Page 23 of Commander’s Mate

“Two medical transports delayed because lift three is locked in emergency containment.”

“Temporary pressure loss in crew section twelve. Sealed.”

“No casualties.”

That last report should have been enough.

It was not.

“Rescued passengers?” I asked.

The operations officer touched her display. “Conference rooms three through seven intact. Cargo overflow intact. Medical intake is backed up. Two panic events when emergency bulkheads sealed. No reported injuries from those incidents.”

“Reported?”

“We are still counting.”

I hated that word.

Counting was what came after disaster when everyone was still pretending numbers could turn chaos into something manageable.

Degatu rose from the command chair. “You want to go below.”

“Yes.”

“So do I.”

That surprised me enough that I looked at him.

He gestured toward the bridge. “We are clear of pursuit for now. Navigation can hold course without both of us glaring at it.”

“I do not glare.”

Three officers carefully looked at their consoles.

Degatu’s mouth moved slightly. “Of course not.”

We left the bridge together.

The first evidence of damage appeared two levels down. A ceiling panel had dropped halfway into the passage and been caught by its emergency cables. Two maintenance crew were already beneath it, tools whining as they removed the dead section.

Past that, the corridor was crowded.

Not with warriors.

With rescued people.

A pressure-door malfunction had forced conference rooms four and five to evacuate into an adjoining passage. Blankets, bare feet, oversized shirts, frightened faces. Some sat against the wall. Others stood because they could not bear to sit. A silver-skinned male clutched the hand of a female who looked old enough to be his mother. Two children I had not noticed at Ursaga were wrapped together in one thermal covering.

One of our soldiers stood at the junction with his hands raised, trying to explain that the door would reopen.

The translator lagged.

Fear did not.

A woman began pounding on the sealed bulkhead.

“No,” she cried. “No doors. No doors.”