"Dace?" Tayvis asked, a rising note of panic in his voice. "She isn't breathing."
"Turn her head, make sure she isn't choking on anything," Clark answered. He was sweating as he tried to keep them out of the gunsights of the flitters chasing them. One hit and the tiny P387 would be nothing but scrap.
"Nothing but this collar," Tayvis answered. "Breathe for me, Dace." He was pleading, scared beyond reason. She couldn't be dead. He patted her cheek. "Come on, Dace."
"You took emergency rescue courses?" Clark asked.
"Of course," Tayvis snapped. He was trying to shake Dace, but gently. The shivering convulsions that had racked her had stopped. She lay limp and unmoving. Her lips were turning blue.
"Then use your head," Clark snapped back. "Breathe for her."
Tayvis swallowed hard, pushing away the panic. He cupped his hand behind her head, tilting her chin up. He leaned over her and breathed into her mouth. And again, and again. He tried to keep count, to keep it slow and steady. He was shaking too hard.
The flitter banked suddenly, throwing him to one side. He cracked his head against a bracing strut. He pulled Dace onto her back and started again.
"We aren't going to make it," Clark said. "There are too many of them. We're going to run out of fuel long before we get there."
"Come on, Dace." Tayvis silently begged her to not die as he breathed for her.
One of the flitters behind them exploded. Shards of metal scraped over their flitter. Clark fought the controls to keep them in the air.
"What in blazes?" he muttered.
A fighter screamed past, just missing them. He watched as it waggled side to side before climbing and turning back behind them. The com light on his board lit up. He punched it.
"…calling the little flitter. You want some help? Come in, please."
"Who are you?" Clark answered. "We'd love some help. Depending on who's offering."
"I don't think you can be choosy," the fighter pilot answered. "We'll keep you in the clear. Those bogies on your tail don't stand a chance. There's a transport waiting for you ten miles north."
Clark glanced over his shoulder at Tayvis. "We need medical assistance," Clark said into the com.
"That can be arranged. Go to the transport. We can transfer you there."
Tayvis shook his head. "She doesn't have that long."
"That's a negative," Clark answered into the com. "Does your ship have docking bays?"
"How do you think we get these fighters inside? Course it does."
"How low can they fly?" Clark asked.
Tayvis paused in his breathing. "What are you thinking?"
"Atmosphere is a negative for the mother bird. Your best bet is the transport. There are emergency medunits on board."
"We need a full crash team," Clark answered. "Have your mother ship get as low as she can."
"You're going to push a P387 into suborbital? You are insane." The pilot of the fighter tailing them chuckled. "But I already knew that. Is that you, Clark?"
"Who are you?" Clark demanded. He was already setting the engines for the massive push it would take them to reach suborbital velocities. It would burn what was left of their fuel. They had one shot.
"Squad Leader Branson at your service," the pilot answered. "Although most people call me Doggo. You've got a green light, Clark. I still say you're crazy. Better hold your breath."
"Just keep the bogies off my tail. It's good to hear your voice," Clark answered. He glanced back at Tayvis. "Are you ready?"
"Just go," Tayvis said. "I can't find a pulse." He gathered Dace into his arms, holding her tight against his chest.
Clark shoved the throttle as far as it would go. The tiny flitter leapt forward. He pulled back on the controls. The flitter lifted, rising into the night sky. The engine labored. The air screamed past.
"Change heading point six four to zenith," Doggo said. "You're clear on docking bay three." His fighter was right with them. "They have a trauma team standing by for you. Who needs it?"
"Dace," Clark answered. "And maybe us, depending on how well I can aim this thing."
"Roger that," Doggo answered.
Clark shoved the flitter engine controls hard, pulling as much power as he could. The smell of burning engine filled the compartment as the flitter strained to rise higher. The nose pointed almost straight up. He was shoved back in his seat. Tayvis slammed into the back wall. He held Dace against him, cushioning her as much as he could. She lay limp in his hold.
The sky outside faded to a sharper black as they pushed into the upper atmosphere. The air in the flitter was getting very thin. Air hissed out through the doorframe next to him. Clark did his best to keep breathing, slow and steady.
