Hawk: Sky Mates (Intergalactic Dating Agency): a Sci-Fi Romance Page 3

  Ellfen nudged Falcon with her elbow. “We showed those Terrans and everyone else what real flying looks like,” Hawk overheard her saying in Falcon’s ear.

  “Eagle,” he said, his voice low, using her call sign. “What did I say before we left home?”

  Her smirk faded in an instant. A long lock of silken hair fell over her forehead as she assured him in a chastened tone, “To not flaunt our air superiority, sir. We will be respectful and culturally sensitive.”

  “Correct. We’ll strive for patience until they become accustomed to our ways. We may be far from home, but we’re still sky warriors. Our actions, our words, reflect who we are. Captain Ritz will be here shortly to escort us through security and then to our quarters. Gather your gear and be ready.”

  Kelly rode a crew bus to the barricade cordoning off the Raptors. No one could get in or out without being allowed inside by guards—at Sky’s End’s request—not even her. They were possessive about their technology.

  The air-conditioning was marginal at best. It had taken the driver a few tries to get the motor started, and the seats were peeling. In light of all the technology Earth had gained from the Triad Alliance the past few years, it was ridiculous that the base still used fifteen-year-old buses. Dragging her sleeve across her wet forehead, she hoped she didn’t stink. She’d planned on a shower and a fresh change of clothing in the locker room before meeting Hawk and his delegation in person, but her mission had wrapped up late.

  At the checkpoint, she hopped off. The bus idled, chugging out fumes, while the driver waited for her. A guard took her ID and stepped inside a plexiglass booth to scan it.

  Pulsing heat rose from an ocean of asphalt, transforming the six Raptor spacecraft into a shimmering mirage. Hands down, Sky’s End had the hottest flying machines of any in the galaxy. And maybe the hottest pilots too.

  She’d attended Dee’s intelligence briefings, she’d read the official Triad report on Sky’s End, she’d stared at Hawk’s headshot for over a month, but nothing prepared her for the sight of them standing next to their magnificent machines.

  She couldn’t help staring. The sky warriors were as close to fantasy characters as you could get in real life, mysterious supersoldiers from the far side of the galaxy with long silver hair and body-hugging black armor. If someone took Legolas from Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings movies and gave him cyborg hardware, he’d have fit right in.

  Or, maybe interstellar Vikings warriors was a better description. All six looked powerfully built enough to swing broadswords.

  Yet they didn’t swagger. They didn’t clown around or shout to each other, boasting about what they had done. No, they looked, well, professional. Dignified, even. It was hard to believe these were the same pilots who’d just roared over the base and almost decapitated the control tower.

  They formed a half circle around one man, leaning in as if hanging on his every word. In profile, he was clean-cut, older, with a strong jaw, his silver braids blowing in the stiff breeze.

  Hawk.

  Her heart reacted with a giddy backflip. Stop it, she ordered her heart. He tricked us. Mr. Reserved and Serious. Mr. Humble. Ha! What a show-off. She pulled out her data-vis, frowning as she typed.

  Captain Ritz, K: I’m at the checkpoint.

  Hawk glanced up from his data-vis, their eyes meeting, his expression softening.

  Then a gust of wind whipped her hair across her eyes and into her mouth. Which wouldn’t have happened if her mouth hadn’t fallen open at the sight of Hawk.

  She finger-combed the snarls. They felt crunchy, sticking out in all directions. Seriously? The arid wind had flash-dried what had been flat helmet hair into scarecrow hair. She angled her head to see her reflection in the plexiglass of the guard shack. Faint pink lines on her face formed an outline of the oxygen mask she’d worn on her flight. She rubbed her skin, then bit her lower lip, trying to work more color into it.

  “Primping, Crackers?”

  She jerked her head around. Her squadron mate, Major “Karma” Goren, ambled up. His helmet was still on, his chin strap hanging, his eyes sparkling.

  Her face blazed, and she’d be damned if she’d admit she’d turned red because of the heat. She pulled a ball cap from her flight suit pocket and shoved it on. “What’s up, Karma?”

