Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Congruency

She always knew when he came onto the bay floor. The sudden tension could be felt, vibrating like a bowstring. Mako would watch as the heads of the techs snapped up and their shoulders straightened. Their gazes followed Marshal Stacker Pentecost as he strode across the shadow of the massive machine they worked to reactivate. Sparks showered down from the welders’ tools several stories above as Pentecost stopped beside Mako and looked up, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Marshal,” she said, bowing. There was deference and respect in her manner, but none of the nervousness the others exuded when the head of the Jaeger Program was present. “Good evening.”

“Miss Mori.” The corner of his mouth twitched up for a split second, betraying the expression he hid. It was a minute movement intended only for her to read.

Mako met his eyes with a smile in hers. The warmth of the greeting was evident to them both; it did not have to be overt. She had learned early in her life to read the smallest looks her adoptive father gave her, to communicate without words. It was not a true connection like those the Jaeger pilots shared—the unspoken understanding that was often, to outsiders, unnerving in its intensity—but it was a bond they had cultivated since the day Pentecost took Mako out of the orphanage in Japan and brought her to Alaska.

“You’re making good progress,” he said, his gaze fixed on the Jaeger he had tasked her with restoring.

“She will be ready in one more week,” Mako said. “Five days if we work around the clock.”

“Make it three.”

Glancing down at the work log, Mako nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll oversee the shifts myself.”

“No,” Pentecost said. “Put Sato on it, at least for the next day. I need you run a compatibility assessment. Highest priority.” He held out a data drive no larger than her thumbnail.

Taking it, Mako slid it into the port on her tablet. A name and roster photograph appeared. As she looked up again, she knew her surprise and concern were clear. Pentecost’s expression was hard, but she could see the weariness in his eyes. There was no other option, or he would have found it.

“I will start work immediately,” said Mako.

“I expect a full report in ten hours.” Without another word, Pentecost turned on his heel and headed back toward the lift that would take him to the Shatterdome’s Local Command Center, LOCCENT in the common parlance of base personnel.

Mako ignored the curious looks of the maintenance crew as she placed a call to Specialist Haru Sato. He had once been Japan’s top Jaeger engineer, but when the program had been decommissioned, Pentecost had snapped him up immediately to serve as technical lead for the maintenance of the remaining four Jaegers housed in Hong Kong.

Well into his seventies, Sato had worked on every generation since the Mark-1, but he had a certain fondness for the Mark-3 that endeared him to Mako. He was sharp-tongued and expected only the best from his technical crew, but he always spoke politely and respectfully to her.

“It is not every person that can look at a Jaeger and see more than a machine,” he told Mako once as they drank tea together in the level six observation deck that overlooked the Mark-3 hangar. Looking out at the Jaeger there, he continued, “You, Mori-san, can see into her heart.”

Mako tried to focus on the massive metal plate that covered the left side of the Jaeger’s chest, but her eyes moved inevitably to the head, where the two pilots would Drift with each other and, together, interface with the Jaeger. When she turned back to Sato, he was smiling.

“For as good as you are at hiding your emotions, Mori-san,” he said, “it is not difficult to see what you really want.”

“She needs new pilots,” Mako said quietly. “Why shouldn’t I be one of them?”

Sato sipped his tea. “Marshal Pentecost has expressed his concern at your inexperience, has he not?”

Mako nodded. “But the other cadets are untried as well. And my simulator score is the highest. Fifty fights, fifty kills.”

“You have a gift, Mori-san,” said Sato. “The Marshal sees it. We all see it. But the fear of losing a beloved child does not always allow a father to think rationally.”

Mako blinked, slowly setting her teacup down.

Sato put a hand on her shoulder. “Give him time, and perhaps when Gipsy Danger is ready to fight again, your place will be with her in battle.”

Returning to the present, Mako listened as the line rang twice before it was picked up on the other end. “Sato-san,” she said as the image of the engineer appeared, “I apologize for disturbing you. The Marshal has pulled me from the floor for a high priority assignment. I will need you to oversee the work for the next ten hours.”

“I will be there in five minutes, Mori-san.”

Thanking him, Mako cut the connection. The screen on her tablet cleared, leaving only the name and picture of the man whose Drift compatibility she had been tasked to assess: Raleigh Becket.

Five years before, Raleigh and his brother Yancy had been one of the best Ranger teams in the Jaeger program. Their combat style was anything but by-the-book, which earned them both admiration and censure. The footage of their deployments had been a favorite of many of the cadets in Mako’s cohort at the Academy. The Beckets had piloted with a bold swagger that was riveting.

The entire program had mourned when Gipsy Danger went down. While the Jaeger had been recovered on the Alaskan coast, neither of her pilots had been inside. Yancy Becket was declared killed in action. LOCCENT had a full record of his death from the vitals monitor. Raleigh, though, was still listed as missing.

It was absolutely certain that he had successfully piloted the Jaeger to the coast solo—a feat that made him an instant legend among the cadets—but communications had been severed in the battle with the Kaiju and there had been no feed on his vitals. By all accounts, his brain should have been fried by the neural overload of a solo run, but if that had been the case they would have recovered his body. He would have been comatose for a few hours and then suffered a massive cerebral hemorrhage, as the first solo test pilots had back at the start of the war.

When the evac team had arrived, though, there was no sign of him. If there had been tracks in the snow, the high winds had blown them away. He had been presumed dead by most, even if not in the official records.

Pentecost’s request for a Drift compatibility assessment, however, could only mean one thing: Raleigh Becket was alive and was being considered for redeployment.

Mako’s brows knit. Rangers whose copilots had been killed were almost never redeployed. She remembered vividly the lecture her first instructor had given the cadets in the early days of their training.

“Drift compatibility isn’t something you can create through long hours in sim,” he had explained. “It’s a link between the most basic levels of your individual neural networks. If you’re into hoodoo-voodoo stuff, think of it as a fusion of the souls.” He shrugged. “Most everyone here will call that sentimental bullshit, though, because the compatibility runs in families.”

Tapping his temple, he said, “Family compatibility make sense. Similar genes, similar gray matter. It’s the chance matches that always make me shake my head a little and think that maybe the Greeks were onto something with the myth of twin souls. But whether you think of it as a lucky fluke of biology or finding your soulmate, you’ll know when it happens.

“The poor bastards who lose their copilot...I can’t even imagine it. They feel them die. That’s not something you recover from. And they remember it, so anyone who Drifts with them afterward feels it, too. That’s why sole survivors aren’t reassigned; they’re compromised, and Drifting with them could compromise the copilot as well.”

The Marshal’s decision to recall Becket was a risky one, but since all of the other Mark-3 pilots were dead, there was no one else he could turn to. Of course, he could have put together a new team for Gipsy, but the problem of inexperience remained. The Mark-3 series was notoriously difficult to interface with, and having a pilot who had operated one before offered a significant advantage.

It would take a strong mind to Drift with Becket, though. Someone who could tolerate the memories of a beloved brother’s death and then overcome them. Not everyone in the program, no matter how capable, was prepared to do that. Mako wondered if she was. After all, she knew loss.

Her parents had died when Onibaba had made landfall in Tokyo, leaving Mako to fend for herself in the ensuing media storm. Seemingly all the reporters in Japan latched onto her story in the immediate aftermath of her rescue by Ranger Stacker Pentecost. Her grieving period was spent under the scrutiny of millions of people, and she had learned very quickly to mask certain emotions in order to appear strong in the face of the tragedy.

There had been an outpouring of support, but because she had no remaining family, she had been sent to an orphanage. By then the attention had shifted to other things as new Kaiju attacked and were defeated. She remained in the orphanage until Pentecost once again swept in to save her. He took her in and raised her himself.

Though the loss of her parents was a terrible ordeal, it could not compare to the trauma of feeling someone else’s death as if it were your own. Whatever derisive things could be said about Raleigh Becket and his tenure as a Ranger, there was no doubt that he possessed incredible neural and cognitive resilience. Mako had great admiration for that.

Tucking her tablet under her arm, she called up to the foreman of the restoration crew and told him that Sato would be taking over for her. The foreman, Lin Hong, gave her a brief salute of acknowledgement and then flipped the mask of his welding helmet back in place and returned to work. Taking one last glance at Gipsy Danger, Mako turned and headed toward her office.

Her L-shaped desk was covered with large format blueprints, many of which were marked up with handwritten notes, some words in English characters and others in kanji.

When Mako had first arrived in Alaska as Pentecost’s daughter, she hadn’t spoken a word of English, and her adoptive father’s Japanese had been rudimentary at best. It was by necessity that they learned to communicate through looks and gestures.

At first, Mako had expected to live on base with Pentecost, but she spent only two weeks at the newly constructed Anchorage Shatterdome before she was sent to a prestigious boarding school in Juneau. The first six months were harder than any she had experienced in her young life, but by the time the spring term ended, she could carry on a decent conversation in English and was excelling at her studies. The literature and rhetoric courses presented the most significant challenges, but science and math came naturally to her. Numbers translated easily from her native language to her second. And she enjoyed finding patterns and solving proofs far more than examining esoteric texts.

Summer breaks were shorter than she would have liked, but she always looked forward to them because they were spent at the Shatterdome in Lima, where Pentecost had been transferred after several months in Anchorage. There she discovered her love of Jaeger tech. The massive machines fascinated her. Though she was not initially permitted on the hangar floor, Pentecost eventually relented and allowed her shadow one of the willing J-techs.

Santiago Rivera had become her friend and tutor. As a teenager, she had worshipped him. A man in his middle forties, he seemed to know everything there was to know about the Jaegers he oversaw. He had shown her how the robotics functioned and how the complex machinery interacted to make the Jaegers move with unparalleled power. Mako had absorbed it all eagerly. While her focus tended to be on the mechanics of Jaeger operations and maintenance, she was indelibly drawn to the pilots and their relationships with both their machines and each other.

The first time she had encountered a Jaeger pilot team she had been unable to look away. They were cousins from Mexico City. Their dark hair was close-cropped, their eyes a bright green. They spoke lightly accented English with Pentecost, clipped and formal as all the pilots were with her father. But it was the way they moved, how they looked at each other, that kept her captivated. From time to time, one would leave off midsentence and the other would simply pick up where his cousin left off. Often they moved in synchrony, standing up at the same time or making similar gestures.

Mako always watched them deploy when the coast was attacked. From the moment they entered their Jaeger, she hadn’t been able to look away. Despite their size and the loud mechanical sounds they produced, the Jaegers were beautiful to watch in action. Mako knew that once she graduated from high school, she would go directly into the Jaeger Academy with the intention of becoming a pilot herself.

She had done just that. Her aptitude for engineering was not overlooked, however, and she was made to follow the J-tech curriculum. Still, her combat scores were just as high as her academic marks. When she finished at the Academy, she was at the top of the class in all aspects of training. Her instructors had told her they had not seen a more promising pilot.

Her father, though, had been more cagey about encouraging her aspirations. More than once they had fought about it, but out of respect for him, she had always conceded. Still, her desire never waned. She kept up her skills in the kwoon and ran combat simulations as often as she could. She promised herself that if the opportunity arose for her to step into a Jaeger of her own, she would take it.

Pulling the chair out from under her desk, Mako sat at the computer console. She removed the data drive Pentecost had given her from her tablet and plugged it into the console. It contained not only Becket’s personnel file, but hours of footage of his kwoon sessions with his brother and of their drops in Gipsy Danger. There were even press interviews.

The Beckets’ careers as Rangers had spanned three years, from their first deployment off the coast of Los Angeles in 2017 to their last drop in Anchorage in 2020, the one during which Yancy Becket had been killed and Gipsy Danger put out of commission.

It would likely take Mako more than half of the ten hours she had been allotted to look over the footage, but it was critical for her to understand how Raleigh Becket piloted if she was to choose the best copilot candidates for him. Bringing up a blank document for notes on her second monitor, she loaded up the recording of the Beckets’ first drop, sat back, and watched.

Seven hours later, Mako finally closed out of the last of the kwoon session recordings. It was 0230 by then and her body was stiff from sitting still for so long. Despite the discomfort, she was satisfied with the extensive notes she had taken. She felt as though she had a good grasp of how Raleigh Becket fought. It was possible that things had changed in the years since he had been on active duty, but she doubted the difference would be significant enough to render her appraisal inaccurate. Now she was ready to begin the process of selecting copilot candidates for him.

She got up briefly to stretch before settling back down at the console and bringing up the neural compatibility assessment interface. The first step in choosing a potential pilot team was to examine their brain wave patterns and identify the points of congruency. The higher the congruency, the better the odds for a strong Drift compatibility.

There was a roster of twenty-five candidates that she would have to run through the matching algorithm. She recognized some of the names from her cohort at the Academy. She had finished her training four years before and had been a part of the J-tech corps since.

