I’m pretty sure every bone in my body is broken. I wheeze and move my pinky. Okay, so maybe not every bone.
I try to sit up.
Shooting pain like a million tiny spears attacking my chest knocks me back down with a force-wave of agony.
I blink slowly. Each time the room comes more into focus around me. It’s narrow, the walls and ceiling bare, and I’m lying fully dressed on a cot. When I look down, even the act of moving my head forward takes too much effort. I see I was spot on with the force-wave analogy.
Brownus shot me with a wave rifle. They can take out anyone or anything—including a wall—depending on what setting they’re on. Thank the Verse it was on the lowest setting, or I would have been blown to particles.
The thought makes me sick, and I close my eyes to fight back the nausea.
My memory replays what happened right before I got blasted into mind-blackening pain. Talie held at gunpoint by Brownus and his goons. Her scream. My fear. It all plays back like an immersive vid recording.
I curse myself for not seeing past the fake clean-vac salesman persona. Hike must have no knowledge of navigation, or…was it possible he was in on it the whole time?
It doesn’t matter who was behind this. All that matters is getting to Talie and then getting the heck off this blasted ship.
But that will require sitting up.
The mere thought makes me want to cry. I focus on the room again. There’s a panel for facilities—at least they aren’t total animals—and the door is on the wall behind me. I can’t get a good look from where I lie.
I need to move.
I don’t want to move.
I have to move.
Slowly inhaling as my broken ribs allow, I count to three.
I don’t move.
I’m being such a baby right now, but stars above, any movement feels like lying atop shards of iciline.
An image of Talie, eyes shot wide with fear, floods my mind. She’s the courage I need for this, which is one of the sappiest things I’ve ever thought. I blame the pain.
One. Two. Three—
I nearly pass out. My vision rings with black, and the world tilts. It’s not just my chest that radiates white-hot but the lower portion of my right arm and what I assume must be a bone bruise on my hip. I’m sweating and panting and close to throwing up whatever is left in me, but I’m sitting, and I take that as progress.
Next up. The door.
I know it’s locked. Only a fool would throw an injured man in a cabin with an unlocked door, but I’m hoping there’s something I can do to unlock it or…I don’t actually have a plan past getting to the door.
It takes my last bit of strength to push to standing. My legs are shaky, and I’m sure something is broken in my forearm, but I compartmentalize the pain. One of my instructors taught me the technique, and it’s the only thing that will get me across the room without passing out.
I brace against the wall where the facilities closet is and stumble-walk forward. My heartbeat strains for a normal rhythm against the effort. Parts of me have gone numb. Normally, I’d be worried about that, but it’s a strange blessing in this situation.
My palm slams the access panel by the door, and I prepare for disappointment.
But the door slides open.
It takes me a second to realize the door opened. I squeeze my eyes shut, sure the pain is causing me to hallucinate, but when I open them, it still shows an empty hallway.
Is this too easy? Is this part of some evil plan to get me to—to what? Escape?
A black feeling grows in the pit of my stomach. Something I’ve learned to trust. I had a similar sensation when I thought I’d dropped Talie during our performance. It snaps me out of my daze and into action.
I wrap my uninjured arm around my middle. The pressure lessens the jarring pain as I stumble into the hallway. It’s empty, and I orient myself. By the looks of the flat gray walls and muted lighting, the ship is on standby mode, and I’m somewhere on the lower decks. It’s a drastically different atmosphere than above deck where everything is made for show. Perhaps these are employee quarters?
The cabin I’ve come from is at the end of the hall, and I check each berth on the way to the trav-tube. Empty. Each one.
Where are you, Talie?
My worry only increases when I remember her expression right before Brownus shot me. I pick up the pace as best I can and make it to the tube. A little hacking compliments of the datapad in my pocket, and the door slides open despite me not having an access card.
I tumble in and brace against the back wall. This ship is only an eighth of the size of the Midway—if that—but I don’t know where to go. Hike and Malik have quarters on the top deck, the same level as the navigation bridge. The Phenyx operates with a nav-bot, and I assume one of them knows how to fly it, but I’m in no condition to confront either of them.
I command the tube to take me to the med-bay. It’s only one floor up, and the ride is smooth, but the motion still jars me, and I bite back a cry of pain. I need drugs and a little—or a lot—of medical attention, but I don’t have time for a full heal-cycle.
The door slides open to an empty hallway, and I limp toward double doors halfway down. They open with a whoosh, and I lock them at the access panel. Then I begin a frantic search. I have medical field training due to my position with Lè Fayrin, but I’m not an expert.