  “Don’t be all, ‘I wasn’t.’ I caught you in the act. You were prettying up. Hey, why wouldn’t you? They’re hot, and you’re single.”

  Why did people always jump to the conclusion she wanted to be a Sky Mate? When it came to things on her bucket list, it was dead last. “I’m negative for further testing. AKA, I can’t be selected. You?”

  “Still waiting. I hear the longer it takes, the more likely you’re a match. It’s worse than waiting with my girlfriend for a damn pregnancy test result.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “That was something, wasn’t it?” he said. “‘Sorry, Goose, but it’s time to buzz the tower,’” he joked, quoting a line from the Top Gun movie. “But they did it while inverted. Fucking insane.”

  “Right?”

  They glanced in unison at the parked fighters, the moment of silence heavy with grudging admiration.

  “I bet M&M was on fire about it,” Karma said.

  “You could say he went a little nuclear.”

  “Well, I’m sure glad it wasn’t me he put in charge of this goat rope.”

  It had shocked her, actually, when their commander didn’t pick Karma over her for Project Sky Mates. M&M almost always handed him the choicest extra duties. She could see why: Karma had already pinned on the rank of major, he could charm anyone, even their grumpy boss, and he was ambitious. The problem was that the Assistant DO job meant more to her than it did to him, more to her personally, but Karma was so competitive he’d fight her for it if he knew her plans, just for the thrill of the race. There was a big heart buried under all that ego, but he could be an asshole sometimes.

  “You’re good to go, ma’am.” The security guard returned her ID, waving her through the barricade with a salute.

  “See you at O’Malley’s later,” Karma called out.

  “We’ll be there.” The bar was the squadron’s favorite after-work spot. Tonight O’Malley’s would host the monthly welcome reception for the recent Triad Alliance arrivals.

  A party.

  She hoped bringing the delegation to O’Malley’s didn’t turn out to be an idea she’d regret. Beer, barbecue, and cocky alien warriors—what could go wrong?

  She gulped. What if expecting the sky warriors to conform to Earth rules was a little like thinking you could domesticate a wild wolf?

  Or a Hawk…

  “You can handle this, Ritz,” she said under her breath. “You can handle him.” Tugging her ball cap lower over her eyes, she headed toward the Raptors.

  “Here comes your Terran officer,” Falcon said cheerfully as Captain Ritz approached.

  Hawk ignored him. Falcon meant well, but the label threatened to chafe. “Look sharp.”

  The top of her head would barely reach his chest, yet she radiated confidence with every step she took. Hawk folded his hands behind his back, his shoulders squared, his heart pumping hard for reasons he couldn’t explain. How could he feel this much excitement to see someone with whom he’d only corresponded? It was beyond reason.

  His Solos stood tall, their helmets tucked under their arms, their travel bags resting next to their boots. Their reserved expressions hid the intense curiosity he knew they felt. They hadn’t encountered many aliens in the flesh, and Captain Ritz had intrigued them after so many weeks of hearing of her generous help.

  “Welcome to Earth, everyone,” she said in heavily accented QT. “Most importantly, welcome to Texas.”

  He was trained to be observant, engineered to not miss details. It must be the reason he noticed the hint of curves under the fabric of her flight suit—her rounded hips and thighs, small breasts, and compact, fit body.

  Their online friendship w
as sheer pleasure. He’d hoped that when they finally met in person, he wouldn’t be attracted to her physically too.

  He now knew his hopes were in vain.

  Her two terse messages had left him somewhat uneasy. The brim of her cap kept her eyes in shadow, but she wore a bright smile. With that observation, relief filtered through him. He shelved his concerns about startling the Terrans.

  She stopped in front of him and placed her fist over her heart, saluting Triad style.

  Hawk returned her salute. Their height difference forced him to bend forward to peek under the brim of her cap. At the same instant, she tipped her head up. Their gazes locked, generating a bolt of awareness. His nostrils flared, his enhanced senses magnifying her essence, drawing it inside him. Goddess, she smells good.