A huge shape filled the front windshield. He saw the blinking lights of a docking bay flashing an urgent red and yellow. He sucked in as much of a breath as he could, fighting to stay in control. He nudged the flitter to one side. It responded sluggishly. It wasn't designed to work in a vacuum. The nose was at an angle as he entered the docking bay. The bottom of the flitter hit the floor and scraped its way into the bay.
They were moving too fast. He had no way to slow them down. They slid and scraped and smashed their way past the hangar webbing. He slammed the emergency shut off for the engine. The flitter was still moving too fast. The end of the hangar bay was coming up fast.
Someone had snapped extra crash webbing into position for him. Workers scrambled out of the way, clumsy in their vacuum suits, as the tiny flitter slid closer.
They hit the webbing, slamming into it harder than it was designed to handle. Part of it broke away, wrapping around the flitter. They spun halfway around before the rest of the webbing pulled them to a stop. The workers scrambled towards them.
Clark felt the last of the air leaking away. He fought to stay awake. He watched as they dropped an emergency bubble over the flitter. Fresh air rushed into the ship, cracking the windshield.
He fumbled for his restraint buckle as the workers rushed into the inflated bubble through an airlock tube. They were carrying a stretcher.
Tayvis stirred behind him, kicking the door open. Clark flipped the latch on his door. It wouldn't open. He slammed his fist against it. The door was jammed in place. Tayvis climbed over the seat, lifting Dace with him. He backed out of the flitter.
The medical team swarmed over him, taking Dace out of his hold. They strapped her to the stretcher, attaching medical equipment even while they carried her away. Tayvis started after her. A tall man in a medic's uniform grabbed his shoulder, holding him back. Tayvis looked ready to fight him.
"Easy," the man said. "They'll take care of her. How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," Tayvis snapped. He tried to push past the man. His knees buckled. The medic caught him and eased him to the floor of the docking bay.
"That's a nasty bump on your head," the medic said in the kind of voice people used on strange dogs and wounded bears. "Let me check it out for you."
Tayvis gave in. His shoulders slumped in defeat. "She's dead, isn't she. She quit breathing. I couldn't find her pulse." He dropped his head into his hands and swallowed a sob.
"She's still alive," the medic assured him. "They're the best medics in this entire quadrant."
Tayvis shook his head.
Clark stumbled out of the flitter, holding his right arm against his chest. The medic glanced up at him. He pushed a com button on his shirt.
"I think we need another team in here," he said when someone answered. He grinned at Clark. "That was some flying."
"How is she?" Clark asked.
"Let's get the two of you patched up and we'll find out," the medic answered soothingly. "There's a treatment room just around the corner. Think you can walk?"
Tayvis sighed and got to his feet. He swayed dizzily. The medic caught him under his arm and held him upright.
Three more medics hurried into the bubble. One joined the medic helping Tayvis walk out, the other two walked Clark out behind him.
* * *
Tayvis sat in the treatment room while they poked and prodded at him. One of the medics popped a mask over his face. Air blew gently over his mouth and nose.
"Just relax and breathe normally," the medic told him. "You've got a mild concussion. I'd take it easy for a few days. Other than a few bruises, that's it. Pretty remarkable."
Tayvis pulled the mask off. "Then I'm leaving. Where is she?"
"You aren't going anywhere for at least an hour," the medic answered. "She's just around the corner."
"And?" Tayvis demanded.
The medic moved Tayvis' hand away from the mask and put it back in place. "They're working on her. That's all I know."
Tayvis leaned back on the treatment bed. Dace had to still be alive. If she were dead, they wouldn't be working on her. He closed his eyes, breathing in the oxygen, waiting for the dizziness in his head to clear.
He did it as long as he could. He sat up and pulled the mask off again. The medic popped into his cubicle.
"I'm fine," Tayvis grumbled.
The medic snorted. "No, you aren't."
"Good enough," Tayvis said and stood. He had to catch himself on the edge of the bed until his head quit spinning.
"You should stay here for the night," the medic said. "But, I can see you aren't going to listen to me. There's a waiting room just around the corner. Try to get what rest you can."
Tayvis looked dumbly at him for a moment until his words made sense. The medic waited, watching him.
"Unless you'd rather stay here. We'll wake you if there's any change."
