Braddock shook his head, matching worry decorating his face. They looked back, breath held as the captain held tight to their comrade and propelled as fast as the suit would take him toward the ship. Come on. Come on.
Right before the captain entered the hatch, Avery waddled back to the control panel, just in case the one in there didn’t work. He wasn’t taking any chances. Come on.
They stood in perfect stillness, waiting, praying.
Tristan waited as the outer door slowly closed. Too slow. He clutched the immobile Mila to his chest even tighter. Don’t die on me. You can’t die on me. The door closed and the second one opened.
He stumbled in and laid Mila on the ground at Braddock’s feet. Tristan yanked the helmet off and ripped the top half of the suit off so fast he probably damaged it, not that he cared. He dived at Mila. He had to get her breathing again. Before it was too late.
He started CPR, knowing she would never make it to the med bay. They didn’t have that much time. Breathe, baby. He counted silently, then checked her pulse. No heartbeat. Don’t do this. He counted again, then went back to breathing for her. Time drew out to eternity as he alternated between breathing for her and pumping her heart for her.
Braddock had never liked Trace, but she didn’t deserve to die like that. She’d proved her worth, repeatedly, above and beyond the call of duty. She was a pilot and yet she’d helped with the investigations, fought beside them.
A part of his mind whispered that she wouldn’t be dead, dying, right now if she’d bothered to follow orders. But another part whispered they might all be dead if she had. Would they have closed the hatch if she hadn’t run ahead? They would have gone against those men and they couldn’t fight back in the suits.
He looked on with pity as the captain worked over her body. He felt stupid for not realizing how much the woman meant to his superior officer until he saw him crying over her just then.
As she took a breath, allowing them to breathe easily once more, his gaze was drawn to her hands, which curled under with that first breath. But he could have sworn they looked more like claws.
Had his mind been playing tricks on him?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“What happened?” Mila asked.
“You nearly died,” Tristan said from beside her.
She opened her eyes and turned her head to him, too exhausted to even sit up. Sitting in a chair beside her bed, he looked as exhausted as she felt. “I gathered.”
“Or maybe it’s more appropriate to say you did die.”
The pain in his eyes forced the next words out of her as if comforting him was as vital as breathing. “I’m sorry.”
“Just don’t do it again,” he said with a weak smile that almost reached his eyes.
“Aye aye, captain.” She tried to raise an arm in salute—sarcastically, of course—but both arms felt like they’d been nailed to the bedding.
He shook his head and reached for her hand, rubbing it soothingly. She closed her eyes and almost groaned.
“Is the danger over?”
“I don’t know. I have security officers scouring the area surrounding the ship, but we haven’t been able to find anything but dead bodies. We also have men guarding each of the airlocks. They won’t get back on board,” he said fiercely.
“Good,” she said and fell back to sleep.
The next time she woke, she was alone. Her strength had returned somewhat and she could sit, even if it wore her out. She lifted herself upright, breathing heavily, letting the burn in her arms settle. She had a bandage on her right arm and another on her torso.
Jeez, I keep getting shot.
She could make out the whispering of voices outside her room, but no words.
As she breathed, her lungs felt worn, tired. Other than that and the bullet holes, she felt fine. “At least the headache’s gone.”
Without distractions, her mind kept flitting back to those terrible moments before she lost consciousness. Holding on for dear life. Her heart started to speed up. Losing her grip. She felt it pounding in her temples, making her breathe more rapidly. Breathing, but suffocating. Panic. She grabbed her chest as she struggled for breath. Her chest hurt.
An alarm sounded and people rushed into the room. They crowded around her as her world narrowed into a place where only escape mattered. Voices and movement surrounded her in a surreal amalgam of sensations, then everything became heavy, her heart slowing until she passed out.
When she woke again, Tristan was back.
“Heard you had a panic attack.”
Amusement colored his voice, so she did the only appropriate thing. She flipped him the bird. He laughed and she looked over as he shook his head.
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah, strong as an ox.” She flexed her arms like a muscle builder. “How long has it been?”
“A day or two.”
She nodded, not letting it bother her how long she’d been out. “You find your bad guys yet?”
“We don’t know if we found all of them, but we found their ships. Outside the gas-ring. The engineers think they can use the parts from the fighters to repair the engine. That is, if we can tow them back to the Orleans.”
“That’s good, I guess.”
“You’ve got some friends who’d like to see you.”
She smiled, a little excited. She’d forgotten her earlier fear. Not knowing who made it and who didn’t.
Tristan got up and walked to the door, opening it for Luke, then Avery, Braddock, and Santos.
She laughed. “Half of them don’t even like me.”
“May!” Luke said, bouncing through the door and assaulting her with a hug.
She winced, his arm wrapping around her bandages like a vice. He didn’t notice, but she breathed easier when he loosened up and leaned back to get a better look at her.
“You look good, considering,” Luke said, winking at her playfully.
