Outrageous Fortune-Errant Freight Book One

Chapter 9

By the time Jagati reached the bridge, Rory was nowhere to be seen, but Eitan, left arm around the yoke, was tapping the pressure gauges.

"Problem?" she asked, crossing to the nav table.

"Gas cells three through nine show half-capacity," he told her, not looking up.

She considered that, and the fact the ship hadn't dropped a few thousand feet. "Probably the gauges are acting up."

"Most like," he agreed, giving up on the tapping and giving the panel a concerted thud.

"Better?" she asked.

"Averaging ninety-three percent," he said, relaxing back into the pilot's seat. "But once we moor, we should ask Rory to check the gauges—after he gets the aft port engine running soundly, and cells eighteen and twenty-three patched."

"Always something," Jagati replied, pulling out the appropriate charts while he again took hold of the wheel with his right hand.

As she worked, Eitan avoided thinking about the hand that wasn't there, or the false prop Rory would soon build to fill the empty space.

Rory, Eitan soon learned, had difficulty accepting that some things, once lost, could never be replaced.

"By the way, thanks for the save," Jagati said after a time, echoing Rory's earlier statement as she headed for navigation.

He replied with the same crooked nod he'd offered Rory.

"Lost another one?" she asked, her voice muffled by the pencil stuck in her teeth.

He didn't have to ask what she meant. "Not lost so much as sacrificed." He twisted in his seat and met her gaze, warrior to warrior, and saw she understood.

But then, she always had.

* * *

Seven months prior to the showdown in Dyar's Canyon, Jagati walked into Tesla in search of a drink.

The suns had tipped into late afternoon, casting the spires of new construction into stark shadow, so it felt like walking into a forest of barren trees rather than a city in recovery from a long and devastating war.

And the fact she'd even entertained such a metaphor confirmed to Jagati her need for that drink.

Or three.

Or five.

Yeah, five. Five might about wash her brain free of the hours spent slogging through the Errant's books, followed by an argument with the airfield's purser regarding their mooring fee, leaving Jagati with a headache the size of a general's ego and a bad taste in her mouth.

She'd taken powder for the headache, and would kill the bad taste with whatever was on offer at Musk's.

Located within stumbling distance of Tesla's airfield, Musk's also served as a meeting place for those seeking berths or cargo space—legitimate or otherwise—on an airship, or captains looking to hire on crew—legitimate or otherwise—for same.

In fact, she expected to find John at the tavern. Having won the quarter star flip that left Jagati with the books, he'd gone ahead to pick up the payment from their last client, seek out the next job, and, she hoped, look for another able hand for the crew.

Sure, she, John, and Rory could manage the day-to-day, but their last job had included a tussle with pirates, and while they'd successfully fought off the scavengers, the anterrium cells took damage, and John had ended up with a dislocated shoulder.