Page 2

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I ’m so cold.

No, wait. It’s just my nose that’s cold. That’s odd. I squint my eyes open a fraction, then immediately regret that choice and also every choice in my life that led up to this moment of lights so blindingly white that they pierce straight into my brain and fry whatever remaining thoughts I might have.

“Ama Lamarr?” a voice asks gently.

“Ada,” I correct automatically.

“Wow, she’s alive.” A different voice, one a little farther away, mildly surprised.

“I’m not too certain of that,” I grumble. I lift an arm, but that arm feels like a million pounds, so I drop it again. My mouth feels weird. I flop my tongue out—too dry—and try to figure out why everything feels cold again.

Hands grab for me and pull me to a sitting position, a croaking groan escaping my lips. I risk opening my eyes again. It still hurts, but it’s better than being in the dark.

I’m on a floor, legs splayed, and a small bald woman with dark skin is crouching in front of me, eyes concerned. She nudges my shoulder gently, and I realize there’s a wall behind me. I lean against it, slumping immediately. That takes a lot out of me, so I suck in some air, and that’s when I realize where the weird cold is coming from—a nasal tube is blowing pure oxygen into me.

“Here,” the woman tells me, thrusting a bottle into my hands. I chug it, and icy liquid slithers down my throat. I’m so tired of cold. I’m so tired in general.

“My name is Nandina Mohammed,” the woman says. She’s the gentle voice. I like her a lot.

“Nice to meet you,” I croak. “I think my eyes have hemorrhaged.”

She nods. “That was a close call.”

I gulp some more water. “Don’t get me wrong, super grateful to not be dead,” I say, “but what the fuck took so long?” I tip my head back, thunking it against the metal wall, and peer up at the other people. While Nandina is now on her knees, scanning me with something white and flashy and important-looking, there are three other people standing nearby, scowling as if they’re deeply perturbed by the inconvenience of my rescue.

“Hello,” I say, waving cheerily at them with my left hand as Nandina scans my right arm.

“Pulse elevated,” Nandina mutters.

“It’s been an exciting evening.” I think I see her bite back a smile. I glance up at the other people still staring down at me. No reaction. Tough crowd.

The short white woman in front stands with her legs apart, arms crossed, taking up as much room as her petite frame is capable of. Unconsciously, I think. She wears a tight-fitting jacket that has a line of red at the collar. Noted. This ship is large but not large enough for the captain to literally wear a badge of her rank, just the color stripe. She’s got a hard face. Looks like a planner, and I didn’t file the triplicate form to be added to the agenda.

The person just behind her and a little to the left has broad shoulders and big muscles. Seems a little jumpy, eyes darting around, looking for danger in this well-lit corridor tastefully tiled in white enamel and accented with chromium. On the captain’s other side is a man with unkempt hair. Average size, average build. Totally forgettable. Except for the sharpest, clearest hazel eyes I’ve ever seen. I shudder. From the cold air, obviously. Then Nandina rips off the nasal tube, and I flinch at the sudden movement.

“You’re back up to normal levels,” she says.

“That’s me,” I say. “Normal.” I’ve got my eyes on the trio looming over us. The captain ignores the big person—despite the military bearing, they seem to be a subordinate. She keeps turning to the other man, and I’m starting to think maybe the captain’s not as in charge as she wants to be.

“Well, not quite normal.” Nandina’s a smiler. She looks to the captain. “I’d like to get her to the med bay.”

“I’d like to get her off my ship,” the captain says.

“Got any mechanics who can fix my ship’s life support and also the three-meter hole in the side?” I ask.

Her eyes flick to the airlock. Just a quick movement, nothing more, but the meaning is clear. She doesn’t need to fix my ship to toss me back outside. It’s an idle threat.

Probably.

“This is going to be a fun stay aboard Hotel Halifax. ” I attempt a grin, but it costs too much energy to sustain for more than a second.

“This is a working mission that cannot afford to be interrupted by—” the burly person starts, and then the captain interrupts them.

“First, take our ‘guest’ to the med bay for Mohammed.”

