Fitz’s next swallow went down smoothly, generating a heat in her gut that percolated out to warm the rest of her. Another drink followed.
He moved the hand on her forehead, checking under the makeshift bandage. “That’s still not clotting. We need to get you into sickbay to put some wound seal on it.”
“I’m fine right here.” She lifted the mug, surprised to discover only a mouthful remained, so she chugged it.
“No, you’re not.” He took the cup from her hand. “And you’ve had enough of this. Now on your feet, Commander.”
She rose too quickly and staggered. Youngblood steadied her, his lips thinning to a tight line as he grasped her jaw, raising her face. He pushed up one eyelid, then the other, inspecting her pupils.
“Are you dizzy? Got a headache? I would have thought that thick skull of yours was too hard to fracture, but we’d better do a scan.”
She twisted out of his grip, but braced herself on the back of the seat. “I’m fine. Just a little stiff, that’s all.”
And maybe a little drunk.
The existence of a high-tech medical facility on an itinerant freighter would have raised unwelcome questions, so a false panel at the back of an equipment locker disguised the room’s entrance. An examination bed slid out of the wall, taking up most of the space. She clambered onto it.
Youngblood scanned the side of her head with a handheld unit. “As I thought, too hard to be broken by a mere chunk of flying steel and no sign of a subdural hematoma. I’ll find something to dress that wound.”
In the close confines of the closet-sized sickbay, Fitz’s knees pressed into his stomach as he leaned forward to attend to her injury. The room felt warmer, the air stuffier. The environment systems must be out. Or else it was the alcohol.
He glanced around as he tidied up. “Ski would love this place; she’d be like a kid in a toy shop. It’s small, but everything is in the right place for quick access. Anything you need to get your agent back from a mission alive, but if you’re torn up too badly for the autodoc to fix, the exam bed retracts right back into a stasis box. You ever come back from a mission riding inside one of those things?”
She shook her head, eyeing the narrow tunnel into the null time unit. “I think it’s kind of creepy, reminds me of those old horror stories about coffins.”
He leaned back against the bulkhead, his arms crossed. “What now?”
Fitz frowned. “What do you mean? We go on with the mission, of course.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, we just got the shit kicked out of us. The only good thing is that the missile didn’t actually hit the ship. It must have gotten too close to the drive’s plasma tail and detonated prematurely, but a nuke going off in your general vicinity is never a good thing. The blast took out the back end of the torch drive and the shrapnel shredded the starboard sublight thruster.”
He scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “The Loki 2s and 3s I’ve flown could maneuver on one thruster—when you wallow like a pregnant neubeast to begin with, it doesn’t make a heck of a lot of difference. I imagine a Six could too, but with only one engine, we aren’t making planet fall. Well, once you leave orbit, you’re going down, one way or another. Even if we landed at Baldark in one piece, there’s no way we could make it back to space on a single drive. We’re trying to rescue Ransahov, not move in with her. When we reach Oxylus, I suggest we turn around and limp back to Rainbow.”
Fitz hopped off the exam bed and squared her shoulders, glaring up at him. “Damn it, Colonel. I never pegged you for a quitter.” She stormed out without waiting to witness the inevitable explosion the remark created.
She stalked down the hall to the common room, kicking debris out of her way. A cup of coffee, not rum-laced, would help her think. Youngblood caught up with her as she punched her selection into the processor.
“Commander, we are going to finish this conversation, without name-calling and stomping out of the room like a sulky child.”
“I don’t have time for this. We’ve got a ship to repair.” She tried to step around him, but he moved to block her.
“As I told you, this ship is hurt. Besides the problems with propulsion, our life support is on emergency back-up and the inertial compensator is flashing a code that means maintenance required immediately. And I noticed that on just a quick walk-through. I don’t know what the bloody hell else the ship will come up with when she completes her diagnostics.”
“I’m not going to stick my tail between my legs and slink home.” She exerted enough of her enhanced strength to shove him out of her way and returned to the bridge.
A few of the amber lights had switched to green as the computer worked through her repair procedures, but the number of flashing reds hadn’t changed. The panel for the starboard engine readings remained ominously dark.
Fitz dropped into her seat, reaching out to drag her fingertips across the scarred edge of the instrument panel. She and Lizzy had been through some tight spots, scrapes far worse than this and they’d always survived. Somehow, they would get through this one, but the idea of Youngblood skipping out on her threatened to crack her iron resolve. He was a mercenary; what could she expect? She’d thought she could trust him, believed that he’d be there for her. That he cared. Had she been wrong?
Footsteps approaching warned her in enough time to brush the moisture from the corner of her eyes.
Youngblood stepped onto the bridge, locking the door before he settled into the pilot’s seat. “I’m getting tired of chasing you all over the bloody ship to finish this discussion. Now will you shut up and let me explain?”
She turned to glare at him, ready to argue, but he cut her off.
“I suggest we go back to Rainbow and change over to Bifrost. She’s fast enough to make up for any time we lose by doubling back. The next time the Empire comes gunning for me, I want to be able to shoot back. I don’t function well in the helpless, running-for-my-life mode.”
