Starflight (Starflight, #1)(87)
“How combustible are they?”
He slanted her a glance. “Very. Why?”
“Because I think I know a way out of here.” She twisted her hip and brought both hands to the bag in her pocket. The act cost her a dozen electric shocks, but she was able to fish out a few bits of ore and hand them to the others. “Hold on to these. When I give the signal, we’ll make them go boom.”
Gage laughed. “And then what?” He raised an index finger and added, “Assuming we can ignite the ore and we don’t end up with a chest full of shrapnel.”
“Then we return here and steal a shuttle,” she said. “Look, I know it’s not an airtight plan, but unless you’ve got a better…” She trailed off when she noticed Demarkus break away from the men in his group and move in her direction.
The giant chief had never looked so content, grinning broadly as he approached the shuttle in the bouncing strides of a rich kid on Christmas morning. But his grin died when he hauled open the shuttle door and caught a glimpse of Gage.
Forehead wrinkled, Demarkus reached across the seat and grabbed Gage by the suit collar. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Where’s Daro the Red?”
From her position sandwiched between the two, Solara felt Gage’s muscles lock with terror. His breath hitched, and he said in a trembling voice, “Daro is dead. I’m his brother.”
While Demarkus pondered this news, Solara crept her fingers along his utility belt, feeling for anything she might use as a lock pick. She struck gold, her grip landing on a small key ring. She slipped it free and tucked it under her sleeve just in time to avoid Demarkus’s hand as he unsheathed his knife.
“Not anymore,” he said, and sliced off Gage’s ponytail. “You’ll have to do.” He tossed the hair aside and ordered the four of them to exit the shuttle. “I’ve assembled my men for a rematch.” Slapping Daro’s substitute on the back, he added, “Don’t worry, boy. I’ll make it quick.”
As they marched toward the air-lock, Gage elbowed Solara and whispered, “Feel free to work your magic. Preferably before I die.”
She covertly tried each key on the ring until one connected with a click. Keeping her hands inside the loosened cuffs, she calculated the risk of returning to the shuttle and locking themselves inside. She could probably hot-wire the ignition, but without anyone to open the hatch from the guard station, they’d be trapped inside the hangar like a bug in a jar. Seeing no other option, she was about to slip her cuffs when one of Demarkus’s men shouted, “A transmission just came in, Chief.”
Demarkus made a so what? gesture.
“From Daro the Red,” the man said. “He’s requesting permission to come aboard.”
Solara went numb as she watched Demarkus’s face transform with rapture. “Well, it seems our friend has been resurrected,” he said, sliding an amused glance at Gage. “Who am I to deny this miracle? Bring Daro to the great hall so I can return him to his maker.”
They made their way to the entrance of the great hall, where Solara received more than her share of dirty looks from the pirates she’d once held hostage there. The bald guard with eyes tattooed on his head seemed especially pleased to see her in cuffs. While he stood outside the boxing ring and puffed on his cigar, she took stock of her surroundings, particularly the number of men within lunging distance.
A dozen, she thought. All with pulse rifles at their hips.
She leaned into Gage and whispered, “I see one way to ignite the ore. Pulse pistols.”
He jerked his head toward a pig roasting over an open flame at the other side of the hall. “Make that two ways. If you’ve got a good arm, and even better aim.”
Footsteps sounded from behind her, and she spun around, instantly locking eyes with Doran while searching his expression for clues. The steadiness in his gaze told her he had a plan, but not much more. Seeing his face brought a flood of relief—but also fear, because she knew he had no weapons. The guards by his side would’ve made sure of that.
When he reached her, he took her face between both hands and kissed her like a man heading for his own execution. He was so convincing that for a moment she doubted it was an act, and dread gripped her heart. But then he whispered in her ear, “Do you have your oxygen helmet?”
She nodded, feeling its weight hooked to her suit.
“Does the crew?”
Another nod.
“Good,” he whispered. “Be ready to put them on and run back to the hangar. Renny’s waiting outside to catch you. Kane, too.”
“You’re coming with us,” she insisted, and pressed a chunk of ore into his palm. “When the time is right, throw this—”
A guard pried him away before she could say anything more.
While he strode into the room to meet Demarkus, Solara summoned false tears and rushed to Cassia and the others for “comfort.” Huddled around them, she quietly passed along the message and the handcuff key. She only hoped that Doran had understood what she’d put into his palm.
The crowd silenced their murmurings when Doran reached the center of the great hall. He stood tall in front of Demarkus and announced in a firm voice, “I’m here for my friends. If you let us leave, nobody has to die.”
Laughter broke out, Demarkus’s throaty chuckle rising above the rest. “I do like your spirit,” he said with a regretful shake of his head. “In another life, we might’ve been crewmates. But in this life, I’m going to break you in half.” He grinned in a way that contradicted his next words. “I hope you know this gives me no pleasure.”