by Audrey Grey
She flicked a quick glance at the door, working to keep her breathing steady. Now. She needed to break free now. If she could just make it above to the airlock and wait for her rescuers . . . no. Dorian would chase her, and the last thing she needed was to fight with a boy not much older than her brother would have been.
Is, she corrected herself, handing a wrench to Dorian. Tamsin was almost fourteen, and still alive. She needed to escape and save them.
The boy watched her for a second too long before turning back around, but he kept her in his peripheral vision. Would he really chase Talia if she ran?
Yes, she decided. He wouldn’t let her get away without a fight. She eyed the padlock dangling from the gate, and then her gaze shifted to the key at his waist. Perhaps if she locked him in . . .
The lights flickered, there was a droning surge of noise, and the engine roared to life. Talia gasped, startled, and floated a couple feet up before she grabbed the chain-link fence again. Dorian flipped around at the noise, and they stared at one another, unblinking. Still and quiet as the engines had been just a second ago.
She lunged for the key just as he flinched backward. He’d read her intentions, but too late. When she pulled back, the flimsy key shone in her palm. He pushed off the closest cylinder, barreling straight for her. She stumbled backward through the air and grabbed hold of the fence, and he sailed right by her. Scrambling for the gate, she pivoted sideways out of the opening and slammed the gate shut.
He was already swimming through the air back toward her, and his momentum sent him crashing into the chain-link gate, the roaring engine swallowing the sound whole. She quickly locked the padlock, pocketed the key, and then mouthed the words I’m sorry as she backed away.
But before she could run far, heaviness filled her as the gravity drive restarted, and Talia hit the floor, somehow landing on her feet. The jarring contact reverberated through her already aching bones. She twisted to run when a screeching noise, muffled by the engine’s buzz, pierced her eardrums. Half a second later, a huge explosion wracked the ship. The impact flung her to her knees, and she bounced off the floor and against the wall before she regained control, her head buzzing and vision blurry. As her senses returned, she spotted one of the columns had broken loose, and it barreled end-over-end toward Dorian like this was an ancient film on slow motion. Dorian tried to duck low, but the column struck his torso, knocking him back and wedging him between two others.
Stars. She forced herself to the door, a thousand thoughts tumbling through her skull. Don’t turn around, Talia. Your family needs you. Don’t let them down—again.
A cry from behind made her freeze. He’s a mock. He’ll survive.
Still, she hesitated. Sweat beaded along her forehead and trickled down her shoulder blades. The engine was getting hotter by the second. If she left him . . . he could die.
How much heat could a mock withstand? Surely more than humans. But even they had real flesh, and if she was hot all the way over here, he was sweltering.
She just couldn’t leave him. With an aggrieved sigh, she sprinted through the stinging-hot air back to the cage. The loose column had knocked a hole in the chain-link, and she slipped in without having to unlock the gate. A wall of heat bubbled over her, burning her cheeks and eyes. Steam covered much of the area, so much that she almost missed Dorian pinned beneath the column. Sweat slicked his skin, and a trickle of blood darkened his forehead. His eyes were shiny with pain, but they focused on her.
Surprise flashed across his face. “You came back.”
“Shh.” She tried to yank the column free, but it wouldn’t budge. Next, she grabbed his left boot and tried to slide him beneath the dense steel cylinder, but the boot slipped off in her fingers.
He couldn’t move.
Sweat leaked down her forehead and ran into her eyes, burning them and making it that much more difficult to see. She swiped her arm over her face and tried the column again, but the metal was searing hot and lanced her fingertips with pain.
“Leave me,” Dorian said as she cried out, his voice weary and weak over the engine. “You’re a human. You won’t last much longer.”
“Neither will you,” she chided, chewing her bottom lip. The hell she’d let him die like this. Blinking against the heat, she dropped low and slithered below the column trapping him. The temperature was cooler near the ground, and she released a sigh as she squirmed closer. “Do you have a knife? Something I can cut the fence with?”
