by C. Gockel
If the ramp moved that slowly, they’d never make it. She looked for the emergency release and finally found it on the floor. She dropped to her knees, knowing dizziness would overwhelm her if she tried bending over. She fumbled with the safeties on the handle, then pulled it up hard. The ramp dropped suddenly, and she let the handle fall back into place. The airlock closed so slowly, she thought she’d unthinkingly dropped into tracker mode, but the heave of Luka’s chest and her own heart rate told her she was still in realtime. She let out the breath she’d been holding when the airlock indicators finally showed a complete seal.
Haberville’s calm but acerbic voice came over the shipcomm. “Incoming seven minutes out, launch in one. Strap in if you can, because a high-speed lift will make this gods-cursed bus handle like a pregnant cow.”
Mairwen tried to stand, but her dizziness made it almost impossible. She dropped into half-tracker mode and got to her feet. Pain messages exploded from her head, side, ribs, and leg, but she’d expected it and paid no attention. They couldn’t stay on the cargo level because any unsecured supplies or equipment could crush them like bugs.
“We need jump seats.” She grabbed Luka’s arm and pulled him toward the upward ramp.
She squinted at the curving ramp floor to narrow her visual focus and ran up it, nearly overshooting when she arrived at the landing. He caught her and pulled her toward the interior of what looked like a common area. She looked around frantically and finally pointed.
“There!”
She and Luka hobbled together toward the row of jump seats against the wall. He pulled down two seats and practically slung her into one, then waited to see that she was strapping herself into the webbing before sitting and doing the same for himself. The ship vibrated deeply under her feet and thighs. She leaned back and let time come up to normal speed.
The chair’s headrest wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it would keep her immobile and save her from whiplash or spinal injury, neither of which would improve her condition. The vibrations were just shy of earsplitting, so she cut off her awareness of all sounds, even the ringing, and turned her head slightly so she could look at Luka. He was pale and exhausted, and he was covered in grime and caked blood, especially his right thigh. At least he didn’t smell like fresh blood any more.
He smiled a little when he caught her eye and said something she couldn’t hear. Probably telling her she looked like hell, which, considering how she felt, was shameless flattery. She gave him a small smile in return, then faced forward and flattened herself into the jump seat.
The ride was bone jarring. Even with the gravity compensators, it felt like Haberville was evading airborne weapons fire, and possibly ground-based, too, if one of the other installations on the continent had managed to get shipkillers online. Or maybe it was just because their ship was fat-assed and wobbled like a drunken sailor. She hoped Haberville’s skills would continue to keep them safe and that the other merc squads were as inept as the one they’d already encountered.
Finally the vibrations began to diminish. The jolting settled down to the intensity of a mild thrill-ride, then tapered to nothing and normal ship gravity.
“Clear thermopause,” announced Haberville over the shipcomm. “Engaging system drive. I’m looking for a hidey hole. Otherwise, our tech and propulsion signature will light us up like a beacon to any asshole who’s looking.” There was a brief pause. “It’s safe to unstrap. Welcome to the good ship Beehive. Come on up to the nav pod, top level, and bring the med kit. I left it in cargo by the lifts.”
Mairwen was surprised to find her hands were shaky as she released the webbing. The ship’s vibrations had masked the telltale signs that she was perilously close to flatlining. She stood up cautiously. The room stayed steady, so some of her dizziness had subsided, or maybe she was just getting used to it. She looked around to find the lifts, then took a couple of trudging steps toward them, promising herself she’d eat as soon as they were done meeting with Haberville.
Luka stepped in front of her, and she almost ran into him. He grabbed her shoulders gently and steered her to a chair at a long dining table. “You need to rest and eat. Now.” She took a breath to argue, but he put a finger over her lips to prevent her from speaking. “You are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. Stay here, and stay sitting up.”
She sighed, knowing he was right. She wouldn’t be good for anything if she was passed out in a corner.
