Defiant (The Skyward Series Book 4)

I hauled myself up the ladder to Skyward Six, a Poco-class starfighter, like I’d trained on in flight school. After days of planning, the time was right.

Today we were going to raid the Superiority information nexus, to get the locations of the mining stations. I forced my nerves into line. It was my first mission back with my team, but it shouldn’t be a difficult one. Just a quick bash and grab. I could do that. No problem.

I settled into the cockpit. It should have felt familiar, welcoming—but it was a tad larger than the cockpit of the ship I’d flown in the nowhere. Though the control schemes were similar, I kept finding myself reaching for things and missing by a few centimeters.

Down below, Sadie—the new girl—laughed and joked with Nedd as they split toward their separate ships. I was accustomed to her being timid and uncertain, but now she laughed with a boisterous confidence.

The way Nedd joked with her had a twisted kind of familiarity. I’d been on the other end of those jokes so many times. Now it was someone else. I couldn’t help feeling replaced. By Sadie, or by Alanik—who had joined Skyward Flight in my absence. She chatted with Arturo as ground crews finished up with their ships. There was an irony there—the woman I’d imitated now seemed more comfortable with my friends than I did.

I kept expecting Jorgen to board his ship and start giving us orders. But the admiral of the fleet couldn’t be spared to fly missions.

Everything was different. That didn’t make it wrong, but I couldn’t help feeling it was another sign. A portent.

I settled down into my cockpit, and found that the ship had been outfitted with a…well, a slug holster. Almost all the ships flew with a hyperslug now; it was an incredible advantage in space battles to be able to teleport. Not just offensively either. The slugs were also a last-ditch “eject button.” As a ship was falling to destructor fire, the slug could grab the pilot and teleport to safety.

So the cockpits had been modified with slings, on the left side underneath where the canopy closed. A sling was best for helping the slug withstand g-forces, and while by design there wasn’t a lot of room inside a cockpit, that location tended to be somewhat out of the way.

I put Doomslug in the sling and gave her a good scritch on the head. She fluted at me consolingly, sensing my mood. To distract myself, I went through the preflight checklist, just as Cobb had taught me. We trusted the ground crews with our lives, and it was rare that I’d catch something they didn’t—but a pilot has to take charge of her ship and her equipment. Looking over everything again wasn’t about distrust. It was about responsibility.

My hands knew what to do—I’d drilled on these checks so many times, I was pretty sure if you handed my corpse a control sphere, it would twist the mechanism to determine the calibration. That, unfortunately, meant that I could think while I worked. The sense of not fitting in, of having lost everything, returned. I—

“Are you moping?” a voice asked from my right. “In the cockpit of a starship. Never thought I’d see the day.”

I jumped, turning to find that someone had climbed the short ladder beside my ship and was peeking in. Kimmalyn had pulled her black hair into a long ponytail to prepare for flying. She folded her arms on the edge of the cockpit, inspecting me with deep brown eyes.

“Spensa Nightshade, sad?” she said. “In a starfighter?”

“I’m not sad,” I said, checking the booster controls.

“You’re moping,” Kimmalyn said again. “The Saint said that the best moping must be done alone.”

“She did, did she?”

“Indeed.”

“So…”

“So I must never leave someone alone to mope,” Kimmalyn said, “as I never want a person to experience the best kind of moping. It’s also the worst kind, you see.”

She leaned down, head on her arms, watching me.

“Shouldn’t you be checking in with your wingmate?” I asked.

“Yup.” She didn’t move.

“That’s Sadie, I understand.”

“She’ll be flying with one of the kitsen ships today.”

I sighed, turning away from the prechecks. “Kimmalyn. I should fly on my own. I’m dangerous.”

“Stars help us,” she said, “if a soldier intent on killing the enemy happens to be dangerous.”

“I don’t mean dangerous to them. I mean dangerous to everyone.”

“I see.”

I continued my checklist, but felt Kimmalyn there. It was unfair how the woman could somehow loom while pretending to do nothing of the sort.

“Well?” I finally snapped.

“In the caverns where I grew up,” Kimmalyn said, “it’s not polite to ask folks about demonic entities attached to their souls. One simply doesn’t bring up such topics.” She smiled.

In addition to her affable looming, Kimmalyn could be relentless. Positive and cheerful the entire way. But as stubborn as the very stones of the caverns.

“What,” I said at last, “do you want to know?”

“Are you all right?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure.”

“Then it’s good you have a friend on your wing, isn’t it?” She leaned forward. “The Saint said a great number of things on friendship, Spensa. Shockingly, none are applicable now. So I just want to tell you that I’m here.”

“Everything is so strange,” I said. “Wrong and different. Whatever I’ve become, the delvers fear it. Wisely. I need to walk a line between using what I’ve discovered about them and not letting it hurt the rest of you.”

