Page 15 of Full Speed to a Crash Landing

“So, about your story,” Rian says.

Great. This is more interrogation. One day, I’m gonna get him to trust me properly.

“I’m an open book.” My smile is all teeth.

“So, in the three cycles you were on the planet—”

“Two,” I say.

“Right, right. And how much metal were you able to scavenge?”

I laugh. “I didn’t bother weighing it. But I got maybe a third of my cargo bay filled? I was moving quick. Figured a wreck this size would draw some...” I rake my eyes over him. “. . .unsavorysorts here.”

“Unsavory?” He cocks an eyebrow, a wry grin playing at his lips.

“Clearly the worst kind.”

He holds my gaze just a beat too long, then he drops his eyes to the table. I can’t see what the data screen set into the enameled surface shows; there’s a privacy reflector on it. “About a third, though,” he mutters, repeating what I told him.

“Give or take. I figured one or two more trips down would have done it. Had it all gone well, I might have left before you even got here.”

He nods. His jaw is tight, and he doesn’t look back up at me, despite the way he’s got to feel my stare. “And you looted mostly...”

“Metal,” I repeat. I don’t bother hiding my impatience. I know what’s in my cargo hold. Crumpled sheets of steel, copper wiring, alloys.

“About the hole that blew in the side of your ship,” Rian starts. “You thought you ran your fuel too hot?”

I shove my frustration out of my nose in the form of an impatient sigh. I can see what he’s doing. “Yeah, maybe.” He opens his mouth, and I slam my palms on the table, forcing him to focus at me instead of the screen. “Fine. Look, I’ll you the truth.”

That eyebrow again. Ugh. Might as well get it over with.

“One of the containers at the wreck did have something of value,” I start.

“Something not just scrap metal.” He speaks with the tone of a man who already knows the truth.

“Yes,” I growl. “I found a packer crate with half a dozen solar fuel rods.”

His eyes widen at that. A nice little stumbling block for the man who thought he had me cornered.

“I know, Iknow, it’s dumb to salvage fuel like that,” I continue, plowing ahead. “And I checked it before I loaded it up.”

“You took the whole crate?” he gasps.

“No,I’m not a fucking moron. I tookone.And once I was back in orbit, Ivery sensiblychecked it again and...” I shrug, as if what I’d found was obvious.

“And?” he prompts when I don’t answer.

He’s going to make me say it. “Andit was cracked. A hairline fracture, barely visible.”

Now his eyes are so wide, they might fall out of his sockets. Which would be a damn shame, because when he’s not looking all gobsmacked, he’s very hot. “But a broken solar fuel rod...” His voice trails off as he considers the implications.

Solar fuel rods are the most expensive part of keeping a ship running. Any looter who saw one would take one, even if the danger of a cracked fuel rod would be...catastrophic. And how could a fuel rodnotbe cracked if it were in a crash like theRoundabout’s? Still.

“Those things are fucking expensive,” I mutter.

“Yes, but—”

“Well, I learned my lesson, didn’t I?” I throw up my hands. I hate losing my cool like this, but damn. “As soon as I saw it was compromised—”

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