First Encounter by Joshua James & Daniel Young

Author:Joshua James & Daniel Young [James, Joshua & Young, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-20T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Foster and Brennan whirled, pinned to the bulkhead like laundry on a spin cycle. The only redeeming grace about tumbling to the surface of an asteroid was that with no atmosphere and little gravity, the ship might not burn up or squash on impact. They might bounce. On second thought, that was only marginally better than getting crushed.

“Grab the friggin’ handholds,” yelped Walsh, and he clutched for a loop that stuck out of the bulkhead. In a crazy balancing act between his hands, the handhold, and the seat, he pulled his body back into the pilot’s seat and pressed a button at his command console. A pair of arms sprang from the ceiling and descended around him to lock him in place.

Foster reached for a handhold, and as his hand clutched the handle, a net sprang out and sealed him against the bulkhead.

“Brennan, grab the protrusion above your head.”

The grizzled engineer grunted and grabbed the one above his head, but a net didn’t deploy. His feet swayed under him, as they couldn’t touch the deck.

“Hold on, mates,” said Walsh. “I’m fighting the ship’s orientation, but I’ll have her righted—”

The ship rattled with a tortured scream of metal under stress.

“Oh, by the Saint’s Holy Name,” sputtered Walsh. “Space trash! How dare—”

“What’s going on, Walsh?” grated Foster.

“We’re landing, but don’t worry none.”

“You call this a landing?” said Foster sarcastically.

“Hey, this is on you, space cowboy,” grumbled Walsh. “I didn’t need to leave my bed to haul your asses around.”

Out of the forward viewport, the gray surface of the asteroid rushed at them. “Chief, grab another handhold!”

Brennan growled and twisted his body, to reach the next curl of metal jutting from the bulkhead as he strained to keep from flying into the back of the compartment. His hand closed around the metal projection, and with a click, mesh dropped and splayed him against the bulkhead.

“Those bastards blew the engine,” sputtered Walsh. “This will be—”

The shock of slamming into the asteroid rang through every bone and sinew in Foster’s body. As he gasped for breath, the console Walsh sat at broke apart in a wash of shards. Walsh cried out as the shrapnel struck him. More pieces flew through the cabin, pinging them and the bulkhead with needle-sharp barbs.

“Holy hell,” yelped Brennan.

Foster closed his eyes as the flak struck his skin through the netting and the ship rolled, not sliding, on the surface of Dragon’s Den’s asteroid. His head and back hit the bulkhead; then his face mashed into the netting once, twice, three times. Foster didn’t know how much more his head or his stomach could take, and wondered when the scavenger’s vessel would stop the incessant turning. Without the asteroid’s lesser gravity providing the needed inertia, they could keep rolling beyond the point where he’d pass out.

Keep it together, Foster. Could he will himself not to pass out? During training two decades ago, the drill sergeants had stuffed each of them in a centrifuge to gauge how many g’s they could withstand.

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