Her first posting had been at Lima with Pentecost, but when Gipsy Danger had been cleared for reactivation, both of them had gone to Anchorage to oversee the operations there. After the majority of the Shatterdomes had been closed, she had followed Gipsy to Hong Kong.

Pulling up Becket’s neural profile, Mako loaded it into the assessment program. The computer rendered a visual representation in waves, the peaks and valleys unique to Becket. Mako typed a short command into the interface and brought up the first candidate’s profile. The algorithm would run it against Becket’s and see where they lined up. If they were a close match, it was likely that they would make a good team.

Executing the program, Mako waited for the process to complete. Eight minutes later, the computer announced the result: “Neural congruency twenty-two percent.”

An unacceptable outcome. Anything below fifty percent was considered a null result, an incompatible match. Mako set that candidate aside and loaded the next one. It and the one that followed also had low scores. She flagged them as negative and moved on.

The next three had potential, though the congruency was only about sixty percent. Jaeger pilots had Drifted well with fairly low standard congruency before, since true compatibility could not be properly assessed until both pilots were allowed to spar in person. And even then, there was no way to know how strong their connection would be before they actually Drifted.

Frowning, Mako put “possible” flags on those files. She hoped that there would be better options among the remaining candidates. Over the next two hours, the highest potential congruency she found was seventy-four percent. Rubbing her forehead, she went to the coffeemaker and poured herself a cup. The pot had been on the burner for over an hour, making the coffee bitter, but she drank it down anyway.

Returning to her console, she closed the latest candidate’s profile and pulled up a new one. She didn’t bother to read to the name, simply starting the matching process. The computer worked for less than a minute before Mako heard the first ping that indicated positive congruency. It was followed quickly by another and then another. She looked up sharply to see spikes of green on the monitor, showing matching neural patterns. Suddenly more awake than she had been in hours, she watched as the assessment completed.

“Neural congruency ninety-nine percent,” the computer announced.

Mako brought up the candidate’s personnel record. Her eyes widened as she read the name. It was her own.

She swallowed, tempted for a moment to rerun the process. From studying Raleigh Becket’s combat style, she knew that it could not be more different from hers. She prided herself on her controlled, understated form. She gave nothing away in the ring, never betraying her next move to her opponent. Becket was the opposite. He was a showman, flamboyant and unguarded. There was no doubt that he was a lethal fighter—a natural—but it was all predicated on his volatility.

The Becket brothers had not been formally trained in martial arts before they entered the Jaeger Academy, Mako recalled. That had been common when the war first began, but by 2016, when the Beckets arrived at the Kodiak Island training facility, most of the cadets were coming from the best dojos in the world. The brothers were unpredictable from the beginning, but it worked strangely to their benefit, allowing them to come out on top against cadets who, on paper, should have soundly beaten them.

Mako had been fighting since Pentecost had taken her in and had excelled at the Academy. Her combat skills had been lauded. She was consistent and precise, all but the antithesis of Raleigh Becket. It seemed unlikely that their Drift compatibility would be so high.

Despite her disbelief, Mako felt a thrill of excitement. The Marshal would not be able to ignore the numbers. Even if he had intended to keep her on the ground—inexperience, he said—there was no denying that she was the best candidate to pilot Gipsy Danger alongside Becket.

Compiling her list of candidates—with her name at the top—she began to prepare the final report to present to the Marshal at 0500.

Though the architecture of the Shatterdome was entirely utilitarian, there was a certain Spartan beauty to Pentecost’s office. The sunlight from the single, narrow window bounced off the surface of the reflecting pools, brightening the space. The Marshal’s broad desk stood across the room from the window, allowing him a view of Hong Kong bay while he worked. The few papers that lay on the desktop were neatly ordered, lined up precisely an inch apart.

Pentecost was standing with one hand on the corner of the desk, holding a thin tablet in the other. Mako, who stood near the door, was waiting for him to finish reading her report. She was restless, almost trembling with nerves. Her blood was suffused with adrenaline, a mixture of fear and excitement. Her recommendations for Becket’s copilot candidates had been clear and concise: there were six potentials, but she was far and away the strongest.

“This is good work, Mako,” said Pentecost at last. “Well done.”

Holding her shaking hands at her sides, she bowed.

Setting the tablet down, Pentecost said, “You’re to notify all the candidates on this list immediately. Combat trials will begin two days from now at 0600.”

“I will prepare as well,” said Mako, struggling to keep her composure.

Pentecost’s mouth drew into a tight, straight line. “That won’t be necessary. You will not be in the trials.”

All the air rushed from Mako’s lungs as if she had been hit hard in the stomach. No. He couldn’t do this, not after all she had gone through to get to this point.

“I’m sorry, sir?” she said, her voice strained.

With a sigh, Pentecost put a hand on her shoulder. “I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, Mako, but this is for the best.”

Anger sparked to life in her breast. “You promised me!” she said sharply, slipping into Japanese as the tight hold she kept on her emotions threatened to break. “You promised that I would be a pilot.”

“And you will,” he said. “When you’re ready.”

“This is our last mission,” she said. “I will never have another chance. You saw the roster. Sensei, it should be me.”

A muscle in Pentecost’s jaw twitched at the use of that name. She had given it to him when she was a girl, when he had begun to teach her to fight, to stand straight, to be a soldier. It was an affectionate name, but also the proper title for an honored mentor.

All the skills he had helped her cultivate were meant to prepare her to step into a Jaeger, but now, when she finally had the opportunity, he had refused her.

“If any of the others had a ninety-nine percent congruency, you wouldn’t hesitate,” she said. “Why not me? Have I disappointed you?”

“It’s not about that,” he said. “The success of this mission is paramount.”

“And you think I would fail?” Mako asked, wounded.

Pentecost closed his eyes for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “You hide it well, but I think you are too focused on vengeance. You can’t carry that kind of rage into the Drift. You won’t be able to think clearly, objectively. It could get you and your copilot killed. And I can’t afford to lose anyone.”

“I can control my mind,” she said, slightly ashamed of how desperate she sounded. “You taught me how.”

Pentecost’s reply was sharp, “This discussion is over. You have your orders, Mori-san, and I expect them to be followed.” Going to the far wall, he lifted his coat off the peg it hung from and shrugged it on.

Mako knew he was headed out to the helicopter that would take him to wherever Raleigh Becket was waiting to be retrieved.

“I expect to be back here by tomorrow afternoon,” Pentecost said. “Make sure the candidates are briefed before then.”

Though disappointment still stabbed at her, Mako had no choice but to bow once again in acknowledgement.

Gesturing toward the door, Pentecost dismissed her wordlessly. As she strode past him, she stared down at the floor ahead of her, unable to meet his eyes. She had no desire for him to see the pain in hers.

“Mako,” he said as he closed the door. “Make sure to get some rest today.”

“Yes, Marshal,” she said. And then she fled.

It took no more than ten minutes to compose and send a message to the copilot candidates telling them to report to the kwoon in two days for combat trials. Mako had been forced to rein in her emotions as she wrote it, unwilling to allow her frustration to bleed into the prose. Once it was done, she sat back in her chair and sighed.

Though she was tired, she was far too restless to sleep. She considered going to Gipsy Danger’s hangar to take over for Sato, but she wasn’t yet prepared to face the Jaeger that she had invested so much in and yet would never pilot. Instead, she gathered the few things she would need and made her way to one of her preferred refuges: the simulation room.

When the Shatterdome had been fully operational, the simulator would have been occupied almost twenty-four hours a day, but since the program’s funding had been cut and its personnel reduced to a skeleton crew, there was rarely anyone there anymore. Mako liked the silence. It gave her the opportunity to clear her mind completely before going into the simulation.

As she had said to her father, she had learned to control her mind. She meditated in the mornings before she went to the mess for breakfast and before sleeping at night. Remaining focused on the present was critical for keeping oneself aligned in the Drift. At least that was what she had been taught. She had never actually Drifted before. Only pilots ever established a true neural bridge.

That, of course, only fueled the rumors among the cadets at the Academy about what it felt like to Drift and what sorts of side effects it had. Some of the most infamous stories pertained to ghost-Drifting, the phenomenon where copilots experienced a connection even after the neural handshake was broken. There was some truth to it, but the things the cadets talked about hardly seemed possible.

Mako had heard everything from being able to hear your copilot’s thoughts and dreaming the same things to feeling pain when your copilot was hurt and even sharing sexual stimulation. One of the cadets in Mako’s cohort had sworn that a pilot had once told her that whenever his copilot had an orgasm, so did he. He didn’t even have to lay a hand on himself; it just happened. Mako had rolled her eyes. There was no doubt that pilots shared a connection, but she strongly doubted that it was anything like that.

Approaching the simulator’s control panel, she keyed in her personal parameters. She listened to the hum of the machine as it powered up. This model was no longer state-of-the-art, but it was familiar to her. She had spent many hours in it since she had arrived in Hong Kong.

It was rigged to look like the conn-pod of any Jaeger. The main support arm would clip into the back piece of her drivesuit. Two smaller arms would attach at her wrists and then to the feedback cradles that she would hold in each of her hands. Her booted feet would be secured to the gears that worked the simulated Jaeger’s legs. The drive apparatus was designed to suspend the pilot so that he or she had a full range of motion in combat, but was also held safely upright even when the Jaeger was thrown or knocked down.

While the simulator booted up, Mako stripped out of her clothes and slid into a basic circuitry suit. The fabric of the thin, black base layer was sewn with a synaptic processor mesh that would read her muscles’ electrical impulses and relay her movements to the Jaeger. The suit for simulations was significantly less sensitive than those pilots wore in combat, but performed the same function.

Over it she donned a layer of polycarbonate body armor: chest and back pieces, boots, greaves, and gauntlets. It, too, was not meant to see real combat, but it was necessary in simulation because it kept the pilot secured to the drive apparatus. The helmet that Mako pulled on was designed only to protect her head from impact; it did not contain the relay gel that was necessary for pilots to communicate with each other in the Drift. The gel was not required since she was not going to be Drifting in the sim. In these training exercises, she would have full control of the Jaeger.

Stepping onto the foot plates, she engaged the clamps. They snapped into place, followed shortly by those at her back and arms. Once she was locked into the apparatus, the digital HUD appeared in a flash of blue. It displayed the health of the simulated Jaeger’s systems, from coolant and fuel to muscle strand functionality.

“Pilot recognized,” said the computer. “Please select drop parameters and adversary.”

Bringing up the operational interface, Mako loaded the protocol for an enemy she had faced many times before: Knifehead, the Kaiju that had taken Gipsy Danger down five years before. Though each Kaiju offered its own set of challenges when it came to combat, Knifehead was one of the most difficult to best. Mako had seen numerous Ranger cadets fall to it in sim. She, however, had continued to come back to it. It was one of her favorite fights because it required her to give everything she had.

The simulation began with her Jaeger—a custom build she had coded herself—standing along the Miracle Mile just off the coast of Anchorage. That wasn’t where the Beckets had actually encountered Knifehead—they had disobeyed Pentecost’s direct order to remain along the coast in order to rescue the crew of a small fishing boat and had intercepted the Kaiju en route—but no simulation was perfect.

In her helmet, Mako heard the computerized voice of the LOCCENT tech telling her the location of the Kaiju and what to expect in terms of its size and weight. She knew the numbers by heart: 96 meters in height, weighing 8,700 metric tons. When it came through the Breach in 2020, it was the largest Category 3 ever seen.

Taking up a defensive stance in her simulated Jaeger, Mako braced for the Kaiju to appear. A ping on her sonar announced its arrival from north-north-west. True to its name, Knifehead had a long protruding head that it had used to pierce Gipsy Danger’s hull and sever her left arm. The simulated incarnation followed that same pattern of attack, launching itself out of the water at Mako’s Jaeger. She sidestepped to avoid the assault, swinging her fist into the Kaiju’s neck. It roared and hit the water. It was back up a moment later, though, this time grabbing for her shoulders with its larger, dominant arms while the smaller, secondary arms scrabbled at the hull, claws screeching against the metal.

Mako caught the dominant arms mid-lunge and arrested Knifehead’s attack. Engaging the hard torque in her Jaeger, she flipped the Kaiju onto its back. She considered powering up her left-hand plasma canon, but she had used it to defeat Knifehead before. This time she wanted to try something different.

Tapping a command into the console, she unleashed the weapon she had added several months before: a chain sword. When she had first begun to learn about Jaeger combat techniques and battle technology, she had been surprised to discover that very few of the Jaegers were equipped with melee weaponry. They had their fists and numerous rockets and canons, but bladed weapons were almost completely absent.

When she brought this up to the J-techs, most had told her that they had proved too cumbersome to mount on the Jaegers. Blades required sheaths, and very few Jaegers had space to spare for them. They also added weight, which required more power and consumed greater amounts of fuel. Though the world’s governments had managed to divert most of the planet’s petroleum production to the Jaeger Program, the Marshals knew better than to squander it.

