by T. M. Catron
Sonya had been a commoner. Who had protected her?
Rance holstered her blaster and drew her dagger. A clean death was too good for this one. The Rebel’s eyes filled with horror as he realized what she was about to do.
Then, the fear left his eyes, and he crumpled to the ground. Rance gaped in surprise and looked around.
Solaris was standing quietly at her side, having just delivered a well-placed blow to the Rebel’s head. Without killing him.
He fixed Rance with a shrewd gaze, but it wasn’t accusing. “He’s not worth it, Captain. Shouldn’t we go?”
The street beyond the alley was filling with people. Slowly, Rance’s head began to clear, and she could feel again. She felt mostly pain, and the traces of her anger faded into weariness. There was no time to contemplate what she’d almost done. They had to get back to the ship before it was overrun.
Where was James?
As if he’d heard his name, James appeared from somewhere behind, out of breath and looking relieved. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, stuffed full of something lumpy.
“There you are! Harper, you okay?”
Rance looked over at Harper, who was shaken but unharmed. Without waiting for any more disasters to befall them, the crew sprinted for the Star Streaker. As they exited the alley, a crowd was running for the ship. Some were closer than the crew was. They wouldn’t make it in time. Rance almost stopped, sat down, and cried.
Just then, the ship took off, leaving a trail of street dust behind it.
“Tally’s coming to get us!” James shouted.
Solaris looked like he wouldn’t make another step. Rance put her arm under him to steady him.
“You might have to leave me,” he whispered.
Rance snorted. “Don’t be so dramatic, Sunshine. Nobody gets left behind when you’re on my crew. How many times do I have to tell that thick skull of yours? I’m beginning to think I need to hit you over the head with your own staff.”
“Don’t. I’m too tired to block you.”
The Streaker whined overhead. The crowd changed direction, following. As soon as the ship got close, Tally lowered the ramp. The blast from the engines threatened to knock them all off their feet.
First, James jumped up. Then Abel, pulling Harper with him.
James paused, a horrified look crossing his features. Rance turned, expecting the mob to be on top of them.
Instead, they were scattering. Some still sprinted for the ship. Others were screaming and running in haphazard directions.
At the center was a gray-backed wolf-like creature with a spike on its tail. The same one that had chased them in the alley. As if seeking revenge, or attempting to flee the pirates itself, it turned toward the ship.
“Go go go!” Rance yelled.
Abel and James pulled Rance and Solaris into the ship. As soon as their feet hit the floor, the ramp closed. Rance caught a glimpse of fangs and saw the whites of the eyes of the people they were leaving behind. She didn’t know whether to thank the creature for scattering the mob or to hope somebody killed it.
Then, the ship was maneuvering through the city, and the crew scrambled to buckle in for their escape.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHEN RANCE PULLED herself into the cockpit, she barely made it to her chair before her legs gave out. Solaris dragged himself up after her.
“You should go lie down,” she said.
“No, thanks, I’d rather see my death coming.”
He sat down but didn’t bother to buckle in, propping his staff against his chair and hugging it. Despite what he’d just said about being able to see, he closed his eyes.
“Hey, no one is dying today,” James said.
If only that were true, Rance thought. But James didn’t know about their loss. The Star Streaker lifted off. Just as it cleared the buildings, a huge fireball hit the exact spot where they’d been sitting. The massive shock wave hit the Streaker, knocking it off course with a shudder. Rance bit her tongue, and the warm taste of iron filled her mouth.
“Triton’s toes! They missed!” James said.
A small B-class fighter zoomed overhead, its dark green hull looking out of place next to the black ships they had seen earlier.
Rance’s heart raced in her chest, and blood rushed to her ears. But her body sagged into her chair, unable to process her fear fully. She stared out the window as if through someone else’s eyes. Searing pain shot through her arm—a deep gash was bleeding freely. One of the rebels must have nicked Rance with his knife. She hadn’t even realized it at the time. She covered the cut with her hand to avoid bleeding all over her seat.
“I think, Captain,” James said, “that it’s time for my stupidly stupid, death-defying trick.”
“What’s that?” Her words slurred. She must have been in worse shape than she thought.
“An in-atmosphere jump to hyperspace.”
“James Fletcher, don’t you dare!” Tally called over the comm.
Rance leaned over and switched it off. Then she addressed James.
“You’ll have to jump like you did on Doxor 5—short and sweet. Then we’ll prepare coordinates for a longer jump after we find an opening in the blockade.”
“That means we’ll have a short time where we’ll be sitting in space like idiots, waiting for the Nilurians to paint a target on us.”
“We don’t have a choice.” Rance flicked on the comm again. “Harper, tell Deliverance I need two sets of coordinates, to be used one right after the other.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Is it wise to use Deliverance, Captain?” James asked. “After her malfunction?”
“We can’t afford to get this wrong. Harper will double check her calculations.”
Two small fighters appeared out of the sea of buildings, arcing gracefully between towers. They fired on the Star Streaker the second they came within range. James dipped and weaved back through the buildings, using the towers as cover.
“And hurry,” Rance added to Harper.
