Jessica jerked up. Morning light silvered the empty cups on the table before her. A soft breeze brought the sounds of servants talking in the courtyard. She’d fallen asleep on the couch.
Iztho looked up from the reader on his lap. The glow of the screen lit his face from below. “What did you say?”
Jessica frowned, wiped her cheeks, the folds of her tunic impressed in them. “Did I say anything?” Had he sat there working all night while she slept?
“I heard you speak.”
“I didn’t.” She closed her eyes and let her head sink back on her arms. Someone—something—had called her. Someone was in trouble.
* * * *
“Come on, come on!”
Daya pushed down the propulsor test lever. The propulsor engine uttered a sickly hiss; the floor shook. A row of three lights flashed orange. Insufficient power.
D