Grimacing, he patted the torso of his jumpsuit and came away with a fold-out blade no longer than her pinky finger.
“It’s sharp,” he assured her.
She took the knife and crawled over the ground to the fence behind them. Heat boiled over her, plastering her hair to her skull in a soggy sheet. Ragged pants spilled from her lips as she brought the knife edge over the steel. Thank the stars, Dorian kept the blade sharp, and a few minutes was all it took to cut away a hole big enough to fit through.
Waves of dizziness washed over her. Her emaciated muscles screamed with every movement. But she had enough energy left to pry him backward and drag him to the hole. He flipped onto his hands and knees and scrambled out, and she followed. Near the doorway, he stumbled, and she took his arm and helped him down the corridors. By the time she remembered she was going to escape, they were already back at the bridge.
The cockpit was eerily quiet as they staggered inside. Everyone seemed so focused on Will and the starscreen that they barely noticed the two near-dead people walk into the room.
“We’re alive,” she muttered, before remembering the reason Dorian almost died in the first place.
Lux spared them a glance before returning her attention to the starscreen. Her brother’s condition must have registered a second later, because she whipped around to stare at him. “What happened to you?”
Dorian was slouched in a chair, working at the harness buckle with fumbling fingers. His gaze slid to Talia. A quick, furtive look. Then he said, “The blow knocked loose a coolant cylinder. Hit me in the head. I’m fine.”
Talia let out an audible gasp, hoping no one noticed her shoulders sag with relief. Why didn’t he tell the truth? He didn’t owe her anything. Still, she was grateful.
Lux opened her mouth as if to say more but apparently decided there were more pressing concerns, because she grit her teeth and returned to glaring at Will.
Talia finished harnessing herself in and studied the captain. He was engaged in an argument with Leo and Jane, though his focus never left the console or the buttons he was programming.
“Captain, this is a highly dangerous maneuver,” Jane said, probably not for the first time, by the way Will ignored her.
“No, Will,” Leo added. “Slingshotting around the A-17 star is too dangerous.”
“I hear your concerns,” Will murmured, never taking his eyes off the screen as his fingers continued to fly over the console. “But we need a gravity assist to pick up enough speed to hit hyperspace before they’re back in firing distance.”
“You’re not listening, Captain,” Leo grumbled. “They’re ready to board. Shields are down to twelve percent. We’ve sustained damage, and we’re still not fully recovered from your last idiotic maneuver. If we leave now—”
“They’ll be forced to wait until their boarding crew is safe before firing again. That last shot was just Xander being an asshole.”
Xander? Who was he? Talia scoured her memory for any mention of a human captain named Xander, or someone important in the Alliance, but nothing came up.
Jane and Leo shared a he’s-not-getting-it look, one that appeared to happen a lot, and then Jane said, “Will, if those calculations aren’t exact, down to the decimal, we’ll burn up in one of A-17’s flares.”
“Handling it.” Will’s shoulders straightened, and he leaned back, his hands suddenly still. A pleased smile brightened his face. “Ready?”
Talia didn’t know anything about spaceflight. She’d never been allowed
to fly her Starfighters out of Calisto’s atmosphere, or been anywhere near the bridge of the royal starliners, and all the captains she’d ever known were older men with potbellies who smoked fancy cigars with her father in the evenings. But the way the others’ faces paled and their bodies went rigid told her they were terrified.
Great, their captain was a madman.
The ship lurched forward, pinning Talia to her seat. Her breath lodged in her throat, a thousand butterflies churning her stomach. All the food Leo had given her earlier threatened to come back up.
A voice came over the com. “Will, I’m ordering you to halt.”
Whoever the voice was—Xander, maybe?—Will’s face darkened at the sound. The muscles in his jaw and neck clenched. “Good luck with that.”
“Don’t be stupid. Our missiles can reach long range—”
“Yeah, but Xander? You’ve always been a horrible shot.”
A growl came over the other end and then the words, “Fire!”
