Molly Losoda tapped Logan MacKenzie on the shoulder, smothering a smirk as the other man jumped. He’d been absorbed in mournfully watching some of the ground crew from Shay Memorial move his freighter from the Legacy’s landing bay to the tarmac–so absorbed that he’d missed the NRI agent’s approach. “You don’t have to just stand here, you know. You can get off the ship.”
Hangar Bay, Five-Star Legacy
Logan approached his ship, getting ready to walk up the entry ramp.
A soldier on guard approached him. “Sir, temporary quarters have been arranged for you.”
“What?” Logan turned. “I was going to look over the damage, see if I could start repairing some of it.”
The soldier shook his head. “Standing orders; this ship is to remain untouched until it’s been fully inspected.”
Logan bristled. “This is my ship, buddy. Are you telling me I can’t touch my own damned ship?”
A bright light and the pounding of his head brought Logan MacKenzie to consciousness, which he immediately regretted. Throwing an arm protectively in front of his face, he groaned and tried to blink away the glare.
He shouldn’t have even been alive. Forget the smoke inhalation, never mind the blow to his head when he was launched into the forward consoles after the first engine blew. Forty seconds in hyperspace without plotting a course first was probably the most stupid thing he had ever done.
But he was alive. Barely.
Dorrin Drake stepped onto the bridge of the Legacy just as Davil Bullian shut down the holocomm. He arched a brow at the engineer as he took a sip from his mug of caf. “Who was that, Dav?”
“Ari,” Davil answered, heading back over to the console he’d taken over a few days ago, when the group headed out on maneuvers on the edge of the Xenea system. “She’s…I think she’s starting to break, Dorrin.”
The Legacy’s XO’s brow arched higher. “Your sister? Not a chance. I’m sure she’s all right. Probably still feeling echoes of a few weeks ago. Serpindal, Ion, all of that.”
“Maybe,” Davil said, frowning slightly.
Something started beeping on one of the sensor boards, followed by proximity alarms a moment later. The crewman manning the board, maybe two or three years older than either of his superiors, looked sharply toward the two men. “New contact, broadcasting emergency distress beacon, range four thousand klicks starboard.”
Logan MacKenzie frowned, sitting up in his bunk. His ship had never exited hyperspace that violently before – at least, he amended to himself, not since he replaced those faulty power couplings that had been giving him trouble over the last few months.
He checked the chrono. Six hours way too early. Continue reading