Chapter 11 #2
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. My hands were shaking. The datapad slipped from my fingers, clattering to the deck.
Zor'go caught it before it could slide away, his much larger hand steady where mine trembled. "Excellent work, Architect Chauncy."
"We're not clear yet," Vaxon said, studying his tactical displays. "Those raiders didn't follow us through the field, but they're not leaving either. They're holding position at the field's edge."
"Waiting for us to come out," I said.
"Or waiting for their friends to arrive. I'm reading additional energy signatures. Could be more ships incoming." Vaxon pulled up long-range scans. "We need to move. The exit vector on the far side of the field is clear, but we'll need to transit another dense sector to reach it."
"Ship's not going to make it," Kret'nor said bluntly. "Port shield generator is compromised. We take many more hits and we'll lose containment."
Zor'go studied the tactical display, his expression unreadable. "How long will it take to repair?"
"Two hours minimum. Longer if we want it properly sealed."
"We don't have two hours," I said. The asteroid field rotation would shift dramatically in that time, closing our exit route. "It's now or never."
"There's another option." Vaxon highlighted a point on the scan.
"That hollowed asteroid, approximately forty-seven minutes from our current position.
Scans show it's stable, approximately eight hundred meters in diameter.
Large enough to hide the shuttle inside.
We could make repairs there, then exit when the raider patrol rotates. "
Zor'go nodded. "Make it happen. Jalina, you're our navigator until we reach shelter."
The transit to the hollowed asteroid took every bit of skill Kret'nor possessed and every calculation Zor'go and I could generate between us. The route required passing through three more dense clusters, each one a maze of tumbling rocks and split-second decisions.
My voice went hoarse from calling out corrections. My eyes burned from staring at holographic trajectories. My brain felt like it was running at overclock, processing spatial relationships faster than I'd known I was capable of.
But we made it.
The hollowed asteroid was exactly as the scans had promised—a massive rock with a cavity at its center, like nature had scooped out its core and left a perfect hiding place. Kret'nor guided us inside, the entrance barely wide enough for Lucky Strike's bulk.
Inside, the cavity was dark except for our running lights. The walls were rough and irregular, scarred with the marks of whatever ancient impact or volcanic activity had created this space. It felt weirdly safe, like crawling into a cave while predators prowled outside.
"Landing on the interior surface," Kret'nor announced. "Engaging magnetic clamps."
The shuttle settled with a gentle thud. Through the viewscreen, I could see the curved interior walls of our temporary sanctuary, the rough stone surface marked with mineral deposits that glittered in our lights.
Zor'go immediately pulled up damage reports. "Engineering team, assess all systems. Priority on shield generators and structural integrity. Security, maintain passive scans for raider movement. Medical, status on survivors?"
"Stable," came the reply from the medical bay. "Dr. Yar'thon has them sedated and is treating injuries. The woman, Maya, keeps trying to wake up, but she needs rest."
"Keep her sedated if necessary." Zor'go looked at me. "You should check on them."
I should. Maya had grabbed my hand in that damaged escape pod, her eyes desperate and delirious. Knew you'd come. Knew Liberty wouldn't abandon us.
The guilt that crashed over me was physically painful. I'd been building a life on Mothership. Working on expansion projects. Eating lunch with friends. Kissing Zor'go on space station viewing platforms.
Living.
While Maya and Jacob and Tess had been drifting in a jury-rigged escape pod for months, barely surviving, hoping someone would find them.
I'd almost forgotten to keep searching. Had let myself get comfortable. Had let myself be happy.
"Jalina?" Zor'go's voice was gentle.
"I'll check on them," I said, my voice coming out wrong. Too tight. Too strained.
I left the bridge before anyone could see my eyes watering.
The medical bay was brighter than the rest of the shuttle, lit by the clinical white of emergency medical systems. Dr. Yar'thon, a Talaxian with four arms and the most soothing bedside manner I'd ever encountered, was working on Jacob, sealing a deep laceration on his side with a dermal regenerator.
Maya lay on the middle cot, sedated but restless.
Her face was gaunt, her cheekbones sharp under skin that had seen too much stress and too little nutrition.
She looked nothing like the vibrant architect I'd known on Liberty, the woman who'd given passionate presentations about colony design and always had three different colored pens tucked into her hair.
