Page 58 of Fated to the Dragon Alien
The boy lifted two, three-fingered hands. “Name’s Rinter. I’m trained on ship systems. Engine cores, coolant control, diagnostics—you point me at a system, I can probably find my way around it.”
“Probably?” Stavian crossed his arms.
“This system, definitely.” Rinter shrugged. “This looks standard for this class of transports.”
“Engineering.” He pointed to a bay of consoles on the back wall opposite from the window. “Monitor heat and power flux. Make sure we have the power to get off the ground.”
A female stepped forward next. Strong figure. Dark olive skin. Pale stripe of hair that swept over her shoulder. “Talla,” she said. “Raigal syndicate. I handled long-distance nav before we got picked up. Star charts, pulse-jump vectors, asteroid flows. I know this quadrant.”
Stavian didn’t hesitate. “Navigation. Set exit vector three clicks south of standard launch—get me a route Central won’t auto-flag.”
Talla was instantly at her post and began swiping through star maps. “There’s a debris ring above the Faltor fields. If we burn fast through vector six, we can break pattern before the Axis satellites catch the signature.”
Stavian nodded. “Set it. I’ll buy us the window.”
The last crew member was a short male with deep blue skin marked with pale shimmer lines across his jaw and temples. A long tail curved slightly behind his left leg, steady even in the face of uncertainty.
“Name?” Stavian asked.
“Rek’tor,” he said. His voice was quiet, sure. “Former captain of a six-wing formation out of the Hasyan system. We defended our sector eighty-nine rotations before the Axis brought in fleet-class destroyers. We lost. I’ve been in the mines ever since.”
Stavian heard the weight behind those words but didn’t acknowledge it. Not here. Not now. “You’ve piloted strike-class and long-haul?”
“Yes.”
Stavian pointed at him. “You’re flying the Mirka.”
Rek’tor gave a single curt nod. He slid into the central pilot’s seat, studying the outdated flight system like he already owned it. One by one systems were being powered on and with no time to lose. The onboard scanners showed that Bendahn had ordered a plasma cutter to begin work on the hull.
Rek’tor rested his hands on the twin throttle levers and set the thrusters. The Mirka hummed to life—all systems springing into motion. The main view screen lit up, showing the gray curve of dock 4B and the inner gate locking mechanism.
“Power lines responding,” Rinter said. “Core levels holding.”
“Rail systems warming,” Jorr added. “I loaded the burst shells into secondary. Shall I test on the hangar floor?”
“No. It could overheat the thrusters.” Stavian lowered into his captain’s chair with relief. His legs were still weak. He had a fraction of the strength he usually possessed. “Send an electrical pulse over the hull to dislodge them.”
Talla brought up the nav grid and tapped a series of lines into a narrow arc. “Debris field plotted. Evasive jump course angled toward the edge of neutral space. I’ll adjust once we’re clear.”
The ship’s AI chirped quietly. The system was ready.
“Cerani?” Stavian asked, activating the comm.
There was a crackle, then her voice. “We’re all in. Hatch sealed. Cargo and people secured. Hurry up. They’re making progress breaking through.”
“Stay with them until after we’re away,” he said. “We’re pushing the launch.”
“I’ll see you on the other side,” she said.
No more time. This was it. The moment that would sever him from the Axis forever. After this, there would be no going back.
Stavian pressed his palm flat against the panel beside him. “Disengaging final locks.”
The clamps released with a bone-deep clunk. Through the view screen, dock 4B’s outer gate didn’t budge. Not surprising. “Jorr, blast a hole thought that gate.”
Jorr muttered to himself about an old system, but his hands flew over the controls. He fired and the final barrier broke apart with a flash of light and some debris hitting the hull.
“All stations,” he said. “Go.”
