Chapter 4 #2
The flyer was sleek and fast, built for speed rather than combat.
Its white hull gleamed beneath the hangar lights, blue markings identifying it as diplomatic transport.
Stolen, undoubtedly—the Ithyians weren’t exactly welcome at diplomatic functions—but it would have shielded communications, encrypted navigation, and enough speed to outrun most pursuit.
“That one.” He pointed. “Get in.”
The female didn’t argue. She moved toward the flyer with quick, economical steps, the infant still sleeping against her shoulder.
He followed, his senses alert for any sign of pursuit.
The sounds of combat had shifted—closer now, definitely in this section of the ship. They had minutes at best before—
The hangar doors exploded inward.
He grabbed the female and dove behind a cargo container, his body covering hers as debris rained down around them, and the infant woke with a startled cry. The female curled protectively over the small form, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
Through the smoke and chaos, he saw them coming.
Grorn warriors, six of them, spreading out in tactical formation. Their black eyes swept the hangar, weapons raised. Behind them, the massive figure of the Grorn commander emerged from the wreckage, his scaled face twisted in something that might have been satisfaction.
“Spread out,” the commander ordered. “They’re here somewhere. Find them.”
His hand tightened on the pulse pistol. Six warriors plus a commander. He was fast and he was good, but he wasn’t that good. Not with a civilian and an infant to protect.
He needed a distraction.
“When I move,” he breathed into the female’s ear, “run for the flyer. Don’t stop, don’t look back. Get inside and seal the hatch.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
It was probably a lie. She seemed to know it, but she nodded anyway, her jaw set with that same stubborn determination he’d seen in the corridor.
He rose from cover.
The first shot took out the hangar’s primary lighting, plunging the space into emergency red. The second caught a warrior in the throat. The third went wide as he dove and rolled, his body a blur of motion as he drew fire away from the female.
“Go!”
She ran.
The Grorn commander snapped orders. Weapons fire crisscrossed the hangar, burning holes in cargo containers and scoring the deck. He moved like smoke, like shadow, using every piece of cover available, firing and moving and firing again.
Another warrior down. Then another. But they weren’t ordinary warriors. They were fanatics. They wouldn’t stop because their comrades had died, and they were adapting to his tactics, trying to flank him, trying to pin him down—
A pulse bolt grazed his shoulder, sending white-hot agony down his arm. He snarled, spinning, firing blind. Someone screamed.
The flyer’s engines whined to life, and he looked up to see the female in the pilot’s seat.
“Come on!” The female’s voice cut through the chaos.
He ran.
The last few meters felt like miles. Pulse bolts scorched the deck around his feet.
The commander ordered his remaining warriors to stop the flyer at any cost, but he reached the hatch just as the craft lifted off the deck.
He grabbed the edge with his good hand, his legs swinging free, his shoulder screaming in protest.
Strong hands caught his wrist. The female hauled him inside with a strength that surprised him, and the hatch sealed behind him as he stumbled towards the cockpit. He released the hangar doors with one hand as she returned to the pilot seat.
“Hang on,” she warned, and the flyer shot out of the hangar and into the chaos of space beyond.
He collapsed down on the deck, bleeding, and stared up at the human who had just saved his life.
“You can fly,” he said.
“I can manage basic controls.” She was shaking, he realized, trembling with the aftermath of adrenaline, but her voice was steady. “I had a boyfriend who liked flight simulators and this is surprisingly similar. Where do we go now?”
Where indeed?
The view through the forward port showed a battlefield. The Ithyian ship was burning, debris floating in clouds of glittering metal. The Grorn ship that had been attached to one side of it was already starting to detach itself.
He pushed himself upright, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, and found the infant. She was strapped into a safety harness, her silver skin gleaming in the cockpit lights, and her small face scrunched with distress.
A Key. One of the Seven Keys to the Vault.
He’d spent most of his life looking for the way to open the Vault, and he’d found a baby. The universe really did have a twisted sense of humor.
“There’s a jump point three hours from here,” he said. “Can you hold this course while I patch my shoulder?”
“I can manage.”
She could manage. Of course she could.
He settled back against the bulkhead, watching her profile as she guided the flyer away from the burning ship. Brown eyes, dark hair, soft skin that probably bruised if you looked at it wrong. Utterly unsuited for the life he led. And yet...
Don’t, he told himself. Don’t even think about it.
But he was already thinking about it. Already cataloging the curve of her jaw, the way she bit her lip when she concentrated, and the competent gentleness with which she’d soothed the crying infant.
This woman was going to be trouble.
He could feel it in his bones.