Page 5 of Full Speed to a Crash Landing

“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 hasno 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 outuntil 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 O2tank.

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. “Ajaxonjetpack.”

“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 leaveit.” 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.”

3

Nandina wasn’t lying. Dinner waits for me in the mess hall. Real food, too, anactualmeal.

It comes with an audience. The captain’s there, and First takes up a position right beside her, at least until she tells them to go back to the bridge and “monitor.” Which means, of course, there’s something—or someone—to monitor. I tuck into the tray in front of me—there’s protein goop in the slop, but the bumpy bits have to be actual, real lentils, which is nice, and whether the leaves spotting the mix are rehydrated or not, I absolutely appreciate the chance to eat something green that’s not a by-product of recycler worms.

The captain talks to Nandina, who, after assuring her I’m healthy, not carrying some weird alien plague, and unlikely to die anytime soon, is sent away. I wave at her, and she waves back. Such a nice doctor.

Rian White stays. He sits down across from me even when the captain remains standing. And the captain doesn’t like that. And he doesn’t care. And these lentils are really good.

“Are there seconds?” I ask.

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