Mako had let the issue drop. Her interest in it, though, did not disappear altogether. In her free time during those first years out of the Academy, she had worked on a concept for a sword that was not a single blade, but many sections that could be retracted into the Jaeger’s arm like the links of a chain. Though her initial prototypes worked well enough when she tested them in simulation, she stilled faced the problem of weight.

It took her nearly eight months to calculate how she could change the design of a Jaeger’s torso and arm structure to support the sword without wasting fuel and sacrificing movement speed. She had seen most of her tests fail—ending in the destruction of the Jaeger by a Kaiju or completely depleting the fuel reserves before the fight was over—but she persisted until they began to succeed.

She had coded the sword into this particular Jaeger simulation to prove its utility and efficacy to Pentecost. He had seen both and approved the design for fabrication on the new Mark-5s. However, only one was ever built—Striker Eureka—and it had been constructed before Mako’s work was complete. After the Jaeger Program lost its funding, she was certain she would not see the chain sword deployed…until she was put in charge of Gipsy Danger’s retrofit.

Gipsy had been damaged so severely in the fight with Knifehead that she required an entire rebuild from the waist up. Mako used the opportunity to redesign the distribution of weight to compensate for the chain sword. The Mark-3 now had a weapon on her right arm.

Mako’s simulated Jaeger was designed the same way. With her left hand, she reached out and intercepted Knifehead’s next attack. She dug the Jaeger’s fingers into the hard flesh of the Kaiju’s neck. It struggled and thrashed, but Mako put an end to that quickly as she drove the sword up through its head and into its primary brain. She twisted the blade for good measure before pulling it out. The Kaiju collapsed at her Jaeger’s feet, displacing hundreds of thousands of liters of seawater.

The HUD flashed green and the words “Successful Kill” flashed in the center of the display. It was followed by Mako’s kill count: fifty-one drops, fifty-one kills.

Her smile was grim. There was no one else in what remained of the Jaeger program who had that record. She was the best pilot in Hong Kong, and her father knew it. Yet, he still would not permit her to enter Gipsy’s conn-pod.

It would not have been wrong to say, “It’s not fair,” but that sounded like juvenile whining. The last thing Mako wanted to do now was to act like a petulant child. That would earn her little respect from anyone, especially the Marshal.

Frustrated, she ended the simulation and began the disengagement process. The drive apparatus lowered until it reached the ground again. The clamps at Mako’s back and wrists released first, followed by those at her feet. Freed, she powered down the sim. Pulling off her helmet, she set it down in the storage locker and set to removing her drivesuit.

Though she exchanged the heavy armor for her fatigues and sweater, she felt even more weighed down. Part of her wanted to curl up in her bed and allow herself to cry. Another continued to search for one more logical argument as to why she was the best copilot candidate for Gipsy Danger.  A third wanted desperately to take a page from Raleigh Becket’s book and disobey Pentecost by showing up to the combat trials in the morning ready to fight.

No matter how tempting the latter option might be, she knew she would never directly challenge Pentecost. He was her superior and her father. Both demanded her respect and compliance.

Resigned, Mako turned off the lights in the simulator room and headed back toward the elevator. Though she had no desire to sleep, she would honor her father’s request that she get some rest by going back to her quarters and making an attempt.

“The dorsal intake valve is still opening twenty milliseconds after the ventral,” said Mako, pointing to the schematic on her tablet. A line of system diagnostics ran beside it, showing the lag in response time.

Lin Hong, foreman of Gipsy Danger’s restoration crew, leaned over her shoulder and examined the numbers scrolling past. “I see it now,” he said. “I’ll tune it myself as soon as I get back to the floor.”

“Thank you,” said Mako. “It’s not going to keep her from deployment, but it will make a difference in coolant usage over time.”

Lin agreed, though both of them could detect what the other wasn’t saying: time wasn’t a factor. This was a mission with a short window. Gipsy would only need to run defense for Striker Eureka as they made a push for the Breach. None of the J-techs had to be concerned with long-term maintenance. However, neither Mako nor Lin could break the habit.

“Are you coming down to the hangar?” he asked.

“In a few minutes,” said Mako. “I have—”

The beeping tone of an incoming call on her tablet cut her off. Pressing the screen, she accepted it. “Mori.”

“Hey, Mako,” said Tendo Choi, grinning one-sidedly as his image appeared.

Tendo was the Shatterdome’s chief LOCCENT officer. He oversaw the Jaeger drops from Hong Kong, as he had done in Lima and Anchorage before that. He had a reputation for playing fast and loose with the hearts of women around base, but no one could hold a grudge against him for long. He was clever and charming, but deadly serious about doing his job well. He had been at the comm for Stacker Pentecost since he had come out of the Academy in 2016, and Mako adored him.

“Mr. Choi, what can I do for you?” she asked, returning his smile.

“How about dinner tonight?” he replied with a wink.

Mako rolled her eyes. According to Tendo, she was the only woman who had ever turned down dinner with him.

“It’s a black mark on my record,” he had said to her more than once. He would hold a hand over his heart as if she had hurt him. “And I’m starting to make a fool of myself by asking and getting refused over and over again. Put me out of my misery, won’t you?”

It was a game, of course. More than ten years her senior, Tendo was more like an eccentric uncle than a potential partner. He had known Mako since she was a girl in boarding school, and had, in fact, chased more than a few young men away from her in the years after she graduated from the Academy. He insisted that none of them had been good enough.

Mako hadn’t minded so much then. At eighteen, her focus had been on Jaegers, not boys. Still, there had been a few. The most serious had been a fellow J-tech that she met a couple of years after she got out of the Academy. Their work brought them together and gave them something to talk about. They would spend long hours in the hangars even after they were done for the day.

When they first slept together, it was in his office overlooking they Jaeger they were maintaining. Base life didn’t lend itself to long afternoons in bed, so they took what they could get. It was an unromantic introduction to sex, but Mako enjoyed it all the same. Yet, it remained at the periphery of their relationship. Their work was at the center. When he was transferred away, she missed talking to him about tech more than she missed being in his arms, his bed. She had not been with anyone else since.

“Not tonight,” she said to Tendo, once again refusing dinner.

He shook his head and sighed. “Fine. Down to business then. I just got a message from the Marshal. He wants you to meet him on the helipad in ten minutes.”

“I’ll go now,” Mako said.

“Take an umbrella,” said Tendo. “It’s pouring out there. Again.”

She nodded, said goodbye, and ended the call. When she looked up, Lin was eyeing her curiously.

Mako considered dismissing him without giving an explanation, but she was certain that the moment Raleigh Becket set foot in the Shatterdome, the news would spread like wildfire. She had no reason withhold the information any longer, especially from the head of the team working on the Jaeger he would pilot.

“The Marshal has found a pilot for Gipsy,” she said.

Lin’s brows rose. “I thought you—”

“No,” she said before he could continue.

“I thought all the Mark-3 pilots were…gone.”

“He’s the last one.”

“Who?”

When she told him, Lin’s mouth dropped open. “He’s alive?”

“Evidently.”

“And the Marshal’s bringing him here.”

Glancing down at her watch, Mako said, “He is, and I have to meet him in five minutes. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course,” said Lin, stepping away from her desk. “I’ll tell the drive crew to prepare a suit for him?”

“We’ll have to take new measurements, but yes, let them know.”

“Very good,” Lin said, giving Mako a curt nod. Turning, he opened the door to her office and disappeared into the hall.

She paused only for a moment to take a breath before reaching under her desk and retrieving the umbrella she kept there. She would pick up another for Pentecost on her way to the helipad. Pulling on her coat, she took her tablet and headed out.

Cool rain was coming down in sheets when she exited the lift onto the helipad. Members of crew that managed the V-50 Jumphawk helicopters that airlifted Jaegers into battle were working on the deck, most of them in rain ponchos and wearing protective ear muffs. Three techs were guiding one of the Jumphawks down onto the helipad as Mako arrived. Stopping just outside the circle that marked the landing zone, she waited for the propeller blades to slow enough for the passengers to disembark.

When the hatch opened, Pentecost was the first to step off. Behind him came Raleigh Becket.

The pictures in his PPDC personnel file showed a good-looking young man with short blond hair and a cocky grin. The man who descended the steps after the Marshal was quite unlike the pictures. He was dressed in shabby, weatherworn clothes. His green jacket was faded and patched in several places. The sweater he wore beneath it was stretched out and fraying at the hem.

His hair was darker than in the pictures, though perhaps that was because it was wet from the rain. It was longer, too, even to the point of being unkempt. He had a three-day beard and the fair skin of his face was slightly chapped. All of that could have been disregarded, though, if he still had the same look in his eye as he did in his roster photo. But his expression was no longer that of a conceited boy; he had a severe, weary look about him.

As he and the Marshal approached her, Mako held out an umbrella to Pentecost. Instead of opening it for himself, he handed it to Becket.

“Mr. Becket,” he said, “this is Mako Mori, one of our brightest. I put her in charge of the Mark-3 restoration program. She personally handpicked your copilot candidates.”

Mako looked up and met his eyes. There was curiosity there, though none of the smugness that she had seen in his interviews when he had been an active pilot. She had expected him to be much the same, had anticipated disliking his brash attitude. Yet, here he was quiet, even unassuming.

“I imagined him differently,” she said to Pentecost in Japanese.

The corner of the Marshal’s mouth turned up, but before he could speak, Becket said, “Hey.” When Mako turned to him, there was a spark of mischief in his face that seemed much more characteristic. Smiling slyly, he added in heavily accented Japanese, “Better or worse?”

Mako’s lips parted in surprise. There was nothing in his file that had indicated he might speak anything other than American Standard English. Of course, a personnel file did not give a full picture of anyone. It had been foolish of her to assume that she knew all there was to know about him from it alone.

“I apologize, Mr. Becket,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He gave her a half smile and inclined his head respectfully. She did the same.

“Come on,” said Pentecost, moving toward the door. “We don’t have time to waste.”

Mako looked at Becket, expecting him to follow.

He held out a hand and said, once again in Japanese, “After you.”

Turning on her heel, Mako went. Becket fell into step with her, his boots falling heavily with each long stride. When they arrived in the lift, they both closed their umbrellas.

“I’ll take that,” she said to him, this time in English.

“Thanks,” he said, handing it to her.

She nodded and fell silent, listening as Pentecost introduced Becket to Doctors Geiszler and Gottlieb, the two remaining members of the PPDC’s research team. To say that they were unconventional was putting it politely, but whatever their social shortcomings, they were brilliant in their respective fields and indisputable assets to the program.

Becket seemed to be amused by them, especially by the tattoos on Dr. Geiszler’s arms. One was a rendering of the Kaiju Yamarashi, which the Beckets had taken down in the early part of their careers as Rangers. Mako had watched the footage of the battle several times. It was an impressive show of force and quick thinking.

As one of the largest Category 3 Kaijus on record, Yamarashi had been a significant threat for a single Jaeger. However, the Beckets had been able to identify and manipulate its weaknesses within the first few minutes of the encounter. Its size and length made it slower than smaller, less massive Kaijus, but it hit far harder. Though the Mark-3 Jaegers were not known for their speed, they were far more agile than the Mark-2s. The Beckets had capitalized on that, managing to avoid frontal, close range attacks. Instead they focused on flanking Yamarashi. It required an exceptional awareness on the battlefield that not all pilots possessed.

Glancing briefly at Becket, Mako wondered if he would still have that capability without his brother as his copilot. Ranger teams fought with distinct styles and patterns. Though it was not often that one pilot left his partner to join another, when it happened it yielded a team that fought quite differently than the first. It was likely that Becket and his new copilot would employ techniques that diverged significantly from those he and his brother had used.

If that was the case, Mako was uncertain as to whether he would be as effective in the field as he had been five years before. There was no doubt that Pentecost had taken that into consideration when he decided to redeploy Becket, but it was still a significant risk.

When the lift doors opened onto the lowest level of the Shatterdome, the hangar bay floor, Pentecost led the way out. As they strode through the busiest part of the base, they had to dodge small electric vehicles hauling equipment and parts for the various Jaegers as well as numerous personnel going about their work.

Hong Kong had once been home to thirty Jaegers and their crews—forty to fifty maintenance engineers, J-techs, and conn-pod experts per Jaeger—but now only four remained: Cherno Alpha, Crimson Typhoon, Striker Eureka, and, of course, Gipsy Danger. Pentecost described them to Becket as they passed by, pointing out their pilots as well.

The Wei Tang brothers had been stationed in Hong Kong since they entered the Jaeger Program in 2015. The triplets were among the best Rangers in the world, having put down seven Kaiju over the course of their careers.

The Kaidonovskys, Sasha and Aleksis, had come from Russia several weeks ago. Though their Jaeger was the oldest of the four and by far the most difficult to maintain, it had been indispensable on the Siberian wall. In Mako’s opinion, it was one of the most resilient and adaptable Jaegers ever built.

