Page 196 of Red Scale Daddy
I glance at the nearest guard. “He sounds upset.”
The guard’s weapon lifts toward my head.
Throgg’s voice deepens. “Your death will be painful and slow.”
My fingers move.
The engine lag deepens by another fraction.
The deck shivers.
I lean closer to the console, letting the intercom pick up my reply. “You should prioritize propulsion before monologuing.”
A silence follows, filled by alarms and the strained hum of a ship fighting sabotage inside hostile space.
Then Throgg says, “Bring her to me alive.”
The guards move.
I hit the fourth command, the one I built after realizing escape alone was no longer acceptable. The engineering deck doors slam shut on the far side, locking two of the guards outside and trapping three inside with me, the Reaper engineer, and a drive system that now believes it is experiencing a coolant emergency. Steam vents from a pressure relief column, rolling across the grating in pale sheets that hide the floor and sting my eyes with chemical heat.
The nearest guard grabs for me.
I duck under his arm and drive the edge of my handheld interface into the exposed seam beneath his wrist armor. The strike would not incapacitate him under ordinary conditions, but I am not aiming for pain. I am aiming for the actuator line. His gauntlet locks open, fingers spasming as the suit misreads the electrical disruption.
He snarls and swings with his other hand.
I catch the blow badly.
Pain flashes across my shoulder as I hit the side of the console, hard enough to drive air from my lungs. The second guard closes from the left. I throw the interface at his faceplate, not because I expect damage but because reflex matters. His head turns by two degrees.
Two degrees is enough.
I slam my palm onto the emergency purge control.
A coolant vent opens beside him with a violent hiss, blasting supercooled vapor across his visor and upper armor. Frost webs over the faceplate, and he staggers back, weapon arm rising blind. The first guard recovers and lunges again.
The Reaper engineer yells, “Stop her!”
“I would love to see you try,” I snap.
I dive for the lower maintenance panel beneath the console, ripping it open with both hands as the third guard fires. The shot burns through the upper display where my head had been, showering sparks across my hair and neck. Heat kisses my skin, sharp and immediate, and the scent of scorched polymer floods the air.
I reach into the panel and yank the manual relay.
The lights go out.
Emergency red replaces amber, turning the steam into blood-colored fog.
Somewhere beyond engineering, another alarm begins.
The hidden summons pulses again through the system.
I crawl behind the console bank, dragging myself over the grating as weapons fire tears through the panel above me. Metal fragments sting my cheek. My shoulder throbs with each movement. My burned skin prickles under sweat. The world narrows to heat, noise, and the console access point three meters ahead.
I reach it.
My fingers shake when I open the feed.
