Everything felt much lighter, despite the gloom. Freedom felt so close, but the ship’s hull and seat harnesses maintained restraint. At least for now. Jyra could no easier explain her sense of euphoria than determine why her body ached. She wanted to scream and had no idea what she might feel by screaming. Delight? Misery?
Jyra knew she had to open her eyes. She remembered as a child when her mother shook her awake in the mornings. The chill from the evening air always crept into the house, back when temperatures shifted between hot and cold on Tyrorken. Jyra would use her feet and hands to pin the blanket over her when her mother tried to pull it free. Even if her muscles were fully awake, it was a battle Jyra could never win.
The gathering cold might have triggered the memory and it restored Jyra to reality. She couldn’t ignore it any longer. She opened her eyes and saw nothing but a blur of black and white. Then a large disc, distorted by poor vision, passed before her face, a fine chain slipping through a hole near its edge. She had never looked at her mother’s locket so closely before as it drifted to her right, no longer obscuring her view of the stars. She seized it and reflexively tucked it into her collar.
Mastranada rotated in a constant lateral spin; it seemed as though the entire galaxy revolved around the ship. Small, wall-mounted emergency lights lit up on the walls, casting their subdued crimson glow across the bridge.
Jyra glanced toward her lap and saw only a blur of flashing colors. Her mouth tasted like she had been sucking on tin cans. One of her hands flopped against her forehead. She felt the harness wrapped around her, but didn’t feel the seat beneath or behind. She dragged her knuckles through the gathered sweat on her face. Two fingers found a lock of hair and, without thinking, Jyra searched for the split ends. Her hand traveled upward, far beyond her scalp.
The confusion and bleariness yielded to understanding. Jyra’s hair drifted above her as though she were submerged in a pool. She rubbed her eyes and stared straight ahead, trying to confirm her orientation on the bridge. Hadn’t Berk mentioned something about a gravity drive report? Jyra thought.
The gravity drive recorded atmospheric conditions whenever the ship landed on a new planet. The drive then mimicked those conditions on board when traveling in space. The crew could access backlogs of atmospheres if they pleased. Keeping the atmospheric settings after leaving a planet helped mitigate some of the strain of traversing between planets. Though it served many functions, Jyra was, at the moment, most concerned with the gravity drive maintaining the difference between up and down.
Among the slew of warning lights, she found the one that confirmed the gravity drive was offline. Jyra’s eyes widened, her vision no longer impaired, as she saw the scope of the damage to Mastranada indicated by the desperate beacons that demanded her attention. Main ship power, radar, weapons systems, engines, and cameras were all down. But the last warning Jyra saw sent her into a panic as she glanced at her unconscious crew, drifting in their harnesses. Mastranada suffered multiple hull breaches and the air inside the ship was venting into space.
While waiting for her computer to boot up, Jyra visualized how she would glide through the corridors. It couldn’t be as easy as she imagined. She was far more aware of the weightlessness of her arms as she stretched them toward the keyboard. Her stomach and mind churned while the rest of her relaxed, spared the constant tug toward the floor. The breach warnings filled the monitor and Jyra pulled up the hull schematic. Every thud of her heart measured the unchecked flow of nitrox out of the ship.
For a moment, Jyra wondered if she should seal the supply tank. Once the cabin nitrox level plunged far enough, the main valve would automatically close and preserve what remained in the tank. If Jyra manually shut it, she might not be able to repair the breaches without suffocating.
We have spacesuits on board, too, Jyra remembered as she leaned toward the schematic, double-checking to make sure she located every breach. She didn’t have time to fuss with the nitrox or suits.
Bullets had penetrated the hull at eight separate points. Nearly all of the breaches were in the cargo bay. The other tore directly into a plenum wall between the bay and the upper hall. Jyra located the nearest air return vent to the breaches on the schematic; it would offer the quickest access to make a repair. The remaining seven should all be exposed in the cargo bay and, without the constraint of gravity, relatively easy to access.
Jyra unclipped from her harness and kept one hand clenched around a strap as she gently pushed a foot against the floor. She glided upward (maybe downward?), the strap tightened, and Jyra bounced toward her seat. A wave of hair tumbled over her face and she swept it aside in time to grab the top of the seat back. Navigating the gravity-free corridors was going to take even more effort than she imagined. Jyra glanced over her shoulder at the door. She brought her knees onto the seat back and, maintaining a grip on the chair, turned around to face the door. As she repositioned into a crouch, Jyra jerked her head, trying to shake a surge of dizziness. The freedom of weightlessness suddenly became a burden as her mind sought to establish a sense of direction.
The ceiling should be above and the floor below. Now the floor was right in front of Jyra and she was about to jump off the back of her chair. She knew she would glide directly through the door, but instinct fought conviction.