Striker Eureka’s pilots, Hercules and Chuck Hansen, had arrived from Australia only a few days earlier. Striker herself had just been shipped in as of 0400 that morning.

Mako grinned as she spotted the Hansens and the bulldog they had brought along. “Max,” she said, kneeling down as he came running up to her. “Come here.”

“Don’t drool over Miss Mori,” Herc warned, following on the dog’s heels. To Pentecost and Becket, he said, “He sees a pretty girl and he gets all wound up.”

Mako scratched Max’s ears as Becket and Herc were introduced, or reintroduced. They had worked together once before, on a three-Jaeger drop in Manila in 2019. Mako had watched the recording of that mission during her assessment of Becket as well.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” said Herc, shaking Becket’s hand.

“Thank you, sir,” he replied. Mako did not overlook the slight hitch in his voice.

“Herc and Chuck’ll be running point using Striker Eureka,” Pentecost said. “Fastest Jaeger in the world. First and last of the Mark-5s.”

“Running point on what?” said Becket. “You still haven’t told me what I’m doing here.”

Pentecost took a breath. “We’re going for the Breach. We’re going to strap a 2400-pound thermonuclear warhead to Striker’s back. You and the two other Jaegers will be running defense for them.”

Becket’s brows rose. “Where’d you get something that big?”

The corner of Pentecost’s mouth twitched up in a smile that only Mako was likely to notice. “See the Russians back there?” he said. “They can get us anything.”

Looking over at the table where the Kaidonovskys sat with two short glasses of vodka in front of them, Becket gave a half shrug.

“Miss Mori will take you to your Jaeger now, Mr. Becket,” said Pentecost. “You have the rest of the evening to do as you please. Combat trials for your copilots start at 0600 tomorrow.” He nodded to Mako. “Make sure he can find his way there.”

“Yes, Marshal,” she said with a shallow bow.

“Marshal,” Becket called before Pentecost could turn away. “Sir, we’ve hit the Breach before. It doesn’t work. Nothing goes through. What’s changed?”

“I’ve got a plan,” he said. “I need you ready. That’s all.”

Becket hooked his thumbs onto his belt, his skepticism apparent, but he was wise enough not to say anything more to the Marshal than, “Yes, sir.”

As Herc and Pentecost strode out of sight, Mako said, “Mr. Becket, if you’ll follow me, I will show you to your Jaeger. She’s in Hangar Three, just this way.”

He nodded, allowing her to take the lead. She headed away from Striker’s hangar, rounding the corner toward the far end of the bay. There was a staircase on that side that would take them up to the observation level. It offered the best view of Gipsy, or at least Mako thought so. She had spent more than a few evenings standing at the railing, watching the crews work on fitting new hull panels or performing engine diagnostics. It soothed her far more than spending time in the personnel rec room.

“Miss Mori,” said Becket. “When did things get this bad for the program? I mean, what happened to the other Jaegers?”

“It’s been difficult for almost two years now,” she said as they started up the stairs. “There are more and more Kaiju attacks, and the Kaiju are bigger, stronger. Most Jaegers were designed to handle Category 3 Kaiju at most. When the Category 4s started coming through the Breach, we were losing Jaegers faster than we could build them.”

She frowned deeply, remembering the day the Marshal had announced the closing of Anchorage’s Shatterdome…and Lima’s and San Francisco’s. All but Hong Kong’s were to be shut down immediately, all remaining Jaegers decommissioned.

“Seven months ago,” she said with considerable contempt, “our funding was cut in half. The United Nations believes that the coastal wall is a more viable option than the Jaeger program.”

“They can’t be serious,” said Becket. “Not after what happened in Sydney. If it wasn’t for Striker Eureka the city would have been leveled.”

“I agree with you, Mr. Becket,” she said, “and so does the Marshal. That is why we are making a last push for the Breach.”

“You know anything about this big plan of his?”

She did, but it was not her place to discuss what Pentecost himself was not yet willing to reveal. Instead of an answer, she gestured for Becket to go ahead as they reached the top of the stairs. “There she is,” she said.

Becket stepped past her, his eyes wide. He sighed as he stopped at the edge of the catwalk. “Oh, my god,” he said, with no small measure of reverence. “Look at her. Gipsy Danger.” Leaning on the railing, he shook his head, though his gaze never left the Jaeger. “She looks like new.”

Mako came up beside him. “Better than new. She has a double-core nuclear reactor.” She smiled and said, fondly, “She’s one of a kind now.”

“She always was,” Becket said, staring across the hangar at the tremendous machine that he must have thought he would never see again. There was awe in his expression, but also sadness. Memories of his brother were inextricably linked with those of Gipsy. Seeing her had to bring just as much pain as it did happiness.

Mako took a step back, allowing him some privacy, but she kept her eyes on him. A hundred questions about what it was like to pilot Gipsy flashed through her mind, but it seemed impolite to assault Becket with them now.

“How long has she been here?” he asked.

“Six months,” Mako replied. “She was transported here from Anchorage. Before that she was in Oakland. She had been stored in Oblivion Bay since…” She hesitated, unsure of how to refer to Becket’s last deployment. “Since she was decommissioned.”

“I’m surprised she wasn’t scrapped. The condition she was in when I took her up to shore…”

“I was not part of the team that recovered her, so I am not sure who made the decision to keep her intact, but it was a good one.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s amazing what you’ve done with her.”

Mako looked down, pleased at the compliment. “I have done my best, Mr. Becket.”

“Raleigh,” he said, smiling one-sidedly.

Mako swallowed, heat rising up her neck and into her cheeks. From watching the post-drop interviews in his file, she had concluded that he possessed a potent blend of good looks and charm, neither of which he neglected to put to use. She had objectively appreciated his attractiveness as she went through innumerable pictures and hours of kwoon sessions, but having one of his smiles turned on her in person made objectivity somewhat more difficult.

Not altogether certain that it would be wise to allow herself the familiarity of using his first name, she shook her head. However, before she could reply, she heard, “How do you like your ride, Becket boy?”

Both he and Mako turned to see Tendo Choi striding toward them.

“She’s got a solid iron hull,” Tendo continued. “No alloys. Forty engine blocks per muscle strand. Hyper-torque driver for every limb and a new fluid synapse system.”

Grinning, Becket dropped his pack at his feet and pulled Tendo into a hug, thumping his back. “It’s good to see you, buddy.”

“Good to see you, too, brother,” said Tendo. “It’s just like old times.”

“Not quite,” said Becket. “We’re a man down.”

Tendo sobered immediately. “Yeah, I know. We held a memorial service for him, for Yancy. We missed you there.”

“It was better I wasn’t,” he said. “Things were rough for while after he died.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe a little longer than a while.”

“I hear you, brother,” said Tendo, squeezing his shoulder. “But, I’ve gotta say, it’s damn good to have you back. How do you like the Shatterdome?”

“Honestly? It’s like coming home.”

Mako smiled at that. She had always felt the same when she returned to base during her school breaks.

Tendo nodded knowingly. “We’ve got a hell of lot of catching up to do, Raleigh. Once you drop you gear, come find me and we’ll have a drink or two.” He shot Mako a sly look. “Unless you want to stay in better company. I wouldn’t blame you.”

Mako hugged her tablet close to her chest, looking down in an attempt to hide her blush.

“I don’t want to bother Miss Mori any more than I have to,” said Becket. “I’m sure she’s got better things to do than show has-beens like me around.”

“Like being a Ranger,” Tendo said, winking.

Becket cocked a brow at her. “You’re a pilot?”

“No,” she said. “Not yet.”

“But she should be,” said Tendo.

“Oh, yeah?” asked Becket. “What’s your simulator score?”

“Fifty-one drops, fifty-one kills,” she replied.

“Wow. That’s amazing. You’re one of the candidates tomorrow, then, right?”

“I am not.” She hesitated for a moment, cautious with her phrasing, but then added, “The Marshal has his reasons.”

“Yeah, he always does, doesn’t he?” said Becket, shaking his head slightly. “But with fifty-one kills, I can’t imagine what they could be.”

Mako blinked up at him, trying to keep her expression impassive. His green eyes were earnest, his interest sincere. There was something almost disarming about him, as if he could see that she was withholding the full truth. Which, of course, she was. Thankfully, Tendo chose to remain silent on the matter.

“I should take you to your quarters,” she said. “I’m sure you would like to rest.”

“I wouldn’t turn down a hot shower.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” said Tendo, “but, man, do you need it.” He laughed as Becket made a face at him. “If you feel like having that drink, Becket boy, come on up. Mako knows where to find me.” He headed off, leaving them alone with Gipsy again.

“Thanks for bringing me to see her,” Becket said. “She’s beautiful.”

Mako cast another glance at the Jaeger. “Yes, she is.” Turning back, she asked, “Are you ready to go? She will still be here tomorrow.”

“I hardly believe it,” Becket said, “but yeah, she will. All right. I’m following you, Miss Mori.”

Becket had been assigned the quarters across from Mako’s, so it wasn’t out of the way for her to deliver him there. Their rooms were simply appointed, with a narrow bunk, a small table with two chairs, and a bathroom. The shower wasn’t much, but at least it was private. Most of the base personnel only had access to the shared facilities in each dormitory. Rangers and senior J-techs, though, had their own space.

“Not bad,” said Becket as he went up the stairs into his room. “Better than the sheet metal cabins the company had for us on the wall.”

“You were working on the Wall of Life?” Mako asked from her place just beyond the threshold of his quarters.

“For the past two years, yeah,” he replied, dropping his bag onto his bunk. He unzipped it and pulled out a stack of photographs. “I worked some other jobs before that, but nothing worth mentioning. I made enough to eat and keep a roof over my head. I didn’t need much more than that.”

Mako nodded, though she could not imagine it. To go from the life of a Ranger—excitement, regular meals, even fame—to that of a laborer paid in ration books must have been hard to swallow.

“Did you not want to come back to the PPDC?” she asked. “You would have had a place here.”

“I know,” he said. “But I couldn’t. Not after what happened.”

Before Mako could stop herself, she said, “Then why come now?”

He picked up the photograph on the top of the stack. “It’s what Yancy would have done. If they needed him, he would have gone without a second thought.” He held the photo out to Mako. “That’s him.”

She had seen Yancy Becket before, heard him answer questions in numerous interviews, but this picture seemed to capture a side of him that he didn’t otherwise show. Whereas he was always the more serious of the two when they appeared publically, here he was grinning, his arm around his brother. His hair was slightly mussed, as if it had just been rifled. They both looked proud to be together, a true team.

Mako felt a pang of envy. She had never had a sibling, someone to get into trouble with or confide in. Her friends at school and in the Academy had been good company, but she never forged a lasting bond with any of them. Most she hadn’t spoken to in years.

Part of her had been counting on the friendship she would eventually share with her copilot. She had seen first-hand the depth of their connections and found herself longing for it. Her father and his copilot Tamsin Sevier had been closer even than family, or at least that’s how Tamsin described it. When she had gotten sick—cancer—Pentecost had taken Mako to see her in Hawaii, where she was undergoing treatment.

Tamsin had been bedridden by then, her once bright red hair gone. She kept her head wrapped in a colorful bandanna, but it was the only spot of color on her. She was pale and wan, her eyes sunken. In the pictures Pentecost had shown Mako, Tamsin had been lithe and strong, even big-breasted. Now her wrists were bony, all the tendons visible in her neck.

“Who’s this?” she had said when Mako, who had been hiding behind Pentecost as they entered the hospital room, appeared. Despite the pain that was evident in Tamsin’s face, she managed a smile.

“Tam, you remember Mako,” said Pentecost.

Recognition lit her green eyes. “Of course, I do. Hello, Mako.”

Though Mako’s English was still limited, she did understand the greeting. Bowing, she recited the words Pentecost had taught her on the airplane ride, “Hello, Miss Sevier. It is good to meet you.”

Her smile broadened. “You’re very bright aren’t you, Mako?”

Mako, not quite understanding, looked up at Pentecost. Taking her hand, he said in Japanese, “She says that you are very smart.”

That made Mako smile. Without thinking to switch to English, she said, “Thank you, Sevier-san.”

Tamsin raised a brow at Pentecost. He translated. Mako blushed, realizing her mistake.

“Don’t worry,” said Tamsin. “You’ll catch on quickly.”

After that, as she and Pentecost spoke rapidly and Mako had difficulty following along. So, instead of listening, she simply watched them. Pentecost had pulled two chairs up to the bedside, one for him and one for Mako. He sat closest to Tamsin, holding her hand as they conversed. It wasn’t a romantic gesture like when Mako’s parents had held hands, but it seemed to bring some of the life back into Tamsin’s face. She talked animatedly, waving her free hand to illustrate whatever it was she was saying. Mako had not seen her new adoptive father smile as much as he did while he listened to Tamsin, sometimes even cutting her off and making her laugh.