Kimmalyn took that in, then nodded.

“How is it?” I said. “That you always know when to stay quiet and when to talk?”

“Good parenting,” Kimmalyn said.

“Which means…”

“When I said something stupid, my mother would make me scrub the cavern floor and think about why,” she replied. “It helps give perspective and provides a very clean floor.” She shrugged. “I have to think about what you said. Anything I could tell you now…well, it would sound very wise. Naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“But I don’t think it would actually help. This is a difficult situation. To pretend I have an easy answer would be to mock your very real worries.” She leaned forward into the cockpit. “I’ll repeat this instead, Spensa. I’m here. That’s all. I’m here.”

“I…” I began.

Maybe, M-Bot said in my head, you could just let yourself relax a little. Also, I’m still here, spying on you. It’s a ghost thing.

And scud. He was right. I was really in trouble, wasn’t I? The disembodied AI had more emotional fluency these days than I did.

Unfortunately, there was another feeling too: Chet’s concern mirrored mine, and contrasted M-Bot’s optimism. Chet understood. The dread that I might cause pain to my friends. Chet had lost someone very special long ago, and that pain was still raw.

“I appreciate the words, Kimmalyn,” I said. “They’re what I need right now.”

She smiled. Then turned as the ladder jostled. A moment later Nedd popped up next to her, half hanging off the side of the ladder—which, designed for ground crews to do maintenance, was wide enough for two people. As long as one wasn’t Nedd.

“Hey!” he said to me. And stars…he was still growing the mustache. Over a week now.

Usually Nedd was…well, he was the human embodiment of bedhead. If the stretch you give after sitting too long had a personality, that would be Nedd. He had a large oval face, with features that were a tad too big. He somehow managed to look even more disheveled with the blond hair (a few strands at least) growing (just not quickly) from his upper lip. Scud, should I tell him?

He didn’t really have a mustache. He had a lip comb-over.

“What are we doing?” he asked the two of us. “Planning? That’s good. I like to plan.”

“You do?” I asked.

“Sure. Have a real good plan for how to prank Arturo later. But listen, I have something I wanted to tell you.” He jostled Kimmalyn for space on the ladder. “Spin, you shouldn’t rely on me in the fight today. I’m probably going to pop off and take a nap.”

“What?”

“Stayed up late with FM and Arturo last night,” he explained, “teaching Alanik to play poker. I made a ton. Couldn’t give up, you know. Not when there was a sucker to bleed.”

“Nedd,” Kimmalyn said, “you shouldn’t take advantage of someone on her first day playing.”

“What?” he said. “Alanik? Nah, she picked it up immediately. Did just fine. But Arturo is terrible at poker. You seen him try to bluff? I didn’t get much sleep, but it’s all good, since you’re back now. You’re worth three or four of me out there, at least. So I figure I can take a nap while you mop up all the Krell.”

He grinned at me, and while I knew it was a joke, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was being serious. That was how things went with Nedd. He had a…disarming sense of buffoonery.

Surely he wasn’t so self-aware as to do it on purpose, was he? Disarm us by being like that? And the mustache? Was it…part of the act? I dismissed that idea almost immediately. All the while, Nedd continued to grin at me.

“Nedd,” Kimmalyn whispered loudly, “don’t smile so much. She’s trying to brood. You’re ruining the moment.”

“Oh,” he said. “Why?”

“She says she’s dangerous.”

“She’d better be!” he replied. “I mean, it’s her job. Hey, want to play poker later?”

“Bless your stars,” Kimmalyn said.

“You always say that,” Nedd replied. “I keep trying to figure out what it means. Which stars are mine?”

“As many as you happen to need, dear.”

“So in my case…”

“Lots,” Kimmalyn said. “Lots and lots and lots and lots. All the stars, Nedd. All those blessed stars.”

“Right, sounds good,” he said. “I’ll take ’em, Quirk.” He glanced at me. “I’ll need you to bring the brooding down to, say, half as much. If you don’t we’ll be over quota, and Jorgen used up all of our supply last month. Scud, even Arturo has been doing too much lately. I think I’m the only one in this entire flight who hasn’t been draining our brooding quota.”

“And me?” Kimmalyn asked.

“You pontificate,” he said. “That’s brooding, but fancier.”

“Are you two quite done?” I asked. “I have a checklist to get through, and we’re under ten minutes to launch.”

“Sorry,” Nedd said. He started to climb down, but then stopped. Cleared his throat. “Spin. It’s good to fly with you again. Just wanted to say that, you know?”

“You pulled us from the washouts,” Kimmalyn agreed. “This is where you belong, with us. And if the piece doesn’t fit, well, we’ll just have to cut out some more room until it does.”

