Page 10 of Phoenix's Last Heist
“Time to go, Ranger!”
He follows me into the outer bay just as Oglor manages to rip through his bindings. The ramp lifts and I haul myself into the captain’s seat, throwing the thrusters into overdrive.
“Belt in,” I call to Orion. “We’ve got a long way to go and I’m sticking to the backroads. It’s gonna get bumpy!”
Ada lurches forward on a steep incline above the rainforest canopy and Orion falls backward into the rear bunk. I don’t even bother to hide my laughter.
4
orion
This Smells Like a Complication
“Ada,chart a course for Minaris. Keep to the lower traffic routes, and scan anything that comes within shooting range. I don’t want any Feds to surprise us on our way,” Lyra says, piloting us up through Xylothia’s atmosphere and away from the two suns I’ve watched rise and set almost every day of my life.
I stare out the window as the lovely swirls of blue and green grow smaller and smaller, until my home world is nothing more than a distant sparkling speck on a black velvet horizon. Tightness builds in my chest—not just homesickness, but the anxious pull of leaving something unfinished behind.
My father used to say the stars looked different depending on what you’d lost beneath them. I used to think that was poetry. Now, watching Xylothia vanish, I understand it was grief.Hold formation. Breathe. Don’t feel.That’s what he would’ve told me. I try.
The voice of Lyra’s navigational assistant, Ada, chimes over the ship’s speakers.
Autopilot engaged. I’ve set a course for Minaris. Estimated travel time: 16 days, not factoring in a mid-journey stop for refueling and supplies. I recommend the port of Turquin on the moon Amphitreas. They do not honor warrants for Interplanetary Federation fugitives.
“Yeah, no shit, Ada. That place is a haven for bloodthirsty pirates and reprobates,” Lyra says, stepping out of the captain’s chair and stretching. I try to ignore the way her lithe limbs flex and her torn shirt bares her soft midriff.
You’ll fit right in,Ada replies.
I scratch at the stubble on my cheek to cover my grin.
“Behave yourself, Ada. We have a guest on board,” Lyra chastises.
She comes to stand at my side and we stare out the window for a few pulses of silence. Melancholy claws at my insides. Xylothia looks so small and fragile from space. Who will be left to miss it when it’s gone?
“When was the last time you were off-world?” Lyra asks.
I purse my lips as I recall my family’s last trip off-world—the last one we all took together before everything went wrong. Snippets of the vacation filter through my memories—the details blurry and faded behind the intervening years.
“Thirty-seven years ago.”
Her brows lift. “You must’ve been just a kid, then.”
I nod. “I was four.”
“Family vacation?”
“Something like that.”
My throat tightens around the words and my palms feel clammy against my knees.
“You never wanted to travel after that? Must’ve been some vacation to scare you outta the stars,” she jokes.
Not wanting to go down that particularly painful road, I remain silent. I focus on the hum of the engines instead ofher voice. She says something else, but it’s just sound until I realize she’s waiting for an answer.Too late. The silence between us stretches taut, and I let it hold, suddenly too exhausted to engage.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll want to get cleaned up. I can show you where you’ll be bunking. Ada’s right—I’ll have to make a supply run in a few days, but we should motor out of here as fast as we can to get ahead of the Void Stalkers. Until then, we’ll have enough to get by.”
Her ship is a bit beaten up, but functional. The wall panels are mismatched, some scorched, others patched with dull metal plates. The place smells faintly of oil, singed electronics, and dust—a strange mix of survival and care. It would benefit from a thorough cleaning, but I’m not one to talk. My living quarters on Xylothia aren’t exactly square, especially with Sylph moving out. These days I spend more nights in a tent in the jungle than in my drab, lonely apartment.
Lyra points out a bathroom, several other berths—including hers, which she instructs me to avoid at all costs unless I want a stupendously painful death—a kitchen, a small but well-equipped gym, and a combined office/laboratory.
