Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven
Getting everyone into the shuttle was always stressful. Connor hated climbing aboard, too, but it was a necessary part of the job. Taking the Lucky Sevens down to the planet would be a high-risk operation—too high risk. The shuttle was newer, simpler, and more reliable.
But it was also cramped and it had just enough armor to handle small arms fire. With a full complement, the air recycler quickly became overwhelmed, groaning and grinding until everyone’s exhalation was someone else’s inhalation.
You quickly knew who’d showered and brushed their teeth and who hadn’t.
People were either seated against the inner walls or on a narrow bench that ran down the center of the passenger bay, so that everyone was staring at someone else.
With the engines rumbling to life, Rudy moved down the narrow space between the people seated against the left wall and the people opposite them on the bench.
Connor took the right, checking each person’s harness and environment suit, then looking into their eyes.
“You’re going to be okay.” He said that to Drew.
“Easy drop. Done it a thousand times.” He winked at Tim Moon.
Tom Moon looked up from his pocket computer. “Moon Corporation suffered a ten percent devaluation. Everything looks sunny for Moon.”
Connor actually forgot what he had meant to say to the taller of the twins and settled for a thumbs up.
And for Mosiah… “I hope this is what you wanted.”
For once, the old man seemed uncomfortable. That was good, since his crates used up precious space and made something already dangerous miserable.
Then Connor checked Selen’s harness.
She pressed her armored chest against his hands, pinning them against the inside of the harness. “Where’s my little reassurance?”
He glanced back at the others, who were caught up in their own worlds now. “Think about the payday.”
Selen leaned back and smiled. “Make it snug.”
Connor cinched the harness until she couldn’t move.
That left Rudy. When Connor headed to the other aisle, Martienne turned around and grabbed his arm. “It is launch time!”
“One last check.”
She scowled at him, then focused on her console again.
Yemi smirked from his co-pilot’s seat. It was less that the mechanic approved of the harness check ritual than that it irritated Martienne.
There was never anything to fix with Rudy’s harness, but Connor leaned in while going through the motions. “Everyone comes home from this one.”
The old sergeant’s eyes drifted to Aubriella, then back to Connor. The look in the older man’s eyes said he understood.
Connor took the seat on the bench across from Selen and strapped in.
As the engines grew louder, and the shuttle shook, she stared at him. There was a misplaced hunger in her eyes, as she wanted to peel him out of his armor and eat him.
He shuddered at the thought. The hunger was sexual, but he was so out of sorts that he misinterpreted it.
Or at least he thought that was the case.
Then he was thrown against his harness as the shuttle launched from the hangar bay.
A red light came on overhead, signaling for everyone to switch to internal atmosphere.
Connor slid his helmet on, sealed it, and tested the air from the oxygen bottles integrated into his suit: stale, leaving a taste on the tongue like old socks. The planet had a breathable atmosphere, but there were thousands of kilometers to cross before that atmosphere would be around them.
Now that the shuttle was out of the hangar bay, Martienne brought the rockets to life and pushed them hard. They crossed through the void under constant acceleration.
Heat pulsed beneath Connor’s armor, like a heartbeat. It wasn’t quite painful, but it definitely left the skin over his sternum warm.
The amulet, he realized.
Something in the thing Toshiko had gifted him was reacting to the rockets or the lack of gravity or being encased in an environment suit.
Or maybe it was reacting to the nearing planet.
He should have called her, if only to test the device she’d given him. Could it really operate undetected and ride on the strange quantum communications waves that made long-distance communications possible?
There might never be an opportunity to know.
To his right, Mosiah shifted, bumping Connor’s shoulder. The old man was trying to move around and wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Behind his faceplate, the expression of frustration was obvious.
He could be frustrated for a little longer. They were only minutes out from landing.
Mosiah bumped Connor again, and he realized the look on the old man’s face wasn’t frustration but fear.
And the coloring…
The old man wrapped his hands around his armored neck: He was suffocating.
No!
Connor unbuckled his harness, then did the same for Mosiah.
Selen was in Connor’s helmet speakers. “What are you doing?”
“Mosiah’s atmosphere—he can’t breathe.”
“Then he passes out. He’ll be fine.”
“We’re not losing another client, Selen.” Connor bit back the urge to say he didn’t need another false accusation against him.
Now free of the harness, Mosiah pushed up from the bench.
Connor pushed the old man back down. There was a digital readout on the environment suit chest plate. Most troubleshooting and repair work could be handled from there.
After a few seconds of struggling, Mosiah relaxed. Well, he wasn’t relaxed—his arms were rigid, and his hands were fists. But he quit fighting.
His eyes were pointed down, watching Connor.
One of the suit’s inbuilt oxygen tanks had malfunctioned, and the other was empty. That should have shown up on suit checkout, but the gear was as old as the Lucky Sevens. Malfunctions happened.
The other spare canisters were secured in a compartment blocked by their client’s heavy cases, so Connor undid one of his canisters and replaced the empty one on Mosiah’s suit.
Mosiah tapped the side of his helmet and mouthed what looked like a thanks.
Before Connor could reply, Martienne connected. “You must sit down!”
“Almost done. Mosiah had an oxygen tank failure, and his radio’s out.”
“We are seconds out from the atmosphere.”
“Got it.” It was another thing to fix later. Everything was piling up.
Connor strapped the old man back in, then flopped back onto the end position on the bench. The harness fought against every pull--
And then the shuttle bucked and twisted, tossing Connor from the bench.