Found Girl

by Pauline Baird Jones

  The dangers must be obvious to Coop, but he still pressed forward, his expression growing grimmer but somehow more determined. It was his ship, of course, but the task at hand was not part of his skill set. She watched them muscle open a jammed hatch and added they do not quit to her mental notes. It was, perhaps, at that moment that she realized that she was not just observing and learning about them. There was something more there, a truth that was not comfortable.

  She wished to be like them. To be less…alien. To be less of what it was that made her so different from them. And all the people in her life, she added somewhat wryly. Was this the place she’d been searching for when she left Bosakli? Could she belong here? Could she and Coop—her thoughts stilled. She was unsure what that would involve. Love is hard, they’d said in the movie. If they found it hard, how much harder would it be for someone who did not know what it was?

  She trailed a hand along the wall as she followed the two men, trying to be subtle in her attempt to monitor the ship’s engines. But, in the midst of her thoughts, she forgot to keep her touch light while they stopped work on breaching another hatch. What she learned got clearer as they got closer to the heart of the Boyington. It was a ship as bold and brave as its name, she decided—she realized Coop stared at her and yanked her hand back.

  There were the strange lights under her skin again, and they were clustered in her palm—the part of her hand that had pressed against the wall.

  Coop appeared not to notice the lights, even as he put her hand back against the metal. His grin was crooked, but it pushed out the pain and worry.

  “Keep on whispering. And tell me anything I need to know.”

  She nodded and was sorry when his hand fell away from hers. In a life where everything had felt wrong, the touch of his hand to hers was the something that felt right.

  The lights did not show on the back of her hand now, but when she flexed her hand and looked, they moved under the skin of her palms. None of the people they passed paid her too much attention. Most were grim and intent, or—still too dazed and shocked—to care about anything but giving or getting help.

  They passed through a space with reflective walls, and she realized that right now she did not look so different from them. They all had blood-smeared and smoke-grimed faces that hid their differences.

  They came to a hatch that did not open, even using the manual release.

  “Is there a way around?” Tiger wondered, stepping back to shine a light on the identifying numbers painted at junctions throughout the ship.

  “This is the shortest route,” Coop said.

  A group of people approached, some holding long metal bars. “You need to get in there?”

  Coop nodded.

  She could not tell what their designation was. It did not seem to matter. They all combined efforts to open the hatch, which had been knocked out of true, or so it appeared to her, but the door was no match for the suddenly formed team.

  Arian was thoughtful when—after the hatch gave way—and she followed Coop and Tiger into yet another dim passage. These people do not quit.

  Then she would not quit either.

  * * *

  Coop worried that the time they’d used to breach the hatch was time better spent going around. It didn’t help that he didn’t know how much time they had, even as a clock ticked down inside his head. Made it worse, in a way, that he didn’t know if they were already out of time, or if they had enough. Each footstep forward felt fast and slow. They breached a hatch, rounded a corner, and there it was.

  The central power core of the ship.

  Coop didn’t know how it worked, just knew that the cylinder that housed it stretched from the engine room almost to the top of the ship, one end stopping just below the bridge and the other landing in the center of the engineering section.

  “Three decks down.” Coop half sighed. “So it might be active in there, in which case, we pop the panel, we die. Quick, but we die.”

  Arian nodded, her expression sober, but not panicked. Yet. She approached the wall, spreading her fingers across the metal in a way that was becoming very familiar. Her lashes drifted down.

  “And the second problem?” she asked without opening her eyes.

  “If it’s not working, then that’s what they are trying to get going. It could start up at any time while we are in there.”

  “We should try an alternate route,” Tiger objected. “Three decks…”

  “Rhubreak might be able to tell us if there is a clear alternate route,” Arian offered absently, most of her attention still focused on the wall of the central core.

  Coop jerked, but not as much as Tiger, who didn’t know the dragon’s mental reach. He hesitated, then shrugged. Pappy would already be pissed at giving them access. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  Let me see what I can do.

  It was unsettling to realize how deep the dragon could have gone into their ship, if it had wanted to. Or had already gone?

  I was not invited into your systems until now, Banshee.

  Coop flushed.

  I am not offended. But I do not know how to reassure you.

  Well, Coop said wryly, maybe wait until we all survive. Then we can figure it out. He felt humor from the dragon and something else. Sharpened attention?

  There is some radio traffic now. If it is accurate, the engine room is currently isolated from the rest of the ship.

  “So there are people alive in the engine room?”

  There are signs that efforts are focused on getting the central core back online.

  “Great.” He looked at Arian. “We need to hurry.” What about the bridge? Any radio signals in or out of there?

  I regret to inform you that there is no contact with the bridge as yet.

  Arian got to work on the panel—this one would be a lot harder to crack, he guessed, while he and Tiger assessed the supplies they had left in their packs, shifting items Coop thought they might need when they reached engineering.

