Face of the Enemy
Terra/Nova Series
By Sandra Barret
Copyright 2006
Chapter One
“PULL UP, DRAY! This ship’ll burn on reentry.”
A determined grin spread across Helena ‘Dray’ Draybeck’s face as she angled their FX-27 star fighter
into the upper atmosphere of the Novan planet. Her copilot shouted obscenities through her headset,
but she ignored him. Ford was an unimaginative putz. She drummed her fingers on the flight console,
beating out a mindless tune while she waited. The holographic readouts flashed warnings across
her field of vision.
Ford was frantic as he screamed through the headset. “Pull up, or I’ll take control of this ship!”
Dray’s fingers stopped. “Touch my flight pattern, and I’ll stuff you down the waste recycler.” Putz.
Ford slid down in his seat harness. “Damn it, Dray. Why does every test flight have to be a freaking
death match between you and Jordan?”
Dray’s grin widened. “Because she’s the only competition I have around here, now prep booster
three.”
Dray watched her readouts, calculating the precise trajectory she needed to pull off her stunt. Jordan
Bowers hit them from behind with small weapons fire. The ship’s hull rattled around Dray. Three
seconds, two seconds. One.
“Fire booster three!” she shouted.
Ford fired the booster, while Dray redirected the FX-27, timing a perfect atmospheric bounce that
threw them up and over Jordan’s star fighter in a dizzying roll that turned Ford an interesting shade of
green. Dray switched to the rear viewers and watched as Jordan’s fighter turned into a yellow ball of
fire as it burned through the Novan atmosphere.
“Yes,” she whispered. Dray let Ford handle their landing on Buenos Aires Base Station, while she
basked in her triumph. Six months after joining the Terran Military’s officer training program, she was
at the top of her class. Beating Jordan proved that. Dray waved goodbye to the pinpoint lights of the
titanium mining colony on Achilles-5’s moon as Ford coasted into the landing dock on Buenos Aries.
A minute later, the lights in their cockpit changed from amber to green. Ford pushed open the hatch
and rushed out.
Dray stepped out of the flight simulator and was accosted by the cheers and congratulations of her
fellow cadets. She pulled off her helmet and ran her fingers through her short hair. Jordan and her
copilot emerged from the adjacent flight simulator. Jordan pulled off her helmet and let loose her
shoulder-length black hair. She saluted Dray as her own well-wishers came over to console her. Dray’
s gaze lingered on Jordan, mesmerized by her light brown skin and deep-set brown eyes. Jordan
was gorgeous.
They’d both enrolled in the officer training program at the same time, both going for their pilot and
officer credentials. Their first meeting remained one of Dray’s most-revisited memories. Sitting in the
same battle strategy class, Jordan’s tall figure and perfect Terran Standard accent had captured Dray’
s attention. Then, Jordan trounced her in their first head-to-head simulated battle. Brains, beauty, and
an itchy trigger finger. What more could a girl ask for?
The shouts of congratulations brought Dray’s attention back to her own cluster of friends. She didn’t
beat Jordan every day, and Dray was determined to make the most of it. Maybe she’d finally have the
guts to talk to Jordan about something other than their classes. She knew almost nothing about her
main competition. She didn’t have a chance before Major Fenton, their chief instructor, slammed open
her office door.
“Cadet Privates Draybeck and Bowers, in here now!” Fenton barely showed her gray-haired head
before retreating inside her office.
Jordan gave Dray a wry smile as the two entered Fenton’s dungeon. The white composite interior to
the major’s office carried no warmth, much like its primary occupant. Fenton sat in her black-mesh
chair, thick arms folded over an ample chest. Dray’s breathing was steady; she was called to task in
this particular office every other day.
“What is the purpose of this program, Cadet Draybeck?” Fenton asked in her usual raspy voice.
“The program trains officers to serve in the ADF, Ma’am.” Draybeck knew the drill, but refused to make
the lesson any easier. She hadn’t done anything wrong this time, strictly speaking.
