Page 2 of Last Chance to Save the World (Chaotic Orbits #3)

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T his is never going to work,” Rian mutters.

“Not with that attitude,” I say cheerily.

It doesn’t take long for us to clear the Moon’s station and head toward that blue marble. From here, the planet still looks healthy and glowing. Clouds swirl over vast oceans. I know from research that the beauty of Earth has dimmed over time. Even those grainy original photos from the first few flights into space promised more life than now. From here, I can see dark spots in the ocean where islands of trash float, large enough to support colonies of rovers. More brown swaths across the continents than a millennium ago, and far, far less white.

But at least from this distance, it’s possible to pretend the world doesn’t need saving, that the fate of an entire planet doesn’t rest on the bits of code I’ve been writing and rewriting and tinkering with for the past week. Well, actually—it’s not the fate of the planet. It’s the fate of humanity living on the planet. Because I have no doubt Earth will continue on after the last human. And maybe would be better without the parasites.

As we get closer to Earth, I twist around in the pilot seat to see Rian. Glory is not made for mild conversation while burning through the atmosphere of a nearly dead planet, but I’ve had worse landing situations. Besides, I’m comfortable in my nest, every control perfectly fitted to my body.

I know how this bird flies.

“Eyes up front!” Rian shouts. From this angle, I can’t see if his knuckles are white, but there’s no mistaking how tense he is.

“You are absolutely adorable when you’re terrified for your life,” I say, unable to keep the infatuation from my voice.

“Could you please , for the love of all things holy, stay focused?”

Rian is definitely not comfortable flying. I noticed it before, when we first met, but it’s very obvious in this moment. Which, now that I think of it is, isn’t really very polite, is it? When the crew of the Halifax was shuttling him to the protoplanet’s surface, he kept his mouth shut and his nerves tamped down.

Maybe it’s because he feels safe enough with me to show his true feelings, I think.

Behind me, I hear a suspicious gagging sound. I lean back, eyeballing him again. “You had better not vomit in my ship. You’re cute but not cute enough for that.”

Rian’s jaw works as he frantically points to the front of the ship. Sighing, I turn back around. He’s acting as if I need to keep my eyes on the road, but there is no road when you’re reentering a planet’s atmosphere, and besides, there’s no point looking out the window right now. If anything, I suppose I should look at the controls in front of me, and . . .

Oh, shit.

That switch shouldn’t be flipped that way. Shit. I flick it with my forefinger and then pull up on the throttle. Glory judders, an alarm sounds three times before I silence it, and Rian makes another funny sound followed by a lot of cursing.

Glory’ s gravity generator is working overtime to counter some of the g-forces in landing, but it’s still a strain to hold my body so I can turn and see Rian. “It’s fine,” I tell him.

“The ship is on fire, ” he says. No need for the yelling, damn.

“That’s normal.”

It is. It is. Reentry requires burn-off. Yes, there’s fire, but it’s all outside. Which is, by far, the preferable place for a fire to be when you’re inside.

“Have you never seen a ship burn through atmo?” I ask.

Problem is, going at regular speed from the Moon to Earth takes days. We don’t have days, so I’m having to use a temporary portal well and make up for it with the ship’s grav gens.

It’s a bit rocky, sure, but quick.

“Every time I’ve ever been on a ship landing on a planet with atmosphere, I’ve been strapped in a passenger seat.” One with vid screens instead of windows, I presume. Even at a leisurely cruise pace, there’s still burn-off.

“Sitting neat and proper like a good little boy,” I say. Shit, I really should have flipped that one switch sooner. Silencing the alarm did make the noise go away, but that wasn’t a fantastic time to lapse in judgement.

“I’m not a good little—”

“I know. You could stand to be a little naughtier. We discussed that already.”

“You kidnapped me!” Rian bellows. “And now we’re heading to fucking Sol-Earth in a ship that is on fire !”

Fine. He’s not in the mood to talk. You’d think he would settle down after a while, but no. He’s still pissed I happened to take him somewhat against his will.

Even if it’s for a good cause.

“You’re going to have to get over the kidnapping thing eventually,” I grouse.

Glory lurches, and my stomach does a little swoop as the grav generators catch up to reentry and the ship evens out.

“See? Nothing to worry about.” I shoot Rian my best winning smile, which does absolutely nothing to him. His mouth is a tight line as I toss aside my harness and turn to look at him. Autopilot is on now, and I can’t really do anything until I get the landing coordinates.

I lean forward, no mean feat, given our relative positions in the cramped bridge. “So,” I say, “let’s talk plans.”

Rian sucks in air and lets it out so forcefully that his nostrils flare.

“Okay, fine, we can have the argument again,” I say somewhat impatiently, “but we both know that in the end, you’re going to agree with me. Because I’m right. And you know it.”

“I know,” Rian says, and when I shoot him a look, he says it with more conviction. “I know. You’re right.”

