“Athena claims we didn’t have clearance to control the Dragon from the shuttle controls.”
“I’ll override the computer by direct wiring into the shuttle to disconnect each system. We’ll replace bridge controls. At a real dry dock.”
“Whatever docking web or tractor assembly the Dragon uses to draw in the shuttle has to be as damaged as the rest of her.”
“Those things prevent paint scuffing. At this point I care only for a tight seal and a clean coupling.”
“I bled a lot of power to get here. I doubt you have enough juice for more than turning this shuttle around,” Hauser adds.
“We got some power restored to main engines. We could run some cables across the cargo bay and feed whatever tractors in the shuttle.”
“I’ll check on the systems, but the shuttle will have to turn around.”
Amye crawls into the shuttle bay. None of the docking clamps seem damaged. As long as they line the doors up the stupid idea should work. Along the rim of the bay before the living skin flows around the shuttle bottom, she discovers shield emitters. Buffers to keep the shuttle from banging into the walls, but such an advanced ship should have more of a docking system.
Doug drops a power cable through the door. “Find the tractor system yet?”
“Just shield emitters.” Amye runs her hand along the smooth walls. Even if such a device is hidden, she hopes to find a seam for the storage compartment.
Doug snaps the power nodes into a floor receptacle. He punches a command into the handheld computer, and energy whirls to life. Lights bombard the chamber, and the shield emitters glow with a light haze.
“Athena.” Amye calls to the computer after pressing her watch.
Nothing.
“I’ve not even gotten to a point to jack in. Power to main systems has been priority.”
“How long until the shield emitters have enough power?”
“Now. They don’t store it. They just work when needed.”
“Let’s get the shuttle in here. Access Athena through its computer. I need sensors online.”
“We’ve got to hardwire the shuttle computer into the hyperdrive engine.”
“Doug, we have to find William.”
“Smerth’n hell, Amye. We’ve got to fly first.”
“I’ll fix the sensors. You get us off the ground,” Amye pushes Doug into the cargo bay before activating her commlink. “Bring her in, Scott.”
The living skin parts as the shuttle slams into the ceiling of the shuttle bay. Amye lands on top of Doug from the crash. The Dragon rocks back, sliding into the lake a dozen feet. Water laps at the landing ramp. The shield emitters hold the shuttle. Once Amye hears the docking clamps lock, she shoves herself off Doug.
“Draznot. Scott, you git-minded frelling dreck-head. We don’t need more damage.”
“I had no lateral control.” Scott steps out of the shuttle. “Doug, if you’re done with your nap, we need to run optic cables from the shuttle to main engines.”
Doug rolls to his stomach in order to push onto his knees. “Primitive.”
“But fast.”
“It’s a lot of impaction to push through such cables.”
“Then run as many as you have to lighten the load. Amye, since I know you’re going to anyway—fix the sensors. I want to be airborne in three hours.”
CONSTANT MURMURS STIR in Reynard’s ears. The murmur expounds into chanting, fully rousing his thoughts to documentary footage of African tribal dances. His eyes focus on the nine-foot warriors hop-dancing in place with raised weapons in the air. They grab at their hair cutting loose chunks to toss in the flames consuming their fallen companions. Even in his blurry state Reynard deduces this ritual dance honors fallen warriors. The question racing through his sluggish mind is how they honor the killer of their brothers.
The pain stick blast was stronger than the one he received a thousand years ago on Earth. Reynard won’t forget the surging arcing agony. It was the worst pain he’d ever felt, even more than the exhausting fatigue brought on by training under Joe’s clan; now this new attack tops his worst moment. His head remains foggy. Finger spasms trail up his arms. Nerve control has yet to be regained.
From the setup of this funeral ceremony he’s been unconscious for hours.
Strange alien planets, adventuring pirates, and ray guns are the fantastical moments of imagination boys dream of if they don’t want to be a cowboy or fireman. No matter how much he wanted to be Buck Rogers or Captain Kirk, real space adventures are little to nothing like a TV show. Never mind the tedium of training every day to understand technology nuances, Osirians are the bottom of the food chain for most societies—socially and physically. A humanoid species themselves, the Iphigenians found the perfect cannon fodder on his planet.
How does he take out a nine-foot alien with a primitive projectile gun? The magnum works among aliens closer to his own frame. Plasma blast resistant fibers are woven into most clothes and will absorb some of the beam, but they are not Kevlar and a bullet tears through them in an instant. Durasteel shells penetrate Tibbar armor, but it takes a lot to kill a Tibbar.
Playing Captain Adventure ended in the casino firefight.
He glances around the chamber. Running his finger along the cold stone floor reminds him of the granite bathroom countertop in his parents’ master bedroom. On either side of the stone throne are crumbled remains of chair platforms. The damaged walls appear to have been ripped away and replaced with furry animal hides covering bone support posts. With his limited experience, he would guess an advanced civilization once existed here.
There are no females. Not one woman attends any of these men or the village. How could it be useful? Reynard has yet to determine if it is advantageous to his escape. Warrior cultures tend to oppress women. If these men gender-stifle, Australia won’t be of much use in negotiations.
No guesses about culture matter until he learns about his crew’s status. He has three women in his group. Crewmates highly
