Bonds of Brass (The Bloodright Trilogy #1) - Emily Skrutskie Page 0,105
my elbow, pulls his out, and swipes it through the reader next to the crew door, which unlatches with a cheerful beep. He hauls it open for me, gesturing, and I step into merciful, ventilated coolness with all of the questions inside me unanswered.
But the inside only holds more questions. Rows and rows of ships greet us, but unlike the hangar we came from, there’s no order to their layout. Some are massive transports, fit to carry a hundred people in comfort or three hundred if pressed. Others are skipships, built for speed and athleticism. Still others—
My breath catches. Fighters. Not just any fighters. Vipers, their hulls striped with obsidian and brass.
Every ship in this hangar is of Umber make.
Gal takes in my surprise with a wry smile, nudging my shoulder with his. “You haven’t even seen the best part.”
He grabs my hand this time, his fingers slipping easily between my own, and I let him drag me across the hangar floor, under a canopy of ships’ wings. Their hulls glimmer with the official markings of the Umber Empire, and every ship looks like it’s fresh from the factory. I resist the urge to reach out and trail my fingers along the thin brass lines drawn in perfect parallels on a skipship’s hull. We dodge around it, and I’m met with two familiar faces.
The first is Adela Esperza consulting with a small cluster of mechanics and detailers, her grubby dealer getup traded for a crisp uniform with platinum-and-emerald trimmings.
The second is the Ruttin’ Hell.
She’s been repainted, the marks we scraped off her restored to their original glory, but I’d know this Beamer anywhere. I let out a short laugh, and Gal’s hand tightens on mine.
Adela’s head whips up, and a sharkish grin spreads over her features. “There’s the other one,” she says, tipping her cybernetic hand in a rakish salute. “I told you there was a place for you in this empire. Would have been a whole lot simpler—and cheaper for the both of us—if you’d taken me up on the offer.”
Gal beams, letting me go so he can step forward and shake her hand. “Colonel Esperza, you’ll have to forgive his gawking,” he says. “Ettian never dreamed he’d see his long lost love again.”
Adela—no, Esperza cackles. “As you might have noticed, we’re stockpiling anything Umber that comes through the borderworlds. It’s been a pet project of mine—hard to convince the general there’s any use for junkers like this one. I mean, Umber ship design is…inelegant, shall we say, but it turns out they’re going to be the crown jewel of our attack strategy. And thanks to you two, yours truly snagged the mission command.”
Something dark flashes in Gal’s eyes, and it dims my smile. I can’t get caught up in the joy of seeing the Ruttin’ Hell again when there are deeper machinations turning. If Esperza will be leading the strike, and the strike is meant to fall through…
“C’mon, let me introduce you to the ship,” she says with a wink, dismissing the mechanics with a wave. Farther down the hangar, I spot another ship coated in scaffolding, a hive of detailers drawing careful lines of paint across its exterior. The markings match academy specifications exactly, and as I look around, I realize most of the paint in here is fresh.
My eyes slip to Gal, who’s already following Esperza up the Beamer’s cargo ramp. He’s always had a talent for memory. It’s one of the things that makes him so good at holding grudges.
As I step onto the Ruttin’ Hell’s ramp, a shiver of nostalgia runs up my spine. The smell of the cargo hold hits me, and I nearly freeze in my tracks. I didn’t realize the scent of the ship was something I’d memorized. It’s been barely half a month since we sold the Ruttin’ Hell, but it feels like a lifetime has passed, and it makes me yearn for the days that were, if not uncomplicated, at least a thousand times less so.
“C’mon, Ettian,” Gal calls from up the ladder. He seems downright giddy, and I have to admit that it’s a relief to see him break from the serious,