I did the calculations in my head, factoring in the jerry-rigged repairs I'd have to perform with limited tools and raiders actively shooting at us. "Fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty if the power couplings are fried."
"You have ten."
"Vaxon—"
"Ten minutes." His voice went hard, commander mode fully engaged. "After that, their ships will be in optimal firing position. They'll cut through what's left of our shields and breach the hull. Ten minutes, Elena. Make it work."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to explain that physics didn't negotiate and engineering had limits and I couldn't just magic a working shuttle out of damaged components and hope. But the look on his face through his helmet visor stopped me. The absolute certainty. The unwavering faith that I could do the impossible because failure meant death.
So I'd do the impossible. Again.
We reached the shuttle's docking port as the first raider boarding party breached the derelict's outer hull. I heard them through the thin walls, the clang of magnetic boots, harsh voices speaking a language my translator struggled to parse, weapons fire as they cleared compartments searching for survivors and salvage.
Er'dox's voice crackled over the general comm. "Commander, we have hostiles in sections three and seven. Pel'kra and Jov'eth are holding the perimeter, but we're outnumbered three to one."
"Fall back to the shuttle," Vaxon ordered. "Defensive formation. Priority one is protecting Elena while she works."
"Negative," I cut in, already stripping access panels from the shuttle's power relay. "Priority one is getting Will and Lisa's stasis pods aboard. They don't survive if we leave them behind."
Silence. Then Vaxon, dangerously quiet: "Elena?—"
"Non-negotiable." I met his eyes, saw the ice-blue flare with something that might have been anger or might have beenrespect. Hard to tell with Zandovians. "You said I need to choose what I'm fighting for. Well, I choose them. Will gave up his life for those two people. I'm not leaving them to raiders."
For three seconds, he just stared at me. Then: "Er'dox, Yren, retrieve the stasis pods from compartments two and three. Sax'ka, provide cover fire. Pel'kra, Jov'eth, defensive positions at the docking port. No one gets through to Elena."
"Understood, Commander."
The team moved with practiced efficiency, and I forced myself to focus on the work. Ignore the weapons fire getting closer. Ignore the way my hands wanted to shake as I traced power conduits and isolated damaged circuits. Ignore the weight of Will's datapad in my utility belt, his final words playing on repeat in my head.
Tell her to live. That's an order.
The shuttle's main power coupling was worse than I'd hoped, not just damaged but partially melted, the superconducting alloys fused into useless slag. I'd have to bypass the entire system, reroute through secondary and tertiary conduits not rated for engine power loads, and pray the whole thing didn't explode when I brought the engines online.
Piece of cake. Just like every other impossible task I'd tackled since landing on this alien ship six months ago.
I worked fast, fingers flying through connection sequences while my brain ran probability calculations. Seventy-three percent chance the bypass would hold. Eighty-nine percent chance I could restore minimal shield capacity. Forty-two percent chance we'd make it out of the debris field without catastrophic system failure.
Better odds than we'd had during the wormhole. I'd survived that. I could survive this.
Weapons fire intensified. Through the open docking port, I glimpsed Vaxon and his team engaging the raiders, controlled bursts of energy weapons, and tactical positioning that turned the narrow corridors into a killing field. Vaxon moved like violence personified, all lethal grace and absolute precision. Every shot found its target. Every movement served a purpose.
He was magnificent. And terrifying. And I absolutely could not afford to be distracted by how my stomach flipped watching him fight.
"Elena, update." His voice cut through the combat sounds, steady despite the chaos surrounding him.
"Power reroute in progress. Engines at forty percent capacity. Shields—" I pulled up the diagnostic, swore viciously. "Shields are gone. The emitters are offline. I can't fix them in time."
"Can you fly without shields?"
"Can you fight without armor?"
"I have before."
Of course he had. Because Vaxon was apparently invincible and suicidal and why did that combination make my chest tight?
"We'll be vulnerable to direct hits," I said, forcing my focus back to the work. "One good shot to the engines and we're debris. But I can get us mobile. Get us running."
"Running is enough. Just get me an exit route."