  “I could try to climb up while you head down,” Tiger offered.

  The silence from the bridge was troubling, but…

  Coop shook his head. “No point in all of us dying in there. See if you can put together a team to make a try for the bridge. And keep trying your radio. For sure we aren’t the only ones worried about them.”

  “I am ready, I believe,” Arian said, “but I do not think it will stay open long.”

  Tiger moved closer. “Show me what to push, and I’ll try to hold it for you both.”

  She shifted her pack to the other shoulder and showed him what to do, then positioned herself next to Coop, a determined look on her face. “I must go first so I can open the next hatch.”

  Coop almost objected, then nodded. She was right. “Pop it, Tiger.”

  The hatch hissed open. Coop stepped forward, boosting Arian over the edge. The hatch twitched, but Tiger managed to keep it back. Coop flung himself in. Luckily each hatch opening had a small platform, so he didn’t dive the three decks. The hatch slid closed, brushing against his back as he got all of himself pulled inside.

  It was dark and cold, a sullen yellow glow from below.

  He realized Arian had already started down and made haste to follow her. The core filled most of the cylinder, with just enough space to work around it. They reached the next deck without incident, then the one after that.

  “One more,” Coop said, as his feet settled on the platform. Arian was at the top of the ladder when the warning lights began to pulse, signaling that the core was coming online.

  9

  Arian stepped back, ripping her bag off her shoulder and grabbing the tool she’d used to open the panel above. At least she had a better idea of what worked—

  “Do you know how long we have?” she asked, surprised by how calm she sounded. There was that sense once again, of something expanding inside her head, new knowledge and skills appearing.

  “Not a clue.” Coop’s voice was calm as well. He’
d pulled out his portable light and shone it on the panel for her.

  She was grateful she had the small platform between her and the bottom of this place. She had not realized, until she started down, that she might be afraid of heights. She’d not had occasion to be high before this, so how could she know?

  She popped the panel cover, feeling a moment of dismay at the sight. These controls were somewhat different. But she had no time to comment or feel concern. No time to stop when the warning light pulsed faster. If it was like the ones in the bay, the timing between the pulses was a signal that the core was close to turning on.

  The hatch slid open, but when she moved her hand from the hot spot, it started to close.

  “You must hurry.” She was aware as she said it that she might not make it through. What surprised her was how very much she wanted Coop to survive, to live.

  He dove through and scrambled up, his hand reaching out for her when something else over-rode her temporary control.

  The hatch slid closed between them.

  Shutting her in with the core at the brink of restarting.

  * * *

  Coop slammed his hand against the hatch, then punched buttons on the control panel. Nothing. He beat at the opening again. He wasn’t an engine—or anything else—whisperer, but one deck above the engine room, even he could feel the rumble as stuff tried to start up. He pounded on the hatch again, harder now.

  “Arian!”

  He’d lost men and women in battle, but Arian wasn’t a warrior. She was a civilian who was in there because he’d asked her to help them. And—she mattered in some other way, too, a way he’d like to have time to figure out—

  The sound below him built and built—then died away with a shudder of metal. He paused, felt it try again—and fail. With his fist a few inches from the hatch, he froze, and then it slid open and there she was. She might have been pale. Or it could be the dicey light.

  “Are you all right?” he asked the question even though she looked fine.

  She nodded with her usual calm.

  “Let’s get you out,” he ordered, holding out his hand.

  She stared for a moment, then shook her head. “I can go down—”

  “Not without me,” he said.

  “It is unnecessary—”

  “They won’t let you near anything without me,” he said, urging her back and scrambling over the edge.

  She nodded. “We must hurry. They will try again.” She started to turn away, but he caught her shoulders, his touch light because, well, if he tightened his hold he might not be able to stop himself—

  “Thank you.” He didn’t know why it felt right to bend and touch his mouth to hers. It just did. He didn’t linger, even though he could have. If they’d had more time…

  Her eyes were big and there was something in them that was new. Happy? He hoped so. He turned her back to the ladder and gave her a gentle push, then followed her onto the ladder. It felt longer than the two decks they’d just done, which made no sense, but being lost in space in a busted-ass ship didn’t make a lot of sense anyway. He dropped onto the ramp right over the heart of the core, where the sullen glow gave off some heat and a lot of warning. He felt no relief, just a rising anxiety about what they were doing on the other side of the hatch—

  Arian worked at the panel, but before she could open it, it opened on its own, putting him face to face with a startled engineer. His gaze traveled from Coop to Arian and widened some more in a grease and sweat-grimed face.

  Coop pushed him out of the way as he scrambled out, then he turned back and yanked Arian out—with a major protest from his sore ribs. Funny how he’d forgotten his ribs until now. And now everything he’d injured started sending complaints to his brain housing group. He pushed his arm against the ribs and looked at Arian, his mouth opening to ask—he closed it again.