Jyra pushed off. She refused to blink, watching the walls slipping by beside her. She passed through the bridge door with ease, but Jyra suddenly realized she put too much force into her launch. She felt like a missile closing on one of the bulkheads in the hallway. She threw her arms in front of her and crumpled against the steel.
Jyra obtained a secure hold on the bulkhead with her left hand and felt something pop in her wrist. She summoned her wits, knowing she had to keep moving. She peered at the ceiling, trying to identify details through the crimson gloom. Several conduits strapped near the wall caught her eye; they ran the length of the hall and offered a more controlled means of mobility. Jyra pushed gently against the floor, reached one of the dust-covered pipes, and began crawling hand-over-hand toward the ladder that led to the lower corridor. Once she arrived at the ladder well, Jyra had to jump to the rungs and climb upside down to reach the main passage between her quarters and the engine room.
She shoved off from the ladder and crossed the hall. She placed a boot against the opposite wall and kicked herself aft. The emergency lighting hardly lit more than the floor, but Jyra swore she saw traces of boot prints on the walls and, judging by the size, could only have been made by one person on board. Jyra managed to arrest herself against a door frame and sighed, knowing she had stopped at the right place. She fumbled for the handle, opened the nearby hatch, and retrieved the breach seal kit.
Jyra was certain she could feel air rushing through the cargo bay door before she opened it. When she did, it was as though a dam had broken, as the nitrox in the rest of the ship tried to equalize pressure in the depleted cargo bay. The chill beyond the hull gripped the room. Jyra, wishing she had thought to grab a jacket, shut the door and glided to the nearest stack of crates that, thankfully, were secured to the wall. Jyra opened the kit on top of one of the crate lids. All the contents were strapped in place, prepped for a gravity-free environment. The case itself was the size of a large briefcase and several lights in the lid flashed to life. Jyra pulled out one of the headlamps in the kit, strapped it to her head, and switched it on. Next, she pulled on a pair of thick gloves. Carefully, she released the binding on a stack of sealing pads and, knowing her life depended on them, tucked them in a large trouser pocket that she snapped shut.
Jyra kicked toward the ceiling, the light of her headlamp reflecting off the exposed beams. She soared past Berk’s pod, which drifted lazily on its support cables.
Jyra landed on the ceiling, seized a conduit, and felt her hair shift on her scalp. Her light fell on a ragged hole, about the diameter of her thumb, in the hull plate. Jyra unsnapped her pocket, and with some difficulty on account of the gloves, pulled one of the sealing pads free. She had to tuck her arm between the conduit and the ceiling to remain in place as she tore the protective film off the pad and held it below the puncture. As she brought it closer to the ceiling, the pad leapt off her palm and several sparks blew from its edges as it fused with the steel.
And so Jyra continued the work. She knew from the schematic that of the seven bullets that penetrated the cargo bay, the first struck aft on the port side and the seventh hit fore to starboard. After sealing the fourth breach, Jyra paused to take several breaths and realized her teeth were chattering. Her heart thudded against her ribs. Then she heard a muted snap from the engine room; she convulsed, shivering and struggling to keep her mind and body on task.
The sound indicated the solenoid shut the main valve to preserve the remaining air in the tank, but it also meant Jyra had a critically finite amount of nitrox left and she had only sealed half the breaches. She reached for her pocket, her gloved fingers slipping as she snapped the flap closed. Jyra pulled herself along the conduit, wondering if the muscle stimulant or hypoxia caused her tremors. She remembered seeing her fingers shaking when the Hospital warship initiated its pursuit. Even then, Jyra was certain something besides fear triggered the quaking in her hands. It was more fundamentally integrated with her mind than an emotion; it was a part of her.
Each grip of her hand-over-hand progress toward the next breach seemed to require more strength, more effort, more air. Jyra tried to take deep breaths. She reached one of the light fixtures and could tell that although the chains supporting it were straight as usual, they carried no weight. A conduit ran parallel in the peak of the ceiling and Jyra used it to crawl to the next row of lights, certain she could see the fifth breach. It turned out to be far enough from the pipe that Jyra had to hook her ankle between the conduit and a beam. She stretched out, floating a foot below the ceiling and the pad leapt into place while Jyra pushed away from the sparks.
The sixth breach required a similar anchoring maneuver with her foot and Jyra managed to seal it with ease. She was relieved to be climbing closer to the floor, though fearful she might succumb to the fight between her gravity-conscious instinct and her mind that knew better. In addition to the threats of thinning nitrox and paralyzing cold, Jyra felt nauseated and her head throbbed, protesting every movement as she pushed on. The last breach in the cargo bay was simple to access and Jyra peeled the film off the sealing pad. She lifted it toward the hole, and convulsed again. She couldn’t push through the shivering fit this time. The sealing pad flew off her hand and spun lazily toward the opposite wall.
