He smiled like I’d just made him the happiest man on the base. Maybe I had. I definitely had earlier “Very well, Elite Starfighter, I will contact Launch Control and request a departure clearance.”
“Okay.” One word and he was all business.
“Bay 4 Control, this is Starfighter Valor requesting permission to launch.”
A stranger’s voice came back through our communication system. I heard her through the ship’s speaker clear as a bell. “Valor, this is Bay 4. You are clear for launch.”
“Clear? No one else is flying?” I looked at Alex in surprise. Usually, in the game, I had to dodge other starfighters or at least a shuttle or two when I first exited the moon base.
“The Dark Fleet attacked during our last orbit. It was while I was on Earth retrieving you. The current position of the asteroid field gives us some protection. Queen Raya’s fleet doesn’t like to attack with the planets in this alignment because they’ll be trapped on this side of the asteroid belt. We should have a couple of days to get some practice in before they attack again.”
“Wait. They attacked last night? And you just let me sleep? Took us into that room and—”
He lifted a hand. “The attack came while we were still on Earth. Their attack runs and harassment is a normal occurrence, sadly.” He frowned. “They like to remind us who is winning this war.”
I frowned, too. How dare the Dark Fleet think they were winning! I was invested; I cared. I was here, ready to kick Queen Raya’s ass—and infuriated, because it sounded like I’d missed my chance.
“I don’t want to practice. I’d rather kick some Dark Fleet butt.”
He gave me a slow smile. “I know you do and that proves you have the fighting spirit of an Elite Starfighter. But you have yet to fly the real Valor.”
That made sense. Velerion was at war, fighting for their survival. If everything I’d seen and learned in the game was true—and it looked more and more like that was the case—if Velerion didn’t hold their ground, the planet would be destroyed. We’d be killed.
And according to what Alex had told me, Queen Raya wouldn’t stop there. Earth would be next.
“Okay. Let’s take her for a spin.”
“Okay,” he said back.
I settled into my seat and placed my hands on the controls, my fingertips flying through the preflight checks as if I’d done this thousands of times, because I had. When I was confident everything was ready, I glanced at Alex, who nodded.
A thrill shot through me as I spoke into my headset comm for the first time. “Bay 4, this is the Valor. Ready for launch.”
“Ready for launch, Valor. Confirmed.”
Alex was watching me with a look that made me want to hug him, kiss him, and jump up and down like an excited five-year-old all at the same time. “Ready?”
This was it. This was really it. A moment I’d imagined for a long time.
“Ready.” He turned to his own controls, and his voice became serious as he checked his systems and reported to me just like in the game. “Weapons, ready. Targeting, ready. Shielding, ready. Life support, navigation, and all secondary systems optimal.”
“What about you?” I had to ask. Surely this was surreal for him as well?
He must have heard something strange in my voice because he lifted his head and turned to look at me. “I’ve been waiting for you for months, Jamie. Where you go, I go. When you come, I come.”
I blushed hotly, and I shifted in my seat at the heat and intensity in his gaze. He meant every word, my possessive bondmate.
The ship jostled beneath us as the transport bots, like robotic tugboats on wheels, braced the Valor and moved us into position on one of the launch beams facing a long, straight tunnel that would serve as our exit. The individual launch tunnels were easier to camouflage from the outside and prevented unnecessary accidents when multiple ships took off at once. I felt a bit like I was flying out of a tube on Battlestar Galactica with the strange lights moving along the side of the ship as we were nudged forward into place.
“Valor, initiate launch sequence.”
“Initiate launch sequence, confirmed.” I reached over the joystick and controller to the flat, glossy touch screen that was at shoulder level straight in front of me. For fighting and flying, the controls were practically in my lap. But for other, less immediate tasks, the ship’s complete control menu was displayed on the touch screen. In an emergency I could click through them using my main joystick and controller, but I didn’t need to do that.
Although I could. One entire mission in the game—I glanced at Alex—in the training program—had been about mastering every single command and control mechanism in the ship, including those Alex ran from the copilot’s seat. And worse, I’d had to do so with the emergency helmet locked in place. The helmet was part of the flight suit but only deployed in case of an emergency.
That stupid mission had taken me two weeks of obsessive, angry gaming. I’d rage quit more than once, the task seeming impossible at the time. But now I was grateful for the intensity and time I’d spent learning how to operate every part of the ship, even when something was damaged or not working correctly.
I knew this ship inside and out. Even the very small jump seat area behind us was familiar. In one mission I’d had to pick up three stranded traders and cram them into the space, which wasn’t much bigger than the extended cab of a pickup truck and had one less seat belt. The entire ship’s body wasn’t much larger than a private jet’s back home, but the engine and weapons took up most of the space. There was no chandelier-and-wine-tasting interior. Two dark flight seats side by side and enough room for two adult passengers, three children, or a handful of supplies in the back.