To my surprise, he awkwardly bobbles forward—still in his suit and helmet—to kneel in front of the door. He applies the largest remaining piece of the blade to the substance, delicately scraping around the edges, microscopic shavings curling up along the blade.
I roll my eyes, fists clenched tight at my sides. We will die of old age beforethatgets us out of here.
But, of course, we won’t. Because we’ll be exploded into bits long before then.
Damnit. I can feel every precious second slipping away. Any moment now, we’ll hear and feel the rumble of a distant blast, our only warning seconds before it tears through us. A sticky panicked sweat is making my T-shirt adhere to every inch of my skin, and it’s even worse where my enviro suit still clings to my waist and legs.
It doesn’t help that Becca’s high-pitched giggle is echoing around the room, right at the edges of my hearing. Barely detectable and softenough to almost be mistaken as ambient noise—a light flutter in the air filtration system or a minor squeal in the idling engines.
And I keep catching glimpses of my mother from the corner of my eye. A flash of her white coat, the flutter of her dark hair, her mouth open wide in a silent scream of warning.
If she only shows up when I’m in real trouble, then it seems about right that she’s here, given our current situation.
Lourdes and Voller haven’t shown up since I came back on board, I realize. Which means, what? I have no idea.
Next to me, Kane bumps up against my shoulder, startling me. He holds his hand out and for a moment, I think he’s asking for my hand. Then I realize he wants the screwdriver that I’m still clutching in one fist.
I hesitate for a moment, feeling what he must have been when I asked for the tool kit in the first place.
“I won’t. I promise,” he says in a gravelly voice, repeating my words back to me.
I hope it’s more than mimicry, like a child repeating “please” and “thank you” without really understanding the significance.
He tips his head toward the door, and I follow his gaze toward… the hinges. Oh shit. They’re onthisside of the door. Unlike the LINA, this is a passenger vessel, with all the accommodations and quirks of a space meant for human living. Including doors that open to the inside.
“It’s worth a shot,” I say with a nod, handing over the screwdriver. If you have to be trapped on a ship about to explode, best to be trapped with a brilliant and observant—if half-mad—mechanic.
“Move,” I tell Reed.
He doesn’t look up. “No.Iknow what I’m doing.”
Running low on patience, I give his shoulder a not-so-gentle shove. He falls easily to one side, off-balance from kneeling in his suit with his top-heavy helmet.
And yes, a tiny, petty part of me enjoyed it.
Reed straightens up immediately, face flushed and mouth tight with fury. “You can’t do—”
“I can, I did, and I will again if you don’t shut up. I’m trying to get us out of here.” More accurately, Kane is trying, but same thing.
“No wonder your crew mutinied and dumped you in that escape pod,” Reed snarls at me, hauling himself laboriously to his feet, using the wall for balance.
I flip him off automatically, even as my brain is still processing his words. That’s not what he was saying before. Not at all. In his version of events, I’m usually the murderer, evildoer, the greedy one who sacrifices everyone for her own improvement.
But whatever. I don’t have time for his bullshit right now.
As soon as Reed is out of the way, Kane applies the screwdriver to the lower portion of the topmost door hinge.
After a quick thump to the bottom of the screwdriver, the metal pin pops free almost comically easily. The second one is a bit stiffer, and the third makes me hold my breath. But Kane eventually manages to work that one free, too.
The final pin gives with a loud pop, and the door shifts in the frame. The right side, where the hinges were, now sticks out a little toward us, as if the QuikLok had expanded inside where Diaz poured it through until the whole thing was no longer plumb.
I wedge myself in next to Kane, drop to my haunches, and carefully work my fingers into the narrow gap under the door. “Ready?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond for a moment, staring blankly at the door.
“Kane,” I say, raising my voice.
He looks around, his gaze sliding past me at first—like I’m completely invisible to him—before eventually returning. “You,” he says finally.
