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"Spaceplanes," reported Jamil, peering out the viewscreen. "Flying to intercept. We won't outmaneuver them. We better do something fast."
"Trust me, Xris," Rowan pleaded.
Xris spit the soggy wad of twist out on the deck. "If you screw us, you'll die with us. Because I'm not about to surrender."
He was bluffing and he figured Rowan knew he was bluffing. The old Rowan would have. But this one only nodded and turned to the computer.
"XP-28"--she rested her hands on the keyboard--"goodbye."
"What the devil is going on?" Quong appeared in the cockpit, highly indignant, a large and swelling bump on his forehead. "And why am I always the last one to know?"
"I'll explain later--" Xris began.
"Hang on, gentlemen," Rowan warned.
Her eyes shone; her face was flushed. Her fingers tapped swiftly, lightly. She was enjoying herself. And she was, Xris found himself thinking incongruously, a damn attractive woman.
"Making the jump in five, four ..."
There was a mad scramble; everyone rushing to find seats, fumbling with the complicated straps and webbing.
"Another rough jump!" Tycho groaned.
"I hope you realize this is upsetting my patient," Quong snapped, hurling himself into a chain "He'd be a lot more upset in the brig," Xris returned. Stars flashed before his eyes and so did most of his life. They were making the jump. And this one, as Tycho had said, was rough
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