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The surrealistic display playing out before me is a sight I have a hard time pulling my gaze from. Jules and I exchange a laugh before I kneel in front of the lock.
The cold floor of the medical bay seeps through the fabric of my tattered dress, grounding me, reminding me of everything at stake. Qhix's face is foremost in my mind—strong, serene, and unconscious on Crao—and it’s fueling my resolve.
I press the button on the side of the tool like Lena showed me, and the beam of light shoots out. I aim the beam in the seam where the lock holds the door, but it's slow going and taking longer than I anticipated. I hope the girls can keep Rex's attention off me long enough to break us out.
My hand remains steady, betraying none of the storm raging behind my sternum. "Almost there," I whisper as if the words can hasten my progress.
The lock finally gives way, the sound of its surrender drowned out by the commotion behind us. Jules and I leave the door cracked slightly open as we join the girls.
The song concludes and we take a bow as Rex claps his hands.
"It's done," I covertly say to Lena. "Ready for the next step?"
Lena bobs her head. We all take a seat on the floor and Rex goes back to fully focusing on flying the ship.
"Ye must teach me more Earth songs," Rex happily chatters away as Jules sneaks out of the room and creeps up behind him, a silent specter armed with a needless syringe filled with a sedative we hope she can administer through his scales. Her steps are measured breaths, each one closer to an imperceptible precipice between bondage and the sweet release of freedom.
"Steady," I murmur under my breath, watching from inside our transparent prison. My heart thunders a fierce tempo against my ribs, a reminder of what's at stake. I have to get back to Qhix. There's so much I need to tell him.
Jules's hand shakes ever so slightly, but her resolve is as unyielding as mine. Rex, oblivious and engrossed in his monitors and chattering, doesn't sense the threat looming closer.
The syringe hits him in the ass with a quick, decisive strike. I can almost hear the sizzle of chemistry meeting biology, a cocktail I pray will penetrate his tough exterior.
Rex stiffens, surprise etching a final testament on his features as he topples like a felled tree. His body hits the deck with a thud that reverberates throughout the entire ship.
"Go, Stacy!" I hiss, ushering her toward the console, now unmanned and inviting. She stumbles to the controls, hands hovering with uncertainty over the alien console, so different from the vessel she flew to get us off Tirius, ultimately saving us from a fate worse than death.
"Come on, Captain Stacy," I urge, my voice threading through the chaos of the girls rushing out to hog tie Rex while he lay unconscious. "You've got this."
Her fingers tremble before she hesitantly begins tapping screens and dials with the trepidation of a first-time pilot facing an asteroid field. The ship responds with a lurch.
"Damn it!" she curses. "That isn't right."
"Think of Drax," I coax, my own thoughts straying to Qhix, to his cocky grin and the warmth of his skin that seems galaxies away. "We have to get back to our mates."
"Right." Stacy takes a deep breath, resolve tightening her jaw. "I can do this."
The ship lurches again, sending Rex's prone form sliding across the slick floor, but she rights the ship with a determined gleam in her eyes.
"Get us turned around," I say, touching the three-dimensional image projecting up from the console and spinning it around with the tip of my finger. "There!" I point, excited to see the Gilth Galaxy off in the distance.
Chapter
Eleven
QHIX
"Is that the Lizordian's ship heading toward us?" Rooke points to the wobbling blip on the scanner.
"Something's wrong," I mutter. "The pilot's flying like he's had one too many Hreb juices."
"Is it possible the females have taken over the ship?" Bruke asks, the thought sending shivers down my spine.
If the females have taken over the Lizordian's craft, they did so by force and one or more of them could be hurt. My mind races with images of Tasha being injured or worse, and my sivot surges beneath my flesh, desperate to reach her.
"Stacy did fly the short-ranged craft to Zune," Drax says. "Maybe that's her at the helm."
My pulse spikes, and I tense, my blue skin tightening over muscle and bone when the Lizordian's craft veers sharply, its trajectory swinging in an arc, cutting across the abyss and back toward us.
