Starflight (Starflight, #1)(27)

“Copy that,” Cassia said.

“Do you have your pills?” the captain asked, his voice dark as the grave.

“No.” Cassia sounded strangled when she answered. “It’s been so long since the last time that I hoped—”

He swore again and cut off the link.

Solara tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. She felt Doran’s heart thumping against her shoulder and whispered, “What’s a Daeva?”

“I don’t know.” He was still panting from their mad dash across the fairgrounds. “And I don’t want to find out.”

That was twice they’d agreed on something.

Soon the floor rumbled and the Banshee appeared in front of them. Two metallic cables snaked out from the shuttle, latching onto the main ship with a loud click that shook the hull. A sudden dropping sensation, followed by the Banshee’s signature screech, told Solara the ship had accelerated into the atmosphere without bothering to dock the shuttle. There was only one reason for a captain to abuse his equipment like that, and the answer made her shudder.

Once the tow cables had reeled them in, they all clambered out of the craft and through the docking door leading to the ship’s cargo hold, then jogged up the stairs to the galley.

Renny was waiting there for them. Sweat shimmered along his brow and upper lip, and his hand trembled as he held out four necklaces made of fibrous cords, each bearing a black pendant no larger than a thumbnail. Cassia and Kane took one and worked the cords over their dreadlocks. Solara noted that Renny already wore his, but he’d tucked the pendant beneath his shirt.

“What’s this?” she asked him.

He moved closer and showed her that the pendant was a locket of sorts. He opened it, and a pea-size capsule rested inside.

“Good old-fashioned cyanide,” he said. When her eyes widened, he opened his jacket to reveal a pulse pistol tucked beneath his waistband. “We won’t go down without a fight. It’s just a precaution. If they take you, all you have to do is bite down on this, and it’ll be over in minutes.”

“A suicide pill?” She stared at the tiny sphere, so innocuous it could pass for a breath mint. Was he actually suggesting she take her own life instead of surrendering to capture? He couldn’t be serious. But as much as she wanted to believe this was an elaborate prank, the absence of color in Renny’s face wouldn’t allow it.

Doran must have felt the same way, because his lips barely moved when he asked, “Who’s after us? And what’ll they do if they catch up?”

Before Renny had a chance to answer, the ship lost speed, and inertia flung them to the galley floor. Solara cracked her elbow on the way down, sending a jolt of white-hot pain along her nerve endings. She cried out and pressed a hand over the joint while peering around the room for smoke or flickering lights—any indication that they’d been hit. All she detected was a hint of static in the air, but she didn’t know if that was a good sign or not.

The captain’s voice crackled over the intercom. “I pushed the accelerator too hard and something blew,” he said. “Lara, give me a status report from the engine room.”

She scrambled to her knees and told Doran to meet her there with her tool kit. But before she made it out of the galley, Renny stopped her and slipped a cord over her head.

“Just in case,” he said.

If I can’t fix the accelerator, she thought, we’ll all die.

Her heart pounded and her palms turned to ice. She removed the necklace and gave it back to him, then turned and darted down the stairs when he tried to object.

Now failure wasn’t an option.





Doran stumbled twice while dashing to the engine room, but the tool kit was wedged under his arm as snugly as any football he’d carried into the end zone. If there was a way to get this clunker of a ship moving again, he’d bust ass to make it happen. He had no intention of eating cyanide today.

He skidded to a halt outside the open doorway and locked eyes with Solara. The damage had to be bad because she stood there motionless, clutching a hunk of metal at the end of one limp arm while her gaze shone with tears. The whir of moving parts in the adjoining room drowned out the sound of her breathing, but her chest rose and fell fast enough that Doran could tell she would faint if she didn’t snap out of it.

“What’s the problem?” he asked as gently as he could. He wanted to scream at her—to tell her to quit standing the hell around and do something, but she was obviously under enough pressure. If he pushed her any harder, she might shut down completely.

She didn’t move, just dropped her gaze to the engine part in her hand. “One of the rods snapped off.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Yeah.” She nodded and a tear spilled free. “If I had six hours.”

“Jury-rig it,” he said. “The repair doesn’t have to last forever, just long enough to get us out of here.”

She held up the greasy part for show. “Without that rod, there’s nothing keeping the accelerator attached to the engine. I can’t fix that with duct tape.”

“Can you hold it in place?”

“Not once the engine starts turning. Right now it’s powered down.”

The captain’s voice called over the speaker. “Any progress?”