Tayvis shook his head and regretted it. The room started spinning again. He gritted his teeth until it passed. "I'll wait down the hall."
"Suit yourself," the medic said. "You want someone to walk you there?"
"I'm fine," Tayvis insisted.
The medic shook his head as Tayvis walked out of the room. Tayvis ignored him. He had to know. He had to see Dace.
Clark was in the room next door. His face was pale and lined with pain. His arm was wrapped in bandages. Tayvis paused in the doorway.
"It's broken," Clark said. "They won't let me leave yet."
"They told me she was still alive."
"Did they say what happened to the Phoenix?"
"No one mentioned it," Tayvis answered. "I'll see what I can find out."
A female medic rolled a cart covered with equipment past Tayvis into the room. She bustled around, setting it up.
"I'll let you know." Tayvis backed away from the room.
He turned down the hall, looking for the waiting room the medic had mentioned. It must have been late night on the ship. The halls beyond the medical treatment room were dark, lit by the dimmest of lights along the floor. There was one more door, further along, around the corner, that spilled light into the hallway. He shuffled his way towards it.
He stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene inside. It was a waiting room, full of couches and uncomfortable looking chairs upholstered in the green that only hospitals ever seemed to use. It was also full of people he knew. He leaned on the doorframe in relief. Jasyn jumped up when she saw him. Everyone else turned to look at him, all except Lowell. He was off in the corner, standing with his hands deep in his pockets.
Jasyn stopped next to him, looking anxiously past him at the empty hall beyond. "Clark?" she asked.
"He broke his arm," Tayvis answered. "He said he'd come as soon as they let him. Down the hall to the left," he added as she pushed past him.
He walked slowly into the room, aware of the questioning looks on their faces. He sighed and sat down on a couch. Ginni was perched on one arm. Darus was in the chair across from him, one leg wrapped in bandages and propped on the table in front of him. Beryn and Paltronis sat on a couch to his right, holding hands. He saw no sign of Twyla or the medic, Sikura.
"So, what happened?" Darus asked.
"We picked her up as planned," Tayvis said. "Where were you?"
"We got bushwhacked," Darus answered. "They shot out the engine and hauled us up here. They put us in a room and left. And then suddenly they're at the door telling us there was some kind of emergency. They brought us here and left."
Tayvis looked down, unable to meet Darus' eyes. "She was in bad shape when we picked her up."
"Someone mentioned there was fighting," Paltronis said, the worried line between her eyes growing sharper.
"She wasn't shot." Tayvis rubbed his hands together. "It was some drug Shomies had."
"She's going to make it, isn't she?" Darus asked. He glanced at the other door to the room, one marked medical personnel only. The lights were on in the room beyond.
Tayvis shook his head. "I don't know."
Silence fell in the room, thick and heavy with despair.
"She's strong, she'll make it," Ginni whispered. But even she couldn't quite believe her own words.
The inner door opened. They all looked towards it, hope and worry on their faces. The medic in the doorway pulled his mask down. Blood spattered across his tunic. He looked the way medics look when they have only bad news.
"She's awake," he said without preamble, "for now. We can let one person in for a few minutes." He didn't need to add it might be last anyone saw of her alive.
"Is she going to make it?" Darus asked, rising slowly to his feet.
"Touch and go right now," the medic answered truthfully. "We don't know."
"You go, Darus," Tayvis said. "You're her father."
Darus hesitated. "Tayvis," he started.
"Just go see her," Tayvis said, his voice harsh.
"If you're coming, you need to come now," the medic said. He held the door open.
Darus gave Tayvis one last glance before hurrying towards the door. It closed behind him. Tayvis sagged on the couch. His face was empty of hope.
Paltronis and Beryn shifted away, walking across the room to the drink dispenser on the far side. Lowell stayed in the corner, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. Ginni looked down at Tayvis. She reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder. He glanced up at her.
"She was dead, Ginni," he said.
"Don't, Tayvis," she answered. "You have to believe."
"I can't," he answered. He dropped his head into his hands.
"You did everything you could," Ginni answered.
"It wasn't enough," he whispered. He lay down on the couch, too tired to struggle anymore.
His eyes drifted shut. He felt Ginni stand up. A few minutes later, she tucked a blanket over him. He was too asleep to thank her.