Free Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End by Lesley Young

another time,” I add, shifting away from his penetrating eyes. He can see right through you . My ears burn hot all the way to the exit.
    Wow . Tomorrow’s going to go real well if that was any indication. Daz always said my face is an open book.
    The Thell’eons . If they look at me anything like Todd just did, I’ll disintegrate. I will. I mean, am I really just supposed to strut onto their ship and seduce the sift out of them? How will they react? What if they’re all moist and crusty like the Gogols? Oh sweet supernova, no . How am I supposed to pretend to be attracted to that?
    I can’t breathe. What’s that ringing?
    Your brain. Sending out alarm bells!
    Calm down . This Cora Somebody can work some magic, show you how to be cooler, much more in control of these kinds of situations. Pinning my hopes on her, I practically dash back to the prep team, energized with renewed fear, willing to sacrifice sleep entirely.

Chapter 7
    It’s zero two hundred hours. We depart for the operation in less than seven hours. I know I need to go to my pod and sleep. Lt. Lazarus cautioned me it’s vital to be well rested, but my head’s so full, I can’t think straight. I guess that’s good; it keeps me from properly focusing on running to the nearest velo and flying my ass back to Earth. You’re doing this for Daz .
    I run over the condensed coaching, sitting where they left me, in an officers’ meeting room on Level C.
    Cora Smith, my coach, was not at all what I expected. The short, middle-aged, matronly woman sported a chopped, gray bob, which matched the sharp angles of her gray suit and skirt. She was calm, assertive, and commanding, which I attribute to her thick Brit accent (only humans from the region that used to be called the United Kingdom retain the unique English accent thanks to a preservation society). I took an instant liking to her. But then, I’m always searching for a mother figure.
    When we were introduced in the emptied officers’ mess (I didn’t realize they had their own special quarters), she didn’t do what most women do, which is to put up a defensive wall or put out an offensive vibe around me. She smiled at me warmly, directly.
    “Well, well, looks like you could show us a thing or two, my dear,” she said, appraising me. When I was confused by her remark, she in turn seemed surprised.
    Her face fell.
    “How many years has she been with ESE?” she demanded of Lt. Lazarus, hostile.
    I almost laughed because Lt. Lazarus submitted to her female authority like he was 12.
    “She’s a first-year cadet, ma’am.”
    “Don’t worry,” I interjected. “I agreed to do this. I’ll do my best,” I added, smiling, hoping to inspire more confidence in her. I really needed her to believe in me.
    But she just sighed and said, frowning, “I’m sure you will, my dear.” She seemed more detached after that. No matter how I tried to impress her, I couldn’t reestablish that connection.
    The time flew over the five or so hours they spent with me. Mrs. Smith focused strictly on improving my ability to identify and interpret patterns in actions, dialogue, and behavior. She’d screen hypothetical scenarios on the mini Lightvision TM.33 pad, each with an objective, like ‘spot the mole’ or ‘eliminate the red herring.’ She gave me suggestions, hints, pointed out clues that helped me to catch lies, to read body language, to connect the dots.
    I wondered what Yamalda, the company Cora works for, was really all about considering the private sector’s permitted only to engage with alien species on business matters. But, of course, I couldn’t ask.
    Lt. Lazarus spent time talking me through what’s known about Thell’eon technology, in the hopes I might be able to access their systems and download information. We know so little. Several blueprints of Thell’eon warships were recovered from the failed mission (Will they be Daz’s salvation?), but there’s no way of knowing if any of them will