Through the Wasp’s open hatch, I see Foth drop out of the airlock and sail toward a large steel spool with a crank at either side. It must be the windlass. It’s as tall as he is, and he has to squeeze inside to hook the other end of the pulley strap to its spindle.
When he tries to turn the crank, the ship’s motion tosses him away. He tries again, and Mathias rushes to help. The ship trembles more erratically, but other mechanics crawl out of the shadows. They brace themselves around the crank handles and strain to turn them. A second later, the ship’s thruster engines fire, and we swoop upward. Ignus must have regained control of the helm.
Every loose item drops to the deck. I can’t look at Cendia and Peero’s bodies, fearing the worst.
As soon as our trajectory levels out, Mathias counts off, and the crew pulls together, hoisting the Wasp a meter along the deck. In rhythmic jerks, the Wasp shudders into the airlock with me inside.
Now I know what to do. This is my task, my risk. I won’t let Mathias die with me.
I’ve scouted this airlock and planned every step in my mind, though I didn’t picture doing this without power. But I have to act fast.
While the others are locking down the windlass, I propel myself out of the Wasp and throw all my weight against the airlock’s inner door, trying to get it closed. When Mathias sees what I’m doing, he bellows for me to stop.
“I’m coming with you, Rho!” He races toward me, howling my name. “Don’t do this! I’m begging you!”
“Fly your skiff!” I yell back. “This is my job!”
I try again to close the airlock, as Mathias bounds toward me, his eyes bright with urgency. He leaps over a fallen truss. It looks like he’s trying to tell me something, but I can’t hear through the roar.
Finally, the airlock door slides shut, and I slam the manual seal. Mathias’s fists thud against the door, making me feel wretched. I try to wall out the sounds as I climb back into the Wasp.
Trembling, I jerk off my clumsy compression gloves to start the ignition and release the brake. I tap the controls in the proper sequence, glad I studied again today. Then Mathias’s voice reaches me through the radio.
“Don’t leave without me. Please.”
“I’m sorry, Mathias. I’ve made mistakes, too—huge ones—but taking you with me would be the worst by far.” I suck in a shaky breath. “It was my choice to fight Ophiuchus, not yours. Try to remember what you said to me when I went in to meet Moira . . . and find that trust in me again. I’ll come back to you.”
Then I fire my laser gun and blast away the outer door, expelling air and hurling my Wasp end over end toward the stars.
39
ONCE MY WASP STABILIZES, it’s easy to see the damage to Firebird’s hull.
She’s rising above the ashy upper layers of the clouds surrounding Ichthys, and three full sections of her underside have been blown away. She looks like a gutted whale. I’m amazed she’s even still flying.
Ignus is steering her toward the space station that’s just emerging over the planet’s horizon. Its spinning hexagon gleams snow-white. Firebird just has to stay aloft long enough to dock.
The Ariean destroyer Xitium flies close by, escorting her toward the station. Firebird’s crew must need help, so I’m glad they’ll have friends close at hand.
Equinox zigzags around the two larger vessels like a mosquito, and its evasive maneuvers tell me it’s still dodging Psynergy. The attack isn’t over.
I watch for the skiffs. They should be launching soon. Our fleet stretches tens of thousands of kilometers through the sky, so I use the Wasp’s optic scanner to find the other ships.
At first, I can’t make sense of the screen display. It looks as if hundreds of new vessels have joined us. This can’t be right.
Hot, sweaty hair falls in my eyes. I slap it away. Hands trembling, I fiddle with the controls. When I get a clear image, I realize the blips aren’t vessels—they’re chunks of wreckage.
Understanding shoots through me like a Taser: Our whole fleet is gone. Ochus has already destroyed them with Dark Matter.
I radio the Firebird’s bridge. No answer. I try optic, infrared, microwave. My Ring is long gone, so I can’t fuse with the Psy. Finally, I radio Equinox. Lord Neith comes on the radio. “Wasp W4A, identify your operator.”
With a blast of light, my Wasp scans my retina, then answers automatically. “Rhoma Grace, Guardian of the Fourth House.”
That’s great. Bet Ochus can see me now. I grip my armrests and try not to snap. “Lord Neith, what happened to the Psy shields?”
A familiar voice joins our conversation. “Ambassador Sirna here. Xitium’s cristobalite bead has ruptured from within. We suspect sabotage.” She sounds breathless, as if she’s been running upstairs.
But . . . sabotage? All our shields? How could this happen?
“My shield is functional,” Neith reports. “Xitium, stay in my shadow.”
I notice something spewing out of Firebird’s port flank. Wreckage? Bodies?