Jyra clung to the conduit, trying to keep the pad in sight as she fought to stop her teeth from shattering against each other. She grimaced, wondering if she had doomed the ship. The activated side of the pad would soon find a metallic surface and bind to it. During the process, the pad detected the circumference of the puncture and sent a jet of molten sealing compound into the breach to maximize the thickness of the patch in the hull. Without the smallest fissure to fill, the compound had nowhere to go and the pad would explode.
Jyra gritted her teeth and tried to lock her quivering muscles. She pushed off the ceiling, thankful the breach seal kit was still open beneath her, spilling light into the room. She grabbed another sealing pad and rebounded off the floor. Fighting the tremors in her extremities, she activated the pad, guided it into place, and returned to the breach seal kit. Jyra snapped it closed and kicked against the crate, aiming for the exit.
Just then, the rogue patch bound to the firewall between the cargo bay and the engine room. Jyra watched it glow bright white and averted her gaze when a loud bang echoed off the walls. Molten shrapnel scattered through the cargo bay. Jyra reached the door and, as she waited for it to open, felt a searing sensation on her shoulder. She instinctively reached up and tore at the source; a glowing mass from the ruined sealing pad had burned into her skin just above her shoulder blade. Jyra winced as she pulled herself through the door, punching the button to shut it as she fell forward. Of course, she didn’t hit the floor, but drifted into the hall in a partially slumped position. She let go of the breach seal kit and laid her forehead against the cold wall.
Jyra might have crumpled with exhaustion if it hadn’t been for her burning shoulder. The pain struck repeatedly as though each heartbeat refreshed the screaming alarm from her nerves. She smelled the sickly stench of burned flesh. She frantically patted herself with gloved hands, fearing more shrapnel might be sinking into her skin as if the shock from the first projectile dulled any further sensation. Another breath. And another. It felt like her nose was full of icicles and her throat as dry as the sand wastes of Tyrorken.
Jyra glanced toward the engine room and back at the ladder. She still had to seal the last breach. It terrified her to manually open the valve to the tank, because the automatic shutoff wouldn’t activate again if something happened to Jyra; everything in the tank could escape through the last breach. Berk and Leonick would suffocate while unconscious. Not the worst way to go, Jyra thought. She set the breach seal kit on the floor, ensured it wouldn’t drift away, and dragged herself down the hall.
The engine room smelled like ozone and burned wiring. Jyra glided into the room and kicked off the left wall, but her foot slipped. She aimed too high and soared right over her target. Jyra glanced around in desperation, the headlamp beam flashing across steel and machinery. The opposite wall loomed out of the darkness. Her faulty launch also sent her into a corkscrew spin. When she hit the wall, her injured shoulder made first contact.
Jyra felt nothing for a moment, though she sensed the incoming rush of pain. It fell upon her, seizing her body and being. She wasn’t aware of the scream of agony escaping her lips, except for a faint tremble in her throat. Tears gathered in her eyes, unable to fall without the pull of gravity. The engine room dissolved into a blurry of light and shadow. Jyra realized her limbs quaked with unbidden convulsions. Her shoulder felt as if a hot coal were pressed deep into her flesh, scorching her scapula, lighting up her nerves as skin and muscle burned. She lost track of time and forgot about the critical shortage of nitrox. She glimpsed crisscrossing ducts and conduits through watery vision and the flailing headlamp beam, a consequence of her jerking muscles.
Her forehead smacked against the ceiling. Jyra shook her head, trying to reclaim her senses. She threw her hand over her shoulder to press on the wound. The pain retreated, but by the time she was able to take several shallow breaths, she had already drifted away from the ceiling, heading slowly for the firewall. Jyra gritted her teeth, aware of each passing second while she closed in on the wall at a pitiful pace. At last, Jyra was able to grab a steel column to crawl toward the tank.
The gauge showed the nitrox level at thirty percent. Jyra gripped the valve handle, hesitating and wondering if she could trust herself. The future of her and her crew would be decided by the twist of her wrist. She recalled Serana’s command by way of excusing Jyra to embark on this mission: “Do your job, Captain.”
With another shallow breath, Jyra opened the valve and made her way along the wall to the exit, racing the air to the last breach. The kit was right where she left it in the corridor. Jyra found it harder to maneuver with the large case, but she forced it ahead through the ladder well and emerged in the upper hall. Jyra tried to ignore her ragged gasps. It felt like she was breathing sand into her lungs, aspirating a dust storm.
