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  “Can you shut up?” I growl, jerking the joystick to compensate for our ruined flank. “I’m trying to save our skins here.”

  I pull the speeder around to face the battleship, take aim at their active cannon, and fire. The speeder spits out a round of shitty opalite stones. I flinch every time I punch the button to eject another one. Saint Rita will kill me for wasting so much of our resources, but if I don’t get Vega and her intel back to The Impossible, I’m dead anyway.

  The battleship’s shields absorb our hits, but our defense at least forces them to stall. I whip the Wasp around again and hit the throttle, leaving IA in the dust. Each time they fire, I steer the speeder out of harm’s way, but the damage to our wing slows us down. Ahead, The Impossible’s bay doors open to welcome us to safety, but the speeder’s engine whines. An alert flashes on the control panel.

  “We’re crashing,” I announce.

  “We’re what?”

  “That’s what happens when you self-sabotage.”

  The battleship fires again and hits us square in the back. The speeder catches fire, but the blast propels us into The Impossible’s cargo bay. I pull back on the joystick as the speeder crash-lands in the bay, slides all the way across the take-off path, and careens into the far wall. Fire licks the glass cockpit.

  Vega’s frozen in her seat, self-preservation be damned. I yank her restraints lose, force the cockpit open, and haul her out. Just as we clear the wreck, the Wasp explodes and showers us with hot metal. Our flight jackets respond automatically to the heat, dousing us both with flame-retardant foam.

  The bay team—five burly guys and one tiny woman—rush in to smother the Wasp’s fire. Once they extinguish it, the bay team leader, Orion, lifts his protective helmet. His face is red and sweaty.

  “The captain’s gonna kill you,” he tells me.

  I shove Vega off and try to stand, but my boots slip in the foam. “She tried to get us both killed. I got back alive, didn’t I?”

  “And the intel?” Orion asks.

  Vega’s still in shock. Otherwise, she wouldn’t let me pry the tablet from her grasp. I check the screen. The IA information has finished downloading.

  “Got it,” I say. “All we have to do is decrypt it.”

  Boom!

  The Impossible shudders. I lose my footing in the foam and land on my ass.

  “Guess you didn’t lose the battleship,” Orion comments dryly. He glares at Vega. “Why don’t you secure the hostage while we clean up your mess?”

  Another opalite blast rocks the ship. I haul Vega to her feet as the bay team gets ready to prepare The Impossible’s defenses.

  “You hate me, huh?” I whisper in Vega’s ear as I drag her out of the bay. “I hate you too.”

  6

  Saint Rita’s on deck with the rest of the pirates, roaring orders over the thuds of opalite crashing into The Impossible. The crew lugs unprocessed indigo chunks from the weapons bay to the cannons, loading them as quickly as possible. My chest tightens like someone’s heaved me into one of the cannons. All the opalite we’re meant to trade for our next meal is being used for the fight. This isn’t the first time The Impossible has had to outrun an IA battleship, but we usually have a head start and more time to prepare.

  “Ophelia!” the captain barks. “Get over here.”

  With Vega on my heels, I rush over to Saint Rita. “Captain, I’m—”

  “Save your apologies,” Saint Rita says, using hand signals to keep the pirates moving along the deck. “What were your instructions? Get in, get the intel, and get out without being noticed. This is not an inconspicuous getaway.”

  I push Vega to the front. “I had problems with the hostage, Captain. She attacked me.”

  Saint Rita eyes my bleeding nose. “Did you die?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Did you die, Ophelia?”

  “No, Captain.”

  “Then you should’ve handled your hostage situation with more grace,” she says. A boom shakes the ship’s wall as the opposing battleship fires at us again. “Did you at least get the intel?”

  “I was trying to pilot a ship through enemy territory,” I snap, surprising myself. Normally, I’m not this short with Saint Rita. It’s risking a whole lot of punishment at her hands. “And yes, I did get the intel you needed. I completed my mission successfully.”

  She backhands me across the face, slapping a gasp right out of my mouth. Vega steps in between me and Saint Rita.

  “Get out of the way,” I growl at her. “This is your fault.”

