CHAPTER TWELVE

Corinne collapsed to the deck, breathing hard, gasping for every last molecule of oxygen. She screwed her eyes shut, trying to push away the terrible agony that throbbed in her right ankle with every heartbeat. Her mouth was bone dry and she tasted burned metal on her tongue. She wrapped her arms around her middle, but she just could not seem to stop shivering.

She felt a gentle touch on her shoulder—

(Richard!)

—and opened her eyes. François Cote knelt down by her, his eyebrows pulled down into a frown. He was concerned. The Iron Man was actually showing an emotion.

Which meant the situation had to be really, really bad.

Corinne tilted her head and saw a spacetight hatch behind Cote. She thought it was probably the same one they had used to flee the cargo hold, though she was too tired to be certain. She leaned her head back and gazed up. A dark passage rose up through the ship. Yes. It was the same hatch.

“Are you okay, Star Captain?” asked Cote.

“Never have I worked so hard to end up right where I began,” said Corinne.

Cote offered her a grim smile. “Can you climb?”

Corinne took a deep breath and shook her head. “No, sir,” she whispered. It was the hardest thing she had ever said in her whole life. She was Clan. She did not shrink from her duty. She did not shrink from the challenges the universe threw at her.

But she was not certain she could even stand.

She was quite sure she could not climb.

“Star Colonel, if you gave me another dose of the drug, perhaps I—”

Cote shook his head. “Neg,” he said. “It is too dangerous.” He looked up, studying the corridor overhead. She followed his gaze.

The passageway’s desk was polished tile; far too smooth to offer a handhold. The two bulkheads were a bit more promising: there was a fire extinguisher bolted to the wall on one of them and in a pinch a door knob might offer a place to grip. But such makeshift climbing aids were too few and far between to aid an ascent.

Her eyes drifted to the overhead.

Spaceships were built without drop ceilings so maintenance crews had easy access to the pipes, ducts, and conduits that ran along the overhead. There was enough structure there to allow a warrior to climb. “The overhead,” she whispered.

He nodded. “That is what I was thinking. I think I might be able to carry a passenger in the light gravity. I will ascend the corridor and then come back for the other warrior.”

Their eyes met.

“Take Tomas first,” she said. “He needs immediate medical attention. I can wait.”

“Tomas may not survive even with medical attention,” said Cote in a low voice.

She flashed a bitter smile at Cote. “Now that Richard Bekker is gone, he is all that remains of my Trinary.” Her voice softened. “He is my warrior and my responsibility. Take Tomas first.”

Cote looked at her for a long moment and then nodded. “You are a fine leader, Star Captain Corinne.”

Then he turned away from her.

Corinne closed her eyes and laid her head on the deck, feeling pain pulse through her body with clockwork regularity.

After a time, she was not sure exactly how long, she felt somewhat better. She opened her eyes and stared up at the haze gray surface of the spacetight door.

She almost thought she might be able to stand.

Corinne hauled herself up, managing to get up on her hands and knees. Her body fought her every millimeter of the way. Even the thought of moving was enough to send molten torment coursing through her ankle.

But, somehow, she managed to do it.

The hatch had picked up the soulless cold of the vacuum in the cargo hold and it was slick with cool condensation. She bowed her head against the sideways steel door, breathing hard.

She drew a shuddery breath and turned her head to look up at the corridor above her. Maybe…maybe there was a way she could…

She slowly rose on her left leg…

And just like that she was standing, standing. Maybe she could actually—

A massive crash shook the corridor and knocked Corinne back down. Her wrist slammed against the deck and for a moment incandescent pain flashed through her body. Something had fallen, something had—

The crash was immediately followed by an explosion.

A missile, Corinne thought. She had been a MechWarrior long enough to recognize the sound of an exploding missile.

She reached up and put her left hand against the cold door.

A second explosion followed the first, and then detonations rippled through the cargo hold. The hatch tore free, shattering the bones in her arm as it flew away.

And then a gout of shrapnel-laden fire shot through the open hatch and Corinne—