Three options came up on the computer. The best one was a tiny dot of a planet, so small she barely noticed it at first. Perfect. She increased her speed toward the asteroid belt, as fast as the ship could go. Behind her she could see the blinking dots of a dozen other ships.

They fired. The ship shuddered, its cobbled pieces groaning with the effort to maintain speed as she dodged projectiles. The oxygen was holding up, but barely. Clo expertly wove through the lines of their fire—until she wasn’t so lucky.

A torpedo slammed into the back of the ship. Clo jerked forward in her seat, the rough cloth of the belt biting into her shoulder. “Silt.”

“Hull breach sustained,” the computer intoned. “Sealing off.”

“Alesca,” Sher’s warning voice came from behind her.

Before Clo could even dodge again, another torpedo smashed into the ship. Around her, metal shuddered.

“Wing breach sustained,” the stupid godsdamned computer added.

“Alesca!”

“Yeah,” Clo said. “I get it. Flume off.”

A groan from Briggs. “Listen to the commander and stop getting hit, Alesca.”

“D’ye want to pilot this damn ship?” She gunned the engine toward the asteroid field. “I’ll hand it over. Ye can hold your guts in while ye fly.”

She swallowed a sob. Please don’t die, Briggs.

He didn’t respond. She hoped he’d passed out again. All she could do was dodge the flying torpedoes that were locked in to her ship’s course. She couldn’t let the ship itself do the work. It was all her, and it took more focus than she had. Her friend was bleeding and dying next to her.

The asteroid field was in view. “Hold on,” she told Sher.

She jammed the lever for the thrusters forward, sending the ship hurtling through the asteroid belt. She was completely surrounded by dust, debris, and rocks. The remains of old ships that hadn’t made it hovered as Clo eased through the maze of rock.

Clo wanted to pretend that this was all a dream and she was back safe in her cot on Jurran, huddled beneath a mountain of blankets. She wanted to hear Briggs tell her to get up and start her godsdamned chores.

His weak voice sounded beside her. “Driving like a fucking Proclian.”

“Proclians drive better,” muttered Sher.

Clo gritted her teeth as when another Tholosian missile hit the back of the ship. “Damage at ten percent,” the computer monotoned. At least they’d changed it from the Oracle’s voice.

Clo’s hands were white knuckled around the navigator. “I’m saving yer ungrateful lentic arses.”

Another missile. Another. The ship grazed past an asteroid that nicked the side of the ship. Damage sustained: 15, 30, 40.

“You won’t be able to do shit once damage gets past seventy,” Briggs muttered. “Thought you were a better pilot than this, kid.”