“That’s it?” Fenton asked. “What about you, Cadet Bowers? Are you here to become another weapon
of destruction for the Allied Defense Force?”
Jordan stared at the wall above Fenton’s head. “We’re here to learn how to lead the ADF, Ma’am.”
Dray suppressed a sigh. Jordan played by the rules as usual.
“Precisely, Cadet. You train to be leaders. Terran Military personnel form the backbone of the
interspecies ADF officer corp. And what kind of leadership mentality did you both show in that last
simulation? Either of you?”
Dray sensed Jordan’s discomfort under Fenton’s glare. Fenton was a thick-necked, administrative
pain in the butt.
“Cadet Draybeck, you have something you want to say?” Fenton’s cloudy gray eyes turned to her.
“Ma’am, the simulation was over. We crushed the Novan outer defenses.” Dray stared back at Fenton.
“And you thought you’d have a bit of fun trying to kill each other, eh?” Fenton’s voice oozed disapproval.
“With respect, Ma’am. The simulations can’t match the challenge of one fighter against another,” Dray
said.
“With respect, Draybeck? Spare me. The only person here who garners any of your respect is Cadet
Bowers.”
A blush crept up Dray’s cheeks. She forced herself not to look at her fellow cadet. “She’s a top pilot,
Ma’am.”
“Hmph. What about you, Cadet Bowers? Do you also think you’re too good for the simulators?” Dray
held her breath, waiting for Jordan to toe the line and cave under Fenton’s icy glare.
“Yes, Ma’am.” Jordan’s quiet answer shocked Dray. She was agreeing with Dray against Fenton?
Dray turned to her co-conspirator in time to catch Jordan’s wink. A warmth flooded Dray that had
nothing to do with Fenton’s critical attention. Fenton glared at each of them in turn. Dray kept her
expression neutral, but inside, she was celebrating Jordan taking her side for once.
“Don’t pat yourselves on the back too hard. All you beat was the second level flight aptitude
simulation.” Fenton’s fingers tapped on the thickest part of her upper arm. “The two of you have no
idea what it’s like out there on the battle lines. No, don’t interrupt, Draybeck. I know your family history,
but you personally, neither of you, have seen what one Novan Legion-class can do to a squad of FX-
27s. They’re death traps. No simulator can mimic what they are capable of.”
Novans were a mongrel offshoot of humanity. Dray’s mother died in the last Novan war, fighting
against Legion ships. Dray didn’t need Fenton, locked inside academia, to tell her the realities of
what faced them if war broke out again. It hadn’t, not for the last fifteen years. Besides, Dray didn’t
think they were clueless. They’d studied all Novan military tactics. The key to defeating the Legion
ships was to cripple the master ship at a distance before it was close enough to launch its collection
of fighter drones.
Fenton stared at Dray. “Your mother came through this same program, Draybeck. I stood beside her,
where the two of you are right now, when she chose fighter pilot training.”
Dray clenched her jaw, fighting back her roiling emotions. She knew her mother had graduated from
Buenos Aires. That’s why she’d requested admissions here. And that’s why she wanted to be a
fighter pilot.
“You’ve got her skills in the cockpit, I’ll give you that. And her pain in the ass attitude,” Fenton said. “We
spent two years together in a Novan prison camp before she got us and four others out. They don’t
mention that about her anymore, do they? Not after Turin.” Fenton leaned forward. “She died too
young.” Fenton’s eyes held Dray’s for a moment. In their gray depths, Dray thought she saw a trace of
sympathy for her. Or maybe it was pity.
Dray didn’t want either. “I’m here to be a fighter pilot, Ma’am.” She could see Jordan’s questioning
expression beside her. Fenton should have kept her mouth shut about her mother.
“I see.” Fenton unfolded her arms and stood. At two and a half meters tall, the older woman towered
over the two cadets. “Follow me.” Fenton led the way out of her office and through the hushed gaggle
of cadets waiting in the simulator classroom. Even without a glance from Fenton, the cadets knew
enough to disperse. Dray followed Fenton and Jordan, regaining her self assurance. She would be a
pilot, a damned good pilot. Just like her mother.
