These Broken Stars (Starbound #1)(17)
“The way ships skip through dimensions, folding space—there are huge quantities of energy involved.” She glances at me, as though trying to figure out if I’m following. “Usually when a ship leaves hyperspace there’s a long series of steps that prevent that energy from backlashing. Whatever’s going on, the Icarus got pulled out of hyperspace early.”
I shouldn’t be surprised that the daughter of Roderick LaRoux, engineer of the largest, finest hyperspace fleet in the galaxy, knows any of this. But it’s hard to reconcile her vapid laughter and scathing insults with someone who’d pay two seconds of her attention to physics lessons.
I certainly never knew there was this level of danger involved with traveling via hyperspace. But then, I’ve never heard of this happening before. Ever.
I’m turning over her explanation in my mind. “Since we came out of hyperspace early, we could be anywhere in the galaxy, then?” No communications. No clue where we are. This just keeps getting better and better.
“The Icarus got emergency power back,” Miss LaRoux says coolly. “They would’ve gotten distress calls out.”
Assuming there was anyone alive in the comms room after that surge. But I don’t say it aloud. Let her think this will all be over sooner rather than later. I know she has to be struggling. “There’s a rise to the west. I’m going to climb up before it gets dark, figure out where we should head. I can get some of the ration bars out for you, in case you get hungry while you wait.”
“No need, Major,” she says, climbing to her feet, then grimacing as one of her heels falls through the grating in the floor. “I’ll be coming with you. If you think I’m giving you the opportunity to abandon me here, you’re sorely mistaken.”
And just like that, I’m not feeling sorry for her anymore.
Abandon her? If only my duty or my conscience would let me. The galaxy would be better off, if you ask me. Who’d even know we were in the same pod?
Except that I would know. And that would be enough.
“I’m not sure your shoes—” I try, before she cuts me off.
“My shoes will be fine, Major.” She comes sweeping across the floor and miraculously keeps her heels from sliding through again, then descends the steps. Her head is up, shoulders back, movements ludicrously graceful—like she’s descending a staircase to a ballroom dance floor. I leave her to examine her new kingdom, and climb up to open up my grab bag, rifling through the contents. This is the emergency gear we all carry, and I’ve never been more grateful for all the time I’ve spent lugging it places over the last two years.
Mine has all the usual—my classified intel on encrypted memory storage, flashlight, water-purifying canteen, matches, and razor blade, plus a few personal items: a photograph of home and my notebook. On board the Icarus, it held my Gleidel as well, since it was uncouth to carry a visible sidearm.
I haul out my gun, curling one hand around the grip and quickly checking the charge to make sure the kinetic battery’s working properly. At least I don’t have to worry about it running down while we’re here. I settle it back into its holster and strap it on to my belt, then scoop a couple of ration bars out of the overhead storage locker. After picking up the canteen from where Miss LaRoux dumped it on the floor, I head back out and wrestle the door closed behind me. No need to offer the local wildlife the opportunity to take revenge for our invasion by feasting on our rations.
The hike is one of the most goddamn awful things I’ve ever done.
It’s not a difficult walk, though the underbrush is thick, and there are fallen trees to scramble over, rough bark grabbing at my clothes and scraping my skin. The temperature’s not cold enough to keep the sweat from dripping down my spine, but the air carries a chilly bite that aches in my lungs. None of the plants are quite familiar, but none of them are completely unknown—just a little different, a twist on what I’m used to. There are dips and hollows waiting to wrench my ankles, and prickly plants snag my shirt, leaving little barbs to stick my arm later.
None of these things is the problem.
The problem is Miss LaRoux, who’s trying to keep up with me in heels. I wish she’d just stayed behind, because I could move a lot faster without her. But every time I turn to ask if she wants to head back, she gives me a frigid look, lips set, stubborn.
I offer her my hand to help her clamber over obstacles, though it’s getting to the point where if she fell down a hole, I’m not sure I’d bother fishing her out. At first she looks at my hand as though she might catch something from skin-to-skin contact. It’s like she’s determined to make it through this hike looking like it’s no more difficult than a stroll through a meadow. But after a few near misses, she’s gingerly resting her fingers on my palm every so often, doing the very least possible to accept my assistance. She’s still looking white despite her squared jaw, and I stay close enough that I’ll be able to get between her and the nearest hard surface if she decides to top it all off by fainting.
Eventually I give up. “Would you like a rest?” I’m trying not to be too obvious about checking the progress of the sun toward the hill. I don’t want to be out here once the sun sets. It’s hard enough dragging this brat through the woods without her breaking an ankle trying to walk in the dark.
She considers the question, then nods, reaching up to tuck her hair back where it belongs. “Where will I sit?”