against the crash harness in her tailored jacket.
She had one shot to hook the mast with the grappling cannon and anchor to Avenger . Just one. And, even if she succeeded, the shuttle would likely shred to pieces on its cable tether before they could bring her down.
He didn’t know—pushed aside, what effect seeing that would have on him. He’d forced himself out into the storm simply to be there, to be present . Maybe because he owed her that much, or because it would be impossible for him to believe it otherwise, he couldn’t be sure. The only thing he could be certain of was the anger, the absolute rage he felt now, its burn all the brighter now for a sudden, involuntary flicker of desperation.
You’d kill yourself like this, after all these years, in the prototype I built with my own hands. You’d risk everything, just to prove a point, to show me that you can. To punish me!
The shuttle loomed larger, emerging from the gray haze with disastrous speed. Before he could react, it was on top of them, charging down the slender, starboard-side railing of the battleship with its lights blazing, its wide silver belly swallowing the sky.
Nathan staggered back as the airship’s gondola tore overhead in a roar of noise and light. Through the glare, he caught a blurred view of a figure in the cabin moving frantically, aware only that she couldn’t fight the wind, couldn’t slow the craft down enough to fire the grappling hook.
Gilda!
He stood terrified, knowing that he was about to lose her, violently and forever. He’d wished the worst on her more times than he could count, only to be made helpless now, desperate to stop time.
The shuttle’s starboard engine suddenly went into full reverse-pitch, with the opposite engine screaming at full power, the rudder hard to port. The airship twisted, slipping right over the fantail of the battleship.
The gondola’s detachable cargo compartment clunked loose and dropped from its anchors. Nathan watched it fall in amazement, the deck crew scattering from its path. He raised his arms, shielding his face as the boxy compartment crashed onto the fantail, its rows of glass windows shattering in the rain. The compartment rocked forward, then settled, its ornate metalwork shining dully in the exterior lights.
Above them, the rest of the airship was already gone, caught by a cold gust of wind. Nathan blinked, watching it tumble away and disintegrate against the dark sky, the airframe breaking into pieces, the outline of the rudder spiraling like a flat rock tossed into the sea.
For second, he couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t think, but the hard lurch of the Avenger on another swell pulled him back into the moment, into the hurried yelling and movement across the fantail, the detachable cargo compartment now lying on its side in front of him.
“Gilda,” he murmured.
Ducking through the rain, he followed two crewmembers in long coats along what was left of the compartment’s windows. They found the door and Nathan hesitated, standing in place as they forced it open, their silhouettes working in the glow of lights.
He waited as the storm raged around him, the chaos beating in his ears, a trapped breath burning in his chest. Then he saw it, a slip of her blue jacket emerging from the doorway, the glow of blonde curls fallen loose from their pins.
She extended a gloved hand to her rescuers, her smile radiant as she told a weak joke and laughed. Even half-drowned by the wind, it was a beautiful laugh, a rich, feminine sound. The men around her echoed it with relieved laughter of their own. They would remember this moment for the rest of their lives and adore her for it. Their hands were on her now, steadying her, clearing a path, touching a little of her silky light as they protected her from the heavy sway of the Avenger .
He felt himself go cold, sick with the sight of it. He’d obviously been a fool, falling for another one of her grand shows. She’d never meant to use
She had one shot to hook the mast with the grappling cannon and anchor to Avenger . Just one. And, even if she succeeded, the shuttle would likely shred to pieces on its cable tether before they could bring her down.
He didn’t know—pushed aside, what effect seeing that would have on him. He’d forced himself out into the storm simply to be there, to be present . Maybe because he owed her that much, or because it would be impossible for him to believe it otherwise, he couldn’t be sure. The only thing he could be certain of was the anger, the absolute rage he felt now, its burn all the brighter now for a sudden, involuntary flicker of desperation.
You’d kill yourself like this, after all these years, in the prototype I built with my own hands. You’d risk everything, just to prove a point, to show me that you can. To punish me!
The shuttle loomed larger, emerging from the gray haze with disastrous speed. Before he could react, it was on top of them, charging down the slender, starboard-side railing of the battleship with its lights blazing, its wide silver belly swallowing the sky.
Nathan staggered back as the airship’s gondola tore overhead in a roar of noise and light. Through the glare, he caught a blurred view of a figure in the cabin moving frantically, aware only that she couldn’t fight the wind, couldn’t slow the craft down enough to fire the grappling hook.
Gilda!
He stood terrified, knowing that he was about to lose her, violently and forever. He’d wished the worst on her more times than he could count, only to be made helpless now, desperate to stop time.
The shuttle’s starboard engine suddenly went into full reverse-pitch, with the opposite engine screaming at full power, the rudder hard to port. The airship twisted, slipping right over the fantail of the battleship.
The gondola’s detachable cargo compartment clunked loose and dropped from its anchors. Nathan watched it fall in amazement, the deck crew scattering from its path. He raised his arms, shielding his face as the boxy compartment crashed onto the fantail, its rows of glass windows shattering in the rain. The compartment rocked forward, then settled, its ornate metalwork shining dully in the exterior lights.
Above them, the rest of the airship was already gone, caught by a cold gust of wind. Nathan blinked, watching it tumble away and disintegrate against the dark sky, the airframe breaking into pieces, the outline of the rudder spiraling like a flat rock tossed into the sea.
For second, he couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t think, but the hard lurch of the Avenger on another swell pulled him back into the moment, into the hurried yelling and movement across the fantail, the detachable cargo compartment now lying on its side in front of him.
“Gilda,” he murmured.
Ducking through the rain, he followed two crewmembers in long coats along what was left of the compartment’s windows. They found the door and Nathan hesitated, standing in place as they forced it open, their silhouettes working in the glow of lights.
He waited as the storm raged around him, the chaos beating in his ears, a trapped breath burning in his chest. Then he saw it, a slip of her blue jacket emerging from the doorway, the glow of blonde curls fallen loose from their pins.
She extended a gloved hand to her rescuers, her smile radiant as she told a weak joke and laughed. Even half-drowned by the wind, it was a beautiful laugh, a rich, feminine sound. The men around her echoed it with relieved laughter of their own. They would remember this moment for the rest of their lives and adore her for it. Their hands were on her now, steadying her, clearing a path, touching a little of her silky light as they protected her from the heavy sway of the Avenger .
He felt himself go cold, sick with the sight of it. He’d obviously been a fool, falling for another one of her grand shows. She’d never meant to use
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