They marched through a connecting tunnel to the adjacent circular corridor, one of the seven
concentric rings that formed each of the forty-three levels on Buenos Aires. Fenton bypassed the
elevators and marched them down three flights. She pressed her palm to the chip-ID reader and the
access door, marked 2-11D, slid open. Fenton walked a short distance down the corridor and
entered the program administrator’s office. She ignored the front desk clerk and marched into the
inner office. Dray followed, pushing back thoughts of her mother as she faced the man seated behind
a broad, cluttered desk. He was older than Fenton, with a flabby face and belly, suggesting he’d been
at his desk job for too long. Someone who’d probably never seen real battle.
“Jim,” Fenton said, calling the commander by his first name. “You wanted two more for the 28th
squadron, right? Well, here’s your two.”
Fenton gave them a smirk and walked out. Dray and Jordan stood in stunned silence as the
commander eyed them over his silver reading glasses. Dray kept her eyes locked on the vidscreen
behind him, watching the small gray specks that were real fighter ships streaking across the
blackness of space beyond their base station. She wanted to be out there, in a real ship.
“So, you passed your first pilot training proficiency test, eh?” He pointed to the screen behind him.
“That’s the 28th squadron you see. The real 28th. They’re part of an inter-species ADF flight wing
composed of five squadrons.”
Their last simulation was a test? Dray knew the instructors could choose any training exercise to rate
pilot potential, but she hadn’t expected it so soon. She looked at the ships again and couldn’t help
grinning. She was one step closer to her goal.
“You’ll train on a variety of ships next, some attack, some tactical. Most of you will never see active
duty.” His voice held a sarcastic edge. “Most of you will graduate and retire your military career within a
year to return to your homeworlds in a pampered government post.”
Dray understood his meaning. The program had once been the top training facility during the Novan
war. It was still the most sought-after school, but now it catered to the politically well-connected
families in the ADF. She’d be joining the offspring of CEOs, planetary presidents, and military brats
like herself.
The commander stood up and stretched out his hand. “Welcome to the 28th trainer squad and
congratulations on your promotion to cadet private first class. You’ll train on a real ship starting
tomorrow.”
Jordan reacted faster than Dray, shaking his hand. “Thank you, sir.”
Dray shook his hand next, unable to voice her gratitude. Her grin was matched by Jordan’s. They were
being promoted. Dray wanted to run through the halls, shouting her new status, but had to wait for the
commander to dismiss them.
“You’ll move quarters tonight to the pilot training wing. Since you came in together, you can bunk
together. See the chief petty officer to reprogram your chip-IDs for the appropriate base access and
get your new uniforms.”
The commander returned to his chair and his work, dismissing them without another word. Dray led
the way out, and Jordan followed. They walked past the front desk and back into the hallway.
“It’s ridiculous, you know.” Jordan said, riding the elevator up to their level. “Assuming we’re all here
just to get military credits on our resume. It lowers the school’s standards.”
“It’s still the best pilot training school.” Dray absently eyed her right palm, wondering how far the
reprogrammed chip-ID would get her when she wandered the station on her breaks. “And I’m not
here for my resume. I was born military, and I’ll die military.”
Jordan glanced at her. “Why did Fenton bring up your mother?”
Dray tripped as they walked down the hall, and had to use the wall to regain her balance. “Nothing.
She fought. She died. End of story.”
Jordan must have sensed her discomfort because she changed the subject. “And now we’re
promoted. I thought we’d get detention for sure.”
“Not for us,” Dray said, pushing back thoughts of her mother. “We’re the best.”
Jordan laughed. “Modest, aren’t you?” she teased. “Come on, let’s find our new quarters.” She turned
back when Dray didn’t move. “You don’t mind bunking with me, do you?”
Deep brown eyes studied Dray, and a flush crawled up Dray’s freckled cheeks. Get a grip, she
thought. “No, don’t mind at all.”
Jordan started back up the hallway. “You’re cute when you blush,” she said, grinning.
