“I believe you all know Lieutenant Nils Calder,” the admiral said.

It took Celene a few moments to place him. “From Engineering.” A vague recollection flitted through her mind of her consulting Lieutenant Calder about the navigational controls of her Black Wraith.

“NerdWorks?” blurted Mara.

Kell groaned, Celene choked and even the admiral reddened.

Calder only smiled. “I’ve also heard Dork Corps, Geek Brigade and Dweeb Patrol.” His voice was deep, with a faint rasp. “But NerdWorks is my favorite.”

Much as Celene appreciated his sense of humor, she wanted intel right now, not jokes. She turned to Admiral Gamlyn. “The briefing?”

“I have the intel here.” Calder held up a digitablet. He walked to the holo display, and everyone shuffled to get out of his way. Their bodies brushed against each other as he moved to the display. His breath caught at the contact, and his cheeks darkened.

Guess NerdWorks doesn’t usually mix with actual humans.

This close to him, she realized he was bigger than she’d first thought, over half a foot taller than her. The only other man in the room was Kell, and he had a tendency to make other men seem smaller by comparison. But Lieutenant Nils Calder was long and lean as a swimmer, impressive in his own way.

He turned to address everyone in the chamber. Yet his gaze caught Celene’s and held.

Astute, those eyes of his. And aware. Of her.

“The intel, Lieutenant.”

Admiral Gamlyn’s directive broke the odd spell that had fallen, and Calder looked away as he moved to the holo display.

Mara sent Celene a glance and mouthed, What the hells was that all about?

All she could do was shrug. I have no damned idea. She focused her attention on the holo display.

Calder tapped a few keys on the display, then studied his digitablet. An image came up of the Black Wraith’s distinctive sleek lines, and the hologram rotated to display every angle of the unique ship. She flew her Black Wraith every day, but even looking at a holo of the ship filled her with pride. A perfect union of pilot and machine. Beautiful and elegant as a moonrise, but deadly in the right hands.

Or disastrous in the wrong hands. Which was why PRAXIS couldn’t obtain a Black Wraith.

Calder cleared his throat. “I’ve gone over Lieutenant Jur’s logs and the debriefing vids, analyzing her description of the effects of the device used on her ship. A total system shutdown that renders the Black Wraith completely inoperative, with only enough emergency capacity to power life support, and even that for only a brief period.”

Memories flooded Celene. Acidic currents of remembered anger as she’d floated in space with no means of protecting herself and no way of calling for help. She grasped at her rage, a useful emotion.

“I was there.” The words felt taut in her throat. “So tell us something helpful.”

Calder’s jaw tightened. “I also went through the data and sensor logs in your ship after it was returned to base. Ran diagnostic protocols and did some calculations. I was able to extrapolate the basic construction of the disruptor device.”

The holo changed from an image of the Black Wraith to an innocuous collection of circuits and cables. With her not being a tech, it could have been a schematic of a Voaxian self-pleasuring device, but she studied it, trying to make sense of its configuration.

“This is just a theory as to its appearance,” Calder went on, “but the operation of it remains the same. In order to create the disruption pulse that’s keyed to the Black Wraith’s energy profile, the device requires a particular power source. The power source has a distinctive wavelength signature.”

“Can we track the wavelength signature?” Kell asked.

“I can tune a ship to trace it.”

“Leading us right to the bastard who disabled my ship.” Celene could already taste blood, and she welcomed it. “Nicely done, Lieutenant.”

Calder accepted her praise with a terse nod, though his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. It was clear he took pride in his work, a sentiment she understood well.

“I’ve also determined the identity of the bastard in question.”

She started, hearing the edge in his voice and the change in his language. Who knew tech-heads could sound so angry?

He entered some information into the holo display and the image of a man appeared.

Everyone cursed, including Admiral Gamlyn. The man wore an 8th Wing uniform.

“He’s one of us?” Mara spat.

“Was.” Calder’s voice glinted with anger. “Lieutenant Commander Torrin Marek. He resigned six solar months ago. Said he’d had enough of working for no profit.”

“That’s what he put in his withdrawal log?” Celene couldn’t believe Marek’s arrogance. She scrutinized his image. A perfectly average face looked back with unseeing eyes. Marek had ridges down his cheeks, common for people from the Alua System. Everything about him seemed ordinary. But treachery appeared harmless—she knew that now.

