“Hold on there, little traitor. Breaking out of jail is one thing, but assisting a psychotic Lunar is a bit out of my league.”
Cinder rounded on him. “First, I’m not psychotic. And second, if it wasn’t for me, you would still be sitting in that jail cell ogling your portscreen, so you owe me. Besides, they’ve already got you pegged as my accomplice. You look like an idiot in that picture, by the way.”
Thorne followed her gesture to the screen. His own jail picture was blown up beside hers.
“I think I look pretty good…”
“Thorne. Captain. Please.”
He blinked at her, a touch of smugness wiped quickly away by a brisk nod. “Right. Let’s get out of here.”
Cinder sighed in relief, following Thorne as he marched into the maze of ships. “I hope it’s not one in the middle.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, pointing up. “The roof opens.”
Cinder glanced up at the seam in the middle of the ceiling. “That’s convenient.”
“And there she is.”
Cinder followed Thorne’s gesture. His ship was larger than she’d expected—much larger. A 214 Rampion, Class 11.3 cargo ship. Cinder pulled up her retina scanner and downloaded the ship’s blueprint, speechless at everything it could claim. The engine room and a fully stocked dock with two satellite podships took up the underbelly, while the main level housed the cargo bay, cockpit, galley kitchen, six crew quarters, and a shared washroom.
She rounded to the main entry hatch and saw that the seal of the American Republic had been hastily painted over with the silhouette of a lounging na**d lady.
“Nice touch.”
“Thanks. Did it myself.”
Despite her worries that the painting could make them more easily identified, she couldn’t help being faintly impressed. “It’s bigger than I expected.”
“There was a time when she housed a twelve-man crew,” Thorne said, petting her hull.
“Should be plenty of room for avoiding each other then.” Cinder paced beneath the hatch, waiting for Thorne to open it, but when she glanced back she found him lovingly rubbing his temple against the ship’s underside and cooing about how much he’d missed her.
Cinder was in the middle of rolling her eyes when an unfamiliar voice ricocheted through the warehouse. “Over here!”
Turning, she saw someone crouched over Alak’s body, haloed in a square of light. They wore the unmistakable uniform of the Eastern Commonwealth military.
Cinder swore. “Time to go. Now.”
Thorne ducked toward the hatch. “Rampion, code word: Captain is king. Open hatch.”
They waited, but nothing happened.
Cinder raised panicked eyebrows.
“Captain is king. Captain is king! Rampion, wake up. It’s Thorne, Captain Carswell Thorne. What the—”
Cinder shushed him. Beyond the ship’s hull, four men were making their way through the crowded warehouse, flashlights shining off the assorted landing gear.
“Maybe the power cell is dead,” said Cinder.
“How? It’s just been sitting here.”
“Did you leave the headlights on?” she snapped.
Thorne harrumphed and crouched against the ship. Footsteps grew louder.
“Or it could be the auto-control system,” Cinder mused, racking her brain. She’d never worked on anything larger than a podship before, but how different could they be? “Do you have the override key?”