Lessa was cut off.

She didn’t have a route to go, and every soldier around was panicking. People ran to and fro, and whenever she saw an opening, it closed moments later. She wasn’t getting through easily.

But Jace and Kinfild were still running. Why shouldn’t they? They needed to get out just the same as she did, and there was so much happening. She could barely focus on their retreating forms.

Don’t let that…be enough to take you down. It can’t be!

She still had her disguise, and with all the chaos, no one would remember that she’d been with the disguised soldiers. Keeping her tail tucked beneath her cloak, she fell to her hands and knees, feigning injury.

It wouldn’t last long. They’d realize she was a candlefolk soon enough. They’d pull off her helmet and know she didn’t belong.

Crawling along the floor, she approached the now-sealed blast door. Maybe there was a way to open it, to get outside. She’d make it back to Kinfild and Jace on her own, and she’d prove her usefulness to them! She’d prove her worth to their little party.

But the moment she reached the door, a firm hand clasped the back of her cloak. She flicked her rifle around and shot the soldier who grabbed onto her, but another officer kicked the rifle out of her grip, then her up to her feet and spun her around. “A little small and scrawny for an officer, aren’t you?”

He’d hauled her up with the ease of a blacksmith swinging a hammer.

“Uh…hi!” Lessa gave a small wave, then wiggled her feet inside her boots. The officer hoisted her off the ground, and her feet weren’t even touching the floor. She considered pounding on his arm, but she doubted it’d do much. He’d just tighten his grip.

“We’ve found one of them!” the officer yelled.

“The other two are outside!” another soldier shouted. “Get this door open and grab them! They’re not getting out of this one!”

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The hangar wasn’t far from the meeting room. It barely took an extra minute of running.

But even then, if they didn’t leave quickly, the soldiers would shut the blast doors again. Word would travel.

“Which ship are we taking?” Jace asked quickly, peering into the hangar. They had stopped at the doorway, pressing their backs against the wall.

There were at least three escort shuttles—the same type that they had travelled through the Wall with, and many more smaller starships. Only one chugged smoke out of its smokestack. It was a vessel nearly the length of the Luna Wrath, with a horizontal fin and a slightly wider hull. It would have to do.

Jace whispered, “That one?”

“That one,” Kinfild confirmed.

He and Kinfild didn’t have any helmets, but they still had Koedor-Terginian armour on, and they’d still be able to fit in. He sheathed the Whistling Blade. They walked into the hangar briskly, but didn’t run. That would draw eyes.

Weaving between the vehicles and scurrying ground crews, they approached the parked starship. It perched on landing struts and vented steam out its lower hull. They ducked under the horizontal wing, wading through a puff of steam, and approached the starboard boarding ramp. Jace nearly tripped over a tube, but he kept himself upright. Near the front of the starship, there were a pair of muzzles that looked just like plasma rifles, except larger. It had built-in weapons.

“This is a dropship,” said Kinfild. “It’s an old model. The Koedor-Terginian military is not what it once was. Weapons sanctions, naval artillery shortages, and Aes shell costs have left many of their ships obsolete.”

“And they’re confident they can take on the Starrealm?” Jace hissed.

“Stenol is leading them to believe their chances of success are greater than they are,” answered Kinfild. “Stenol wants weakness so he can take charge.”

Jace inhaled sharply. Stenol kept saying that the war would be short, but Jace doubted it. They’d talked about a bare minimum of history in high school, and he recalled a brief discussion on World War One. They said it’d be over by christmas.

He dreaded what an intergalactic war would look like.

“Concentrate, Mr. Baldwin,” Kinfild said, cutting through Jace’s thoughts. Jace had almost walked past the boarding ramp. He turned and set a foot onto the plank of metal.

As they climbed the boarding ramp, Kinfild raised his open palm, a technique card hovered atop it. [Technique Card: Hollow Dragon’s Bite (Rare) (Attack) (Compatible Class Designation: Wizard) (Compatible Aspects: Fire)].

