The largest moon looms huge and craggy off our right wing, its pockmarked face staring down at us as we rush toward it. And I have another idea. Instead of angling away from the moon, into clear space, I maneuver us toward it.
“Case, I need your help here,” I say, keeping my hand light and easy on the stick. “I’m using the moon to block their shot, but if we’re not out of here soon, those fighters will be back to shoot us down anyway. I need to use the gravity of this moon to slingshot us away. It should get us into A-drive range, right? You know the physics stuff better than me. Can we—”
“Yeah, yeah, shut up so I can math. Level out for now, I’ll send you the trajectory. Get ready . . . okay, there, go!”
My HUD lights up with a path showing the exact speed and angle to follow. I pull the stick gently back until the nose lifts into alignment with the path, then level out the wings with the pedals and match our speed to Case’s calculations. I’m so tempted to push it faster; after what we pulled earlier, I know this ship’s got more juice, but the angle, the speed, the acceleration, it all has to be perfect for this to work, and the breakaway point is coming up soon.
A flash, a shrill warning, then bullets ping at our shields. Not again. Please, don’t let this happen again. Pleasepleaseplease, I couldn’t take it if—
“Stay the course!” Case shouts over the hail of bullets. “Our shields are holding, just a few more seconds!”
The comm clicks, and Asra’s voice fills the bridge once more. “Aasim, if that’s you back there, I hope you know I can never forgive you for this.”
“Asra—” the voice from the fighter starts, but Asra cuts communications again. I feel her cold fury like a physical presence at my back.
Then my instruments flash green, the stick leaps out of my hand as the autopilot times the slingshot maneuver, and we’re launched off into the black with an exhilarating force I’ve never experienced. It’s a rush, nearly painful, but more fun than any thrill ride on Earth.
Until I hear Rion groan in pain behind me. Shit.
My head swims with the suddenness of the maneuver, but we’re not out of danger yet. “Case, are the jump calcs ready?”
“We’re going, Nax, just give me a few seconds . . .”
The ship’s humming changes, ramping higher and higher. The vibration studders, and space-time starts to scrunch before the drive even fully engages, the stars sucked away until only a blank empty center remains—
Then we’re nowhere. Gone.
I hope when we come out the other side, things go better than they did last time.
No crashing this time.
I promise.
I hope.
(Rion, please be okay.)
Twelve
THE REAPPEARANCE OF THE STARS is just as disconcertingly sudden as their disappearance, but their pale winking light is a relief nonetheless. Several glowing lights on my console blink for my attention; we’re running hot, but as we seem to not be crashing, leaking atmosphere, or dying, I take a few indulgent seconds to sink into my cushy pilot’s chair and let the adrenaline drain from my system.
I’m sure I’ll start shaking any moment now, for but the time being, everything is clear. Calm. Quiet. Nothing but us and the stars, drifting along in shared silence. I nudge us gently out of the jump arrival zone—no use getting killed by a jumping ship right after our daring escape—then collapse against the headrest.
A shuddering breath breaks the silence beside me, and a wet sniffle comes from behind. A sudden pressure burns behind my eyes and in my throat at the sounds, live and pained. Case leans with her elbows braced on the console in front of her, head in her hands. Her chest and back rise and fall with deep, fast breaths, just this side of hyperventilating. I want to reach over to her, run a hand through her hair or rub her back as it heaves with sobs, but there’s an entire center console of controls separating us. At least these aren’t panic-attack sobs—just regular, completely understandable thank-god-we’re-alive tears.
The brief stillness doesn’t last.
The click of Zee’s safety restraints pulls me back into our current situation. Now that we’re relatively safe, drifting alone through the black, all I can think of is the drying blood that stiffens the shoulder of my shirt. I flip a few switches, venting some of our excess heat into space and engaging the autopilot, then pull myself out of the pilot’s seat, moving to help Zee with Rion’s unconscious form. Between the two of us, we manage to get him unbelted and back over our shoulders like before, his head lolling to one side. It takes a lot of awkward sideways shuffling down the cramped central corridor, barely wide enough for two people, and several wrong turns, but we eventually find what could generously be called a medbay.