Jyra fumbled with the vent cover clips. The opening was large enough that Berk might be able to squeeze into it. The large vent triggered Jyra’s instincts for a moment as she wondered how to keep it from crashing to the floor when she released the last clip. Of course, once she shook it loose from its frame, the vent cover hung in place. Patches of dust filled the air, crossing through the headlamp beam. Jyra retrieved another sealing pad and closed the kit, leaving it hovering in the hall. She entered the plenum shaft and could already hear the subtle hiss from the breach. Slowly, she worked her way toward the sound, each time she touched a wall to adjust her progress, a cloud of dust swarmed her face.
At the top of the shaft, Jyra found the puncture, right in a corner. She carefully folded the sealing pad to fit and removed the protective film. It snapped into place and Jyra retreated, keen to stay clear if something went wrong with the binding process. Dust filled her throat and nostrils, and Jyra kicked herself free of the shaft wall, coughing and wheezing. She glided into the dim hallway and forgot she was floating, forgot about her shoulder, forgot about the ship and her crew. She spat mud from her mouth as her lungs begged for air. Jyra’s vision grew blurry and the last thing she saw was her headlamp beam glancing off the ceiling before everything went dark.
*
Jyra felt her knees crash into the sand. She fell forward, grabbing fistfuls of the ground as the wind lifted Tyrorken around her. She should have left the garage sooner. Jed mentioned reports of an incoming storm, but it wasn’t supposed to strike until tomorrow. Dust twisters, once predictable, now struck without warning.
The largest one ever recorded hit a month ago, tearing up an entire drilling field, leveling rig towers and warping well shafts. Nightfall put the storm to bed; it lost momentum eight miles from Mereda. The heralding winds had managed to rip several roofs in town loose. A fleet of TF patrol ships suffered minor damage as well.
Tides of dirt washed over her boots. Jyra felt the sand gathering against her, another obstacle in the storm’s way. She seized her goggles, tried to shake the earth out of them, and crammed them on her face. The mask dangled around her neck, useless as the first waves of sand had clogged the filter cartridges. Her parents’ paychecks were still two days out, which meant new filters had to wait.
Jyra stumbled through the desert, one hand near her face, the other out in front, reaching for the trees. She felt the compacted path beneath her feet. The wind blew against the back of her head, pushed her hair aside, and sandblasted her neck.
Her fingers swiped the rough bark of the first juniper tree in a line of several at the boundary of her neighborhood. Jyra was almost back, but as she leaned against the trunk, she inhaled too much dirt and the coughing started. It brought her back to the ground and she crawled, coughing and spitting, desperate to get inside.
It felt like her head was about to float free of her hunched shoulders. The wind howled and sand crept higher inside her goggles. She took a timid breath, and choked again on the relentless earth. She bowed her head and scurried onward, but knew another coughing fit was about to strike. Her house appeared through the swirling clouds and Jyra collapsed at the foot of the porch, gasping for air through each cracking cough.
*
“She is waking up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Her arm is moving.”
“She’s been twitching every now and then. Doesn’t mean anything.”
“It does this time.”
Jyra felt restrained and, as she opened her eyes, realized she was back on the bridge harnessed in her own seat.
“The nitrox?” she asked.
“Doing just fine with your help, Captain,” Berk said. “The tank level’s a bit lower than I’d like.”
He and Leonick hung in midair between the two consoles, both appearing quite comfortable in the gravity-free ship.
“How long have you two been awake?” Jyra asked. “Are Hospital forces still after us? Why am I strapped in?”
“I woke up about an hour ago, checked on Berk, found you and guided you into your seat to make sure you did not pull a muscle when you woke up floating,” Leonick said. “It can be disorienting. Berk came around about half an hour ago.”
“I’m sure the Hospitals will continue the pursuit, but they aren’t right now,” Berk said. “I reviewed the last of the footage before our cameras went offline. The missile we guided into the intercepting ship did the trick. Silanpre reclaimed most of the remains. A number of crisis capsules launched into space. We suspect the warship switched to recovery operations rather than chase after us.”
“How’s our ship?” Jyra asked.
“Better following your patch work,” Leonick said. “But radar, engines, weapons, and cameras are down.”
“What about the lights?” Jyra asked, her eyes falling on one of the crimson emergency fixtures.
“They work,” Berk said.
“So can we turn them on?”
“We could but I would advise against it , Captain,” Leonick said. “We do not know how long we will be out here and it would be prudent to conserve our batteries while we have no means to recharge them.”
Jyra leaned back and her wounded shoulder touched the back of her seat. She jerked forward.
“What’s wrong?” Berk asked.
“I just got hit by a bad sealing patch,” Jyra said.
“Just?” Leonick’s voice uncharacteristically revealed both concern and skepticism. Berk seemed equally alarmed.
“Those pads can shoot sealing compound right through a person,” Berk said. “Where did it get you?”
“Where were you when it happened?” Leonick asked.
“Shoulder and cargo bay,” Jyra answered. “A molten remnant from a failed latch got me.”
