seats. “Okay, I’ve transferred weapons to your side. That means your control stick is now mapped solely to the weapons systems. Any movement you make here won’t affect flight inputs. This is for the laser cannon,” she said, pointing to a trigger on the forward side of the control stick. “And this button here is for firing missiles, which we’re not doing.”

  “So don’t touch it?”

  “You can, but it won’t do anything. We’re not carrying live missiles today. Here.” She wrapped Rahel’s hand around the control stick and positioned her fingers. “See how the trigger falls naturally under your first finger?”

  Rahel flexed her finger slightly. “Yes.”

  “Go ahead and pull it. Nothing will fire yet. Get a feel for it.”

  She pulled the trigger, first slowly and then with more confidence. There was very little travel distance. Halfway down, a physical click told her exactly where the action point was.

  “Got it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Your job is to watch this screen. I do the flying, you do the watching. You’ll see the target moving all over the place. My job is to get it here, in the target window.” She pointed at an outlined square, then dipped her finger down to indicate a cross in its center. “That’s what you’re in charge of. You’ll be fine-tuning the target solution.”

  Rahel experimented with the control stick, watching the cross move within the square. “It’s sensitive.”

  “Yeah, it takes a light touch. You don’t want to grip it like a—” She stopped. “Never mind, you won’t get that reference. Anyway, keep it gentle. I’ll get the target in here, then you kill it.”

  Rahel pulled the trigger once, feeling the click. “Prepared to kill on your command, First Pilot.”

  Candini barked a laugh. “Did I mention I like you?” She turned to the quantum com and called the Phoenix, surprise zinging off her skin when Captain Serrado appeared. “Captain! I wasn’t expecting you.”

  Serrado looked unamused. “I wanted to have a talk with the idiot who just did a flyby of my ship a meter off the hull. Next time you try that, I’m sending you out to polish our ID number by hand.”

  “Yes, Captain. I’m sorry.” Whatever contrition Candini managed to drum up vanished as she added, “There wasn’t any risk, though.”

  “Was there any risk of First Guard Sayana getting sick?”

  “I’m fine, Captain. She said if I didn’t vomit after that last maneuver, I never would.”

  “You had to tell her that?”

  “She’s honest.” Serrado raised her eyebrows. “Something you might want to emulate.”

  “Alseans respect honesty,” Rahel said helpfully.

  “I take it back about liking you,” Candini muttered. “Captain, we’re ready to begin target practice if you have the drones loaded.”

  “Which threat level?”

  “Let’s start with three.”

  “Three? Are you that out of practice? Oh—First Guard, did she talk you into being her gunner?”

  “There wasn’t much talking involved,” Candini said. “I asked and she leaped.”

  “I’m watching history repeat itself.” Serrado glanced offscreen. “Lieutenant, threat level three, please. Activate shields. Get going, Candini.”

  The com went dark, and Candini swung them around to face away from the ship.

  Rahel gripped the control stick, then remembered and lightened her touch. She had no idea what to look for, but it became obvious when a green dot appeared on her screen, moving in a sinuous motion. The pressure seat shot up to protect her head as Candini gave chase, throwing the fighter into a high-speed turn.

  When Candini had said the target would move all over, she hadn’t exaggerated. Rahel paid no attention to the wild motions of the stars around them, focusing solely on her targeting screen and the gyrations of that green dot. It danced all around the edges of the central square but wouldn’t go inside. Then it did go inside, only to zip back out as a beam of light flashed in Rahel’s peripheral vision.

  “It’s armed?” she asked.

  “It’s just a light show. We won’t die if it hits us, but my reputation will. Ah, there you are, you little shit.”

  The green dot dropped into the central square, right below the top edge. Rahel tracked it and managed to intersect its trailing curve for a fraction of a piptick, but held her fire in an instinctive response to the anticipation Candini was broadcasting. It wasn’t time yet.

  She kept trying, getting used to the way the dot moved and her own reaction time. The target danced along the upper edge, and Candini was fiercely focused, her emotional signature radiating expectation, anticipation—and then a blinding burst of triumph.

  “Now!” she shouted, but Rahel had already fired. A brilliant white beam lanced out from their fighter, impacting the drone and blowing it to atoms.

  Rahel whooped and Candini swore, bringing them to an easy stop.

  “How the fuck did you do that?” Her tone was demanding, but she was genuinely astonished. “You fired the exact moment the firing solution came together. Before I said anything. No way a first-time gunner does that. You’ve done this before.”

  “I haven’t,” Rahel protested. “I’ve never even been in a fighter until now.”

  “Then how did you know? That was—it looked like you’ve put in two hundred hours of training.”

  “I felt you.” She wasn’t sure how to explain it. “You weren’t ready, and then you were.”