It’s more like a storage closet for medical supplies that happens to be large enough for a single bed. I prop Rion’s limp form against the wall and support him as Zee rolls the bed into the hallway; there’s no way we’d be able to maneuver him in such cramped quarters. She lowers the bed so we can ease him down, then rolls it back into the tiny room and drops into a crouch beside him.
Seeing Rion lying there, his eyes closed, complexion ashen and dull, hits me far harder than expected.
The medbay barely has standing room for two, so I back myself into the doorway, available but unobtrusive while Zee works, deliberate and careful. My body must recognize that I finally have a moment to myself, because a wave of dizziness slams into me, and I have to close my eyes and lean my forehead against the doorjamb to regain my balance.
Spots dance on the insides of my eyelids, and my skin goes hot, then cold, then weirdly tingly. Part of me distantly wonders if I’m finally losing it, but the majority of my brain is dedicated to replaying the moment when a tiny piece of metal buried itself in Rion’s shoulder, when he screamed and fell and bled all over my hands just like Malik did. What are we doing? One of us actually got shot. Shooting kills people. Oh my god.
“Deep breaths, Nax,” Zee says from inside the tiny room, her voice even and calm. I open my eyes just as she finishes untying her hasty bandage job from the rooftop. She tuts when she sees the state of the wound, a dark, sticky, twisted mess.
“I wish I’d taken the time to cut away his shirt before I wrapped it earlier. This is going to be much less pleasant for him. I hope he stays unconscious,” she says, eyeing the shelves around her. She digs through drawer after drawer, slamming each one progressively louder.
“Seriously?” she finally says, throwing her hands in the air. “What kind of medbay doesn’t have bandage scissors?”
I snort half-heartedly. “This ship is so pumped with illegal modifications, I wouldn’t be surprised if they cut the medbay in half to use the extra room for more engines or coolant or something.”
“I have to cut this before I can do anything else,” she says. “Bits of it have dried into the wound. I have some scissors in my pack on the bridge. I’ll be right back. While I’m gone, wet a cloth and hold it over the wound. A spray bottle with water would be great too, if you can find one. Soak the shirt.”
I leap to follow her orders, glad to have something to do to help. I rummage through cabinets that barely have room to open in this confined space and find a pile of squishy white hand towels. I run the warm water in the room’s tiny sink and wet the cloth, then lay it over the wound. Most of the spray bottles in the narrow supply closet hold cleaners or chemicals I don’t recognize, but I finally find an empty one and fill it with more warm water. The fine mist evenly soaks the shirt around the bullet hole, and I use the cloth to dab gently at the edges of the wound, where blood has congealed on the fabric.
I hope this isn’t hurting him. I’ve hurt him enough already. Probably he wants to get the hell away from me and this ship the second we put down on solid ground, and with his smooth words, he could probably do it, too. This whole thing, it’s the same kind of shit I always pull, some wild scheme that ends up hurting people, and—
“Hey, mate, stop thinking so loud,” Rion cro
aks, and I jump, nearly dropping the cloth. Cool relief washes through my chest as his deep russet-brown eyes blink open and meet mine.
All I can do is stare for a long moment. Rion’s eyes have a dark ring around the outside, and a tiny freckle next to his right pupil. I never noticed. I have to swallow down a thick surge of emotion before I can speak, can diffuse this intensity.
“God, man, you scared the hell out of me. I thought you were unconscious!” I manage. “How are you feeling, you bastard?”
He manages a weak smile and tips his head toward me. “Oh, you know. Fine. Just catching up on some sleep. I think I have a chunk of metal stuck in my shoulder, which may or may not be on fire right now, but I’m sure I’ll be up in no time.” He pauses, taking a slow breath. Pain shows in the lines around his eyes, but he pushes on with good humor. “Where are we at? Are we dead in the water? Venting atmo again? Planning another crash landing?”