Dray knew her face was red, but no amount of self control would stop the heat rising in her cheeks
from Jordan’s attention. She wanted the chance to get to know Jordan better, but bunkmates? Jordan
would see her with bed hair and death breath in the morning. Dray faced her future like she was
facing squad of Novan Black March troops.
JORDAN RUSHED INTO the room she shared with three other cadets, relieved to find it empty. She
turned on her vid-link and keyed in the one connection she had pre-programmed. She established a
secure link with cypher codes even the ADF couldn’t crack. They assumed she needed the secure
link because of her mother’s status, and the excuse worked in Jordan’s favor. Paranoia was second
nature for her, and her mother was the only person she could be truly open with. After a short interval,
the video displayed an older woman with dark skin and deep-set eyes that matched Jordan’s. The
display flashed a name at the bottom, Chandrika Bowers, Ambassador to Gilgar.
“I’ve been promoted, Mother,” Jordan said. “I’m cadet private first class now.”
Her mother smiled. “Well done. Your father would be proud.”
Jordan didn’t believe her, but she smiled. Her father had been a philosopher and pacifist, before he
died. Somehow, she didn’t think he’d want her in Terran military training. “I have my first real flight
soon,” Jordan said.
Her mother frowned. “Be careful. Don’t give them any excuse to doubt who you are.”
Jordan suppressed a sigh. She knew how to pass. She’d been doing it for years now. “No one thinks
my reflexes are better than any other cadet.” She didn’t elaborate that the only cadet she ever let win
against her was far better than all the rest in the program.
“Don’t take anything for granted, Jordan. A simple genetic test would reveal who you are.”
“Yes, Mother. “ Jordan wasn’t worried. Terran law considered DNA testing an invasion of privacy. They
couldn’t test her without a court order. And she’d never give them an excuse to get that. “I’ll call you
after my first flight.”
DRAY COULD NOT suppress her shock over the number of cleaned and pressed uniforms Jordan
hung in the closet in their new quarters in the pilot training wing. Dray had picked up the standard two
gray-blue uniforms, two flight suits, and a spare pair of boots. Jordan must have paid extra to
purchase three spare uniforms. And, Dray noticed, two extra flight suits.
Their new dual room was half the size of the quad room Dray had just vacated. The two bunks were
attached to opposite walls, with a pair of study desks and two compute consoles separating the
beds. A shared closet and bathroom facility made up the rest of the small room. Dray managed to
tuck her one crate of personal belongings under her drab gray bed frame opposite Jordan’s, before a
heavy thud on the door announced a visitor. Jordan gave Dray a puzzled look, and opened the door to
reveal another training pilot. His brilliant red hair and burnt orange skin radiated from his gray-blue
uniform. A Tarquin male, Dray thought. His uniform was adorned with one yellow bar, signifying he
was a cadet corporal, one step away from graduating.
“Good evening, ladies.” His deep green eyes took in Jordan’s lithe figure. A hint of deeper orange
rippled across his exposed skin.
Great. A Tarquin male in heat. Just what every girl wanted for a dorm neighbor.
Jordan invited him inside. “Hello, I’m Jordan Bowers.”
“And I’m Dray,” she shook the hand the Tarquin extended. Dray eyed up her competition, knowing he
had more training than she had. He turned his large green eyes on Dray and smiled, revealing white
teeth and a pronounced set of canines.
“A pleasure.” He placed his lips to the palm of Dray’s hand before she could jerk it away from his
smooth grip. He ignored her discomfort and pressed an orange hand on his chest. “I am Red Baron.”
Dray couldn’t stop the laughter that spilled out. Even the ever-polite Jordan couldn’t contain her grin.
“Red Baron? You’ve got to be kidding,” Dray said.
“Alas, no. My proper name is not pronounceable to the human tongue. Your Terran enrollment officers
seemed to enjoy their pun on my natural skin color.” He grinned, diffusing any notion he was offended
by his name.
“Are you in the 28th squadron?” Jordan asked.
“Yes. We will train together. Have you downloaded your new schedules?”
Jordan nodded. “How long have you been in the squad?”
