"We have defensive weapons," Vaxon corrected. "This shuttle wasn't equipped for prolonged combat. Against one raider, maybe. Against four, with three critically injured survivors aboard?" He shook his head. "We'd lose."
Another impact. The shields flickered on the displays. Eighty-seven percent.
"So we run," I said. "Into the asteroid field."
"That would be suicide," Kret'nor called from the pilot's seat. "The density increases exponentially at this depth. Navigation would be impossible."
I pulled up my datapad, calling up the asteroid field scan we'd taken when we first arrived. The three-dimensional model rotated slowly, each asteroid's trajectory calculated and displayed. At first glance, it looked like chaos with hundreds of massive rocks tumbling through space with no pattern or predictability.
But I'd spent three months working with Zor'go on spatial design. Three months learning to see patterns in apparent chaos, to find order in complexity.
"Not impossible," I murmured, my mind already working through the problem. "Difficult. Really, really difficult. But not impossible."
Zor'go moved closer, studying my datapad. Close enough that I could smell the faint metallic scent that all Zandovians carried, like copper and ozone. "Explain."
I highlighted a section of the asteroid field, my fingers sketching paths between tumbling rocks. "Here. These seven asteroids are moving in a semi-synchronized pattern. Like gears in a machine, almost. Their rotation creates temporary gaps with windows where a ship could slip through."
"Temporary meaning?"
"Seconds. Maybe ten seconds per window. But if we time it right, we could use them like stepping stones. One gap to the next, moving deeper into the field where the raiders won't follow."
"Why won't they follow?" Vaxon asked.
"Because they're raiders, not suicidal maniacs. Their ships are faster than ours, but they're also lighter. Less shielding. One wrong move in that density and they're debris." I zoomed in on my proposed route, the path winding between asteroids in a pattern that looked more like artistic inspiration than actual navigation. "We're bigger, better shielded. We can take hits they can't."
Zor'go was already running calculations, his fingers moving across his console with that focused intensity I'd come to recognize. Numbers cascaded down his displays, velocity calculations, trajectory predictions, collision probabilities.
"Seventy-three percent chance of collision," he said finally.
"Better than a hundred percent chance of getting blown apart by raiders."
"Shields at seventy-nine percent," Vaxon reported. "They're focusing fire. We need a decision."
Zor'go's markings flickered rapidly across his skin as blue and silver patterns that I'd learned meant he was processing multiple scenarios simultaneously. We'd argued three days ago. Said terrible things to each other. He'd called me reckless, accused me of running toward the past instead of embracing the future.
And then he'd volunteered for this mission. Come with me despite the danger, despite our fight, despite everything.
"Zor'go," I said quietly, meeting his eyes. "I need you to trust me. Actually trust me."
Something shifted in his expression. The calculations stopped. His markings steadied.
"Transmit your course to navigation," he said. "Kret'nor, prepare for evasive maneuvers. All hands, secure for extreme velocity changes."
Kret'nor's purple skin paled slightly. "Sir, these corridors are barely wide enough?—"
"Which is why Architect Chauncy is going to guide us through them. Step by step." Zor'go turned to me. "You'll need to call out corrections in real-time. My calculations can predict the asteroid positions, but your spatial visualization is faster."
"I can do that."
"Shields at seventy-two percent," Vaxon said.
"Execute," Zor'go ordered.
Lucky Strikedove toward the asteroid field.
The first gap appeared exactly where I'd predicted, a temporary opening between two tumbling rocks the size of small buildings. Kret'nor threaded us through with maybe three meters of clearance on either side. The proximity alarms screamed. I ignored them.
"Next gap, twenty degrees port, fifteen seconds," I called out, my eyes tracking the holographic display while simultaneously sketching the path on my datapad. My hand moved faster than conscious thought, translating three-dimensional space into two-dimensional navigation in real-time.
