Chapter 71

Chapter Seventy-One

The sun hadn’t yet risen when Connor strapped into his seat. He tried to focus on the lines of positive potential outcomes rather than the worries about potential disaster. The Lucky Sevens shuddered as the engines roared to life, and the faint smell of engine exhaust mixed with the hot stench from the woods.

But the ship didn’t explode—one of the positive potential outcomes.

It was a good start, but they still had kilometers to cross, and they still had a landing on gear that was locked and had a great chance of collapsing.

He spun his chair around and smiled hopefully at Selen, who didn’t respond.

She hunched forward, sweat-darkened T-shirt twisted against her harness, as if she were considering pushing out of her seat. Her knit brow showed intense focus, and her gaze was locked on to Martienne.

The pilot seemed steady enough, voice calm as the ship rattled and warning lights glowed amber and red. The rattling grew louder than the engines.

Connor’s saliva tasted like synthcaff. He should have had some water.

And then the display showing the belly camera revealed not the reddish-gray rock of the butte but the clearing around it and the heavy woodlands.

They were airborne and moving. That was the second good outcome.

He laughed, drawing Selen’s attention without meaning to. “Almost there.” It hadn’t come out quite as humorous as he’d intended, but she relaxed.

After looking at her own console, she exhaled. “The landing gear?”

“The odds of it holding up?”

“What if it doesn’t?”

Well, that was a less positive outlook. “If all the gear goes at once, we should be okay. The bigger problem is if the forward struts go and the rear doesn’t. It could strain the hull.”

“But you could get jacks under the frame, right?”

“We should be able to. Rebuilding the landing gear is going to be a problem, no matter what.”

Selen wrapped her arms around her harness. “That’s something you and Yemi can figure out.”

“Sure.”

It was only a problem if Selen had to get involved, apparently.

Connor felt bad for thinking that. The engineering responsibilities were his now. Maybe he couldn’t prove Drew wasn’t responsible for everything that had gone wrong, but with time, that would change.

Martienne glared at the warning lights, as if she might intimidate them. “Fifteen minutes to destination.”

That was long enough for a nap, so Connor closed his eyes.

So much had happened in the weeks since Dr. Litvinenko’s death. Connor couldn’t keep the sequence of events straight any better than he could make sense of the job they’d signed on for.

Carry stolen treasures back to a pit on a planet covered with monsters.

How?

“Connor!” It was Selen’s voice.

He sat up and was immediately pushed back by the harness.

Selen glared at him—still in her seat. “You fell asleep.”

“I thought I could take a nap.”

“You did.” She pointed to the display, which showed the raised area they’d flown over after rescuing the team.

It was below them, although the area was clear now.

He shook his head in disbelief. “Where’d they go?”

Martienne maneuvered the ship, and in the shadow of the raised rock, three ships came into view. Two were ancient, covered in moss and long, gray ropy growths. “The third ship—it is larger.”

Almost as big as the other two ships combined, Connor realized.

The pilot turned to him. “Where would you put down?”

Connor stiffened. It was almost as if Martienne were challenging Selen’s authority. Almost. He cocked his head when he looked at Selen. “On the raised area?”

Selen looked ready to pitch a fit over Martienne’s behavior, then shrugged. “Closer to the ships seems better.”

He let that hang in the air until Martienne took the hint that he wasn’t going to get involved in some sort of drama between the two women. A few moments later, the pilot had them descending to the left of the ships.

There were three ships down there, so the ground could support the Lucky Sevens.

Or at least that was what Connor told himself.

Then the engines roared louder than before, and the ship shook as if it might fall apart.

And they set down with a deep, metallic squeal.

Everything settled as the engines powered off, but Connor’s relief evaporated when the ship groaned and sank.

Selen popped her harness and vaulted from her chair. “Was that the landing gear?”

Connor climbed from his seat and stretched. The aches from the last couple days were at their worst in his bruised leg. “I’ll give it a look.”

Vicente and the Moon twins followed Connor out and set up a close perimeter around him once he dropped his bag of tools onto the ground. He felt awkward and out of his depth with Drew’s tool belt on his hips. It was a tight fit, and he had to look down to find tools.

She hadn’t. It was all second nature to her.

At least the sun was high enough that they didn’t flashlights to maneuver through the moss. That light and the climbing heat brought out an earthy, sulfuric smell from the ground.

Tim Moon rubbed his forearm across his face. “Another miserable day.”

Connor squatted low enough to get a good look at the forward landing gear. “At least it’s another day.”

“I can’t argue that.”

Good. Connor wasn’t in the mood for sour complaints. He hurried to the rear landing gear assemblies, hopeful.

Vicente kicked at something buried in the moss, which made a tearing sound. “How bad, Boss?”

“Well, we’re not going to make another landing. Not without some work.”

“How much?”

“A few hours. If we can find some spare parts.”

Tom Moon backed up to Connor’s side, looked the gear assembly over, then hissed. “You said there were more of those big bugs here?”

“When we flew over a couple nights ago.”

“They come back, we’re screwed.”

He was right.

Connor straightened. “We’ve got three ships to salvage from. That’s good.”

But the two smaller ships looked old and weathered, drained by the planet’s harsh conditions.

It would be easier to go straight to the third ship, but even old, battered ships might offer salvage.

Vicente took the lead, stopping a few meters shy of the ropy growth. “It’s like snakes.”

Connor set the tool bag down and pulled out a sword.

The big man whistled. “Don’t dull those blades up, Boss.”

“I sharpen them every night.”

When Connor hacked enough of the vines away to get at the ship’s underside, he cleaned the blade and pulled the wild growth from the ship hull. It felt like they writhed, even through his gloves.

And the ichor that leaked from them—a pale violet that sparkled and stank like urine—unsettled his stomach.

He went straight to the landing gear, smiling hopefully at the sight of familiar components. There was rust and some showed obvious wear and tear, but there were plenty of parts to be harvested. That was something Yemi could start on immediately.

Connor radioed Selen.

She picked up immediately. “Talk to me.”

“Bad news: The Lucky Sevens’s landing gear is a wreck.”

“All of it?”

“Enough. But I’m looking the first ship over. We can salvage parts.” Connor grabbed a battery pack and interface system and headed to the rear airlock. “Yemi can start harvesting.”

“No threats?”

“Nothing yet.” Connor waved Vicente over and motioned for the heavy weapons expert to give a hand up.

The big man cupped his hands and raised Connor up to the rear airlock.

Selen groaned. “How long?”

“If we’re quick, four hours.”

Connor slid the interface system out from its protective cover. It was a specialized computer system and a series of common interfaces. The battery pack provided power to systems that had lost power.

He found the security panel interface, slotted the appropriate cable from the interface system, and powered the battery on.

The airlock groaned, then slid open.

And something jumped out, tumbling onto Connor and dragging him to the moss.