by Lj Cohen
He lay on his back, hands clawing the thin mat, his lips pressed into a thin line.
The engines whined, a piercing sound that seemed to shiver through her spine and bore into her head. The pitch slowly climbed, drowning out Barre's reply, if he gave her one. "Damn it, Halcyone, I'm trying to help you. Let me in," she whispered, frantically tapping in commands through her micro.
Without warning, the ship canted, rolling Barre off the cushion and pressing Ro into the nav console. Then Halcyone lurched back to level. Silence rang through the bridge.
"What in the cosmos just happened?"
Barre sat up, dazed, blood trickling down his lower lip. His dark skin shined with sweat. "I don't think we'll hold together if she does that again."
Ro rubbed her sore shoulder and blinked up at the forward view screen. "Look, we're still here."
Barre pressed his thumb to his lip to stop the bleeding. "She stood her ground."
And her father lost this time.
"Now what?"
"Our turn," she said. "Can you get Halcyone to let us access the rad sensors in engineering?"
"Isn't that your department?"
"I'm not asking you to run a hack. Just do your AI charmer routine and ask for manual override. For calibration or maintenance — I don't care how you manage it. Besides, the AI likes you better than me." Another time or place it would have hurt to admit that.
"What are you going to do?"
She stared out across the bridge as if she could see through the doors to the damage her father had caused. "If you can get control over the sensors, I'm going to figure out how to initiate a radiation lock-down and trap the bastard in engineering."
"Turnabout."
"Yup," she said. "Give him enough problems to deal with that he won't have the time to try that again."
"Can you? I mean, won't he just be able to break your hack?"
Ro stared Barre right in the eyes and lifted her chin. "I'm better than he is." And for the first time in her life, she knew it was true.
***
Micah groaned, his head slamming against a crate, igniting a fresh burst of pain, a throbbing counterpoint to the lightning bolts thrumming at his wrists and ankles. He blinked, panting as the ship stilled, and risked a glance at his hands. The restraints held him snugly and his skin was unmarked.
"Son of a bitch," he said, growling. He had to get the damned things off. Moving as slowly as he could, Micah wriggled himself back into sitting, gritting his teeth against a new barrage of shocks. Something this brutal should at least leave marks.
The edge of the crate pressed into his spine, its top littered somewhere through the cargo bay. He twisted his head to look inside. Stacks of energy rifles lay in their protective cushioning, their brushed metallic sheen gleaming dangerously in the dim light. He glanced at the door and back at the weapons, his hands twitching weakly in his lap.
It was only pain, right?
All he had to do was reach up and he could grab the rifle. Easy. He stared at his hands. Move, damn you. His fingers trembled and invisible fire ringed his wrist again.
No wonder Maldonado left him in a damned arsenal. Sadistic bastard. Micah swallowed the howl of fury in his chest and sat shaking, blinking back tears. It was only fucking pain. Just pain.
His mother had lived with it and more for months, never crying out even during those final, terrible days when he had to turn her every hour, the agony of moving replacing the agony of staying still.
He panted, drawing as much air into his lungs as he could. Sitting here trussed like a turkey and waiting to die wasn't on his bucket list. Getting his hands around Maldonado's throat was.
"Any time now, Micah," he muttered. Sweat beaded across his forehead and his upper lip. "Count of three." He took another gulp of air. "One, two, three." Clenching his jaw, Micah twisted and reached up into the crate, howling as his arms exploded in agony. He stared at his hands, making sure he kept his grip on the rifle, since all feedback from his nerves had been replaced by wave after wave of fire.
The weapon slid from his fingers and tumbled into his lap. Micah sat panting, his mind refusing to believe he still had hands.
He didn't know how long it took before the nerves stopped firing their brutal message. The rifle lay beneath his touch, smooth and cold. If Maldonado stepped through that door right now, Micah wasn't sure he could even pick it up and shoot. He couldn't stop the laugh that shook through him, moving his hands and sending small jolts through the cuff. It was only pain.
