Page 40 of Lorran
“Not the material. What’s printed on it.”
“Ah. Trifling,” he said, because while she did not call him a trifling alien, he heard it in her tone. “I am pleased that you have a name of endearment for me already.”
“Not a term of endearment, but sure. Looks like a map to me, but this is my second day in space. I bow to your experience.”
She fibbed. Fondness radiated from her being.
Against her better judgment, he suspected. He would not squander this opportunity.
“Yes, it is a star chart. An incredibly old one.” He took the map from her, careful not to damage the edges. The plasticine film grew brittle with age, which was the major factor for its falling out of favor. Digital information transferred easily—and was lost just as easily—but analog had a way of crumbling under your fingertips if you were careless.
The chart displayed Sangrin-Mahdfel territory. He recognized the planets, the gate to the system, and the commonly used routes. Space was vast and empty. All too easily, even the most advanced navigational system could lose its way without guideposts. Transports often kept to the same routes, using the same way markers to stay on course.
What was different were the settlements, stations, and bases. Some names he recognized. Some he knew were not on the map, having not yet been constructed. A few names were unknown to him.
“Is it useful?”
“Yes. If we factor in the drift from where the distress signal was sent to where we found the ship, and the average range of an escape pod, we can narrow down the search.” He pointed to a base on a nearby planet. “I believe this is a decommissioned Mahdfel base. It is a good place to begin our search.”
The planet would have a tolerable environment, shelter, and possibly supplies, depending on the age of the base and how long it sat empty. The decommissioned base is where he would head in such a situation.
A red haze flashed over his helmet. The suit’s computer detected a deterioration in the ship’s atmosphere.
Smoke.
Wyn
“What’s happening?” She tapped the edges of the helmet, trying to turn off the red light and the suit’s computer warning about hazardous environmental conditions. “I get it. Alarm. Turn off.”
“Do not panic,” Lorran said. He tapped the helmet, and the alarm fell silent. “There is a fire. The vessel’s fire suppression system will contain it.”
Only there was smoke rolling down the corridor.
“I don’t think it’s working,” she said, pointing to the smoke.
“Mylomon, can you activate the fire suppression system?”
The larger man shrugged.
Shrugged.
“I am not an engineer,” he said. His nonchalant response wasn’t winning her over. “One of the damaged systems must have sparked and combusted.”
Wyn thought of all the stray sparks they passed in the corridor. All those exposed wires and electricity were a disaster waiting to happen. Fire on a spaceship was never a good thing.
She shivered.
Lorran placed a hand under her chin and forced her to look up at him. She hadn’t realized that she had been staring at her feet. “All is well. Your suit will protect you from extreme temperatures and supply all the oxygen you need. Smoke will not harm you.”
“But falling debris?” She remembered his words about the suits not redirecting the force of a blow. If she got hit, it would hurt.
“Return to the shuttle,” Mylomon ordered.
“Finally, an alien talking sense,” Wyn said.
“Follow me,” Lorran said. Wyn grabbed her hammer and followed.
Smoke had grown thicker, but something in the suit kicked on and she had x-ray vision. Well, night vision. The corridor had a green cast, and Lorran was a figure in front of her. Smoke still clouded the screen, but it was much improved.