“He’s not waiting for his crew to get out of the way,” Leo said.
The ship banked left and began to loop. Talia clenched the sides of her seat as everything flipped, the starscreen blurring into a whirlwind of stars. Bright-red streaks flared across the starscreen.
“There’s more,” Lux called. “Watch the flank!”
Another hard maneuver twisted Talia’s body, wrenching her head sideways as they banked right. Her neck ached, and her stomach boiled. She gasped for breath, watching as more red streaks lit the sky, while her heartbeat drummed inside her skull.
And then the ship pulled up, flattening Talia to her seat. She was being crushed by the velocity, her bones smashing. A second later the pressure eased, and she sat up, tightening her harness and trying to catch her breath, awed by the ease with which the captain piloted the ship.
Bright white flooded the starscreen. She scrunched her eyes shut and then peeked them open, shielding against the light with her fingers to find a huge mass of swirling rays overtaking the starscreen. That must be A-17, the star they talked about earlier. They were hurtling toward the fiery sun at an indeterminable speed—though it must have been fast because the stars on all sides were blurred into hazy lines.
Will and Jane were dark figures against the growing light. The crew slipped on smoky goggles, though no one offered Talia any as they closed in on the star. The distressed ship groaned, sounding seconds from falling apart, her chair vibrating so violently her teeth clacked and her brain rattled.
They were going straight into the star.
“This is it,” Leo said. His voice held a finality that made her want to jump out of her seat and turn this ship around. Pulses of light flashed through the cockpit, the flares threatening to encompass the ship in a solar grip.
“I hate you so much right now, Captain,” Lux muttered.
But from Talia’s periphery, she caught Will’s lips curve into a smile. Was he actually enjoying this?
“Steady, girl,” Will soothed, as if he actually thought the ship could hear.
Another explosion of light washed over the cockpit, making everyone glow with the orange light; this time the flare was really close to the ship. Will’s grin turned into a sneer, as if he dared the star to defy them.
The crazy idiot!
All at once, her stomach hollowed out as they shot forward, the speed blanking her mind.
Breathe . . .
They must have been going incredibly fast because the light from the star began to fade away to darkness.
Leo clicked his tongue as he relaxed into his chair. “Lucky son of a blaster, it actually worked.”
“Nearing hyper-drive speed,” Will said. “Three, two, one . . .”
The world stopped for a breath. As if someone pressed pause. Then the stars outside the starscreen burst into a canvas of reds and yellows and greens and purples. The hollow sensation inside her stomach moved to her chest, and the velocity pinning her to her seat released. She felt both in the present and somehow removed. Her body full and empty. Heavy and light. Beside her, the others were blurs of color and light, waves of energy flowing over them.
They were in hyper-drive. Something she imagined she’d done a million times on their starliner. Yet she’d never experienced it like this before.
A blink, an exhale, and it was over. They came out to a black, nearly starless region of space. Lux uncrossed her legs, pulled up a handheld holo-map screen, and began plotting their course, muttering unmentionables at Will. Dorian unbuckled from his seat and scrambled to check the damage from the earlier attack. Jane unfolded her long body and stood, giving Will’s shoulder a squeeze. As if he’d just done something amazing, instead of almost killing them. Even Leo, chuckling beneath his breath, rose and stretched out, his fingertips nearly touching the ceiling.
Talia stood on shaky legs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are we not going to talk about how the captain nearly killed us?”
Leo raised an eyebrow at her, but the others acted as if she hadn’t even spoken. She cleared her throat, garnering a dark look from Will.
“Nearly.” Will said the word like it was something to be proud of. “And you’re still alive. So go make yourself useful. I’m sure the galley’s a mess.”
Instead of following his orders, she stormed off and found her way back to Leo’s quarters. Holo-girl frowned when Talia entered, and she rolled her eyes at the model and fell onto the bed, pulling the scratchy gray sheets around her. Why couldn’t she have left the mock boy there? Was he more important than her family? Grimacing into Leo’s hard pillow—which smelled of aftershave and too much cologne—she released a frustrated growl.
