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conduct might have been called into question. Thriknor could not help their peculiar sex drives, but were known for their professional competence.
    Absently, she wondered if any of the males aboard would be able to handle her when it came to bedroom aerobics. There was only one she could think of.
    And Captain Nicholas Driscoll looked like he could handle anything…



hundred or so men and women milled through two sets of doors along the south wall, filing among rows of auditorium seats. Fighter pilots in white, bomber crews in black, one squad of search and rescue in drab green, and a handful of electronic warfare operators in grey. The room sloped downward toward the front, a descending grade that ended at a large round holo-emitter table and a podium. The rear wall caused many of the arriving pilots to do a double take; the high-resolution star-map created the illusion of a hole in the hull.
    Michael Summers took a seat on the right side, followed soon by Aaron, Liam, Emma, and Zavex. It seemed as though bunk assignments followed suit with unit membership, the clustering in Briefing Room A echoed the assignments of quarters. He leaned back in his chair, at ease as if they were about to use the giant star-map to view the latest Zinbaru game.
    Emma kept her hands on her knees, staring at the tendons along the back as if the weight of her gaze would keep them from shaking. The reality of her surroundings sank in, leaving her second-guessing her decision. For a moment, she wondered if her father had enough pull to get her out of here. Rigid, she made fists and resisted the temptation. Across the way, one of the erratic Recon pilots decided to leap two rows of seats to get to an empty spot. His wild howl made her jump.
    “That’s what I’m talking about,” whispered Aaron to Liam. He pointed at Emma with the hand he had used to shield his voice. “Look at her, poor little thing’s trembling.”
    Liam scoffed. “You don’t honestly think she’s the only one in here that’s nervous, do you?”
    “At least the others have the ability to hide it. I don’t want to get stuck out there with a nervous Nellie.”
    She frowned at his less-than-quiet belittlement, and resumed the staring contest with her hands. Michael leaned forward, blocking the line of sight between Aaron and Emma, eyebrow cocked.
    “I’ve seen her sim logs, Lieutenant Vorys. She’ll do just fine.”
    Aaron squinted at him, then gave Liam a light elbow to the arm. “Why’d we get this guy anyway? What happened to Squid?”
    Laughing, Liam rubbed his eyes. “Ahh, ol’ Squiddie had political ambitions. He didn’t fancy this hop; can’t run for office if you’re dead. You know this particular suicide mission was all strictly volunteer.”
    Emma gawked at him.
    “So…” Aaron glanced at Michael’s shoulder patch. “Dragon, eh? What’d you do to get that Callsign?”
    “I had an old martial arts gi with a red circle on the back; it had a dragon head through it.” Michael coiled his right hand in the shape of a serpent about to strike.
    “Spent most of his free time in personal combat holo-sims or watching bad movies where the words never fit the lips,” said a voice from the row behind them.
    “Hey, Duck.” Michael shook hands with a pasty-faced man a head taller than everyone else in the row.
    “Duck?” Aaron made a disapproving face. “That’s kind of a weak callsign.”
    Michael laughed. “Academy guys always threw crap at his head, he never moved.”
    “Hope he has better reaction times to particle beams,” Aaron laughed.
    Eddie “Duck” Larsson frowned.
    “What about you, princess?” Aaron leaned forward, challenging Emma with a glance.
    “Sylph,” she said, in a voice much calmer than she looked. “Not sure if it’s because of my size or my sim score.”
    “Sixteen kills, not one incoming hit,” said Michael with a raised eyebrow. “Impressive.”
    “Only sixteen kills?” Aaron rolled his eyes. “I got