having a story.”
“You are remembering you are working for me,” Presit snapped.
He flicked his ears. “Not if you are being dead.”
Torin hit the controls and realized she was going to miss, not Presit exactly but, at the very least, the reporter’s annoying ability to drag her out of her own head. “You’re part of this story, Presit. That changes things. Don’t forget that.”
“I are having downloaded some games for you!” Ceelin called out as Presit waved off Torin’s comment and the air lock’s inner door shut.
“Station says we have a green on go.” His foot against the control panel because he couldn’t reach the deck, Werst pivoted the second chair around to face the cabin. “When the air lock reseals, the docking computer will take control.”
“You have a plan, Gunny?” Mashona asked from the bunk. “Something with a little more detail than the lot of us pretending to be pirates?”
Torin dropped into the pilot’s chair, back straight, refusing to relax. She had no one to relinquish control of the situation to. “Not really.”
“Well,” Ressk said slowly after a long moment where the only sound was the muffled thud of the clamps releasing, “it has the benefit of simplicity.”
“We’ve got a four-day fold to Vrijheid,” Torin reminded them. The ship seemed significantly larger without Presit on board. Without Presit, she’d lost another connection to Craig. “We have time to refine it.”
“And time for you to tell us why you’re pink. Pinker,” Werst amended.
“But he was fine!”
“No, he was functioning. Not the same thing.” Doc turned from the screen, folded his arms, and stared up at Nadayki. Who took a step back, his hair flattening against his head.
From where Craig lay on the examination table, it looked like the kid was actually scared—in spite of having an extra twenty centimeters in height and the di’Taykan pheromone advantage—rather than merely giving way to a stronger personality. He adjusted his opinion of Doc a little further toward the unstable end of the scary, bugfuk crazy spectrum.
“Well, if he was functioning before,” the young di’Taykan all but whined, “can’t he function again?”
“Depends. How fond are you of being puked on?”
Nadayki took another step back. “Not much.”
“Then learn to get the hell out of the way,” Doc told him, “because it’s going to continue to happen at random intervals.” He half turned toward Craig and indicated he could get up. “Short circuit, puke, collapse in pain. Rinse, repeat.”
“Rinse?”
“Never mind. He’ll also be unable to see yellow.”
“Really?” Nadayki’s eyes darkened as Craig searched the room for yellow and realized he could see it fine.
“No, I’m just fukking with you. You, Ryder ...” Doc frowned as Craig moved carefully around the end of the table toward the door. “If your brain doesn’t slag itself, you’re likely to dehydrate so keep your fluids up.”
“And how do I keep my brain from slagging itself?”
“Build a time machine, go back, and stay the fuk away from that poker game.”
Considering how things had turned out, it wasn’t bad advice. On the upside, random brain spasms were definitely going to slow things down. And how much shit was he in, that random brain spasms had an upside?
Nadayki wasn’t happy about the pace Craig set leaving medical, but when Craig pointed out that a faster pace raised the odds of immediate puking, he decided to cope. He tapped a syncopated beat against the bulkhead as they moved and just as they approached the Heart’s air lock, said, “There’s a theory among the really out there experimental astrophysicists that, if the math is right, Susumi space can be used for time travel.”
“Well, that’s the trick, isn’t it, kid; getting the math right.”
“Stop calling me kid.”
The air lock’s inner lip seemed one hell of a lot higher than usual. Craig didn’t so much step over it as lift one leg and then the other, maintaining a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the lock. He’d planned on exaggerating his condition as much as possible, but it looked like he might not have to.
“That’s pathetic.”
“Yeah, well, bitch to your thytrin. I didn’t ask to have my brain scrambled.”
“You tried to cut my leg off!”
“Don’t rubbish me, mate, I’d just been shot and netted.” Craig repeated the one leg at a time maneuver over the outer lip. “I’d have preferred to have cut your throat.”
The expression on the kid’s face suggested he’d never considered he might end up on the receiving end of the violence he helped dish out. “You fukking deserved to be zapped!”
“So live with the