Pure reflex made him grip the barrel. He flicked the safety off. His finger tightened over the firing mechanism. Before he could change his mind, he pressed the trigger and sent a bolt of blue sizzling against the ankle restraints, melting them to useless slag. The rifle rolled out of shaking fingers that refused to listen to him. The heat that melted part of his shoes to his feet barely registered on his abused nerves. His whole body trembled. If the gun had been pointed at his brain, Micah would have gladly fired the weapon, just to make the punishment finally stop.
It took a long time before he realized his legs were free.
The laughter that ripped out of him sounded like something from the throat of an animal.
He moved his feet, welcoming a pain that he'd earned and understood. Its throbbing counterpoint made his wrists easier to bear, somehow. Blinking in surprised relief, he picked up the rifle, lurched to standing, and hobbled across the cargo bay.
The trip to the bridge was a nightmare. Every step jogged the rifle in his grip, causing him to squeeze his hands. Each shock shook through him before the last one had fully faded. Micah gritted his teeth and kept going, imagining all the places he'd clamp the cuffs on Maldonado's body.
He stared at the half melted bridge door for several minutes trying to force his pain-wracked mind to make some sense of it. It had to be Maldonado's handiwork. He'd even torched the emergency manual release. That meant someone had to be alive in there. His heart thumped with wild hope.
Shouting would only waste time. The doors were vacuum rated. Even if he wanted to risk his hands, the butt of the rifle would disintegrate before he made any sort of dent in its surface. He only hoped that whoever was still alive wasn't standing by the door.
"It's only pain," he whispered and lifted the gun to shoulder height, resting the butt against his chest. Flickers of invisible fire circled his wrists and coursed up and down his arms. Ignoring what his mind kept screaming, he dialed the weapon to maximum and its narrowest beam. "Only pain."
Squinting his eyes to focus on the center seam of the door, Micah fired, howling his defiance as the metal glowed red. Using the rifle like a laser scalpel, he cut through Maldonado's improvised weld until he couldn't differentiate between the heat from the gun and the punishment from the restraints.
The door smoked and the stink of burning polymers irritated his nose and mouth. The rifle's pulse stuttered and failed. He let it slip from his abused fingers to clatter on the floor at his feet. A widening crack of light split the doors open. Micah tumbled over the threshold.
Ro stood in front of him, her mouth open, her eyes wide circles of green.
"Permission to enter the bridge, Captain." His voice croaked from his aching throat.
"What took you so long?"
Micah shrugged and immediately regretted it. His vision narrowed to a dim tunnel, with Ro's shining hair the only illumination in it. "Got tied up," he whispered, before even the small slice of brightness vanished to a pinprick.
Voices echoed from far away as he swayed, blinking, trying to figure out why he felt so strange.
"Help me get the cuffs off him."
"Shit! They're live."
"Only pain," he mumbled, or thought he did. But it felt like someone else's pain, or at least pain he didn't have to care about anymore. Micah sank into a welcoming darkness. The burning in his arms didn't follow.
Chapter 37
Barre dragged Micah to one of the mats. His nose wrinkled at the acrid
stink of burning plastic and flesh. Ro stood over them as Barre knelt at Micah's side trying to figure out what was more important — the electrified cuffs or the plasma burns on his feet.
He glanced at the ruin of Micah's feet and his stomach lurched. Definitely the burns.
"Is he going to be okay?" Ro asked, her green eyes wide.
Triage now. Answers later. "He's going into shock. I need to set up an IV and give him something for pain. Get the box of medical supplies."
Ro dragged it over.
Good, at least she'd be able to follow simple commands. He rummaged through the supplies and found at least the bare bones of what he needed — a conscious sedation kit, fluids, and a wound care set up. Barre slid on the sterile gloves and picked up the IV injection gun with shaking hands. He had only ever done this in a sim before.