At one point, when Pentecost left to room to get Tamsin a glass of water, she turned to Mako and gestured for her to come closer. “Here’s the deal, Mako,” she said, slowly enough so that she could be understood. “I want you to do something for me. Stacker is a strong man, brave and proud. He’ll take good care of you. But even the strongest people need someone to take care of them, too. Since I can’t look after him anymore, I need you to. Can you do that for me, Mako?”

“Yes,” she said, hoping she had interpreted the right meaning.

“Good,” said Tamsin, reaching for her hand. Her fingers were cool as they clasped Mako’s. “I’m happy he has you now.”

“I am happy also,” said Mako, honest. “Sensei is good.”

Tamsin’s eyes shone with tears. “You call him ‘teacher.’”

“He will learn me to be a pilot like you,” she said, mixing up some of her English words. “Promise.”

“He always makes good on his promises,” said Tamsin. “And he’s a good teacher. You’ll be a great pilot someday. I know it.” She pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to see it.”

Pentecost returned then, carrying three cups of water. He handed one to Tamsin and one to Mako. She dutifully sipped it while they finished their conversation. When Pentecost rose again, he squeezed Tamsin’s hand and said, “We’ll come see you again soon.”

“You won’t have the chance,” she said. “I told you what the doctors said. I’m just glad you came and that I got to meet your daughter.” She smiled at Mako.

Leaning down, Pentecost pressed a brief kiss to Tamsin’s forehead.

“Don’t worry about me, Stacker. I’ll be fine. And if you need me, you can always find me in the Drift.”

Tamsin died the next day, though Mako did not find that out until several years later, when she and Pentecost returned to Hawaii to visit her grave. As Mako lay the bouquet of white lilies she had brought on the headstone, she whispered, “We take care of each other.”

Looking down at the photograph of the Becket brothers, Mako couldn’t help but think that that had been true of them as well. The pain Raleigh must have felt when he lost Yancy should have broken him, yet here he was, prepared to step back into a Jaeger and allow someone else into his mind. That took extraordinary bravery.

Mako handed the photo back to him. “He was an exceptional Ranger. It would have been an honor to know him.”

Raleigh’s smile was marked with grief. “Yeah.”

“I will leave you now,” said Mako. “If you do want to go see Mr. Choi later tonight, I would be happy to show you to him. As he said.”

“I can probably find my way. Thank you, though, Miss Mori.”

“Mako,” she said. With a small smile, she added, “Raleigh.”

“Mako it is, then. I’ll see you around?”

She nodded, backing down the stairs. Even after he had closed the door, she stood in front of it. She had been prepared to respect Raleigh Becket for his skill as a Jaeger pilot and for his courage in returning to the conn despite the loss he suffered, but she had not expected to like him. But she found that she was starting to.

The mess hall echoed with voices as Mako arrived for dinner at 1930. She had spent the past two hours running diagnostics on Gipsy’s hydraulic systems. There were no problems to diagnose, as she well knew, but the work had kept her mind off of the fact that she would remain on the sidelines during the copilot trials the next morning. Examining Gipsy made her feel connected to the Jaeger. It was not the true connection that her pilots would share when they interfaced with her, but it was close enough to satisfy.

She had only stopped when her stomach was aching with hunger. Closing out of the diagnostics interface, she had powered down her computer console and made her way up from her office in the hangar bay to the fourth floor mess.

Taking a tray, she joined the line to get it filled. The fare was similar to any standard military ration: potatoes, peas, sweet beans, meat loaf, and small, round rolls still hot from the oven.

It had taken Mako some time to get used to the heavy food they served in her boarding school in Alaska after what she had eaten with her family in Japan, but it had been so long now that she more often found herself craving pulled pork sandwiches than sukiyaki or udon.

Dinner in hand, she scanned the tables for an empty seat. She chose one beside a few of the J-techs that worked on Cherno. They greeted her warmly and asked how work on Gipsy was progressing.

“She’s ready for deployment,” she replied as she poured herself a glass of water.

“I’m looking forward to seeing her in action,” said Vasily Utkin, lead diesel engineer for Cherno. “She was a damned impressive machine in her day.”

“Are you saying she’s not impressive now?” Mako asked, only half teasing.

“Not unless I want you to lay into me with specs and fists,” he said, eyeing her.

She grinned. Very few of her fellow J-techs had combat expertise, but they all knew that she did. Though she wouldn’t ever use it against them, they liked to poke fun at her about it.

“Look,” said Anton Sokolov, circuitry tech, glancing up. “It really is Becket.”

Turning, Mako saw Raleigh descending the stairs that led into the mess. He had exchanged his tattered greet jacket for a standard issue navy blue sweater and fatigues. He had shaved, and it appeared that his hair had been trimmed. Though Mako was certain he could feel all of the eyes in the room on him, he seemed unfazed. He focused mainly on finding his way to the food.

“Raleigh,” called Herc Hansen. “Come sit with us.”

“Oh, I’m okay, thank you,” he said. “I’m gonna get some f—”

Herc handed him one of the trays he carried. “Ah, come on, there’s plenty of room at our table.”

With only slight reluctance, Raleigh took it and followed him to the table opposite Mako’s. “I haven’t seen bread in a while,” he said as they sat.

“Hong Kong,” said Herc. “Beauty of an open port. No rationing.”

Conversation around Mako trailed off some as the J-techs eavesdropped on the Rangers’ discussion. She was tempted to scold them, but was far too interested herself to bother.

“Raleigh,” Herc said, “this is my son Chuck. He’s my copilot now.”

“He’s more my copilot,” said Chuck. “Right, Dad?”

Mako resisted scowling at his arrogant tone, though just barely. Chuck Hansen was an excellent Ranger, there was no doubt about that, but his attitude rubbed her the wrong way. He considered himself superior to almost everyone else in the Shatterdome. The J-techs who worked on his Jaeger, Striker Eureka, had said more than once that he had told them off for all manner of inconsequential things. Though Mako was fond of Herc, she wished that he would intercede more often on behalf of those whom his son blatantly abused.

“So,” Chuck said to Raleigh, “you’re the guy, eh? You’re the guy who’s gonna run defense for me in that old rust bucket of yours?”

Mako’s knuckles turned white as she held her fork. Though she would not have hit any of the J-techs for jokingly disparaging Gipsy, she would gladly have struck Chuck right in the mouth just then.

“That’s the plan,” said Raleigh.

Chuck dropped a piece of meatloaf to Max. “Good. So, when was the last time you jockeyed, Ray?”

“About five years ago.”

“What’ve you been doing for five years? Something pretty important, I reckon.”

Raleigh paused, chewing carefully. “I was in construction.”

“Oh, wow,” Chuck said. “That’s great. I mean, that’s really useful. We get into a fight, you can build our way out of it, eh, Ray?”

Mako didn’t bother to hide her frown this time. Meeting her eyes, Utkin shook his head.

“It’s Raleigh.”

Chuck shrugged. “Whatever. Look, you’re Pentecost’s bright idea. And my old man, he seems to like you, but it’s guys like you who brought down the Jaeger program. To me, you’re dead weight.” He got to his feet, pulling on a hat. “You slow me down, I’m gonna drop you like a sack of Kaiju shit.”

A number of scornful looks followed Chuck out of the mess.

“You can blame me for that one,” said Herc. “I raised him on my own. Smart kid, but I never knew whether to give him a hug or a kick in the ass.”

“With respect, sir,” Raleigh said, “I’m pretty sure which one he needs.”

Mako shot Sokolov a warning look as he snorted a laugh. Thankfully, neither Raleigh nor Herc seemed to have heard.

“Can I ask you something, sir?” Raleigh said after a moment.

“’Course,” Herc replied around a mouthful of potatoes. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well, you were in the conn with a couple of other Rangers before your son, right?”

“That’s right. First with my brother Scott and then with a lad out of Nigeria named Akachi Diallo. We rode together three years before Chuck came out of the Academy. What about it?”

“I, ah, I guess I just wanted to know what it was like to Drift with someone else. Someone new, I mean.”

Herc set down his fork and took a sip of water. “It can be hard at first. You have to get a feel for the strength of the Drift. Me and Scott, we linked up quick and easy every time, but it took a couple of drops for Akachi and me to get on the same page.”

Raleigh’s brows rose. “A couple of drops? I thought LOCCENT didn’t send you out unless they were sure the neural handshake would hold.”

“There was never any doubt about that,” said Herc. “We had one of the strongest Drift compatibilities in the program. We just didn’t always agree on strategy at the beginning.” He shrugged. “But we worked it out. And so will you.”

“Yeah,” Raleigh said. “I guess we won’t have much choice. Do you know anything about the copilot candidates I’m supposed to fight tomorrow?”

“Not much,” Herc said. “Mako Mori’s the one to ask about that. Far as I know, she’s in charge of finding you a partner.”

Mako, who had been intentionally looking down at her plate as she listened to them, glanced up then. She swallowed, embarrassed, as she caught Raleigh’s gaze. His smile came and went so quickly that she wasn’t certain she had seen it at all.

“She led the restoration of Gipsy Danger, too,” Herc continued. “Did a damn good job. Got your machine purring like a kitten.”

“It’s incredible work,” Raleigh said, speaking slightly louder, as if to make sure Mako could hear him. “I would have killed to have her on Gipsy’s crew five years ago.”

Mako blushed as the other J-techs turned their eyes to her.

“You would’ve had to fight every other crew in the ‘Dome for her,” said Herc. “She’s the best.”

Before her face could flush any deeper, Mako grabbed her tray and stood up. Refusing to look toward Herc and Raleigh, she made straight for the dish washing station and then to the door. When she got out into the hallway, though, she pressed her back against the cool metal of the wall and grinned until her cheeks hurt.

“Four points to zero,” Mako said, announcing the score after the bout between Raleigh Becket and the fourth copilot candidate. They had been working their way up from the bottom of the list since they began the trials that morning, a decision made by Pentecost. The Marshal stood beside Mako at the edge of the mats in the kwoon, watching each fight attentively.

The current candidate got back onto his feet and bowed first to Raleigh and then to the Marshal, acknowledging his defeat. As soon as he had stepped clear of the mats, the next candidate entered, spinning his bo staff with an unnecessary flourish.

Raleigh approached him carefully, his own movements much more controlled. From the very beginning of the trials, Mako had noted the change in how he engaged his opponents. He no longer wasted energy on overly embellished actions, instead focusing on sharp, pointed attacks that conserved his strength.

Perhaps it was part of his strategy because he had known he would be fighting a number of opponents for several hours, but Mako did not think that was his primary reasoning. She believed that he simply no longer had the desire to show off as he had when he had been a young Ranger.

In addition, he had not yet faced anyone who had truly challenged him. He was moving slowly to account for their shortcomings and allowing them to score on him out of what Mako could only assume was boredom. That did not bode well for the physical compatibility required for a successful Drift.

When he and his current opponent engaged, there was a flurry of assaults and countermoves, but it ended quickly and with Raleigh once again victorious.

“Four points to one,” said Mako, marking the result down on her tablet.

She exchanged a brief look with Raleigh as he waited for the defeated candidate to leave the mats and the next to take his place. She saw the challenge in his eyes: This is all you’ve got?

Pursing her lips, she turned away, focusing on the next candidate. Raleigh was a little late in directing his attention and it cost him a point. However, he recovered quickly and soon had the candidate on his back.

“Four points to two,” said Mako, frowning. The candidate should never even have had a chance to score those points. Raleigh was hardly making an effort, and that bothered her. He should have been taking the trials seriously, even if he was not facing opponents as skilled as he was.

“Okay, what?” he said, taking a few steps toward Mako and Pentecost. “You don’t like them? I thought you selected them personally.”

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“Every time a match ends you make this little gesture,” he replied, mimicking her displeased glower, “like you’re critical of their performance.”

“It’s not their performance,” she said. “It’s yours. Your gambit. You could have taken all of them two moves earlier.”

He cocked a brow, tapping his bo on the floor at his feet. “You think so?”

“I know so,” said Mako.

“Fine,” he said. “Then can we change this up? Why don’t you take a shot?”

Mako’s heart stuttered. Turning to Pentecost, she gave him an imploring look.

“No,” he said. “We stick to the cadet list we have, Ranger. Only candidates with positive neural congruency—”

“Which I have, Marshal,” said Mako. “Ninety-nine percent.”

“What?” Raleigh said, looking between them with a startled expression. “Marshal, why wasn’t she down here already? I’d bet anything no one else here has that level of congruency.”

A murmur passed through the crowd that had gathered to watch the trials.

Mako could gauge Pentecost’s rising anger by the small twitch in his jaw, but she refused to look away from him.

“This is not only about a neural connection,” he said to her, his voice low. “It’s also about a physical compatibility.”

