Page 161 of Red Scale Daddy
“Looks like it worked.”
For the first time, the old man almost smiles. It hurts him. I can tell.
Then the smile dies, replaced by something harder and cleaner.
He reaches up, takes the little painted panel from its bracket, and sets it beside the console where he can see it while he works.
“All right,” he says. “We do this properly.”
I step closer to the map. “Now you’re talking.”
“We do not rush Throgg head-on.”
“Wasn’t my first choice.”
“It was absolutely your first choice.”
“Maybe top three.”
“We track his route toward the Thorn Shelf, enter through the blind corridor, and attach to his outer maintenance spine during sensor recalibration. Once aboard, we do not search blindly. We create a system fault that requires engineering response. If Roma has access, she will see it.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then Throgg sees it, sends engineers, and we take one alive.”
I grin. “There he is.”
Pally gives me a severe look. “Do not enjoy this too much.”
“I enjoy having a plan that involves violence.”
“It involves stealth first.”
“I’ll be stealthy violence.”
“That is not a thing.”
“It is when done confidently.”
His expression suggests he suddenly understands several things about why Roma argues with me.
He turns to a side compartment and pulls out a battered case. Inside are tools, compact weapons, seal patches, a coil of cable, and two breathing masks.
“I have one pressure rig that may fit you badly,” he says. “It was designed for an Alzhon salvage captain with delusions of height.”
“Flattering.”
“It will keep you breathing if we lose atmosphere for under twelve minutes.”
“After today, I’m collecting terrible ways to breathe.”
“You were in vacuum for approximately two minutes and seventeen seconds based on retrieval distance.”
“Felt longer.”
“It always does.”
The quiet understanding in his voice makes me look at him differently for half a second. He has done it too, then. Drifted between life and nothing, counting the body’s betrayals one by one.