He started rummaging in the nearby open kitchen and quickly found some slices of cheese in an oversized cold box. He pulled those out, but continued pawing through the rest of the contents.
“Gull verðlaun!” he said, and pulled out a container of liquid labeled “Electrum Gold” in bright shiny letters. He opened it and handed it to her. “Drink all of this. It’s an electrolyte balancer, and you need it.”
He only relaxed when he saw she was complying with his order. It came to her that he’d been field treating her for possible traumatic brain injury. She took a moment to be grateful for the practical nature of his vast store of knowledge.
He put the cheese and some apple slices on a plate. “Appetizer,” he told her, handing it to her, then went back to foraging.
She ate and let herself be amused by his running commentary about the mercs’ poor organizational skills and nutritional habits. He was entertaining her so she would stay awake, like head injury patients were supposed to. Similar to what he’d done with Jerzi in the hell ride down to the planet surface. Luka was good with people that way. He was good with her.
He handed her another plate, this one with a ham sandwich with unidentifiable vegetables. “Main course,” he told her, as he handed her a napkin and a glass of water.
“Does this count as cooking a meal for me?” She took a bite.
He gave a short laugh as he examined the contents of various cartons and pouches in the cold box. “No. When I cook for you, you’ll know it.”
Her stomach was starting to cramp, which meant her already high metabolism was still operating in top gear, trying to compensate for all the tracker mode she’d used that day. She drank half the glass of water to try to soothe her stomach before swallowing more bites of sandwich.
They were interrupted by Haberville’s voice over the shipcomm, heavy with peevishness. “Any time now with the med kit would be good.”
Luka set a glass of orange juice in front of her. “Drink this. I’ll be right back. Stay awake.” He started to go, then turned back to her. From his back waistband, he pulled not one but three of her knives and set them in her lap. She felt tears well up at how much that meant to her. He put his hand to the side of her face, then limped over to the lifts and was gone. She wished she was better with words so she could tell him how happy it made her that he was still alive and caring about her.
She also wished the ringing cacophony in her ears would go away. Unfortunately, the tracker alteration had only sped up her ability to heal a little, by dint of her higher metabolism, so it would take hours, or even days, to see any improvement. She also knew Luka and Jerzi had it worse than she did, so she told herself to quit whining. She needed to get her battered brain thinking about the next steps, not wallowing in her woes. She wanted to follow Luka to the nav pod, but knew it’d be better if she finished eating and drinking so her body would have enough fuel to keep going a while longer.
He was back in ten minutes. He put a pill in her hand. “It’s a vasodilator from the med kit. Good for possible brain injury. Can you take it?”
“Yes, but it won’t last long. I have a fast metabolism.” That was an understatement. Still, she swallowed the pill with the last bit of orange juice.
“More?” he asked, indicating her empty plate.
“No,” she said, then pointed upward. “Trouble in nav?” She was pleased that her voice was sounding less throaty than it had before.
“Not really. Jerzi neglected to mention he’d been shot in the shoulder with a projectile, and he passed out. We reviv
ed him and got him into the autodoc for a quick diagnostic.” He snorted and shook his head. “I am surrounded by stubborn people. Eve not only retrieved the medical kit, she saved the sample kit and all our packs, too. She says the previous pilots left the navcomp wide open, or else we might not have gotten off the planet so fast.”
He stepped behind her and began massaging her shoulder muscles in gentle circles. It felt surprisingly good. “How’s the head?”
“Fi... better,” she said. “Your thigh?”
“Needs patching. Eve says there’s something wrong with the navcomp, and she doesn’t trust it for faster-than-light until she resets it. Something about stuttering the system drive to jump scatter our tech signature, whatever that means. All I know is we’re stuck in-system, and we’re looking for a suitable rock in the asteroid belt to give us cover.”
“Any ship weapons?” Luka’s touch was making it hard to think. She’d trade a dozen physical therapists for Luka’s hands on her any day.
