Starflight (Starflight, #1)(89)
She forced herself to focus on the scene outside. It was an obstacle course of floating debris—everything from shuttlecraft and hull fragments to a few frozen bodies. Once a path cleared, she used both legs to push off into the icy chill of space and braced herself to collide with the Banshee’s cargo hold. She met the end ramp with a thud and grabbed on tight, hauling to the top as Gage and Cassia followed. When she turned around, the tail end of the pirate ship was practically torn off from the captain’s detonation, blowing even more debris outside. She scanned the carnage for Doran but couldn’t find him.
“Doran,” she called through the link. “Where are you?”
He didn’t answer.
She gripped the edge of the ramp while frantically searching for him. Part of her view was obstructed by a floating sheet of metal. Once she pushed it aside, she spotted him, and her stomach lurched so hard she nearly heaved inside her helmet. Because there, far below the ruined pirate ship, Doran was caught in the planet’s gravitational pull, tumbling out of control and free-falling to his death.
Doran couldn’t scream. His fear was beyond that.
He flailed both arms to right himself, but stars and soil alternated in his field of vision until he couldn’t tell up from down. The spiraling images triggered his gag reflex, forcing hot bile up the back of his throat. He shut his eyes, swallowing hard as he curled into a ball and focused on filling his lungs. Each of his gasps seemed amplified, like breathing underwater through a snorkel. So he counted breaths—one Mississippi, two Mississippi—and tried to ignore the question burning at the edges of his mind.
When will I hit?
He reached twelve when voices invaded his helmet.
“Kane!” Solara shouted. “Do you see him out there? He’s falling!”
“I see him,” came the reply. “Doran, I’m on my way. The shuttle hatch is open. All you have to do is grab on and climb inside.”
Doran opened his eyes and tightened his core, extending all four limbs in an effort to provide enough wind resistance to keep from tumbling. It didn’t work right away, but after a few tries, he finally faced the planet below, then yelped when he noticed the surface rising up to meet him.
He tapped his com-link and shouted, “Kane!”
“Right behind you,” Kane said. “I’m almost there.”
Doran tore his gaze away from the planet and glanced over his shoulder. The nose of the shuttle kept pace at his heels, not quite fast enough to catch him. Kane must have known it, because he shut the hatch to eliminate air drag and increase his speed.
It worked. The shuttle accelerated, but now Doran had no way to get inside.
He made the mistake of looking down and nearly wet himself. If something didn’t happen in the next ten seconds, the crew would be cleaning his splattered remains from the shuttle windshield. He turned his head to the side and made eye contact with Kane, who flew next to him on the right.
“New plan,” Kane shouted, zooming ahead of him. “I’m dispatching the tow cables. Grab one and don’t let go.”
Doran’s first thought was that it wouldn’t work, that the weight imbalance would send the shuttle into a tailspin, or his grip wouldn’t hold. But then he looked down and saw the landscape so near he could make out a pirate’s toilet seat that’d hit the ground ahead of him. That was all it took to send his arms into action. He reached ahead and gripped one of the metallic coils snaking out from the rear of the shuttle, ignoring the slap of a second cable against his shoulder. He struggled to wrap the cable around his wrist for more security, but the line was too tight.
“Hold on,” Kane said, and pulled the shuttle up hard enough to send Doran swinging forward like a monkey on a vine. The frigid wind sliced through his gloves as a jolt of raw pain ricocheted from his wrists to his fingertips.
When the backward swing came, he held firm while his muscles trembled. A quick glance below showed the landscape whizzing past in a blur of ice about four feet from his boots, probably near enough for him to survive the fall. But as predicted, the burden of his weight caused the craft to wobble. Kane overcompensated for the imbalance, which resulted in Doran’s arms jerking halfway out of their sockets. His hands ached, and he knew he couldn’t hold on much longer.
“I have to let go,” Doran yelled.
“Give me a second,” Kane told him. “I’ll slow down as much as I can.”
As the shuttle teetered closer to the surface, Doran mentally calculated the best way to meet the frozen ground without fracturing every bone in his body.
Kane had just announced, “This is the best I can do,” when Doran lost his grip on the cable. With inertia propelling him forward, he crossed both arms over his chest and tucked into a roll. The impact took his breath away. His helmet absorbed a blow hard enough to make his ears ring. Rocks jabbed at his shoulders and forearms. He tumbled fast and hard until an upward hill decreased his momentum. Then, as abruptly as the fall had begun, Doran found himself lying on his back, staring at the stars.
And blessedly alive.
His lips spread in a manic grin, and he filled his helmet with so much laughter that his stomach cramped. He moved his limbs one by one to test them. He’d broken his left wrist for sure, maybe a few ribs as well, but despite that, the smile never left his face. Pain could be treated and bones healed, but all the medicine in the galaxy couldn’t fix dead. And he wasn’t dead. He couldn’t wait to tell the crew.