“Okay, you’re obviously fine. Think I’ll just leave you here to bleed,” I say, masking the flare of panic his words provoke with a small chuckle. I actually managed to not almost kill us this time, thanks, but the fact that he can joke around like a dickhead means he’ll be okay, I think. “We’re floating in the black right now, just outside Serenity’s controlled space. I honestly haven’t thought much past that. Haven’t looked at fuel levels, diagnostics, anything. I’m assuming the ship would have screamed at us if something major was going wrong.”
I rub my thumb gently along the edge of the rough cloth, watching the individual fibers of the weave bend and snap back. The cloth goes cold after a moment—am I supposed to resoak it to keep it warm? I look up and catch Rion staring at me, and I freeze, my heart rate skyrocketing. His lips part, and I fixate on the tiny motion, a rush of heat darkening my cheeks, but my eyes won’t obey my command to look away, damn it. I try to say something, some kind of apology for getting him shot, or a “glad you’re not dead” speech, but my mouth goes dry.
And then Zee comes bustling through the door. The moment shatters.
“Back up, please,” she says with cool efficiency, and I do as she says, transferring the damp cloth to her hands. She crouches by Rion’s side and gives him a small smile before lifting the corner of the cloth.
“Sorry for the wet,” she says, “but this will hurt less than me ripping dry cloth from the wound. I’m going to cut off this part of your shirt, okay?”
He grunts his assent. Probably couldn’t say more if he wanted to, with her tugging at the fabric like that.
She goes slow, carefully snipping the fabric around the wound, then counts backward before pulling each scrap away from the ragged hole in Rion’s shoulder. Rion sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, but all he says is “Yeah,” tight and pained. I’m assuming that means “Yeah, hurts like a mother.”
A double beep jolts me out of my fixation on Rion, then Case’s voice comes over the all-ship intercom.
“We need you on the bridge,” she says without preamble. “We’re having an . . . issue.”
My stomach sinks. What now? Is the ship dying? Are we getting shot at again? I would love it if someone else could deal with this. I take one last steadying breath to clear my head, glance back at Rion, then nod. Back to the bridge for the next crisis. Zee’s and Rion’s quiet murmurs fade, and when I get near the hatch, a different set of voices takes over—two of them, though Asra is the only one I recognize. The problem quickly becomes apparent.
“—but is there really no way we can work something out? Or at least refuel? We can put down far outside of town, on the dark side of the station, fly without transmitters, whatever you want, we just—”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the decision is final. Come back once you’ve had the ship scrubbed and we’ll welcome you and your credits with open arms and wallets, but until then, we can’t risk word getting out that we harbored the people who stole Jace Pearson’s precious toy. Now, we don’t mean to be unfriendly, but we’re gonna have to ask you to move along out of our airspace. Right now.”
Asra sighs, shakes her head. “Understood.”
“Fair winds and friendly skies, sister,” he says, sounding almost regretful, and the line goes dead.
We’re silent for a moment. I drop into the pilot’s seat, tip back against the headrest, and close my eyes. Probably not a good idea; I could drop off to sleep any second. The hours are melting away in a flood of adrenaline, and each day the weight of what happened at the Academy feels more ominous. Four days. Evacuating loved ones they want “spared” from the colonies . . .
I open my eyes and blink a few times, then shake off the exhaustion, fixing my gaze on the bright blue arc of Serenity on the horizon. It slides away under our port-side wing as I turn us around and re-engage the autopilot, then let my hands fall away from the controls. I’m too tired to guide the ship, and my eyes keep losing focus. Better to let the computer have a turn.
“So,” I say, unable to keep the weariness out of my voice. “I guess we need to have a meeting. Figure out where we want to go and what we want to do about Earth First now that we’re free.”
Case pulls out her tab. “I’ll download the ship status, fuel levels and all that. Meet in the mess hall?”
I rub a hand over my face. My brain feels like it’s full of molasses. “Uh, yeah. If we have a mess hall.”
