Page 53 of Fated to the Dragon Alien
The female nodded stiffly and pressed her hands to the scanner to check her oxygen levels.
Cerani turned and found Jorr by the back wall, crouched over the low supply shelf. He was rolling ration squares into a slim pouch. Beside him, Sema gathered up water pouches with quiet focus. Even her eyes looked different—clearer. Ready.
Cerani crossed toward them and placed one hand on Sema’s shoulder. “Stay by the younger group. Don’t let anyone fall behind when we move.”
“Got it.”
Jorr slung the pouch over his shoulder and straightened. His expression was quieter than usual. “We did as you asked,” he said, his voice low. “What is the rest of the plan?”
Cerani didn’t immediately answer. She listened to the near-silence around them. The shuffle of boots. The click of seals. Breathing. Steady. Unhurried.
Then she looked at him. “There’s a ship in the hangar bay. The ESS Mirka. It’s waiting for us. The controller—Stavian—will fly it away from here.” It sounded painfully simplistic when she put it that way. There was no time to explain the intense planning that had gone into this.
His brows lifted. “You trust the controller?”
“With my life.” She raised her chin.
“And this ship,” Jorr said. “Is it an Axis ship?”
“It was,” she replied. “It’s ours now.”
“That’s…a risk.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “You know what’ll happen if they catch us.”
“We’ll be killed,” she said. “But we’ll be killed here anyway, if we stay. Why not go on our terms?”
He stared at her, then finally gave one sharp nod. “Why not, indeed.”
She swallowed.Fek, they trusted her. With their lives. With everything. The gravity of that was a sobering blow. She refused to let them down.
“Time to go,” she said. Then she raised her voice, just enough to reach the entire barracks. “Everyone in line. Quiet steps. Six rows of eight.” Except for her. She’d be leading them. “Helmets on. We move as one.”
No one hesitated. Boots scraped gently along the floor as the miners fell into formation with the kind of precision she’d only ever seen from soldiers. There was no panic, no last-minute fumbling. They were ready. Cerani could feel it in the way the quiet settled. The way every face turned toward her now, eyes steady inside their helmets, waiting for her next word.
She took one long breath and placed her helmet over her head. The magnetic seal locked in place with a faint click. Her environmental readout tracked across the inside of the visor. Green. Good.
“Open the door,” she said to the mech through the comm.
It responded with a chirp. “Opening in five… Four…”
Cerani turned and faced the group behind her. Her people from all over the quadrant. Some were from species she couldn’t even name. They weren’t weak. They weren’t broken. They were survivors, every one of them.
She raised her hand. “Once we cross the threshold, we run. Don’t stop for anything. If you fall, you get up. If someone can’t get up and you’re near them, you help. No one gets left behind. Understood?”
Helmet beacons nodded back—forty-eight signals blinking in unison.
“Three… Two…”
The outer shutter began to pull open. Cerani gritted her teeth as the wind howled against her suit.
“One.”
The door opened up. The storm had grown worse, the wind cutting sideways across the surface with sharp lines of reddish haze.
She didn’t wait for more. “Go!”
She ran. The mech moved beside her, keeping pace as she pounded into the storm. Sand pinged against her helmet like needles. Her boots hit hard, steady. Behind her, the line of miners burst forward, fast and focused. The newer suits—reinforced and better sealed—held strong. No slowdowns. No stumbles.
The Mirka was in the hangar ahead. The wind slammed harder the closer they got to the edge of the compound wall. Cerani lifted her arm and signaled right. The black mech veered forward, cutting a clean path to the access bay. She reached the hatch first and smacked the exterior sensor with her gloved hand. The door slid open with a rough mechanical groan—just enough clearance for one row at a time.
