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"We've got a four-day fold to Vrijheid," Torin reminded them. The ship seemed significantly larger without Presit on board. Without Presit, she'd lost another co
"And time for you to tell us why you're pink. Pinker," Werst amended. "But he was fine!"
"No, he was functioning. Not the same thing." Doc turned from the screen, folded his arms, and stared up at Nadayki. Who took a step back, his hair flattening against his head.
From where Craig lay on the examination table, it looked like the kid was actually scared-in spite of having an extra twenty centimeters in height and the di'Taykan pheromone advantage-rather than merely giving way to a stronger personality. He adjusted his opinion of Doc a little further toward the unstable end of the scary, bugfuk crazy spectrum.
"Well, if he was functioning before," the young di'Taykan all but whined, "can't he function again?"
"Depends. How fond are you of being puked on?"
Nadayki took another step back. "Not much."
"Then learn to get the hell out of the way," Doc told him, "because it's going to continue to happen at random intervals." He half turned toward Craig and indicated he could get up. "Short circuit, puke, collapse in pain. Rinse, repeat."
"Rinse?"
"Never mind. He'll also be unable to see yellow."
"Really?" Nadayki's eyes darkened as Craig searched the room for yellow and realized he could see it fine.
"No, I'm just fukking with you. You, Ryder…" Doc frowned as Craig moved carefully around the end of the table toward the door. "If your brain doesn't slag itself, you're likely to dehydrate so keep your fluids up."
"And how do I keep my brain from slagging itself?"
"Build a time machine, go back, and stay the fuk away from that poker game."
Considering how things had turned out, it wasn't bad advice. On the upside, random brain spasms were definitely going to slow things down. And how much shit was he in, that random brain spasms had an upside?
Nadayki wasn't happy about the pace Craig set leaving medical, but when Craig pointed out that a faster pace raised the odds of immediate puking, he decided to cope. He tapped a syncopated beat against the bulkhead as they moved and just as they approached the Heart's air lock, said, "There's a theory among the really out there experimental astrophysicists that, if the math is right, Susumi space can be used for time travel."
"Well, that's the trick, isn't it, kid; getting the math right."
"Stop calling me kid."
The air lock's i
"That's pathetic."
"Yeah, well, bitch to your thytrin. I didn't ask to have my brain scrambled."
"You tried to cut my leg off!"
"Don't rubbish me, mate, I'd just been shot and netted." Craig repeated the one leg at a time maneuver over the outer lip. "I'd have preferred to have cut your throat."
The expression on the kid's face suggested he'd never considered he might end up on the receiving end of the violence he helped dish out. "You fukking deserved to be zapped!"
"So live with the result."
They walked in silence for a few moments, about as long as Craig figured the di'Taykan could be silent. "I've applied your codes to the CSO's seal, but they only opened the upper levels. There's no pattern in the lower levels."
"No, you can't find a pattern in the lower levels."
"There is no logical pattern."
"You might be right. A CSO's seal is more art than science," Craig continued before Nadayki could protest the qualifier.
"That makes no sense."
"They tell me you're good with code."
"I hacked a defense satellite and had it burn Nadayki di'Berinango…"
Nine letters in his family name. Given that the Taykan social system favored those with the shortest names, it was no wonder the kid had turned to crime.
"… half a meter deep into the Prime Progenitor's lawn with a laser," he bragged.
Craig frowned. Didn't sound like much to be all big note about. "You signed your name?"
"I was making a point. They said it couldn't be done, and I wanted them to know who'd done it."
"And how'd that work out for you?"
"We got away," Nadayki pointed out smugly as they reached the storage pod and Nat stepped out of the shadows.
"About fukking time you got here," she muttered. "Cap says before you get started again, Ryder, you get to clean up the puke." She nodded toward the shovel leaning against the bulkhead next to a mop and bucket. "It's got kind of rubbery, so if you want my advice, start by scraping."
"I have to clean up my own chunder?"
Her brows rose, but she picked up the slang from context. "It's your puke, gorgeous. Who the hell else is going to clean it up? At least I opened up the maintenance station and got things ready for you. Deodorizer's already in the water."
Since his original plan of staying alive until Torin got him out had turned into the slightly more specific delay opening of the weapons locker until Torin arrived to neutralize the threat, Craig supposed that, on some level, he appreciated the delay involved in scrubbing dried vomit off the deck. But only someone stalling for time would accept the job without whinging. "Have Almon clean it up. His pathetic need to use the tasik as an auxiliary donger is the reason I chucked."
"Cap says you do it." Nat squeezed his shoulder, and he hoped it wasn't with the hand she usually used to scratch. "When you're done, get moving on those seals before he decides to encourage you by letting Doc take a pair of bolt cutters to your toes."
His toes curled under in his borrowed boots. She didn't sound like she was kidding. "In what universe is that encouraging?"
"The one where you don't want it to happen. So don't dawdle. Keep him up to speed, kid."
"Don't call me kid," Nadayki muttered.
"Oh, yeah. Put the larrkin in charge." Craig rolled his eyes as he picked up the plastic shovel and headed for the hatch leading into the pod. The shovel remained inert. If the fukking plastic aliens were still around, they had no sense of timing. "Kid's on the run for high-tech graffiti."
"He told you that, eh?" Nat sounded amused. "He tell you those lasers sliced and diced three people who just happened to be on the Prime Progenitor's lawn at the time?"
"No…" Craig glanced over at Nadayki who shrugged. "… he didn't skite about that."
Taykan noses were much more sensitive than Human noses.
Nadayki's reaction to the half-dried vomit nearly made the job worthwhile. The time he spent cleaning the chunky puddle off the deck was the longest Craig had ever spent with a di'Taykan without being propositioned.
"That wasn't exactly fast," he whined as Craig dumped the soiled water down the reclamation chute.
"Oh, yeah, because I like to take my time cleaning up puke."
Hand over his mouth and nose, Nadayki muttered, "Whatever. Can we get the fukking seal open now?"
"Don't get your panties in a knot, kid, I still have to wash the gear."
"Wash the… What the fuk for?"
"You want the smell to linger?" Ignoring the muttered response, he did a thorough job. Unfortunately, there was a finite time he could spend cleaning a shovel, a mop, and a bucket, slotting them back into their places, and closing the maintenance area down. Because the ore docks would be open to vacuum every time a carrier came up from the planet and loose items were dangerous, the lockers were built to withstand accidental decompression. Beside the maintenance area was a tool locker holding only a broken pipe wrench and seven identical screwdrivers. Beside that, an empty suit locker with space for six although only three hookups were live. Tucked into the far corner by the rear bulkhead was a hatch that led to an actual head.