Maybe Prince Cassius was right. Her family was too soft on the mocks.
Crackling erupted from the intra-ship com on the wall by her head. “Ailat, Leo requires your assistance in the galley.”
Talia rolled her eyes at Will’s too-pleased voice and flipped over.
“Fat chance, Captain,” she muttered into her pillow. Like hell she’d go help them do anything when that maniac had almost killed her. Let them wash their own dishes. She was a prisoner, even if they didn’t know her real identity. And they were the enemy.
She was drifting in and out of sleep when the door creaked open and someone slipped inside. Careful, so as to appear to be asleep, Talia lifted her head from the pillow and turned—and locked eyes with the captain.
Chapter 15
Will
It had been years since Will interacted with a flesher, and he’d forgotten how temperamental they were. How emotional and unpredictable. But this flesher seemed intent on reminding him all at once. Was it really that hard to scrub some dishes, or did she think they were all at her beck and call?
He flexed his jaw as he strode toward Leo’s quarters, trying to find the words he would say. How about, you’re in the wrong century? You lost the war years ago; stop acting like we’re still your servants. Everyone was contributing. Leo was helping Dorian with repairs. Lux was replotting their route to Oberon. And Jane was baking stars knew what . . . but she was doing something.
Surprise, surprise. Everyone on this ship was working but the flesher.
As soon as Will flung open the door and spied Ailat sprawled out on the bed, anger surged through his veins.
She spun around, her eyes flashing defensively, a white linen pillow held above her head like a weapon.
“I gave you a direct order to help Leo in the kitchen,” he said, his voice steady despite his annoyance. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me?”
She actually had the nerve to roll her eyes. “No, I did. I just ignored you.”
Her gall left him speechless. Was she deranged? Maybe her time in the pod had left her half-crazy. He drew in a deep breath and waited until his urge to space-toss her faded before speaking. “You realize I could have you whipped for that?”
Closing her eyes, she settled into the mattress and shoved the pillow behind her head. “I’d like to see you try.”
Despite the anger tightening his muscles, twinges of a smile lifted his cheeks. Who in the hell did she think she was? A royal escort? Even if that were true, which he doubted, she was still a slave just like all the other fleshers. Yet here she was, giving orders like she was in charge. As if Will couldn’t just space-toss her and be done with it.
Will considered himself a fair captain. He rarely gave orders beyond tactical ones, allotted his crew a fair cut of the salvage, and allowed them to complain without punishment. But they always gave him respect—at least, where it counted.
That was because there was no one better at saving their criminal asses from jail than him. The crew of the Odysseus were magnets for trouble. He could see five ways to get them out of a scrape by the time it took them to realize they were in one. He was an expert at making life-or-death decisions, and he always made the right one.
Yet, for the first time since he could remember, Will had no idea how to proceed.
Blowing out a deep breath, he gave her one last chance. “Everyone on this ship contributes.” He ground his teeth to keep from saying something worse. “Last time I ask you.”
An annoyed sigh escaped her lips. Eyes still shut, she began to speak, her words slow, as if she were talking to an idiot. “I’m going to stay here until dinner. This is your ship, not mine. If you want something done, do it yourself.”
Even though she spoke slowly, it took a second for the words to register. Anger rushed through him. A blinding human rage he hadn’t felt in ages. If he were still human, who knows what he would have done. But because he had programs designed to filter his temper and find appropriate outlets, he made a rational decision that would have the desired effect without inflicting mortal damage.
At least, he hoped.
He reached down to grab her, and her eyes snapped open. She tried to scramble away, her mouth an O of surprise, but he scooped her up in his arms, pinning her body to his chest as he marched from the room toward the galley.
She was lighter than he was expecting, and softer. Her frailness surprised him, actually, and he adjusted his hold so he didn’t crush her or snap her delicate bones. He also didn’t expect her hair to smell like jasmine and honey, or her skin to feel like silk.