The Black Gate (The Messenger #11) - J.N. Chaney Page 0,79

field covering the entrance to the hangar, then deftly spun about with a puff of thrusters. A tractor field tugged it into its berth. Artificial gravity spooled up, pulling it to the deck with a soft thump. As soon as it had touched down, the next fighter eased into the hangar.

Dash knew that, in theory, all six fighters of the flight assigned to this hangar bay could be recovered at once, since they all launched together. But unless it was for a hot turnaround, all of the Denkillers being refueled and rearmed to head straight back into battle, they’d return one at a time, for safety reasons.

“They definitely know what they’re doing,” Benzel said, nodding appreciatively, his hands on the hips of his vac-armor.

“They do indeed,” Dash agreed.

“Stowaway is over there,” Benzel said, gesturing across the hangar. “And we’d best finish suiting up. We’ve still got atmospheric integrity around the impact site, but who knows for how long?”

Dash nodded as they resumed walking, then unhooked his helmet from the armor’s harness, lowered it over his head, and snapped it into place. The heads-up came to life, confirming that all the suit systems were green.

Leira tugged at his arm, her voice low. “Head on a swivel, here. I don’t like this at all.”

“Me neither,” Dash murmured, eyes ahead and scanning.

Benzel stopped them at a hatch leading out of the hangar. “From here on, the way starts getting a little dicey,” he said. “There was a hit two decks above us, and the damage extends down to the deck below. The path’s clear, but watch out for buckled deck plates and such.”

“Got it,” Dash said, following Benzel through the hatch and along a corridor. Just a few meters in, the main lighting had failed, so the way ahead had been cast into the wan gloom of emergency lighting only. Dash’s faceplate immediately intensified the image, brightening it back to almost regular levels.

He could see that the corridor was twisted, as though the other end of it had tried to rotate clockwise. There were indeed edges and corners of structural plates protruding from the deck, and at least one broken conduit fitfully spitting out brief showers of sparks. Metal edges gleamed like polished teeth, their presence a hint at great violence done to the noble ship.

Dash gave the conduit a wide berth. “Shouldn’t the power be shut off?” he asked, giving a sudden eruption of sparks a wary eye as he sidled past.

“Crew’s working on isolating damaged systems,” Benzel said. “They don’t want to shut down all power to this section because they’ll lose atmo and gravity.” He turned to Dash and flashed a wide grin through his faceplate. “Just don’t touch anything that’s on fire.”

“That’s good advice anytime.”

They picked their way along two more damaged corridors and passed through a compartment used to store spare Denkiller parts. Dash had to clamber over crates that had been knocked off the shelves by whatever blast had rattled this section of the Eclipse. It struck him that someone was going to have to unpack all of these parts, check them for damage, repack them, and then reorganize them back into storage.

He was fortunate. He could land the Archetype and just walk away, and the next time he needed to fly it, it would have been entirely repaired. He made a mental note to make a bigger deal across the fleet about their awesome performance because, for most of the Realm crews, the battle wasn’t over when the shooting finally stopped.

A Marine raised a hand, stopping them. Benzel identified them, and the man waved them through. They passed a pair of techs busy at an open access panel, replacing some blackened conduit, rounded a corner, and found several figures waiting for them.

Dash recognized Wei-Ping, who used the Eclipse as her flagship, and the carrier’s commander, a smoothly professional woman named Westin. Dash had met her when she joined the Realm and a few times since, and he had been deeply impressed every time. She was military through and through, her every word and movement a study in clipped efficiency. She and Ragsdale knew one another, which didn’t surprise Dash in the least. Leira respected her, and that was good enough for Dash, too.

“The missile is just around the next corner,” Westin said to Dash. “If you’ll follow me—”

Dash raised a hand. “You know, I’m not normally the cautious one, but this is a missile, right? Something designed to go boom? Are you guys sure it’s safe