“How many other remnants were there, Captain?” Leonick pushed off Berk’s console and grabbed the back of Jyra’s seat, locking eyes with her.
“A few, I don’t know,” Jyra said. Of all the things to command their attention right now, that particular crisis didn’t seem like a priority. “I was trying to get the nitrox going again.”
“I will check the crates,” Leonick said, and without another word, he tugged against the seat back, glided past Jyra, and soared off the bridge.
Jyra met Berk’s wide eyes, no easy feat since his usually bushy hair became even more unruly without gravity containing it.
“As Captain, I command you tell me what’s happening,” Jyra said.
“The weapons,” Berk said. “We should have told you about them the moment you came aboard. Most of the arsenal we stole from our last mission under Craig are stored in the crates. You understand the consequences if a piece of molten metal burned into one of them.”
“I see,” Jyra said. “Leave it to me to add one more way for us to die out here.”
“We’re not finished yet,” Berk grunted. He placed his hands behind his head and stretched his legs out, as though settling into an invisible deck chair.
“Those boots of yours match a footprint I saw on a wall in the lower hallway,” Jyra said. “You and Leonick have shut off the gravity drive before.”
“It made some things easier,” Berk said.
“Such as?”
“How do you think we suspended my pod on those cables?” Berk said. “I could have held it in hover mode, but how would Leonick attach the cables? Run around with a twenty-foot stepladder? It made arranging crates easier, too. How did you leave your quarters arranged?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if the gravity drive failed while the ship lurched a couple times before settling into our current trajectory, it would shake all your clothes loose from open drawers, your bedding might be touring the ceiling. I speak from personal experience.”
Jyra hadn’t thought about her quarters or anything in them from the moment she stepped out after a night’s sleep.
“I guess we’re lucky you two secured as much as you did,” she said. “Most crews would likely be swimming through their possessions if their gravity drives failed.”
“We try to keep a tight ship, Captain,” Berk said.
“I can’t be that mad at you if you continue surprising me like this,” Jyra said. “But keep it up and I will be mad. I’ll be your captain, but without a crew I can trust I’m nothing.”
“Leonick has already got a diagnostic program running to identify the scope of the damage,” Berk said. “It should finish in the next few minutes.”
“What did Leonick mean about having no way to recharge the batteries? Did something happen to the energy cores?” Jyra asked.
“I expect he’s checking those out right now,” Berk said. “Nothing seemed amiss when you were in the engine room?”
“It smelled terrible, but it’s not like the cores were visibly damaged.”
“Energy cores are remarkable, but for all their benefits, they are finicky to maintain,” Berk said. “As long as they’re intact, Leonick will fix them. The way I see it, the Hospital warship decides how much time we have to make repairs.”
“If they can even detect us now,” Jyra said.
“That’s the spirit,” Berk said.
“Do we have any maneuverability at all without engines?” Jyra asked.
Berk nodded.
“Comes at a cost, but it can be done.” Berk ran a hand over his whiskers and turned his eyes to the floor.
“What’s the cost?” Jyra asked.
“We got lucky,” Leonick said, reappearing on the bridge. “I found a fragment of the sealing pad on the floor two feet from a crate of chaos mines.”
“That’s on me,” Jyra said.
“It’s all right, Captain,” Berk said. “By mine or loss of air, we would have been dead without you.”
Leonick grabbed Berk’s console and redirected his course, flying toward his own workstation.
“How are the cores?” Berk asked, staring at the floor beyond his boots.
“I just went to check the cargo bay,” Leonick said.
“You were gone too long for just that.” Berk glanced sideways and his eyes met Leonick’s. Jyra wished she could interpret their silent exchange. Leonick appeared pinned, caught in a lie and held in place by Berk’s glare. But for all the intensity in his gaze, the rest of Berk’s face appeared strained, concerned, even desperate. His mouth drooped and his cheeks quivered.
“You are correct,” Leonick said, glancing at his monitor. “Several pickup wires snapped. Probably from when I reversed the engines to dampen the momentum from the shockwave.”
“You reversed the engines?” Jyra asked.
“You two are the pilots, but were both incapacitated,” Leonick said. “I have the navigation controls here but only use them if there is no other way to maneuver the ship. We had already pushed the equipment beyond tolerance. That which cannot flex will break.”
“Like us,” Jyra said. “Our bodies. I plugged some air leaks but the blast from that shockwave could have kicked us so fast, our blood could have frozen in our veins.”
“Wish I had done something to save us all,” Berk said.
“There’s still time,” Jyra said. She appreciated Berk’s levity, but dread tugged on her shoulders, weighing her down in the absence of gravity. They were adrift in space, very much alone, and had no way to contact the bunker on Silanpre. Unless…
“Neither of you left an earpiece with anyone at the base, did you?” Jyra asked.
