“I wasn’t planning on it,” said Nate. “Well above our pay grade. We’ll get the Tyche patched up, we’ll bolt the transmitter to the side of the Bridge, and we’ll get the fuck out of here.”
“We could try talking to the planet again,” she said. She pointed at the blue-green orb through the window. “They might know.”
“They might,” said Nate. “Let’s get my ship fixed first, huh? If I need to run somewhere, I want a ship that’ll pull more than a couple Gs before it tears itself apart. Actually, scratch that. I’ve got a better plan.” He keyed his comm. “El?”
“Helm here,” she said.
“El, have you finished getting the dropship out of the hangar?”
“Sure have,” she said.
“Great,” he said. “I need you to put it back.”
There was a click from the comm, then El said, “Please repeat, Cap. I thought I heard you say you needed me to fly the dropship back into the hangar I just flew it out of.”
“You heard right,” said Nate. “Something’s off about this mission, so we’re going to kill two birds with one stone. We’ll load the transmitter on the dropship, fly it out to the Bridge, and bolt it on while Hope makes repairs to the Tyche.”
“I hate you,” said El. “That thing is a pig to fly.”
“I hope you like bacon,” said Nate, “because you’re flying it out to the Bridge.”
“I fly the Tyche,” said El.
“Tyche’s grounded,” said Nate. “I need you to fly something else. C’mon, El. At least you’ll be flying something with Navy colors again. Hey. I tell you what. You can take Grace with you.” He looked at Grace, gave her a quick smile. “She’s good enough with tech. You won’t even need to leave the dropship.”
“Sorry, cap,” said El. “You’re breaking up! Crrssshhk … repeat … can’t hear…”
“Glad we all understand each other,” said Nate, clicking the comm off.
“You want me to go with her?” said Grace. “Nothing to Assess, out there.”
“Well, two reasons,” said Nate. “First up, El … frightens easy. I’d like someone out there with a steady hand.”
Her eyes searched his. “My hands aren’t that steady,” she said. “Not when other people are afraid.”
That’s curious. “Maybe,” he said. “But second? I think you’re wrong.”
“About?” she turned back out the window, and they both watched the massive asteroid turn in space.
“I think there’ll be plenty of things to Assess.” Nate pointed at the asteroid. “Just … hell. I’ve got a feeling. Just don’t go near that.”
“Don’t you worry,” said Grace. “In and out, easy job, and then a nice completion bonus for everyone.”
Yeah. Easy job. Life was too short to get mixed up in more Republic noise. Nate had had his fill of that back when he wore the Emperor’s Black, and he hadn’t even been in the war proper. Washed out, a metal hand on the stump of his arm, before it started. It’d be nice to have things easy for a change.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Grace was glad she wasn’t in the Tyche, sitting across from the Helm in Nate’s chair. It would have felt like him, the shape he’d worn into it. She wondered how it felt to be him, the safety of his crew the most important thing above all else. She knew his chair would have reminded her of him, from the wear on the material through to the smell of it.
It wouldn’t have been bad despite how much she would have wanted it to be. She didn’t want to like this crew.
She didn’t like this crew. It’s just that they were likable.
El was working the dropship’s controls, the holo in front of them quick and slick. It was more modern tech than sat inside the Tyche. “You good to go?”
Grace watched the autofactory in the Gladiator work on the Tyche. The dropship floated just outside the hangar doors, hard black around them, and it was easy to lose perspective out here. Forget just how big the Tyche was, even stripped bare, naked as a baby while the dawn of a foreign sun kissed her substructure. The Gladiator was huge, a monster, but for them she was a caring monster, nursing her smaller sister back to life. The autofactory’s arms cradled the Tyche’s frame, inner components laid bare. What was bent would be straightened. What couldn’t be straightened would be reforged. She’d been re-armed — Kohl had found a cache of torpedoes, and they’d be fitted to the Tyche. Nate—
Call him the captain. Don’t get close.
—the captain had said what the Navy doesn’t know won’t hurt them, and Hope had slid the armament order into the machines like it was nothing more than a new lick of paint. She’d said she was uploading schematics from the Tyche into the Gladiator, and seemed upset that the newer ship had known little about her older rival. Nate had asked how long’s this going to take, and Hope had said about twelve hours, so Nate had asked can it be done in less time, and she’d said sure, what don’t you want done, and that had been that. They had twelve hours before the Tyche had a refit courtesy of the Gladiator’s clever machines.
“Hey,” said El. “You with me?”
Grace shook herself. “Sorry. I just … I get the feeling like we might not see her again.”
“The Tyche?” El gave a snort. “She’s not going anywhere.”
Exactly what I meant. But Grace said, “Yeah, of course. I’m good. Let’s punch it.”
“’Punch it?’”
“Or whatever it is,” said Grace, waving a hand out the window, taking in the universe and everything in it, “you do.”
“We’re in a tin can with a belly full of lead. We’re not punching jack. We’ll waddle out to the Bridge, and you’ll bolt said lead to it, and we’ll fly home for a beer.” El shook her head. “’Punch it.’ You watch too many holos.”
But Grace picked up pride/satisfaction, and she smiled. “Whatever, stick. You want to fly, fly.”
The dropship grumbled around them, none of the Tyche’s noise insulation. This was pure military, enough room for a handful of Marines or just enough room for a transmitter. No comforts here, a thin metal skin between them and the hard black. Grace leaned back as El worked the console, the Gladiator seeming to pull up and away as they curved left and down from her. A trip to the Bridge, then hit the planet, grab some beers, and maybe — just maybe — find out what the hell was going on.
• • •
At the half-way point, El had flipped the ship, begun the deceleration burn, keeping an even 1G on their backs at all time. The dropship didn’t have an Endless Drive, no positive energy field generator to give them artificial gravity. Without thrust, they were bobbing corks out here. Grace had been on a few ships and knew there was a tendency from long-time spacers to cut thrust down a couple notches. Once you got used to being weightless some of the time, gravity’s tireless clutch could become … wearisome.
El wasn’t one of those pilots. Grace broke the companionable silence between them. “Born on a crust, then?”
“Yeah,” said El. “I love flying, but I love solid rock under my feet when I’m drinking beer. You know how it is.”
“I know how it is,” agreed Grace. She was getting focus/distracted in even measure from El. The Helm wanted to focus, but didn’t want to be rude. “You coming out to help me work on this thing when we get there?”