The corner of her mouth quirked. “I’d like that,” she said, the color rising in her cheeks.
He couldn’t resist. Mace pulled her close and brushed his lips across her temple, not caring who in the corridor saw them. When her hands grasped his forearms, fingernails biting through the material of his uniform, the urge to really kiss her made him grip her shoulders tighter.
Instead, he stepped away, touched the control for the door, and ushered her in. A line of people waited at the side of the room, every med bed with someone on it. Nia glanced at him one last time, her small smile returning, before the door slid shut between them.
After a beat, Mace continued on to training, his chest feeling lighter than it had in weeks, years even.
The tyros were already warming up when he arrived at the matted arena, one group running laps the other doing a range of stretching.
“Switch!” he yelled, though he didn’t know how long they’d been in their set. From the grumbling, it probably hadn’t been long.
“You’re in a good mood,” Grey commented, coming to stand beside him.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Mace side-eyed him. How could Grey tell? He’d only been there a couple minutes.
His friend shrugged. “You’ve been doing an hour or two in one of the rooms before lessons, but today you’ve only just arrived. Switch!” he shouted.
Instead of addressing Grey’s observation, Mace shot him an “I don’t care about your opinion” glance and joined the tyros running the outer edge of the mats. He pushed on some speed, taunting them to keep pace. They didn’t disappoint.
The day progressed as any other. Warm up changed into sparring. Grey and he took turns with smaller groups, improving their skills.
It was the first time Mace had felt engaged in a lesson in weeks.
The tyros broke into pairs to grapple. Grey and he circled around the mat, giving pointers. Mace opened his mouth to praise Shand, when the deck beneath his feet rumbled.
All the tyros halted to look around. On instinct, Mace braced his legs apart. Another explosion shuddered closer, the boom loud enough to hurt his ears. Tyros tumbled to the ground, losing their balance. Heart beating fast, he met Grey’s wide eyes. This wasn’t some sort of malfunction.
Mace glanced at his vambrace. “Fuck.” Information streamed from the command center, Cache calling warriors to arms.
A third explosion rocked through the station. The bulkheads groaned under the strain, then the lights darkened to quarter luminosity.
Battle-readiness raced through him. “Everyone to the weapons lockers!” Mace yelled over the next explosion. “Tyros, you’re with me.”
He had to get to Nia. Her tracker light remained in the med bay, connected toOrion’ssystems. He sent a message to Elec, telling him to protect her at all costs.
Warriors and tyros scurried, grabbing weapons, armor, and forming teams. Mace checked the charge of his weapon and added a second thigh holster to his arsenal along with a pulse rifle strapped to his back.
The explosions stopped, an eerie silence remaining in the aftermath. Mace received one last communique from the command center: Four engine cores blown. CORE contact confirmed. Weapons and shields down. Enemy forces boarding. Station-wide evacuation order—
The feed cut off.
Fuck.
Spiro and Betel met them in the main corridor. The tyros held weapons they hadn’t been cleared to use yet, their eyes betraying their excitement and fear. Mace glanced at the youngest in the group. Freya stared back at him, a glint of determination in her eyes.
He’d told Nia he wouldn’t put a child in battle, and he hadn’t. The CORE had done it for him.
He broke the tyros into four groups, led by Grey, Spiro, Betel, and himself, then addressed his students. “We are your unit leaders. Follow orders. We’ll take any civilians we find along the way. Under no circumstances do you play hero. Your main objective is to get off this station alive and meet at the rendezvous point. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
A nod at his three friends and he pressed his back to the bulkhead next to the door. Another warrior was at ready with a smoke grenade if they needed it. Mace opened the door. All was silent in the corridor. He poked his head out. Nothing.
He and two warriors fanned out into the fifth level of the atrium, scanning above the barrel of their weapons, searching for the enemy. Besides a few Tellusians scrambling to get to their evacuation ships, there were no defenders.
“Clear,” Mace said, and the groups of tyros and warriors entered the corridor.
They couldn’t take the lifts, not with their numbers, and not during an attack with low power. Warriors secured ropes to the railings within seconds, throwing them over.
