“Who sent you?” a voice asks, oddly delicate and lightly accented. “Tell me,” she says, “and I’ll kill you right now instead of giving you to Mr. Pearson. Trust me when I say you should prefer my bargain.”
I open my mouth to start BSing, my cheek dragging across the harsh concrete, but what comes out instead is: “Is my friend alive?”
She snorts, like she’s amused at my ineptitude. “Dead, dying, same difference. You were stupid to come up here with just two of you.”
A door bangs open somewhere—the stairwell?—and I strain my eyes as far as I can. Three figures, thank god or the universe or whatever. Zee can help us, she—
But it’s not them. Three more guards stroll onto the rooftop, their hands resting casually on their weapons.
“Took you long enough,” my captor says, practically spitting at them. “I radioed for backup last year, assholes. We’re fine now; you can go back to picking your ass or whatever it is you do in your downtime.”
One of the guards holds his hands up in surrender, his sidearm hanging limp in his grip. “Hey, chill, okay? Looks like you have everything under control, so we’ll just—”
The man stops. Just . . . stops. Then his eyes fall shut and he topples over.
The gun pressing into my skull eases up, then slides away. A second later, a full-grown woman in light body armor comes crashing down on top of me.
“Oof! Goddamn—”
Two more thuds, right in front of me. I force myself up on my forearms with a groan, the woman’s body sliding sideways off my back. All three reinforcement guards lie on the deck, out cold. Case, Asra, and Zee stand just outside the stairwell doorway, shoving guns back in their respective holsters. Asra spares me a quick glance, but no more—she makes straight for the ship, pulling out her tablet on the way to work on the locks. Case starts toward me, but I get one arm free and wave her off.
“Preflight checks!” I yell at her. None of this will matter if we don’t get the ship in the air. She hesitates for a moment, but runs to Asra’s side. Good. Thank you.
With a heave, I pull myself the rest of the way out from under the weight of the passed-out guard, get my legs under me, and scramble over to Rion’s last hiding place, waving Zee over as well. As soon as I round the corner, the hot burn of bile rushes into the back of my throat.
Rion is slumped against the cart, his clothing and hands stained with fresh blood. I drop to my knees and push two shaking fingers against his throat and this is all so horribly, horribly familiar, and for a second I can’t remember if it’s Rion or Malik under my fingers. Where the hell is the pulse point supposed to be? Am I too low? Was that a beat, or was that my hand shaking? I push harder, and no no no, maybe there’s no pulse to find, maybe it’s not there, maybe—but there.
There it is.
I’m not sure if it’s the right tempo, but it’s steady and it’s there. That’s all I know. All I care about.
“He’s alive!” I yell as Zee skids to a halt, crouching down beside me. “Help me get him up. We have to get him on board, take him with us!”
“Of course we do,” she says, her voice even and sure. “But not yet.”
She rips the bag off her back and pulls out a roll of thick, stretchy bandages. While I support Rion from his uninjured side, Zee winds the bandage tight around his entire shoulder and upper arm, tying it off tightly right over the bullet’s entrance wound. The blood begins to seep through within seconds, but Zee only adds a pad of gauze over top and nods to me, pressing her palm hard against the wound. She’s incredible, completely incredible, so in control, so everything I’m not, and thank the stars for that.
With careful coordination, I maneuver Rion’s uninjured arm over my shoulders while Zee wraps her arm around his waist from the other side, trying not to jostle his wound too badly. We lift, and he is so much heavier than he looks, the bastard. His head slumps onto his undamaged shoulder, his short curls brushing against my cheek. A whisper of a groan escapes his lips—was that my name?
“Hold on, Rion,” I whisper, pressing my cheek against the top of his head. I don’t know if he can hear me, but I think I’m talking just as much to myself as I am to him. “This is almost over. We’ll be in the black and home free before you know it.” I readjust my grip on his side and grimace. “We’d get there faster if you’d wake up and help us, asshole.”
