Page 87 of The Sky Pirate's Stowaway
Ben straightened, resuming his professional demeanor. “I should continue my rounds. Try to eat something, sir.”
As he turned to leave, I called after him. “Ben. Thank you. For the cane. And the conversation.”
He nodded, sympathy crossing his features. “I’ll be back. Try to rest.”
Left alone, I stared at my stump, reality sinking in like a physical weight. I was crippled, imprisoned, condemned to die for crimes I didn’t commit.
Anger came then, hot and sudden, burning away the fog of despair. Anger at Eric for his betrayal. At myself for my blindness. At the system that would execute me without question.
Ben returned hours later, carrying something beneath his jacket.
“Thought you might need this,” he said, passing a flask through the bars. “Not much, but it might help with the pain.”
The flask contained cheap whiskey. I took a grateful swallow, welcoming the warmth that spread through my chest.
“Why are you helping me?” I asked.
“My brother served under you. Matthew Price? On theDauntless. Said you were the only officer who treated common aeronauts like people. That you saved his life in battle.”
A blurry image of a teenage boy swirled in my mind. “What happened to him?”
“Died last winter. Broke his back and had to leave the fleet. Then got flux-lung from working the refineries.” Ben’s expression hardened. “Nobody even cared when he died.”
I offered the flask back, but he shook his head. “Keep it. I’m on duty.”
As he walked away, I took another swallow. Four days until my trial. Four days until I was sentenced to die for Eric’s crimes.
“Wake up!” A harsh whisper cut through my sleep. “Lieutenant Commander, wake up now!”
I jolted awake to find Ben’s face pressed close to the bars, his expression tense.
“What time is it?” I mumbled.
“Just past three. Someone’s here to see you.”
A slight figure stepped into view—a young woman in civilian clothes, her dark hair tucked under a cap.
“Torres?” I whispered in disbelief.
“Sir.” She approached the bars, eyes darting to check the corridor. “Good to see you alive.”
“Are you alright?”
“Well, I’ve been discharged.Honorable, they called it, but we both know what it means.”
Torres had been one of my most promising junior officers—eager to learn, quick to volunteer.
“What are you doing here? If they catch you—”
“They won’t. I’ve come to get you out.”
I stared at her. “That’s impossible.”
“No, sir, it isn’t.” Torres exchanged a look with Ben. “I was there. I saw what happened onThe Valiant. I remember you questioning that missing stock, sir. I know you’re innocent.”
She wasn’t entirely correct–I wasn’t entirely innocent. And I already knew I’d carry that guilt to my grave.
“We don’t have much time,” Ben interjected. “The next patrol comes through in twenty minutes.”