  Candini gaped at her. “You weren’t watching the targeting screen?”

  “Yes, of course, but I fired when you stopped anticipating and felt . . .” She searched for the right word. “Victorious? Like it was already done. It was instinct.”

  She waited nervously. Candini was still looking at her as if she were a mythical beast, disbelief vying with shock.

  Then came a wave of elation. “Is that why you’ve built more two-seaters? Because of that kind of empathic teamwork? Holy Seeders, you could be—we have to test this.” Bursting with enthusiasm, Candini called the Phoenix. “We’ve got a prodigy on our hands,” she announced when Captain Serrado appeared. “I want to try level six.”

  Serrado smiled. “Why does that not surprise me?”

  A level-six drone, it turned out, was twice as hard to catch as a level-three. Rahel still hit it on her first attempt.

  It ceased flying immediately, emitting a brilliant burst of red light that could surely be seen for a hundred kilometers.

  “What happened?” Rahel asked in confusion.

  “You killed it.” Candini caught up to the drone and stopped beside it. “On your first shot, damn!”

  “Why didn’t it—?” She mimed an explosion with her hands.

  “Yeah, I should have mentioned that, sorry. The pad pushers back at Command Dome decided us pilots and gunners were having too much fun blowing shit up. They said it cost too much to replace single-use drones, so they made them reusable with a little light show. Red is a kill shot. If I hadn’t set our laser cannon to training mode, you really would have atomized it. Orange is a mobility kill, a disabling strike. Puts it out of the fight. Yellow means damaged but still flying, still a threat. We call a yellow strike a getta.”

  Rahel’s language chip had no translation for that. “A getta?”

  “It’s an acronym. GETA. Short for Good Effort, Try Again.”

  “Isn’t it easier just to say yellow?”

  Candini scoffed. “Boring. Besides, this is Fleet. We live for acronyms.”

  “You’re not in Fleet.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a hard habit to break. Do you know what we used to call gunners? Tactical officers, which we shortened to tac officers, which then got shortened to tacos, which is a food from Captain Serrado’s home planet.” She grinned. “It would be like me asking if you wanted to come on this flight as my pastry.”

  “I can see why that didn’t catch on.”

  “Oh, it did—for the pilots.”

  Candini’s high spirits suffused the fighter, making Rahel wish she could bottle this feeling and take it back to the ship with her. It would be a fantastic treatment for the days when she was feeling overloaded with her shipmates’ unshielded emotions.

  “Wait. Why did the first one blow up?” She had a sudden suspicion. “Did you ‘forget’ to set the laser cannon to training mode?”

  “Are you kidding? Captain Serrado would have my head if I blew up a reusable. The simple drones are cheap enough to produce that we still get to make them go boom. Levels one through three. Besides, it’s important to have that in training. To see what it looks like, both here—” She pointed at her eyes, then at the targeting screen. “And here.”

  “I want to shoot another level three,” Rahel announced.

  Laughing, Candini pointed both forefingers again, which seemed to be her gesture of approval. “Let me figure out your limits first. Then we’ll wrap it up with a multiple. I’ll ask Serrado to give us two level threes to go after.”

  “At the same time?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’m ready.”

  Apparently, Candini subscribed to the “test to failure” philosophy of training. She jumped them to a level-nine drone, which flung itself around the targeting screen like a dartfly on stims. Rahel missed her first shot but got an orange hit on the second.

  Candini’s glee was so great that she might have leaped out of her seat had the harness not held her down. “We’re going straight to twelve,” she said breathlessly. “That’s as hard as it gets. The only way to increase the difficulty from there is to add multiple drones.”

  It took four shots.

  Pounding her fists on her thighs, Candini let out a long howl of triumph. Rahel could not help laughing, both at the display and the joyous excitement that inundated her senses. The last time she had made someone feel this good was during a joining at Blacksun’s warrior caste house, and even that hadn’t included this sense of victory.

  It was the best thing she had felt in a long time.

  “I want you to be my gunner,” Candini said.

  “I’m in security, not weapons—”

  “Stuff that. It doesn’t matter. This is a fucking breakthrough. This could turn a battle. I need to find out if Alsean gunners consciously train for this, or if they even realize that’s what they’re doing. But if they do what you do—it’s like our brains are connected.” She motioned between their heads. “Like you’re my trigger finger. It’s an incredible advantage. I want to study this, and I want to do it with you.”

  “I don’t see how that will work. You’re in the ADF, I’m in Fleet.”

  “And I’m the liaison. In a way, you’re a liaison, too. Who better to work together?” Candini’s excitement grew. “Seeders, it’s like it was ordained. I’ll be up here a lot anyway, and you have a medical need to get off the ship. I can train you as a gunner, and you can train me as an Alsean commander.”