Page 200 of Red Scale Daddy
“I did not fake anything. I was forcibly spaced by hostile professionals.”
“Excuses.”
Pally slides into cover beside us, face pale beneath grease and battle smoke, eyes locked on Roma like he is trying to relearn theshape of her before the ship kills us all. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out quickly enough.
Roma sees him.
The rifle lowers by a fraction.
“Dad,” she says, and the word breaks in a way nothing else has.
Pally reaches for her, then stops short because fire rips across the console edge again and because years of absence do not fit neatly into a warship ambush. His hand hangs there between them, shaking once before he turns the motion into a grip on his tool kit.
“Hi, starling,” he says roughly. “Bad time?”
Her face twists. “Spectacularly.”
“Good. I would hate to ease into things.”
She laughs, once, broken and breathless, and then she is Roma again, wiping at her cheek with the back of her wrist while her eyes snap toward the tactical mess around us.
“How many?” she asks.
“Half dozen closing from the main corridor,” Pally says. “More coming from aft security if your lockdowns don’t hold.”
“They will hold for minutes.”
“Minutes is generous,” I say, drawing the spare plasma pistol from my belt and pressing it into Roma’s hand. “Here.”
She looks down at it. “You brought me a gun?”
“I’m romantic now.”
“This is not a gun. This is an overpowered hand cannon with a trigger tolerance designed by criminals.”
“Perfect. Thought of you immediately.”
Her mouth trembles at the corner, almost smiling despite the alarms, the blood, and the Reapers trying to kill us. Then her fingers close around the grip, adjusting with quick precision as she checks the charge cell and output setting.
“You set this too high.”
“I like commitment.”
“You like property damage.”
“Also true.”
The first Reaper pushes through the steam at the far end of engineering, weapon raised. I move before he finishes stepping into view, launching over the console and driving into him shoulder-first. His armor cracks against mine, and we slam into a regulator housing hard enough to shake the entire bank. He tries to bring his rifle up between us. I pin it with my forearm and drive my fist into the side of his helmet until the visor fractures.
Roma fires twice from cover.
The first shot burns across the deck plating near a second Reaper’s feet, forcing him to break stride. The second hits the ceiling conduit above him, dumping a burst of sparks and insulation across his shoulders. He staggers exactly long enough for Pally to slap a charge clamp onto the wall panel beside him.
“Down,” Pally says.
Roma ducks without asking. I grab the Reaper I’m fighting and use him as a shield as the clamp detonates in a tight pulse that blows the panel outward and overloads the corridor lights. The second Reaper drops, twitching under suit feedback.
I toss my damaged Reaper aside and turn toward Roma. “Nice shooting.”
