The hydrophane from the Myscol was wearing off. Spidery pain crawled up my leg with a ripple effect, from shin to knee. I stumbled to the medicine cabinet, biting back curses, fingers arching for that place where I kept my stash of get-well drugs. My hands shook as I reached for the little pink bottle, the one I saved for special occasions. That I’d distilled from a home blend of morphine and dyzanol. I refrained from another shot of Myscol, knowing well the next jolt would send me into cardiac arrest. Muscle up, Jet boy. Stomach your pain.
Fingers beaded with sweat, I stuck a wooden rod between my teeth and champed down hard.
Eyes glued to the sensors, I watched the Varwol integrity dip down to 62%. But it held. Movement was tricky in this syrupy warp and repairs impossible. As long as it didn’t get below 40% before the next planet, I was okay. If it did…ship and crew would disappear into a singularity.
I cruised for hours, maybe days, enjoying the silence of deep light travel, warring with old thoughts, aware of a nagging feeling brewing at the back of my skull. Something about this situation seemed worse than past ones—a shadow zone, as if I were staring in the black pit of the unknown. I really didn’t know what my next step was, something unusual for Jet Rusco. Calm, cool, phlegmatic Rusco of the dark pool of scammers and avengers, with a million cons all ready to go. To have survived them thus far, had given me a richer confidence than I deserved. A dangerous place to be. It was a bubble waiting to be burst. That grand bungle in Hoath had been the first warning; staring down death, not once but twice. It had shaken the belief in my invulnerability, got me thinking.
Thirty-nine going on eighty, melting into the wasteland of middle age. I wasn’t getting any younger. The creaks in my spine were getting all too loud and more frequent. The lithe pliancy, the hard muscle that had once moved fast and rattled so many heads had toned down a peg.
The warning sensor came back and Molly’s shrill voice seeped into my brain like a bullet shredding chipboard.
“Systems failure. Port wing stabilizer. Varwol disengaging. T minus 6. Impulse power at 10%.”
“Molly, you doom-monger! Where the hell are we?”
“Minos sector, The Orion Zone. Coordinates T56.988234—”
“Alright, nowheresville. Target the closest habitable planet.”
“Affirmative. Planetary gravity field affecting compromised Varwol.” She brought up the nearest planetary datasheet on the holo display. A dusty world, of shell-shocked craters within range. Estimated indigenous population: 12,000.
“Great, okay, make for it. What is it?”
“Talyon 8A. Terraformed planet settled in the second wave of the settlers’ rush, circa 2945.67.123—”
“Yeah, yeah.” The fourth planet showed as a pale saffron disc in orbit around Silirus, the bright orange star dead ahead. The nearby planet’s gravity was too much for the drive. The Varwol fluttered to a halt, leaving me on impulse, caught within grappling distance of Talyon’s gravity. The main thrusters, already compromised, shuddered under the tidal grab, not potent enough to steer me clear.
I guided the ship as best I could down through the colorless atmosphere. Even that was rocky. Starrunner couldn’t stay in the air.
I picked the straightest strip of sand I could find, between two massive mountains of what looked like monstrous garbage piles, and what looked like massive pits beyond them. I kept the nose high, tightening the straps securing me in the pilot’s chair.
Starrunner’s fuselage heated up to a red blur. Ship sensors warned me of further failures. I shut them off.
The ship ground its gray underbelly along the alien turf as I bashed along and watched my fragile existence flash before my eyes. No regrets, Rusco, none. Though there should have been a thousand.
The grinding of pebbles against the hull came to a screeching apex; the buffeting, rocking knocked my brain about, as I was jostled and jerked until blackness stole over my mind.
Chapter 6
I jerked up with a gasp, passing a hand over my brow. It came back crimson from a throbbing gash. Some loose object must have whacked me on the skull.
Blood dripped down my cheek. I blinked through the porthole at a giant mound of reddish-black crud and scummy earth glaring back at me. Whiplash, bruises and aching joints strobed in and out with red welts where the straps had held me. No broken bones. The ship’s interior functions blinked in nominal condition. Better condition than what I expected. Emergency lights bathed a pale glow over the power console and sensors kept bleeping.
The pilot panel flashed like something out of a gamer’s session and dust particles hung thick in the air. The ship was useless to me with the drive so impaired. Nor was I any ace mechanic. I counted the seconds as I drifted in and out of crash daze. I could sit there like a grinning statue, pretending none of this had ever happened, or I could get up and brave the elements. At some point I would have to, as my supplies were not inexhaustible. The sooner the better. My eyes traveled to the surplus space suit hanging from the wall. I visualized the sustenance I would have to gather up, stumbling about on an alien world. But who knew what horrors lurked out there? Sucking in another gasp of air, I hitched off my safety straps and collapsed to the metal-grated floor before groping to my knees and picking myself up to hobble across the bridge. The pain clutched at the heart of my nerve centers.
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