His legs dangle uselessly between Zee and me, and it takes a lot of effort to not kick his ankles with every step or catch his sneakers on some discarded tool or scrap. Just a few more steps. The beautiful lines of the ship gleam faintly with the light of the risen moons, the white beams of light disappearing inside the open hatch. Asra appears in the doorway as our boots hit the ramp, and she hauls Rion off my shoulder without a word. I start to protest, my hands gripping his shirt, his bicep, but she shoves me away with her hip.
“Go,” she says. “I’ve got him. Close the ramp and get us in the air. Case is done with preflight. We’re right behind you.”
That gets me going. Rion’s wounds won’t matter a lick if we get shot out of the sky because I take too long getting us up. The sooner I get us to safety, the sooner Zee can give Rion some real help. I hit the door controls and tear off through the impressively large cargo bay, trusting the hatch to do its job and seal properly behind me. A left turn at the brightly marked central corridor, past the forward maintenance room; then the bridge door stands open right in front of me.
As soon as I’m in, with the winking lights of the pilot’s console beneath my hands, a fresh jolt of adrenaline erupts behind my breastbone. Ground rushing up, the screams behind me, awful screeching crunching shriek of metal on metal and the front of the vehicle rushing toward me, then the blackness . . . My hands tremble.
It won’t happen again. I won’t let it. I’ll just channel some of Zee’s level confidence and do what needs doing.
Case glances over from the navigator’s terminal as I drop into my chair. Her expression is calm, determined, no trace of her earlier panic, so I take a deep breath and shove the nerves away. The plush cushioning of the pilot’s seat molds around me, and while I adjust the seat so my boots rest comfortably on the rudder pedals, the back of my mind luxuriates in the thought of owning a classy, comfortable ship like this. I want to take a moment, take it in, study all its tiny details, but there’s no time. Gotta get away with it first.
“We ready?” I ask, my finger hovering over the ignition switch. Case finishes a last few keystrokes, then looks over and meets my eyes. Nods. Takes a breath.
I hit the ignition.
The ship roars under us, an unbelievably sexy sound that sends a gentle shudder through the metal skin of the vessel. It vibrates through my chair, even more through the pedals at my feet and the control stick in my hand. This ship’s controls are more like a fighter jet than a shuttle, which I’m both more comfortable with and more afraid of. I bet this ship has some major mods under the hood. I give the engines a moment to warm up, but only a moment; Case hasn’t said anything yet, but she’s leaning closer and closer to her display screen, so I know there’s bad news coming.
Asra and Zee burst onto the bridge, moving as fast as they can with the unconscious Rion between them. They manage to get him strapped into a chair; then Asra waves her tablet near the ship console’s wireless interface. Delivering coordinates, probably. As soon as her tablet beeps, she throws herself into the seat behind Case and straps in. Zee plants her feet and bends her knees, hanging tight to the back of Rion’s seat with one hand.
“Aren’t you going to strap in?” I ask her.
“I’ll be fine. He won’t,” she answers smoothly. “Once his bleeding slows, then I’ll worry about sitting down.”
There’s no time to argue. I ramp the mag coils smoothly up to full power, lifting us off the deck without a bump, then engage the thrusters. Jace’s mansion compound falls away beneath us, and I gently guide us out of the maze of Saleem’s tallest buildings and into open sky. The city glitters b
elow, its steel and glass towers shrinking as our altitude increases. It’s gorgeous, both the sight and the feeling of open air around me again. If I weren’t carrying lives I’d rather not lose, I’d be putting the ship through her paces, rolling and banking and getting myself in trouble again, no doubt. As it is, though, I stay tight and focused, overly conscious of my responsibility.
Once we hit minimum safe distance, I dial the throttle higher, the ship’s humming pitch rising along with it. “Do you have a heading for me, Case, or should I just take the most direct route to orbit?”
Asra answers instead. “Head for orbit straight over the center of the city, if possible. The city has ground-to-orbit munitions, but they won’t want to rain shrapnel down over their own citizens. They’ll probably send—”
“Fighters incoming!” Case cuts in. “They’re still seven klicks out, flying in from the next town over, but they’ll be here in about ten seconds.”
