by T. M. Catron
“What?!” Rance asked no one in particular. They must really want her bad. “How did they find us? Did they figure out the Streaker was using a fake registration?”
“They don’t send eight UDFs after a ship for fake registration,” James said.
“Captain,” Roote said.
“Not now, Roote. James, ever get out of anything like this before?”
James was silent. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
Rance looked out at the underbelly of the bigger ship, currently their only cover. The planet below had thousands, if not millions, of places to land and hide a small starship. But could they get there without being seen?
“Captain.”
“Not now, Roote!”
She wouldn’t go back. They couldn’t force her to marry anybody.
“James, we need a temporary landing on the planet. Can you get us there before those UDF’s find us?”
“That’s about the only choice we have. They won’t use the EMP cannons or laser weapons if we get down close enough. Unity doesn’t allow it.”
“You know a place?”
James grinned. “My girlfriend’s got her own little gig going. Landing pads, storage facility, the works.”
“Then get us there.”
“Yes, Captain.”
And with that, he pulled away from the transport and dove for the planet. The airspace beyond the space station was clear, though, and in two seconds the UDFs had locked on.
“James!”
“I see them.”
But something looked off. Rance pulled her screen closer to her face, her nose almost pressing against it. There were the UDFs, flying toward them, but their blinking had changed.
Then, another alarm sounded.
“They’re locking on with missiles!” Rance said, gripping her chair now, too. “They’re shooting to kill! Why?”
No one answered her.
Rance had always been impressed by the way James managed to stay calm in situations like these. The pilot feigned left, back toward the space station. A new alarm sounded, signaling a collision course. The blaring alarms disoriented Rance, causing her to be so overwhelmed she couldn’t remember how to turn them off. She scrambled a minute before finally managing to shut them down.
Unanswered questions spun through Rance’s mind. Why was Unity shooting to kill? Had Davos finally decided to avenge his bruised pride? He must have been angrier than Rance thought. She was going to get them all killed.
How had it come to this?
The Unity ships followed. James dove again with a clear way ahead. Then he punched something into his console.
“Don’t have a choice,” he mumbled.
“James, what are you doing? Were those hyperspace coordinates? James!”
Tally came on the com: “They better not be!”
But James had already initiated the jump. Right at Doxor 5.
The hyperdrive spun up just as it was designed to do, and two seconds later, the blue wave rippled over them.
They were going to smash into the planet.
Before Rance could close her eyes and wait for death, the Streaker exited hyperspace with a jolt. She bit her tongue and tasted warm blood in her mouth.
They were inside the sliver of dark space on the planet. Nighttime.
Rance and Roote both gasped.
James let out a whoop. “Take that, Academy! Wish you’d accepted me now, don’t you?”
~~~
James piloted the Streaker into Doxor 5’s atmosphere, then flew into the cloud cover over the tall buildings. Even at night, the lights from the city below turned the clouds into a haze of dirty golden mist all around them.
“What the—helmet—just happened?” Roote asked.
“That’s the spirit, Roote!” James laughed, still high on adrenaline. The rest of the crew was close to hyperventilating.
Rance got on the com. “Hang on everybody, we’re going to find a place to land. Thanks to some fancy, death-defying, and stupidly stupid flying by James, we’ve evaded the Unity ships . . . for now.”
She clicked off the com and said, “We’ll have to ditch the Streaker. They know its signature and what it looks like.”
James’ face fell.
“Hey, you got us out of a tight spot.”
“We’re not out of it yet,” Roote said, “but we’ve bought some time.” His jaw was set, and he stared out at the golden clouds below like he saw something Rance didn’t.
“Coming up on Madeline’s place,” James said. Then he pushed another button. “Hey baby!” he said in his best winning voice. “Guess who’s coming to see you?”
“She doesn’t know we’re coming?” Rance asked.
“That’s probably best,” Roote said. “Won’t take long for Unity to figure out that stunt. They’ll be hunting us.”
“Me, you mean.”
“Nah, Captain,” James said. “All of us.”
A minute later, the Star Streaker burst out of the clouds near a tower. Just below, a landing pad had been built on top of the roof of a long, flat building. James set the ship down on the pad so gently they barely felt it.
“Hey Madeline,” James called again. “Where are ya?”
Rance and Roote unbuckled their harnesses and hurried out of the cockpit. Rance slid down the ladder and ran down the hall toward her cabin.
She called over her shoulder to the Roote: “Tell everyone they have five minutes to grab what they can. Don’t take anything you can’t carry.”
A minute later she was in her room, throwing things into a satchel. As she turned to leave, she remembered Terryn’s handset on the shelf and retrieved it, shoving it into a side pocket before walking out the door.
Down in the hold, Tally was yelling at James.
“Don’t know what was going through your pea-sized, human brain, but a jump like that could have wiped out the whole hemisphere. Worse than ten Renegades in full battle array. And you just did it!”
James pointed a finger at Tally. “In case you haven’t noticed, I just saved our necks!”
“You got lucky! Captain, did you tell this, this imbecile that this is exactly the kind of stunt that kept him out of the Academy?”
