Starflight (Starflight, #1)(28)
“We’re working on it,” Doran told him, exactly as Solara said, “No.”
“No pressure,” Rossi told them. “But we’re about to have some very unpleasant company.”
“Give us a minute,” Doran shouted, and then took hold of Solara’s upper arms. She was undeniably smart and resourceful. All she needed right now was more confidence. For the briefest of moments, it occurred to him that this might not be an issue if he hadn’t spent so many years tearing her down, but he shoved that thought aside and gave Solara a fortifying shake. “Listen to me,” he said. “I watched you work on the grav drive. You’re a natural. You’ll figure this out, too.”
“That was different. It wasn’t broken.”
“The only difference this time is the stress. If you weren’t so panicked, you’d have it figured out already. I want you to take a breath, hold it, and count to ten, and then you’re going to try again.” He tightened his grip. “Okay?”
Nodding, she puffed out her cheeks and held her breath while he counted down from ten to one. He knew the Daeva were closing in on them, but he forced away his fear and focused on their only chance of survival: getting Solara back in the game.
“Ready?” he asked when he got to one.
She released a lungful of air. “I think so.”
“You can do this,” he reminded her. “What are the challenges?”
After a moment of consideration, she retrieved a pair of pliers from her tool kit and pointed them at the engine. “First I have to remove the rod that broke off inside the accelerator cradle.”
That sounded easy. “I’ll do that. You tackle the next obstacle.”
He took the pliers and knelt on the floor to retrieve the broken rod. Removing it was much like pulling out a splinter—a very greasy, slippery splinter the size of his thumb. By the time he slipped the rod free, Solara had puzzled out a makeshift replacement.
“It’s not quite wide enough,” she said while hammering a wrench handle through the broken end of the accelerator. “But it might hold for a few hours.”
The intercom blared, “Status report!”
“Almost done,” Solara shouted. “One more minute…”
“We don’t have that long,” the captain yelled, and a sickening sound like a foghorn penetrated the ship. “They’re trying to board. It’s now or never.”
Solara scrambled to the engine and placed the accelerator in its cradle, then snapped both fasteners over the extension rods. “If they’re close enough to dock,” she hollered to the captain, “then they can eat our thrusters. Fire it up!”
The engine began to spin in a noisy rotation, turning faster by the second until its parts formed a gray blur and filled the tiny partition with blistering heat. Doran jogged into the cargo area, and when Solara followed, he shut the engine room door behind them.
“Cover your ears,” she shouted over the din.
He had just enough time to comply before an unholy shriek rang out, and the floor vanished from beneath his feet. He skidded on his backside until he hit the wall, then remained plastered there by the sheer force of speed, tangled up with Solara as the ship rocketed into space like a bullet from a gun.
Doran closed his eyes and savored the crush.
Acceleration had never felt so good.
That night, after the captain had docked the ship inside another dismal hidey-hole, Doran and the crew gathered in the lounge to wash down the day’s horror with a round of hot buttered Crystalline. But despite cushioned seating and the facade of a crackling fireplace, the mood was anything but cozy.
“They’ve been quiet for months,” the captain said from his chair while petting that ridiculous thing he called a sugar bear. Acorn sat in his palm and curled a long tail around his thumb, oblivious to how close she’d come to nibbling a poisonous treat today. “What were they doing on Pesirus?”
“Waiting for us, maybe,” Renny answered. “It’s no secret we make the syrup delivery each year.”
Doran was tired of tiptoeing around for answers. If Solara wouldn’t ask, he would. He leaned forward in his seat and looked the captain right in the eyes. “What are the Daeva, and why are they after you?”
At the question, Captain Rossi tucked his “baby” inside his coat pocket as if to protect her. “When you want someone dead,” he said quietly, “you hire a hit man. When you want someone to scream until his vocal cords rupture, you hire the Daeva.”
Solara glanced up from the floor, where she sat hunched over the ship’s accelerator with a soldering gun in one hand and the broken rod in the other. “So they’re snuffers?”
“I guess you could call them that,” the captain said. “Since they do kill folks.”
“Eventually,” Renny added.
“Which one of you are they after?” Doran asked, glancing around the room. He noticed that Cassia and Kane hadn’t said much. They sat at the gaming table, each studying a handful of cards, but had yet to make a single play. Kane’s eyes seemed especially shifty, never settling on his opponent’s face longer than a second. Doran’s money was on that one. Maybe he’d seduced the wrong man’s wife with that greasy smile of his.
“We don’t know,” the captain said. “And it doesn’t matter.”