He didn’t even look my way as he stormed straight up to the small ship. “Yeah. Sort of. We’ve crossed paths before. Comes with the territory.”
Um. What territory was that, exactly? Okay, no, wait—Enola had said that this guy’s species was a lot like humans, right? And he’d arrived on the dredger ship just like we had. So how was it even possible for him to already know Rout? “I … I, um … I thought you were, um … ” I hesitated, eyeing him warily.
“Gonna get to the point sometime today, human?” he grumbled.
I swallowed hard. “I mean, weren’t you taken off your homeworld like I was? Abducted?”
He never even looked my way as he answered. “Yeah, years ago. I’ve been around the three systems plenty of times since then. Learned a few things, too. Like the fact that Rout is a conniving, slimy little backstabber. He’s a run-broker and a real piece of s—”
“A what?” I interrupted, stopping him before he launched into what would probably be another long string of names and insults. Not helpful.
“Run-broker. It means he buys and sells racers, runner craft, weapons, and tech for the Renegade Run. Specifically bad ones.” He cast another disapproving scowl my way before he grabbed a handle on the side of the ship and pulled. A hatch door opened, sort of like the sliding door on the side of a minivan. In fact, the whole ship wasn’t much bigger than one of those white passenger vans that shuttled people around at the airports. Was he even going to fit in there?
I hedged closer, still keeping a healthy distance as he climbed inside. No need to push my luck in case he suddenly snapped. I wanted a head start. “Why would he want bad stuff? Doesn’t he want to win?”
“No. I mean, sure, he’s probably always hoping for a longshot, underdog win. But that’s not where the money is. Betting on professional renegade runners is more expensive. Costs a lot more to get a piece of that action because the payout is more certain. So run-brokers like Rout buy a bunch of crap racers and runner crafts as fodder for cheap bets so lower income fans can buy in, at least for the first day. Usually, they’re betting on who’ll live the longest, not who’s gonna win.”
That truth settled over me like a cold rain, soaking me all the way to my soul and drenching away any lingering sparks of hope I had left. “Oh,” was all I managed to whisper back.
If he was aware of my moment of private horror, it didn’t show. Or at least, he didn’t care enough to soften his tone as he went on working. “Listen, I get that you’re human and you probably don’t know how all this works, but I don’t have time to give you a freakin’ seminar about the Renegade Run. Plus, it’s kinda pointless since we’re both gonna die in about fifteen minutes anyway. So how about you use this time to contemplate your existence or something, yeah?”
Well … at least he didn’t mince words. And he was probably right. Me understanding these things was a little pointless, right? It wasn’t like I could fly an alien ship. I’d never even held a gun before. And in all likelihood, I wouldn’t be getting any second chances.
My stomach twisted painfully, and I told myself that was what made tears well in my eyes. I set my jaw, fighting to keep them at bay. “Oh. Um, yeah. Okay,” I managed with a shaky exhale.
My gaze wandered over the battered, rusty little spacecraft as he went on banging around inside of it. His movements made the whole thing shake and rattle, creaking on its flimsy landing gear. When his face appeared in the glass of the cockpit’s curved front windshield our eyes met again.
Those stupid tears kept coming back and nothing I did seemed to stop them. I looked down quickly, mashing my lips together to keep my chin from trembling. I wasn’t about to let him see me cry. Come on, Brinna. Suck it up. No crying.
“Hey,” he called out to me through the open hatch door. “Come here. I need your tiny little human fingers for something.”
I frowned, still keeping my head down to hide most of my face from his view. “For what?”
“Ugh, would you just come here? We only have a few minutes to prep.” He rolled his strange eyes and ducked back inside.
I trudged toward the open door, leaning in to get a look around before I dared to venture past the threshold. You know, just in case he was waiting to ambush me or something.
The interior of the ship was cramped and dark and reeked of chemicals like an auto repair shop. Loose cables sagged from the ceiling, snaking along pipes and hardware. The front cockpit had two seats that didn’t even match, and several of the glass screens on various control panels around the back were cracked. The metal floor was a patchwork of mismatched grates and panels, and a few of them had been pried open.
That was where my big, gray-skinned alien partner was crouched, rooting through the ship’s innards and pulling out handfuls of sparking wires and cables like someone gutting a Thanksgiving turkey.
All the blood drained from my face as I watched him rip out a few more handfuls of maybe-important wires. Did he even know what he was doing? What if he broke our runner-ship-thing before we ever got to start the race? What would that mean for us?
With one of his long arms crammed down through an open panel, his face contorted as he felt around for something. He hissed sharply, biting curses through his teeth as he drew his hand back suddenly.
“There’s an emergency release handle at the bottom of this compartment,” he explained as he sat back, combing some of his dark, silky bangs away from his face. “My hands are too big. Think you can
