[b]James E. Carter & Itzi Ku[/b] [hr] Carter slammed the hatch shut behind Nikos, catching the last glimpse of distant figures creeping closer through the haze of smoke. He paused, hand gripping the metal frame, lungs burning, trying to shove the rising tension down his throat with a few sharp exhales. “Welcome aboard, sunshine,” he muttered, mostly to himself, before turning back into the gondola. He made his way toward the control cabin, boots thudding against the grates, catching the tail end of Arkadios and Volodar’s exchange. The two were locked in some kind of debate—whether the approaching troops were Inburian, defectors, or something else entirely. “Doesn’t matter what banner they wave,” Carter said flatly, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of a gloved hand. “If they’re marching toward us and carrying rifles, we ain’t waitin’ around to shake hands and swap names.” He stepped into the control cabin without waiting for any other word. Itzi was already at the rudder, fingers hovering just above the trim levers, following Hamerlin’s course adjustment. She didn’t need to be told twice. Her brow was furrowed, but her face otherwise calm, composed. If anyone noticed the tremor in her fingertips, they didn’t say. She nodded tightly when Carter joined her. The cabin felt brimming with heat, copper scent, and the distant hum of something approaching. “I’ve already begun shifting our heading,” she said, glancing at the compass, “One-nine-zero. It should keep us clear unless they’ve got wheels… or wings.” “Let’s hope not,” Carter said, stepping in beside her and reaching for the ballast controls. “We’re dragging like a sick elephant. The gold’s weighing us down—wasn’t made to carry a royal fortune I figure...” He flicked a switch with a practiced snap. The ship groaned faintly as the trim adjusted. Itzi nodded again, suppressing the knot in her chest. It had been her own decision to help recover this gold, this way to justify her ventures in the old continent and return home with a fortune to her family's name. Now they were flying lower than comfortable, slower than safe. It felt like perhaps this wasn't a good idea, it was a gamble. Everything was a gamble now. “How long before they’re in range?” she asked. He peered out one of the side panels, jaw tightening. “Depends on their legs. If they start shootin’, this crate’s got enough armor to laugh off a pistol, but rifles may punch through just fine.” He didn’t bother softening it. The crew needed facts, not comfort. “We can’t outrun a proper scout squad in this condition, but if we keep our heading and stay unpredictable, they’ll have a hard time tracking us. Hell, they might think we’re one of them.” “And if they don’t?” she asked Carter shrugged, “Then we better hope the folks in the gun stations don’t panic.” She breathed in deep, fixing her eyes on the altimeter. Behind her cool tone, her mind raced. What if they’re shot at? What if someone panics? What if Carter gets stubborn again and argues with the Inburians over the gold? But she only nodded. “You take lateral trim,” she said. “I’ll manage the lift and heading. We’ll clear the range. Hopefully.” “Yeah. Hopefully.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re keepin’ it together well, I’ll give you that.” “Someone has to.” He grunted, impressed but not saying it. Then: “You’re sure the old man knows what he’s doin’, right?” Itzi looked toward the forward windows where Hamerlin stood, still reading his compass like it was scripture. She hesitated. “…Yes.” Carter caught that pause. He said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Alright, then. Let’s hope he keeps readin’ the gospel.”