Sterling Squadron Read Online Free PDF Page B

directly at Ethan.
    It was a look of pure, laser-beam-focused hatred.
    Even though it wasn’t his fault, even though an hour ago he’d saved Paul’s life, Ethan knew that he had just made an enemy forever.

  6  
STORM FALCON
    ETHAN PUMPED A PLUNGER AGAIN INTO THE sink. There was a clog in the drain.
    It was his new duty to conquer and destroy all fluid-blocking obstacles. He’d gone from a promising pilot trainee, soaring through the clouds, to a technician in charge of extracting the most stinky stuff in the known universe from sinks, urinals, and toilets.
    What made it even worse was the other kids.
    When he pushed his maintenance cart down the base’s halls, they wouldn’t meet his eyes or talk to him. They blamed
him
for Paul.
    He got it. Paul was the superstar pilot.
    If not for Ethan (even though everyone knew it
wasn’t
his fault), Paul would still be training pilots and fighting for the Resistance.
    Ethan gave his plunger an extra-hard shove, pretending the clog was Paul’s face, and with a long sucking noise, a hairy ball of mucus came loose.
    This was
so
gross.
    He stood up, rubbed the kink in his back, and looked around.
    Under other circumstances, he would’ve loved to have been here.
    This was the Insect Research and Development Lab. It was where Dr. Irving and his staff cut and pasted insect DNA and Ch’zar technology together to breed new hybrid fighting suits.
    The lab had huge three-dimensional displays that showed rotating strands of DNA and floating math equations. There were computer terminals, electron microscopes, and machines with glowing ultraviolet tubes that focused pinpoints of light and had micromechanical pincers.
    Dr. Irving had a dozen lab assistants, but tonight, he worked alone, tapping away on his computer. He stopped, turned, and smiled. “Done?” he asked Ethan.
    The doctor was the oldest person Ethan had ever met, maybe eighty-five years old. There were no old people in the Ch’zar neighborhood where Ethan had grown up, so it’d taken Ethan a little getting used to. Dr. Irving’s wrinkles had wrinkles! However, his eyes glittered with intelligence and kindness, and he seemed to like Ethan.
    “Yes, sir,” Ethan said. “All done. If that’s all, I’ll go. I’m supposed to get down to the semisolid waste reclamation center to flush the system.” Ethan grimaced and tried not to gag thinking about it.
    Dr. Irving waved him closer. He poured a cup of milk from a chilled thermos. “Can you take a break?”
    Ethan cleaned his hands on his coveralls and gladly accepted the cup. He drank. It was cold and clean and made him forget, for a moment, his troubles.
    He wiped the milk mustache off his face. “Thanks.”
    Ethan didn’t want to leave. It was a relief to be around someone who wasn’t mad at him.
    “Do you have time for a question?”
    Dr. Irving said, “Of course.”
    “There’s one thing I don’t get about the I.C.E. suits.…”
    This was the understatement of the century.
    There were a gazillion things Ethan didn’t understand. How could insects grow so big? How did the pilot-bug mental connection work? How did manufactured thingslike lasers and missiles and mechanical jet engines fit alongside organic things like muscles and insect organs?
    One thing, though,
really
bothered him.
    “When I’m in a suit …” Ethan faltered. He’d reminded himself he might
never
be in an I.C.E. suit again. He swallowed and went on. “I can punch through steel. I can take missiles and bombs exploding at point-blank range. How is that possible?”
    Dr. Irving nodded in appreciation. “Clever to ask
that
question. That Ch’zar technology is the key to the entire I.C.E. system.”
    He closed the program he’d been working on. A password-protection shield splashed across the monitor. Dr. Irving quickly typed on his keyboard.
    Ethan wasn’t
supposed
to be looking, but he was standing right there … and his eyes just happened to be on the keyboard.
    Dr. Irving