Page 62 of Tail, Dark and Handsome: Celestial Mates
“I can message my cousin. Chase is not without resources. He can rescue if we have enough fuel to sit and wait.” He frowned as he spoke. This wasn’t an option he wanted to pursue, but it helped ease her stress knowing it was an option.
“Let’s call that Plan B. I can do this. Top of my class, remember?” She kept her tone light but still kissed the crystal pendant around her neck. The universe gave her what she could handle.
Mari settled in and ran a diagnostic on the ship’s shields. They were going to take a pounding soon. “The next hour is going to suck hard, but I’ve flown through worse,” she said.
“Truly?”
“Winter,” she slowly turned toward him, “I’m trying to boost morale. Don’t question the boosting.”
“Allow me to help,” he said, still hanging in the doorway.
“Fetch me some water, please. How good are you at fiddling with machine bits?”
“Better with programming, but I know which end of the wrench to use as a hammer.”
Marigold stared at him, blinking slowly while his terrible joke processed. His tail did this nervous dance behind him, thumping into the doorframe. He reached down, holding it still. A laugh tore out of her. “You have the worst comedic timing. That is a horrible joke.”
One ear twitched, almost like a shrug. “If you can’t laugh in the face of impending doom, then when can you?”
“Again. Morale.” She held both her hands out, palms up, and gestured upward. “Boost it. Okay.” She turned back to the helm. “I’m diverting power to the shields. We don’t need light or environmental functions in cargo or our cabins.”
“Except Zero’s.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. “I can do that. Just in case.” She opened a comm channel to Zero’s room. “Zero, my darling mathematical construct, I’m turning down life support, but your room should be fine. If you get cold, come to the cockpit.”
Winter did that thing with his ear again.
“Stress makes me slap-happy,” she said, barely restraining herself from spilling how she turned into a giggly mess the night before her final exams. “Water? Then you need to keep rerouting power to the shields. The computer wants to revert to the default.”
“I believe there is a manual override. On it.”
Alone, she took half a minute to calm her nerves. She needed a clear state of mind, peace, and complete spatial awareness. Unfortunately, her brain insisted on being a tool and supplied images of the ship being perforated just like the holey cheese.
Oh, stars, they were boned.
She wiped sweaty palms on her trouser legs. She needed a distraction to get her out of her head. When they were kids, she and Joseph used to sing a nonsense song when they felt scared. Mari hummed a bar but couldn’t find the melody. Or remember the words.
As the ship entered the asteroid field, sensors lit up with a whole set of vivid colors reserved exclusively for freak outs.
“Yeah, I know,” she muttered, turning off the audio. The last thing her fragile concentration needed was a wailing klaxon in her ear. Fluff was serious. She got it.
Gravity disengaged. For approximately three seconds, she hung in the air, strapped to the chair by the safety harness.
Gravity slammed back. Her hip protested. She hissed, shifting to relieve the discomfort. She’d feel that tomorrow.
“Explain what that was!” she barked over the comm.
“Apologies. The switches are poorly labeled,” Winter replied.
“CayneTech ships—”
“Do not say it. I will have words with the designer. This is unacceptable.”
Lights dimmed and returned. Winter must have set the manual override. The rest of the ship would be down to emergency lighting and minimal environmental standards. If things got dire, she could limit environmental and power to just the cockpit. It’d be crap, but all three could squeeze in.
She narrowly dodged a honking huge boulder. Debris grew thicker, shifting and drifting together. She steered toward an opening, hoping to find a clear route.
“Blast it. Computer, call Joseph.”