“Considering? I look damn good.”
“Good to see you back in the world of the living,” Avery said.
Braddock just looked at her suspiciously, like he expected her to do God only knew what. It unnerved her, causing a sinking feeling in her gut.
“What are you doing here, Santos?”
She shrugged. “Just checking to see how much longer I’ll have the room to myself.”
“But, of course.”
“Of course.”
They talked and caught up, reveling in their individual stories of daring deeds. Mila kept quiet. Everyone knew what she’d done. And if they didn’t, she felt no need to tell them. She couldn’t slip back into the shadows, but she had no intention of grabbing the spotlight either.
Eventually, Tristan started in on them about lazing about and not doing their jobs and the crowd dispersed. “You’ll be all right on your own?”
“Yeah. Never better.”
“No more panic attacks?”
“Probably not.”
He paused, maybe because she hadn’t given him the absolute assurance he wanted, but eventually leaned in, kissed her forehead, and said, “Until later.”
No quantity of doctors, nurses, and miscellaneous medical personnel could keep Mila there indefinitely. Food and rest did her a world of good and soon she wanted, no needed, to flee the well-meaning medical staff. She slipped out of bed a few times. Even got as far as the door before someone would ask her what she was doing out of bed and guide her back to her “rightful” spot.
But she wasn’t tired anymore. Other than two still healing holes in her, she was just fine. And she needed to move. Now.
Unfortunately, there were no real night shifts on a spaceship. No shift was lighter than the rest personnel-wise. So she couldn’t just wait until a shift change or something. Or could she? Didn’t shift changes tend to be somewhat chaotic? Maybe she could slip out when people were distracted.
She went back and sat on the bed, twiddling her thumbs and watching the clock tick the seconds by. God, the med
bay is so boring. She needed to do something. Desperately.
She’d almost nodded off when she heard a commotion outside. People moving around, murmurs of voices. Shift change. She got up, and walked out boldly. Better not to look suspicious. Nobody noticed her. Of course, she’d already slipped on her somewhat ragged and bloodstained uniform. It was better than the alternative.
She turned and headed toward the exit, her heart in her throat the entire time. People bumped into her, mumbling “Excuse me” and “Sorry” as they went. A few more feet.
Freedom was in sight when someone called, “Hey, you’re not supposed to be out of bed.”
She ignored the voice, picking up her pace and pretending the person had been talking to someone else.
“Hey, wait!”
Mila shoved the doors open and made a mad dash down the hallway. She reveled in the feel of her muscles, in being able to stretch and work them, in the freedom of movement, the lack of claustrophobia.
Admittedly, she was still on a ship. It was still enclosed. But the long expanse of hallway felt enormous compared to being trapped in that bed, in that room, for days.
Her feet took her where they would and she found herself outside the engine room. She slipped in, noticing the lack of doors and the melted metal around the door frame. The engine room was still a whirlwind of activity as people tried to get the ship moving again.
This is even better than the hallway. She smiled and sat down, cherishing the vastness of the room. Everything would be all right. She just knew it.
“You’re supposed to be in the med unit,” Tristan said right next to her ear before sitting down beside her.
She shrugged. “And? You gonna throw me over your shoulder and drag me back there?”
“No. Feeling better, I guess?”
“I ran all the way here.”
“Feeling that good, huh?”
“That good. People like me bounce back pretty quickly. And the injuries weren’t really that bad.”
“You were shot in the chest. Again.”
“Getting to be a habit, isn’t it?” She tried to joke, but the glare he gave her said he didn’t appreciate it. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right. I’m probably not in the best of moods.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Besides you almost dying?”
She smiled. “Yeah, besides that.”
He waved his hand in front of him. “We’re still dead in the water. We don’t know if all the enemy forces are dead. And I just got the final reports back from the attack.”
“How bad?” She knew it had to be bad.
“We lost nearly a third of our crew.”
Everything in her body seemed to sink, drain down. A third? She shook her head, trying to be professional, even though she’d never quite been in the military. She could have used that now. “Can we still man the ship?”
“I think so, but it’ll be tight. You’re the only surviving pilot, which will slow us down immensely.”
She nodded, trying to work out in her head how many hours a day she could fly the ship safely. And trying to force out the images of the two pilots she’d only met in passing. The faces, smiles, sometimes haggard, kept flitting across her mind. “Are there any duty stations vacant?”
“A few, but that can’t be helped. There’s some overlap in proficiencies, but I’m still not sure we’ll be fully covered in places.”
She nodded again. “Maybe you should be going over personnel records. Planning out new duty rosters.”
“Probably and I should be filling out KIA reports. I’m not looking forward to that.”
“Do you want some help?”
The look on his face seemed hopeless. “Not now. You should get some sleep.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve had enough sleep. I’ve been sleeping for days. What I need is something to do.”
“You won’t let me mope, will you?”
