Chapter 49

Sweat slithered down Connor’s back, which spasmed as he gave the pry bars a final push. The last section of the mangled shuttle tore free of the bulkhead, with a terrible shriek of metal. Fine particles sprayed from the ruined wing segment, leaving a sharp smell of rust mixed with the subtle tinge of fuel.
Finally!
He tossed the pry bars to the deck, where they clanged like bells that rocked the work lights lined along the base of the vehicle.
Dust hung in that light as Connor massaged his back.
His pocket computer chimed.
Of course it did. He pulled his work gloves off. “Go ahead.”
Drew was on the screen, her pale, strained face streaked with black grime and perspiration. “Nearly finished in airlock.”
“Same here. I need to put the tools away.”
Getting the shuttle ready for ejection and fixing the cargo bay airlock had been the last two priorities to prepare the Lucky Sevens for a trip to the planet below.
It had been fourteen hours straight for the two of them, and Connor was feeling it. His leg needed another dose of the painkiller ointment, and he needed food.
All the food, he thought.
But he wasn’t through yet. Getting the shuttle free of the wall was just the first step. Actually jettisoning it remained.
Connor locked the pry bars back into place, then did the same with all but one of the work lights.
He needed that to finish the job.
Ideally, he would put on an environment suit, climb aboard the shuttle, fire up the engines, and launched the wounded vehicle into space. Now, though, he wasn’t even sure the engines could be trusted to spin up without exploding.
Which meant they needed to take more drastic measures.
Just on the other side of the hatch separating the hangar and cargo bays were two hardened lockers. One was secured to the port bulkhead, the other to the bulkhead separating the cargo and hangar bays.
Those lockers held dedicated explosive charges purpose-built for tearing out ruined sections of ship during maintenance.
Like most explosives stored on the Lucky Sevens, these were as safe as possible.
Not on the manifest.
Hidden from sight.
Locked behind door and wall that could withstand light arms fire.
And stored in binary form.
Connor knew enough about the explosives to safely use them, but they always intimidated him.
He pulled one out: a metal dome that had two slots to insert canisters beneath. Those canisters were red and yellow—one from each locker.
Drew’s slow, loud steps caught his attention. “Blasting time?”
Without meaning to, Connor slammed the lockers shut. She’d surprised him. He trusted her.
He held the device up for her to see. “Yeah.”
“You comfortable doing that?”
“I’ve done it before. We had to blow out the—”
“—blow out the hangar airlock because of the leaking hydrazine tank.” She shifted her environment suit helmet from one hip to the other. “I remember.”
“Right.” That had been shortly after she’d hired on.
“Let’s do this!”
She popped open the hatch to the hangar bay and followed him inside.
Connor let his pocket computer do most of the work: calculating placement, how much charge to activate, timer, and how to configure the dome. His job was mostly to anchor the charge to the shuttle as directed and to get out of the way.
As he worked, Drew watched over his shoulder. “I never got a good look in those lockers before. That’s a lot of boom.”
“We bought all that when we were flush with money.”
“Enough for a lifetime?”
“Sort of. We got a discount buying in bulk, and we might have been expecting a job that required some serious explosions.”
“Wow. How much did you buy?”
“Oh, that job didn’t quite come through. This is still part of the original purchase.”
His computer flashed a bright green and showed a detailed plan of how the top would act to shape the force of the charge and to minimize the risk of damage to the Lucky Sevens.
Once back in the cargo bay, he waited for Drew to get back, then depressurized the hangar bay and activated the charge.
The explosion wasn’t so much heard as felt: a rumble as intense as the engines.
A couple minutes later, the pressurized hatch flashed green.
Drew shrugged. “Simple as that, I guess.”
Connor held his computer up. “Like I said, I do the easy part.”
After a quick inspection of the hangar bay revealed nothing more than a micrometer-deep warping of the outer hull after the blast, they headed up to the bridge, where he settled in Yemi’s seat as the compartment woke from sleep. Warm air blasted from the overhead vents, and lights climbed from a dull silver to a bright white.
When Connor tapped the co-pilot’s panel, it activated. “Here goes.”
He brought up the general systems diagnostic check they’d used fourteen hours prior. At that point, the check had shown more red and amber than green. Now everything critical showed a dull green or close to it.
Everything except for the cargo bay atmospheric control indicator, which was dancing between red and amber.
Drew rapped a knuckle on the indicator, and the light went to green.
She screwed up her face. “That’s an odd one.”
“But it’s not as critical as the engines and reactor.”
“Then we’re ready to launch, even without Martienne?”
“We don’t have a choice—”
The hatch to the bridge opened, and Martienne staggered through. She looked even older, her face so pale that the freckles seemed to float on milk. Without a word or a glance, she crossed to her seat and slid into place.
She waved a hand over her console, which activated. “You were planning to take this ship down with me strapped into that bed?”
Connor pushed up from Yemi’s station. “It’s been nearly sixteen hours—”
“Your concern for your teammates is admirable.” Martienne spun her chair around to look at him, but she almost immediately lowered her gaze. “Including me.”
“We’re all one team.”
“This is easily said.” Martienne secured her harness slowly. “Displays and words are not the same.”
Connor pointed Drew to Selen’s seat and headed for his own.
Martienne’s seat came around again. “I would prefer no distractions.”
He stiffened. “I’m usually up here during—”
“And I am not usually feeling as if I have been at the bottom of the ocean for a month.” The pilot touched her scalp where he’d sewn her up.
Drew looked from the pilot to Connor. “You owe him your life.”
“Of that, I am painfully aware. Our Golem would not let me overlook this.”
“Well, then, maybe you could show him a little respect. Connor knows what he’s doing.”
He blushed not at the engineer’s words but at the intensity of her voice. “I—”
Martienne squinted at him. “No.” She pointed to Yemi’s seat. “She is right. You are my co-pilot.”
Was it an acknowledgement of their camaraderie, or was Martienne admitting to her own weakness?
Connor strapped in as the systems flared brightly, and new control panels filled the display.
Coordinates danced across the screen as Martienne’s fingers flew over the console. On the main display, the planet grew closer.
He wanted to call Selen but knew better.
There might be an emergency that delayed them, and that would hurt morale. Once they were in the atmosphere, he would make the call.
Martienne twisted around slightly. “The shuttle, it has been ejected?”
“Yes. We can always try to recover it.”
The pilot shrugged. “Its day has passed.”
In the display, the planet was everything—huge, growing brighter.
A timer popped up, and Martienne snorted. “Thought you’d want this.”
Connor blushed. He knew his obsession with timing could look silly to others, but the pilot’s teasing had been gentle rather than mean.
And even embarrassed, his eyes went to the numbers: less than twenty minutes.
Rumbling came through the deck, shooting up through his boots to his knees.
Then the rumbling became a series of squeaks and groans.
System lights that had seconds before been green drifted toward red.
Martienne snorted. “This is the Lucky Sevens I know. You want to be co-pilot? Then you will keep this pile of junk from falling apart.”
Connor swallowed as more lights dimmed toward red.
Just as he’d feared would happen, the old ship was coming apart.