“Damn right,” Nedd said. “Whatever she meant—went over my head completely—I’m sure it was right.” He paused again and looked from me to Kimmalyn. “So…this mustache. How—”

“It’s awful,” Kimmalyn said.

He blinked in surprise, and I’ll admit I did a double take myself. Had…had Kimmalyn just said that?

“Did you say—” Nedd began.

“It’s awful.” Kimmalyn put both hands in front of her mouth, as if trying to hide how much she was smiling. “It’s terrible, Nedd. It’s like someone glued a rat to your face, then ripped it off really quickly, leaving a few hairs behind! It’s like you shaved off a real mustache, but missed a few spots. It’s truly terrible.” She let out a little squeal of delight. “I’ve been waiting to tell you! I can’t believe I did.”

“I…can’t believe it either,” he said. “You’re usually, uh, more…subtle.”

“The mustache doesn’t deserve subtlety, Nedd,” she said. “It deserves a mercy killing.”

“Oh. Uh, well then.” He looked to me, as if for support.

“I’ve got a knife,” I said, reaching for the one I wore strapped to my leg. “Hold still and—”

He went scrambling down the ladder. Smart man. Kimmalyn gave me another smile. “I’m here,” she said, then followed him down.

“Here,” Doomslug said. Mimicking the word, yes, but also the meaning. I gave her a scratch in thanks, then finished my checklist. When I looked up from inspecting my emergency crash pack, there was a ninja on my dashboard. A furry, fifteen-centimeter ninja in a red-and-white mask. He stepped off his hover platform, then looked around. “Hmmm. No kitsen seat in this one. Where would you like me?”

“Hesho?” I said. “I thought you’d go back to your people.”

“The Masked Exile has no people,” he said.

“But—”

He reached up and undid the mask, removing it and wiping his snout. He took a long breath. “I cannot go back, Spensa,” he said. “Their emperor, you see, is dead.”

“But you’re alive!” I said. “You…” I trailed off, noting his somber expression. “They don’t want you back?”

“My survival creates many political…irregularities. My people, at long last, have adopted a provisional democracy. If the emperor—who died dramatically in defense of his planet—were to suddenly show up again…well, I adopted the mask for a reason. It conveyed the intended message: I might have lived. But Hesho, their emperor, did not.”

He looked up at me, hands holding his mask, proud—but also supplicating.

“You’re welcome in this cockpit, Hesho,” I said. “Honestly, I’ve been worried. I flew with you or M-Bot as my copilot for so long that I’ve come to rely upon it. I fly better with you. We’ll just have to figure out how to get you a seat…”

“No need,” Hesho said, replacing his mask, then waving for some kitsen to fly in. They set a kind of seat on the dash, near the comm controls. It was round, like an elevated cup holder, and a kitsen could strap inside. With minimal work, they got it magnetically attached.

“We’ve been experimenting,” a kitsen engineer said, seeing my curious expression. “One of our kind flew with your leader, Jorgen Weight, for some time—training him in his powers. We’ve been trying methods of making that easier.”

I nodded, thoughtful. We flew with one person in most of our ships, because keeping the weight down was paramount—and we never had any pilots to spare. But knowing how much having M-Bot as a copilot had helped me…

“Don’t suppose,” I said to them, “you could wire in to the dash to give him access to some of the controls?” Scud, how much better would we all fly if we had a kitsen copilot?

Though between him and Doomslug, the cockpit was getting a little crowded. Not to mention the entity stuffed into my soul, and the other spying on me as a “ghost.” But if there was one thing I’d learned over my time as a fighter, a little help went a long way.

The kitsen were able to get something rigged very quickly. It wouldn’t give Hesho all the controls I’d have liked him to have—it would be scudding awesome if someone could take command of the whole ship if I got shot or passed out from g-forces—but it would do for now. And as he settled into his little seat, I realized something.

Kimmalyn was right. Transitions were hard. Navigating this would be tough. But at least I had a home to come back to, and friends who still wanted me. This was what I’d been fighting for all along. And maybe…maybe there was a place for me here. Or at least room to cut out a place where I could fit.

Arturo was flightleader now, and FM had moved into administration with Jorgen. She flew on occasion, but wouldn’t be joining us today. So I waited until Arturo ordered us out of the hangar to do roll call. I followed orders, happy to have someone else in charge. Minutes later, Jorgen fed the coordinates into my brain—given to him by Cuna.

The flight locked on to me, using light-lances to connect us together so we could hyperjump as one entity. I reached into the nowhere and sent us halfway across the galaxy to the Superiority’s information nexus, hidden in a location that, as far as the rest of the Superiority knew, didn’t exist. A place kept off the maps. A place not talked about.

Around a star known as Sol.

In the system where humankind had originated.