Page 4 of Full Speed to a Crash Landing

“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 theHalifax’shyperbaric 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. Ineedmy suit.Mysuit. 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. “Donotsteal 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, butbeforethat, 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’ssoaverage—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 betrim. 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 benotwalking. 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 littleoof.

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 theHalifaxis, but I appreciate the twinkle in her eye at the acknowledgment.

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