Page 273 of Reaper Said Mine

Panic hates interruption.

The cargo handler groans from the bent seat. “Hey! Little help would be appreciated before I become furniture.”

I look over. “Name?”

“Dane.”

“Dane, can you breathe?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you move?”

“My pride, maybe. My legs are having committee meetings.”

Rana’s voice carries from the rear compartment. “Fire suppression is damaged. I need hands back here!”

I shove the toolkit under Sera’s seat. “Guard this.”

She looks at it, then at me. “What is it?”

“Something people are trying to kill us over.”

Her face goes pale.

“Fantastic,” she whispers. “No pressure.”

“Actually, all pressure.”

I turn to Dane and kneel beside his seat. The frame has twisted around the harness latch, trapping him. Blood soaks through one sleeve, but his eyes are focused.

“I’m going to pull.”

“I love when strangers say ominous things.”

“On three.”

“Do you actually mean three, or are you one of those monsters who pulls on two?”

“One.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Two.”

The ship jerks as another near miss rocks us, and I pull.

The latch tears free with an ugly snap. Dane tumbles forward into me, and pain flares through my shoulder so sharply my vision whites at the edges. He catches himself on the deck, breathing hard.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Earn it. Help Rana.”

He looks toward the smoke thickening near the aft bulkhead. “Sure. Fire. Great. I was hoping for fire.”

We scramble toward the rear compartment, where Rana is fighting with a damaged suppression panel while sparks spit from the wall above her. Smoke rolls along the ceiling, dark and greasy. The aft access hatch hangs half-open, bent inward by pressure distortion. Beyond it, I see a narrow service space lit by emergency strips and the orange pulse of contained flame crawling around a ruptured power conduit.

Rana coughs. “Manual extinguisher.”