“Not without your permission,” Leonick said.
“Just a thought,” Jyra said.
“We might be able to rig a channel,” Berk said. “But first we need the—”
“Diagnostic report,” Leonick finished his sentence. “Just came through.”
Jyra forgot she was strapped in and reached to unfasten herself and felt pain shoot across her shoulder.
“I’ll help,” Berk said. He hooked his toe under his console and pulled himself forward to unclip her straps.
“Thanks,” Jyra said, suddenly aware she had no idea how the wound looked.
“Is it bad?” She leaned forward, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She felt Berk shifting behind her.
“Well?” she asked after too much time passed.
“I think your shirt is ruined,” Berk said. “Picture a two-inch-diameter sphere and that half of that sphere burned into the back of your shoulder. You’ve got your own black hole, and it’s cauterized.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” Jyra said, pushing free of her seat. “As much as I can.”
“You asked, Captain,” Berk said. “Are you all right?”
“No, it hurts, but nothing’s going to get better if we can’t heal the ship,” Jyra said. “I need to see what we’re dealing with.”
Berk helped Jyra navigate to Leonick’s side. They all stared silently at the monitor as information came in, filling spreadsheet columns pertaining to onboard systems.
“Reentry is no longer advised,” Leonick said. “The hull punctures combined with accelerated heat stress on all the exterior plating cannot withstand the temperatures. Landing on an asteroid is about the best we could hope for.”
“Engines appear to just be overheated,” Jyra said. “They should cool down soon enough.”
“Without the cores, they won’t fire,” Berk said.
“I will fix the cores,” Leonick said, an edge to his voice.
“Anything about radar yet?” Jyra asked. “Weapons, cameras?”
“Cameras are all ruined,” Berk muttered. “By the shockwave, or heat, or bullets. Hard to say.”
“Exterior weapon guidance gear suffered similar damage,” Leonick said. “We can still aim and fire manually, but with compromised accuracy.”
Jyra pulled herself closer to the monitor.
“Any specifics on the radar damage?” she said.
“Range booster is unresponsive,” Leonick said. “The entire radar system has defaulted to safety mode.”
“Bring it online,” Jyra said.
“It will take time,” Leonick said. “Two hours at least to initiate.”
“I suggest we get the engines going,” Berk said. “Or try to fabricate a weapon guidance system. We have no control over our movements nor can we defend the ship. Those should take precedence over radar.”
“Do you not trust your captain?” Jyra asked, meeting Berk’s eyes. “Perhaps we can merge the weapons guidance system with the radar?”
“Once it is online, I will see what I can do about that,” Leonick said.
“What about the engines?” Berk said. “We’re stuck on a ballistic trajectory.”
“You already have a solution,” Jyra said. “What will it cost us?” Berk paused, except for his fingers that kneaded the back of Leonick’s seat.
“A missile, one of the incendiary mounts, maybe our lives.”
“Good thing this ship has a spare mount for the rest of the arsenal,” Jyra said. “You both recall why we are out here? There’s a freighter we need to find.”
“You want to prioritize locating the ghost ship?” Berk said.
“That is our mission,” Jyra said. “We’ll have some cover once we land there. I’m trying to buy us some time. The Hospitals may not be after us now, but they’ll resume their pursuit and we all know it.”
“So we will hide from the Hospitals in a ship they have likely commandeered?” Leonick asked.
“Yes,” Jyra said. “I would like to, but we might pass it soon, especially two hours from now. We need to map the coordinates you found.”
“I will go work on the cores before we resort to more experimental solutions,” Leonick said, his voice still distorted by the dagger-blade tone. He executed another airborne exit from the bridge. Jyra attempted to exchange a bewildered glance with Berk, but he was shaking his head.
“Did he just disobey a direct order?” she said, feigning incredulity.
“My fault,” he said. “I need a drink.”
“What’s your fault?” Jyra asked.
“I criticized the cores a few weeks ago. It seemed like he was always cleaning them,” Berk said. “Since then, he’s been rather defensive about the topic and I keep slighting them. It’s idiotic.”
“You two spent a lot of time together,” Jyra said.
“Too much,” Berk said. “We spent too much time together. It’s different when someone else is around. Helps diffuse the tension. Not enough, apparently.”
“You know I need you two,” Jyra said.
“I’ll be here,” Berk said. “After all we’ve got so much in common.” He gave Jyra’s console a pointed glance. Even in the dim lighting, Jyra could see where her fingers crumpled the front edge of the console.
“They didn’t mark your wrist,” Berk said. “Noticed when we were strapping you in.”
“No, they just got my hand,” Jyra said, showing Berk the scar Matala carved into her skin.
