Derelict: Halcyone Space, Book 1 (38 page)

The ride to medical was worse than getting off Hephaestus, not only because of the increasing nausea, but because he knew his parents would be waiting. They would blame Barre, but Jem knew it was his fault.

Barre patted his shoulder and Jem knew he would do it all again, just the same way, even if he knew how it would turn out.

***

Nomi walked Ro to medical, waiting for Jem and Micah to be transported first. She watched her limp, favoring the left leg in its cracking cast. "Do you need a ride?"

"I can manage."

She was quiet, pulled inward. Something had happened in the hours between the time her father came aboard and the return to Daedalus — something more than the bruises she could see on Ro's face. For the thousandth time, Nomi cursed Alain Maldonado and his selfish paranoia.

Ro seemed to sense Nomi's unease and she turned to her, a half smile on her face. "I'll be fine after a shower and some real food."

"And coffee?"

The smile widened. "Most definitely coffee."

Nomi squeezed Ro's hand at the door to the sick bay. "Come find me when you're done here, okay?"

Ro squeezed back, but her gaze looked past Nomi's. "I will," she said. Her green eyes shifted and focused again. "Thank you."

"For what?" Nomi laughed. "You rescued yourselves." She should have known Ro would figure out a way.

"Knowing you were looking for me —" Ro paused, her face flushed. "It helped. It was important. That we weren't — that I wasn't alone."

Nomi ducked her head.

"I promise. I'll find you," Ro said.

She felt Ro's gaze follow her as she walked the length of the corridor back to her quarters.

They hustled Micah from the transport chair to a medi-bed and pulled the privacy screens down.
Dr. Kristoff Durbin stared down at him, frowning, his thick, graying brows nearly masking the ice blue of his eyes.

"Tell me," he said, as he turned his hands front to back under the sanitizer and slipped into the waiting gloves.

He shrugged, trying to avoid the full horror of what Maldonado had done to him. "I had to get free. There was a blaster handy. I used it."

"Cutter," he said, holding out his right hand. A silent, gloved tech placed the thin laser-augmented blade in his sterile palm. "This won't be pleasant. Do you want a sedative?"

Micah bit his lower lip to keep from laughing. Not pleasant. Right. "No, thank you, sir." No. He wanted to be fully awake and owning the pain and anger for the time he could confront his father. "Just get it over with." He lay back and folded his arm across his eyes.

"Huh," Dr. Durbin said.

That was not exactly what Micah wanted to hear.

"Barre dress this?"

"Yes, sir." He wanted to add something to push back against the slightly nasal, superior tone in Durbin's voice.

"He did a good job."

Micah smirked at the grudging praise. It was too bad Barre couldn't hear him.

"Hold very still."

The pain echoed the blast burn, but it wasn't the insidious torture of the shocks. He gritted his teeth and let it sear through him as Durbin sliced the bandages off.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to cut your pants as well."

At this point, they could probably get up and walk away on their own. "Knock yourself out, Doc." No, that was Barre. "Doctor Durbin."

Competent hands turned him and tugged the fabric away as Durbin opened the trouser seams. The technician covered him with a warm blanket.

"Thank you," Micah said.

"You're a very lucky man, Mr. Rotherwood. Another few seconds on the trigger and you might well have lost your feet. Without the field bandages, the infection would have spread to your vascular system and would likely have killed you."

Lucky wasn't how Micah would have put it.

"Normally, we'd start rebuilding your feet with artificial skin implants right away, but we're going to have to do this in stages."

Micah levered himself up, leaning on his arms, careful not to look down at his feet. "How long?"

Durbin blinked. "Until the lesions are fully healed?"

"Until I can walk."

"Sorry, son, but you're going to be off those feet for at least several weeks."

He stiffened. "Don't call me that."

"Apologies." Durbin gave a small, formal bow.

"Accepted."

"We need to clean out the wounds and deal with the infection first."

"Do what you have to." Micah lay back again. "Where is my father?"

"Set up the ultrasonic unit in here," Durbin ordered, ignoring the question.