Jace couldn’t spare the attention to conjure up the card’s description. He drew the Whistling Blade and checked every crevice for hiding soldiers or mechanics. The interior of the starship was militaristic and uniform. Nondescript metal sheets plated the walls, and there wasn’t much interior space—not like the Luna Wrath.

They crept towards the cockpit, but it was impossible to stay quiet. The pilot, a human in a blue uniform, said, “Quite the scene those prisoners are causing, huh? And it had to happen right as Stenol makes his speech.”

Jace narrowed his eyes. The pilot didn’t know who they were—he hadn’t turned around yet.

Kinfild held his card right beside the pilot’s head, just enough that the pilot could see it. “Stand up.”

The pilot let out a gasp, then raised his arms. He did as he was told. Kinfild pushed him towards the boarding ramp. “We’re taking the ship. Don’t try anything.”

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“You can’t hope to make it offworld!” the pilot exclaimed. “You’ll be shot down before you make it out of the compound’s airspace!”

“Keep moving,” Jace said, holding his sword up to the pilot’s neck and following him to the edge of the ramp.

The moment the pilot stepped off the boarding ramp, Kinfild pulled the lever beside the opening in the hull, and the ramp began to raise. It slid back into the hull and clanged shut.

Rattling treads and a mechanical clatter raced down the hallway. Jace’s head whipped around. A worker kyborg raced down the central corridor of the starship towards them, shovel in hand. Even though it was only as tall as Jace’s hips, it raised the shovel like it was about to strike him with it, and it chittered in the same mechanical language as Aur-Six.

Jace kicked its mechanical eye. It staggered backwards. Casually, he drew the Whistling Blade, then cut its head off. It still spun in a circle, so he drove the sword through its body as well.

“That kyborg fool!” Kinfild snapped. “These labourer bots just don’t know how to pick their battles.” He paused, then put his card away and snatched up the shovel. “This was probably the only one aboard. Just our luck.”

Jace tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Who else will keep the furnaces burning?” Kinfild scowled. “Do you know how to operate a starcoal furnace, and which switches to flip at the right time to keep the boiler from exploding?”

“N—no…” Jace muttered.

“Then that means you’re in the pilot’s seat.”

“What?” Jace exclaimed. “No, no, I can’t fly a starship!”

“Unless you want to be trapped here, you’ve got no choice.”

Jace clenched his fists, then grunted in affirmation. “Fine, fine. You’re going to have to tell me what to do. And none of that mumbling thing that you do—speak loud.”

“I don’t mumble,” Kinfild grumbled.

Jace ran to the cockpit, and Kinfild ran to the engine room. As Jace dropped down into the pilot’s seat, he pulled his crash harness over his shoulder and buckled it into the seat. The thrusters roared louder, and a shudder ran through the deck.

“Pull back on the control yoke!” Kinfild yelled, his voice echoing from the engine room to the cockpit.

Jace gripped the yoke, and with both hands, he pulled upward. The floor hummed. The starship lifted off the hangar floor.

Past the rigid, angular viewscreen, the ground crew was scurrying about. They waved their arms and shouted inaudibly. They wanted the dropship to stop. Soon, they’d tell someone who could do something about it, and he wanted to be gone before then. The dropship already began to drift forwards, but they’d need to go faster.

Jace gripped the engine order telesignal and shifted it to the front—he hoped that it read ‘full ahead’, though he wasn’t sure.

“Just call it out to me!” Kinfild yelled. “No need to treat me like a worker kyborg or a distant boiler room crew!”

“Make us go as fast as we can!” Jace called. He looked over his shoulder. The warm glow of the engine room spilled out from the end of the central corridor. Kinfild was only a silhouette, shovelling starcoals into the furnace.

“I am working on it!” the Wielder shouted. He pulled a lever on the wall, and a hiss shot through the dropship’s hull. “Keep us steady! Eyes forward!”

