Evan Currie - Heirs of Empire

“It’s Imperial shipyards construction,” Kennick said diffidently. “They always understate their rating.”

Inside the Andros , Lydia clutched at her mouth and tried very hard to neither scream nor vomit across the entire room.

I hate flying. Why does anyone do this for fun?

Brennan, her idiot brother, had done this to her before. He thought it was great fun, free-falling in a skimmer. His skimmer, however, was a civilian ultralight rated for stunt flying. She doubted very strongly that the Andros was remotely rated for anything like this.

It was all she could do to just clutch herself tightly and try not to turn into a gibbering wreck.

The only reason she wasn’t panicking right then was that she was quite certain if she did, Dusk would completely lose whatever calm the girl had. Disgustingly, Mik was laughing like he was on some amusement ride, but she could see the dark girl’s eyes and knew that she was just looking for a reason to freak out.

Lydia sucked in a breath and willed a sickly smile onto her face, even as her stomach rebelled against her and tried to crawl out her throat.

“It’ll be fine,” she said, yelling. “Brennan was very impressed with the handler on this ship when they landed, remember? And Brennan is the best natural flyer I know. If he says it, it’s true.”

Dusk managed an equally sickly smile and nodded, but clearly she wasn’t feeling up to responding.

That was fine. Lydia didn’t think she could maintain a conversation at the moment either.

“Festering burning skies and seas!” Kim swore violently as he watched the Thunderbird spiral down, even as the Andros plummeted past it, still accelerating dead on for oblivion on the ground below. “Sails to maximum! Tighten us to the wind! All flank ahead!”

The gleaming sails of the Elemental exploded outward as the ship’s projectors were pushed to the max, enlarging coverage to the point where the sails were obscuring some visibility. But the added area increased speed another 10 percent as the lines tightened to bring the destroyer up in behind the light sails to further reduce drag.

Of all the things he’d expected, that was not one of them.

Only a fool and a lunatic would even consider a maneuver like that, he thought grimly, knuckles white as he gripped the wheel.

There was an axiom in the military, one he was intimately familiar with: the greatest armsman in the world didn’t fear the second greatest. He feared the worst, because he couldn’t predict what the damned fool was going to do.

So what in the burning skies do you do when you’re dealing with an incredibly skilled warrior who was entirely happy to throw every single rule right out the port lock?

Kim seethed as he watched the sails of the Thunderbird flicker and form, her captain clearly trying to recover his stricken ship.

Apparently, if you’re not damned lucky, you die.

“New orders to gunners,” he called. “As soon as we’re in range, open fire on the Andros . No quarter.”

“Passing ten thousand feet.”

Gaston sounded calm, but there was an undercurrent of terror in his voice that really made Mira’s day. She was giddily working all the controls and throwing the wheel over as she brought the ship back to an even keel across the beam, still pointed too low for anyone’s comfort.

“Clear,” she acknowledged cheerfully.

A few seconds later, he spoke again. “Approaching five thousand feet.”

“Clear.”

She didn’t have to look at him to know that Gaston was sweating, even in the cold chill of the rushing air. He was secured to his station, as was she and nearly everyone else, so there was nothing he could do but ride it out, and for a man like Gas … like most of those on board, that was the true definition of torture.

“Stand by projectors,” she ordered as they passed five thousand feet.

“Standing by already …”

“Fire.”

The Andros vibrated with the launch of the four projector rockets she’d kept in reserve.

“Brace!” Mira ordered just before they flared to life thousands of feet aboveground.

The silver-white sails snapped into view, catching the wind and yanking hard on the plummeting ship. A groan was heard through the Andros that no one on board had ever heard on a ship before and that none ever wanted to hear again.

They were all slammed down into the deck and against the straps as the Andros ’s plummet was suddenly turned into a parabola. Vertical velocity converted to horizontal in a bone jarringly short time, the ship like a pendulum at the end of a very long string.

Mira again hit the blower, leaning into it as she called out orders.

“Cargo crew, stand ready to deliver! Projectors, I need those four reloaded! Now!”

Mira smiled, pride filling her as she watched the crew she could see jump to follow her command. She had no doubt that belowdecks the very same was happening.

“Thirty seconds to drop!”

The men in the hold of the Andros had the supply packets already in place. That had been the easy part. They just loaded them last and put them right on the rails. The hard part had been securing them when orders came down before the engagement and, now, getting them set to launch again.

They professionally ignored the splatters of vomit that decorated the deck and the pallets—not every man and woman on board was made of the sternest of stuff—and trucked everything into place just before they snapped their safety rigs into place.

“Doors opening!”

The whistle and roar of wind tore through the hold as the large doors to the rear of the ship slowly ground open, and they saw for the first time just how far they’d fallen. The ground was whipping past so close in places it almost looked like you could reach out and touch earth.

“Damn. The lady really sliced that one close to the bone.”

“Stand by to drop!”

“Gas”—Mira smiled—“raise the colors.”

“Yes, my lady,” Gaston replied instantly, finally getting an order he was eager to follow.

“Gas …” She paused. “Best add the Scourwind colors to that.”

Gaston nodded. “As you say.”

The projectors set into the rear of the ship exploded to life, and a huge black flag with a crossed blaster and Armati rippled in the wind like one made of real cloth. Below it, the Scourwind colors flew as pallets of food, water, condensers, and other relief supplies were rolled off the rails and out the back of the Andros .

Mira grinned, glancing over her shoulder as her hair blew wildly in the whipping wind. The supplies were dotting out behind them as they rushed over the camp, but she expected the guidance systems would drop them all close enough.

If not, it’s out of my power now, she thought.

The Phoenix was still desperately trying to get turned around fast enough to reacquire contact with the Andros , but they were out of this fight. The Thunderbird looked like it was about to plow into the ground. She couldn’t tell if they’d gotten enough control to make the impact survivable or not. She somewhat hoped they had, but Mira could barely bring herself to care anymore.

Having your own armsmen turn on you, choosing instead to follow a mass murderer, had a way of distancing you from any esprit de corps that may normally have lingered.

“The Elemental is closing fast,” Gaston said.

Mira turned her eyes, spotting the gleaming sails of the approaching destroyer and noting that they were tucked in to the wind as close as she’d ever seen.