The isolation curtain shifted and the hushed sounds of medical orders, conversations, and beeping machines drifted into his cubicle. The technician returned with a tubing kit and quickly assembled it as Durbin waited.

"Doctor Durbin. Where is he?"

Durbin sighed. "In the isolation bay."

"I want to see him."

"That's up to the commander."

"Like hell it is. He's still my father. I'm his next of kin. Trust me, I've been down the medical road before. I know what I'm allowed."

Durbin closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he nodded. "Let me clean and seal the tissue first. Then I'll arrange for you to see him."

"Fine."

"Hold still."

Durbin pulled the wand over and gestured to the technician to turn the unit on. A high-pitched hum filled the room and Micah wondered if Barre would be able to tell him what note it sang. He stiffened as the device played over his feet, but other than a strange pulling sensation, it barely hurt.

"The sealant has antibiotics and analgesics in a time release matrix. It's not pleasant when it touches the damaged nerves, but it will ease. Are you ready?"

"Just get on with it," Micah said, nearly snarling with impatience. In the end, he regretted not asking for that sedative, but he wasn't going to tell Durbin that. "My father. Take me. Now."

Durbin frowned down at him. "I'm concerned —"

Micah swung his newly bandaged legs over the side of the bed. "Doctor, I will be seeing my father now. With or without your help."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes.

The blood throbbed in his feet, and the pain nearly made Micah retch, but he focused on his breathing, keeping Dr. Durbin's face in his receding line of sight.

"All right," he said softly. He motioned the technician over. "Bring us a transport chair. I'll escort him." Turning to Micah, he frowned again. He could tell by the deep lines in his forehead that it was a well-practiced expression. "Your father is in critical condition. You have five minutes."

"Fine." Durbin stabilized his legs and helped him scoot over to the chair. Micah tucked the blanket under him and sat up stiffly as the doctor pushed him out of the treatment bay and to the shaded isolation area on the far side of medical.

Two armed guards stood at attention on either side of the closed ward.

"If he's that critical, what do they think he's going to do?"

Durbin didn't answer. He cycled the two of them through the airlock.

Micah drew his breath in sharply. His father lay on a medi-bed, intubated, and on life support. The soft beeping of monitors and the whoosh of air forced in and out of his unresponsive lungs were the only sounds in the sterile room.

Swearing quietly, he maneuvered the chair out of Durbin's hold and toward his father. Half of his head was covered in surgical drapes. "What happened?" His voice was hardly louder than the life support equipment.

"He wrestled a weapon from one of the officers. The man got shot in the scuffle. The senator shot himself in the head." Durbin could have been giving any bland medical report.

Micah struggled to find a single memory of the man where he wasn't selling something to someone. Even when his mother lay dying, he hadn't had the balls to show her some honest grief.

He leaned forward and laughter shook through him until he couldn't breathe and tears streamed down his face. Durbin placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. Micah shrugged it off. "Can he hear me?"

"Probably."

"Good." Micah pulled his chair closer and bent his head close to his father's intact ear. "You son of a bitch. Selfish to the end. You didn't even leave me anything to trade you for. But hey, your perfect face will look just fine at the funeral. Well played, Senator. Well played."

"Micah," Durbin said.

He cut him off. "I'm done here." The senator would live or die, but it didn't matter anymore. His father had been gone a long time. It just took Micah until now to accept it.

***

Ro watched Micah disappear into a treatment bay and turned to the triage nurse. "My ankle needs to be re-cast. Then you're going to clear me to return to duty."

He stared her down. "Trust me. If I can throw you out of medical, I will."

She gritted her teeth, knowing of all of them, her injuries were likely the most inconsequential. "How are Micah and Jem?"

He consulted his micro. "Stable and Serious. Turn your head." He cleaned the split on her cheek and ran a scanner over the cast. "Give me five minutes."

"Fine."

In his competent hands, the laser cutter seamed the broken cast in seconds. Exposed to the air and free of the anesthetic wrap, her ankle throbbed in time to her heartbeat.

"I'm going to infuse a bone stimulant along with the pain-killer. Minimal walking once I put the stabilizer on."