  “Exactly,” Vega replies, her eyes on the captain. “It’s my fault. I attacked Ophelia in the speeder. I’m the one who put out an all-call to the IA ships and asked for help. If you want to punish someone for the situation we’re in, you should punish me.”

  The captain ceases giving orders. The crew rushes to and fro, but everyone glances at Saint Rita as they pass her, waiting for her to give new instructions. Saint Rita takes Vega’s chin and tips her face up.

  “My dear girl,” Saint Rita coos. “If you so much as step another toe out of line on my ship, I promise you won’t be able to feel your feet when I’m finished with you. Do not interfere with my First Mate or her missions. Do not assume we can’t function without you. You are not vital to me or my purpose, and I will not hesitate to kill you.”

  The captain’s Monitor chirps, and she releases Vega’s face to take the call. “Give me good news, Jett.”

  “None to speak, Captain,” Jett replies. “We’re running out of fuel. Can’t stand our ground much longer.”

  “Suggestions?”

  “Our best bet is to jump to hyperspeed,” Jett says. “We’ll lose a ton of fuel doing it, but if we can make it to the outer planets, we have a better chance of losing this piece of shit battleship. The IA is wrecking us, Captain. The Impossible can’t keep this up.”

  As the captain mulls over her options, her eyes land on me. My breath rattles in my lungs like I’ve been smoking for fifteen years. If we don’t get out of this, it’s my head on a platter.

  “Chart a course to Homados,” the captain orders Jett. “We can lose the IA, repair the ship, and stock up on opalite. That is, if Ophelia’s up to it.”

  I nod furiously, but Saint Rita doesn’t care about my transparent confidence. She could send any one of the pirates to Homados for more opalite, but this is another test for me, one I’m sure I can pass. If there’s a way to redeem myself in Saint Rita’s eyes, it’s with a huge opalite score.

  “Right away, Captain,” Jett replies. The ship’s all-call switches on, and Jett’s voice crackles through the speakers. “Stow the guns! Prepare to jump to hyperspeed. Captain’s orders.”

  The crew ceases fire, disengaging with the enemy battleship. Saint Rita throws me one last look of disdain before marching off in the direction of her quarters. I seize Vega by the back of her slippery flight jacket. We’re both still covered in watery foam. It smells awful.

  “What are you doing?” she says as I haul her along. She might be bigger than me, but with all my physical training and experience, I’m a lot stronger. “You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

  “Not yet.”

  The Impossible groans louder than usual as Jett prepares to jump to hyperspeed. I slam Vega into the nearest seat. She tries to get up.

  “Fine, don’t sit down,” I say. “But just so you know, newbies usually get sick during their first speed jump.”

  She doesn’t have time to gauge whether I’m serious or not. The Impossible bucks as Jett thrusts us into deep space, and Vega goes flying. The foam doesn’t help. She lands hard and slides to the end of the hallway, scrabbling for a handhold like a wet dog. I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous she looks. The ship jolts out of hyperspeed just as quickly, and the floor settles into stillness again.

  Vega lurches to her feet and promptly falls over. I howl with laughter.

  “Shut up,” she growls, clutching her stomach. Her face is pale. She�
�s not looking good. “What did your first jump look like?”

  “Better than that.”

  “I think I need to lay down.”

  Vega sleeps off the effects of the speed jump as The Impossible gets within range of Homados. We’re moving at a glacial pace, coasting on what’s left of our fuel source. Vega looks like an idiot. The foam hardened in her curls, gluing her hair together. She’s still wearing her flight jacket, unable to figure out the straps to loosen it on her own. While she sleeps, I shower in the adjoining bathroom. When I step out in a towel, Vega’s awake and rubbing her eyes. She gestures to the steam pouring out of the shower room.

  “Any hot water left?” she asks.

  “Sure,” I say. “It’s recycled though. Smells a little funny if you’re not used to showering on a ship.”

  She picks at the foam in her curls. “Better than this shit.”

  “It’s all yours.” I move out of her way. “Hurry up, though. We’re coming up on Homados.”

