Way of No Return (Champions of the Crystal Book 8)

Chapter 10.2

"So much for being harmless," Ford muttered, hitting a control in the wall. A moment later, the indicator on the door went from red to blue, and he swung the door open. The three of them emerged onto a dark, silent deck, lit only by the glow from the cabinet.

"Shards and splinters," Ford swore. "That must have been the last of the emergency power. Lien, I don't want to fire up the engines and draw attention unless we have to. The airlock will work manually—go see if there's anybody up in Shipyard Control. Cynthia, there should be a handlight in the cabinet behind you—come light the console for me. Let's see why the power's out."

Lien grabbed a handlight for himself and tossed the other one to Cynthia as he made his way off the deck. Cynthia obediently went over to hold the light for Ford. They heard some cranking noises as Lien worked the airlock; the sound had hardly faded when Ford swore and pounded a gloved fist against the console. "Completely dead," he said. "We'll have to go look at the engine room. Come on."

Ford took the handlight and led the way down the corridor that bisected the ship's length, leaving Cynthia to trail after him, close enough to see the deckplates in the bobbing light but trying to keep from stepping on his heels. At the end of the corridor, Cynthia held the handlight while Ford removed a panel in the floor and climbed down an access shaft; then she tossed the light down to him and climbed down herself.

"Don't touch anything," Ford warned as he removed a glove and laid his hand on the door panel. "Just hold the—"

He broke off abruptly as the door opened to space. Cynthia grabbed for the ladder with one hand and Ford's arm with the other as the air in the access tube blew out into the vacuum, nearly taking them with it. Ford slammed his palm on the door panel again and struggled to get his glove on without dislodging Cynthia's grip. At last the door closed, and Ford shoved at Cynthia. "Up! That's an interior door—it might not hold!"

"What the hell?" Cynthia panted as she surged up the ladder.

Ford did not reply, following close behind her. When they reached the main corridor, he slammed the access panel back into place and swore, holding his injured hand against his torso.

"Let me see that," Cynthia urged. "My kit's back where we came in."

"That's probably the safest place," Ford said after a moment, his voice choked.

"What happened?" Cynthia asked as they walked back to the control deck.

"The engines are gone. Blown away, it looks like. We aren't going to be able to power anything up," Ford said bitterly. He slammed his good fist into the wall. "The ship's dead. Useless. We can't get to Praxatillus from here."

They were silent as Cynthia located some ointment in her medkit and smeared it on his half-frozen hand. Ford switched off his com and sat slumped and silent, letting her work without comment. She wondered if he was crying.

"Grayson?" her com said.

"Yes?" she responded automatically. "Johurst?"

"Yes. I need you here in the control center. And bring the prince."

Cynthia frowned. "What did you find?"

"Just hurry, please."

"Right." Cynthia switched com channels, but Ford didn't respond. She tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to her helmet, and after a moment he nodded. "Johurst wants us in the control center."

"It can't be more useless than sitting here," Ford said, his voice hoarse. "Pack up your gear and get your weapon ready. What did Lien say exactly?"

"That he needed me in the control center and to bring you." Cynthia frowned. "But he called me Grayson, and he's never done that before. Is that military protocol?"