Orange fireballs shot past, narrowly missing the Streaker and striking a glass building. A section of glass wall shattered, sending a shimmering, glittering rain of shards to the street below.
“That was close!” James said. “Where’d they come from?”
Rance studied the Streaker’s sensors, which weren’t meant for tracking enemy ships in a battle. But she saw two little dots blipping in and out between buildings behind them. “They’re from those two small fighters, but you’ve lost them again.”
Solaris sat with his chin on his chest—frowning, breathing, listening. Was he meditating? Rance didn’t have time to ask before another rain of glass and fire fell from above, striking the shields and making Rance jump in her seat.
They were lucky the two fighters on their tail weren’t equipped with guided missiles.
“Harper?” she asked.
“Almost there, Captain. Deliverance isn’t cooperating.”
“How so, Deliverance?”
To jump into hyperspace in such proximity to a planet and ships is unheard of, Captain. The likelihood of death is three trillion to one. I cannot participate in these calculations. Suggest surrender.
“The likelihood of death is much higher if we don’t get out of here! We won’t surrender, Deliverance.”
“Captain,” Harper interrupted, “we don’t want to get this wrong. If the first jump is off by even a fraction of a degree, the second jump will send us into a part of space only the dead can find.”
“Just get us there, Harper. Deliverance, help her!”
A silent pause. The crew held their breaths. The Star Streaker dipped down and flew into a narrow side street. Its wings were so close to the wall Rance imagined them leaving sparks. But James’ experienced hands held the ship steady, waiting.
“Got them,” Harper said. “Sending to you now.”
The coordinates displayed on Rance’s and James’ displays.
“Everybody hold on,” Ra
nce said. “Good luck, James.”
James scoffed, as if luck had nothing to do with it, and brought the Streaker out of the alleys. He maneuvered around another skyscraper, tilting the ship straight up for the clear sky ahead.
The hyperdrive spun up, sending vibrations throughout the ship. Rance could taste victory. They were going to make it.
Then, gliding over the city like a horrendous metal monster, a Renegade appeared above them.
Right in their jump path, pointing their cannons directly at the Streaker.
“Stop! James!” Rance yelled. Solaris opened his eyes and sat up, wide-eyed.
James was already correcting, punching a button and canceling the jump just in time. A collision alarm sounded. Rance punched it off as James banked left, away from the Renegade. More fighters zoomed around the buildings.
Rance held her breath, gripped her seat. There was nothing more she could do. No fancy tricks, no words of encouragement. Either James could out-fly them, or he couldn’t. Their lives were in his hands.
More fire from the ships behind, but James had changed course before it pummeled their shields again. Instead, he flew straight at the slow-maneuvering Renegade. Alarms went off everywhere—collision alarms, weapons alarms.
“Shut them all down, Deliverance!” Rance yelled. The alarms shut off, leaving her ears ringing.
Even this close, the Renegade could fire a missile, hit the Star Streaker, and absorb any damage to its own hull. But the Streaker wouldn’t survive. A direct hit would burst the Streaker and its crew into a thousand tiny pieces that would rain down on Prometheus like the glass from those buildings.
The ship shuddered again. Rance wasn’t buckled in, and she held on tight so she wouldn’t be thrown forward into James. Her broken fingers ached, but she forced herself to keep holding on.
“Something hit us,” James said. “Shields still holding.”
He zigzagged up, up, up. The Renegade couldn’t turn fast enough, and soon the haze of the atmosphere faded, just as the first rays of dawn appeared on the horizon. Rance couldn’t find the two fighters that had been pursuing, but she doubted they’d lost track of their prey. The blackness of space was before them.
And so were a hundred other ships. Of all makes and models. Now that Rance knew they were facing organized rebels instead of individual clans of pirates, the game had become much more serious. Many of the Nilurian Rebels were ex-Unity.
And all of them would know about the tiny space cruiser trying to get off Prometheus.
“We’ll never get past them,” she whispered.
“Yes, we will,” Solaris said. His voice cracked, but when he stood, he held himself confidently. As he lifted his staff, Rance scrambled to fasten her harness. Her aching fingers wouldn’t work correctly, and she fumbled to snap the two halves together.
The fastener clicked in place, and then the Star Streaker rolled, pitching her to the right. As before, Solaris stood with his feet planted firmly on the floor of the cockpit. And while the ship rolled around and around, Rance felt the tug of centripetal force, like all the gravity on the ship had centered on Solaris.
With a jolt, she realized that was exactly what was happening.
Solaris was controlling gravity.
It wasn’t without cost. His face drained of all color, and Rance thought he would kill himself for sure this time.
But she wasn’t going to allow him to sacrifice himself for them. No one else would die today. “Solaris! STOP!”
Still, he held on, his eyes closed, his face becoming more haggard. His disguised face flickered like a bad video connection. For a second, Rance caught a glimpse of another face. But in the chaos, she couldn’t make out any details.
The hyperdrive spun up of its own accord. James yelled that he couldn’t control it.
Rance had to do something. They were out of control. And she couldn’t lose another CO. Not like this. So, she did the most outrageous, most stupid thing she could think of.
She grabbed the handle that unfastened her harness and pulled.