I pulled a chair close to her cot and sat, taking her hand carefully. Her fingers were cold.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry it took so long."
Maya's eyes fluttered but didn't open. Under the sedation, she murmured something incomprehensible.
"We're going to get you home," I continued, even though she couldn't hear me. Couldn't understand. "Back to Mothership. You'll be safe there. Medical facilities, good food, actual beds. Dana's there, remember Dana Robinson? She's alive. She's safe. She's happy."
The words felt like betrayal. Dana was happy. I was happy.
And Maya had been drifting in a damaged escape pod, watching her fellow survivors die one by one, jury-rigging a beacon from salvaged parts and desperate hope.
Tess stirred on the far cot, her eyes opening briefly. She was younger than Maya and me, maybe mid-twenties. On Liberty, she'd been a botanist. Now she just looked broken.
"Water," she croaked.
I grabbed a hydration pack from the medical supplies, helped her drink. Her throat worked slowly, like she'd forgotten how to swallow properly.
"Where—" she started.
"You're safe. We found your beacon. We're taking you to Mothership." I kept my voice steady, professional. "You're going to be okay."
"Maya? Jacob?"
"Both alive. Being treated."
Tess's eyes welled with tears. "We thought... no one was coming. We thought..."
"I know." I squeezed her hand. "But you're safe now. I promise."
She slipped back into unconsciousness, exhaustion reclaiming her.
Dr. Yar'thon approached, his four hands working on different tasks simultaneously, checking monitors, adjusting medication drips, and recording notes.
"They'll recover physically. Psychologically?
" He made a gesture with two of his hands that translated roughly to uncertainty. "That will take longer."
"How long were they drifting?"
"Based on their medical scans? Approximately four months.
The escape pod was designed for three weeks maximum.
They survived on recycled water, emergency rations stretched far beyond recommended limits, and sheer determination.
" His large eyes studied me. "You knew one of them. On the previous ship."
"Maya. We worked together. Different projects, but we collaborated sometimes."
"That explains her reaction when she saw you. She used your name even while delirious."
The guilt twisted deeper. "I should have searched harder."
"You didn't know where to search. The galaxy is vast, and escape pods drift unpredictably." Dr. Yar'thon returned to his work, efficient and practical. "The important thing is you found them now."
Now. After four months. After whatever horrors they'd endured that had carved those haunted expressions into their faces.
I sat with them for another hour, not speaking, just being present.
Maya muttered occasionally in her sedation.
Jacob, a quiet man who'd been a structural engineer, I vaguely recalled, remained completely unconscious.
Tess woke twice more, each time briefly terrified until she remembered where she was.
Finally, Zor'go appeared in the medical bay doorway. His expression was carefully neutral, but his markings were subdued—that soft blue that meant concern.
"Repairs are proceeding," he said quietly. "Three more hours, possibly less. The raider patrol is still holding position at the field's edge."
"They're persistent."
"The beacon drew them just like it drew us. They're hoping for salvage. Or hostages." He moved closer, his voice lowering. "You don't need to stay here. Dr. Yar'thon has everything under control."
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because I feel like I should have found them sooner." The words came out harsh, angry at myself. "Because I've been on Mothership for six months, and I've been working on expansion projects and eating communal meals and going on space station dates while Maya was dying in an escape pod."
Zor'go was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Come with me."
"I shouldn't—"
"That wasn't a request."
His tone left no room for argument. I followed him out of the medical bay, through the corridors to a small observation lounge near the shuttle's stern. The viewport showed the interior wall of our hollow asteroid sanctuary, but Zor'go adjusted the display to show external sensors.
Stars. Thousands of them, scattered across the black.
"When I was young," Zor'go said, "my father took me to a spatial disaster site.
A colony station that had suffered catastrophic structural failure.
Seventeen hundred beings dead. The disaster happened because the head architect had missed a critical stress calculation in the station's support framework. "
I stayed quiet, sensing he needed to tell this story.
"The architect survived the collapse. Spent the rest of his life trying to make up for his mistake. Dedicated himself to disaster prevention, taught structural integrity at the academy, refused to ever design anything else. He was consumed by guilt."