Defiant Exile (Slip Runner Book 3) by J.N. Chaney & M.F. Lerma

Author:J.N. Chaney & M.F. Lerma [Chaney, J.N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Variant Publications
Published: 2022-12-21T16:00:00+00:00

17

An alarm woke me the next morning, screaming through my bunk so loud that I bolted upright. “Fuck, Poe. Turn it off. I’m up.”

“That’s not your wake-up call, Captain. That’s an alert. There are enemy ships inbound.”

“What?!”

“I’m afraid so. It seems that Doris and Walton are not waiting until the Solstice to make a move. There are no fewer than two dozen strike ships headed in our general direction, and all of them are focused on the Roswell.”

Suddenly wide awake, I leaped out of bed and started pulling on clothes that were still on the floor from the night before. Not exactly the most hygienic option but what could one do in a crisis? At least I wasn’t running out there naked.

I stumbled out into the hall with one boot on, still trying to jam a foot into the other. Deacon, who was running full tilt through the corridor, swerved to miss me and almost landed on his ass.

“Sorry, Cole. You good?”

Nodding, I waved him off, cursing my boot as I tried to waffle stomp it into submission. I had to look like a mess because my clothes were in disarray and I hadn’t made any sort of attempt to brush my teeth or even rake my hand through my hair.

This was starting to get ridiculous. Couldn’t a man get a few hours down without being interrupted by some emergency or another? The boot finally popped on, and I booked it for the bridge.

Deacon was already in his seat, as was Camilla. Barrick came in just as I was buckling my harness, followed by a bleary-eyed Selina.

“How long do we got?” My voice came out in a dry rasp, and I tried to ignore the discomfort of being yanked out of sleep to a waking nightmare.

“One hour.”

“One hour?” Barrick looked and sounded a lot more awake than me. “Last time we had a two-hour warning. What’s different?”

My fingers moved over the controls, ordering the system to pull up the display. Most of the fog in my brain cleared by the time I was situated.

“I cannot say at this time, Lieutenant,” replied Poe, sounding a bit peeved that he had to say so. “My best estimation is that Doris has learned how to cloak her strike ships. It is something she would have considered worth her while.”

“Doesn’t matter how,” I interjected. “She did it, and we’ve got to deal with it.”

The display showed exactly what Poe had said. No fewer than twenty-four strike ships were bearing down on Empyria, and all of them were locked on to us. It was too many. Not that I didn’t have faith in the Roswell and Star Treader’s combat abilities, far from it in fact. The issue stemmed from being outnumbered. I wasn’t sure we could handle this number of enemies at once.

Two ships did not a fleet make.

“We can’t stay on the ground and wait,” Selina said, intensity glinting in her eyes. “I don’t mean because we can’t fight, but if they attack and we’re still within range of the community, they might just decide it’s worth their time.

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