Page 61 of Fated to the Dragon Alien

Cerani

Cerani sat on the floor of the cargo bay with her back against a wall panel and her knees pulled up. Forty-four ex-miners packed the space around her, strapped in with old cargo handles and anchor lines. The metal floor vibrated under them. She held the handle loop beside her shoulder and looked around.

“We’re okay,” she said, her voice carrying through the comms channel. “Just hang on.”

A few nodded. Sema had her arms wrapped around one of the more nervous ones, her eyes locked ahead, tense. They’d all lived through worse—suits failing, cave-ins, being imprisoned by the Axis in the first place. This was different. They were away from the mine. They were in space.

Cerani kept her helmet on, gear sealed. She’d been in open air before, but the protective suit regulated air flow and gave the illusion of some control over a completely foreign environment. Practically, the boots had gravity regulators to keep everyone attached to the floor and not floating around.

The ship rumbled again, harder this time. A sharp jolt knocked boots and elbows into loud scrapes against the walls. Something had hit them.

The room filled with muted gasps and curses. More thudding impacts hit the hull. The deck rattled as the ship lurched sideways, then corrected.

Cerani’s pulse kicked up as she pieced together what was likely happening on the other side of the hull. The ship was under fire. They were in combat.

She tapped her comm and pulled up the local channel. “Stavian,” she said. “Do you hear me? What’s happening?”

No answer.

She tried again. Static.

Another strike slammed into the side of the vessel, or rather, the shields. They were holding, for now, but Cerani flinched as the lights flickered. The ship tilted again and alarms started up outside the cargo hold, muffled behind the bulkhead walls.

She had to get to the bridge.

“Stay low,” she said to the others, pushing herself up. Her boots clicked as the magnetic mode engaged to let her walk. “Don’t move unless you have to. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

“No,” Sema said, reaching toward her, “Cerani—”

But she was already moving, each step pulling hard with the stabilizers. She leaned into the slope of the tilting ship and pushed through the internal hatch. Smoke hugged the ceiling above. Hall panels flickered as she moved down the narrow hall toward the lift.

When the doors opened to the bridge, everything hit at once.

Smoke. Sparks. Red lights blinking across every console. Crew members shouting.

Talla was hunched over her nav panel, fingers flying, face streaked with sweat. Smoke curled from the corner of her console. Jorr was at weapons, cursing and slamming controls asreticle lights turned red and blinked out. Rek’tor had one hand locked on the control yoke and the other flying over engine touch-keys, teeth bared like he was physically willing the ship to survive.

Stavian stood at the center of it all, his arm braced against a pillar as he called orders through the comm. The ship rocked again, harder this time. Cerani had to grab the edge of the doorframe to stay upright—even with stabilizers.

Her eyes scanned the consoles. Red. So much red.

“Shields down to thirty-seven percent,” Rinter shouted from the rear diagnostic console. “That’s the last ellipse off the plasma coil reset—we’re on raw core strength now.”

Cerani took in the damage logs on the overhead display. Warning icons flashed across the hull diagram faster than she could track—she was still new at reading, after all, and this was just so much. She managed to pick out that two of the thrusters were running hot, and some shield plating had damage. That was just what she saw at a glance.

Stavian looked up. His eyes locked on hers—and didn’t look away. “Cerani.” He motioned quickly. “Come here.”

She moved fast, sidestepping smoking and hissing vents, and he grabbed her hand. He pulled her flush against him and for one moment, nothing else existed.

“I love you,” he said. “I need you to know that.”

It hit her in the heart like a flare shot. She released the locks on her helmet and pulled it off. “Don’t say it like it’s your last time,” she said. “We’re not done.”

His jaw tensed. “Cerani—”

Another hit rattled the ship. Everyone on the bridge pitched.

“Twenty-two percent!” Rinter yelled, clutching his console. “Plasma filaments on vent nine are melting through the feed lines. If we lose those, shields go dark. I mean, completely dark.”

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