The dropship picked up speed. They cleared the hangar opening, and Jace pulled up on the control yoke. The starship climbed. “Was the pilot right?” Jace called. “About them being able to shoot us down?”

“They won’t get their anti-starship plasmacannons ready yet!” Kinfild yelled, pausing to take breaths. “But starfighters are a guarantee!”

Jace opened his mouth, then shut it again right away. He gripped the control yoke tighter. “Why do you hide these things? I need to know that!”

“Not hiding!”

“And what were you doing, then? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was—”

The dropship rattled and vibrations coursed up Jace’s legs. He shifted his gaze out the viewscreen, and saw nothing but empty skies ahead. Still, the rattle had originated from outside.

“Kinfild?” Jace called.

“Yes?”

“What was that? That rattle?”

“Those are probably the starfighters I was talking about!”

The dropship shook again, and this time, it was more violent. The yoke nearly slipped out of his hand. A flash of magenta plasma seared past the viewscreen, leaving patches of azure speckles in his vision. “They’re shooting at us!”

“Are you not going to evade them?” Kinfild shouted.

Another explosion shook the ship, and Jace pressed his legs against the deck. His stomach rose up into his throat, and his heart pounded. “I don’t know how to fly a starship!”

“How many are there?” Kinfild yelled.

Jace leaned forwards. He peered out the dropship’s viewscreen, scanning the sky for any sign of the attacking starfighter—or starfighters. There was only an empty blue sky and inky clouds.

“Check the scanner, Mr. Baldwin!”

Jace glanced across the dashboard. To his right, embedded amongst the controls, was a black circle covered in a white grid. A blue triangle waited in its center, and three more red triangles trailed behind it, quickly approaching.

“Three!” Jace yelled. “Three ships! We need speed!”

“To your left!” called the Wielder. “Use the power shunting controls! Those three levers!”

Just beside the control yoke, he spotted the three levers—one blue, one green, and one red.

Kinfild heaved a shovel-full of starcoals into the furnace. “One diverts power to the thrusters and repellers, one to the shields, and one to the weapons systems!”

Jace ducked down instinctively when three starfighters passed over their heads, flying far faster than the dropship could. They sprayed the viewscreen with plasma when they passed over, but the shots dissipated inches away from the viewscreen. Hexagonal ripples of sapphire blossomed from the impact point—shield-aspect Aes.

The starfighters had wide wings forward up on their slender hulls. They were about ten meters long, and they reminded him of a dragonfly—except for the miniature smokestack and cloud of ash that they chuffed out. But they stood out against the blue sky and would be easy to hit. Jace asked, “Can we put those weapons to use?”

“You’ll need someone else to operate the plasma cannons!” Kinfild yelled. “Divert that power to the thrusters and give us more speed!”

“How?”

“The power shunting! You may need to flick it back and forth a few times—”

Jace lifted a hand from the control yoke and reached for the levers to his left. “Which lever?”

“The red one controls the weapons’ power. The blue one controls the shield strength—”

“We need speed, Kinfild!”

“Turn them all off, then power the thrusters only! The green lever!”

Jace reached over with his free hand and pushed all of the switches down. The gauges above them spun incoherently, and the dropship lurched. His insides tied themselves into a knot as the ship plummeted.

“Put some power back to the drive systems!” Kinfild yelled. “Now!”

“I’m working on it!” Jace flipped the green lever back on, and the gauges stabilized. A small light above the dial began to blink. The dropship shot forward and he was pushed back into his seat. The yoke resisted his hands when he pulled up on it. He guided them up, putting them back on their original course. The dropship responded to his touch, but it was sluggish.

Another flash of purple light seared his eyes. It struck the roof above the viewscreen, and the stench of smoke and burnt plastic wafted through the cabin.

Flipping a lever wouldn’t be enough to escape. The three starfighters circled around, and Jace’s heart pounded even faster—the small vessels were preparing to strafe the dropship. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

He had to outmaneuver them, or they would both die.