  He tightened his jaw so hard it crackled. Not my Terran. He would keep reminding himself of that fact in case she was paired with Falcon, Narekk, Rigel, or Rowan. They’d be lucky men to have her, and nothing would please him more.

  Nothing.

  “Captain Ritz,” he started to say at the same time she began, “Major Hakkim…”

  An awkward pause. Her soft laugh.

  “You first,” they said in the same instant.

  They exchanged smiles.

  “It was easier when we messaged on a data-vis,” he admitted.

  “You’ll be here for five weeks. We’ll have plenty of time to practice speaking face-to-face. I’m glad we finally get to meet, Major.”

  “Yes, it is a pleasure.” If only he’d been able to express that sentiment in the first place instead of sounding completely witless. “Please, use my given name, Hawk.”

  “I’ll all for being informal. Use Kelly—no rank or last name, any of that. You’ll hear people call me Crackers. It’s my call sign.”

  Crackers? There was a story behind that name, and he wanted to know it. “Allow me to introduce my candidates. This is my lead Solo and second-in-command, Lieutenant Faulke. Falcon led our flawless arrival today.”

  Her gaze flickered. What Hawk interpreted as displeasure tightened her features. But the look vanished before he could get an accurate read.

  One by one, his team pressed their fists to their chests and bowed. Kelly greeted each of them individually, engaging them with eye contact, a few remarks, and a smile, yet holding herself with the comport he’d expect from their superior officer. He was grateful for her charisma. It would work wonders in easing their nerves.

  It’s a historic moment for both our worlds.

  Yet likely only their small group realized it.

  Outside the checkpoint, they loaded their gear inside the cargo bay of a primitive vehicle belching foul-smelling exhaust. Bench seats ran the length of the interior. Kelly beckoned to him. “Let’s talk—privately.”

  Her shoulders looked tight, her posture stiff. He wasn’t sure what to make of the disparity between her friendly tone and her tense body language. His inability to read her, to get a better sense of her emotions, confirmed what testing had already proved—they weren’t a match.

  They took seats in the aft section. The bus lurched forward. “So, Hawk, like we talked about before, I arranged for you to have your own van. Your team will be able to drive to medical testing and classes, et cetera. I assume you all know how to drive.” With her thumb, she pushed back on the brim of her cap. “Is that right?”

  “Indeed. We had a thorough briefing on the subject.”

  “But no behind-the-wheel time.”

  “It isn’t necessary to be proficient in the operation of Terran vehicles.” Their simplistic, quaint little fossil fuel vehicles. “As Sky Warriors, we can interface with any machine. Our bioengineering augments our natural abilities…” Was that worry tightening her features? “Is there a concern, Kelly?”

  “We have rules for driving. And rules for flying. The laws aren’t open to interpretation.”

  “Do not worry. We will obey your laws.”

  “I’m going to hold you to it, because we can’t have a repeat of today—in the air or on the road.” She glanced at the Solos sitting near the front of the bus, then locked her eyes on him. “Your arrival,” she whispered. “The one you called flawless. That was some of the best flying I’ve ever seen—right up to the part where you almost got killed.”

  “Killed? We never—”

  “It broke every regulation we have. My commander about had a cow.”

  A cow… An edible lactating mammal. Hawk puzzled over that. It must be a figure of speech. He’d detected no livestock nearby, but he was even less familiar with that smell than he was fossil fuel. Or it could have been a word in her thick accent he’d failed to interpret.

  “You buzzed the tower—inverted! Not even Maverick from Top Gun would’ve had the balls to try that.”

  Who was Maverick? Her mix of English and QT words left him scrambling to keep up.

  “It’s one thing to perform a flyover, but that low? I don’t understand why you’d do something like that. Except to show off.”

  “To show respect,” he explained. “It was an aerial salute.”

  She blinked at him. “I assure you, no one saw it like that. In fact, no one’s ever seen anything like it. In our eyes, it looked pretty reckless. Arrogant.”