It was supposed to be idiot-proof. Anyone could pull the spring-loaded trigger somewhere near a vein and the tiny needle would seat itself. Easy. He rolled up Micah's sleeve, careful not to touch the restraints. Once had been quite enough. He set the injector against the inside of Micah's elbow and triggered it. The IV gun sprayed a cool mist of topical numbing agent. The needle deployed almost immediately after. Micah didn't even flinch. Barre wondered who had bandaged his head and why.
Ro made a sound between a squeak and a gasp. Barre looked up and smirked. "Smart girl like you afraid of a little needle?"
She gave him the finger before folding her arms across her chest. "What next?"
"The cuffs and his feet."
She made a sour face.
"I'll take the feet. Can you handle the cuffs?"
"At least I won't pass out if I get zapped by the cuffs," she said, glancing quickly at Micah's blistered feet and swallowing hard.
The inside of Micah's hands had mild burns from where he'd gripped the rifle, but nothing compared to what the feet were going to look like. He attached the medicated saline to the tiny catheter sticking out of Micah's arm. Short of full anesthesia, which would take his parents and a real sick bay, this was the best Barre could do. It would have to be enough.
He grabbed the suture kit and sat by Micah's feet. Running the full burn treatment sim hadn't included the smell, but he vividly remembered the soldier his parents made him examine who had later died from his wounds. He shuddered and focused on Micah. The remnants of his low boots looked as if they'd fused with the inside of his ankles. What the hell had he done? He peered closer and reached for the long handled tweezers. Barre carefully picked out a thin piece of curved blue metal about three centimeters long. "Ro, does this look like the same crap the wrist cuffs are made of?"
She scooted closer, keeping her eyes averted from his feet. "Son of a bitch."
"That's what I thought." Barre's estimation of Micah's resolve rose way, way up. He met Ro's gaze with his until she turned away, her face pale. "Your father did this."
"I know."
They didn't have a whole lot of time. Maldonado would get impatient with his lack of progress controlling the AI. He'd come for his daughter. She had value to him. Clearly Micah did too, or he wouldn't have restrained him and kept him alive. Barre knew he had nothing Maldonado could possibly want.
Ro swore softly and methodically as she worked. Barre switched the tweezers for a pair of laser cutters, glad for the pain meds that would keep Micah sleeping. A metallic snick echoed in the bridge. "Got it!" Ro cried and flung the cuffs across the room.
"I got this. Get your lock-down running before he comes back for you." Barre turned back to the problem of Micah and his injuries. The battlefield kits were state of the art. At least the senator didn't skimp. If he had gotten cheap knock-offs, Micah would have lost his feet for sure. It was also a good thing the standard issue station boots were made of a basic polymer similar to body armor. Barre mixed up the antibiotic-laced enzymes that would dissolve the manufactured composites and leave the damaged flesh alone.
"Sorry, buddy," he said. Even through the sedation, it would hurt. "Ro?"
"Hmm?"
"You might want to cover your ears."
***
The scream that ripped through the bridge raised goose bumps up and down Ro's arms. Bile gathered in her throat, tasting of the mingled stench of burned plastic, flesh, and something oily and noxious she couldn't even name.
"Fuck, Barre, what are you doing to him?" She whirled around, terrified of what she'd see.
"Trying to save his god damned feet. Now shut up and let me work."
Ro swallowed hard, and breathing through her mouth, turned back to her micro. There was nothing she could do for Micah that Barre couldn't do better and more safely. "Halcyone, locate Maldonado, Alain," she whispered, not wanting to break Barre's concentration.
"Engineering."
So he was still wrestling with the ship. She pulled up the AI's schematics and found her way into the rad sensors subroutines. Barre had done his work. Manual overrides were enabled. A combination of changing ALARA settings and tweaking the sensors should trigger a lock-down. If nothing else, it would buy them some time. She found the rad safety officer's interface. ALARA was a moving target. Even forty years ago, they understood that. And what was 'as low as reasonably achievable' differed on a military mission versus a civilian one. It was all about acceptable losses.
She'd like to dump her father in a radiation waste facility and consider him an acceptable loss.