She nodded, watching him prepare the tiny device. He affixed it to her ankle, bridging the fracture, before wrapping her lower leg in a device as much external scaffolding as cast.

Ro lurched her way to her quarters and stood at the door, her heart pounding. For once, she didn't have to consider where her father was or what his mood would be. Taking a steadying breath, she triggered the door and strode inside. Dirty cups and dishes filled the sink and overflowed onto the counter. Snarling a curse, she snatched one of her father's cups and hurled it across the room. It crashed against the wall with a satisfying crunch.

It took three full cycles before Ro felt her hair got clean enough. The clothes couldn't be salvaged and she shoved them in the recycler. Wearing a pressed, fresh basic work uniform, Ro headed back to command, struggling to hold onto a fragile sense of control.

The two senior officers guarding the commander's office nodded and passed her request through to Mendez. The door opened. "Come!" Mendez's sharp voice rang out.

In the brief time she'd spent in medical, the staff had been busy. The only sign of the violence that had scarred the room was a jagged line carved across the far wall. The blood had been cleaned off and the floor smoothed back to its unblemished shine. Mendez, too, seemed untouched by the conflict, until she turned and Ro saw the dark bruises beneath her deep-set black eyes.

"You are not your father."

She winced. How true was it? Maybe Nomi could tell her, because she didn't know anymore.

Mendez drew her micro out and gestured toward Ro. Frowning, she pulled her own device from its pocket. The file Mendez sent blinked at her. Emancipation papers. Signed and witnessed.

Her knees trembled and she grabbed at a chair to hold her balance.

"There is the matter of compensation."

Ro's shoulders slumped. They had done a fuck-load of damage when Halcyone blasted free of the station. She had no idea what kind of resources her father had, but she supposed they belonged to her now. It would be better to pay reparations with it than to use it any other way.

"I don't suppose it matters, but I regret the damage my actions have caused." She paused. "Commander, about Halcyone —" Ro hadn't ever wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted that ship. Her ship. The ship she woke from the dead.

"The transport Halcyone has had a salvage claim registered on her by the commander of Hephaestus."

"She's not salvage!" She leaned forward. "She was under my command!"

Mendez raised her eyebrows and Ro fell silent, feeling the blood pulse in her ears.

"That's technically true, Ms. Maldonado. And it's also technically true that her designation is officially registered to a long dissolved private corporation, not the Commonwealth of Planets."

"Oh." Ro could hardly breathe. Would Mendez support her claim?

"But we have yet to settle on compensation."

Her breath eased out of her in a sigh. It would likely take her a lifetime on Daedalus to finish paying for the destruction.

"Rather than a lump sum of credits, would you accept a free-and-clear deed to the ship?"

She stood, blinking. "What?"

"Halcyone. Is she just compensation for your losses and your testimony at the weapons trial?"

Tears blurred her vision, turning Mendez's uniform into a sparkle of silver glints on gray. "Yes," she said. "Yes."

Ro walked through the corridors in a daze, seeing only the lines of the ship. It was battered and scarred, like her. Crew members and station personnel greeted her by name. She didn't think that many people had even known who she was.

At Nomi's quarters, she paused, her hand hovering near the chime. The door slid open and Nomi stood in off-duty casual, a short floral kimono wrapped over slim leggings. Ro glanced down at her gray and silver uniform and wondered if she were actually on duty or not and what it meant for her position on Daedalus that Mendez had given her the ship.

"So, do you actually want to come in?" Nomi said, a gentle smile curving her lips.

"Oh, sorry." Ro took the offered hand and stepped over the threshold. Her blunt, squared off nails contrasted with Nomi's soft skin and smooth fingertips.

"I decided to go with the traditional — tea rather than coffee. Is that okay?" Nomi led her to the sofa. The low table in front was set with a stark, geometric teapot and matching cups, all in a bright glossy white. Steam rose from the teapot and a woody, aromatic scent filled the small space.

"Sure," Ro said, and sat. Nomi sat beside her, poured each cup half full, and handed her one. The fluted squared-off shape fit easily in her hands.

"Thank you."

"The set belonged to my grandmother. She would have liked you."