  “What exactly are we going to do on that shitty planet?” She struggles with the flight jacket straps. “Homados is a crap pile.”

  I tug on the release strap, and the jacket loosens up enough for her to slip out of it. She pulls her shirt along with it. Lean muscles flex beneath her skin, and I wonder how she got so fit sitting behind a desk at Intelligence.

  “Homados is good for us,” I explain, turning my back to give her some privacy as she flips the shower on again. “Everyone does shady deals there, and IA doesn’t bother to regulate trade there because they benefit from it as much as everyone else.”

  “That’s not true.” Vega pokes her head out of the shower. The foam reactivates under the heat and drips into her eyes. “IA’s been trying to cut down on illegal trading on Homados for a long time. They can’t get it under control because there are so many people disobeying the law.”

  “Is that the bullshit they’re feeding you?” I scoff and pick at my nails. “Please. Wait until we get there. That place is crawling with IA officers, in uniform and out. Homados is the cheapest place to get opalite, and IA takes advantage of it. Not to mention, it’s the only planet that lets the outsiders in.”

  “Outsiders? You don’t mean—”

  “Sure do.”

  She spits shampoo out of her mouth. “There’re no aliens in Pavo, Fee. IA would’ve—”

  “Here’s the thing, Vega,” I say. “You gotta stop buying what IA feeds you. It’s a pack of lies. Anyone who believes Pavo’s all human is either in denial or totally ignorant. Outsiders have slipped in. It’s all about the deals you make.”

  “It’s impossible,” she says. “We eradicated the aliens in Pavo during the First Planetary War. IA put up defenses around the galaxy to keep us safe.”

  “It was genocide,” I reply shortly. “The aliens living in Pavo were peaceful creatures. We killed them to make room for ourselves.”

  “No—”

  “History books have been wrong since the beginning of time, Vega.” I work leftover foam out from beneath my thumb nail. “Anyway, Homados is crawling with Defense officers. Don’t try anything stupid though. If you sabotage me again, I’ll kill you myself.”

  She goes silent, and I think she’s finally taking me seriously. I check the porthole. The big orange planet—all sand and rocks—looms nearby. We’re almost there. I get dressed then lay on the bed fully clothed. I’m exhausted, but there’s no time for a real nap.

  Vega comes out of the bathroom, toweling her hair dry. “I don’t think you’d do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Kill me,” she says. “You don’t have it in you.”

  I open one lazy eye. “Keep thinking that, Vega Major. You said it yourself. I’m not the person I used to be.”

  We dock at the biggest, busiest port. Business on Homados is booming, but that doesn’t make the planet any more bearable. As soon as we disembark, the heat hits me like a smack in the face. The air is dry enough to scorch the back of my throat. I already have my orders from Saint Rita. Hit up the biggest opalite dealer near the dock, score a deal, and get back to The Impossible. Usually, the crew’s allowed off the ship to explore Homados and blow off some steam, but The Impossible needs repairs. Some of its panels are blown clean off. The crew is going to have to wrestle up some spare parts and get to work.

  Vega accompanies me. Captain’s orders. I’m tired of babysitting, especially since I don’t know what Vega’s deal is. She’s either attacking me in the speeder or protecting me from Saint Rita. Everything would be a lot easier if she would just make up her mind about whether she hates me or not. I don’t tell her the plan, and we push through the dock’s crowd in stony silence, but she’s not the type to stay quiet for long.

  “What are we doing?” she asks as we approach the open-air market closest to the port.

  Buyers and traders shout at each other over their wares, occasionally coming to fisticuffs. Here and there, a Defense officer pretends to enforce trading laws while actually dealing under the table. If you know where to look, you can catch a glimpse of the outsiders. Most of them take on human disguises, but there are a few extra fingers or nictitating membranes that give them away. I pull my scarf over my nose and mouth.

  “Don’t breathe in too much,” I warn Vega. “There’s opalite dust everywhere.”

