By bombing innocent people? But Noemi swallows the words unsaid, for the sake of her world, and because Riko’s still holding the blaster. Instead she promises, “Join forces with Genesis and you won’t have to stoop to bombings. You can fight fair and win.”
After Riko and her coconspirators exchange a few glances, she nods at the guy on the ground, who gets to his feet, glaring at Abel. His opinion doesn’t matter, though; Riko is clearly the one in charge. “You two leave now, this instant. Probably they’re going to catch us. But if they don’t—if we can somehow get to Genesis—how do we approach your world? Let them know we’re allies?”
“Just say you’re Riko Watanabe of Kismet,” Noemi says. The local authorities are probably on their way. They have to wrap this up. “That’s enough. I’ll tell my commanders, so they’ll know.”
But Riko shakes her head. “It might not be me. There are more of us—even some cells on other worlds.”
“A resistance,” Noemi whispers. The fullness of it has hit her now, recapturing one instant of the exhilaration she felt after the explosion, but before she realized people must have died. “It’s not just a few people on Kismet. The rest of the planets on the loop—Earth’s other colony worlds—they’re banding together. Rising up.”
“Starting to.” Riko finally lets her weapon drop. “I suppose if there’s one chance in a hundred you’re really from Genesis, we have to take it.” That seems to have been said as much for her companions’ benefit as for Noemi and Abel.
“I’ll tell them,” Noemi promises, her cheeks flushing with excitement. “When I get back to Genesis, I’ll tell them to be on the lookout for anyone from Remedy.”
One of her compatriots sticks his chin out. “And how will you know they aren’t from Earth, pretending to be us?”
Noemi’s laugh sounds as bitter as it feels. “Earth doesn’t bother pretending to be anyone or anything else. When they come to Genesis, they come to kill.” Will that get through to them? She has to hope—
A high, shrieking sound cuts through the alarms, making them all jump. Noemi recognizes the sound as tearing metal in the split second before she sees a distant corner of the hangar floor peeling upward—and a splintered, damaged, metal hand reaching through it.
“It’s them,” she whispers, knowing Abel can hear. “The Queen and Charlie.”
“Go!” Riko’s shout is for everyone. They all scatter as Noemi and Abel run back into the Daedalus.
The moment they’re inside the ship, Noemi hits the door controls, sealing them inside. As they dash through the twisting corridor, Abel says, “It would be advisable for you to take the helm. We have to get to the Gate as fast as possible.”
“You’re going to replace the T-7 anx?” It will be the better part of ten hours before they can reach the Cray Gate. “We need some quick flying now more than we need instant repairs.”
“Exactly. We require speed.” Abel peels away from her to dash into the engine room, calling back, “Your piloting skills are probably adequate to elude the authorities.”
Terrible at comforting people. The worst. But Noemi doesn’t bother saying it, just runs for the bridge. They have to get the hell out of here, and if that means she does it on her own, fine.
The bridge’s warning lights are already blinking when she dashes in. The viewscreen shows the hangar in red strobe lights, with bright orange letters proclaiming a text warning: SECURITY LOCKDOWN. NO UNAUTHORIZED TAKEOFFS OR LANDINGS. ANY VESSELS ATTEMPTING TO VIOLATE LOCKDOWN WILL BE SEIZED OR DESTROYED.
Noemi goes for navigation. Abel might be programmed with the know-how to handle every ship in the galaxy, but she’s flown a dozen combat missions in a fighter where split-second decisions made the difference between life and death. She ought to be able to handle a clumsy science vessel.
Except the Daedalus isn’t clumsy at all. At a touch it lifts from the landing pad, and it soars upward with breathtaking speed.
If only I could keep this ship forever, Noemi thinks, ignoring the insistent blinking of the warning message as she accelerates their ascent. I could explore the entire galaxy, and no one could stop me—
A jolt nearly throws her out of her seat. Noemi clutches the console, aghast at the new, red warning beacon blinking in front of her: TRACTOR BEAM DETECTED. The beam’s energy has tethered them to Kismet’s moon, as if a lasso had been thrown around the ship. They’re still moving away from the planet, but the strain on the ship’s integrity field is already showing. When she reaches the limit, the ship will either be jerked back down to the surface or torn in two.
We don’t have the power to break the tractor beam—it’s too strong. Noemi takes a deep breath, wondering if she can use her enemy’s strength to their advantage.
The bridge doors slide open behind her, but she doesn’t turn around. Abel says, “Repairs are complete, plus one extra modification.”
“We can talk about that later.” Her shaking fingers lay in the next coordinates. “First let’s see if this works.”
“See if what—”
Abel’s voice cuts short as Noemi brings the Daedalus into a sharp curve, one that would almost put them in the moon’s orbit, but not quite. The moon’s gravity tugs at the ship, the inexorable pull of physics—but pulling the ship forward now, as the tractor beam pulls back. She’s making the moon do the hardest work, using that gravity instead of fighting it. Within moments, the tractor beam breaks, and the Daedalus surges forward. Noemi urges the ship away from the moon and Kismet, toward the Cray Gate.
“Ingenious,” Abel says, as if he really meant it.
The praise makes her smile, but then she catches herself. Probably mechs are programmed to flatter the humans around them. That hasn’t stopped him from cutting her down so far, though, so maybe not.
Oblivious to her reaction, Abel comes to the navigation console, clearly ready to take over. “Our wisest course of action would be to aim the ship directly for the Cray Gate. Very precise navigation is called for.”
“I’ve got it.”
“Under normal circumstances, you would be more than capable of this,” he says. “But these are not normal circumstances.”
Confused, Noemi starts to turn back toward him and ask what it is he thinks she can’t manage in the ten hours it will take them to reach the Cray Gate. But then she sees the unfamiliar readings from the engines, which are powering up—no, not just that, but on overload. “Abel, what did you do?”
“I should take navigational control now,” he says, more urgently.
Three short hours ago, she would have stayed in her seat. She would’ve thought Abel was trying to sabotage the ship, to destroy them both. But now—after he saved her, after he walked away from the Queen and Charlie to stay by her side—
I can trust him.
I have to.
18