Calder shook his head. “It’s what he told me.” His lips tightened. “Marek was in Engineering. I used to work with him.”

Different as she and Lieutenant Calder were, they shared anger and feelings of betrayal. She saw it in his face, in his eyes.

She wanted to hit something. Wanted to shout herself hoarse. Bad enough knowing there was a device out there that completely hamstrung the 8th Wing’s most crucial weapon. But the fact that it had been created by one of their own…

“I’ll kill the fucker,” Kell said.

“No, you won’t, Commander.” The admiral stepped between Kell and the holo of Marek. “The traitor will be court-martialed. When we find him.”

“This is to be a stealth mission, then,” Celene said. “So he can’t see us coming and run.”

“Correct, Lieutenant. I debated whether or not sending you would be a good idea—”

“I need to do this,” she pressed. Vengeance belonged to her.

The admiral raised a brow, and Celene collected herself. She couldn’t prove her fitness for the mission by unleashing her anger in front of Admiral Gamlyn.

“Ultimately, Command and I determined that you would be the best pilot for the operation. You’ll have a partner, but the mission shall be yours.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Celene turned to Calder. “So, a ship can be tuned to track the disruptor’s power signature. How long will it take for you to make the necessary adjustments?”

“It’ll be ready to fly today.”

“Lieutenant Calder is one of Engineering’s best,” the admiral said.

As someone who never apologized for her skill as a pilot, Celene appreciated that Calder didn’t mumble something self-deprecating. He looked well aware of his abilities and confident in them. Another surprise.

The admiral continued, “Which is why he is going to be your partner.”

Celene stared at Admiral Gamlyn. That couldn’t be right. She had to have misheard. Her gaze drifted to Calder, hoping to see the same expression of disbelief on his face.

He looked calm. Determined. Not surprised at all.

“Ma’am?” She turned to the admiral.

“As I said, Lieutenant Calder is one of Engineering’s finest. The technological requirements of the mission demand his presence.”

“The power source’s wavelength fluctuates,” Calder explained. “I’ll have to continually adjust the ship’s sensors to trace it accurately.”

“That doesn’t have to be done manually.” Celene stepped closer to Calder.

He didn’t back down. “Actually,” he said, voice and eyes cool, “it does. And when we finally reach Marek he’s going to have very complex security systems in place. You don’t have the skill to disable them.”

The admiral narrowed her eyes. “It sounds like you’re questioning my decision, Lieutenant Jur.”

Damn, she did not want to piss off her commanding officer. “This mission is extremely important to me, ma’am.”

“It’s important to all of 8th Wing,” came Admiral Gamlyn’s level response. “Not just you.”

Heat crept into her face. “I’m aware of that, ma’am. But couldn’t Commander Frayne be my partner? He’s very adept at engineering.”

“I’ve seen him build some convoluted stuff,” Mara volunteered, then added, “ma’am.”

“Skilled as Commander Frayne is,” the admiral said, “he doesn’t have the abilities the mission demand. Lieutenant Calder’s expertise, as well as his personal knowledge of Marek, make him the ideal candidate.”

“I’m sensing some reluctance to partner with me,” he said drily.

This was not a conversation Celene wanted to have in front of the admiral, nor her friends. She glanced at Admiral Gamlyn. “Permission to speak with Lieutenant Calder in private, ma’am?”

“Briefly, Lieutenant Jur. This mission needs to commence as quickly as possible.”

Celene nodded, then grabbed Calder’s forearm to lead him out of the chamber. He was solid and muscled beneath his uniform, and tension spread through him at the contact of her hand on his arm. Pushing these details aside, she guided him to the door and then out into the corridor. She glanced around. No one was nearby.

Looking up at Calder, she hoped to see some of the easy humor he had displayed in the briefing chamber. Instead his expression was remote, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t going to make this easy. Fine by her. She’d faced tougher obstacles than Lieutenant Calder—like flying through the Qing Meteor Shower with no navigational systems and almost no oxygen in the cockpit.

“Marek’s struck at the heart of the 8th Wing. He could cripple the entire resistance movement, letting PRAXIS take whatever they want. Enslave everyone for profit.”