Offering a hand to help Doug to his feet, Rust said, “Get your ass to the bridge, then.”
“Come on.” Attie rose, tugging on his other arm. “There’s still time.”
Before he could try to stand, the cyborgs hoisted him into the air and rushed toward the lift. He could sense the minutes ticking down as they waited for the car to stop moving. Finally, the doors shushed open and the cyborgs deposited him in the admiral’s chair on the bridge. The body of the admiral lay nearby, along with two other officers.
Smoke rose from several consoles, and the walls were blackened by weapons fire. The smell of melted polymer and hot metal filled the room as Doug shoved the card into a slot on the arm console. Closing his eyes, he reached for his nanites, trying to envision the self-destruct sequence. This would be the single-most important hack of his life.
And he had just over a minute to do it.
The admiral’s chair gave him access to every aspect of the ship, and the colors and sounds clamoring for his attention were nearly debilitating. He struggled down one false trail after another. In a panic, he erected his own shielding to block irrelevant data, and continued on.
Then he saw it. A ticking clock, just ahead. Thirty seconds and counting.
A shimmering firewall surrounded the self-destruct sequence. The admiral’s key had gotten him this far, but it wouldn’t grant access through the firewall. He spiraled around it, looking for a chink in the armor. There was always a back door; programmers knew better than to build something they couldn’t hack. But he couldn’t find it.
Growing more frantic as the seconds ticked by, he slammed against the wall, brute force his last resort.
Then Twerp’s voice reached him. Over here, Doug.
He spun, searching for the AI. He found her standing in a multicolored river of data, her ethereal form a willowy, feminine shape that shifted with the code’s ebb and flow.
Sixteen seconds left.
She gestured to a spot high on the firewall. I can’t reach it.
There it was; a single byte, so small he’d missed it.
An entry point.
Coiling all his energy, he narrowed his focus and leapt. He dropped his shielding, squeezed his virtual self until, with a pop, he slipped through.
On the other side was a simple timer with an on-off code right in the center. Eight seconds left. The clock was blinking, ticking them toward doom. Seven seconds. Six. Surely disarming it couldn’t be this easy? Was it booby trapped?
Five seconds.
Booby trap or not, he was out of time. Holding his breath, he toggled it. Four seconds.
The clock blinked.
Four seconds.
Four seconds.
It had to blink three more times before his shoulders relaxed. I did it. Then he turned to Twerp, We did it!
He opened his eyes to the expectant faces around him. Attie gripped his human hand tightly, lips white with terror. Dirt smudged her cheek, and one shoulder of her tunic was torn. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“Well?” she asked.
In response, he grinned and pulled her onto his lap, capturing her mouth in a kiss.
From Attie’s pocket, Twerp said, “The countdown has stopped. I estimate our odds of success were four billion, eight hundred and thirty-six thousand nine hundred to one, unless you take into account—”
Twobit shouted, “Holy fuck, he did it!”
The bridge erupted with cheers, covering the rest of Twerp’s analysis. Rust and Brix high-fived each other with crashing force. Twobit pounded them on the backs.
Attie cupped Doug’s face in both hands and returned his kiss, shaking with sobs and laughter.
He laughed with her. They were alive and they were together. He’d never been as happy as he was at this moment.
She lay her head against his chest and let out a slow breath. “I can’t believe we survived.”
“Survived?” Rust crowed, eyes gleaming. “We own a fucking flagship!”
As the truth settled in, Doug met the eyes of his crew with a grin. “Where do we want to go first?”
Chapter 22
Attie rose from her seat at the bridge’s comm, legs shaky as she stared at the star-filled view screen. The sound of the burn drive powering down to regular thrusters was music to her ears. They’d fled deep into unclassified space to throw off any pursuit. Syndicorp would undoubtedly try to get their flagship back, and even the Icarus’s guns would be no match against a flotilla.
Now, after three hard burns in as many days, Attie just wanted a shower, a nap, and some food. The bridge was equipped with a massive nav-grav unit that didn’t require people to be strapped in, but it didn’t alleviate recovery time, and this many burns in such a short time left her feeling groggier than usual. Even the cyborgs seemed woozy, rubbing their heads and groaning.
“I think that should hide our trail,” said Doug, swiveling in the admiral seat, cybernetic eye looking over the crew on the bridge.
Attie’s gaze was drawn to his bare knees where the regrowing synth skin still looked patchy, mottled crimson over his polymer bones. Esben knew how to use a machine that accelerated cyborg healing, and even Emilryde and Benjy would be up and around in no time. It amazed her that they’d suffered no casualties.
“Twobit,” Doug asked. “Think you can finish your sweep of the Icarus today?”
Instead of resting between burns like Attie, the cyborgs had been systematically going from room to room and eliminating any remaining signals Syndicorp might pick up on. Doug had his hands full figuring out the burn drive and navigation systems.
Rust stood and answered, “Aye, captain,” while the other two nodded wearily.
Inhaling deeply, Attie headed to the door. “I’ll go check the captives.”
A handful of Syndicorp crew who’d been left behind—including a tech who’d been trapped in a cryopod—were in the brig until they could be dropped off somewhere. Then there was Claudia. Attie had originally felt guilty for all but forgetting the other Consort during their mad dash to escape, but the