She told Berk the story of landing on Silanpre and how she fell immediately into another fight. It wasn’t easy discussing being captured because that part of the story involved Tony, when she met him, back when he was already thought killed. Jyra tried to distract herself from the misery by focusing on the details of MS-231.
“It’s strange because I can’t always access the strength,” she said.
“I know they were just beginning to work on those stimulants when they ran tests on me,” Berk said. “I think it was designed vulnerability, a way for them to maintain some form of control.”
“But what if I just master the feelings that trigger it?”
“They saved me the trouble because that power is always in my fingertips,” Berk said. “But you’re correct to assume that you could discover ways to access the strength at will. I don’t mean to worry you, but it’s possible your body may start reacting and experimenting with the stimulant to take advantage of it.”
“What do you mean?” Jyra said.
“Again, I make no claims to know anything specific about your condition,” Berk said. “For me, though, it feels like my arteries and veins expanded, like my body wanted to move more of the stimulant through me.”
“I have been getting some minor tremors in my arms recently,” Jyra said.
“Never had that,” Berk said. “I can’t deny that whatever they tested on me has helped me out a few times, but sometimes I don’t feel like myself and I wonder if it’s their chemistry interfering; dividing my mind from my body. There’s always a cost. Drinking calms me down, but also gives me the illusion of control. I split my being apart before the stimulant can.”
“But that’s not really what’s happening,” Jyra said.
“Of course not,” Berk said. “Maybe it’s happened a couple times, where alcohol actually interrupts the stimulant, but more often than not, I’m just drinking myself into drudgery. Not even the Hospitals can use me when I’m drunk.”
“Neither can you,” Jyra said. “Leonick once told me he drank a lot in order to dull the inner chatter of his mind.”
“I don’t know what to tell you about that,” Berk said. “He’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. If you know him, that reasoning is sound, but was it him or his whiskey talking?”
“Don’t know,” Jyra said. “At some point they become the same, don’t they? My father drank a lot but I never saw him lose his temper or do anything extreme.
“The night following my brother’s funeral, I remember dad drinking when I got home. He was already sad when I arrived, but I expect he was doing what you and Leonick do with alcohol: self-numbing. He was trying to hide from the consequences of his son’s death.”
“Maybe he was,” Berk said. “Maybe he was trying to forget how TF ruined his family. Look, I know what I’m doing when I drink. It’s stupid. I’ve considered stopping but it feels like one of the last tests I can give myself. Once I’m strong enough to quit drinking, what am I supposed to do next?”
“We could destroy TF and the Allied Hospitals,” Jyra said.
“Not alone we can’t,” Berk said. “And based on our current predicament, it’s going to be a long time before we’ll have the chance.”
He and Jyra started as something cracked against the glass over the bridge.
“I won’t tell Leonick you jumped if you don’t tell him I did,” Berk said.
“What was that?” Jyra said, gliding forward and grabbing the back of Berk’s seat to stop herself.
A second projectile struck the glass, or perhaps Mastranada dealt the strike. Jyra only caught a gray glimpse before the object disappeared toward the stern. Berk stalled by her side.
“See it?”
Jyra shook her head. Another tap, another missed opportunity to identify the mystery in the ship’s path. They both gently maneuvered toward the glass, floating just beneath it and peering into the looming darkness.
“There’s another one,” Berk said. Jyra saw it, too. The gray object seemed no larger than her finger. As it hit the glass, Jyra noticed one end appeared twisted and jagged.
“That was a rivet shaft,” she said.
“Are you sure?” Berk said.
“Positive.”
“Must be a star lighting our way,” Berk said. “Besides the one keeping Silanpre warm. How else could we see this stuff?”
“Until we saw it, we didn’t know it was possible,” Jyra said. “But I did say debris could lead us in the right direction.”
“Not that it counts for anything, but the last time we approached a ship like the one we’re after, we had trash landing on top of us, too,” Berk said. “Maybe we won’t need radar after all.”
“It would help,” Jyra said. “We might have already passed our target.”
Mastranada suffered several additional strikes to her bow.
“If that stabilizer made it to the planet, who knows what other parts are floating out here?” Berk said.
“We are far enough from the trash ring, correct?” Jyra asked. “This isn’t stuff from that?”
“No” Berk said. “The explosion definitely launched us out of Silanpre’s orbit. Which makes me wonder what got that stabilizer into Silanpre’s orbit.”
“I want to know for sure,” Jyra said. “What can we do to get minimal radar back online?”
“Until we get the engines running, we have to conserve the batteries,” Berk said.
“So what radar function uses the least amount of power?” Jyra asked.
“A higher frequency of the signal and the optical rendering require more energy for the standard radar system,” Berk said, pushing off to fly back to his seat, his voice punctuated by a note of excitement.
“If we can render the signal as a sound rather than an image, most of the power will go toward aiming and firing the waves where we want them.”