Asra stands and stretches, then leans her shoulder against the side of her high-backed chair. “I’ll go round everyone up. See you in a few.”
“Yeah,” I say, sagging back into my seat. “Two minutes.”
Her footsteps echo down the hallway, followed seconds later by Case’s quicker steps.
And I’m alone.
The quiet of the bridge wraps around me, a blessing after the past two days of constant company. I start to drift off almost immediately, the adrenaline crash catching up with me.
We made it. We’re here, in our own ship, off the Rock, in the black. Free. It’s my dream made real.
But all I feel is exhausted.
I can’t breathe. We’re crashing, again—I can’t get anything right, can I? The atmo is venting, hissing out through bullet holes in the hull, and everyone’s screaming, screaming. Rion is bleeding everywhere, and Zee glares at me, stern and disapproving, blaming. Case’s breath rasps in her chest, coming way too fast, a panic attack for sure, where’s her medicine? Asra will get it for her, Asra . . . just shakes her head. Slowly. Sadly. She shakes it and shakes it, side to side, over and over, but now her neck is twisting too far, and it’s not natural—how is it doing that? Then the ground is rushing up and none of it matters because there’s a flash of light and I brace for impact, and the door to the bridge bangs open—
“Nax!”
I wake with a gasp, lurching forward in the pilot’s chair. It’s dark and calm. No alarms. No screams. A gentle hand rests on my shoulder.
Case.
“Sounded like you were having a nightmare,” she says quietly. I scrub my hands over my face and blink hard.
“How long was I out?”
“Only a few minutes. The others are in the mess hall, ready to meet.” She pauses. “What was your nightmare about?”
I close my eyes again and breathe.
“Crashing again. Rion bleeding out. Zee trying to save him, telling me it’s my fault. Making you have a panic attack.”
When I open my eyes, her mouth is drawn tight.
“Well,” she says with a little self-deprecating laugh, “now you know why I washed out.”
“The panic attacks?”
Her hand slides off my shoulder, leaving a trail of warmth behind. “I had medication and a signed medical waiver. My doctor said I was fit to serve. It wasn’t supposed to matter.” A hard exhale. “They decided it did.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “I can’t believe they’d wash out someone like you, an actual no-shit genius.”
She scoffs, waves the comment away. “I’m just good at school. There’s always a next thing to work on, a
grade to shoot for, an assignment to complete, and I just always pushed myself for more. I ran out of high-school work right before I turned fifteen and panicked because I had no direction anymore. Hence college. It gave me something to focus on while I waited to be old enough for the Academy.”
“So you always knew you wanted the Academy?”
A shadow passes over her face. “Not always, but early enough. I figured if I was stuck on Earth until I aged into the Academy, I might as well get a degree that would help me be a systems specialist when I got there.”
“Which was?”
Case bites her lip in a thoroughly distracting way, then looks up at me. “There was a lot of overlap, so I ended up double majoring in electrical and mechanical engineering with a focus on ship systems.”
She looks up at the ceiling and blinks rapidly. “Guess the effort didn’t matter much. All that hard work for nothing, you know?”
I get to my feet and turn to her, but she doesn’t step back to give me room. Her shoulders are slumped, her eyes closed, lips pressed hard together. She sways into my chest and bunches my shirt in her hands.
“I’m sorry. Just give me a minute,” she says. Her grip on my shirt tightens suddenly, then relaxes. She lifts her head up and looks me straight in the eye, her face inches from mine, radiating determination and fury. “I’m still so angry about it. I’m about two seconds from screaming at any given time because it’s so unfair. But you know what?”
Her ire cools into something harder, more dangerous, the quirk of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “When we save the galaxy from these Earth First douchebags, they’ll regret passing us over.”
Damn right. I can’t help but grin back at her, feeling a little dangerous myself after everything we’ve done. This beautiful, brilliant girl deserved so much more than to be cast aside for something like this.
The Disasters Page 14
