Sweat drips down my neck. My eyes flicker to the right and then to the left. The only light coming into the hall is from the sun of a lone system in Quadrant F987: a part of Centaurus System the Baromenian security force rarely patrols.

I hold my breath as Mor moves the ship forward. He can’t afford any rapid movements, nothing that will give us away.

I clench my jaw. This is all about timing. If we move too slow, then we may not break through the barrier, but too fast will draw too much attention.

The core hub is the safest place on the ship, and I hope the woman will be okay there. I worry that I scared her too much. It’s the single place on the ship that could block Baromenian scanners from picking up any foreign life forms.

Mor’s inching the ship forward.

It shouldn’t be taking as long as it is. We’re almost through to the Centaurus system, but the barrier is designed to line the whole planetary group and alert Baroma of any intruders.

But we found a hole in their fancy fence a few years ago.

I finally arrive in the control room, quickly taking my seat.

“So nice of you to join,” Mor grumbles.

“She’s scared. I can tell.” I furrow my brow and press my hand against my nose. “I hate keeping her like this. But better she’s hidden away than killed.”

Mor nods silently.

Of course, it would take a lot of stress off my plate if the Baromenian government took her. We wouldn’t get paid, though I would start to think clearly once again.

God, she’s driving me wild. Every night, I’m filled with wanting to return to her and touch her delicate skin, but that would be extraordinarily foolish. Last time was too much; it was too close.

But her taste is delicious, and I crave it. She has become the center of all of my thoughts, my obsession. It has taken everything in my power not to go there, get on my knees, and beg her to let me touch her again. Just her scent alone is enough to make me feel wild and out of control.

I need this expedition to end. It is becoming unbearable. She probably hates me. I don’t blame her. To her, I look like some strange alien freak.

Mor looks down at the radar. “Approaching barrier in ten minutes.”

I grit my teeth. Mor and I are the best smugglers in our galaxy, but this is no easy feat. We sit silently as the clock slowly counts down. There isn’t much more we can do but hope.

There could be an army of Baromenian ships waiting to blast us to dust. All but thirty seconds are left now.

“What activity is the radar showing?” he asks.

Mor’s eyes stay glued to driving. He can’t afford to slip up. Entering the hole in the barrier takes extreme precision. It can’t be seen with the naked eye. We rely on our instincts and a faint image representation of it on the map.

“Clear.”

I hold my breath as he pulls on the throttle. It lurches forward with intense speed. The ship roars as it dives. He spins it on an angle, and it flies through the hole in the barrier. He pulls back the throttle, and the Blue Star slows to a stop. We have made it through.

“Radar check,” he says.

“Still clear.”

“Engaging thruster. Full speed. Adjust course back to the destination.”

“On it.”

The lights click back on.

“This is when the fun begins.”

He pushes hard on the steering wheel as we dive deeper into the Centaurus System. Baromenian fleets will be patrolling all the systems; he stays on manual drive until he is certain we are in the clear; then he switches to autopilot and lets out a long low sigh of relief.

Mor and I look at one another and smile.

“You smell that?” I ask.

“What?”

“A big, fat payday!” I stand up and shake my hands in the air.

“That’s right.”

“Get her back in the cell,” I say. “I’ll drive.” I sit back down and lean against the control panel. I stare at the map.

Mor nods, stands, and disappears down the hall. I wait a few seconds, listening to the steady noise of the ship’s engine. Then my hands furiously press the keys and pull up the cameras. I watch Mor lead Emily back into the cell. Her void-black hair falls over her delicate face.

Something catches my eye on the radar. Fuck me.

Three large red dots are flying at absurd speeds directly toward us.

Baromenian patrols. Good thing I’m the one driving now. Mor’s good—but I’m better. I swerve the Blue Star.

Boom! The weight of the ship heaves to the right. Alerts and warnings begin to sound and appear over the screen. We’ve taken a serious hit.

“Dammit! Mor!” He needs to be up here with me.

I scan the monitor; it shows the list of damages. Our fuel supply has been hit. We’re fucked. I jump up and clutch the sticks to redirect our set course. There's no time to think or plan anymore, just react. The enemy fleet draws near. Either they kill us, or the Blue Star explodes.

“Mor!”

I unleash a whirlwind of bullets directly at them. They pivot and turn, but it's not enough to set them back. “What the hell, Mor. What could you be doing?”

I take half a second to glance at the camera footage of the cell. They're gone. My eyes snap back toward our enemies. I turn a hard left, avoiding the incoming laser attack.

There are two possibilities explaining Mor’s absence—he and that girl have run off in the escape pod (I find this unlikely since Mor still holds his role as my protector almost sacred) or he's taken her back to the core hub. Honestly, at this point, it could be either one.

The right side of the Blue Star dents and warps as a storm of laser bullets rain down onto it. The whole left flank on the front has been hit. I chew on my bottom lip. King Ursen better fix the damn Blue Star.

“Alright. We’re done playing around here.”

I loop around, soaring into the open expanse of space. One against three is not good odds, and from what I can pick up on the radar, we’re going up against their elite forces.

I grind my teeth. I need to do a little bit of improvising, but that’s my strength.

I shove the ship forward, and then I see it on the radar—a belt of abandoned space debris. It’s close enough and will have to do. I have lost several pursuers by hiding behind the large masses of junk. It's risky. One wrong turn or one bad calculation can obliterate you.

The computer sirens begin to scream out again. The fuel gauge is rapidly dropping and now falls into emergency mode.

“Well, this is just great.”

The ship twists and plummets as it sails between the old spacecraft, advertisements, waystations, and satellites. The smallest of the Baromenian fleets explodes into fire and smoke against one of the rusted-out fuel stations, silent in the void of space. They aren’t used to driving in tight places like this. There are no satellites around Baroma.

I smile. It’s a small triumph. The other two follow closely as I descend into the belt. Massive hunks of junk fly past my view. Across the large window panel, the fuel gauge blinks in red. I’m not one to lose, but I can’t let pride get in the way of anything.

No, it’s more than that. I can’t let anything happen to her. I don’t have any other choice than to land this thing. It’s going to be rough.

Mor rushes into the room. “I’m back,” he pants.

“Where’s the girl?” If something happens to her, the whole trip was for nothing.

“The core hub.”

“Good. Things are about to get bumpy.”

Mor takes his seat next to me and gives me a reassuring nod.

I close my eyes and let out a deep breath. “We have hardly any fuel left. Just enough to get into that planet’s atmosphere.”

“What planet?” Mor’s eyebrows scrunch up. I point to the map, where the blinking white dot amidst the junk belt can be seen.

“Just pray it's got an extra ship lying around.”

“We’re going to die.” Mor shakes his head, looking up at the top of the ship.

“Aw, that’s no fun. Have I ever killed you, Mor?”

I jerk the throttle forward. An ear-shattering eruption blasts from the engine as we barrel through space and the debris. I doubt the Baromenian fleet will follow us through this. After all, some would say this is suicide.

I clench my teeth and grip the clutches so tightly, my hands cramp. I have to land this. Our speed increases, and the ship shakes wildly in protest as the metal frame fights to stay together.

“Come on!” I shout, jerking the steering wheel up. “Come on!”

We reach the planet’s atmosphere, and all I see is the white ground growing nearer as we hurtle toward it with no brakes.