at Zero’s controls, blasting away with its railgun at a squad of Terran marines on the other side of the docking bay. They’re returning fire with their disruptors, their shots lighting up the dark—they’re not enough to pierce the Zero’s hull, but it’s only a matter of time before they bring in something heavier.
“Idiots,” I growl. “I told them to take off if trouble found them.”
“I’m sure Zila is reminding them of that right now,” Fin says. “We better move.”
“Sneak across in the dark?” I suggest.
“Those marines will have thermographic vision in their helmets,” Finian says. “Hopefully they’re too busy avoiding getting shot to be looking out for us. But I grew up in zero grav. I can get us there.”
I tap my uni. “Kal, this is Scar. Me and Fin are in one of the access elevators on your starboard side.”
“Um,” Finian murmurs. “Port side, Scar.”
“For the love of … ,” I mutter. “Elevators on your left side, Kal. Left side. Lay down as much firepower as you can and open the rear hatch. Be ready to launch.”
“Acknowledged,” comes Kal’s reply.
The Zero opens up with another long, continuous burst, cutting a swath through the walls and cargo. The TDF marines are hunkered behind cover, but if their heads are down, chances are they won’t see us.
Finian grabs my hand and together we kick off the floor, sail up and out into the bay. I can see it spread out below us as we soar upward, lit only by a few rogue fires and the strobing bursts from the Zero’s forward guns.
“Hold on to me,” Fin whispers.
I wrap my arms tight around Fin’s waist, clinging on for dear life. We hit the roof and Fin rolls with our momentum, pirouettes in midair, and sends us sailing back down toward the Zero on the bounce. It’s an amazing stunt. Breathtaking, really. Fin’s movement is normally so considered, so labored lately. But up here, sailing through this flashing black and white free of gravity, he’s totally at home.
We soar down from the ceiling, Fin reaching out to grab a stanchion and swing us around, releasing his grip and sending us sailing in a perfect arc toward the Zero’s rear hatchway. I hear one of the marines shout and their disruptor rifles open up, and I hold tighter, wishing I was religious enough to start praying. But though I don’t have an ounce of faith, finally, finally, we hit the Zero’s rear landing, and with one last kick we sail inside.
“Okay, punch it, Zila! Go! GO!”
The hatchway cycles closed, and with a dull roar, we’re lifting off. Fin and I are slammed into the wall as we swing around, the Zero’s artificial gravity kicking in, and I grab desperately for something to hold on to as Kal unloads into the Andarael’s docking bay doors. A deafening explosion rips across the bay and I feel the heat through the closing doors. And then we’re rocketing free, out into the firestorm, a debris field of ruined fighters and burning hulks, a long stream of reactor exhaust spilling from the Andarael’s wounded side and into the cold black of the Fold.
“Engines to full,” says Zila over comms. “This will be bumpy.”
I dash out of the bay and up the corridor, Finian coming hot on my heels as the Zero shakes around us. By the time we arrive on the bridge, we’re breathless. I see Zila in the pilot’s chair, Kal on the weapons station. Auri flies out of her seat and wraps her arms around me, around Fin, tears shining in her eyes.
“Scar, are you okay?” she breathes. “Are you—”
“Please resume your seats,” Zila says, sounding a little miffed. “We have Terran fighters inbound.”
Presumably those marines in Andarael’s hangar bay have given some kind of warning about our takeoff; our scopes are showing a pack of bulldog-nosed Terran fighters scrambling to intercept us. But as Auri, Fin, and I grab chairs and strap ourselves in, I see there’s still some fight left in Saedii’s dragoons. A posse of sleek Syldrathi corvettes is moving to intercept the Terrans, chasing them through the tumbling wreckage, missiles and cannon fire lighting the dark and incidentally giving us the few precious minutes we need to make our escape.
“Stealth field engaged,” Kal reports. “We should be hidden from their radar now. We only need to get out of their line of sight.”
“Leave that to me,” Zila murmurs.
She looks up at Shamrock, still perched above the pilot’s station. Reaching out, she touches