Local Star, Aimee Ogden [ebook reader that looks like a book txt] 📗

like Rocan’s. Triz’s hand found his shoulder, and she shook it, hard. He didn’t respond. She took off her jacket and tried to blot the blood welling up on his shirt. Why was she trying to help him? She didn’t know. She felt the floor hum as the airlock dilated, though all she could hear was Kalo’s scream of frustration.

“Triz.” Casne again, her voice a distant tinny shout. She crawled over to Triz and took her hands off Lanniq. Triz drank in the sight of Casne’s face, pinched with pain but still whole. “He’s gone.” Triz dropped the jacket, and Casne tugged it over Lanniq’s staring face. The fabric draped over the mass of lancets embedded in his chest, too. “He took the shot for Rocan.”

Triz dragged her hand across her chin, and her wrist came away streaked in scarlet. “I thought he hated the Ceebees.” Her hearing had started to return, shaken loose by the blunt hammering of her own voice against the insides of her ears. “Why die for one?”

“I don’t know.” Casne’s tone hardened. “But I can guess. He wouldn’t be the first Fleet officer they’ve compromised.” Casne tried to stand, but her right leg wobbled. Triz realized what she’d hit with the sealant canister.

“That missing nephew,” Casne said. “If he led the Cyberbionautic Alliance to Lanniq’s triad? Instantly compromised officer.” Her jaw jutted out as she looked over Lanniq’s still body.

Triz wondered what Casne would have done in the same situation.

Kalo loped back alongside them. “I need a ship, and fast,” he said without preamble. “Rocan’s got the Scooper.”

“The Scooper.” Triz rubbed her eyes. “Right. He won’t get far, not very fast. Scoopers aren’t built for speed.”

“We thought the Ceebees were coming here to collect him. But he must need to make it to a rendezvous point . . . which means he’s expecting a pickup waiting somewhere close by.” Kalo’s feet shuffled on the deck as if he would have liked to simply run Rocan’s Scooper down. “Get me in any fighter that’ll hold atmo.”

“Kalo, I don’t have anything spaceworthy to give you. The next closest thing to ready is still just a Tiresh with a misfiring injector, and it’s not like you can fly it while I’ve still got it up on the blocks—” She bit her tongue to cut that idea short. Best not to put a thought in Kalo’s head before she could work out all the implications. Implications like: Triz, in the fragile canopy of a Light Attack ship, out in the big black.

But Casne beat her there. “The Tiresh-15 is a four-man gunship. Could you pull open the ventral engine from inside and, and . . .”

Triz picked up where technical know-how failed Casne. “I could manually throttle injections, I think. Yeah.”

“Okay.” Casne put her hand on Kalo’s shoulder. He bent to accommodate her added weight, and his arm wrapped around her waist. “Get me to that Tiresh, and let’s get out of here.”

“What do you mean, let’s?” Kalo objected. Triz stumbled to her feet too, somehow less graceful than Casne despite two functional legs. She felt a stab of guilt over that but pushed it and a reflexive apology aside. Kalo went on, “You’re hurt, Cas. Triz and I have got this covered.”

“Excuse me, Lieutenant?” Casne’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t get to give me orders. And I’m not the one who’s medically grounded, either.”

“Casne, it’s okay,” Triz cut in. “We don’t need you to fly the ship or handle the engine.” But the words felt like a lie as soon as they left her mouth. The endless void of space loomed over her, and maybe she didn’t need Casne the way she had needed a friend when she stumbled into the bright lights of a new Hab. But, oh yes, she surely did want her there. Casne grinned at her, and Triz felt a foolish smile lift her own cheeks in answer.

“We’re finishing this together.”

They ran to throw cleaning pods and coolant lines clear of the Tiresh. Kalo slid into the pilot’s couch, and Casne buckled herself into the restraints of the forward gunner’s rack. Triz settled for the rear gunner’s position. With the harness snugly fastened, her legs just barely reached the floor. A swift sweep of her cutting tool opened an impromptu ventral access panel in the grating between her feet. “I’m set here,” she called over her shoulder as she pinned a clamp into place to reroute the injection shunt. Another thought occurred to her. “Wait—Kalo, how are you going to fly this thing one-handed?”

“There’s a galaxy of distance between one-handed and one-armed.” Unbearably smug. Triz rolled her head far to the side to peer at him. He’d ripped the sleeve off his (or rather Triz’s) shirt and was tying his drooping hand to one side of the steering yoke. “I can do everything I need to.”

“Except finish that knot.” Casne took pity on him and helped pull it taut. “Didn’t the surgeons put those mods in after the thing with the nerve agents at Urnok? Only you could find a way to short out topline exonerves.”

“Chance encounter with the business end of a metal recycler. Don’t recommend it.” Kalo gave the knot a few tentative tugs, then used his good hand to work through a complicated series of hooks, levers, and switches. The Tiresh’s engines hummed, one beneath Triz’s boots and the other one over her head. “You both ready to do this?”

No, screamed Triz’s stomach. “Stop talking and get us out there,” she said. She was relieved to hear her voice didn’t shake as much as her hands did. She tugged on her heat conversion gloves to hide the trembling as well as protect her from any splatter.

Kalo complied. With the lifttrain’s help, the Tiresh cleared its slab, and the airlock dilated at Kalo’s request. The Tiresh eased through, the lifttrain retracted, and Triz stared up through the cockpit plastiglass as the wrenchworks disappeared behind the closing lock. A hiss heralded