its flanks from every bolt and rivet. It’s like someone who hated speed, efficiency, and style sat down to draw up their dream ship. And then had a really good day at the office.
“Are we completely sure the admiral is on our side?” I ask.
This can’t be the one we’re looking for—there’s no way Adams could promise to help us and then leave us something like this.
“Maybe s-someone switched the ships?” Auri tries.
“No …” Tyler’s voice is quiet. “This is the one.”
He walks forward to brush away the rust and grime coating the nameplate beside the main hatch. When he draws his now-filthy hand away, we can all see the ship’s name embossed on the metal.
ZERO
How could the ship possibly be named after her?
Tyler presses his palm to the sensor plate by the hatch. I’m about to break the news that this thing has less juice left in it than my fourth great-grandfather—and he died before I was born—when the door slides open soundlessly.
Our Alpha looks back at us, and then up along the dock. He knows we won’t have lost our pursuers for long, and we don’t have time to fool around. And, terrible as it is, trying to get this thing up into orbit isn’t actually our worst choice today. I can see a SecDrone already hovering above our position, and a variety of other horrible options are no doubt closing in on our position as we speak.
So when Goldenboy steps through the hatch and into the dark interior, the rest of us follow. I’m holding my breath, but it’s more a fear of toxic mold than suspense. With a smooth hum, the internal lighting comes to life.
And it’s like we’re in another world.
A spotless, gleaming, high-tech world that catches my attention in almost the same way Scarlett Jones does.
“Wow,” Auri murmurs.
“You said it, Stowaway,” I murmur.
Great Maker, this is … incredible.
Everything is beautifully designed, from the cockpit to the consoles running the length of the main cabin. A suite of displays light up as I watch, broadcasting security vision from the ship’s exterior, from Emerald City main traffic control, and from news feeds around the galaxy. If the outside of this ship was designed to be as ugly as possible, its interior was designed with the exact opposite philosophy in mind. It’s sleek, white, cutting-edge. A Gearhead’s wet dream.
Tyler’s already sliding into the pilot’s seat, beginning his preflight check.
“Strap in,” he says simply. “Let’s be gone before they get here.”
There’s a long, elegant console running half the length of the main cabin behind him, lined with three chairs on either side. The back half of the cabin has consoles with more oomph and larger displays, couches, and doors that lead to storage, sleeping quarters, and the galley.
Scarlett touches my arm and nods at a chair on the far side of the console. I realize it’s designed for me. There are ports for me to plug into, and the seat is molded to allow for my suit. As I glance around, I realize all the seats are personalized—Kal’s is larger; Auri’s and Zila’s are smaller.
I exchange a long, baffled glance with Scarlett, and then we slide into our allotted places. Our harnesses snake over our shoulders automatically, our chairs swiveling to face forward for launch.
“We have incoming hostiles,” Kal reports.
His fingers dance over the console by his chair, projecting one of the external cams up into the air above us. I see he’s right—the Unbroken have arrived first, and they’re sprinting along the dock in our direction, shoving anyone in their way straight over the edge. I can see Emerald City Security behind them.
Tyler’s still running through his preflight, working at light speed now, muttering to himself as he punches controls. With a clunk the Zero decouples from the dock, rising smoothly into the air with the soft rumble of our drive systems.
But Saedii’s only a few steps away, and she’s accelerating.
Black hair whips around her face in the ship’s downdraft, her expression is cold, beautiful, terrifying. I see her reach the edge of the dock two heartbeats after we’ve pulled away, and without even a downward glance at the void below, she simply launches herself at us across the gap.
We watch on cams, riveted as she clings to our closed hatch with boot tips and fingernails, pounding at the metal, rust flaking away under her fists. I’m transfixed, staring at the door, half expecting her to tear her way through.