“Fiona!” Tom Keller shouts. “Don’t be stupid! Come back!”
The sound of boots crashing through snow fills the air. Ja’war’s head snaps around, enhanced senses cataloguing the pursuit.
“Twelve following,” he reports grimly. “Armed. Moving fast.”
I try to keep up, but human legs in knee-deep snow are no match for hunters who know these woods. My boots sink with every step, snow cascading into my jeans, icy water soaking through to my skin.
“The ship is still over a kilometer away,” Ja’war says, slowing to match my pace. Behind us, the voices are getting closer.
“Go,” I gasp, already winded. “I’ll slow you down.”
“Never.” His arm sweeps around my waist, and suddenly I’m airborne as he lifts me against his chest. “Hold on.”
Then he runs.
This isn’t human running. This is something else entirely—alien muscles propelling us through the forest at speeds that make the trees blur past. Snow explodes around his feet with each impact, but he never stumbles, never slows. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on tight, feeling every controlled breath, every powerful stride.
“There!” Dale’s voice echoes through the trees, much closer than it should be. “I see them!”
A gunshot cracks through the winter air, the bullet splintering bark inches from Ja’war’s head. He doesn’t even flinch, just adjusts his trajectory and somehow runs faster.
“They’re shooting at us!” I shout over the wind.
“They will not catch us,” he says grimly, leaping over a fallen log that would have tripped me for sure.
More gunshots. More shouting. The hunters are spreading out, trying to cut us off, but Ja’war seems to know exactly where each one is. He weaves between trees, changes direction without warning, keeps us always just ahead of the pursuit.
“Left!” I call out, spotting movement through the trees. “Two more coming from the left!”
He adjusts instantly, powerful legs eating up the distance as we veer away from the new threat. I can feel his heart beating against my ribs—fast but steady, controlled even under pressure.
A hunter breaks through the tree line ahead of us, rifle raised. Ja’war doesn’t slow down. Instead, he leaps—actually leaps—clearing both the hunter and a snow-covered boulder in one impossible bound. The man spins around, shouting in confusion, but we’re already gone.
“Jesus,” I breathe.
“Indeed,” Ja’war says, and I can hear the grim satisfaction in his voice.
We crest a small ridge, and suddenly his ship comes into view. Beautiful in a way that makes my chest tight—sleek lines and organic curves that seem to grow from the landscape rather than impose upon it. Cloaking systems shimmer around its hull.
“Home,” Ja’war says simply, not even breathing hard despite carrying me at superhuman speeds through a forest.
Behind us, the voices are getting fainter, the pursuit falling behind. But they’re still coming.
“How long until the navigation system fails?” he asks as we approach the ship’s ramp.
“Hard to say. Could be hours, could be days. It depends on how much stress the quantum matrix can handle.” I bite my lip, running calculations in my head. “It’s going to need constant monitoring. Adjustments. Someone who understands how the Earth components interface with your quantum systems.”
He stops walking. Turns to look at me with those winter-blue eyes that see too much.
“Someone like you.”
“Someone exactly like me.” The words come out steady, certain. “I’m the only one who knows how those systems work together. If you want to complete this mission—if you want to save those people—you need me.”
For a moment, we stand there in the snow, the weight of what I’m saying settling between us. In the distance, I can hear Dale Wicks’ voice calling my name, but he sounds far away now. Defeated.
“The regulations,” he says carefully, “permit couriers to transport technical specialists on critical missions.”
“Is this a critical mission?”
