Page 36 of Lorran
“We are alone, doing an activity together. Therefore, a date.” He sounded so damn pleased with himself.
“This is your job. Dragging me along while you work is not a date. Also, a haunted spaceship still isn’t romantic.”
“Noted. No more haunted ghost ships,” he said.
As they moved further into the depths of the ship, damage from the attack increased. Scorch marks were more frequent. Electric sparks flared and died in the dark, internal systems trying to restart. Floating debris, bits of metal and broken fixtures, cluttered the corridor.
Lorran pushed the largest obstacles to one side. “Be mindful of the shrapnel when gravity is restored. The armor is puncture resistant, but it does not absorb impact from a blow.”
Wyn shivered at the word shrapnel. “Got it. Don’t get hit.”
“I would be distressed,” he replied in a tone as light as if stating a preference for mushrooms over olives on a pizza, which made her giggle. He turned, and again the glare from the flashlight obscured his face. “Are you receiving enough oxygen? My distress at your potential injury is not amusing.”
Which made her laugh harder because he sounded so damnearnest. Maybe there was something wrong with her oxygen supply.
“I know. Sorry. Nerves. Ignore me.”
“Impossible.”
He stopped at a closed door. “Well, this is a problem. Stay here.”
“I’m literally magnetized to the floor. I’m not going anywhere.”
Lorran braced his back to one side of the door and worked his fingers into the door’s seam. “Go here. Do this. No one ever mentions how blasted difficult it is to open locked doors with no power,” he muttered.
Slowly the door opened with a groan of protesting metal. Once the door opened barely wide enough to squeeze through, Lorran ordered her to stay.
He slipped inside and left her alone in the dark.
Lorran
He assessed the helm. The room had been damaged. Judging by the discarded hammer that floated freely, deliberately damaged. Someone took the hammer to the ship’s computer.
“It was definitely the Suhlik,” he said, opening the channel to Mylomon.
“You have recorded footage?”
“Negative. The computer system in the helm has been destroyed, either by the crew or the Suhlik. No smuggler would damage a captured ship.” Not when there was profit to be made in salvage and scrap.
“Determine if anything escaped destruction, then search crew quarters for possible survivors. I will transport Ulrik to the shuttle.”
“Any clue what research Ulrik conducted?”
“No. The crew may not have had time to take the research with them before evacuating. Be mindful of that in your search.”
“Understood.” Look for hiding survivors and research.
Lorran cleared the room of the most hazardous debris and opened the door wider for his mate. “Come in. Step carefully.”
Wyn squeezed through the door, her portable light sweeping over the room. Various screens reflected the light, reminding him of predators lurking in the dark. “It’s like the ship is dead,” she said.
“Hold the light here, please,” he said, indicating a panel. He removed it and climbed underneath.
Dead was a good way to describe the ship. Wires and blown circuits floated, barely tethered in place. Other areas were void, as if components had been hastily torn away. Interesting. This suggested the crew caused the damage. What information did they not want to fall into Suhlik’s clutches?
The lights flickered on. He felt the pull of gravity, pushing his back uncomfortably against the floor. Debris clattered to the floor.
His mate squeaked, falling to her knees, and dropping the flashlight. It rolled across the floor. “A little warning,” she said.