Halcyone didn't even hum as Ro tinkered with radiation sensors. The trick would be to slide the ALARA settings down to something approximating the slightly elevated levels actually present in engineering. Then she could dial up the sensor readings. "Just a safety exercise, nothing to worry about," she murmured to the AI, before closing the subroutine.
"Hack that, daddy-o," she said.
The blare of the rad alarm whooped through the ship. "Warning, radiation leak in engineering. Radiation twenty-six percent above ALARA and climbing."
"Thank you, Halcyone." Ro smirked, imagining her father's expression about now. He'd be attempting to dig through the computer, trying to figure out if this was her doing, but he couldn't be certain and he'd have to check the levels manually. It only took a few minutes before the AI sounded another alarm.
"Radiation levels in engineering thirty-three percent above ALARA. Initiating emergency lock down and containment. All personnel in engineering must proceed to indicated decon chambers."
"Good girl," Ro said. That would keep him busy. Even if he did figure out it was her hack, he'd have a tough time convincing Halcyone to stand down.
"Rosalen."
Even though she expected it, his voice emerging from her micro jolted her. "Hello, Father. Safe and secure?"
"I know you did this, Rosalen. Clever. Very clever."
"You taught me well," she said, her jaw tight, her right eyelid twitching.
"Perhaps I've miscalculated," he said. "You have done nicely, but now it's time to put our disagreements behind us."
Cold coiled in the pit of her belly. "What do you want?"
"Control over the AI."
He was brutally direct. Some things never changed. She rested her head in her hands. "And if I help you?"
"Then your companions will have safe passage."
Her cooperation for their lives. Why wasn't she surprised? She tugged her fingers through her long, tangled hair. "I don't believe you." The weariness in her voice was a thing with weight.
Approaching footsteps made her look up. Barre sat beside her, stripped off his gloves, and placed a hand on her arm. Ro put her hand on his and squeezed. She waited, counting the seconds for her father's response. Based on long, bitter experience, it would be either a threat or a bribe. She was betting on threat.
"Rosalen, I'm giving you a chance because you're my child. We both know you can't lock me in here forever. And if my business associates think you are my adversary, I won't be able to protect you."
Ro bowed her head. Parents were supposed to protect their children. It wasn't som
ething open for negotiation.
Barre kept his silence, waiting with her.
"I need to consult with my crew." She glanced at Barre. He nodded.
"Don't go away, Father."
Barre smirked as she muted his response. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be pretty.
"How's Micah?"
"Asleep. His feet are pretty messed up. I sealed them with antiseptic goo, but he's going to need skin grafts."
That meant getting back to Daedalus somehow, and before her father's 'associates' showed up.
Barre frowned. "How long do you think before he gets out of engineering?"
"Not sure. Depends on how cooperative Halcyone is feeling."
"I might be able to do something about that." Barre's dark eyes shone. "Can you carry a tune?"
"I guess."
Frowning, he shifted his gaze from her to her micro. "Never mind. Here, record this."
A few trilling notes from his device created a brief fanfare in the bridge.
"It'll let Halcyone know you're authorized."
"That's different," Ro said, smiling as she imagined her father trying to hack that password.
"Will that buy us some more time?"
"Hell, yeah. It's brilliant."
Barre smiled before turning away to try and hide the flush on his cheeks. She knew what it felt like to be systematically squashed for being good at what she loved.
"Okay, then. We need to figure out how to ping Hephaestus. Even if Halcyone's jump drive were on line, without maps, we're just so much floating space junk."
"Any word from Nomi?"
Ro ducked her head, staring at her micro. "No."
"Intruder alert, sector two."
"Hey, there's our ride." Talk about perfect timing. "Halcyone, put it on screen and magnify."
The broken image of the star field remained unchanged.
Barre smirked and played the fanfare.
She nodded her thanks and repeated the command. The screen blanked out for a brief flicker. When it brightened again, the image shifted so quickly, Ro got queasy and had to look away.