Lidan laughed, clapping her on the shoulder hard enough to nearly knock her out of her seat. “No, human. I mean, you did irreparably damage the ship, but no one died.”
“No one died,” she said with satisfaction, leaning forward to waggle her eyebrows at Eunha.
Eunha snorted, sitting back and kicking a foot up on the console. “I would have landed without any damage it you hadn’t borked it,” she drawled.
“Good job, Commander,” Cordelia said in a terrible imitation of Eunha’s voice. “You’re doing so great for someone who’s never flown an alien ship and can’t make any sense of the alien gobbledygook on all the buttons and monitors!”
Eunha just gave her a flat look of disapproval.
“Alright, that’s enough for today,” Lidan said, patting the back of Eunha’s chair with no regard for her glare. “We’ll run it again tomorrow.”
Eunha rubbed at her jaw, her expression hard. “I don’t need to run it again.” She looked toward Cordelia. “I can do it, Commander. We can roll out tomorrow, there’s no reason to wait. Thea’s up there, waiting for us to stop dicking around and come to get her.”
“We’re not dicking around,” Cordelia dissented, popping her safety harness loose. “We’re making sure that we don’t rescue Thea just to pile-drive her into the planet in a spiraling alien vessel.”
Eunha made a face that suggested she wasn’t happy with that explanation, but she didn’t press any further. She shrugged out of her seatbelt and followed Cordelia out of the cockpit. TheLitha’s metal ramp bounced and rattled beneath their boots as they emerged into the stale, metallic air of the hangar.
Lidan trailed behind, and Cordelia knew it was at least in part so he could enjoy the sight of Eunha walking away.
“I’m gonna crash,” Eunha said, pulling her jacket tight against the omnipresent chill of the hangar.
“You’re not going to eat first?” Cordelia felt like a scolding mother.
Eunha shrugged, her gaze going distant. “I don’t have an appetite,” she murmured. “Doesn’t feel right, eating and shooting the shit in the rec room while Thea, Juno, and Celeste are still out there somewhere, probably starving and scared shitless.”
“Starving yourself won’t help them,” Lidan said, taking the words right out of Cordelia’s mouth.
“What do you know?” Eunha muttered, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.
Lidan laughed bitterly. “I am the manufactured slave of an empire that created me for their own financial gain and nothing more,” he said darkly. “We were raised in batches. Did you know that? Thirty-two were born in mine. Only twenty of uswere deemed worthy of our existence by the time we were sent planetside.”
Eunha paled, her mouth falling open as she realized her blunder.
“I know a great deal about setting aside my fear for others,” he said more gently. “More than you can imagine.”
Cordelia set a hand on Eunha’s shoulder and squeezed. Eunha looked up at her with a lost expression.
“Eat,” Cordelia said. “We’ll nail it tomorrow, and then we’ll be on our way up to get her. You need your strength.”
Uncertainty gave way to resolve on Eunha’s face, and she nodded tightly. Lidan looked pleased by her change in tune.
“Come.” He coaxed, beckoning her with both of his lower hands. “I’ll make you two packs of kethir steak. It’ll put some muscle on your bird bones.”
“Bird bones?” she repeated in disgust, drawing away from Cordelia to take a menacing step toward Lidan. “Who are you talking to right now?”
Lidan put a hand over his eyes and squinted, looking around the hangar mockingly. He shrugged, still walking backward toward the corridor. “Only little bird boned creature I see here is you.”
“Cordelia is only like an inch taller than me,” she objected, pointing back at her.
“Yes, but look at her.” He gestured vaguely. “That one has some strength on her frame. Probably because she isn’t skipping out on her protein.”
“You jerk,” Eunha griped. “I’ll have you know it’s unforgivably rude to comment on…”
Her voice trailed off as they disappeared into the corridor, Eunha waving her finger around animatedly. Cordelia watched them leave with a small smile, warmth blooming in her gut for the first time in days.
Two days had passed since her run-in with Yelir. He was still hounding her every time they crossed paths, blathering on about loyalty and making his vague threats about Rentir. He and Ven were now part of the team that would be storming theGidalan—a decision she had to question, given that Rentir refused to give up his seat on the crew as long as she was going. She hadn’t asked, though she’d considered it. It was Yelir who kept throwing his weight around with Thalen, trying to get him kicked off the field trip.
They hadn’t spoken. Rentir had tried twice the first day, and she’d iced him out in a panic, too afraid to hear what he had to say. If it was as bad as Yelir made it sound… what if she couldn’t forgive those sins? What did it say about her that she wanted to?