I find a pain-stim and inject it into my thigh with a wince. Then I peel back the cuff of my onesuit. My arm is a mess of ripped tissue and shattered bones. A dizzy, disconnected feeling overtakes me as I look at it, but I compartmentalize that too and move to unzip my tattered suit to the waist. My chest looks like a galaxy of purples and dark blues, but the suit itself took the brunt of the force-wave. Maybe the aurtanium is worth it.
I use a diagnostic scanner and, after several beeps, it puts up the results on a screen. I’m dealing with several cracked or broken ribs but, miraculously, no internal damage. It does indicate that my arm is the biggest concern though—oh really?
As instructed, I strip down to my skivvies and face the Med-Assist. While most features require a doctor to supervise, their most basic functions should be idiot proof. I turn it on and follow the prompts, placing my arm in the opening indicated on the screen.
As long as it doesn’t chop off my arm, I’ll be okay.
Fifteen minutes and a rush of cool, disinfectant spray later, I pull my arm out to see shiny neo-skin covering the affected area. I clench my fingers and twist my wrist with no pain. Sweet muffins, this is perfect! If only I could have my chest and hip done…
But that’s a hard no. I don’t know how to run the Med-Assist while in the Med-Assist and I can’t wait for the healing to take place. Thankfully, it offers a slow-heal option that will help mend the ribs, but that’s about all I’ve got time for. I have to find Talie.
I make a quick, though painful, change into a new, ship-issued onesuit made of a black, top quality plyweave and reach for the recommended slow-heal injection. I shoot the disturbingly purple liquid into my arm and feel the heat of the nanos buzz though my circulatory system on their way to fix what they can. They’ll expire and be expelled through waste, but hopefully not before I’m closer to one hundred percent. I grab several more pain-stims and return to the hall.
With a little coaxing, the trav-tube takes me all the way up to the top floor, but I hold the door. I feel stupid, or maybe just very un-soldier like, because I didn’t think to find a weapon before I raced out of the med-bay. The stims will do nothing, and I’m in no condition for hand-to-hand combat.
Think, Renner.
I lean my head back. The answer hits me. They’re expecting me to come out of the tube, but what if I’m not in the tube? Already tapped into the computer, I instruct the tube to open its top access panel. It complies, and a panel falls down, opening to the shaft above.
This is going to hurt like Hades. I clench my teeth and, after sucking in a breath, leap up and latch on to the ledge to pull myself up slowly. The ache in my ribs is dulled by the pain-stim but still present. I’m more worried by the fact I can’t feel much. I’m doing damage that will only come back to haunt me later, but when I’m finally in the shaft, I know now is not the time to care.
Pulling the flap up, I instruct the doors to open with a tap.
Nothing happens.
What I wouldn’t give for a camera or drone view into the control room, but I need to give it time. They’ll be waiting for me to show myself. Or…
It’s extremely quiet. I sense no movement. My awareness tingles. No one’s come after me. I wasn’t locked into my cabin. My apprehension heightens, and I drop the hatch. It swings into the empty lift, but no one appears.
After a minute, I lower quickly to the floor, flatten myself to the side of the tube, and wait. Still nothing.
Peering out in a short bob-and-weave motion, I see no one in the room. Well, to be fair, there’s a nav-bot, but that’s not ‘someone.’ Slowly, methodically, I slip into the room, keeping an eye on the external door.
When I near the bot, there are no lights on its function panel. Its head—if you can call it that—rests against its chest unit making it appear…dead. I tap it once. Twice. Nothing.
“Phenyx Nav-bot.” I wonder if it’s voice activated. Still nothing.
By now, I’m fairly certain no one is going to come out of some hidden panel to kill me, so I relax and take in my surroundings. The course screen appears stationary. We’re not moving. I search the instrument panel and locate the guest services app. A few easy commands, and results start populating.
But they can’t be right. I type in my request again, but the reply is the same.
1 Guest: Rex Lars. Location: bridge.
I search for Trilla, but nothing appears. I search for Malik and flinch at the response.
First Mate Malik Pec: Location, loading bay. Deceased.
I try again to locate the captain, but the answer doesn’t compute.
Captain Hike Waxon: Location unknown.
It’s like I’m living in a bad vid. What is going on? It can’t locate Talie, but it knows the captain is “unknown”? What does that even mean?
I attempt one last entry, hoping it will shed some light on things. The response hits me like another force-wave.
Guest Brownus: Departed 2235 hours.
I’m about to call up the video feeds from the docking bay when the lights dim to red, and a loud siren blares alongside an audible announcement.
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