override, but it’ll take a few moments before he figures out he needs to.
Scarlett is down the first ladder and on to the second before I even get started. I barely feel my sprained ankle thanks to the rush of adrenaline, but the arm is still useless. I go down gingerly, remembering the time I slipped off a rung, caught my chin on the ladder, and nearly bit clear through my tongue. In my living quarters, I grab a blanket and a shirt and throw them down the next ladder. More rungs. I can feel O’Shea getting close. I can hear Scarlett below, calling for me to hurry. In the next module, I grab a roll of duct tape from where I was working on my project earlier that day. Was it just that day? Seems like forever ago. Time flies with company. I toss the blanket, shirt, and tape down the last ladder and start my last descent.
“What’s this?” Scarlett calls out, as the items rain down.
“Didn’t you see that thing on his ship? This is so it doesn’t chew us in half.” I reach the bottom of the ladder, grab the shirt, and try wrapping it around my forearm with my teeth. Scarlett sees what I’m after and does it for me, holstering the blaster. She uses the duct tape to secure the wrap, tearing the tape with her teeth. It’s strange, but I want to kiss her right then. Maybe just in case anything happens.
“I was thinking maybe we could bag it with the blanket,” I say. “If I was him, I’d send it through the door first. Try and scare us shitless.”
There’s a bang against the beacon. Fuck. He’s already here. I hear a screech and a scrape as he tries to get a lock. But without the electromagnets engaged, there’s no grab. It’s taking longer for him to figure that out than I thought.
“You take the blaster,” Scarlett says, pushing the pistol into my left hand. “I’ve got two hands for the blanket. Besides, you’re a better shot.”
“Not with this hand, I’m not.”
But she’s already got the blanket and is positioning herself beside airlock Bravo, which is where the scraping seems to be emanating from. I glance over at my walk suit, wishing I had time to put it on. I feel unprotected. Like a raw and open wound. And then I hear the collar buzz as O’Shea figures out he needs the override. I also see that I’m a criminal now. Without even considering the alternative, I’m sitting here, ready to blast away at a bounty hunter on legal marshal business. There’s a bounty sheet tucked in my waistband. It’s for a girl I had sex with a few times amid the fury of war, someone who just happened to be in my squad for half a tour, who is obviously batshit crazy, and who has probably done a lot of illegal stuff, like hacking into navy databases and tracking me down. And I’m just throwing my life and my career away for her? What the hell am I doing?
I look down and realize I’m holding the blaster. Fifty mil. I could sit in miserable solitude on an island in sector one for the rest of my life. I could contemplate my black thoughts every day in paradise. Just need to slide the barrel to the right, away from the door, and onto a woman I once loved.
But the barrel doesn’t waver. Not a fraction of an inch. I don’t contemplate this thing so much as marvel over the fact that I’m not contemplating it. I marvel that I’m so quick to choose the wrong side. This is my legacy, choosing the wrong side. Scarlett knows. She knew before she got here. It’s why she came. She knows I didn’t set off that bomb on Yata because I couldn’t kill all those unborn Ryph. How did she know? How does she know I never killed the Lord who gutted me? Why is she here if she knows I’m a traitor? A traitor with medals and a big fat lie.
The light over the airlock goes green. Holy hell, we’re taking on a bounty hunter. Maybe he’s as big an idiot as he seems. Or as bad a shot as he is a pilot. The inner door slides open. I crouch behind the ladder, for a little protection and to rest my forearm on a rung and steady
Scarlett is down the first ladder and on to the second before I even get started. I barely feel my sprained ankle thanks to the rush of adrenaline, but the arm is still useless. I go down gingerly, remembering the time I slipped off a rung, caught my chin on the ladder, and nearly bit clear through my tongue. In my living quarters, I grab a blanket and a shirt and throw them down the next ladder. More rungs. I can feel O’Shea getting close. I can hear Scarlett below, calling for me to hurry. In the next module, I grab a roll of duct tape from where I was working on my project earlier that day. Was it just that day? Seems like forever ago. Time flies with company. I toss the blanket, shirt, and tape down the last ladder and start my last descent.
“What’s this?” Scarlett calls out, as the items rain down.
“Didn’t you see that thing on his ship? This is so it doesn’t chew us in half.” I reach the bottom of the ladder, grab the shirt, and try wrapping it around my forearm with my teeth. Scarlett sees what I’m after and does it for me, holstering the blaster. She uses the duct tape to secure the wrap, tearing the tape with her teeth. It’s strange, but I want to kiss her right then. Maybe just in case anything happens.
“I was thinking maybe we could bag it with the blanket,” I say. “If I was him, I’d send it through the door first. Try and scare us shitless.”
There’s a bang against the beacon. Fuck. He’s already here. I hear a screech and a scrape as he tries to get a lock. But without the electromagnets engaged, there’s no grab. It’s taking longer for him to figure that out than I thought.
“You take the blaster,” Scarlett says, pushing the pistol into my left hand. “I’ve got two hands for the blanket. Besides, you’re a better shot.”
“Not with this hand, I’m not.”
But she’s already got the blanket and is positioning herself beside airlock Bravo, which is where the scraping seems to be emanating from. I glance over at my walk suit, wishing I had time to put it on. I feel unprotected. Like a raw and open wound. And then I hear the collar buzz as O’Shea figures out he needs the override. I also see that I’m a criminal now. Without even considering the alternative, I’m sitting here, ready to blast away at a bounty hunter on legal marshal business. There’s a bounty sheet tucked in my waistband. It’s for a girl I had sex with a few times amid the fury of war, someone who just happened to be in my squad for half a tour, who is obviously batshit crazy, and who has probably done a lot of illegal stuff, like hacking into navy databases and tracking me down. And I’m just throwing my life and my career away for her? What the hell am I doing?
I look down and realize I’m holding the blaster. Fifty mil. I could sit in miserable solitude on an island in sector one for the rest of my life. I could contemplate my black thoughts every day in paradise. Just need to slide the barrel to the right, away from the door, and onto a woman I once loved.
But the barrel doesn’t waver. Not a fraction of an inch. I don’t contemplate this thing so much as marvel over the fact that I’m not contemplating it. I marvel that I’m so quick to choose the wrong side. This is my legacy, choosing the wrong side. Scarlett knows. She knew before she got here. It’s why she came. She knows I didn’t set off that bomb on Yata because I couldn’t kill all those unborn Ryph. How did she know? How does she know I never killed the Lord who gutted me? Why is she here if she knows I’m a traitor? A traitor with medals and a big fat lie.
The light over the airlock goes green. Holy hell, we’re taking on a bounty hunter. Maybe he’s as big an idiot as he seems. Or as bad a shot as he is a pilot. The inner door slides open. I crouch behind the ladder, for a little protection and to rest my forearm on a rung and steady
Similar Books
