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Something he wants? Wren gulped as she stayed out of the line of fire. He wanted her?

The Gente grunted in response but kept firing back.

Wren ducked as a shower of sparks flew out of a control panel.

Striker pressed himself against the wall next to her. “Dammit. That bastard just shot out the controls.” He fired off a volley of shots. There was a thump and then silence.

“You got him,” she said.

Striker grinned before racing into the cockpit.

Wren joined him and stared at the smoking control panel, her heart in her throat. “So long as we have navigation and life support, we’ll be fine.”

The ship pitched, and lights flashed on every control.

“Emergency landing protocols have been engaged,” the ship said. “All remaining crew remain in their seats. The escape pod is out of commission.”

“Striker, we need to strap in.” Wren dashed to a seat and looped the restraint belt around her waist.

Striker did the same in the co-pilot seat, his hands skimming over the controls as he tried to get control of the ship. “Damn! Nothing’s working.”

“We can’t let the animals die,” Wren said.

“Right now, I’m more interested in saving us.”

Her gaze ranged over the controls. She was no expert when it came to controlling a Gente ship or any ship. “What can I do to help?”

“Hold on tight and pray to the stars that we have a gentle landing. We’re going down.”

***

A sharp pain lanced through Striker’s side. He blinked his eyes open slowly and groaned. “What the hell?”

Smoke stung his eyes, and there was a smell of burning metal close by.

He turned his head slowly. The seat Wren had been in was empty.

He coughed as he inhaled a large breath of smoky air. “Wren? Are you still in here?”

There was no reply.

He unclipped the belt that held him in the seat and shimmied out. The ship must have landed at an angle because he had to cling to the back of the seat to stop from falling.

The glass panel in the front of the cockpit had held, but it was covered in cracks and looked like it could give out at any moment.

“Wren? Where are you?” A swirl of worry ran through Striker as he spotted a smear of blood on the console.

The Gente pilot’s body was sprawled at the back of the cockpit. His head was bent at an unnatural angle, and his eyes were open.

What about Wren? She must have been alive when she left the cockpit. What was she looking for?

He gritted his teeth as he yanked open the protesting door. “I bet she’s gone after those animals,” he muttered. “She’ll do anything to save the furry and feathered.”

He peered along the smoky corridor. “Wren! Answer me.”

She still didn’t respond.

“Ship, report damage,” Striker said.