God, he’s hot when he says that. Music to my ears.

A red light starts blinking on my console.

Rian frowns at it. “Do you need to—”

“No, it’s fine. Let’s talk more about how I’m right.”

Rian gives me a glare. “I see the point you made. I can even concede that...” He looks around at Glory ’s bridge. “That extreme measures are needed.”

“See? Even kidnapping has a place.”

Rian pinches his nose. “It’s just...”

“No.” I shake my head forcefully. “What we’re not going to do right now is second-guess the plan. The plan is good.”

“Fine,” he snaps. Grumpy. Ugh. He would be so much more relaxed if he had bothered being seduced. Rian looks around. “What are we doing right now?”

I also look around, confused. “Waiting to land.”

We broke orbit, burned through atmo, but the landing sequence that will take us directly to the port will have to be linked to us from the ground. So what’s his issue?

Oh—I get it. Rian’s not used to waiting. Passenger ships, especially cruisers, and government business gets priority.

Glory is not priority.

“Could be five minutes, could be an hour or two,” I say. “Depends on the Maltese port boss and their order of ops.”

“How did you even get landing codes close to Malta? I helped write the port orders for that sector. No ship can land anywhere near the island without prior authorization for this entire month.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I have that.”

“You have...”

“That. Prior authorization. I have that.”

Rian shakes his head. “I inspected the docking manifest myself. Your ship wasn’t on it.”

“I don’t know why you’re questioning my methods now,” I say. I turn back to the console, flicking a button to turn off the red flashing light. Very distracting. “I clearly have the means to do what I want.”

“Yes, but—”

The red blinking light is replaced with a beeping.

“Well, that was quicker than expected,” I mutter.

“What was?” Rian’s all tense again as he sees me strap back into the seat, the foot pedals rising at my touch as I lean in to the controls. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I say. “But look, I’m going to need you to shut up and be cool for like ten minutes.”

“What does that—”

“Shut up,” I say, command now in my voice. “And be cool.”

I throw a glance over my shoulder. Apparently, be cool means sit ramrod straight with every muscle taut , but at least the shut up directive is easier for him to handle.

I flick the comm control on my ship’s dash and speak into the mic. “5O213-LN, request to land at Gozo residency strip. Callsign Glory. ”

Over my comm unit’s speakers, a crackling voice says, “ Glory, confirm code.”

I hear a tiny intake of breath from Rian, but he doesn’t break my order.

I rattle off the numbers.

Several minutes pass.

“This isn’t going to work,” Rian mutters.

A few more minutes.

And then the operator links me to a landing sequence. I set Glory ’s course, then turn back around to Rian.

“See?” I say. “It worked. I had a plan.”

His lips twist in a wry smirk. “You always do, huh?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I’m mostly just winging it?”

Rian’s left eye twitches. “Yes,” he says. “I would. And considering what we’re doing is going to impact the entire fate of this planet—and I’m risking my job and prison to do it? That’s not a comforting thought.”

I shoot him a winning smile and then have to turn my attention to landing Glory . But really, he’s exaggerating. Prison? Unlikely. I mean, technically he shouldn’t sneak me into Fetor Tech, but we’re not stealing anything. Well, he isn’t. We’re not even fucking anything up. We’re just making sure the code on the nanobots is the right code. And the only one who could theoretically press charges would be Strom Fetor himself, and if he did so, (a) he’d have to confess to altering the original code into malware that harmed the world, and (b) he’d also have to be less of a dumbass. Neither of which is likely.

Rian’s still muttering about how the landing strips aren’t supposed to take new ships now. It’s distracting, but at least he’s not making noises that make me worried he’s going to throw up all over my bridge, so I don’t comment.

He’s right. It’s not entirely uncommon for Malta’s landing strips to be restricted. There are enough important governmental things happening in the capital still for there to be a lot of regulations, and regulations are generally a pain in the ass.

Glory ’s speakers flash—incoming transmission. “ Glory, you’re required to check in with the residency strip port boss upon arrival.”

“Got it,” I say, then close the comm.

I adjust the controls. There’s more work to do in the last minutes of flying a ship before landing than in the week it took to get us here.

“Residency?” Rian asks.

Fuck it all, of course he would notice that. One word. If the port authority hadn’t said that one word, he might not have picked up on it.

“I looked into all your records,” he presses. “You don’t own land anywhere, and there’s no rental record for you.”

“I’m a lady of mystery,” I say, half-distracted by my tight grip on the joysticks, both of which are doing their best to rip my arms off.

He makes a harrumphing noise in the back of his throat.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” I say, laughing in a tone that’s only a little forced. “You didn’t think we’d even get this far, did you?”

I can see the white caps of the waves as Glory soars over the Mediterranean before I hear his less-than-comforting response:

“You’re not the only one with backup plans.”