Page 126 of Red Scale Daddy
The ship banks hard to starboard as I commit to the maneuver. The artificial gravity lags for a fraction of a second, turning my stomach as the cockpit tilts around us. The proximity alarm rises in pitch, and the shield boundary flares white along the viewport as the edge of the ruined survey vessel scrapes close enough to overload the sensors.
Dux grips the console. “That was too damn tight.”
“That was accurate.”
“That was luck wearing a nice coat.”
I cut him a look while adjusting the stabilizer trim. “Do not anthropomorphize my calculations.”
“Then stop making them act drunk.”
The coordinates tighten. The source shifts, faintly but deliberately, as if whatever is generating it still has power, still has intention, still has someone maintaining it.
My hand moves before I fully think through the next adjustment.
Dux catches the motion.
“Do not increase thrust again,” he says.
“I need to close the distance before the corridor changes.”
“You need to breathe before you start flying like the alarms are cheering you on.”
“I am managing the ship.”
“You’re chasing him.”
The words hit too cleanly, and my fingers tense against the control column.
“I am following confirmed data,” I say.
“You’re following hope at full burn.”
I turn toward him sharply. “Do not make hope sound foolish.”
“I’m making reckless sound reckless.”
The ship crosses into a pocket of gravitational shear, and the deck drops beneath us with a sickening lurch. My stomach pullsupward as the inertial dampeners strain to compensate. I correct pitch, feed power to the lateral thrusters, and thread us beneath a tumbling engine assembly whose broken vanes sweep past the viewport like giant teeth.
Dux reaches for the secondary controls and diverts auxiliary power into the port stabilizer before I ask for it.
The ship steadies.
I hate the tiny relief that moves through me.
“You touched my controls,” I say.
“You were busy saving us dramatically.”
“I had the correction.”
“You had most of it.”
“I do not require commentary.”
“You require somebody willing to tell you when you’re about to do something stupid.”
My mouth tightens as another cluster of warnings flashes across the display. “If you intend to help, monitor the debris vector on the left and reroute power into maneuvering only when I call for it.”