His mouth quirked in a smug smile. “And adding a squad of commandos might not be a bad idea, either.”
The thought of completing the mission on a luxury yacht—a heavily armed yacht—appealed to her, but she quickly saw the hole in that plan. And it was a hole large enough to fly that elegant starship through.
She shook her head “Won’t work. No warship’s captain is going to assume he destroyed us, not without the appropriate amount of debris. He might think he damaged us so severely we never make it out of jumpspace, but he’ll cover his rear. And that means watching all the systems where we’re likely to pop up. Number one on that list would be Rainbow.”
She watched the emotions flicker across this face as he conceded her the point.
“Bloody hell, you’re right, but we’re still going to have to put in somewhere for repairs.”
“Maybe not. Lizzy, have you completed your damage assessment yet?”
The ship remained mute. Fitz shifted in her seat as the seconds stretched out. Her answer finally came in a flat computer-generated monotone.
“Life support is running on the emergency back-up, but if I shut it down everywhere except crew quarters, engineering and the bridge, it may continue to function for a week or more—as long as no one else is shooting at us. Or it could go out in five minutes. I am more concerned about the inertial compensator. It could fail at any time. While we are inside this bubble falling through jumpspace it is not of critical importance, but once we arrive at Oxylus we will be unable to do anything but the most basic of maneuvers. I would highly suggest you repair it within the next nine hours. My manifests show we have the parts to fix both units on board. I will send a list of essential modules and where they are located in the hold to your inhead display.”
“You just happen to have everything we need on board?” Youngblood asked.
“We carry spares to fix about anything on the ship. Transshipping parts is one of
our covers. If customs stops us, Lizzy can generate a fake invoice showing we’re delivering the shipment to some nearby port. The datawork probably wouldn’t stand up to intense scrutiny, but most bored government officials aren’t willing to push it that far.”
The pull-and-plug feature of the Loki class freighters made them the favorite of the shoestring operations plying the Back of Beyond. With a judicious supply of spare parts, when one malfunctioned, repair was as simple as pulling the old one and shoving in a new module. And Fitz’s cover allowed her to always have the necessary spares.
Youngblood rapped his knuckles on the unlit section of the instrument panel. “What about the thruster? Got a spare for that?”
Lizzy’s voice resumed its normal acerbic tone. “My exterior scans show it’s still there, although there is some damage to the pylon that attaches it to the fuselage.”
Fitz started. She hadn’t considered that, but if they’d been hit hard enough to shear off the thruster, they probably wouldn’t still be alive to have this conversation.
“It could be as simple as a failure in the circuitry,” the ship continued. “It does run close to where that damage it located. I will attempt a work-around, but if it turns out to be inside the thruster, someone may have to go out and check the unit when we return to real space.”
“I can do that,” Youngblood said.
Fitz finished her coffee and rose, tension flowing out of her at the thought of starting to put her ship to right. And having him here to help her. “Not unless you brought your own vac suit. I only have one onboard and it fits me. Now I suggest we get to work.”
Chapter Fourteen
Fitz swung out of the airlock, shuffling her gripper-bottomed boots as she picked her way aft along the hull, a safety tether stretching behind her. She paused, scanning around. Debris filled this system. Lizzy kept watch for anything headed in her direction, but a tiny fragment of trash might escape the ship’s attention. Getting her suit holed by a wayward piece of garbage was not on Fitz’s list of things to do today.
When they’d arrived at Oxylus, Lizzy went dark and eased into the clutter left over from an old mining operation. If the Empire poked their noses into the system searching for them, the ship would look like another bit of drifting junk.
The largest piece of debris hung five klicks away. Navigational hazard lights outlined the abandoned ore processing facility’s bulk in the darkness. Oxylus once hosted a thriving asteroid mining operation, but when it played out, the company left. They hadn’t deemed the station worth salvaging and abandoned it for the freelance scavengers to pick over.
Bright sparks drifted through the blackness between her and the station. She increased her visual magnification. Motes of light tumbled in the vacuum, probably pieces of insulation or shards of broken armorglass reflecting the glow of Oxylus’ distant primary. Pretty, but deadly if it got too close.
Fitz edged further back along the ship, reaching the junction of the engine pylon and the hull. “Oh, shit.”
“That bad?” Youngblood asked over her comm.
She tried to scrub her hands over her face, but stopped before she hit her helmet’s faceplate. “Yeah, but it’s hard to get close enough to tell how bad with all the twisted metal around it.”
“Stay away from it or you’ll breach your suit.”
“Damn it, Youngblood. You sound like my first-year instructor in Vacuum Safety Procedures. I do know what I’m doing.”
She knew she had no business out here. The past ten hours were a blur of chasing down problems, swapping out parts and crawling through maintenance tunnels. Stims, caffeine and painkillers kept her going, but the drugs had washed out of her system leaving her exhausted and cranky. Another hit would keep her on her feet, but each succeeding dose would be less effective. Withdraw would be longer and more unpleasant, until eventually she collapsed. That would do neither of them any good.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts and glanced around. The debris cloud appeared larger. Rather than reflecting the weak starlight, the specks seemed to glow from within. And they were closer.