I push against the wall, trying to get my legs to work enough to get me into a standing position, but my feet slip. When I got into the Halifax ’s hyperbaric chamber, I was wearing a full suit. Now my boots are gone. I took my helmet off myself already, before I passed out. Panic flares inside me. I need my suit. My suit. I whip my head around as the first officer steps closer to me, the effect making me dizzy. Bile rises up in my throat, but I swallow it down, frantically trying to see through the red haze.

Light fingers tap my hand. My head sloshes forward, looking down at Nandina’s touch, then back up into her concerned face.

“My boots,” I gasp.

“Right over there,” Nandina says, pointing. My helmet’s beside them, and so is my LifePack. Shit, I was panicking about boots, and they’re nothing compared to the backpack-like device I have to attach to my suit that holds everything I need to not die out in the black. Air, the jetpack, temp and pressure units. Worth more than the boots. And I’ve upgraded that shit, personalized the rig to hit my every need.

“First,” the captain says impatiently. I assumed the person was the first officer, but I wonder if it’s actually their name? Perhaps they prefer the title to a name. Either way, First scoops me up, arms under my knees and around my shoulders, like I’m a fussy baby.

“Hey!” I say.

Nandina stands too, as if this is all perfectly routine. She starts down the corridor, First following behind, stoically looking forward to pretend I’m not flopping around in their arms. “I’m coming back for my stuff!” I say as loudly as my ragged voice can allow. “Do not steal my stuff!”

The captain’s eyes widen just a little, which, frankly, is rude. That’s a good suit. It saved my life. I mean, it also almost killed me when it ran out of air, but before that, it saved my life. Plus, the jetpack cost extra. It’s really fancy, if I do say so myself.

Behind her, the man who doesn’t seem to miss a thing pushes forward and follows First. I rest my head on First’s shoulder and blink up at the man trailing behind us. He’s dressed in a brown shirt, simple but neat. My eyes slowly glide up and down him, and they find nothing at all objectionable. He’s so average—height, weight, everything—but there’s something about him that tells me he’s the most interesting person aboard this ship. After me, obviously. I don’t know why I keep looking at him. Tan skin, brown hair cut neatly. If I had to pick a word to describe him, it’d be trim . But he’s got this air about him, like he knows how the whole universe fits together, and that makes me wonder how I might fit into his carefully organized world. Does he have a slot for chaos, or am I going to have break some stuff to make room on the shelf for me? Either route poses fun and exciting possibilities.

“Hello,” I tell the man trailing behind us. I try to sound casual, like this is a routine day, being cradled by a big hulking person on my way to a med bay while I have hemorrhaged eyes and a mouth that had all the saliva boiled out of it, but my voice is still all scratchy and raw and my ears are slightly ringing, so I’m not even sure if I got both syllables out.

The man smiles. “Hello,” he says back. Oh, good. He’s going to pretend this is normal too. I immediately like him even more.

“You know,” I say, wiggling so I don’t have to crane my neck around quite so much, “if you’d waited, I bet First would have carried you to the med bay, too.”

First grunts.

“I don’t mind walking,” the man says.

“But consider this: you could be not walking. And carried. Like a baby.”

“It does look comfortable.”

First turns a corner, and glass doors slide open. I’m trying to think of something quippy and witty and charming to say about how comfortable First’s arms are, but then they dump me on a table that’s lacking in the padding department, and my breath comes out with a little oof .

After dropping me, First heads back out the door. The man who followed us here looks around, unsure of where to stand, but eventually leans against the wall, watching us. Nandina is already at the table by the bed, various scanners beeping and, presumably, scanning.

“You’re recovering just fine,” Nandina says. She holds up a small bottle. “You want to do the eye drops, or would you like me to?”

“Ugh,” I say, but I take the bottle.

“Three drops, each eye.”

I lean back and put the medicine in my eyes. It feels slimy for an instant, but the more I blink, the better my vision seems. Less red, anyway.

My suit is already partially exposed, the seal-tight released and the inner zipper showing the top portion of my chest.

“This is a good suit,” Nandina says.

“Thanks. It was ridiculously expensive—”

“Now strip.”

I blink at her. “Not even dinner first?”

She chuckles. “You’ve got some mild muscle tears. And a little atrophy. How long have you been in space this round? You really need to have some proper gravity every three turns.”