“Nope. Come on. We’ve got work to do.” She dragged him to his feet and out of the engine room.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The following days passed too quickly, and far too slowly. There simply wasn’t enough work to keep them from thinking of the crew they’d lost. It didn’t help that Mila had assigned herself the task of filling out the KIA forms and uploading them into the TAT.
Mila worked across from Tristan as he planned the new duty rosters, moving people around to cover everything, which was impossible. She was the only person left on board with any piloting experience. She wondered how much longer until they reached their destination. How much farther was it?
She’d assigned herself twelve-hour shifts, much to Tristan’s dismay.
“Nobody works twelve-hour shifts,” he’d said.
But she wouldn’t be moved. Twelve hours wasn’t an unreasonable length for a shift, and it gave them an extra four hours of flight time they wouldn’t have otherwise. She just hoped the engineers got the engine fully operational. If they only flew half the time and at a snail’s pace, they would never get there.
But eventually, engineers reported to Tristan, stating the engine was ready. They fired it up and the ship came off emergency power for the first time since she could remember. It was nice not seeing everything through dim, red light. They got comms back up and running next and she didn’t even realize the temperature was back to normal. Not until Luke pointed it out, stretched in an ecstatic sprawl.
Mila had on a new, clean uniform. She’d viciously ripped off her bandages, declaring to no one in particular that she didn’t need them anymore. She had a smile on her face, winked at Tristan as she passed his chair, and sauntered up to her place, ignoring the dirty look Braddock gave her.
Mila caressed the controls like a lover. We meet again. Sitting down felt like coming home. She’d been born to do this. She started the pre-flight checks. On some level, she registered the lack of people and it made her heart hurt. Only one communications officer instead of three, no one on radar. She could see the navigation officer straddling her seat to see both her console and the one beside her.
This trip has been hell.
When the checks were complete, she turned to Tristan. “Ready, captain.”
“Then let’s go.”
She turned and took off, navigating out of the gas-ring and back into open sub-space.
Braddock stood at the back of the bridge, hands clasped firmly behind his back. He kept running the scene over and over again in his head. Had his eyes played tricks on him? His gaze landed suspiciously on their pilot, Trace. He admitted to himself that it didn’t matter, at least at the moment, whether she was what he thought or not. Without a pilot, they would still be stuck.
He shifted his gaze away and to their captain, who stared moony-eyed at the probable shifter. He would get no aid from their captain, he was sure.
Days were long, arduous, but they reached their destination. Mila dropped the ship out of sub-space shortly before the alien world she knew so little of. Probably, she knew even less than the average person. She’d always tried to keep her nose down, and avoiding people and everything associated with them, including the news, had become second nature to her.
Her hands flew over the controls, docking the POS to the orbital space station above the planet covered in purple clouds. She felt a slight jerk as the ship locked in, giving her a stunning view of a purple planet.
“I heard it was caused by iodine gas in the upper atmosphere,” Luke said.
Mila turned to him. “Really? It’s stunning.”
“Yeah, makes all the mess worth it, doesn’t it?”
“Not really. We almost died repeatedly. I could make do without a purple sky.”
He laughed, smiling at Mila, but the smile wasn’t as big or bright as usual.
“So, want to go check out some aliens?”
“They probably don’t appreciate people gawking at them.”
“And?”
“I’ve got work to do,” Mila said, returning to her r
esponsibilities, even if it was an excuse. She would finish locking this POS up in a matter of minutes, but Luke didn’t need to know that. “Go on ahead. I know you want to.”
“All right. Later.” He jumped up, slapped her on the back, and raced around the people leaving the bridge.
I’ll never have that kind of energy.
After a few minutes, she’d set the stabilizers and powered down the engines. She turned around, but Tristan had already left. She hadn’t realized she’d been smiling until her face fell. He has stuff to do, silly.
Tristan led the diplomats to the airlock, followed by a parade that included some of his own crew, most likely only coming to ogle some aliens. A small quiver ran through him as he opened the airlock, his mind flashing to Mila there, holding on for dear life, losing her grip, falling.
The doors slid open and he took a breath to calm himself, even if no one had noticed his distress. In the doorway stood a handful of aliens. Seeing them left his mind blank, his vocabulary failing him. They were alien in every sense of the word.
They made a writhing gesture he assumed was a greeting. The gesture seemed boneless, body and limbs rotating in a swirling pattern. It couldn’t be matched by a human. He could only imagine an octopus being able to replicate the limb movements, but octopi don’t have bodies like these things. He couldn’t figure out how they stayed upright, but they did. His mind flitted to something he’d heard once, that their planet had much less gravitational pull than Earth.
He caught the diplomats bowing behind his back before they came forward, carefully speaking in choppy English. The aliens didn’t understand much English, but they’d learned some and their speech organs allowed them to use a broader range of sounds than humans. Humans couldn’t speak their tongue.
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