“FitzWarren.” Youngblood’s shout broke through her preoccupation. How long had he been talking to her while she daydreamed?
He continued as if he hadn’t noticed her lapse. “Can you see if the engine pod has been compromised?”
She edged closer to the twisted metal. “The thruster appears to be intact. The damage is restricted to the pylon where it attaches to the hull. I think Lizzy’s original assessment about the problem being in the connecting circuitry is correct. I believe we have all the parts to repair it. The problem is getting to it. We need a dock-droid with a laser torch to cut all that crap away. I might be able to do it if I had a hard suit, but under these circumstances, there’s no way I’d attempt it.”
For several seconds there was only the low hiss of an open circuit, then he broke the silence. “So what do you want to do now?”
“I say we put down in some out-of-the-way spot on a habitable planet. Between the two of us, we can probably handle the repairs.”
“I’m not happy about attempting reentry in a ship with this kind of external damage.”
Lizzy interjected. “My shields should be sufficient to protect us.”
“I don’t like betting my life on should,” he said. “And don’t forget, if we do make it down and can’t repair the thruster, we’re stuck there.”
Exhaustion and stim withdraw made Fitz’s reply sharper than she’d intended. “So then what do you suggest?”
“We find a repair facility somewhere off the major space routes…”
“I’m not letting some back-world rube poke around in my inner workings,” Lizzy said.
“Youngblood, this ship’s not exactly fresh-from-the-yards stock. I’m not comfortable with strangers getting a look at it,” Fitz said.
“You’d be surprised at some of the alterations to freighters you see out here.”
“And when the word gets around about a strangely modified ship with battle damage? The Empire has ears all over out here. It wouldn’t be long before we get a visit from another corvette.”
“So we take it to a facility we can trust. One with no love for the Empire. We take her to Hideyoshi Shipyards at N’zogi-227.”
“The main Lister repair depot? Are you insane? It’s the busiest yard in the Human Sector. Hundreds of ships go in and out of there every shift. We could wait weeks for an official just to make us an appointment.”
“Miah Lister owes me a favor or two. It’s time I called in one. Beside, when you own one of their Pulsars, you get the VIP treatment. I think I can get us in and out of there quickly.”
“And how many thousands of creds is that going to add to my bill?”
“FitzWarren, you don’t believe I’ll ever see one centi-cred of that money, do you?”
He’d figured that out and yet he’s stuck with me this far. How much longer could she count on his help? “If it’s not the money, how come you haven’t skipped out on me already?”
Seconds passed before the answer came. “Because the Empire pissed me off. It wasn’t enough that they tried to assassinate me, twice…”
“And that augie tried to kill your cat,” Jumper reminded them.
He chuckled. “Yeah, they tried to kill my cat. I don’t get even, FitzWarren, I get ahead.”
She fought down the urge to giggle. It must be the post-stim letdown. Or was she happy he’d agreed to help her for reasons other than money? Perhaps because he wanted to be with her? With that thought to sooth her, she smiled and let her eyes slide closed for a second.
“Commander.” Youngblood shouted over her comm.
Her head snapped up, banging against the inside of her helmet. She’d fallen asleep. Standing on the outside of the hull with all the stars watching, she’d fallen asleep. Startled, she scanned her suit�
��s life support systems checking for a malfunction, but all the readings were normal. Oxygen was getting low, but not critical. It must be fatigue.
“Come back inside. We’ll grab a sandwich and a couple hours of down time. Then we’ll tackle the repairs on the life support system. We can put off making a decision until we finish that.”
She started back to the airlock but stopped, staring at the space between the ship and the abandoned station. It teemed with luminous motes. A sinuous river of light flowed out of the derelict like insects swarming out of a nest. They all moved toward her.
“What the hell are those?” The first of the lights reached her, whirling about and bumping against her helmet. She held up a gloved hand. The specks danced between her fingers.
“What are you talking about?”
“The lights. They’re beautiful.” She increased her visual magnification, trying to focus on the tiny forms at the center of the glowing spheres. The shapes blurred and shifted, making it impossible to see the heart of the brightness. “There are these lights around me. They’re coming out of that old mining…”
“Don’t touch them. Get in the airlock. Now. Lizzy, start backing us out of here. As soon as Fitz is inside, get us away from that derelict as fast as you can.” His words carried that unmistakable crack of command she obeyed without question, but it was the undercurrent of fear in his voice that caused her to dive for the open door, reeling in her tether as she sped along the hull.
She hit the edge of the airlock and rebounded, snatching at the grab bar to keep from tumbling away. The luminous specks were all around her. She swung inside, stumbling as she entered the ship’s gravity field. The door slammed shut as she smashed her fist on the controls. A blizzard of motes danced around her, their luminosity dimming under the airlock’s bright lighting. They surged into every bit of shade cast by switches, gages or handles, and clustered on her suit in the dimness under her arms, between her legs and pooled in the shadow at her feet.
A Hero for the Empire: The Dragon's Bidding, Book 1 Page 11
