He spots me and pulls away from the officer shaking his hand in order to come toward me. “Captain,” he calls, tension in his voice. I catch sight of Flynn, who’s headed up to us at a jog.
“Hey,” he calls loudly, offering his hand to shake. “Sorry you’re headed out.”
Merendsen claps his palm to Flynn’s. But when he speaks, his voice is pitched lower, barely audible to me over the engines all around us. “I’ve heard from Lilac. It’s a message. She couldn’t risk a verbal transmission, but she got some text through. We have a code, whenever we can’t speak face-to-face. I’ve decoded it for you, here.” He shoves a crumpled piece of paper into my palm. “Read it when you’re alone.”
“Sir,” I manage, trying to look casual while keeping an eye on the military personnel swarming around the various shuttles. At the far end of the hangar, one takes off upward with a roar, the noise providing perfect cover for our voices. “Thank you.”
His gaze fixes on mine, his voice low. “Lee, listen to me. These creatures LaRoux is using, they aren’t bad themselves. But if he’s found a way to compel them, then I don’t know what he might be capable of. Just—be careful. Please.”
I know what he’s trying to say. Don’t be rash, don’t rush in. Don’t be Lee-ish. I manage to nod. “I will. I promise.”
“Lilac was right,” he continues, this time glancing at Flynn as well. “You need proof, and you need to create a whole galaxy of witnesses. You need so many eyes on Avon that LaRoux wouldn’t dare touch it. Maybe when you get back, you can search for whatever happened to that facility to the east.”
Before anyone can reply, an air traffic controller jogs up to me. “Time to go, sir, not much time left. Last shuttle out.”
I can see the line of civilians and soldiers alike boarding the shuttle. Most of the soldiers sport visible wounds, but some have the reddened, haunted eyes of those who’ve had their first unnatural dream and are afraid to go back to sleep, for fear of the Fury. There are only a handful of civilians, the lucky few who have family waiting somewhere in the galaxy to take them in. They walk quietly, heads down, as though they don’t want to draw attention to themselves.
Behind them all are half a dozen soldiers forcibly preventing a desperate throng of townspeople, all wanting to get out before they lose their chance. The launch bay officials are herding them back toward the base, for all I know to have their genetags scanned. There’s no way out of this building for Flynn—except on the ship I’m flying.
The control officer’s still issuing me warnings in a tight, quick voice. “Rebels have got surface-to-air missiles now, they got to a supply craft on its way in. Ain’t safe to fly anymore, sir. We’ve got a brief window now, but then that’s it. If you take off now, there’s a good chance you’ll be fine—but you probably won’t be able to come back.”
“For how long?” I ask him.
“Don’t know, sir. Maybe an hour, if the ground teams can recapture the anti-aircraft guns. Maybe not until the war’s over.”
My head jerks up. If I leave now, I might never be able to come back. “What’s happening over there?” I ask, tilting my head at the civilians they’re herding away. I can’t send Flynn off to join them until I know where they’re being taken.
“If they’re not getting on a shuttle, they’re being scanned and having their identities verified, sir.”
Flynn’s eyes meet mine. I see it hit him, his eyes widening on impact.
The tech is still talking. “We did your preflight checks for you, sir—but you’re on the roster to fly this thing because you’re Mr. Merendsen’s security detail, and you’ve got to do it now, commander’s orders.”
I’m being manhandled back toward the nose of the shuttle to carry out my orders, but my eyes are on Flynn’s, and for a moment there’s no sound, nothing but my heartbeat as the chasm between us widens. Time slows, the milliseconds trickling by, whispering like dust.
Then everything rushes back and Flynn darts forward. “Me too,” he blurts with a gasp. “I’m going too.”
The officer glances at him, and at the crowd fighting to board. Flynn’s on this side of the soldiers holding the others back, and the man assumes he’s already been through the security check. That he’s meant to be on the shuttle. “Okay, but you know you might not be coming back? Heck, you might get blown out of the sky if they get those missiles up and running ahead of schedule.”
“I know.” Flynn’s breathing hard, his eyes on my face. “I know.”
And then he’s gone, time speeding up as if to make up for its hiccup a few seconds before. Merendsen’s hauling him toward the passenger door, and I’m forced to turn and race for the cockpit, climbing up into the pilot’s seat. No copilot on this one; we’ve got no one to spare.
My hands are shaking. Though I’ve been flying a few times a month since basic training when I was sixteen, I’m no pilot—but routine transport missions are half automated anyway. Except dodging surface-to-air missiles was never part of the routine.
Muscle memory takes over, and I get myself buckled down and the engines humming. The check lights all along the ceiling flash green one by one to tell me that the passengers are all strapped down, that the doors are closed, that we’re pressurized. That we’re ready to go. I pull on the comms unit headset and hear the control tower squawking at me to move, move now.