“Lean forward a little. Your back is really tight. No, it’s just a small troop ship. We might luck out and find some personal weapons in the hold, but they won’t help if some skíthæll wants to smash us to atoms from a distance.”
She knew an unorthodox method or two for defense, but mentioning them would only add to Haberville’s already long list of suspicions. Still, better that than being dead.
“If the ship has debris lasers and some extra fibret cable, we could modify the lasers to extend their range. They burn out faster, and it takes more flux, but it’s an unexpected weapon if we can lure a target close enough.”
Luka laughed, and she felt it through his hands on her shoulders. “You’re amazing. Eve’s going to think you’re pirate clan by the end of this.”
She gave into long-suppressed need and stood to turn and lean against him, resting her aching head on his undamaged right shoulder, and breathing in his sound and scent. His arm enfolded her gently and he sighed. “Let’s get those lasers modified, then find the nearest showers. We stink, even to me.”
In the end, it took an hour and both Luka’s and Jerzi’s help to add an overload flux line in the engine pod, then reconfigure the ship’s four lasers and get them back online. Haberville was busy plotting asteroid paths and finding the optimal location for avoiding possible firing solution vectors. Mairwen had no doubt she’d complain about the “jack trick” later. Once the lasers were ready, Luka, who didn’t want Haberville to be without help, sent Jerzi to scout for freshers first while he remained in the nav pod with Haberville.
Mairwen stayed out of the way in the engine pod. She sat on a padded bench, keeping upright as Luka wanted her to, and allowed her thoughts to drift, with the ringing in her ears as an accompaniment.
She hoped the inactivity would convince her metabolism to gear down a notch or two, so she tried to sit still and just think. She wondered why Haberville was so professional one minute and galling the next. She wondered how incompetent mercenaries stayed in business, and worried that the competent ones, like whoever had sabotaged the Berjalan and attacked their pilots, might be coming out to play soon. She thought about what Zheer could tell Space Div that would get them to come to their rescue but not arrest them. She longed for another sandwich, but the trip to the kitchen seemed like kilometers.
Twenty-one minutes later, Luka, carrying the med kit, came and got her. He led her down to the sleeping quarters level and into the large fresher with its eight community showerheads that Jerzi had discovered. Each showerhead array had its own settings, plus dispensers for soap, shampoo, depilator, and lotion. She helped Luka out of his armor and boots, and he did the same for her. They spread their armor and clothes under one shower head and set it to a pounding wide spray. Her upper armor was irreparably compromised on the side where the beamer had burned through.
Luka opted for the simple expediency of starting his shower with the rest of his clothes on, then peeling them off once the worst of the muck had rinsed off and the dried blood had softened. Mairwen had to help him with his T-shirt, giving her a closeup look at the massive, swollen bruise that covered his right shoulder. Without a minder healer or treatment, it would take weeks to heal. Other scrapes and cuts materialized as the dirt washed off, and she winced at the awful extent of the laceration on his muscular thigh. She hated to think how much worse off he’d have been if he hadn't been wearing flexin.
She’d rather hoped the first time they got to see each other naked would have been under different circumstances.
She felt unexpectedly shy once she’d removed her own clothes and knife sheaths. She’d never been modest before, but she’d never been naked with someone she wanted to want her. Stop being ridiculous, she told herself. She stepped into the deliciously warm, soft spray.
The water at her feet swirled oily brown with grime and pink with blood as it poured into the drain. She hoped the ship had a good filter and recovery system. The warmth felt good on the bruise over her cracked ribs, and she got used to the sharp sting from the water on her abrasions and burns. She rejected the cloyingly floral shampoo in favor of the unscented liquid soap. She couldn’t help but hiss in pain as she massaged it over the bump on her head, discovering a gash hidden by her filthy, matted hair. She worked the snarls, trying to untangle them.
“Let me help.” Luka’s voice startled her because he was suddenly close, and she hadn’t heard or smelled him.
He gently pushed her hands away, then turned her so the back of her hip and shoulder angled into his side. He gently cupped water over her head wound and used delicate touches to cleanse her hair and the laceration.