“Medics always say that.” It wasn’t hard to guess what Nandina’s role on the Halifax is, but I appreciate the twinkle in her eye at the acknowledgment.

“I’m guessing you’ve not seen solid ground for at least six turns.” Nandina gives me a stern look, hands on her hips.

Beyond her I catch a glimpse of the good-looking man, gaze as razored as ever. “Seven,” I say, watching him even as I answer her. It’s like I can see tiny gears inside his brain, winding around everything I say. “Or eight? Maybe five. Who can remember, really?” I wait until he focuses on me and shoot him a grin.

Oh, a poker face. Nice. Totally gonna break that.

“You take your vits, right?” Nandina says. “Also, I wasn’t joking.”

“About what?”

“Strip.”

She’s the doc, but a quick glance at Eyes tells me he has no intention of leaving, and there’s not a curtain for privacy in this med bay. It’s all bright white lights and exposed beds.

“Dinner after,” Nandina promises.

I have to lean back to get the next part of the seal-tight open. “If you’re getting a sneak peek, at least let me know your name,” I say, my tone light. I shrug out of the shoulders of my suit and meet the man’s eyes.

“Rian White,” he says in a voice that counteracts all that cold that had been coursing through me.

Some men have the attitude that there are no bras in space. Which is bullshit. But while Sharp-Eyes Rian White may keep a stony blank face, there’s a nice little flush when I don’t break eye contact with him as I push my suit down to my hips.

“Good enough,” Nandina says. She slaps a few med patches on my mostly bare back, which stings for a second, but there’s some excellent stuff in those things. My body gets all good and woobly. Nandina helps me get rid of the rest of the insulated thermal radiation suit. I have the thin version, which is nice, but it’s still clunky, and we have to take our time, not risking a tear. I could do it all by myself, but it’d be rough in my current condition. And slow. There are times when stripping slowly is preferable, but now’s not it.

First walks back in, sees me half-undressed, and immediately looks up at the ceiling. They’ve brought my LifePack, helmet, and boots, and they hold both laden arms out until Nandina relieves them of the burden, stowing them in a storage locker. The medic hands me some standard-issue—a tunic-style shirt that hangs loosely on me and drawstring pants. Rubber-soled slide-ons are the final touch. It’s all a lot more comfortable than my suit and boots, but comfort doesn’t matter. After folding my suit up and stowing it with the boots and helmet, Nandina starts to hook up the intakes and chargers on my LifePack, starting with the O 2 tank.

Nandina pauses after that, the fuel charger in one hand. She glances back at me, a question on her lips that I answer before she can ask. “That’s a jaxon jet,” I say, smug in the knowledge that everyone in the room will be suitably impressed. I take a quick glance around. Maybe they didn’t hear me. “A jaxon jetpack.”

“Oh,” Nandina says, but it’s clear she doesn’t understand the depth of importance that type of jetpack entails. Jaxon fuel, found on the terran worlds in at least two colonial systems, is extremely difficult to mine, but the best of the best. Most suits have basic units, but a jaxon-fueled jetpack burns cold and lasts forever. It’s stable, efficient, and reliable, with precise positioning controls. Other jets can get you up in the air; a jaxon lets you soar like a dragon.

Nandina looks at the charger unit in her hand, the one that doesn’t have anywhere to go. “So, does that mean I don’t have to hook it up—”

“Yeah.” I glance at the others. “It’s fine; you can leave it.” No one here appreciates good tech. Nandina closes the locker door after connecting the other elements of my LifePack to the recharger.

First is still staring at the ceiling, waiting for me to give them the all clear that I’m dressed. “Are you going to carry me to dinner?” I ask. “Because that would be nice.”

“You can walk now.” Nandina’s reading those scanners again.

“Just because I can doesn’t mean I should.” My words are slurring a little. I bat my eyes at Rian. “Or you can carry me.”

“I didn’t take you for a damsel in distress,” he comments. Nandina puts some more patches on me—two just under my clavicle—and I start to feel a little more sober. Caffeine patches, I think, or maybe some adrenaline to counteract the relaxers. Up and down, up and down.

“Damsel, yes,” I say. “Distress? Never.”

“Not even when you’re running out of air?”

I flash him my best grin. “Not even then.”