He heard something—the soft scuff of Cullen's boots, maybe, or the Romvesian's strangled gasp. He started to turn, his hand reaching for the rifle on his back.
Too slow.
I swung the quarterstaff in a tight arc, catching him across the temple with the reinforced end. The impact made a sickening crack. His eyes rolled back and he dropped like a stone, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Cullen lowered the Romvesian carefully, checking his pulse. "Out cold. He'll wake up with a hell of a headache, but he'll live."
"Same here." I knelt beside the scaled guard, relieving him of his rifle and the knife at his belt. The weapon was unfamiliar—some kind of energy blade. I deactivated it and tucked it into my belt.
Cullen took the Romvesian's blaster and checked the charge. "Seventy percent. That'll work."
We dragged both guards into the shadows beneath our wrecked ship, binding their hands and feet with strips torn from their own uniforms. They wouldn't be going anywhere when they woke up.
Then we turned toward the shuttle.
The ramp was down, the interior dark except for the faint glow of emergency lighting. No movement. No sound except the hum of the ship's systems.
It felt wrong.
Too quiet. Too easy.
But we didn't have a choice.
Cullen went first, the blaster raised and ready, moving up the ramp with the confidence of someone who'd breachedhostile positions before. I followed close behind, my quarterstaff held low and ready, every sense straining for signs of danger.
The interior of the shuttle smelled like recycled air and something else—something sharp and chemical that made my nose wrinkle. The corridor was narrow, lined with storage compartments and access panels. Emergency lights cast everything in a sickly green glow.
Empty.
We moved deeper into the ship, our footsteps silent on the deck plates. Cullen checked each compartment as we passed, clearing them with quick, efficient movements. All empty. All quiet.
The cockpit was at the far end of the main corridor, maybe thirty meters away. Between us and it were crew quarters, a small galley, and what looked like a cargo hold.
We were halfway there when we encountered the first guards.
Two of them emerged from the galley—a Ardesian and an Ulkommenian, both armed. They saw us at the same instant we saw them.
The Ardesian's eyes widened. His hand went for his weapon.
Cullen fired first.
The energy bolt caught the male in the chest, and he went down hard. The Ulkommenian dove sideways, bringing her own weapon up, but I was already moving. I closed the distance in three strides and swung the quarterstaff in a vicious arc that caught her across the forearm. Bone cracked. She screamed and dropped the weapon.
I didn't give her time to recover. I reversed the staff and drove the end into her solar plexus, knocking the air from her lungs. She collapsed, gasping.
"Bind them," Cullen said, already moving past me toward the cockpit. "Fast."
I used more strips of cloth to secure both guards, then followed Cullen. My heart was pounding now—not from exertion, but from adrenaline and the growing certainty that we were running out of time.
The cockpit door was closed but not locked. Cullen positioned himself to one side, blaster ready, and nodded to me. I hit the door control.
It slid open with a soft hiss.
The cockpit was empty.
But the communications array was right there—a beautiful, functional piece of technology that could reach Alliance space if we could just—
"Now!" someone shouted from behind us.