“Just so,” Asra finishes. “Same thing, though; if you stay over the city, they won’t shoot us down. They’ll try to crowd you in, force you to land or fly over the desert. Don’t let them.”
“Oh, don’t let them! Great idea, Asra, I’m so thankful for your brilliant advice,” I snap, wrenching the stick back and opening the throttle. Zee stumbles and swears behind me as we rocket into the night sky, the viewport completely filled with pinpoint stars and glowing moons.
Wait. Moons.
“Case, the largest moon is directly over the city right now. It’ll take extra time to get out of its gravity shadow, won’t it?” My fingers tap wildly on the throttle control like it’ll somehow make the ship go faster.
“Yes,” Case says, her voice laser sharp as her intense stare burns a hole through the navigator’s display. “Once we’re in low orbit, we can angle away if you think it’s safe, but it kind of depends on what happens with these fighters.”
As if on cue, the roar of powerful engines shredding atmo bleeds through the background rumble of our own ship. I glance up at the rear cam display and see a pair of fighters closing in, painted the same rust red as the beach sand. The comm light blinks on, and a voice fills the bridge.
“Pilot, this is Lieutenant Haque of the al-Rihla enforcement First Fighter Wing. You are in possession of stolen property. You are ordered to land and surrender your ship at once.”
My HUD squawks the second the fighters come into firing range, and I set the ship to dancing, pulling every maneuver I can at this speed. Zee swears again, and I can hear her rummaging around for something in her bag, but it’s looking worse for her by the second.
“You really need to strap in now, Zee,” I say, breaking hard to starboard as the fighters move in around us. “You can’t possibly do anything for Rion right now.”
“Just let me . . . give him this . . . injection . . . ,” she grinds out, then makes a little noise of triumph. “Got it! The bleeding should—”
“Sit down, Zee!” Case orders. She is not fucking around. “And put on your damn harness.”
“It would really help,” I add. The second I hear Zee’s restraints click, I jam the stick back and to the left, darting around a fighter trying to cut us off. My head bounces off the headrest with the force of the maneuver—I hope I’m not jostling Rion’s wound too badly, but I think he won’t mind terribly, considering the alternative.
God, Rion.
Now’s not the time.
With my eyes locked on my display and my hand glued to the stick, I ask, “So should we say anything back to the good lieutenant, or just let them wonder?”
Case raises her voice to be heard over her furious tapping. “I don’t think there’s anything to say, real—”
The comm clicks on, and Asra’s voice rings out from behind me. “Lieutenant Haque of the al-Rihla enforcement First Fighter Wing, I think there are greater wrongs you could be righting than the theft of a drug-running ship from a horrible man who poisons our community. How long have you been looking the other way while our stepfather ruins Saleem? What is it, Aasim—money? Fear? Or are you really that oblivious? Either way, of the two of us, you are the greater criminal here.”
The comm clicks off, and the bridge is filled with a severely awkward silence. I have no idea what to say, and no spare brainpower to make my mouth work anyway. More fighters join the first two and slip into formation around the ship: one off each wing, one in front, and one behind. We’re boxed in.
The fighter in front fills our massive viewport, its engines growing larger as we race toward it, so close now I can read the service designation painted on the sleek black wing: TIGER SQUADRON, CPT. ISAAC THOMAS, with a row of kill marks underneath. Oh hell, Tiger Squadron. I completely forgot they were here assisting local enforcement. They failed at shooting us down over Earth, but I doubt they’ll let us get away this time. This just got even better. I thumb a switch on the control stick, shifting our avionics over to close-range dogfight mode, surprised it even exists in a ship this size. This must be a custom job through and through.
The comm clicks again. “Asra? Is that you? What are you doing?”
“What you never had the courage to do,” she snaps back over the comm. I risk a glance away from the viewport and over at Case, but she’s making no move to cut off or scramble the transmission. Actually, I think she has a tiny smile on her face, but I have to look away before I can be sure. The formation is tightening now, and I can’t juke the ship without nicking one of their fighters. It would probably hurt them more than us. Probably. But worst case scenario, we end up too damaged to make the jump, or one of the fighters crashes and kills civilians in Saleem. Neither option is acceptable. Gotta think, gotta think . . .
