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Tags: Fiction, Science-Fiction, Space Opera

her hands. Perhaps, she thought, the only alternative open to him was worse than mere imprisonment by the Dato.

    The Box might have chuckled softly at that, but she couldn’t be certain.


2

    COEA Midnight
    ‘954.10.30 EN
    0710

    Lander Bay Three was one of two on the officers’ deck, situated at the fore of the Midnight. Due to the frigate’s unusual configuration, the ceiling of the uppermost decks comprised the outer shell of the hull; Roche’s quarters, being the last on the officers’ deck, were near the midway point. To reach the lander bay, she and Cane had to follow one of the main access corridors along half the length of the ship—but at least they were not required to change levels.
    The security station at the end of her corridor was empty, the crewman who had occupied it earlier obviously performing battle duties elsewhere. The main access corridor was likewise unoccupied. The occasional rolling boom echoed along its length as Dato weapons exploded near the hull of the frigate. Perhaps it was Roche’s imagination, but the explosions seemed to grow louder, and more frequent, as the minutes passed. If so, the disruption shields were failing, allowing the blink-bombs to jump out of hyperspace and explode a little closer to the frigate every time. It was only a matter of time before one snuck through entirely and detonated deep in the heart of the ship. Although small enough to defeat the constraints that normally prevented matter from slow-jumping in a gravity well, just one contained sufficient explosive to cripple a vessel.
    Gravity fluctuations kept their pace to a steady jog; any faster risked a fall, especially with the weight of the valise to upset her balance. Cane matched her stride easily, moving with the powerful grace of a trained athlete. The occasional lurch of the floor didn’t even break his stride, and it was he who occasionally lent her a hand, never the other way around. Not bad, she thought, for someone who had just emerged from a life-support coma.
    By the time they reached the end of the corridor, smoke had begun to filter in—a slowly thickening blue haze coming from somewhere beyond the abandoned security point. She watched it carefully as they neared it, assessing the inflow. Her first impressions were correct: the buildup was gradual, probably isolated to the local ventilation system, and not a serious problem—yet.
    Roche turned left at the end of the corridor, away from the source of the smoke. A series of doglegs led to EVA control, a large self-contained chamber onto which the two lander bays opened.
     the Box said as they took the first corner.



    There was a momentary hesitation as the AI assessed the available data.



    Turning to Cane, she explained the situation. “We need that lander. If whoever’s got there ahead of us amounts to more than three people, we may have to fight for it.”
    Cane nodded calmly. The idea of combat didn’t appear to faze him in any way. “Understood, Commander. You’ll have my full support.”
    “Good.” Although she halfheartedly listened for accent or anomalies of syntax, there were none. He spoke with the sort of generalized Standard that one heard all over the galaxy. “Not far now.”
    They rounded the last corner slowly. Roche was up front, her pistol at