“All right,” Jyra said. “Let’s do that.”
“I need to make sure I can,” Berk said. He scrolled through index after index, scanning the text on his monitor. Jyra drifted away from the glass and seized the back of Berk’s chair.
“Looking for radar subjects?”
“Yeah,” Berk muttered. “Feedback or report rendering. I need audio output options.”
Another piece of debris glanced off the glass. Jyra peered around the monitor, staring at the infinite tapestry of stars strung before her.
“Checking to make sure we don’t hit the freighter?” Berk asked.
“Proximity alarms would warn us, right?” Jyra said.
“Hard to say” Berk said. “Based on the damage scan, I wouldn’t rely on anything working. Just because systems aren’t flagged in the scan doesn’t mean they’re working.”
“Well, judging by the stars, I don’t see a massive silhouette ahead,” Jyra said.
“Maybe I should get that missile loaded into the mount,” Berk said. “If we need it, we’ll want to use it right away.”
“How’s your search?” Jyra asked.
“Fine,” Berk said. “Just thinking if we encounter a large piece of debris, we’ll want to navigate around it.”
“I can give you that much,” Leonick said, soaring onto the bridge. He clung to one of the girders over Jyra’s console. “The cores are still quite overheated but a momentary kick should not overwhelm them. Did you say something about debris?”
“Trace amounts,” Jyra said. “At least one rivet shaft.”
“Any other system reports or updates?” Leonick asked.
“Not really,” Berk said. “I’m trying to reinstate a basic radar sweep with audio rather than visual rendering.”
“Give me a moment,” Leonick said. He kicked off the beam, landed at his chair, and did his best to sit in it naturally as his fingers attacked the keyboard.
“It’s not going to run out our batteries, right?” Jyra asked.
“No,” Leonick said. “I will get to work on the cores soon. I should be able to fire the engines once I finish that work, but it will take time.”
He sat back, smacked a final key, and launched free of his chair.
“Let me know when you find something,” Leonick said, tapping his ear as he disappeared aft again.
“He is acting…differently,” Jyra said.
“To be expected. And our rudimentary radar is ready,” Berk said. “Bringing it online now.”
The screen went dark and all they heard was a low, steady hum emanating from one of the console speakers. The rumbling caused Jyra to wonder, for a moment, if Leonick had already repaired the energy cores and restarted the engines.
Another higher tone, resembling a deep hiss, settled upon the first and grew louder. Another tap on the glass made them jump again and the higher tone faded.
“Well that’s the reading we get for something on the small side,” Berk said. “We’ll have more warning when something larger is out there.”
The incessant hum of the radar threatened to lull them to sleep as Mastranada drifted unchecked, falling further from Silanpre, chasing endless darkness. The sound of the hiss rose and fell. Jyra returned to her seat and clipped into her harness. If she fell asleep, she wanted to be secure.
Whether she lost consciousness she wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t have been out for long. Jyra swore she even heard the hissing change. One sound became two, and the volume continued to climb, a variety of hisses gathering into a cacophony. Debris battered the glass overhead. Mastranada shuddered from multiple impacts. Jyra saw Berk’s eyes bulge beneath his hair as they waited, unable to escape the barrage. Then a sudden and harsh silence gripped the ship.
Berk leaned forward, frantically stabbing his keyboard. Nothing he tried restored the radar. He leaned back and rubbed his forehead, grimacing.
“I think that was our last glimpse for a while,” he said.
“Did it cut out before we were through the debris or after?” Jyra asked.
“It may have cut out after,” Berk said, after considering for a moment. “It was close.”
“If it held on until after, that means it was detecting something farther beyond.”
Jyra shed her harness and crawled along the wall to the very nose of the ship, where the sloping glass met the floor. She peered out, scanning left and right for some sign they were on the right path. Berk chuckled behind her.
“What?”
“Look up,” Berk said.
Jyra glanced at him and saw his face still directed upward from when he sat back, defeated, from his monitor. She followed his gaze and finally saw the shadow against the plethora of stars. It was only about the size of Jyra’s pinky at this distance, but quite distinct.
Under normal operating circumstances, Mastranada could reach the shadow in a couple of minutes. Unfortunately, they were traveling on a course perpendicular to the one they desired with no easy way to alter their trajectory.
Berk carefully opened a drawer and fumbled inside, doing his best to keep the drifting contents contained. Several bottle corks escaped despite his efforts, but he finally extracted one of the earpieces and stuffed it into his ear.
“Leonick, do we have any maneuverability?” he asked. “We have our target in sight.”
“Barely,” Leonick replied curtly. “A couple quick jolts is all I can give. Let me know when you are ready.”
“Standby,” Berk said. “Ready when you are, Captain,” he added to Jyra.
“Take us to that ship,” she ordered.
Stay tuned for Part XL!