“What’s the matter, Marshal?” Raleigh said, almost taunting. “Don’t think your brightest can cut it in the ring with me?” He eyes flicked briefly to Mako, the left lid moving just slightly in a half wink.

Mako looked up once more at Pentecost and waited, unable to breathe.

Taking her tablet from her hands, he said, “Go.”

As if released from a choke leash, she sprang down the stairs toward the mats. Adrenaline flooded her veins as she unbuttoned her shirt. Despite it, she took her time folding the shirt neatly and setting it to the side. Her boots and socks followed. Taking up a bo from the rack at the wall, she approached the mats. From across them, Raleigh nodded to her.

“Remember,” he said, “it’s about compatibility. It’s a dialog, not a fight.”

“I’m aware of the parameters of the combat trials, Mr. Becket,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes slightly at her use of his last name. “All right, but I’m not gonna dial down my moves.”

“Okay,” she said. “Then neither will I.”

Taking up a wide stance, she spun her bo around her shoulders. It was a showman’s move, but she was too keyed up to stay still any longer. Raleigh seemed to recognize that, but his own approach was much more understated.

They stood across from each other for a few breaths, each studying the other. Mako had an advantage, of course, having not only studied hours of video footage of his fights, but having watched him for the past hour. He had no idea how she fought.

However, the first point went to him when he took a quick step forward and brought the bo down toward Mako’s face. He did not hit her, but stopped a scant few millimeters from her nose. She took it unflinchingly. The moment Raleigh backed away, though, she surged forward, catching him in just the same manner. A flicker of a smile crossed his face as she said, “One-one.”

She drew her bo down by her side, preparing for the next attack. He moved before she could, though, snapping his bo against her ribcage.

“Two-one,” he said.

When they engaged again, the bout was longer, harder. For every swing Mako took, Raleigh answered it. As he stepped close to her, she spun away. Wood snapped hard against wood as their bos met. He guarded himself well, but Mako kept watch for the moment he gave her an opening to strike. It came a few seconds later, when he retreated a step and lifted his bo for a high blow. She covered the space between them in one long stride, earning a point with a strike at Raleigh’s brow.

“Two-two,” she said. “Better watch it.”

“Come on,” he said. “You’ve got more in you than this.”

With a cry, Mako stuck out again, only to be countered. Taking hold of her bo with both hands, she blocked several hits as she retreated. Deflecting a strike by letting his bo slide down hers, she came back on the offensive. She pushed him across the mats. His strides were longer than hers, so he could get away faster, but she pursued him relentlessly. When he did stop, moving to swing at her, she caught him under the arm and flung him over and onto the ground. He tucked and rolled, recovering deftly, but he was not fast enough to avoid the point Mako scored on his cheek when he came back up.

This time his smile was wider as she said, “Three-two.”

Backing up, she gave him space to rise. He did so slowly, but his next assault was sharp and fast. Mako replied in kind, circling around him as they charged and retreated, ducked and jumped. She could feel a rivulet of sweat trickle down between her breasts as they paused for a moment. She kept her guard up, though, prepared for whatever came next. As she reached out, Raleigh surprised her by grabbing her wrist and tossing her over his shoulder. She hit the mats hard on her left side, allowing him to score another point on her.

Three-three.

She spun up onto her feet again, chasing him with determination. The next point would decide the match, and if she scored it, there would be no denying that she was more than ready to be a pilot.

Feinting out of the way of a forward jab from Raleigh’s bo, she swung at his feet. He sprang up to avoid it, but as he landed, he was unprepared for another strike at his legs. Tucking down, Mako slammed her shoulder into the back of his knee and sent him sprawling beneath her. She rolled up onto her knees, holding tight to his calf. She pulled back just as his hips bucked up toward her face.

“Enough,” said Pentecost. “I’ve seen what I need to see.”

Mako released Raleigh. He fell back onto the mats, but his eyes never left her. “Me too,” he said, touching her shoulder when he got to his feet. “She’s my copilot.”

Her heart was hammering from the fight, but as his fingers brushed her skin it jumped again. Turning sharply to him, she met his gaze. He gave her a small nod, an assurance that he was certain about what he said.

“That’s not going to work,” said Pentecost.

“Why not?”

“Because I said so, Mr. Becket. I’ve made my decision. Report to the hangar in two hours and find out who your copilot will be.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he glanced back at the onlookers. “Dismissed.”

Mako remained still as the crowd dispersed, taking deep breaths to keep herself from screaming. The last word has been said. She had no other choice than to accept it and watch Gipsy Danger deploy as she always had: from a distance.

“He can’t mean it,” said Raleigh, staring at the place where the Marshal had just stood. “What is he thinking? Mako.”

She started as his hand fell on her shoulder again.

“You feel it, too, don’t you?” he asked her, stepping closer. “We are Drift compatible.”

Heat radiated from where he touched her. She couldn’t decide whether she wanted to back away from him or lean in.

“Mako, talk to me.”

Shrugging his hand away from her shoulder, she sidestepped toward the edge of the mats. “There is nothing to talk about.”

“You’re wrong,” he said, following her. “And so is Pentecost. You can’t just give up. Mako, this is worth fighting for.”

She dropped her bo into its place on the rack. “Thank you for standing up for me, but this is not a fight we can win.”

He pushed a hand through his hair agitatedly. “We don’t have to just to obey him.”

Turning, she looked him in the eye. “It’s not obedience, Raleigh. It’s respect.”

He sighed. “All right, but will you at least tell me what his problem is? There’s something you’re not saying.”

“The Marshal does not have to explain himself to us.” Pushing past him, she said, “We have our orders.” She didn’t look back as she strode out of the kwoon.

The shower Mako took was nearly hot enough to scald her. She stood under the stinging spray, resting her forehead against the wall. The fight with Raleigh played through her mind. It had been a demanding match, but she had fought challenging opponents before. It was the way that they communicated during combat that had felt different from anything else she had experienced in the ring before.

There had been a rhythm between them, a sort of tacit understanding of what techniques would be utilized. It wasn’t a matter of knowing what to expect—without surprises neither of them would have scored any points—but it was more akin to knowing the key of a piece of music. The notes varied, but they always fell within a certain range if they were to sound in harmony.

Turning off the water, Mako reached for a towel. It was chilly outside of the bathroom, so she dressed quickly, pulling on her fatigues and undershirt. Over it she wore a tan sweater embroidered with autumn leaves.

She wasn’t expected in LOCCENT for Gipsy’s initial Drift test, but she did want to see it. Gathering up some papers and her tablet, she planned to go up to her office, which afforded a good view of Gipsy’s hangar. And from there she would be able to run live diagnostics on the Jaeger’s systems while she was fully active, an opportunity she had not yet had. Though it was nowhere near the same as being in the conn-pod, it was a vital part of her job as lead J-tech. Whatever happened, she would still perform that function to the best of her ability. She owed the program, her father, Gipsy, and now Raleigh that.

At the thought of him, she considered going across to his room. She wasn’t certain what she would say to him when she got there, but she liked the idea of spending more time with him. Perhaps it was their compatibility in the ring or their mutual affection for Gipsy Danger, but she thought that given time they might be friends.

Setting down the schematics she had picked up, she resolved to go knock on his door. Before she had gotten halfway across the room, though, someone rapped at her own. Hoping it might be him, she swung it open with smile. It dropped off her face when she saw Pentecost standing on the other side.

“May I come in, Mako?” he asked.

She stepped out of the way to allow him entry. He closed the door behind him, glancing cursorily around her quarters. The walls were adorned mostly with blueprints of Gipsy, which had been her sole focus for half a year. She waited in silence for her father to speak.

“You did well today,” he said. “It was a good fight.”

“Thank you, Marshal.”

The corners of his mouth turned down at her formality. She knew that when they were alone she was not required to refer to him by his rank. Their conversations in those moments were between father and daughter rather than superior and subordinate.

Softening his expression some, he lifted a wrapped parcel he had been carrying in his left hand. “Mako, a long time ago I made you a promise. I said I would teach you to be a pilot and that when the time came, I would see you into your own Jaeger.” Drawing the wrappings aside, he revealed a single red shoe; a child’s shoe. “I intend to fulfill that promise.”

Mako reached out gingerly for the shoe she had worn on the day Onibaba had attacked, the day her parents had died. As she took it, she said in Japanese, “I will not fail you, Sensei.”

“I know, Mako. Now, get ready.”

The drivesuit room, which was located on the third level of the Hangar Bay Three, was accessible only by suit techs and pilots. It connected directly to Gipsy Danger’s conn-pod, which Mako would finally be entering with the singular purpose of locking into the drive apparatus and taking control of the Jaeger.

The entire situation still felt surreal even as she approached the door to the drivesuit room, its face emblazoned with Gipsy’s winged emblem. It hissed as it opened, indicating a pressure differential between the hangar and the decontaminated drivesuit room.

“Miss Mori,” said a tech in green scrubs, appearing from the other side of the door. “Come in. We’re ready for you.”

Following him inside, she found herself in a small, circular chamber. The only furnishings were two steel benches on opposite sides of the room. Behind them were lighted cases in which black circuitry suits hung.

“You’ll suit up in here,” said the tech. “When you’re ready, come through and we’ll fit you with your body armor.”

“Ranger Becket—”

“Is here,” said Raleigh as he strode into the room. “I got turned around in the…” He trailed off as he saw Mako standing across from him. “Hey.”

“Hello,” she said.

He took a step toward her, his teeth white as he grinned. “The Marshal changed his mind.”

“He did.”

“I’m glad.”

“Me, too.”

“Then, let’s do this.” He glanced at the tech, who pointed to the suit on the right side of the door. He made his way over to it, pulling his sweater off as he went.

Mako balked, realizing that they were both expected to strip down and pull on their circuitry suits in this space. Having spent years in shared boarding school showers, she was accustomed to being naked in front of others, but there was something strangely intimate about this small ready room. But, she supposed that was fitting. She was about to know Raleigh better than she knew anyone else in the world.

“There’s no modesty in the Drift,” one of her instructors had told her years ago during her training. “You’ll know everything about your copilot, and it’s not just how he likes his breakfast. You’ll know what it felt like for him to lose his virginity, what kind of women he looks for, even what he thinks about you. You have to be prepared for that and realize that it might cause some tension. If it does, you’ll have to get over it or find another copilot. It’s about trust. If you can’t trust him, you’ll never make a good team.”

Blinking, Mako realized that she had not moved. She was staring at Raleigh as he pulled his undershirt over his head and started to unbuckle his belt. Whirling around, she focused on the case that held her circuitry suit. Of course, the glass reflected whatever was behind her, which was Raleigh. He was now kneeling down to untie his boots.

“You feeling all right about this?” he asked.

Guessing that he was talking about piloting Gipsy rather than their shared ready room, she replied, “Yes. I’ve been waiting my whole life for this.”

“You always wanted to be a Ranger?”

“More than anything,” she said as she lifted her sweater up and off.

“Well, you seem like you were made for it,” he said. “It was a hell of a fight this morning. You’re one of the best I’ve ever faced.”

Mako felt a rush of pride. “Thank you.”

“How long have you been studying martial arts?”

“Since I was thirteen,” she said, continuing to undress.

“Why’d you start?”

“Because I wanted to be a pilot.”

“I should have guessed that,” Raleigh chuckled.

Mako asked, “Why did you join the Jaeger program?”

“Why does any eighteen-year-old kid join up? Jaegers are badass and so are their pilots.”

Mako laughed.

“I don’t even know why we’re talking about this,” he said. “In five minutes, you’re gonna be inside my head. You’ll see everything.”

Pulling on her circuitry suit, Mako felt a stab of apprehension. She had never offered up her feelings very freely, even to the lovers she had had. Her father could read her well, but she still had secrets that she kept from him. Raleigh, whom she had known for less than a full day, would discover them all.

“Mako.”

She turned to look at him again. He was zipped into his circuitry suit, which hid very little about his physical form. She knew her own revealed the same.

“You ready?” he asked.

She nodded. “Let’s go.”

Four techs were waiting for them when they arrived in the drivesuit room proper. Contoured, combat-ready body armor rested in padded containers. It had been custom machined to fit them in the intervening time between the copilot trials and their arrival.

“Miss Mori,” said a female tech with light hair, “you’re over here.”

She allowed the tech to guide her feet into heavy boots and fasten greaves around her calves. The chest piece guarded her front from collarbone to groin. The adjoining back piece was clipped into place and then screwed in.

“Applying spinal clamp,” the tech said. Mako kept herself still as the clamp was set in place. It latched onto her suit and would enable her to interface with both Raleigh and Gipsy.

The last section of armor was her helmet. It was heavier than those she had used in sim, presumably on account of the relay gel that was built into it. As the helmet was clicked into place, it formed an airtight seal.

“Reading flow of oxygen,” said one of the techs. “How do you feel, Miss Mori?”

“Good,” she replied, taking a deep breath.

