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or wanted him under room arrest on board this ship.

“Turn around this ship. If you don’t, I will.”

The boots clacked louder, closer.

“We’re not changing course, Jaxx.”

Anger rose and he spoke under a clenched jaw. “I don’t trust Slade. Or you.” He took a step away from the office.

“Jaxx, stay there.”

Jaxx shook his head and rushed down the corridor. Martelle’s voice faded as he burst in a run around a corner. He had only one option now. Something he considered, but never did it cross his mind more than once. It didn’t matter who on this ship was powerful, important, genius or not, they all needed to die.

If this ship was the head of the main dragon that dared to end those lives on Callisto, he’d cut the head off and find a starfighter to blast this ship to hell and back.

He turned another corner and slowed. The launch bay doors were dead ahead.

25

M-Quadrant, Solar System - Starship Atlantis

The doors to the launch bay opened, sucking upward, disappearing into the ceiling. The clatter of boots were coming closer, the chatter of mechanics and techs clinging away at the myriad of starfighters, dropships, odd-looking dune buggies, and Jetson-like flying cars in front of her.

Reaching the bay, she knew she would be safe—relatively, unless the moron with a rifle trailing her decided to let loose with a barrage of weapon fire, putting everyone in the bay in danger, even himself. Any errant shot could hit a nuclear dynamo or an ion drive in a dropship’s power plant and set this entire starship on its way to high water in a matter of seconds.

But even morons weren’t that dumb.

“She is under arrest. Grab her,” a guard hollered.

A pilot, on the bay tarmac, and walking his way to a starfighter, heeded the call and dropped his helmet and charged. He got within two feet before he realized he just ran into a shit storm.

Without altering her course, she slapped him with an open palm and caught him with a knee to the side of the head as his body angled downward from the first blow. He was knocked out, eyes shut, and on the floor in under 1.3 seconds.

You’re losing your touch, Rivkah.

She swiped up his helmet and headed to a starfighter with an open cockpit. A hand grabbed the back of her shirt, tugging her onto her back, knocking the wind out of her, nearly paralyzing her. The helmet slid away from her as the man jumped on her. He pinned her to the ground.

“Rivkah!” The voice was like lightening, shattering the still.

Rivkah flung an elbow, missing her intended target—the guy who held her down. His eyes narrowed and he shoved her, then brought the butt of his rifle up, ready to strike.

“Rivkah!”

There was that voice again but she couldn’t turn. She had other problems. She put her hands up to block the rifle thrust just as the footsteps became louder. A whoosh of air breezed by her face, a body jumping over her and pummeling the man about to strike. The rifle flew from the man’s fingers and slid by Rivkah.

She didn’t know who saved her and she didn’t have a second to care.

She stood and ran, picking up the helmet. The helmet’s ID read 102, Dizzy. She put it on as she ran at full throttle toward to the starfighter. She looked over her shoulder and nearly stopped, seeing the man who saved her. He was landing blow after blow upon the guard.

Kaden Jaxx, her piece of shit hero wannabe. The son-of-a-bitch who had a magnetic pull to her heart so strong she wanted to pull a PR-8’s trigger and unload a magazine in his face.

I have issues.

Her mind raced and her shoulder ached. The wet drip of blood slid down her back. Should she help Jaxx? Leave him be? Was he really a sellout or had he just saved her? The oncoming mess of guards made her decision easy and made the decision easy for Jaxx, too. He dropped the guard and raced after Rivkah.

Now he’s coming after me?

She picked up her pace, quickly approaching an SF-13 Air Wing. Up the ladder, she plopped into the cockpit and started the starfighter’s engine, the vibration of the craft making her smile. “I’m back you mother-fuckers.”

She clicked the comm line. She gave her best male voice. “Pilot 102, call sign Dizzy, ready for take off.”

Static filled her helmet.

“This is Dizzy. Open launch tubes. I’m ready to fly out of here.”

“Dizzy, that’s a negative. We have a situation on the tarmac. Hold your position.”

She’d have to go to her old tricks. If she could, she’d just blast her way out, but she could tell the starship’s armor was too dense for her plasma cannons. If she punched a few missiles through the launch tubes, then Jaxx would bite the big one.

She wondered if Jaxx was doing alright, then pushed the thought out of her mind as quickly as it came.

She drove her starfighter forward, heading for a launch tube. “Asking for an Admiral’s Bell.”

Rarely used, an admiral always had a green light to leave a ship whenever necessary. In case of special emergencies, used on rarer occasions, a pilot could ask for the Admiral’s Bell and get a green light to enter a launch tube and leave the carrier or starship or cruiser. On even rarer occasions, it was actually approved.

“For what reason, 102?”

Rivkah pushed out her lower lip, inching her craft closer to the launch tube. “Hotel Sierra. I don’t want a nuclear mess right now. I’m carrying highly flammable experimental propulsion. I’m under orders from Colonel Slade Roberson and President Craig Martelle.” Hotel Sierra essentially meant, “Holy shit. I’m being targeted. Get me out of this mess.”

“Just a moment.”

She was just a few feet from the tube and mission control was most likely asking for Slade’s or Craig’s permission to execute an Admiral’s Bell. When they’d get no answer, mission control would have to make an executive decision. She knew

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