“Everything’s secured,” she said, all but breathless as she slipped into the cockpit, taking the empty second seat at the console. “You were right, it was easy to—Davion?”
His gaze was fastened on something in the sky as he sat frozen in the pilot’s chair, lips slightly parted but his eyes clearing tracking something she couldn’t see. Still, she hesitated to reach out for him, to distract him.
What is he watching up there? Her hand hovered near his arm. He didn’t look at her, but he swallowed, one of his hands finally twitching toward a control on the console.
“Strap in,” he said quietly. “Strap in tight. Going to try to make sure it’s not, but this is maybe about to get really dicey really fast.”
“What’s going on?” she asked even as she reached for the chair’s harness and crash webbing. “Something’s out there, isn’t there?”
“Something big and nasty and nothing you’d notice easily from the ground. I only saw it because of what I didn’t see.” There was tension in his voice at a level she’d never heard before from anyone, let alone him. “I knew what to look for.”
“What does it mean?” One clip slid home with a click, then another. Her fingers made short work of the harness; she didn’t even look. Her hands knew what to do.
“It means their operation here—their plans for you—was more important than I thought it might be. That and they don’t want to be seen.” He blew out a breath, grimacing. The ship tilted slightly, twisting to one side. She spotted it, then—something strange in the sky.
Where are the stars? There was a patch of sky that was just black, no stars to be seen, and while she knew that she didn’t know the night sky on Centrallia very well, she did know that there should have been stars where she was seeing only darkness, only the black void. “There’s a ship there, isn’t there? It’s what’s blotting out the stars.”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Hit that button that’s flashing. Upper right on the console.”
She startled and quickly nodded, lunging forward to hit the button, almost beyond her reach now that she was strapped in. “You weren’t expecting it.”
“No one was,” he said. “I need you to hang on tight. This could get messy—I’m trying to make sure it’s not, but some things aren’t in my control.”
She nodded quickly. “I understand.”
He flashed her a death’s-head grin. “You don’t, but that’s okay. Just hang on.”
The ship abruptly rolled. She saw the roll more than she felt the centrifugal force that pressed her back into her chair and to one side. Davion leaned forward, his brow furrowing, hands on the controls.
He’s not strapped in. Her heart crept up into her throat. He knows what he’s doing. Trust him. “I’d make a crack about motion sickness to lighten the mood, but—”
“Appreciate the sentiment,” he said. “But your gut’s got the right idea.”
She nodded quickly, though he didn’t so much as glance in her direction. His gaze was on that black patch of sky, even as their ship kept climbing skyward, up through the atmosphere toward the void beyond. “Will it open fire on us?”
“I hope not,” he said. “But my plan is to not even give it a chance.”
“What are you—”
“See that light on the left there?”
She startled, blinking, looking around until she spotted it. “Yeah.”
“I need you to tell me as soon as it’s lit.”
“What is—”
“That’s when it’ll be safe to jump.”
Her stomach dropped. “Isn’t that—”
“Dangerous? Not as dangerous as running afoul of that ship up there.” The ship jerked to the side, course adjusting. She could still see the edge of the blackness above them even as he swung them a little further away from its track.
“Are you sure it hasn’t picked us up on sensors? It would, wouldn’t it?”
“Not unless the techs are sharp. We’re not broadcasting anything. They’d have to catch our engine exhaust.”
“Or get a visual.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Or get a visual.”
A litany of curses ran through her thoughts. Jaw setting, she concentrated on the light he’d pointed to, the signal that would allow them to make some kind of escape.
Light flared in the viewports. Davion cursed, putting the ship into a flat spin for a second before it lurched upward and to the side. “Luck’s running thin,” he growled.
“They just fired on us.”
“And missed, thank the gods, but they won’t miss a second time. Hang on tight and tell me as soon as that light even starts to flicker.”
“That—”
“Less risky than getting shot out of the sky and captured by the Veritans. Hold tight.” The ship rolled again, then started climbing. She swallowed hard against her heart in her throat.
Please change, she begged the light she was watching. Please turn on.
It felt like an eternity before she saw a flicker in that light, then another. Not fully lit, but lit for a second, then again.
“Go,” she shouted. “Go!”
The ship bucked as light filled the window in front of them. Something rattled and a deep hum filled the cockpit, almost enough to deafen them, underlaid by some kind of strange keening sound. Davion yanked back on a control, then flipped three switches. “That button,” he said, flinching slightly as a shower of sparks rained down from one of the bulkheads to his left. “The green one in front of you.”
Her hand slammed down onto it and a second later she was jammed back into her seat. The ship jerked sideways for half a second, then the other direction, and finally careened skyward.
Stars elongated, then gave way to the swirl of jumpspace.
The hum stopped. The keening stopped.
It was blessedly quiet.
It took a second to remember how to breathe, another to risk glancing over at Davion.
He wasn’t in his seat.
Oh no. Oh no. She scrambled to unfasten her harness and the crash webbing. He was crumpled on the cockpit floor, bleeding. The bulkhead above here he’d been sitting was scorched, part of it missing. Her heart slammed into her throat.
Oh no. No, no. You can’t.
You can’t.
