Free The Planet Thieves by Dan Krokos Page A

its size and shape, and an idea came to him.
    â€œWe use him,” Mason said.
    *   *   *
    Tom didn’t have a problem with using the Tremist until Mason told him what he meant.
    â€œNo, no no. No. You’re crazy. What if he wakes up?”
    The Tremist was still knocked out, breathing steadily.
    â€œAim your cannon at him,” Mason said, then muttered, “and don’t shoot me on accident.”
    â€œWhat? I don’t have my cannon. They took it.”
    Mason forced himself to keep his voice low. “Then use the talon!”
    Tom picked up the talon and inspected it.
    Mason began to remove the Tremist’s suit. It felt like trying to remove an injured tiger from a trap: at any second, the Tremist could wake up, grab Mason, and heave him over the railing.
    The suit came off in pieces. The arms and legs connected to the main torso piece. The metal felt cool and sturdy under his fingertips, not oily. The surfaces shifted under the lights, purple to black. Tom was pointing the talon at the Tremist’s face, shaking, lips pressed into a thin white line.
    â€œHurry,” Tom whispered. The arms and one leg were off. The Tremist wore a thinner suit of stretchy fabric underneath.
    Mason worked on the last leg, keeping an eye on the Tremist’s face for movement.
    â€œYou think this is the right thing to do?” Tom asked as Mason rolled the Tremist onto his stomach to work on the torso section. He was surprised Tom was asking him instead of just flat out disagreeing.
    â€œI think someone has to figure out what’s going on.” He said it with more confidence than he felt.
    â€œAnd it’s going to be a last year cadet…” Tom said.
    â€œNot too late to find a shuttle.” That shut him up.
    Once the Tremist was stripped of his outer suit, Mason grabbed his legs and pulled him into the access tunnel they had come through. Tom kept the talon on him the whole time, until Mason finished stuffing him inside. Then Tom locked the door using the small screen built into the wall, and enabled the locks on the first port they’d come through. When he woke up, the Tremist would be trapped in the dark tunnel.
    â€œCan he damage the ship in there?” Mason asked while he tried putting the leg parts of the suit on. He knew the suit would be too large, but now he was worried it would be completely obvious.
    Tom pulled up a schematic for the tunnel. “He can, but nothing that would really hurt us. There’s no direct computer access in there. And no access to life support, I think.”
    â€œYou think ?”
    â€œI think,” Tom repeated.
    Tom kept watch while Mason finished dressing. The torso piece was too big and hung on him funny. Mason was about to yank it all off and give up when the suit began to contract around him. He gasped, worried it was a defense mechanism designed to crush an unauthorized user. But then it stopped shrinking. Now it hugged him gently, the perfect size to fit his smaller frame. So that was how each Tremist’s suit looked like it was tailored for them especially. He was still small for a Tremist, but he remembered seeing one on the bridge that was around his height. As long as he didn’t draw attention to himself, it could work. He hoped.
    Mason put the helmet on last, smelling some faint perfume left over from the Tremist’s hair. It adjusted in the back, the material—which was clearly not metal, despite all appearances—tightening until it fit snugly.
    He opened his eyes and peered through the mirror-mask …
    â€¦ And watched a heads-up display flicker to life, the same way the Egypt’s bridge painted information on the clear dome’s surface. Strange symbols scrolled in the lower right of his vision, a few of them flickering between two or three of the same symbol. Mason’s vitals, perhaps. Tom appeared highlighted, with a little window next to him listing more symbols