GUNSHIP: MEI'KHO // LOCATION: MONTRESSOR SHIPYARDS // ON APPROACH
The engines burned. The hull groaned. Rone's knuckles ached, so tight was his grip on the holotable. A sneer drew up the corner of his mouth. Teeth gritted, he leaned into the hard turn.
The Mei'kho's guns bellowed basso blasts. The barriers crackled under a pursuing barrage. Rivets rattled. Stress fractures wheezed. Bolts snapped and pinged. The engines chugged, and the hull moaned.
"Well, this all went to slag real fast." Nar'shokim's boots thumped the deck as he repositioned himself, searching in vain for balance.
"This is where the fun begins," intoned Xyzak.
"That supposed to be a joke?"
Xyzak shrugged.
Nar'shokim clenched his jaw and swept a hand through the map. "There's hypergate control. Here's our LZ. These three routes offer the best access. My gut says these two will be choked full of fighting by now. We should...."
Rone could see that Nar'shokim was still speaking, but a static rip muffled his words into oblivion. The Mei'kho bucked and rocked. Rone jammed his feet into the deck, leaned onto his toes, and rode the twisting dive.
The guns offered a retaliatory a volley.
The engines wheezed. Then chugged. Then burned.
The hull warbled a high pitched keen.
A shadow of worry darkened Nar'shokim's already grim expression. He cast his eyes toward the companionway leading to the cockpit.
"Lux. Status!"
The ship wide crackled.
"Nebb, reroute additional power to the barriers. Pull from the weapons if you have to! I hate hot drops!"
A sing-song chortle answered Lux.
"Lux!"
"That IFF transponder code is working. Montressor defenses are flying in support of our approach, but it's a blasted mess. There's no... ah, skrag! Skath heavies are on the move."
She was interrupted by a ramble of tenor notes.
"Hithspit. Nebb's mapped the trajectories... heavies are moving into ramming formations. Multiple quadrants. Lead section is orientating on the hypergate channel."
An exterior explosion buffeted the Mei'kho.
Lux cursed. Nebb droned. Nar'shokim stumbled. Rone tipped to his right and spun away from the holotable. Xyzak, against the rules of physics, remained stationary, arms crisscrossed about their torso.
Alarms sounded.
"Emergency transponder signal," announced Xyzak. "Personnel adrift and requesting immediate aid."
"Personnel adrift?" Nar'shokim's eyes goggled. "Hull breach? Subira? Effi?"
"Negative. Hull secure. Identifying signal."
Nar'shokim's stony exterior reasserted itself, sloughing off the anxiety with a pointed glance toward the engine room.
"It's Gardai," muttered Rone, pulling himself back in front of the holotable.
"Confirmed. They are drifting parallel to our approach vector." Xyzak's head tilted, giving Rone the impression of an unbalanced saucer.
"We can snag them with a rescue net as we sweep past." He leaned across the table and plotted the course correction.
YOU ARE READING
Tales from the Drift: Old Lessons, Hard Futures
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