  Arrogant? Hawk tightened his stomach. Hadn’t he just warned Ellfen about flaunting their air superiority? Now the Terrans saw their actions as exactly that.

  He was a warrior, not a diplomat, but his path forward was clear: regain the Terrans’ good will or face failure before his mission could even get off the ground.

  Chapter Four

  Hawk spread his hands. “This is the most important mission of my life, Kelly. Disrespecting the very people who’ve agreed to help us would never be something I would consider. The aerial salute is a tradition on my homeworld—for paying tribute at important events of state. We wished to pay homage to Planet Earth, to Texas. To Webber.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way, truly, but you were too low. It was dangerous.”

  Dangerous? Entertained by the thought, he almost laughed, but his gut warned him it would be a grave error. “Never were we in danger.”

  “How low were you over the valley? Over Webber?”

  “One hundred and thirty-eight feet. On average.”

  Her eyes rounded, and she pressed two fingers to her temple. She didn’t so much speak as she did push her whispered words through clenched teeth. “You’re damn lucky you didn’t hit power lines.”

  “It wasn’t luck—”

  “Or a cell tower.”

  “Kelly…”

  “Grain silos,” she continued. “Fences. Trees.”

  He stifled a snort. “We were never in jeopardy.”

  “What about the people on the ground? If there was an error, the smallest mistake, there wouldn’t have been time to correct. You’d have crashed into a residential area.”

  “Sky warriors do not make mistakes.”

  “Is that so?” she shot back. “I don’t know whether to worship you for being perfect or give you shit because you think you are.”

  They eyed each other, breathing hard. He could see her pulse beating in her throat. He hardened just thinking about pressing his lips there, her moist skin, flicking his tongue over the throbbing spot—

  Disengage!

  In an act of self-preservation, he jerked his focus back to her eyes. “I assure you, as a man, I’m a long way from perfect.” Even with the aim of being humble foremost in his mind, he’d still stumbled into just the sort of cultural gaffe he’d hoped to avoid. “I suppose that means you may give me shit. Certainly not worship.”

  One corner of her mouth edged into her cheek. She folded her arms over her chest and leaned backward. “Most men I know would have opted for being worshipped.”

  “Not I, Kelly.”

  The ghost of a smile softened her lips. Lips he increasingly imagined kissing.

  He was trying his damnedest to not notice her mouth.

>   At least her anger had receded. Whatever he had done to ease her concerns, he was glad for it.

  “However,” he continued, “in my Raptor, it is a different story. The pilot-to-ship interface is as close to perfect as one can get. We do more than fly our ships. We are our ships. Data is streamed between our bodies and the onboard AIs so seamlessly that the barrier between pilot and machine ceases to exist. Is there a small chance an error could happen? Yes. But it’s an infinitesimally small chance. Regardless, our maneuvers caused concern.”

  She held up one finger. “And a broken window.”

  “I’ll see to the repairs. Direct me to where I may find the materials to do so.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Like Home Depot?”

  He searched his memory for the meaning. Again he came up empty. And his memory was very, very good.

  Normally it was good. When it came to machines, he was an expert. When it came to Kelly, he was lost.

  He frowned. “Your pidgin of QT and English once again defeats me. What is this depot?”

  “It’s a store.” Her dimple dug deeper into her cheek, and her shoulders softened. “But it’s fine,” she said. “Webber dates back from before our Second World War. Some buildings from that time are still in use. Our squadron building is one of them. It’s not the first time someone’s jet blast broke a window. Our base maintenance people will fix it.”

  “Nonetheless, I’ll have them send me a bill. A minor matter the broken glass may be, but Sky’s End doesn’t allow others to shoulder our responsibilities. As for the misunderstanding today, you have my word as a sky warrior, it will not happen again.”

  “That would be great.” She extended her hand. “To the success of Project Sky Mates—and not making the boss mad.”

  He clasped her hand to shake it, Terran style. Her grip was warm, strong… He should say something, something meaningful or even funny, but all he could think of was how her headshot had not done her justice. She was far prettier, her face as fresh and open as a flower.