There was barely enough damage for Craig to lie about.
“Looks like the slag’s attached to the locker’s surface. With luck, it hasn’t melted in.” Down on one knee, he reached back to where Nadayki hovered, making less than helpful comments under his breath. “Give me a screwdriver, kid.”
“Why would I have a screwdriver? That’s hardware. And don’t call me kid!”
“Fine, a stylus then. Just something solid and pointed so I can get a bit of this slag off and make sure there’s no structural damage.”
“Use your kayti,” Nadayki snorted dismissively. “And it’s obviously not melted in. Even pathetic Human eyes should be able to see that.”
Craig grabbed for the approaching foot but missed as his depth perception twisted. Naydaki’s kick wasn’t hard, not given that the kid was supporting weight and movement on his bad leg, but he hit the armory with enough force to break off a six-centimeter length of melted metal. It took a bit of enamel with it as it fell to the deck.
“See? No structural damage. Can we get on with it?”
“An excellent suggestion. Move, Ryder; on your feet.”
“Forgive me for wanting to start with not blowing up,” Craig muttered as he stood. Halfway up, the pod tipped sideways, and he slammed back against the locker.
“What is the matter with you?” Nadayki snarled, yanking him forward.
Okay, maybe not the pod that tipped, he thought as those metaphorical red-hot spikes got shoved back through his temples. Jack-knifing forward, he spewed the contents of his stomach over the young di’Taykan’s uninjured leg. Shoved hard, he bounced off the locker, vomited again, then headed for the floor, impact jarring both knees. At least he avoided putting his hands down in his own puke.
I’ve got to learn some more di’Taykan profanity, he thought as the pod tipped again and he fought to keep from toppling over. It sounded like the kid had hidden depths and an impressive vocabulary.
“Well, are you surprised?” Doc asked, as he half carried a semiconscious Ryder past the captain and out of the pod. “Given the amount of juice Almon hit him with, I’m amazed he has brain function. Intermittent dizziness and vomiting is no big deal.”
“It’s keeping him from what I need him to do,” Cho growled.
“Doesn’t the boy wonder have Ryder’s codes? Tell him to get started. Tell him to change first,” Doc amended, nose wrinkling.
“Ryder’s codes are only the first step,” Cho began, but Doc cut him off.
“Yeah, well, that’s where most people start. Now, I’m going to take my patient to sick bay and make sure there’s no brain damage I missed.”
“If he’s brain damaged ...”
“Station medic is looking for organs. I’ll take care of it.”
“Good.”
Cho stared into the storage pod, stepped aside as Naydaki shuffled out, and tried not to show how much he’d been startled when Big Bill said conversationally behind him, “Smells like puke down here.”
“Ryder had an accident.”
“Ryder? Your salvage operator?”
“Lingering effects from when we took him.”
“You need to learn to play more nicely with your toys.” Thumbs in his belt loops, Big Bill nodded toward the pod. “So that’s what’s going to change the world as we know it?”
“You can take a closer look,” Cho allowed reluctantly, even as he moved to put himself between Big Bill and the pod.
Big Bill’s expression suggested he could do whatever he damn well pleased. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not a part of this. Remember?”
Because Big Bill only allied himself with schemes that had a hundred percent chance of working, Schemes where a mistake wouldn’t blow a hole into the station that, one way or another, Cho definitely wouldn’t survive.
“I wasn’t even here,” Big Bill added before Cho could reply.
Nose ridges closed, the Grr brothers followed their boss toward the nearest hatch.
Cho amused himself by thinking of feeding them a missile, launching it, and watching their guts spray paint the outside of the station.
“So if Merik are not having what you sent him for, what then?” Presit demanded, as Ceelin ran the brush down the center of her back with long, firm strokes.
“He’ll have it,” Torin told her, scowling down at the tufts of undercoat on the floor as she did her second set of push-ups.
“Wishing are not making it so.”
“If I were wishing for something, I’d wish I was going in as part of a full Marine boarding party with cruiser backup.”
“If you are wishing,” Presit snorted, “why not be wishing Craig Ryder safe and being here? Never mind,” she added, as the five-minute emergent warning sounded