Red stood a polite distance away from Jordan, but his skin continued to ripple his attraction to her,
much to Dray’s dismay. She’d be competing with him for more than top cadet status. “Just under one
year,” he said. “I am glad you are both here to join us. I look forward to many lessons, taught and
learned between us.” His eyes lingered over Jordan once more, causing her to blush before he let
himself out of their room.
Dray sat on her bed, fidgeting now that she and Jordan were alone. She wanted to say or do
something, but how could she compete with a Tarquin male more advanced in training than she was?
“We’re small fish in a bigger sea, now,” Jordan said, echoing Dray’s thoughts.
“Are you nervous?” Dray asked.
Jordan’s hands fidgeted in her lap. “Maybe a little.” She looked up at Dray. “How about you?”
Dray smiled. “No. We’ll hold our own.”
“Always the voice of confidence,” Jordan said, grinning.
“Yep. Stick with me, and we’ll blow this place apart.” Dray didn’t feel as confident as she pretended,
but she wouldn’t let Jordan or anyone else see that side of her.
Jordan flung her pillow at Dray. Not the response Dray had hoped for but at least the ghost of Red
Baron no longer stood between them, for now.
“How many different species do you think we’ll train with?” Dray asked.
“The majority will be Terran, but I’d expect Aquarans, definitely, and Chameleon. Tarquins are rare
since they have top training facilities of their own. I’m surprised Red’s here at all.”
Dray considered her competition. She didn’t know much about Chameleons or Tarquins, but her
father’s military staff included two Aquarans. “Do the Aquarans have cyber enhancements?”
Jordan crossed her arms. “I don’t know anything about the enhancement rules.”
Dray leaned back on her bed. “I know Aquarans need implants to live on Terran facilities. Moisture
regulators at least, and vision enhancers. I hope the program regulates any other implants, the same
as they do for Terran cadets.” She propped herself up on one elbow to look at Jordan. “What’s the first
enhancement you’re going to get?”
Jordan blanched. “What?”
“I know we’re not allowed any until we’re officers. Haven’t you thought about what cyber
enhancements you’re going to sign up for?”
“No.”
“Really? I’ve got my first three planned out. Reflex stimulators come first. They’re a must for pilots.”
Jordan walked to the bathroom door. “I’d like to go to sleep now.”
“Oh, sorry.” Dray said, embarrassed she’d been carrying on about a subject Jordan had no interest in.
Jordan was a damned good pilot, but if she wanted to be the best, she’d have to think about her tech
options. Dray rummaged in her new closet and pulled out sleep clothes. She’d have to work on
Jordan, get her up to speed on the best enhancements available to recent grads.
JORDAN LAY AWAKE in their dark room, Dray’s talk of cyber implants still rolling through her mind.
Terrans used cyber implants to compete against the other half of humanity, the Novans, who
specialized in genetic manipulation to overcome natural human limitations. Two human subspecies
torn apart by cultural taboos on what is or isn’t an acceptable way to twist the human body, Jordan
thought. Sometimes she just wanted to scream in frustration.
Against her mother’s wishes, Jordan had met some Novans on Gilar. The Novans recognized each
other by a unique biochemical scent, but the Terrans could never tell the difference. There were even
small communities where Terrans and Novans lived side by side. If they could manage peaceful
interaction on a larger scale, there would be far less need for the vast Terran military force or the inter-
species accord that created the ADF. Instead, it was a race between the two, with Novan genetic
experiments and Terran cybernetic and electronic enhancements to see which human subspecies
could dominate.
Jordan couldn’t sign up for enhancements. Her father would have forbidden it if he were still alive. And
it would reveal she was not the full-blooded Terran that she pretended to be. It would end her career,
and strip her and her mother of their Terran citizenship for sure.
She rolled over to face Dray’s bunk. She could just make out Dray’s profile in the dark. Her short blond
hair framed a narrow face and small nose covered in freckles that Jordan couldn’t see. She
remembered watching a flush of color highlight those freckles earlier when she’d made Dray blush.