She wouldn't have thought that the feel and slide of his bare skin against hers would be more powerful than the pain, but it was. Pleasure fluxed haphazardly through her, like a river finding a new path through storm debris.
Driven to make more contact, she leaned closer, causing her hand to encounter his mangled right thigh. It was his turn to hiss in pain.
“Sorry.” She clasped her hands in front of her and made them stay still.
“I'm okay, ástin mín,” he breathed.
He added more soap to his fingers and delicately swirled them through the rest of her hair. It was a strange mixture of pain and relief when he finished and guided her under the soft spray for a final rinse.
His left hand slid down her neck and onto her shoulder, and his right slid around to her waist, where he pulled her gently against him and his arousal. Even though it felt good, she couldn't help but gasp in pain as her broken ribs grated under his touch.
“Sorry.” He glided his hand over her shoulder and sighed. “We have the worst timing.”
“We do,” she agreed, though she was on a knife's edge of not caring. It was killing her not to turn and rub herself up him like a cat, melding her body with his.
“You really took a beating.” The pressure of his breath in her ear sent tingling warmth through her that had nothing to do with hot water. She only barely suppressed an overload tremor. “Could I persuade you into the autodoc?”
She shook her head. “It's not safe.” She couldn't afford to leave personal biological samples in a strange unit, and she didn’t trust it not to administer unknown drugs with unknown side effects on her altered body.
“I'll keep watch if you'll use it for you,” she said, half turning to look at him.
His expression shadowed. “I don’t like medical beds.” He stepped away. “Let's patch each other up with the med kit.”
She felt suddenly cold, despite the warm water still misting over her. And along with everything else, her lower left calf was starting to remind her that it had been pierced by a flechette.
She dropped to one knee to pick up her sopping wet underclothes. She turned off her showerhead, then limped to the one on the other side of the room, where she'd left her outer clothes and flexin armor. She turned everything over to get the last of the gunk off, picked up her three remaining knives and five sheaths, then turned off the showerhea
d and left the clothes to drain.
She looked around for the solardries and was surprised not to find any, especially since this was a community shower. Quick-dry blowers were the easiest way to get people out faster. Even her no-frills apartment had one. She headed for the towel cabinet.
Luka rinsed off the last of the depilator, leaving his handsome face smooth once again. She idly wondered why he hadn’t had his beard stopped more permanently, like Jerzi obviously had. He turned off his showerhead and met her at the towel cabinet, limping only slightly. His thigh still looked like ground meat.
He handed her a towel and took one himself. The room was chilly now that she wasn’t being sluiced by hot water, so she dried quickly and wrapped the towel around herself, knotting it above her breasts to give her some semblance of warmth. The scrape on Luka’s thigh smelled obscenely fresh, but it was no longer dripping blood. He took another towel from the cabinet and helped her dry her hair, gently blotting the area around the head wound. She would never get tired of his touch.
“Jerzi said he found clothes in one of the staterooms. Let’s see if we can find some, too,” he said, dropping the bloody towel on the floor near her wet clothes. Nudity didn’t bother him, for which she was privately very glad.
On their way out, she saw her boots, and wondered what to do about them, since the inside of one was sticky with congealed blood. Luka's boots looked no better.
A search of the fifteen identical double-occupancy rooms yielded a hodge-podge of wearable items that would do until the industrial-sized clothes sanitizer they’d found finished cleaning and drying their own clothes. She could make do with the large, long-sleeved faded blue T-shirt. A large pair of men’s red boxers would serve as half pants, though she had to knot the elastic waistband to keep them up around her smaller body. She reattached the sheaths to her upper back and forearms and slid the knives in place. She left the empty ankle sheaths with her boots and damp armor.
Luka wore mismatched socks, loose knit boxers, and a tattered bog-green long sweater, all of which made him look like he’d dressed out of the lost-and-found box. He’d mock-growled at her when he’d caught her smiling at his attire.