the wall. It was a fight against the equalizing pressure to get the second up, but she managed. Body parallel to the deck, helmet pointed toward the opening doors, she turned her head to see Craig had assumed the same emergency position.
The boots were designed to hold even against an atmospheric pressure of 1.06 kilograms per square centimeter suddenly leaving the station.
Leg bones were not.
The decompression doors were about five centimeters apart, and there was still enough atmosphere in the ore docks that the slam of the wrench across the break rang out loud enough to be heard in spite of the rush of air and helmets. Eight centimeters apart when the first of the Grr brothers hit, nine for the second, ten by the time enough bones had broken to fit them both through the space. When Doc hit a moment later, there was almost no delay—Human bones being so much easier to break than Krai.
Torin felt the bulkhead shake as the armory slammed against the inside of the storage pod. Given that it was nearly as tall as the pod and taller than the door, it was, unfortunately, going nowhere without help.
“Should we be worried about that?”
It seemed Doc had been a little hard of hearing. Torin lowered the volume on his suit comm. “The ship it was on blew up around it. It should be able to survive this.”
“Should?”
The doors were at the two-meter mark, and most of the atmosphere had vented. Torin released her boots, used her hands to push off gently, folded her feet under her as she came up on the vertical, and used her legs to shoot toward the ceiling and the cargo runners.
Craig was no more than a second behind her.
Unable to get to them from within, Big Bill would send ships. That was a given. He wouldn’t let the armory go without a fight. What was also a given was that venting the volume of atmosphere in the ore dock was enough to force the station computers to make orbital corrections. While that was happening, the docking computer would lock down the clamps to minimize the variables. They didn’t have much time; hopefully, they had enough.
Reaching the cluster of cables, Torin grabbed one and turned so her boots hit the ceiling. “Where the hell are the controls?”
“Here.” Craig flipped the ten-centimeter disk on the end of a cable so Torin could see the controls on its top. “There’s a manual fail-safe on each cable in case something takes out the central controls.”
There was—had been—a war going on. Stations were prime targets.
“Flick the release,” he continued, adding action to words, “Then push off toward the pod. The cable will scroll out with you.”
“What happens if Big Bill cuts the power?” Torin asked as she followed him down.
“We’re screwed, so let’s hope he doesn’t think of it.”
“Captain!” Huirre had both hands and a foot working his board. “The docking clamps won’t release!”
“The docking computer is in lockdown, Captain. We can’t access it.”
We, Cho growled silently. Spreading the blame. He wanted to scream at Dysun to keep her fukking hair still.
“There’s no way to get free of the station,” she added.
“There fukking well is!” Cho slapped his palm down on his board. “Krisk! How much explosives do we have?”
“Why?”
“Why? So I can stuff them up your ass and detonate! Do we have enough to unlock the docking clamps?”
“We do.” The engineer sounded bored. When they got out of this, Cho’d give him bored! “You could always use the emergency blow.”
When Cho looked up, Huirre shrugged. “Use the what?” he demanded.
“It’s a last resort in case the station gets attacked and is—oh, I don’t know—falling out of orbit. It blows the ship away. Of course, it blows a fukking hole in the station and the atmosphere plus anything lying around loose vents right at the ship, so, like I said, last resort.”
“Doors are almost all the way open, Captain.” He could see from where he was sitting that Dysun had called up a new screen. So she wasn’t completely useless. “The dock has lost atmosphere.”
“Well, fuk it, if that’s the case, use the blow. I’ll send the command to your board. Hang on . . . Should be showing now.”
“How do you know this?” How did he not know this? The Heart of Stone was Cho’s ship. His. Not Krisk’s.
The engineer snorted. “I helped design the fukking ship for the Navy, didn’t I.”
After this was over, he was going to have a talk with Krisk.