He stiffened.
“It is the only way, Rhodes.”
“I am not doing it.”
I raised my chin and stared him down. “Yes. You are.”
He was so rigid the vein was popping in his temple. He matched my stare for ten full seconds, before he swallowed.
“Maybe they are not out there,” he stated with desperation running through the words.
“I think they are.” I removed the pack from my shoulders and laid it on the ground at his feet.
He looked ready to erupt, but he bent to pick it up. Then, he moved into the control room to examine the levers on the main console. The panel below them was opened, so they had not finished the repairs—but they might have done enough.
I hoped so.
His gaze met mine from the doorway. “If this goes badly, I will come for you.”
“Look after Jaz,” I ordered. “That is your first priority.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. To the average observer, Rhodes considered Jaz as nothing but a problem. But I knew my brother. So I was not surprised when, instead of continuing the argument, his eyes gleamed garnet at me, before he nodded.
I took myself to dragon.
The channel was far too narrow for this endeavor. I had to arch my wings straight up over my back to keep them clear of the logs. The opening in the overhead doors was also too tight for me to fit through—but with any luck, that was about to be resolved.
I focused on the roiling clouds visible through the narrow crack above, while Rhodes cast a critical eye over the controls to the doors. The script above them looked to be written in Nirzkian.
It was to my advantage that Rhodes understood it well. His fingers drifted over the levers, before closing on one.
He pushed it up, and to my immense relief, there was an answering grind from overhead as those doors began to move.
The split second they were wide enough, I launched myself. My wings were useless until they had room to spread, so I hooked my talons into the logs and used them to heave myself upward.
When I was almost at the opening, Rhodes hit the other levers.
The side doors began to retract, but I immediately knew they were not operating properly—there was a horrible metallic squeal as they dropped. But once started, the process could not be stopped—the massive pile of logs began to shift as the pressure holding them in place released. The upper logs toppled out, and when the doors jammed, they hit the metal and bent them outward. More logs rolledfree… As I launched myself for the clouds, I heard panicked shouts from within the shipyard.
For a mere instant, as I flapped hard to leave the logging ship behind, I thought, with no small amount of relief, that this had been for nothing, and that Senaik had not reached the Nirzks in time to set a trap for us. But within one wing flap and the next, I was lit by powerful spotlights.
Not from below. They came from a circle of wicked little atmospheric fighters that hovered above the ground, completely surrounding the larger ship.
They were here for me.
My scales reflected brilliant gold in the lights as they eagerly moved in. I was not about to make it easy for them, though. Brentoq wanted me alive, and that put them at a disadvantage.
The lights made it nearly impossible to see. When I swerved right and dove, I was able to pass out of the direct beam for an instant. And I glimpsed the chaos created by the massive logs dropping unplanned from the big ship—they lay across the ground in an uncoordinated jumble, crushing smaller vessels to each side.
With a shriek of tortured metal, one of the damaged side doors gave way completely, spilling more logs onto the ground. I saw Nirzk soldiers running for cover.
Then a fighter veered close to my ducking and diving form, and something exploded from its bow—I narrowly dodged the sticky missile as the net unfolded and almost nabbed one wing. I was hardly an amateur at this—they were going to have to get more creative to capture me. Whipping around in midair, I sank my talons deep into the metal of a fighter craft’s wing where it joined the fuselage, and, before it could zap me with its electrified skin, tore long rents right through it.
The winged fighters were protected from Drake attack with an electronic charge, but it could not be maintained permanently—and there was a full two-second delay before it engaged. The trick was to do massive damage within that timeframe.
I was good at damage.
The ship fountained vital fluids before the pilot shut them down in that wing, but its flight wobbled as the stressed metal began to warp. I spun, and dove again at it—taking a heavy zap that almost paralyzed me as I tore the rear stabilizer fin clear off to finish it.