Jordan closed her eyes, keeping Dray’s image in mind as she drifted off to sleep.
DRAY ARRIVED AT their training launch bay early because she wanted the freedom to examine the
ships before the rest of her squad showed up. The bay’s ceiling formed an enormous arch above her.
It was large enough to hold three Tamil-class destroyers in dry dock. Five Cygna frigates and a row of
Master-class attack ships took up the rest of the launch bay.
The 28th training squad arrived at the launch bay in small groups. Chief instructor N’Gollo, a tall dark-
skinned woman, stood on a platform in the front of the squad, tapping instructions into her com-
board. “Listen up,” she said. “We’ll be training on the Cygna class frigate today.”
A disgruntled sigh arose from the group surrounding the instructor.
“A Cygna?” Someone groaned. “It’s a moving crate.”
N’Gollo silenced the cadets of the 28th with a wave of her hand. “Yeah, it’s no star fighter. Neither is
most of the fleet. And the majority of you won’t qualify for fighter pilot so you’ll be piloting one of these
larger ships.”
Jordan slipped through the group and stood next to Dray. Her fingers worked the edges of her crisp,
uncreased uniform but her eyes studied the Cygna frigate behind the instructor. Dray straightened her
stance and ignored the wrinkles in her own uniform. She’d tossed at the base of her bed before
falling asleep last night.
N’Gollo scanned her com-board. “We’ll go out in five groups, six cadets to a frigate. We’ll rotate two
copilots at a time once we’re clear of the station. We will not be using the jump engines on this
mission. It’s local flying only today.” She looked up from her com-board. “Where’s Draybeck and
Bowers?”
Dray and Jordan raised their hands. Excitement coursed through Dray. So what if the other cadets
thought it was a crate. She’d still be piloting a real ship.
“As the newbies, you’ll each be assigned to a more experienced cadet who’ll act as your mentor and
be responsible for anything you do for the first twenty days, got it?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” they said in unison.
N’Gollo nodded and looked back down on her com-board. “Okay. Draybeck, you’ll be with Tomiko on
Cygna 324 and Bowers, you’re with Baron on Cygna 187. The rest of you know your groups. Get on
your ships and prepare to launch in five.”
Jordan waved at Dray and trotted toward her ship. Dray’s heart sank as she watched Red’s tall
orange figure gathering his group and Jordan onto his ship. Just what she needed was to have the
Tarquin dominating Jordan’s first days of real pilot training. She watched in frustration as Jordan
ascended the ramp into her ship with Red chatting at her side.
“Draybeck? Helena Draybeck?”
Dray winced and turned to face her accuser. A small Asian woman with long black hair pulled into a
tight bun stood beside her.
“I’m Jenny Tomiko. I’ll be mentoring you.” Jenny offered her hand, and Dray grasped the small hand in
her own.
“Call me Dray,” she said, letting go of the hand. She pushed back her frustrations over Red and
focused on her first assignment.
“Great, our ship is the first in line over here.”
Jenny led the way past the other frigates to Cygna 324. Dray ran a hand along the ship’s cool hull. It
was a wide, gray ship, seventy-five meters long and less than half as wide. A real ship. No more
simulations. So who cares if it was a twenty-year-old model used for tactical command and control? It
was real and she’d be flying it in space today.
They entered mid-ship, and Jenny led Dray down a long, narrow corridor to the command center. Dray
strapped into one of the crew seats lining the interior of the command center. Two other cadets sat to
her left. The taller of the two, an Aquaran, bore the distinctive blue-green skin and wide flat nose of his
species. His hair, or what Dray assumed would be called hair, resembled pictures she’d seen of
deep red sea kelp. It dangled just past the collar of his uniform. Jenny sat on the opposite side of
Dray, and the other two cadets sat in the copilot seats at the front. The main pilot seat remained
empty. Dray nudged the Aquaran next to her. “Who takes over as commander on these runs?”
The cadet jutted his chin toward the door. “She does.”
A tall, blond woman marched into the command center wearing the solid blue uniform of a junior pilot.