“Excellent. If you’ll come with us…”

The door at the far end of the room swung open, revealing the interior of Gipsy’s conn-pod.

“Two pilots aboard,” the computer announced as she and Raleigh crossed the threshold.

“I’m gonna take this side if you don’t mind,” he said, going to the right side of the drive apparatus. “My left arm is kind of shot.”

“Sure,” said Mako. Generally, the Ranger in control of the right hemisphere was considered the dominant pilot. Considering rank and experience alone, it was fitting for Raleigh to take it.

Positioning herself on the left side, Mako waited for the techs to attach her drivesuit to the control arm. They did it with practiced efficiency, affixing her armor with large screws.

“Setting harness for test mode,” said Raleigh, typing a command into the console. Turning to Mako, he flashed her a smile.

A familiar voice came through the comm in Mako’s helmet. “Hey, guys,” said Tendo. “This is LOCCENT checking in for test run.”

“We hear you loud and clear, LOCCENT,” Raleigh replied. “Prepped for drop and awaiting the green light.”

“Copy that, Gipsy. Dropping conn-pod in ten seconds.”

“All right, Mako,” said Raleigh. “We’re not in sim now. This is for real.”

“I’m ready,” she said.

“Gipsy, you are cleared to drop in three…two…one.”

Mako braced herself as the conn-pod was released and started its descent. No more than a few seconds later, it slowed enough to connect with the body of the Jaeger. As the pod spun into place, the HUD sprang to life.

“Gipsy, this is Marshal Pentecost. Prepare to initiate neural handshake.”

“Okay, Mako,” said Raleigh. “Remember, don’t chase the RABIT. Random Access Brain Impulse Triggers. Memories. Just let them flow. Don’t latch on. Tune them out. Stay in the Drift. The Drift is silence.”

“All right,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly.

“You’re gonna do great.”

She hoped he was right.

“Rangers, this is LOCCENT. Initiating neural interface Drift.”

Drawing in a breath, Mako closed her eyes and let go.

The bombardment of memories began immediately. She was standing in a thick parka waiting for the school bus with Yancy, listening to him say that it was going to be okay. Then she was racing across an expanse of white, the roar of the snowmobile beneath her the only sound. As the elation of that ride faded, she found herself on the couch in Nora Mendelson’s basement, a whole different type of arousal pounding through her body as she felt the kiss.

From there she went to the Jaeger Academy, its kwoon familiar to her despite looking at it through different eyes. The scaffolding of the Wall of Life came next, accompanied by pangs of hunger and disappointment at another bland ration. And then she was stepping down out of a Jumphawk helicopter onto the landing pad at the Hong Kong Shatterdome. The rain was warm compared to the frigid winds in Sitka. The base looked like any other, but then she caught sight of a broad, black umbrella. As the figure carrying it approached, she recognized herself. The thought that echoed in her head—Raleigh’s head—was, “Beautiful.”

Mako was slammed back into the present, the memories replaced by a sharp awareness of the bodies that were now joined with hers. She could still feel herself clearly, but alongside her sensory responses were Raleigh’s and those from Gipsy. Relief and a welcoming warmth flowed through her consciousness.

Hey, you doing okay?

Her response was immediate: It’s strange, but I’m all right.

The rush of Raleigh’s approval and admiration washed over her. I knew you’d be fine.

“Okay, Gipsy,” said Tendo, his voice jarring after the quiet of the headspace she shared with Raleigh. “You two are lining up nicely. Pilot-Jaeger connection strong and holding. Take her out, guys.”

The exchange between Mako and Raleigh to decide to move their left hand and then right was instantaneous. They moved in perfect synchrony as they drew their fists up into position to strike. She could feel the basic sensory receptors on Gipsy’s hull as her fingers tightened.

Come on, Mako. Let’s show them what we can—

His voice was cut off by an echoing call of, “Raleigh, listen to me!” It was Yancy. He was on the right side of the conn where his brother had been a moment before. His drivesuit was white and worn with use. All around her, Mako heard alarms sounding as Gipsy’s systems went critical.

“The hull!” she called, though it was Raleigh’s voice that came out. “It came through the hull!”

“Raleigh, listen to me!” Yancy repeated. “You need to—”

Searing pain exploded in Mako’s head as Yancy was torn from the conn-pod and into the darkness outside. Her senses were overwhelmed with fear, helplessness, and then…nothing. The familiar presence in her mind went dead, leaving her more bereft than she had ever felt in her life. It was as if she had been split in half down the center. The emptiness was agonizing.

At the periphery of her consciousness, Mako heard, “Gipsy, Gipsy, you are out of alignment. You are both out of alignment.” But the voice faded in a tremendous crash.

Ashy dust filled her mouth as fear stabbed through her again. When she opened her eyes, she was standing in an alleyway in Tokyo, watching as the Kaiju Onibaba rampaged through the city. In her hands she clutched the red shoe her parents had bought for her that day. The debris on the street jabbed painfully at the sole of her bare foot, but she was too overwhelmed with terror to stop and put her shoe back on. Seeing a claw the size of a car land on the street in front of her, Mako raised a hand and screamed. Then everything went dark.

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay, Mako. Just open your eyes for me.”

Light sliced into her vision. The devastation of Tokyo was gone. In its place was Raleigh. He was holding her against him, touching her cheek with his gloved hand.

“There you are,” he said. “How’s your head? Are you dizzy?”

“No,” she managed to say. “What happened?”

“We went out of phase. You got caught up in a memory.”

Mako’s heart sank. Her expression must have betrayed it because Raleigh brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead and said, “It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

“Yancy,” she breathed, feeling tears sting her eyes. She had experienced the loss, the pain that Raleigh had felt when his brother had died.

“Yeah,” he said.

Bracing a hand on the ground, Mako pushed herself out of his arms. “But I chased the RABIT. I couldn’t control it.”

“You were doing fine until I took us out of phase. It’s not the end of the world. We’ll do better next time.”

Mako didn’t say it aloud, but as she looked at him she knew he could read her: There won’t be a next time.

He lay a hand over hers, squeezing her fingers. She was not reassured.

From behind her, she heard the door to the conn-pod open. Several techs appeared. They asked how Mako felt and checked the dilation of her pupils with penlights. Deciding she was well enough to stand, they helped her to her feet. A brief wave of vertigo washed over her, but she managed to hide it from the techs, who were already ushering her and Raleigh out of the conn-pod and into the drivesuit room. She didn’t remember the pod being lifted from Gipsy’s shoulders and back up to the docking level. It must have happened while she was unconscious.

She stood silently as the techs removed her body armor. Beneath it her circuitry suit was heavy with relay gel. It would be flushed out and decontaminated as soon as she took it off. When the techs were finished with the armor, they sent her back into the circular ready room to change. Raleigh was already inside, his circuitry suit unzipped and hanging around his waist. He had his left side to her, giving Mako a good view of the striated scars that cut across his bicep and ribs. He had gotten them on his last deployment. She could remember the agony of the skin splitting as if it had happened to her.

The deep cuts had been treated by the local doctors in the town he had been carted to after he had stumbled out of Gipsy’s ruined conn-pod onto a snowy shoreline. An old man and his grandson had found him and gotten him help. He hardly recalled the numerous stitches that had been sewn in to close his wounds. He hardly recalled anything from those first few days in the rural clinic.

“Do you have next of kin we can contact, son?” one of the doctors had asked. “Someone who can come for you?”

Raleigh had blinked slowly, thinking only of Yancy. “There’s no one,” he had replied.

“All right, son,” said the doctor, laying a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “You just rest now. We’ll worry about what comes next when you’re feeling better.”

He had spent another four days in the hospital before he was declared well enough to leave.

“My cousin owns a machine shop,” said the plump, middle-aged nurse who had been overseeing his care. Knowing he had nothing to his name, she had brought him a few changes of clothes, a sturdy pair of boots, and a thick parka. They had belonged to her son, she said. He had been killed in a Kaiju attack three years earlier. “He’s willing to take you on.”

“I don’t know anything about machining,” Raleigh had said. “I don’t know much of anything, really.”

“He’ll start you slow,” she said. “And it’ll put a roof over your head. You don’t have to stay if it’s not a good fit, but give it a chance. If you’re not going back to the Pan Pacific—”

“I’m not,” he snarled.

“Okay, kid, I hear you. My cousin’s shop is in the center of town. It’ll take you about an hour to walk there. He’s expecting you.”

She went to turn away, knowing that Raleigh had no desire to be coddled. In fact, he had been ornery with most of the hospital staff for the duration of his stay. He would be sorry for it later on, in the years that followed, but at that moment he was too caught up in his grief to much care. However, as the nurse went to leave, he caught her hand and said, “Thank you, Laura.”

“No problem, kid. You take care, you hear?”

He nodded. It was the last he saw of her. He had gone to her cousin’s machine shop that day and had stayed on for a few weeks—long enough to learn to weld—but when he ended up spending more of his nights in the town bars than in his bed, his boss was hardly impressed. He didn’t exactly turn Raleigh out on his ear, but he wasn’t sorry to see him go. He gave him his pay—likely more than he deserved—and told him to be safe out there.

As he had told Mako, he had worked a number of other jobs over the next few years, including tending bar, clearing snow, and even working on a Kaiju blue cleanup crew. For about eight months, he steeped himself in beer and cheap whiskey. She had felt his later disdain for the self-pitying bender, but after experiencing the awful loss of his brother, she understood why he wanted to escape, to forget. Alcohol had dulled the excruciating memories and let him sleep.

As Mako examined him and the scars he bore, he turned and caught her eye. Lifting his left shoulder, he shrugged. It was both an acknowledgment that he could see what she was thinking and a dismissal of the hurt that those thoughts were indelibly tied to. Understanding, she turned her back to him and began to strip out of her circuitry suit.

“I should have warned you,” he said a moment later. “First Drifts are rough.”

“I didn’t think it would be easy,” she said. “But I really didn’t know what to expect.”

“Neither did I, honestly. I’ve never Drifted with anyone but my brother.”

“Herc said it would be different,” Mako said, not bothering to try to conceal the fact that she had been listening to their conversation in the mess the night before. After all, Raleigh knew that she had been. He had seen it in her memories.

“It was. Since we only shared a couple of memories it was hard to find similarities to latch onto,” he said. “That’s how it used to be with Yancy. We’d hit on something we both remembered and it would ease us right into the Drift. Wasn’t quite like that with you.”

“But we did find one,” said Mako. “When we first saw each other.” She didn’t point out that she had heard his remark about her appearance—her beauty—at that moment.

“And after that the Drift was strong,” Raleigh said. “Strong as I ever remember it being.”

Despite her disappointment at her own lack of control when they went out of phase, she smiled. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“It’s the truth. Look, Mako, just because our first time out wasn’t easy doesn’t mean we won’t link up just fine next time.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

There was frustration in Raleigh’s voice as he said, “The Marshal can’t just ground you.”

“He can,” she said. “And he will.”

“No. You’re my copilot now. I won’t ride with anyone else.”

“You’re going to have to,” she said as she pulled her sweater over her head. Raleigh’s brows were drawn together when she turned to look at him. He wanted to contradict her, she could tell, but before he could speak, Tendo’s voice came over the intercom.

“Raleigh, Mako, the Marshal would like to see you in his office.”

Cold dread slid down her spine, but she squared her shoulders and made for the door. Raleigh followed behind her without a word. She was glad for the silence. She needed time to gather herself before facing Pentecost.

“Permission to be dismissed, sir?” asked Mako, her eyes stinging with unwelcome tears. She blinked to keep them from spilling down her cheeks, determined not to break down in front of both her father and Raleigh.

Pentecost’s expression was somber as he replied, “Permission granted, Miss Mori.”

With a curt bow, Mako turned on her heel and left the Marshal’s office.

She was off Gipsy’s crew effective immediately. Her father had told her that she had engaged the Jaeger’s weapon systems and nearly annihilated half the Shatterdome. Had Tendo not thought to pull the plug and disengage the testing protocol, she would have had the blood of several hundred people on her hands. She could have easily destroyed the other Jaegers and crippled the mission. Keeping her out of the conn made sense, even she could see that. It did not, however, temper the sting of having failed.

She considered going to her quarters to take a shower, but knew that once she had done that she would have nothing else to do but think back on her mistake. Brooding would do nothing to help. Instead, she resolved to keep herself busy. Though she was no longer a pilot, she was still the technical lead on Gipsy’s maintenance team. She had scans to run to ensure that the disastrous test run had not had any adverse effects on the Jaeger’s systems.

The observation level of the hangar was deserted when she arrived. That, at least, was a small blessing. Her office was to the right of the main catwalk—only a few steps away—but Mako found herself pausing at the railing to look out at Gipsy. Though her hull was patched in places and she was no longer as sleek as she had been when she was first built, she was still stunning. The conn-pod had been lowered again, making it seem like the Jaeger was looking straight at Mako.

