Within an atmosphere, the tremble wasn’t just a feeling. The volcanic ash vibrated around them as they ran, dancing more violently as the ship dropped from its high altitude.

“I see it!” Milla called out.

“Keep your eyes on the ground ahead of us,” Steph scolded. “All we can do is run. It doesn’t matter what they do!”

Despite saying that, Steph risked a glance over his shoulder.

The frigate loomed large behind them, dropping fast and coming to an unnatural stop a few dozen meters over the surface the way only a warp-drive vessel could. Dust and debris were sucked up by the space warp that held the ship against the moon’s gravity, smoke from the volcano curling down as the light from the distant star scattered off the hull in an iridescent rainbow.

Steph would have been more awed if not for the gleaming light shining from under the ship and the sight of figures in hard suits, likely armor, dropping to the surface.

Maybe I’ll get that chance to surrender after all, he thought wryly—not that he intended to make it so easy on them.

He and Milla hit the plateau at a dead run, suddenly feeling the ash give way to stone as running got easier and their trudging, plodding steps turned into long hops in the lower gravity.

“Be careful,” Milla called as she steadied herself and caught Steph as he nearly catapulted himself across the surface. “We are now pushing against a solid surface. Jumping will be dangerous, or the landing may be, at least.”

“Jumping too,” Steph grunted as he shuffled his steps. “We’re not in a fighter here.”

Milla blinked. “What? I do not understand.”

“In a fighter, altitude and speed are life,” he said. “You want to get high and fast if you want to live. We’re on the ground here, though, and jumping only makes us easier to target. Stay low, stay slow, until I say otherwise.”

Milla nodded, the motion mostly hidden under her helmet. She glanced at Steph, noting the redness of his exposed skin and the sweat beads evaporating in the low pressure of the atmosphere.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly. “Your skin . . .”

“I’ll live.” Steph shook his head, waving her off. “We’ll run out of air before the atmosphere gets me.”

“I believe that is precisely when the atmosphere will get you,” Milla told him dryly.

He laughed, a rasping sound. Some of the chemicals in the atmosphere were slipping past the seal of the oxygen mask.

“You have a point there,” he acknowledged, putting a hand on the mask to press it tighter before he took a deep draw on the oxygen and glanced back. “You can surrender to them if you want. SOP allows that long before the situation gets this bad.”