  I warn her too late. The wind kicks up, blowing sand in her face right as she inhales. She bends over in a coughing fit, her eyes streaming. I nick a canteen from a cart selling “Hand-rolled tobacco cigarettes - Just like Earth!” and shove it at her. She chugs the liquid inside to cool her throat, but a look at her expression says it’s not water.

  “Moonshine?” I ask.

  “Even worse,” she splutters. “Coke.”

  Homados’s poor imitation of what was once Earth’s most popular drink of choice is a bit like drinking gasoline. I grin at Vega. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  She chucks the canteen aside. “Why is it like that here? I thought opalite was difficult to come by.”

  “It’s an absolute bitch,” I agree. “IA monitors the equipment used to extract it from asteroids, and the process takes forever. That’s why we steal it or trade it. Everyone knows Homados is the center of the opalite trade. Everyone comes here to buy and sell, but you have to watch out for idiots who cut their opalite with moonstone. There’s a lot of trash on this planet, and a lot of wasted opalite. It ends up in the sand, in the air, and in your lungs.”

  “Great,” she deadpans. “I love not being able to breathe.”

  We pass another cart selling intricate hand-woven face covers. I snag two of them and give one to Vega. She raises an eyebrow at my thievery, but doesn’t comment as she pulls the mask on. Her breathing eases automatically.

  “We’re looking for Phoebe Gale,” I tell Vega, keeping my eyes peeled. “If you see a massive orange woman with purple hair, give me a shout.”

  Vega stares over the crowd, using her height to her advantage. “She’s orange?”

  “A lot of people who live here are,” I say, nodding toward a few of the traders. Their skin is tinted the same color as the sand. “They’re like flamingos. They take on the color of the food they eat. Here, everything’s orange.”

  “There,” Vega says, nodding toward the far corner of the market. “Orange woman, purple hair. Looks like someone beat you to the trade though.”

  I grit my teeth. Phoebe’s deep in discussion with two Defense officers. Gold credits exchange hands, and the trio ducks into Phoebe’s tent to check the product. I grab Vega’s hand.

  “Let’s go.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asks. “Those officers will kill us.”

  “Not if they don’t see me.”

  I pull my pistol out of its holster and sneak around the back side of the tent. I’ve traded with Phoebe enough to know she’s got an emergency exit. When I peek through the gap in the heavy canvas fabric, I can see the Defense officers’ backs are turned to me. Between them and Phoebe i
s an enormous opalite haul. She’s got beautiful massive boulders of it in perfect condition, and she’s about to trade it all to the officers.

  I lay on my stomach and shimmy under the edge of the tent. As I roll over, Phoebe sees me, but the officers don’t. I fire twice, hitting each officer in the weak spot of their armor, right between their shoulder plates and their helmets. They drop like flies. I fire once more as they fall, right through the bags holding their credits. Gold rains down in Phoebe’s tent.

  “Afternoon, Phoebe.” I get to my feet and kick one of the Defense officers out of my way. “I see you’re lowering your standards. I’m hurt. You get a beautiful haul like this and don’t tell me?”

  Phoebe glares at me. She’s twice my size, and her protruding veins sparkle with indigo. When she talks, it’s like listening to the Wasp’s dying engine. All of her symptoms are a sign of inhaling too much opalite, but she’s one of the best traders in the business.

  “You killed my sale, Holmes,” she snaps. “Literally.”

  “They’re just stunned.”

  She jerks her head toward the flap in the tent. “Who’s your timid friend?”

  I yank Vega in, and she waves sheepishly at Phoebe.

  “This wasn’t my idea,” Vega says, gesturing at the fallen officers. “Just so you know.”

  Phoebe isn’t amused. “Business is slow, idiots. I need to eat. What do you want?”

  “Your entire haul,” I reply.

  She barks out a laugh. “You’re dreaming, kid.”

  “You just said business is slow,” I remind her. “And you were about to sell all of it to IA. Why waste such beautiful rocks on those fools?”

  “Because they pay in credits,” Phoebe says. “Pirates don’t.”

  I lift my bag onto her table. “Maybe not, but Saint Rita heard through the galaxy that you needed a part for your mining machine.” I lift the flap and pull out the heavy metal part, wrapped in dirty rags.