She ignored the cadets and slid into the pilot’s seat. Strapping on her com-link she began rapid-fire
commands to the two copilots.
“Lieutenant Malory Grace,” the Aquaran continued.
“Junior pilot. Friendly?” Dray asked.
He huffed. “What do you think?”
Dray watched the cool, distant lieutenant as she supervised the launch of their ship. The woman kept
her gaze fixed on her holograph control panel, ignoring the visual experience of watching the ship pull
clear of Buenos Aires. Dray didn’t ignore her first real launch. The outer hull of the base station drifted
by her view port, reflecting the light from Achilles, their star. She grinned, feeling the engines beneath
her shift from dock speed to ion thrust. Simulators couldn’t match that.
They flew past the station’s proximity markers, a mesh of beacons surrounding the station. Dray saw
a wing of fighters appear from the station’s dark side and fly off in formation toward the asteroid belt.
Some day, she’d be flying one of those.
A hand came into her view. “I’m Bello,” said the Aquaran beside her.
Dray shook the offered hand and felt the webbing between his fingers. “Dray,” she said.
His pupils narrowed to horizontal slits as his gaze bore down on Dray, reading her name tag.
“Draybeck,” he repeated. Then, as if in afterthought, he said, “Welcome to the 28th squad.”
“Thanks.” Dray’s attention returned to the front of the ship as the pilots maneuvered away from the
other ships, heading starboard.
“How far out do they take us?” she asked.
“Just shy of the asteroid belt around Achilles-7. We each have a go at responding to Lieutenant Grace’
s flight patterns.”
“Cool.”
Bello grimaced. “You won’t think it’s cool once you’re strapped in up there. Lieutenant Grace likes to
test-drive her new pilot implants on these training missions. Nobody can keep up with her orders.”
The first two copilots flew past the base station’s perimeter beacons and through the navigational test
routines set by Lieutenant Grace. As the newest cadet, Dray had to wait until the final maneuvers
before her turn came up. Lieutenant Grace’s smooth voice filled her com-link. “Draybeck and Tomiko,
strap in.”
Dray nodded to Jenny and took her seat in the left copilot seat. She’d barely buckled in and attached
her com-link when her heads-up display flashed into life and a stream of commands from Grace
filled her ears. Her hands flew over the controls, matching Grace’s navigation decisions. A grin
spread across her face as her eyes flicked between her display and the front view port. She was
piloting a real ship. She could see the distinct trails of three other ships within her view, each
maneuvering closer to the base station as the lessons progressed.
“Tomiko, you’re bleeding rear engines two and four. Check your throttle.”
Grace’s voice locked Dray’s focus back on her own readouts. She noted the minor decreased
efficiency on Jenny’s maneuvers, but the results were within the accepted limits. Jenny pulled back on
controls, and the readouts responded.
“Watch your port side, Tomiko.”
Dray’s stomach clenched. Was Jenny having to compensate for mistakes Dray was making? Dray
saw nothing on the readouts to match Lieutenant Grace’s warning. She looked through the view port.
They weren’t within fifty clicks of another ship. At their current speed, it would take twenty minutes to
be within collision distance. She saw the tension in her copilot’s expression as Jenny responded to
Grace’s critical commands.
By the time they docked back on Buenos Aires, Dray had listened to a barrage of criticisms leveled at
her new mentor from Grace. Dray was convinced her flying hadn’t been that bad. In fact, she’d kept up
with every command Grace had given them. When they were docked, Lieutenant Grace marched out
of the command center without another word. Dray looked to her mentor, but Jenny avoided eye
contact. Dray turned instead to Bello and grabbed him by the elbow as they made their way down the
corridor.
“What gives? Is Grace harsh on everyone?” Dray asked.
Bello yanked his elbow back and waited until the rest of their group drifted away before answering.
“She’s got it in for Tomiko. They were lovers until Grace made lieutenant. Now it’s like fire and ice with
them.”
Great, Dray thought. Whatever happened between them, her mentor and her training pilot hated each
other now.
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Sandra Barret
Excerpt from Face of the Enemy
