“It’s salt.” Phox mumbled as he sank back in his seat, finally seeming to relax the tiniest bit.
“Salt?” Like the season-your-french-fries kind? Seriously?
“Yeah, well, a long time ago, Thermax was supposedly a lot different. Big oceans that covered most of the surface. But when the elder sun began to swell up into a supergiant, it cooked a lot of the planets in its orbit. Thermax was one of them. The oceans evaporated and only the salt was left behind.”
Whoa. I studied the passing crystal formations with a new appreciation. Could something like this happen to Earth? I mean, we had salty oceans, too, right? Was our star going to swell up? What would happen to Earth if it did?
I couldn’t focus on it for long.
All I could think about was my stupid leg. The knife had cut deep, and it bled through my suit and oozed out all over the small, built-in seat that lined one of the walls of the rear cabin. I shivered as I dared to look down at it, wondering if I would ever be able to run like I used to because of this. Had one stab just ended all my hopes for qualifying?
Or did that even matter anymore? I might never get home. I might never get to run like that ever again.
I shuddered and looked back out through the quiet, dimly lit cabin.
Overall, this ship was by far the nicest we’d had yet. It was bigger; the forward cabin held a sleekly designed cockpit with a curved windshield that narrowed to a point at the nose. The two bucket seats swiveled independently, positioned before a broad control panel with wide screens and a variety of buttons and smaller screens that responded whenever Phox touched them.
In the back, the narrow seat where he’d put me down was slightly padded and looked like it probably slid out to form a narrow bed. There were more storage panels, more screens built into the wall, and a glass-topped table similar to the one we’d had on our last ship. Granted, this one was smaller and accompanied by a second, retractable one that extended down from the ceiling. The very back was blocked off by a translucent wall of glass—probably something heavy-duty like those awful cubes—to separate the engines from the rest of the ship. It stifled the noise and made the inside quieter.
Or maybe that was just because neither of us had said much yet apart from chatting about the salt.
Honestly, what was I supposed to say? Sorry that was such a total freaking disaster and you wound up murdering someone else with your bare hands? We’ll get better at this? How about: Next time I’ll do all the murdering?
Ugh. Anything I came up with sounded so stupid and childish.
I buried my head in my hands and rubbed at my throbbing forehead. Everything still felt sore and achy. I was basically one giant walking bruise at this point. All I wanted was to lie down. Sleep—god, what I wouldn’t give for just a few minutes of sleep.
“Hey. You hanging in there?” Phox appeared over me, armed with the small case of medical supplies we’d salvaged off the last ship.
Terror shot through me as I flashed a look between him and the cockpit. “Why aren’t you steering?! What if we crash?”
He shook his head and sat down on the floor in front of me to crack open the medical kit. “This is a new-gen runner craft. It’s got all the bells and whistles. Including auto-pilot. I dialed in the checkpoint coordinates and found us a decent spot to wait out the sunrise. The terrain is clear ahead, so we should be fine as long as no one else tries to shoot us down, but runner craft aren’t allowed to have weaponry outfitted directly onto them. So we’re probably fine for now.”
“O-Oh.” I sank back, trying to process all that.
“I’m guessing humans don’t have stuff like that yet?” He kept his tone soft and his gaze trained down at my leg as he started unlacing my boot.
“Well, um, sort of? I guess? I’ve heard that big airplanes do, but I’m not a pilot so … I don’t know if it’s similar or not.”
He gave a slight shrug before carefully sliding off my shoe and tossing it aside. “Gonna have to cut your suit to get to the wound,” he murmured. “With that puncture, it’s pretty much wrecked anyway, though.”
“I-I can do this myself. Just tell me what to—” I drew back and turned my face away again as heat rose in my cheeks. That gentle tone, the careful way he handled my leg, all of it was too weird. He couldn’t be nice to me like this. I didn’t know how to handle it.
“Oh yeah? You think you can close it up on your own? It’ll hurt like hell if you mess it up. Probably leave a nasty scar, too.” He flicked me a challenging glance.
I frowned back at him. “I can take care of myself, you know.”
He snorted. “I’m sure.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means shut up and sit still. I’m not enjoying this any more than you are.”
I debated kicking him just for spite. “You don’t know anything about me, okay? So stop acting like you do.”
“Oh yeah? Same to you, human.” He took out a slender pair of scissors, moving in twitchy, irritated jerks as he cut the leg of my suit off at the knee. More blood seeped out from inside it, puddling on the floor.
“You’re lucky. Didn’t nick anything serious. And it’s already clotting,” he said as he took out a small, long cylinder about an inch across. “Hold still.”
“I am holding still.”
Before I could ask what that thing was or what he planned on doing with it, Phox pressed a button on the side and two tiny, silver needles extended out of one end, almost like an EpiPen. He didn’t give me a chance to react. He stabbed