James looked ready to punch Tally. “You alien inbred worm!”
Roote stepped between them. “Save it for later. We need to get out. Now.”
His next command was issued in the kind of voice people rarely disobeyed—deep and sharp and with a ring of authority. “It would be wise to split up. I’ll go with James and Harper. Captain, you want to take Tally and Abel?”
Rance looked at Tally, who was still glaring at James. “We’ll give you a head start while we lock down the ship,” she said. “At least it’ll buy us some time if Unity can’t get in.”
Tally’s green eyes found Rance’s. “But they’ll eventually get in.”
Rance’s gut twisted with the thought of abandoning the Star Streaker—her ship. It was the only thing she’d ever truly owned, and it was her ticket to freedom. Leaving it was like leaving a friend behind to die. But they had no alternative, so she sighed and said, “I know.”
Tally nodded. While the others slipped out onto the darkened landing pad, Tally and Rance set alarms and put the ship in lockdown mode.
“Glad we installed these lockdown procedures when we had the chance,” Rance said as she punched in a passcode on the console next to the outside door.
“Always knew it would be a possibility we’d need to buy time,” Tally said. “Ever since you told me you wanted to run away from your father.”
“Davos is probably behind all this!” Rance said with sudden vehemence.
“You really think he has the authority to send eight Unity Dark Fighters after you?”
“I bet he pulled some strings.” Rance glanced at Tally as she set the final code. “Don’t think so?”
“I don’t think your father has the resources to initiate such a chase. They were waiting for us. How?”
Ran
ce shook her head as they walked down the ramp to the landing pad. Behind them, it closed into the ship and sealed with a hiss. They jogged across the platform, only stopping when they reached a long overhang meant to serve as a hangar for small ships. Tonight, however, it was empty except for Abel, who was waiting on them.
Rance turned to take one last, long look at the bronze ship sitting on the pad. A lump formed in her throat. To keep the despair at bay, she took a deep, shaky breath and turned away.
“Guess Madeline doesn’t hang around waiting for James to show up,” she said.
“Smart girl,” Tally said bitterly. “One day he’ll be dead from a stunt like that.”
Rance clicked her com. “Roote? Harper? James?”
The com crackled. Strange, she thought. It shouldn’t do that.
“Stay off the com,” Roote said on it a moment later. “I’ll come get you.”
“What does that mean?” Abel asked.
“Don’t know.”
They waited. Rance shifted from one foot to the other, wishing to dispel some of the tension moving through her body. When at last Roote appeared in the hangar with his own bag slung over his shoulder, he’d almost reached them before she heard or saw him.
“This way,” he said. “We found a stairwell. If Unity is looking for us they’ll be monitoring chatter. No coms, agreed?”
Rance nodded, and they all moved with Roote toward the end of the hangar. In the back of her mind, Rance wondered if Roote was leading them straight into a trap. The doubt grew as they walked. How else would Unity have found them so quickly? Roote could have betrayed her to Davos, warned Unity.
No, he couldn’t have. Rance hadn’t told him where they were going until they were in hyperspace. And he’d been with her in the cockpit the whole time after they exited. He hadn’t had the opportunity to send any messages.
Sure enough—Harper and James were waiting in the stairwell. Rance laughed at her own paranoia. Then she turned to thank Roote.
But he wasn’t there.
She left the stairwell, out the door back to the hanger once again. Roote was jogging toward her, looking out of breath but happy about something.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Nothing—wondered where you were.”
He paused. “You didn’t think I’d betray you?”
“It crossed my mind. I don’t exactly know you. What were you doing?”
“Taking one last look at the sky, just in case.”
He started walking again, leading her back to the stairwell. “Don’t worry. The last thing I want to do is get tangled up with Unity.”
Rance wanted to ask him what he meant, but now wasn’t the time. They joined the rest of the crew and began descending the stairs. Down, down, ever downward. Their boots clomped on the metal stairs, sending echoes up and down the stairwell. The top of the building was in the clouds, so their legs tired long before stairs ran out. Finding an elevator was out of the question, since any of those were likely to be monitored.
Rance pushed onward, determined that no Unity soldier would take her back to her father. Roote brought up the rear, ready to help if anyone fell behind. But tiny Harper was the only one Rance worried about. And if she couldn’t keep up, someone would carry her.
The stairwell ended on a level still far above the ground floor, forcing the crew to enter the building and walk down an empty corridor to another stairwell. Here they took a break, passing around water and listening for movement below.
“What happened to Madeline?” Rance whispered to James.
“Guess she’s not home. She works too, you know.”
James didn’t seem concerned with his girlfriend’s disappearance, so Rance wasn’t either. They set off again, and once again all they heard was the sound of boots clanging on metal.
When they finally entered the street through a side door, bright daylight streamed down on them from two directions. People in colorful tunics walked by in darkened visors, shielded from the glare of the twin suns. One by one, the crew sank against the wall, exhausted.
Using a hand to shield her eyes, Rance stepped out into the street first, looking for their next move. Roote stepped up beside her, waiting for her to speak.