It gave way, and she flew out of the seat, reaching out to tackle Solaris on her way. She collided with him, half-expecting his feet to be glued to the floor. But they weren’t. His concentration broke, and he fell with her.
They crashed into a control panel behind Solaris’ seat and landed in a heap on the floor. Rance grabbed him to keep from falling down the open hatch. The Star Streaker stopped spinning. The hyperdrive hummed as usual, ready for a command.
“We’re clear!” James called. Rance looked up in time to see the last dark ship slide by. Then James gave the command, and the bright blue flash of hyperspace washed over the ship.
Solaris groaned. Rance pulled herself off him. She’d landed on his staff, which had tried to jab a hole in her ribs, creating a new wave of pain when she moved. But they were both alive, and she considered the move a success.
Solaris winced as she moved away. Harper climbed into the cockpit to see if she could assist.
“I’m sorry for leaving the ship, Captain,” she said, blushing.
“Galley and lav duty for a month, Harper, but I’ll consider waving it if you get everybody patched up.”
“It’s going to be a big job,” she whispered as Solaris eased into a sitting position.
“Yes, it is,” he replied.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“WE’VE GOT to let people know what’s happening on Prometheus,” Rance said later.
They’d been in hyperspace thirty-six hours. The crew sat around the galley in varying states of exhaustion and wellness. Tally and James sat on either side of Rance. Neither had spoken to the other since the daring jump to hyperspace. It was just as well—Rance couldn’t have dealt with any shouting.
Solaris sat with his head in his hands, breathing deeply. He might have been asleep. Although Rance burned with questions about how he had saved the Star Streaker and everybody in it, she didn’t have the energy—or the heart—to question him about it right now. The promised answers would have to wait.
Abel sat at the other end of the bench and leaned on the wall. His face looked as bad as Solaris’—big purple bruises ringed his eye and cheek. Harper had offered to heal it for him in the med bay, but he’d refused, saying he’d wear it as a “badge of honor.”
Rance didn’t have any such notions of honor. She’d let Harper put her through several painful procedures to fix two cracked ribs, a broken finger, and bruising over eighty percent of her body. After, she felt better. Now, all injuries were on the mend, but she still felt like the Star Streaker had landed on top of her. Her head, which had been bashed around inside her helmet like a pebble inside an engine, throbbed when she moved it.
She didn’t move it.
Henry had curled up into her lap and was emitting soft whistling noises and keeping her hands warm like a muff. Three days ago, the sounds would have been annoying. Today, they were oddly comforting.
Tania leaned against the wall near the table, behind Abel. She looked about to collapse but had refused to lay down or sleep much since they’d escaped. Rance could only imagine what was going through Tania’s mind, but since her own thoughts were of Sonya, she guessed Tania’s were too.
Moira rested in the med bay. She’d been injured as much as any of them, but she was also dealing with the weight of her actions on Prometheus. She’d wished to be alone.
The bag James had been carrying contained scavenged provisions. He had run across them in his search for Harper and gathered what he could on short notice. Now they were rationing what was left of it. But at least no one was going hungry.
Tally took a sip of Harper’s tea. “How do you propose to let them know what’s happening on Prometheus? Fly up to the nearest Unity ship and tell them?”
“Of course not. We can send a message somewhere.”
“To whom? Who is going to trust an anonymous message from a star cruiser about a rebel attack on Prometheus?”
Rance took a deep breath and
then winced. That still hurt. “Davos would believe me.”
“You want to involve your father?” James asked, his eyebrows going up into his shaggy hair. “Harper, I think the Captain hit her head harder than you thought.”
“I don’t want to involve my father, but I think he would trust a message from me and see that it got to the right people.”
“How can you be so sure?” James asked.
“The captain is correct,” Tally said. “Lord Davos would believe it enough to send someone to check it out. But Captain, do you want to risk him being able to trace you?”
“I think it’s worth the risk, Tally, don’t you?”
Tally fixed his protruding green eyes on Rance. “Of course I do,” he murmured.
“Then it’s settled. How many hours left in hyperspace?” she asked James.
Deliverance responded before James could. Two hours, Captain.
Good. They wouldn’t have to waste any more time.
“Deliverance, I need a good waystation in which to send a message to Xanthes. We’ll only be there long enough to send the message from one of their beacons and find some food. Then we’ll leave again.”
“We’ll still be traced, Captain,” Solaris said, raising his head.
His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Had he been crying? Or was that the effect of Henry? A long trail of white skin glue ran down from his forehead to his cheek. Harper had said it wouldn’t scar. Since Solaris could change his face, Rance wondered if they’d ever know if it did, anyway. A sudden, intense desire to see his real face almost caused her to miss what he was saying.
“…once Unity gets wind that the same ship that fled Doxor 5 is sending messages to Lord Davos, they’ll swarm every known waystation in the empire. Is that an acceptable risk?”
Losing the ability to use the waystations would hamper future smuggling jobs, but they could manage it. “I think so, yes,” she said.
Solaris stood—carefully—and climbed off the bench. “I’ll go prepare a message.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Rance said. “I’ll record the message. I won’t leave anything to chance.”