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than any archaeologist alive. “The bridge portal.” The Atlanteans on Callisto had most likely created it for a straight-shot flight to Callisto. All they had to do was match the portal frequency with the doorway frequency—another portal outside the Jupiter moon—voilà, anyone could travel without using Alcubierre Metric, which drained a large portion of a ship’s generators.

“There… happy now?” It was Rivkah, her voice revved with anger. She wanted to go her way, but probably knew that the only way to safety—if that word existed in her vocabulary—was to follow the asshole she blamed everything on; Jaxx.

Jaxx came out from under a miles-long, miles-wide ship, and veered, the Oospor dead on his rear. He glanced at his radar. “Rivkah, can you send the coordinates of the star portal and then get this Oospor off my ass?”

The coordinates popped up. Just as he remembered. The portal nearly touched Mars’s magnetosphere. He patched the coordinates into his control panel and veered in the opposite direction, just as another cluster shot came his way.

His radar beeped. The Air Wings had come back into formation and he was their main target. He turned his Air Wing dial to Sub Light 3.5 and blasted past the last ship in the fleet. It was just Jaxx, empty space in front of him, and the star portal.

The Oospor moved at a quick, slight angle on his radar. It had been hit. Good job, Rivkah. Jaxx sat straighter, then slightly slumped the moment the Oospor regained speed and trajectory. The Oospor pilot steered the ship back into its projected path and made his way toward Jaxx.

The supposed coordinates were up ahead. The Oospor slipped away as Rivkah pounded it even more with her cannons. The Air Wings were now his major threat. They approached fast.

“Rivkah, tap in 51008 in your comm line. Then transmit it continuously. It’s the only way in and out of the star portal.”

No response. He checked his radar. She continued to chase the Oospor. A dozen more Air Wings were now in pursuit.

His pulse rose. Everyone closed in on him. He throttled up, aiming at Mars, targeting the star portal coordinates.

“Again, listen to me. You have to do this to survive. Patch 51008 into your comm line and create a continued transmission. I’m doing so now and I’ll be on radio silence, so you won’t be able to speak with me until I end the frequency transmission. I hope you hear me. Please, Rivkah. I’m pleading with you. Do this.”

“Bite me, Jaxx. I got it. I’m en-route. Clear.”

Overwhelmed with relief, he imagined throwing his arms around her in an elated hug. “Excellent. Follow me.” He switched his comm line dial from Rivkah’s private comm to the star portal frequency. In theory, he and his craft would vanish in less than a minute. The Air Wing pilots, who probably thought he was flying to Mars where he would dodge and dogfight with them planet-side, would probably piss their pants when he disappeared in front of their eyes. He just hoped his theory was sound. If it wasn’t, he was facing the well-known FUBAR—fudged-up-beyond-all-recognition.

The problem: The Air Wings didn’t have to worry about hitting a friendly anymore and Jaxx’s cockpit lit up with alarms.

He checked the radar. Rivkah was behind the pursuing starfighters. The Oospor was off in the distance, probably in need of desperate repair from Rivkah’s ravaging. You don’t mess with Riv in a fight. Ever.

Ten seconds to hope, ten seconds to the portal.

A loud, continuous beep resounded in his cockpit. Missiles had been launched, no doubt screaming their way toward him in the soundless vacuum of space.

He wasn’t changing course. Not a chance. He couldn’t and the mess of SSSRM-23 Slingers fired at him weren’t, either.

More alarms, more missiles, and he was less than seconds from the portal. Which would hit first? His craft into the portal or the missiles into him? He closed his eyes in anticipation. A static-sound erupted in his cockpit and his Air Wing rumbled like a car in an earthquake. His eyes shot wide open and blue, yellow, and orange lightning streaks twirled around his ship. A tube opened before him. It sucked him in like light to a wormhole.

His ship rattled, his holographic instrument panel shorted in and out as his ship catapulted at an incredible speed down a blue lit tunnel that rotated around him.

“Please, Rivkah. I hope you followed me,” he whispered to himself.

His craft buffeted and spun. Lights of every color shrouded his cockpit, clouds of electric gases and more lightning erupted, creating a dizzying display. The static-sound stopped and he heard a low, deep rumble like thunder. Another lightning bolt cut through the gases and then shifted, blanketing him with clouds of pale whites and reds.

His mouth fell open. Where the hell was he? He couldn’t see anything except the colorful clouds. Startled, another crack of thunder rumbled around his Air Wing. He checked his holoscreen, pulling up his radar.

According to his ship’s data, he was near Ganymede, a Jupiter moon. And Europa, Io, Lysithea, Elara, Autonoe, and the radar identification went on and on, until it came to Callisto—his destination. But, where was he? He brought up his own location and about jumped out of his seat. He was in Jupiter’s upper atmosphere.

He went to adjust his throttle and steer his craft out of Jupiter’s atmosphere, through the exosphere, and into space. He halted when a voice blared over his comm line. “Lieutenant Kaden Jaxx, this is Executive Officer Katherine Bogle. We’ll retain your ship’s controls.”

27

M-Quadrant, Solar System - Starship Atlantis

Spit jumped out of President Craig Martelle’s mouth as he spoke. His face was red and his eyes were wild. “You lost Jaxx? You had a kill team on him? Are you mad, Slade? What’re we going to do when we get to Callisto? He was the key.”

Slade crossed his arms, his brows creased. He stood erect, his chin high, his chest out. He wanted to slap the president. Slap

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