Her hands moved over the controls. The ship hummed to life, drives warming, systems coming online.
“Navigation next. Third screen from your left.” Blood ran down my arm, dripping onto the deck. Each drop hissed slightly where it hit. The toxin making even my blood caustic. “Do you see the...”
“The docking clamps. I see them.” She'd found the pattern in the controls. Blue meant primary systems. Red was weapons. Green was navigation. Just another deck of cards to master. “There. Released.”
The ship shuddered as the magnetic locks disengaged. Through the viewport, I could see the battle still raging. A Zhyx, nightmare on eight legs, had cornered three humans near our bay. Its six eyes tracked multiple targets while its jagged fangs dripped venom. One of the humans threw a grenade. The explosion rocked our ship.
“Where's the throttle?” Sabine's voice stayed steady, but I could hear her elevated breathing.
“Right hand panel. Ease it forward.”
She gunned it.
The Silver Hand shot from the bay, throwing me back in the seat. Pain exploded through my shoulder as the partially-healedwound pulled against the movement. Through the viewport, I watched two Frost Collective fighters collide trying to avoid us. Metal shrieked against metal, then both ships spun into the station's superstructure.
“Too fast!” I gritted out, though part of me was impressed.
“They're shooting at us.”
Valid point. Pulse fire splashed against our shields as three separate factions decided we were worth pursuing. Or maybe they just wanted the ship. The Silver Hand was clearly high-end, custom, worth more than most beings saw in a lifetime.
“Hyperdrive sequence.” My vision was going, darkness creeping in from the edges. “Grid reference panel. Seven-seven-nine.”
She found it. “It's asking for coordinates.”
“Port Gralic. Saved preset. Blue folder.” I needed to send a message before we jumped. My fingers were numb, clumsy on the communication panel. Half the letters I typed were wrong. I deleted, tried again, fighting through the spreading paralysis.
Package secured. Nexian toxin in wound. Need 72-hour metabolization before safe return. Going dark. Port Gralic coordinates attached.
“Why Port Gralic?” She'd found the coordinates, was inputting them while I fought to stay conscious. “Why not your ship? Your crew?”
“Toxin's trackable until metabolized. Conclave could follow the signature.” Also, I didn't want my brothers to see me this weak, though I didn't say that. “Port's lawless. No questions. No Conclave connections.”
The effort of talking was enormous. My chest felt tight, lungs working harder to process oxygen my blood couldn't properly carry anymore. The Nexian toxin was a cruel joke. A poison that turned my own healing against me, forcing my body to tear itself apart in an attempt to regenerate.
“The Regalia,” I said suddenly. If I died, she needed to know.
“What?”
I dragged myself from the pilot's seat, each movement agony. My legs barely held me as I stumbled to a section of floor that looked identical to every other section. But when I pressed my palm against it, biometric lock responding despite the blood, a hidden panel opened.
I pulled the Regalia from my jacket. It was heavier than its size suggested, humming with alien harmonics. Even through the toxin's haze, I could feel its power. The key to the Sovereign's vaults. The thing we'd killed and almost died for.
“If something happens...”
“Nothing's happening to you.” She grabbed my face with both hands, forcing me to focus on her eyes. Those hazel depths that had catalogued every tell at every table for five years. Now they catalogued me. The spreading poison, the failing systems, the very real possibility I wouldn't survive this. “You saved my life. You got shot for me. You're not dying in this chair.”
I wanted to tell her it wasn't about saving her. Not entirely. It was about the way she'd looked at Qeth when she realized she'd been his unwitting tool. The fury and pain and strength all mixed together. It was about the claiming instinct that had been riding me since the moment she'd decoded my mathematical flirtation. It was about the fact that somewhere between the casino and here, she'd become more important than the mission.
But words were beyond me. I managed to get the Regalia into its lead-lined compartment before my legs gave out entirely.
She caught me. “Varrick, stay with me.”
The hyperdrive engaged. Stars elongated into lines. Through the viewport, I caught one last glimpse of the Parallax Station. Already small, pieces breaking off as it died. Five years of Sabine's life, burning away behind us.
The last thing I remembered was her voice: “I've got you. I've got the ship. I've got everything. Just survive this.”
My last coherent thought was that I'd put our lives entirely in the hands of the autopilot and a dealer who'd never flown before.
