CHAPTER FIVE

Corinne woke to a nightmare. The ragged edge of a terrible pain pulsed in her right ankle and coursed through her right arm, the pain an ugly hint of a brutal agony barely restrained by drugs. Her face felt flushed and hot, and her heart hammered her ribs like a prisoner throwing himself against the bars of his prison, desperate for escape. There was some kind of mask clamped over her face and she was breathing air that tasted bitter and metallic. And somehow the world had been turned on its side, like something out of a Escher print.

It could not possible get any worse.

And then the world exploded.

She watched molten orange fire race down the trench dividing deck from bulkhead, and just like that, the cargo hold was beset by a wall of flame ten meters high. The fire swallowed everything, roaring, crackling, feeding. It devoured wooden pallets and crates, drums of paint, plastics of all kinds.

Flesh.

A mindless scream ripped through the superheated air, loud enough to pierce the hungry roar of the fire itself. It was a cry born of terror, of unspeakable suffering. It sent a chill wriggling down her spine.

A dark figure wreathed in flame lunged out of the fire and collapsed on the deck. For a moment, the unfortunate creature writhed in agony, rolling around on the deck and screaming.

And then the figure was suddenly still. Utterly still. The body, the person, lay motionless on the deck, yellow flame dancing merrily across her uniform.

Corrine’s mouth tasted like sand.

“Great Father,” she whispered, her tongue thick in her mouth. “Tha was Paula.”

She grabbed Richard’s arm and he turned to look at her, that gray gaze settling on her.

“Richer.”

“I know,” he whispered.

She watched him peer over the side of the DC locker, looking in the direction that was now down. She followed his gaze. Below them was a tool locker, and below that a cabinet filled with spare parts. They could use the lockers as stepping-stones to work their way down to the bulkhead.

“Wait here,” he told Corinne, lowering his body over the side of the DC locker.

“Neg,” she snapped.

Richard froze.

He looked up at her. “What?”

“Coming with you,” she said.

 “Your foot is broken, Corinne. You cannot possibly climb down, quiaff?”

“Neg.”

“Corinne—”

“Star Captain,” she roared.

He punched out an angry breath. “I am not challenging your authority, Star Captain.” He shook his head. “I am merely offering you my counsel.”

And then she saw it. He was not challenging her. He was trying to protect her. It was somehow both sweet and dishonorable at the same time.

“My Trinary,” she said.

“I know that,” he snapped.

She shook her head. He still did not understand. “Just took command.”

“Yes,” he said, a trace of bitterness in his voice, “I was there.”

“My people,” she said. “Cannot fail them. Not as my first act of command.”

Richard looked at her and she looked at him.

After a moment, he said, “Can you hold on to my back?”

“Maybe with left arm. Right arm broken.”

Richard’s gaze flickered to her right arm, the one that had been broken during their fight. He looked away.

He drew a deep breath and gathered up the thick plastic of the body bag in his hand, closing it tightly into a fist. Then he knelt down. Corinne climbed onto his back. She knew she weighed much less in the low gravity, but it was still awkward for him with only one free hand and her clinging to his back.

Richard slipped over the DC locker’s side, landing on the tool locker in a crouch that evoked an ugly groan from the cabinet. He did not wait for their combined weight to pull it from the deck. He was already scrambling over the side to get to the next cabinet.

He darted down the makeshift ladder. She felt him moving beneath her, his muscles working as they descended into hell.

By the time he reached the place where the mezzanine was joined to the bulkhead, Corinne’s skin felt like it was burning, broiling. Greasy black smoke filled the air, the caustic chemicals burning her eyes. Wisps of filthy smoke slipped past the mask’s loose seal, filling her mouth with the bitter taste of ash.

Richard set Corinne on the deck and pulled a half-dozen EBUs and one of the first-aid kits out of the body bag, tossing them at her feet. He leaned down so his face was only millimeters from hers, shouting over the fire’s roar. “Tend to any who make it out!”

Sudden, sharp worry stabbed through her chest. “What are you going to do?”

He turned and peered into the burning space, captivated by the terrible dance of the bright flames.

She looked through the shifting smoke, trying to discern what had captured his attention. There. The near corner of the garage door. Was that what he was looking at? Why?

“Star Commander,” she shouted. “What are you going to do?”

When he answered his gaze was still fixed on the fire. “I am going to kill the monster,” he said, his voice low and fierce. He turned to look at her. “You save our brothers and sisters.”

She jerked her head down in a grave nod.

He dropped the body bag on the deck.

And then he plunged into the flame.