“I bet your Calthos warrior would clean up on the battlefield, with four arms.”
We don’t own him. “I’ve seen him practice his forms. It’s poetry. The Commander has great form with his sword, too. He’s quite the master of the blade.”
“And he’s faster on the draw with a gun, but even with those quick reflexes he’s not meant for Mecat piloting.”
“The Admiral wanted you to share your skills with him. Find a way to train him.”
“I don’t want the man killed in his first battle, and he’s yet to master the simulator.”
“He’s had no training the way we have from birth in such talents, and yet he has gained the skills to pilot a spacecraft and face the Tibbar.”
The bridge rocks.
Amye knows the feeling of an internal explosion and the danger it has to what few systems were left undamaged by the crash. She bolts from the bridge, barely holding on to the fire suppression canister she grabs on her way through the doors.
Amye vaults over Doug to reach the burning wall panel. The white foam suffocates the fire, returning the corridor to darkness.
“Smerth’n hell! How many brainless draznots does it take to upset the power cuplinks? We don’t have the surplus to damage any more systems ourselves.” Amye grips the canister as if to brain Doug.
“Don’t yell, Little Sis.”
Amye whips her head around to find Kymberlynn behind her.
“Reynard said you died on Tartarus.”
“Do I look dead to you?”
“Amye, there’s no one there,” Doug shines his light to find an empty corridor. “Maybe you need an air filter. Still a smerth’n lot of fumes in here.”
“I just got the bridge components cleaned out, and you’re blowing up the corridor.”
“There are bound to be overloads.” Doug changes the subject. “Are any of the self-repair systems functioning?”
“Nothing.”
“Scott wants to skip the bridge controls and wire directly into the engines. They seem undamaged, unlike these.” Doug drops a multiple-limbed robotic creature onto the tarp where Amye collects damaged parts.
“The ship’s repair drones.”
“Kelex and Kelor are both cooked,” Doug kicks the blackened mess.
“This ship has more automated repair systems?” Mark asks.
“All limited.” Doug explains, “The builders wanted to make sure no artificial intelligence became more important than the crew…”
“We’ve already hit upon that,” Amye snaps back to Doug. “What’s Scott want to do? If we wire directly into the engines to control the ship, bridge repairs are a waste of time. Three hours I could have fixed something we needed.”
“Correct. The forward cannons are only accessible from the bridge,” Doug confirms.
“We were cleaning out environmental and navigation. I haven’t touched weapons yet.”
“We’ve got to have a dry dock. Engines are essential,” Mark says.
“So are weapons and life support. It’s a long trip,” Amye snaps.
“We don’t know what dangers we face on this planet.”
“A monster with the metal capacity to use thought waves to crash a ship.”
“So pretty much any life form other than you,” Amye snaps at Doug. “Smerth’n git. What kind of plasma weapon could hurt a creature so powerful?”
“If you three don’t have anything better to do, I suggest we continue repairs.” Scott carries a lantern in one hand and power cables in the other.
“Well, ranking officer, if you want to change the repair schedule, then you better inform your underlings,” Amye barks.
“Insubordination suits you well, Amye, but now’s not the time.”
“I wasted three hours of time cleaning up bridge controls you don’t need.”
“I don’t know if I could rewire the controls. I was the one wasting time if I couldn’t and we’d be three hours behind on bridge repair,” Scott explains.
“Little compensation. I need some air.” Amye gathers the bundle of unrepairable parts and storms from the corridor.
••••••
AMYE DUMPS MORE cooked components onto the accumulating pile. She kicks over a few slagged parts. She gets two steps toward the cargo ramp before thundering snaps whir her around gun drawn.
Black smoke trails dust clouds billowing from above the tree line. Thruster engines whine like a wounded beast.
Amye slaps her commlink, unwilling to acknowledge Doug’s talent in getting them to work. “Companies arriving and they don’t sound happy.”
The treetops scrape along the bottom of the stolen shuttle. It makes a desperate hop to clear them before smashing into the clearing, skittering to a halt before an unmoving Amye.
The undercarriage, covered in deep scratches and gashes from being dragged for miles, marks the possibility of no more flight. The sheared-away wing assemblage guarantees the craft won’t be spaceworthy again.
Hauser steps through the smoke belching from the craft’s rear. He throws his hands up in a don’t-shoot gesture. “Easy, sweetheart.”
“Where’s William?”
“Your captain was taken prisoner by some locals.”
Amye levels her gun.
Scott snatches it from her hand. “Let’s hear him out.”
Amye sneers at the chief engineer.
“I’m not sure what my status is in the crew, but Reynard ordered me to return this shuttle to you,” Hauser explains.
“You’re not much of a pilot,” Amye says.
“I’m a good enough pilot to get it here without half the wing span and thruster chassis.”
“Navigation intact?” Scott knows the importance of the wounded shuttle.
“Whatever damaged us only took out the shuttle’s wing. All computers still function.”
Scott calculates a new repair plan.
“There’s more. Full racks of new IMC weapons.”
“The delivery for the Braeco’ns. No wonder they tried to kill us at the casino,” Amye steams.
“Ki-Ton’s been playing us for fools.”
“We’ve got to find William.”
“Keep your head, Amye. You don’t know his location. He wants the Dragon functioning. We’ll use the shuttle’s systems to operate the Dragon’s main controls. We’ll find him faster with sensors instead of running through the forest blind.”
Amye sucks in a breath. Of course Scott’s assessment’s correct, but somehow rewiring a shuttle doesn’t seem the best way to find William. She will not lose him on top of realizing her sister died in a shuttle accident on Tartarus. Wait, she just talked to her sister. She can’t be dead. The princess’s retrieval remains essential. She’ll never earn any normal life with Reynard if he