“Do you really think this is what Ammu would want you to do?” the lieutenant’s voice says through the comm. Some of the command is leaking out of it, replaced with something else—sadness, or weariness.
“I think she would prefer this to seeing what you’ve become this last year. I hope one day you’ll wake up and be the man I know you can be, insha’Allah,” Asra replies, her voice quieter now. “Until then, I’m happy to do this one small thing to help our city. And since I know these transmissions are recorded for public record, let me say this: to anyone who is still unaware, whether through optimistic oversight or deliberate ignorance, know that nearly every person in our community who has disappeared over the past fifteen years can be tied back to my stepfather, Jace Pearson, Saleem city councilman. Some were forced to work making drugs for him, and some were killed for debts or disputes. The proof is readily available for anyone willing to dig. To my people out there—you know who you are. Spread this recording far and wide. Bring him down. Astaghfirullah.”
Asra plays all this off so relaxed, but that small moment of seeking forgiveness is telling; this whole thing with her stepdad is killing her inside. There’s barely a second of silence before an angry voice bursts from the speaker. “This is Captain Isaac Thomas of Tiger Squadron. We have you surrounded and we will—”
The comm clicks off, then plays a little double beep.
“I shut the comm down so we won’t have to listen to their whining anymore,” Asra says coolly. I want to reply, want to ask about her brother and the things she said, but unless I do something in the next few seconds—
A fifth fighter appears on my HUD, joining the other four boxing us in, but this one directly above us, forcing us down. We’re going to collide unless they match our speed. What in the hell am I supposed to do now? We’re so dead. I’ve got nothing. I knew I’d probably kill us this time out, but—
Unless.
“Case,” I ask, my voice coming out surprisingly even. “Can you give me any more power to the engines? I’m gonna try something that might be . . . not good.”
“Oh, lovely,” Case says, “We aren’t using the weapons systems right now, so I can cut them off and reroute that power. Other than that, all I can do is override some safety protocols and hope the ship doesn’t explode. Are we in favor of that?”
“Of not exploding?” I ask, incredulous.
“Of the override, Nax,” she snaps, her fingers flying over her screen.
“Do it,” Asra says.
My hand shakes over the throttle control. This is exactly the kind of thing that always backfires on me. I try to get too fancy, try to show off, try to push myself . . . but right now, if we have any chance of getting out of here, I have to do this.
I have to.
I blow out a slow breath. “Okay. Tell me when you’re ready.”
“It’ll only take a . . . okay, now!” Case shouts, and I cut the engines off completely and shove the control stick forward, throwing us into a freefall. The ship screams in protest, with some help from Asra, but the fighters leap past us at full speed and we’re free of the aerial blockade. I jerk the stick back up, and for a sick second, we’re sailing forward on our leftover momentum alone—then I wrench the stick over, kick in the afterburner, open the throttle wide out, and shit, Case was not kidding. Without the safety engaged, this ship can move.
It is unbelievably hot.
We blow past the fighters, and I don’t even bother with evasive maneuvers that might slow us down, just rely on out-and-out speed to get us up and away. The fighter formation wavers behind us for a moment, and I can imagine them chattering over the comm, trying to hail us, trying to figure out what the hell just happened, but fortunately we don’t have to listen to any of that crap. A thrill builds in my chest, like the swell of a shout bubbling under my ribs, and a grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. I actually pulled that one off. The atmosphere turns wispy, and its drag on the ship falls away bit by bit.
Our momentum pushes my head into the back of the chair, crushes all my organs back against my spine in a way that will never stop being exhilarating. My grin turns cocky, and I roll my head over to share the moment with Case. If we can keep up this pace, we can make the A-jump in just over a minute. We’re home free.
Worst. Thought. Ever.
What is wrong with me?
As if summoned by my arrogance, a screeching warning erupts from the HUD, and I slam my foot down on the right rudder pedal, yanking the stick back and over. A rush of energy surges past us in the wake of an enormously fast projectile, the bullet winking away into the distance. The ground-to-orbit railguns. Not good.
The Disasters Page 13