Read Online Starflight by Melissa Landers - Free Book Online Page A

“I was about to wake the crew.”
    “No, let them sleep.” She wrestled with the garment, struggling to shove both legs inside without the leverage of her weight. Soon she was floating upside down. “I’ll fix it.”
    He did a double take. “You’ll what?”
    “Fix it,” she told him while zipping up. “And you’ll help me.”
    “Sure,” he droned. “I always assist in major ship repairs before breakfast.”
    Just add this to the day’s list of surprises. Who was this girl? It occurred to him that he didn’t know anything about her, like where she’d gone to school or what program she’d studied. Not even her age.
    “Are you an engineering student?” he asked.
    “Something like that.” She pointed to a crate strapped to the floor, supplies she’d bought at the outpost. “Reach in there and grab my tool kit. Then follow me down to the engine level.”
    They swam like drunken fish through the hallways, propelling themselves with barefoot kicks against the wall. Doran engaged her in small talk and learned that she was eighteen, like him. She’d recently graduated and was on her way to the outer realm for training, though she wouldn’t specify what kind.
    She was lying, of course.
    No eighteen-year-old traveled to the fringe unaccompanied, not for training. But he didn’t bother pressing for the truth. If she wanted to risk her neck in the middle of no-man’s-land, that was her business.
    They reached the ship’s bottom level and turned on the lights, which didn’t do much to orient him. Half the room was a cargo hold with massive crates bolted to the floor, and three sliding metal doors compartmentalized the other half.
    “If this is the engine room,” he asked, “where’s the engine?”
    “There’s more than one,” Lara told him. “They’re kept quarantined, so if a fire breaks out, it won’t fry the whole system.” She pointed to the first metal door. “Hear that whirring sound?”
    He nodded.
    “That’s the emergency engine. It powers oxygen and heat: things we can’t do without. There’s usually a backup generator, too. If we run out of fuel, we can hand-crank enough air to keep us breathing until someone responds to the distress call.”
    Doran didn’t say so, but only idiots responded to distress calls. That was a good way to get yourself robbed, sold, or killed. Maybe all of the above. He’d heard about pirates sending distress beacons and then sitting back while the victims came right to them. Smart travelers kept their heads down and minded their own business.
    “That’s the main engine,” Lara said, pointing at the middle door. “It’s powered down, otherwise we’d need earplugs.” Then she indicated the final door. “There’s the room we want—secondary systems, navigation, electrical. All the ship’s bells and whistles.”
    “Bells and whistles?” he asked. “More like rubber bands and Popsicle sticks.”
    Lara frowned at a flake of rust floating past her nose. “Well. In hindsight, maybe I should’ve picked a different ship.”
    She pushed off the steps, sailing across the room, and Doran followed. It took some maneuvering, but they eventually made it to the last door and slid it into the wall.
    A warm gust of static blew over them, smelling of oil and dust. It tickled a sneeze from his nose and sent him backward an inch. When he caught hold of the doorframe, he let his gaze wander over the variety of machines mounted to the walls. They varied in size and shape, but each was dulled by layers of old grease, their tubes opaque and gummy with age.
    The ship’s innards matched its hull—ridden hard and put away wet.
    “At least no moths fluttered out,” Lara said. She gripped her way around the room until she settled in front of a boxy device that resembled a climate console.
    The tiny space made Doran’s airway squeeze, so he stayed put. “I’ll wait here until you need me.”
    Nodding, she snapped the grav drive casing from the wall, then began