“Adumbe?”
“Kord is within field range.”
“Good water, my friend,” she told Kord.
‘To you also, Little Mother.”
Cynara cut the link. “Montague, enter VAL03 and activate the drive.”
The Pegasus plunged into the wormhole. Walls like molten glass closed around the ship in a spinning, writhing tunnel. Cynara watched the aft screens. The striker was a solid darkness against the chaos of color and light.
As the slingshot drive kicked in, the glass walls seemed to warp and collapse. A vast roaring, lamentation of death beyond imagination, erased every other sound. The ship’s hull trembled, plates threatening to pull apart. Mere seconds stood between the Pegasus and obliteration.
With a final burst of reckless speed, the Pegasus shot out the other side with hell nipping at its heels. Valhalla’s sun filled the viewport like a beacon of safe harbor. The wormhole vanished in a searing holocaust, taking the striker with it.
Someone let out a cheer. Others followed, each according to his or her custom, and Cynara let them have their celebration. She grinned at Ronan in the broad, unladylike fashion her mother had so often deplored. He returned the smile—not much of one, to be sure, but a smile nevertheless.
“Thank you,” she said. “You gave us the advantage we needed.”
“You are… welcome,” he said. “That is the correct response?”
“It is.”
To her private amusement, Janek had holstered his sidearm, though he didn’t appear ready to claim undying friendship with their guest. As the clamor died, faces more curious than hostile turned to Ronan. Lizbet Montague stared at him with wide, almost worshipful eyes. Taye Adumbe, for all his scholarly detachment, looked ready to burst with questions.
There were too many yet “unanswered. The Pegasus could hold its position while Charis and her crew completed full repairs. Plenty of time to resume where Cynara and Ronan had left off.
She met Ronan’s eyes and knew he was remembering their last exchange. She had the perfect opportunity to start over on more formal footing.
“I’ll be escorting Ronan back to his cabin,” she said to Taye. “You have the bridge. Send Kord to me as soon as he’s able to dock.”
Her second-in-command straightened from his station, eyes glittering behind his visor. “There is another problem, Captain,” he said. “It appears that we have once again lost the shuttle.”
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
Cynara’s stomach clenched and the deck rotated under her feet. She reached within for her own strength and Tyr’s, aware of the eyes always watching for weakness or instability. Toussaint, Janek—how many others? Kord, Adumbe, Lizbet, and Zheng were the only ones she knew she could trust absolutely.
Yet she sought out the man she knew least—Ronan, whose impassive face showed a deeper understanding than any of the crew who called Kord friend.
She tore her gaze from his. “Was he caught in the wormhole?” she asked Taye calmly.
Adumbe was silent for a time as his visor flickered with symbols only he could see. “No,” he said. “It appears that the force of the wormhole’s collapse ejected the Pontos from our field at high velocity.”
“Can you find him?”
“Affirmative. His comlink is nonfunctional, but I’ve traced the shuttle’s transponder signal to the fourth planet in this system, known as Bifrost.”
“Then he may have been able to land.”
“It is more likely that he lost control of the Pontos. I’m sorry, Captain.”
She shook her head. ‘Tell me about this planet.”
“Bifrost was once the site of a small mining colony, in spite of its marginal suitability for human habitation. It was abandoned years ago when the shaauri blockade prevented the colonists from receiving critical provisions. Scans indicate that Bifrost is currently in its long winter, average diurnal temperature of minus fifty degrees centigrade.”
‘Then we need to move quickly.” She returned to her chair and tapped her fingers over the console. A holomap of the star system formed in the space above it. “Scholar-Commander, tell Cargomaster Basterra to have the Thalassa outfitted with environmental suits and ready for departure in fifteen minutes.” Her muscles felt like springs, compelling her from her seat to pace the deck. “Montague, I need a pilot.”