Free Song of the Navigator by Astrid Amara Page B

Cruz.
    Savel tried to sit up but Cruz was fast, grabbing Savel by the back of his neck and slamming his head against the floor grates.
    â€œShoot him, or else I will!” Cruz shouted at Tover.
    Tover pulled the trigger. The gun roared and heat blasted through it as he shot explosive energy into Savel’s chest. Savel cried out and collapsed, the smell of burning flesh and boiling blood filling the air.
    Tover shot him again. A rush of adrenaline flooded him, nearly blocking out his pain, and it sickened him to think how good it felt, to kill this man.
    When he had sapped the energy from the charger, Cruz grabbed the gun from Tover’s hand. He adjusted his respirator, then reached down and grabbed Tover’s uninjured arm, swinging him over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. Tover cried out in pain, and his vision did blacken then, every part of his body screaming in agony.
    â€œGet the loading bay door open,” Cruz barked at the other terrorist. The man nodded and took off at a sprint.
    Cruz carried Tover through the cockpit and into the elevator. The entire ship hummed, vibrating as if about to explode. They exited on the top corridor, and Tover saw the occasional form of a slumped body, the littered remains of the Jarrow crew.
    â€œI can’t remember. How tall are you?” Cruz asked gruffly. “One eighty? One ninety?”
    Tover didn’t understand.
    â€œHow tall?” Cruz asked.
    â€œOne eighty-five,” Tover croaked, his voice a raspy, broken thing.
    Shots rang down the hall, and Cruz jerked backward behind a bulwark. The movement shocked pain through Tover’s legs, and he had to clench his teeth from crying out. He felt Cruz reach to his belt, felt as he returned fire, something powerful judging by the violent recoil. Cruz groaned and leaned against the wall for a moment before returned fire. As soon as the firing stopped, they proceeded down the narrow hallway.
    As they walked through the ship, Cruz leaned down and examined the dead as they walked past. At one of the bodies, he stopped abruptly and slowly lowered Tover to the ground beside the corpse. He winced as he moved, as if injured, but Tover couldn’t care. Tover nearly passed out simply from being lowered.
    Tover didn’t recognize the dead man, so it must have been one of the smugglers not working directly under Savel. Tover wondered how many men the Pulmon Verde had killed breaking into The Baroque .
    Cruz ripped off the dead man’s shoes and unbuttoned his pants. Tover watched him, understanding dawning.
    â€œLegs…broken,” he mumbled.
    â€œYou have two choices,” Cruz said, voice calm despite the wild, furious look in his eyes. “You can get on board a public freighter naked, with your dick hanging out for everyone to see, or you can endure three minutes of pain and let me pull trousers over your legs.”
    Tover glanced down at his ruined body. His legs looked like they had been mangled in heavy machinery. He nodded.
    Cruz expertly yanked the dark uniform off the Jarrow smuggler. He grabbed Tover’s right leg.
    Tover looked away but the pain blinded him anyway. He writhed on the ground. His mind filled with blinding, nauseating darkness, and he lost consciousness.
    Pulsing.
    The sound of the engine was rhythmic and close by. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. It trembled through Tover’s body like an alien heartbeat. Its tempo clashed with the pulsing of Tover’s own nerves.
    Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.
    The noise overwhelmed his senses. Even with his heightened sensitivity, years of technological advances should have muted the noise. Tover had never heard anything so deafening in his life.
    He stirred. Pain forced him to still. His pain felt distant, suggesting he’d been drugged. But every movement burst the bubble of protection the narcotics gave him, and he gasped with the agony of his broken ribs and opened his eyes.
    And realized why the engine sounded so loud.
    He was on