“I’m sorry,” she said in quiet Japanese.

“You shouldn’t be.”

Raleigh. She was not surprised that he had followed her.

Stepping up next to her, he leaned his elbows on the railing. “There’s no point in beating yourself up. You gave it everything you had.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

He sighed. “It was. I could feel it. You’re meant to be a pilot, Mako.”

She eyed him. “You believe that, I can tell. But why? I performed poorly.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “The kind of memory I threw you into would have pushed anyone out of phase. I screwed up, not you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly, I don’t know why the Marshal didn’t take me out of the conn. Maybe I’m too messed up to pilot anymore.”

“No,” said Mako. “You’re the right man for this mission. I didn’t think so at first, but now…you belong with Gipsy.”

When Raleigh didn’t reply, Mako let the conversation lapse. They simply stood together, looking out at the machine they both loved.

“I don’t blame you for not telling me about Pentecost,” he said quietly. “About how he raised you. But, I’m glad I know. It makes more sense why he’s so determined to keep you out of the conn.”

“He’s seen a lot of Rangers die,” Mako said. “I have, too.”

“So have I. But it didn’t stop me or him or you. We all know the risks.”

“I wouldn’t want him deployed on this mission, either,” she said. “The odds of returning alive are not very high.”

Raleigh nodded. “He doesn’t want to lose you. I get it. But he’s wrong. He’s not helping you. He’s holding you back. You’re the best copilot candidate in this ‘Dome. Look at your records…you were born to do this. God, I wish I had had your training. The kind of stuff I did as a kid…”

“Like riding your snowmobile and chasing girls?” Mako asked, cocking a brow at him.

He laughed. “Yeah, I did my fair share of both.”

“You had fun,” she said. “That was not a factor in my training.”

“You were pretty serious,” he said. “You’ve got a kind of focus like I’ve never seen.”

She gave him a half smile. “You don’t do so bad yourself when you set your mind to it. You are an extraordinary Ranger.”

“If you’re trying to make me blush, you’re well on your way.”

“You’d still look good, even if you were red.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think to censor them.

Raleigh’s brows rose, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. “You think I’m good-looking?”

Mako felt her own cheeks burning. There was no backtracking from this, so she did her best to adopt a teasing tone, “You tell me. You’ve been in my head.”

He raised his hands, looking as innocent as possible. “Maybe I didn’t see that part.”

She shot him a look. “You saw everything. And so did I.” Slyly diverting the attention from her opinions of him, she said, “You have a type.”

“A type of what?”

“Women. You like brunettes with curves.”

Leaning his hip against the railing, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Although,” Mako continued, “there weren’t a lot of them on the wall. You were…lonely.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it,” Raleigh said, looking half displeased, half amused.

“I’m sure you can find some here,” she said, enjoying teasing him. “After all, Rangers are in short supply and high demand.”

There were some on base—both women and men—that prided themselves on sleeping with Jaeger pilots. Mako had always been infatuated with the idea of being a pilot, not being with one. Had she met one she liked, it would not have stopped her, but she had no particular desire to get into bed with a pilot just to say she had.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Not in the market for that right now.”

“If you say so,” she said, shrugging one shoulder.

“Are you?” he asked, more serious than she had just been.

“No,” she replied, truthful. “There’s too much at stake in this mission to think about that.”

“Sometimes life or death situations tend to make it a priority.”

“Not always,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Raleigh, looking down at her. “Not always.” His eyes flashed darkly for a moment, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

“I should go,” Mako said, though she wasn’t relishing the thought of sitting in her office alone. “I have work to do.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you later?”

“Sure.” By way of goodbye, she set her hand on the back of his. As soon as her fingertips touched his skin, she felt a sudden burst emotion: fondness, regret, hope. Shocked, she snatched her hand back.

“Whoa,” said Raleigh, his eyes wide. “Did you feel that?”

“I…” she started, though she wasn’t sure how to put it into words. “I think felt you. What you were feeling.”

He stared down at his palm, spreading his fingers wide. “You didn’t want to go, but you thought you should.”

Mako swallowed. She had been feeling just that. “You really were hoping you would see me later.”

He nodded. “This is crazy. Nothing like it has ever happened to me before.”

“Not with your brother?” Mako asked, though she knew the answer. She would have seen it in his memories if he had experienced it.

“No.”

“Do you think it’s a ghost-Drift?”

“Hell if I know,” said Raleigh, “but I’ve never heard of it happening after a single Drift.”

“Neither have I,” said Mako.

He glanced at her. “Can we do it again?”

Mako nodded and held out her hand. As soon as he took it, she felt a rush of wonder and curiosity. The emotions mirrored hers, but they belonged distinctly to Raleigh. It was as if they operated on a separate wavelength from hers, vibrating at a different, but harmonious frequency.

“Holy shit,” he said. Mako felt a rush of fascinated excitement. “This is amazing.”

Mako couldn’t help but smile at the spellbound astonishment in his tone and his mind. He was like a little boy with a shiny new toy. It was remarkably endearing.

Grinning, Raleigh threaded his fingers with hers. “You think my reaction is…cute? I just got caught a wave of that.”

Mako’s cheeks warmed, making Raleigh’s smile widen.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “I’m glad you like me.”

“I know,” said Mako. “I can feel it.” As soon as he had spoken, she had felt affection radiating from him. It was not romantic per se, simply friendly. He was, just as he had said, happy to know that she liked him. That, in turn, pleased her.

“This can’t be a common thing,” he said, still wonderstruck. “I mean, we would have heard about it, right?”

“Right,” said Mako. “I’ve heard stories, but nothing exactly like it.” Thinking back to the rumors from the Academy, some of the things they had talked about seemed much more plausible with this kind of connection. If Raleigh could feel her emotional responses, he would be able to get a basic sense of what she was thinking, given that he knew the context of her feelings. If they were in physical contact with one another, they would, as in the Drift, be able to hide very little. Mako was equally fascinated and nervous about that prospect.

“You can let go if you want to,” Raleigh said, reading her. From him she felt understanding of her discomfort, but a general reluctance to release her. He liked knowing as much about her as he could.

That surprised her. She wanted to get to know him better as well, but his desire to explore what she thinking and feeling was extremely powerful.

“I’m prying,” he said. “I’m sorry. I can back off—”

“No,” she said, tightening her grip on his hand. Wanting to test her ability to communicate a certain sentiment to him, she tried to send out waves reassurance that she was comfortable with their new ability.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “I get it.”

She smiled, slightly apologetic. “The stronger the emotion, the clearer it’s felt. This is…”

“Incredible,” said Raleigh.

Mako didn’t have to say anything for him to understand that she agreed.

“Do you think it’s permanent?” he asked. “Or just a temporary thing?”

She shrugged, letting the uncertainty flow from her to him.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “If it starts to fade, maybe it’ll come back when we Drift again.” He squeezed her fingers as he perceived her unhappiness. “We will get a second chance, Mako.”

It wasn’t much, but she did send a small measure of hopefulness in his direction.

It was fast approaching the lunch hour by the time they finally left the observation level. Mako had easily been able to pick up Raleigh’s hunger pangs. Amused, she had tugged him toward the stairs that would take them down to the hangar bay floor.

Though they were both reluctant to break contact, she could not help but think that seeing them holding onto each other would raise altogether too many questions among the Shatterdome’s personnel. Mako got the impression that Raleigh wasn’t particularly concerned about it, but he sensed that she was and was willing to concede. They let their hands fall to their sides as they reached the lift that would take them to the mess hall.

As they rode up, Raleigh asked her a few questions about her work rebuilding Gipsy. He wanted to hear all the details, he said, and she was more than happy to comply. They were discussing the reactor alignment when they stepped off the lift and ran almost directly into Chuck Hansen.

“Oi, I’ve been looking for you,” he snarled.

Mako bristled.

“I had the pleasure of seeing your trial run earlier,” he continued. “You two are goddamn disgrace.” He pointed at Raleigh’s chest. “You couldn’t even manage to keep in phase for more than five minutes.” He hooked a thumb at Mako. “And don’t get me started on letting a rookie pilot. She’s got no control. There’s no way in hell I’ll let either of you taint my bomb run.

“So, why don’t you do us all a favor,” he sneered at Raleigh, “and disappear? It’s the only thing you’re good at.”

“Stop,” Mako snapped. “Now.”

Raleigh touched her shoulder, keeping her from taking a step toward Chuck.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Hansen said mockingly. “You just hold back your little girlfriend. One of you bitches needs a leash.”

He stumbled back as Raleigh hit him. He recovered quickly, though, catching Raleigh in the chin with a hard uppercut. Raleigh grabbed him by the front of his sweater and hit him in the cheek. Blood flew from his mouth, splattering on the floor at Mako’s feet.

“Apologize to her,” Raleigh growled, bouncing on his toes.

“Screw you,” Chuck spat as he took another swing. His fist connected with Raleigh’s brow, opening a cut above his eye.

Before Raleigh could lash out again, Mako caught his wrist and pulled him back. As she touched his skin, she felt the waves of fury and resentment rolling off of him. She did what she could to counter them, projecting calm in an attempt to soothe him.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he snapped at her. “He owes you an apology.”

Chuck’s brow furrowed as he looked between them. “She didn’t say anything.”

Mako, still holding Raleigh’s wrist, thought as clearly as she could: Don’t tell him.

He must have felt her warning because he backed off, though he was still scowling. “Come on, Mako,” he said. “This isn’t worth it.”

“You’re right about that,” said Chuck. “You aren’t worth it.”

Mako tightened her grip on him as she felt Raleigh’s ire surge again. “Raleigh, please. Let’s go.” The feedback she got from him was begrudging acceptance.

“Fine,” he grumbled, allowing her to lead him down the hall. She abandoned the route to the mess, though, making instead for their quarters. As they rounded the corner, Mako released his wrist. Without even looking down, he caught her fingers and clasped them tightly. Anger still simmered through him, though beneath it was a vein of apology directed toward her.

“What do you have to be sorry about?” she asked.

She caught a hint of amusement at her reading of him. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “The Marshal won’t like it, and the last thing we need right now is another reason for him to keep us on the ground.”

Mako couldn’t refute that, but neither could she deny that she had wanted to punch Chuck Hansen in the face just as much as Raleigh had.

He laughed out loud at her feedback of indignation and some disappointment at not having acted on her impulse. “I’m sure he’ll give you another chance before this mission is over.”

She smiled. As they approached the door to her quarters, she made no move to let go of him. Instead, she said, “You’re bleeding. I’ll clean it up.”

“Thanks,” he replied as he followed her inside.

Mako gestured to one of the chairs. As he sat, she went to the sink and wet a washcloth. It dripped a little onto Raleigh’s sweater as she dabbed at the cut above his eye and on his lip. He didn’t flinch when she applied a few drops to iodine to both.

“That doesn’t hurt?” she asked. She could have simply touched her fingertips to his skin and felt his response for herself, but she wanted to stay in the habit of conversing out loud. She didn’t yet understand their connection well enough to want to reveal it to others.

“A little,” Raleigh replied, “but this isn’t my first time doing this.”

The corner of Mako’s mouth turned up. “Your brother gave you your first split lip.”

“Saw that memory, huh? Yeah, he got me pretty good for a ten-year-old kid.”

“You thought your mother would punish him for hitting you, but she boxed both your ears.”

“Not literally,” he chuckled, “but, yeah, I got six weeks of dish duty for that.”

“Yancy got the bathrooms,” said Mako.

Raleigh smirked. “Yeah, he did.”

Taking a butterfly closure from her first-aid kit, Mako applied it to the cut on his brow. It wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but it should still be kept closed if it was to heal cleanly.

Finished, she absently smoothed the hair of his eyebrow. It was an unusually tender gesture, something that a mother or a lover would do, not an acquaintance of a day. Yet, it didn’t seem out of place. After all, they may have only met the evening before, but Mako now knew Raleigh more intimately than his parents or his girlfriends ever had. And she could feel the surge of warmth and appreciation coming from him as she traced the fine hairs of his brow.

“There,” she said. “You’re done.”

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist as she moved away. There was gratitude, affection, and a bit of disappointment at losing her touch. “You should get some rest,” he said. “You always need it after a Drift. I’m gonna go get some rack time, too.”

“Okay,” said Mako, marking her weariness.

Letting her go, he stood and went toward the door.

“Raleigh,” she said. As he turned, she tossed a granola bar at him. “Eat something.”

He smiled and thanked her. “Hey, Mako, I’ll be right across the hall if you need me. Don’t be afraid to knock.”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

“Sleep well,” he said as he stepped out into the hall.

When he was gone, she crawled into her bunk and pulled the blanket up over her legs. Closing her eyes, she felt herself descending immediately into sleep. She embraced the dark silence of oblivion, ready to lose herself in senselessness.

But then the dreams began.