She was just about to announce an all-clear, when fast-moving boots pounding pavement sent a jolt of fear through her. She turned, staring straight at three big soldiers dressed in black, running for them.
“Go!” she yelled. Behind her, the crew scattered. As Rance took off in the opposite direction, she saw Harper and James dart across the street. Tally and Abel ran back into the building.
“Stop!” someone yelled behind her.
Rance’s heart was racing, but it sank in defeat. They’d never outrun Unity soldiers. Why had Davos sent them all the way here? What hope she’d had disappeared. But she wasn’t going to quit running until they caught her or found her exhausted body passed out in the street. She turned down a side street, looking for a door—any door—to pass through and hide behind.
Also, Roote had disappeared. She hadn’t seen which way he’d gone in the panic. Probably best—Unity was looking for her anyway. If they caught her, maybe they’d forget the rest of the crew.
Ahead, a crowd had gathered outside some sort of dispensary. Rance summoned some extra energy and sprinted for it. Her only goal was to hide in plain sight. A glance behind—no one. They weren’t following. She slowed to a walk—no use drawing more attention to herself.
The crowd was packed in like rations on a ship, so tight Rance had to resort to elbowing people to get through. The crush grew toward the center, until the center became a wall of people watching a big display above their heads. Unable to force anyone to move out of her way without creating a huge scene, she looked up too.
The gigantic display showed her ship—the Star Streaker—plastered on the screen in a shot from last night. Its bronze-colored hull gleamed dully in the light from windows above. Rance almost yelped before remembering where she was. Security video showed her ship landing on the pad above and six people running out of it. Then an official Unity officer came on screen.
“If you have seen this ship, report it immediately,” he was saying.
What did they mean, if you’ve seen it? They had it right in front of their noses. Then the video showed another clip, at dawn.
The Star Streaker was gone.
Hot blood pounded into Rance’s face. Someone had stolen her ship while they were taking the stairs down!
Rance braced herself. In a moment, her face would be onscreen too. She looked around in panic, realizing that anyone who looked over would be able to recognize her without a visor.
Then something pinched her elbow—hard. She turned and saw Roote.
“Come on,” he whispered.
Rance turned and followed him back out through the crowd. Funny, he didn’t seem to have as much trouble cutting through them as Rance had. People parted before him like water before the prow of a boat.
When they reached the door, Roote turned away from it, to the right. There, a gap between two buildings created an alley so narrow only two people could walk side-by-side. Large containers lined the sides, taller than Rance or Roote. A sharp smell of hot metal engulfed them, causing Rance to breathe through her mouth instead of her nose. The alley didn’t have any ventilation—and it was stifling. As they walked, the smell grew stronger, like the locker room in the XFA after a training session, only a hundred times more putrid.
They alley didn’t go out the other side. At some time the buildings had been connected. Doors led off on both sides—at least fifty, all locked. They darted back and forth to each door, trying them all while keeping an eye on the entrance.
“Stop!”
Rance and Roote turned at the same time. Far down, two Unity soldiers were running down the alley toward them. Rance turned to Roote, panic rising in her throat like bile. Or maybe it was bile, because she felt like puking.
“I’m not going back with them,
” she said. “No matter what happens now, I don’t think they’ll do anything to you. Especially since you just started with me.”
Roote smiled grimly. “I doubt they’ll be lenient with me.”
The Unity soldiers were getting closer. They were running flat out now, faster than Rance had ever seen Unity soldiers run. Come to think of it—something was wrong with their uniforms. Fewer badges, no official insignia. Then Rance realized: they were wearing light armor. Why had Davos sent armored soldiers?
Ten seconds away. Rance looked up, hoping for a ladder, or stairway, something to help them get out of their situation. Nothing. Her heart pounded in her chest, beating unmercifully against her ribs.
They were trapped.
“Captain, there was something I wanted to tell you.”
She turned to look at Roote. Another war was playing out across his face. He reached behind to his satchel.
“You sure you don’t want to just go back and get married?” he asked. “Sure you want to spend your life running?”
Heat rose in Rance’s face. “I’ll go to prison before I marry Harrison McConnell!”
Roote nodded and looked at their attackers. “Okay then.”
Just then, the first soldier reached them. Rance braced herself for a fight even though she couldn’t win against their armor. But instead of going for Rance, the soldier reached for Roote. And then everything happened so fast Rance couldn’t keep it all straight.
Roote whipped his arm around, bringing a short baton out of his satchel while crouching into an attack position. As the soldier grabbed for him, the baton extended into a long pole so fast it looked like black lightning. With one swipe, he struck the soldier in the throat with a thwack, just where his armor was thinnest. The soldier crumpled to the ground.
The next soldier, seeing the first go down, dodged Roote’s swipe with the baton. But Roote had already adjusted, and his second strike sent the soldier sprawling on his face. The third assault hit the man’s helmet with a resounding crack, and the dark soldier went still.
Roote straightened, bringing the long baton down to rest one end on the ground. He leaned on it, panting, sweat beading on his face. And then Rance realized: he wasn’t holding a baton.