Adventures in Doing it Wrong: "... And Into the Fire" (Conclusion)
17 Sep 2020August Davenport
James' magboots clank with each step as he approaches me, holding a ceramic, loopless cup, steam and the earthy aroma steaming from its opening. "Here," here offers. I take it, the nod labored. My body barely responds to the smell which normally perks me right up. We both turn and look at the Artemis' Bow, an Imperial Cutter that had been quickly converted from its combat superiority role to carrying as many refugees as possible.
"Ugh," I moan as I try and roll my shoulders, looking at the ship from the port side, through the window of the rescue ship, stationed just a few million meters from the station crippled by the NMLA.
"I've heard it's really rough in there."
I nod as the fatigue in my body makes lifting the cup to my lips difficult. It's too hot, but my exhaustion is comprehensive, my need so acute, I neither care nor react to the burning sensation on my palate. It burns all the way down. I sigh, taking the moment to enjoy a different feeling than tired as the pain shocks my system to momentary alertness.
"Smashed the hull on the way in the first time," I tell the Rescue ship's Dock Master. I point to the bow, the scoring and dent marks on it indicate the former presence of tons of station pylons that smashed into it.
His eyes float over to it, nodding. "I saw. Took one hell of a hit. Any other ship would be wreckage." He places a hand on my shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. "You're not too bad a pilot to have saved it."
My eyes turn, and note the insignia for the first time. Imperial Master Sergeant. I offer a tired smile.
"How long you've been running back and forth?"
"What day is it?"
"Seventeenth."
"Five days."
He whistles. "Without a break?"
I nod.
"Hundred Twenty hours. You're violating safety protocols, you know?"
"And how many more people would get hurt if I didn't?" I protested, exhaustion evident in my tone.
He put his hands up. "I'm not complaining. You're not the only one out here you know. And, it's not like your ship isn't in need of repairs."
I nod. "You're right." He was, but something kept me pressing on. I look back up to him. His salt and pepper hair coupled with his well-trimmed full beard, his thick hands. His was a life of hair work in space. Like my dad's.
"Why don't you put in for repairs and come back when it's done?"
I stall responding by drinking more coffee. Why'd he have to be right? Why'd he remind me of dad?
"My parents live on Hickham Survey," I tell him.
"Ah," he says.
I nod as though that detail explains it all, and his response tells me he understands.
His comms goes off. He step away, leaving me alone with my exhaustion, my coffee, and the view of my damaged ship. It isn't even mine, and that thought reminds me I'll have some explaining to do.
"Davenport, come see this," James calls me over. My magboots feel like the weigh a ton, but it only took a couple of steps to see the monitor: "Prince Duval assassinated by NMLA."
My jaw drops. Then my comms goes off. I check it- Duke Welf von Olmec. Artemis' Bow's title-holder. I groan.