Of Smoke and Stardust [[COMPLETE]]]

CHAPTER 14-PARKER

Parker paced his room. He walked all the way from one side to the other, and despite the cabin being larger than his cell used to be, his anxiety made it seem even smaller. He had hoped that taking a walk around the ship would help clear his head—help him think more clearly; allow him to burn off the images of Ax dying over and over in his dreams. The only thing he got out of it was being more equated with the layout of the ship.

Running into Alya and having her ask all those questions didn't just annoy him; they threw him more off kilter than the dreams did. He didn't want to think about the answers to her questions. He needed to think about how he could get floor plans and infiltrate the network's system to get the information he needed, all while Alya scrutinized his every move. He didn't feel like getting attacked again.

His dad once told him 'never trust a girl with a pretty face'. Parker met enough rebel girls that he should know better, but there was something about Alya that threw off his normal instincts. He had to be careful.

Still pacing, Parker pushed his hands through his hair and tugged gently. He was so tired—mentally, physically, everything.

The door whooshed open, revealing captain Zion standing in the doorway. Zion's eyebrows shot up, surprised to see Parker out of bed, but he schooled his features quickly. "Time to go. Put the jacket on, you need to look the part." He tossed a crisp uniform on the bed and looked Parker over appraisingly. "And wash your face. You look like shit."

Parker felt like shit. "Aye, aye, captain." Parker saluted lazily.

Zion frowned in return. "If you blow your cover, the deal is off. I will not stick my neck out for you."

"Got it." Parker gave a 'thumbs up' to prove that he indeed—got it. After a moment of Zion not leaving, he added, "I'm guessing you want to watch?" He made it sound as insinuating as he could.

If looks could kill, the Hawks would have done so at least thirteen times by now. Zion himself would have been half of those deaths, Alya a close second. "Hurry up."

With a nonchalant shrug, Parker went into his little corner wash area and splashed water on his face and over his head. He dried off quickly with a towel and pulled the uniform jacket on. He zipped it up, and then zipped it back down and left it open. Zion raised a brow, so he zipped it hallway and left it there.

Zion swiveled on his heel and led the way to the dock. The other members of the Hawks were already there, including Alya. He noticed Alya give him less than her usual scrutinizing look. There was an odd emotion in her eyes. She stood perfectly straight, her back stiff and upright. Anticipation leaked off her as Zion inserted the code to unlock the outer door. She must have been excited to be home, to see her dad, who happens to be the monster that played a part in ruining his and his brother's lives— and thousand others like them.

Parker looked away.

The bay door clanked with the sound of bolts unlocking. It lifted upwards, revealing a swarm of guards standing in a uniformed line. They were all outfitted in full body white armor, complete with bullet proof face guards and helmets to hide their features. Lazer guns were sheathed to their backs, and electric batons were holstered on their hips.

Standing in the center of the lineup, his hands behind his back was a man dressed in a freshly pressed official military outfit. His uniform was black with a rim of red around the collar, brass buttons—or maybe gold, he was rich enough—lined down the front. The coat almost reached the back of his boots, just an inch or so short of touching the grass. A joke of one of the rebels echoes in Parker's thoughts, 'the longer the coat, the more important the stiff.' He wasn't Alya's dad, but he was important enough to warrant a long ass jacket.