Forged (Star Breed #10) - Elin Wyn Page 0,13

in the code, and like the revelation of a magician, my ship appeared.

“Finally, we’re getting out of here,” I muttered as I opened the canopy and slid into the pilot’s seat.

Technically, there was a single back seat. It was small, and I wasn’t entirely certain how comfortable Hakon would be when I picked him up.

If I went back to pick him up…

A niggling thought crossed my mind.

The mission was the most important thing, right?

I was here, I had the ship, I had the data.

The smart thing to do would be to go straight to the Foil, report to my uncle that the mission was a success, and get out of this damn system.

Try to forget I’d ever heard about Desyk Consolidated and Station 112.

Except…

Hakon had saved me.

More than once.

He didn’t even need to come back and find me when the attack started.

My hand paused over the ignition sequence.

Why had he?

Because he was a decent guy, I answered myself. Which is why I was going to go and get him.

Enough of my honor had been stolen. I refused to sacrifice any more.

Slowly bringing the systems back online, I released the magnetic locks that had kept my ship so securely nestled against the station’s hull and, with the gentlest puffs from the thrusters I could manage, pushed away.

Then another problem struck me.

I had no way to communicate with Hakon.

Surely, he’d be able to see my ship from inside the airlock, right?

He seemed confident about rigging up a suit that could fit him. I shook my head. I didn’t see how, but he was just arrogant enough that I half believed he could do it.

And if he couldn’t, well, I’d wait as long as I could for him.

But when I reached the airlock, I realized there was no need to wait.

Through the small viewscreen, I could see the outline of his dark form next to the outer door, already waiting for me.

Almost worse than his arrogance, seemed to be the fact that it was justified.

Carefully maneuvering my ship, I got as close to the outer door of the airlock as I could.

We’d time it carefully, so it’d be like a dance.

Then the airlock opened, and I gasped.

Frantically, I slapped at the controls to open the canopy, any thought of grace long gone.

Because Hakon hadn’t exactly done as he’d promised.

Instead of modifying a suit so that it would fit him, he’d ripped the back and helmet modules off one of them, but ignored everything else.

As he launched himself towards me, I tried not to remember anything I might know about how long skin could survive in the freezing Void without permanent damage.

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand.

Three—

Then he was in, and I lowered the canopy behind him so fast that it nearly pushed him down into his seat.

When the canopy was sealed and the cabin filled with oxygen, I punched the control to unfold my helmet and took a deep breath.

And let him have it.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” I snapped as I turned to stare at him.

He hunched over in his seat, helmet already back, power pack, jets, and oxygen slung over his shoulder, not looking a bit worse for wear.

If anything, that arrogant grin was broader than ever before.

“I told you I’d be fine.”

I turned back to my controls.

There was no reasoning with him.

“Whatever. Let’s get out of range from those shots, and see if we can get anybody to listen to us.”

Carefully, I eased us away from the hull, flicking on my communication panel.

“Denau’s Runner to Foil. Denau’s Runner to Foil. This is Yasmin, requesting a clear channel to the bridge.”

But we got nothing but static back.

“Maybe we’re getting interference from Station 112,” I muttered and started moving us further away.

Far enough to see the blast from the Foil take out the observation dome entirely.

But not far enough that we could avoid the shattered wreckage that filled the space around us.

As I whipped my little ship back-and-forth between the wreckage, Hakon stayed silent behind me, letting me focus on trying to keep us alive.

Until “Watch out!” he shouted.

But it was too late.

Hakon

“Yasmin!”

“I’m on it!” she snapped back, voice echoing in the tiny craft, working the controls desperately, fighting against the uncontrolled spin.

That last jagged piece of the dome’s wreckage had done a number on us.

Long and curved, it had sent a spider web of cracks across the ship’s canopy and knocked the thrusters out of alignment.

We spun wildly, flickering glimpses of Station 112 and the gas giant Tocarth 5