“We’re not done.” Jean said, walking away from the carnage of the barracks. After surveying the damage, it was determined the humans had lost nearly a quarter of their force in the attack. While devastating for morale, the knowledge that a group of prisoners with makeshift weapons had won the day was truly impressive. “Take a group of our best fighters and get them weapons from the armory. Now that we’re not worried about being caught, I don’t see why we can’t arm ourselves as fully as possible.”

  “Armor?” Monique asked, twirling an access card she’d looted from the body of the guard leader.

  “Nothing they have will fit our physiology. Has Mik’t gotten the passenger manifest for the ride back to the orbital?”

  They were planning another attack, but this one wouldn’t be against a large army. Instead, a focused strike group would take over the shuttle in the hangar while they waited for the ‘all clear’ to return. The pilots didn’t know the order would never come, but soon they wouldn’t be able to care either.

  “Yes, he has. According to the information, the pilots were supposed to return with a load of gravitrum and hand it off to the interplanetary ship waiting at the dock. Luckily for us, there are only two pilots onboard, and I believe we can quickly rectify that problem.”

  “Good,” he said, switching to the radio and hailing Rodney. “Rodney, this is Jean. Are you certain you can fly this thing?”

  “Not at all.” The radio squawked, “but if Mik’t can translate the controls for me, I’m sure I can handle it.”

  “You can dock with a space station without knowing the controls?”

  “Why not? It’s all just flying, isn’t it?”

  Jean stopped walking and hung his head. The pilot wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make him comfortable to know that Monique would be up there while Rodney navigated by hope and intuition. But, as uncomfortable as he was, they were too far into the plan to back down now.

  “Fine. If you think you can pull off the mission, then go for it. Takumi, was the grav-sled loaded into the shuttle?” He conceded, changing the subject and addressing the thief.

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  He quickened his pace and opened the armory door. If the former prisoners didn’t take over the shuttle and reach the orbital station within the planned window, there was a much larger chance the transport ship’s captain would figure out that something was amiss.

  “Yes.” She replied. Never one for long conversation, it did not surprise Jean to hear her terse reply.

  Thinking about it, he supposed having a thief that spoke as little as possible wasn’t necessarily a thing. It meant her chances of discovery were low, and that she wouldn’t divulge too much information if she were. He imagined she wasn’t exactly the most entertaining person in the bar on a Friday night, but her skill ensured she would leave any such establishment richer than she had arrived.

  “Good. Mik’t, get down to the hangar. You’ll be transferring the ore.”

  “And how will I avoid detection? The soldiers on that flight know me well and will notice that I’m not on the rotation back home.” The translator clicked over the radio.

  “Can you say you’re taking an extra shift to cover the bills?”

  “I suppose… But if my team lead is there, they will ask questions.”

  “Unless you’re backing out on us, you need to make up a plausible excuse or figure out how to make Monique look natural in Scaladorian armor.” He was tired of this fight. If they needed to put the warrior into an alien suit of armor, it needed to be done quickly. The voice in the back of his mind sounded like a broken record with the number of times he reminded himself how little time they had.

  “I’ll do it.” The radio clicked after a long pause. He didn’t like how long it took for the Scaladorian to decide, but he’d made the right one. Although, for safety’s sake, he would instruct Monique to keep an eye on Mik’t. Just in case.

  “Good.” Jean said without the comm as Mik’t and Rodney turned the corner and approached the hangar door. “Mik’t, if you be so kind as to open these doors. I believe there are some friends in there that need to be taught how to stop drawing breath.”

  The alien tilted his head in confusion, not understanding Jean’s attempt at foppishness. With a shake of his head, he motioned for the Scaladorian to open the door as he checked the charge on the pistol gripped firmly in his hand.

  The former guard swiped his claw and entered the room, speaking with a never-ending string of mandible clacks as he entered. Whatever he said was clearly calming the nervous pilots, lulling them into a sense of peace before Jean spun around the door and squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession. The moment they dropped, Jean strode into the room like a man who owned the universe. Before either of the pilots could recover, a pair of white-clad prisoners fell upon their bodies like starving wolves at a fresh kill.

  “Fine sir,” Jean said, addressing Rodney as walked over to a pile of crates and claimed a waist-high crowbar for himself. “I believe it is time for you to take your leave. Your ship awaits.”