Page 69

The lock clunked and for a long second, nothing happened.

Then the boss goat shoved the gate open with its horns.

The first goat hit the cargo deck at a run, then another… then all of them. Heavy hooves hammered the metal hard enough that she felt it in the center of her chest. They thundered past her in a wall of fur, horns, and righteous fury, pouring through the open cargo doors and into the corridor beyond.

There was a shout somewhere ahead.

Then a scream.

Snatching a crowbar from the emergency tool rack, she ran after the goats with a whoop.

Joe and his assholes were about to have a really bad day.

14

Where the draanth were the Reapers?

Rann pressed his helmet back against the metal of the hull and resisted the urge to check his air again. Checking wouldn’t put any more in the tank.

He’d sent a mayday on the Reapers channel hours ago. They should have been here by now, unless Ryke had decided to up and head for the other side of the known universe. Which, given Ryke, he might well have done. But he wouldn’t have gone without his best pilot.

At least, he hoped Ryke wouldn’t.

Shifting his grip on the metalwork, Rann eased one cramped hand open and closed. The human suit pulled tight across his knuckles. Everything about the draanthing thing pulled tight, apart from the places where it bunched up and got in his way. He’d hated it when he’d first put it on. Now, after hours wedged against the side of Joe’s ship, that hatred had developed into something far deeper.

Still, it had kept him alive.

Mostly. His own body had done a considerable amount of the work.

A human would have been dead from the shock blast when the trader blew. And if that hadn’t killed them, they’d have been dead half an hour later when the air ran out.

Rann had dialed the air down to a trickle, far below anything a human could have survived on. His blood carried a lot more oxygen than a human’s, and his lungs were more efficient at using it. Growing up on the M’Suun clan homeworld, where the air was trall even on a good day, had some advantages.

Not many. Right now he was willing to appreciate this one.

And he’d helped it along by staying as still as he could. Every movement was slow and careful so he didn’t use anything he didn’t have to.

A dull ache had settled behind his eyes, though, and every so often he caught himself trying to drag in a deeper breath. But there wasn’t enough left in the suit’s tank to make that worthwhile. His chest expanded against the suit, then settled again, unsatisfied.

Draanth it, he needed to get off this hull. Not just because he was running out of air, but because they had new visitors, and every moment that ticked by was one closer to someone spotting him out here.

Beyond the cannon array he was hiding behind, the newly arrived ship hung close enough that he could make out the seams around its docking port.

At first, its arrival had brought him out of his uncomfortable perch with something approaching enthusiasm. A docking maneuver meant open doors. Crew moving between ships. A chance.

Then they’d extended the airlock bridge.

The entirely transparent airlock bridge.

Rann’s eyes narrowed as a guard walked along it, weapon held across his chest. There was nowhere to hide on the draanthing thing. No underside he could cling to without being spotted through the floor, or a service housing to work his way along. Just a clear tube with armed males patrolling along it.

He couldn’t even approach the thing without being seen.

Draanth it.

Drawing back behind the cannon, he rested his forearm against the hull. He’d already searched everywhere he could. Maintenance access, service hatches… there was nothing that offered a way inside without announcing his presence. He could start hacking through the hull, but they’d know instantly he was out here.

Which would put Blythe and the other females inside with whoever was holding them in danger.