Page 7 of Last Chance to Save the World

“Well, that was quicker than expected,” I mutter.

“What was?” Rian’s all tense again as he sees me strap back into the seat, the foot pedals rising at my touch as I lean in to the controls. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I say. “But look, I’m going to need you to shut up and be cool for like ten minutes.”

“What does that—”

“Shut up,” I say, command now in my voice. “And be cool.”

I throw a glance over my shoulder. Apparently,be coolmeanssit ramrod straight with every muscle taut, but at least theshut updirective is easier for him to handle.

I flick the comm control on my ship’s dash and speak into the mic. “5O213-LN, request to land at Gozo residency strip. CallsignGlory.”

Over my comm unit’s speakers, a crackling voice says, “Glory,confirm code.”

I hear a tiny intake of breath from Rian, but he doesn’t break my order.

I rattle off the numbers.

Several minutes pass.

“This isn’t going to work,” Rian mutters.

A few more minutes.

And then the operator links me to a landing sequence. I setGlory’s course, then turn back around to Rian.

“See?” I say. “It worked. I had a plan.”

His lips twist in a wry smirk. “You always do, huh?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I’m mostly just winging it?”

Rian’s left eye twitches. “Yes,” he says. “I would. And considering what we’re doing is going to impact the entire fate of this planet—and I’m risking my job andprisonto do it? That’s not a comforting thought.”

I shoot him a winning smile and then have to turn my attention to landingGlory. But really, he’s exaggerating. Prison? Unlikely. I mean, technically he shouldn’t sneak me into Fetor Tech, but we’re not stealing anything. Well, he isn’t. We’re not even fucking anything up. We’re just making sure the code on the nanobots is therightcode. And the only one who could theoretically press charges would be Strom Fetor himself, and if he did so, (a) he’d have to confess to altering the original code into malware that harmed the world, and (b) he’d also have to be less of a dumbass. Neither of which is likely.

Rian’s still muttering about how the landing strips aren’t supposed to take new ships now. It’s distracting, but at least he’s not making noises that make me worried he’s going to throw up all over my bridge, so I don’t comment.

He’s right. It’s not entirely uncommon for Malta’s landing strips to be restricted. There are enough important governmental things happening in the capital still for there to be a lot of regulations, and regulations are generally a pain in the ass.

Glory’s speakers flash—incoming transmission. “Glory,you’re required to check in with the residency strip port boss upon arrival.”

“Got it,” I say, then close the comm.

I adjust the controls. There’s more work to do in the last minutes of flying a ship before landing than in the week it took to get us here.

“Residency?” Rian asks.

Fuck it all, of course he would notice that. One word. If the port authority hadn’t said that one word, he might not have picked up on it.

“I looked into all your records,” he presses. “You don’t own land anywhere, and there’s no rental record for you.”

“I’m a lady of mystery,” I say, half-distracted by my tight grip on the joysticks, both of which are doing their best to rip my arms off.

He makes a harrumphing noise in the back of his throat.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” I say, laughing in a tone that’s only a little forced. “You didn’t think we’d even get this far, did you?”

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