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Authors: Linda Andrews
Tags: The Founders War Begins
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crown.
Apollie frowned. “It is possible, if the virus hits critical mass during evening hours.”
Sarcasm was lost on aliens, or maybe they didn’t have a funny bone.
Taking the needle from Doc’s hand, Bei motioned for Nell to turn her back to him. “Does this fluorescence indicate she is fighting the infection, or just that she is infected?”
Twisting on the cushion, Nell lifted her hair out of the way. Cold goo tickled down her neck. Jeez, why didn’t doctors think to warm the stuff up?
“Fluorescence could mean both. Usually recovery is within twelve hours after this symptom appears.” Apollie flashed a screen at her.
Nell rubbed the base of her skull. She didn’t understand wingdings, nor did she want to waste the last hours of her life teasing out the meaning. “So I guess we pray I light up like a beacon, instead of hang there like a burnt out bulb.”
The shuttle shook as it entered the planet’s atmosphere.
Stuffing the cable into his arm, Doc staggered back to his bench.
Bei braced his hands on the overhead compartments and lurched toward the ladder. “Looks like you won’t be losing your favorite medics to pilot school.”
“Admiral.” Queens’s deep baritone crackled over the com. “We’re getting interference from the atmosphere.”
“Altitude dropping. Forward impulse engine off-line.” Stress broke Brooklyn’s whiskey smooth notes.
The lights flickered.
Nell floated off her seat. Her blond hair drifted in front of her face. NDA streamed off her, lashing her to the bench.
Darkness swallowed the compartment, then emergency lights bathed them in bloody hues.
Bei shot up the ladder. His boots disappeared through the hatch just as a deathly quiet displaced the thrum of the engines.
An invisible hand yanked Doc from his seat and slammed his head into the overhead compartment.
Apollie threw herself against the bench and held on. A thud and cry rang out from the upper deck.
Nell’s stomach flopped into her mouth. The straps dug into her shoulders. Something told her she wasn’t going to like how this trip ended. She clung to her straps as her feet struggled to find purchase. No, please, no .
“Shit.” Queens shouted. “Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Starflight 1. Cascade failures in all systems. We are going down. I repeat. Starflight 1 is going down.”
Chapter 6
Bei activated the magnetic generators in his prostheses. He hung upside down on the stairs to the bridge for a moment before the shuttle flipped upright. Bracing his arms against the walls, he mitigated the spin. He could accept that he would die on the planet, but it wouldn’t be in a damn shuttle crash. Wading through the sludge-like pull of artificial gravity, he reached the cramped, oval bridge. “Report.”
Queens sat in the co-pilot’s seat. His olive-toned fingers dug furrows in the dark helm. Instead of the sleek console of the other Syn-En ships, this con had been retrofitted with archaic looking manual controls. The harness strained to hold him in his seat. “Every fucking system is off-line. We’ve gone dark.”
Beside him, Brooklyn clutched the control wheel. It remained embedded in the con. “Manual controls not responding.”
White clouds smeared the forward oblong portholes.
Bei’s fingers swept over the back of his neck. Smooth skin sealed his cerebral interface. Shit. He’d removed his fiber optics to lower his chance of infection. Dropping to his knees, he lifted the nail on his index finger and jacked the digit into the emergency port. Static crackled inside his skull. His avatar shimmered into being and gathered the static into a dirty snowball. “How far are we from the surface?”
A cry sounded from the crew quarters. The sound of vomiting reached him from the cargo hold.
Queens’s black eyebrows met over his straight nose. “Three minutes. Tops.”
Brooklyn stomped on the pedals fused to the deck. “As soon as we punched through the atmosphere, systems
Apollie frowned. “It is possible, if the virus hits critical mass during evening hours.”
Sarcasm was lost on aliens, or maybe they didn’t have a funny bone.
Taking the needle from Doc’s hand, Bei motioned for Nell to turn her back to him. “Does this fluorescence indicate she is fighting the infection, or just that she is infected?”
Twisting on the cushion, Nell lifted her hair out of the way. Cold goo tickled down her neck. Jeez, why didn’t doctors think to warm the stuff up?
“Fluorescence could mean both. Usually recovery is within twelve hours after this symptom appears.” Apollie flashed a screen at her.
Nell rubbed the base of her skull. She didn’t understand wingdings, nor did she want to waste the last hours of her life teasing out the meaning. “So I guess we pray I light up like a beacon, instead of hang there like a burnt out bulb.”
The shuttle shook as it entered the planet’s atmosphere.
Stuffing the cable into his arm, Doc staggered back to his bench.
Bei braced his hands on the overhead compartments and lurched toward the ladder. “Looks like you won’t be losing your favorite medics to pilot school.”
“Admiral.” Queens’s deep baritone crackled over the com. “We’re getting interference from the atmosphere.”
“Altitude dropping. Forward impulse engine off-line.” Stress broke Brooklyn’s whiskey smooth notes.
The lights flickered.
Nell floated off her seat. Her blond hair drifted in front of her face. NDA streamed off her, lashing her to the bench.
Darkness swallowed the compartment, then emergency lights bathed them in bloody hues.
Bei shot up the ladder. His boots disappeared through the hatch just as a deathly quiet displaced the thrum of the engines.
An invisible hand yanked Doc from his seat and slammed his head into the overhead compartment.
Apollie threw herself against the bench and held on. A thud and cry rang out from the upper deck.
Nell’s stomach flopped into her mouth. The straps dug into her shoulders. Something told her she wasn’t going to like how this trip ended. She clung to her straps as her feet struggled to find purchase. No, please, no .
“Shit.” Queens shouted. “Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Starflight 1. Cascade failures in all systems. We are going down. I repeat. Starflight 1 is going down.”
Chapter 6
Bei activated the magnetic generators in his prostheses. He hung upside down on the stairs to the bridge for a moment before the shuttle flipped upright. Bracing his arms against the walls, he mitigated the spin. He could accept that he would die on the planet, but it wouldn’t be in a damn shuttle crash. Wading through the sludge-like pull of artificial gravity, he reached the cramped, oval bridge. “Report.”
Queens sat in the co-pilot’s seat. His olive-toned fingers dug furrows in the dark helm. Instead of the sleek console of the other Syn-En ships, this con had been retrofitted with archaic looking manual controls. The harness strained to hold him in his seat. “Every fucking system is off-line. We’ve gone dark.”
Beside him, Brooklyn clutched the control wheel. It remained embedded in the con. “Manual controls not responding.”
White clouds smeared the forward oblong portholes.
Bei’s fingers swept over the back of his neck. Smooth skin sealed his cerebral interface. Shit. He’d removed his fiber optics to lower his chance of infection. Dropping to his knees, he lifted the nail on his index finger and jacked the digit into the emergency port. Static crackled inside his skull. His avatar shimmered into being and gathered the static into a dirty snowball. “How far are we from the surface?”
A cry sounded from the crew quarters. The sound of vomiting reached him from the cargo hold.
Queens’s black eyebrows met over his straight nose. “Three minutes. Tops.”
Brooklyn stomped on the pedals fused to the deck. “As soon as we punched through the atmosphere, systems
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