“Dalton, Danny?” Juliyana said, turning to me, her hand gripping her hip.
“You heard him. Later,” I told her. “Let’s get out of here, first.” I took off after Dalton.
The ship was bigger than I had first thought it to be. It took a few minutes to make our way to the bridge. I guess any ship, when parked beside an Imperial carrier, tended to look teeny in comparison.
The corridors were refreshingly wide, lined with lockers and utility cupboards, and other services panels—blank walls weren’t left blank for long on a ship. Sooner or later something was bolted to them, or hung on them, or cut into them. Space was always tight.
The corridors we ran through were empty. Was everyone on the bridge? The corridor echoed as we followed Dalton. It didn’t curve, but it did jig to the left then back to the right, following the spine of the ship. It meant the bridge was toward the front and centered.
Then up a ramp, and the bridge opened up before us.
There was no one there. Not a single fucking soul. “What the hell?” I breathed, looking around the area.
Dalton strode forward, toward the triple screens at the front of the deck, as if the empty deck was not a surprise to him. The screens were set to show the forward view, which at this point displayed Devonire station sliding to our starboard as the ship turned, preparing to blast toward the gate. The gate was in sight already—a giant, bio-mechanical ring hanging in space, looking quite small from here.
It had taken Newman’s ship over an hour to cover the distance between the gate and the station. It was a lot of time for the carrier to catch up with us—or just shoot us out of the sky at their leisure. Their mauler cannon bolts could travel faster than they could, a fact I had relied upon in the past when I had been standing beside the captain’s shell, directing his efforts.
“Lyth,” Dalton said as he reached the control panel in front of the wide three-part screen. “Is the carrier away yet?” He leaned on the panel and looked into the screen and down to the right.
With a jolt, I realized they weren’t screens at all.
“They’re windows!” Juliyana breathed, beside me, sounding as winded as me. “Actual fucking windows…” She looked up and around the empty deck. There were stations for more crew than Dalton—at least one was navigation, for it had the flat tabletop where the 3D stellar maps could display. The other posts could be a variety of things—I’d figure that out later. There were too many mysteries here to unravel, and higher priorities to deal with first.
The engines kicked up a gear, becoming a steady, low rumble we could hear now, not just feel through our boots. The ship leapt forward. The view on the screen showed the gate steadily growing larger. Gee force pressed against me, making me shove a foot backward in response.
We were going to make the gate a shit-ton faster than Newman had managed with his trusty freighter.
What was this ship? I studied the details, trying to figure out what model it was. I had never seen a deck like this, before. There was no name plate for the ship rivetted to a bulkhead, which was usual. I hadn’t recognized the long lines of the ship when I had studied it in Newman’s viewscreen on approach to the station, either.
The railguns top and bottom and on both sides, said this was not exactly a civilian ship. Freighters and private craft did carry arms and weapons—it was only sensible—but they didn’t advertise them the way this ship did.
I had never seen another ship quite like this one before.
“The carrier is just pulling away from the station,” the disembodied voice informed Dalton. Only, Dalton wasn’t standing straight. He bowed, still gripping the control panel, this time for support, not leverage. He moaned.
I waded forward, for the ship was accelerating hard, putting all of us under immense pressure. “You’re flying without crush juice!” I yelled at Dalton. “How fucking stupid can you be?” I moved right up to his side.
He shook his head, a fractional movement. Pain etched on his face. “No, no—I’m juiced. It’s just…” He grimaced and closed his eyes.
“Old?” I guessed.
Dalton didn’t answer.
“Computer, slow your rate of acceleration right now!” I yelled.
“No, I’m fine,” Dalton said quickly. He straightened up slowly, with great effort. I wasn’t fooled. He was still feeling the force in every cell.
I wasn’t his keeper. I didn’t try arguing again. He could crush himself to death if he wanted to—later. For right now I needed him whole.
“I said, computer, slow the fuck down or you’ll kill one of your passengers,” I shouted.
The ship slowed and the pressure instantly eased. I took a deep breath, enjoying it. “Thank you,” I told the thing. Lyth, Dalton had called it. “Ships’ AI,” I said to Juliyana. “Automated everything, run by the computer core.”
“Risky,” she breathed.
I had to agree with her. Managing a ship this size and complexity with only the help of a single AI was a sure way to end up floating dead and cold in deep space somewhere, because you only had two hands. Automation didn’t and couldn’t deal with everything adaptable humans could, with their opposable thumbs.
I looked though the view windows, still marveling that they were actual windows. This close, I could see the forward ends of the ship protruding from either side of the bridge position, thrusting forward like the twin troop craft attached to the front of the carrier we were leaving farther behind with each passing second. These were elongated diamond-shaped protrusions, bristling with antennas and dishes and other probes on their noses.
Dalton saw the direction of my gaze. “Drop ships,” he said. His voice was hoarse and he pressed the heel of his hand