  She didn’t look like she saw him or anyone else in the room. Her gaze traveled over the floor-to-ceiling control panels that controlled the core and the engines. Like someone in a trance or a moth to a flame, she drifted toward them.

  The Chief engineer stepped in front of her, and she stopped but continued to look past him.

  “She’s an engine whisperer, Chief.”

  “A what? Who is she? Not the—” He stopped and might have reddened under the streaks of oil and grime.

  Coop looked around. Appeared that about half the Chief’s team was down. “Seems like you could use help, any help.” He arched his brows and added, “She’s good.”

  With visible reluctance, he stepped aside.

  “You in contact with the bridge by any chance?” Coop asked, other worries bubbling up now that they’d reached this goal.

  “Your bridge is intact but devoid of power,” Arian said absently. Maybe the sudden silence pulled her attention from the engine controls. She glanced back. “Rhubreak and your scientist got our scanners going. There is damage but no hull breaches. Most of the problems, other than power loss, seem to be localized damage from impacts and the anomaly.”

  “Injuries? Can he tell how many down?”

  Arian shook her head. “There are life signs all over the ship, but no way to tell how many are injured or how badly.” She hesitated as if listening. “There are people alive on your bridge.”

  That was promising if only Rhubreak could tell them who.

  “What about the systems?” the Chief asked. “We are worried about feedback from damaged systems even if we get the engines back online.”

  “You have emergency power running.” Arian’s attention had returned to the controls. The hands at her sides flexed.

  The Chief nodded, looking a bit bemused—a word Coop didn’t think he’d ever thought before.

  “Where are those controls?”

  He pointed, watched her walk over and spread her hands on the controls in her whisper thing, saw the computer or whatever it was starting to talk back to her, data scrolling onto the screen. The Chief started toward her, then stopped and looked at Coop with something that might be awe in his eyes.

  “Can I keep her?”

  Part II

  10

  Bester’s client had not been as understanding as he’d hoped. His body was coated with sweat from the encounter. At least he got extra time. And a warning.

  “Deliver or be dead,” his client had said, his many eyes and tone blank and cold.

  Almost, he wished he’d listened to the warnings about getting involved with this client. But the payment had been triple his usual fee. It wasn’t in his account yet, but he could see it there. The numbers were piling up to that day when he’d have enough. He was not certain when that would be or what that number was. Each time he thought he’d made enough, he found it wasn’t. But someday he would.

  A pity the tight timeline meant they had to use an expensive jump gate—which had cost more than usual.

  “A Mycterian fleet came through and shot us up.” The jump gate station manager had no color, but he was not dead. “Grabbed a few of my people and left.”

  Bester didn’t ask why they’d been grabbed. He already knew.

  Unregistered gates couldn’t ask authorities for help, and the truth was, help wouldn’t have gotten there in time anyway. They tended to be set up in big, empty, hard-to-find spaces, so the authorities didn’t shut them down. And if anyone wanted to use it, they had to pay a premium. No place to complain about that either.

  The manager’s eyes had widened when given the coordinates, which were the same ones the Mycterians had used.

  Bester frowned. What target was there for the Mycterians in that empty region of space? They couldn’t be after the same ship, could they? But why send a fleet after one ship? As far as Elfel could tell, there was nothing out there, but he thought the data was strange. The signal was coming through on a thin beam, as if through a keyhole break in a cloaking shield.

  Ghrym, his ship captain, pinged his station. “We are preparing to exit the jump gate, sir.”

 
Bester strapped down for the turbulent exit. Unregistered gates lacked the technology to smooth out going in and out. This one was particularly bad, possibly because of the Mycterians. They hadn’t destroyed it because that would close their retreat route, but they liked to do some damage, for whatever reason.

  After transit, Bester learned that the space station on this side had also been attacked. And the news got worse, now that they were tracking along the same course as the signal.

  When would he learn to let his instincts rule his desire for more?

  “Let me see.” Elfel popped the data up on his personal screen. It was worse than Bester had thought. It wasn’t just a fleet. It was an invasion fleet, but what were they invading? What was in that region that would warrant such a show of force from the Mycterians?

  He glanced back as if he could see the way home from deep inside his ship. He pulled up the record of his account credits. He’d been thinking of the credits as already in there, so the amount was…disappointing.

  Perhaps there was an upside to the Mycterian presence. They might prove to be the perfect distraction while he slipped in and got his artifact back.

  11

  The Boyington was returning to normal, well, a new normal. At least the critical systems were online, and they’d been able to look over the new neighborhood a bit more. The high-level military staff were grim, some sporting injuries, as they gathered for a post incident briefing and assessment.

  Of course, there were ship-wide injuries—ranging from minor to serious—but no fatalities, which seemed like a miracle. And Pappy was not happy that the bridge had been the last to come back online. Coop was glad he’d not been there during that time. Pappy moved stiffly into his place at the head of the conference table. He’d bruised one side of his face and had cuts and abrasions.