<You had better be dying,> she said to Sher as she pulled the gun out of her holster.

Eris peeked over the storage containers and hid again just as more blasts rained and exploded like stars. Eight against one, six blasts left in her antique gun. If she ever smiled genuinely, she would have then. Challenging odds—her favorite. Otherwise, she wouldn’t bother running around with a weapon so old most people didn’t know what the flame it was. She had back up weapons, of course—five knives and two Mors—but this was her baby: a gorgeous filigreed limited-edition RX Blaster from the turn of the last century. She was a beauty. Updated with little add-ons to keep her blasts deadly, but the shooting style was all old-school skill. No lasers to help aim.

<We need you back at Nova,> Commander Asshole in her head said. <Now.>

<I said I’m busy,> she replied, lifting her blaster.

One, two, three down. Lasers in the Mors weaponry might be more accurate, but her little baby had a beautiful curve to its fall that lodged the blast right where she wanted it. It had charm. It had character. She liked its quirks.

And, yes, she felt sentimental about it.

<Get un-busy,> Sher said.

<I am>—she pointed her gun—<in the middle of>—one shot to the head of a soldier—<a job>—one shot to another’s torso—<and you are>—another soldier down—<destroying my focus. And now I’m out of shots.>

<So use one of your other weapons.> He sounded impatient, as usual. <And try not to shoot them all in the head this time.>

<I got a few in the knee and a few in the gut.> Only some in the head. <If you called just to give me a lecture, I’m turning off the Pathos.>

The soldiers yelled—calling for reinforcements from the other part of the ship. More loyal Tholosian soldiers would be flowing into bullet crafts, speeding through space to close off her exits. Eris had to seal the doors and disable the comm system, or she’d never take the command center.

She could practically hear his sigh through the Pathos. <I’ve got another mission for you.>

<Are you kidding me? I’m in the middle of commandeering a ship.>

She only had the blade in her boot left and less than three minutes before the other soldiers arrived. She’d told her other superior, Kyla, that she was looking for something challenging. Eris could never decide if the other woman was obeying her wishes or deliberately trying to kill her.

<Kyla says you’re usually faster than this.>

Eris paused. <She did not.>

<She’s telling me that if you don’t finish your mission in the next fifty seconds, it’ll be your slowest run time—>