Smith looked out at the stars, there were so very many stars.
With a pained grunt, he flipped some more switches, micro optimising the running of the ship's reactor core.
From this seat he could hear everything on the bridge.
Sanderson and Jim, quietly conferring, faces drawn with exhaustion and effort.
Aloysius and Kurt, chattering of things of no consequence. There prattle of the money to be made on the four precious crates, just that. Meaningless words.
Deep within himself, Smith felt once again, the agony of his failing organs. His skin was blistered, red and cracking. He permitted himself a second of gritting his teeth then he took another pain pill and a swig of water and returned to his work.
"easy in, easy out" they'd said. They couldn't believe their luck. A mandate ship,
abandoned and undetected, undetected by anyone but them.
The first site hadn't been promising. The lines of a fine ship lurked under the damage and distortion. Still very salvageable.
Nausea surged within him as snippets of memory rose from the turmoil within him.
The glory of bringing the reactor back online and the ship back to life.
The strange gantry full of disassembled parts. The screws lined up in neat rows.
The bizarre device creating radiation.
Feeling himself slip away, Smith pulled himself back to focus. Pushing the ship harder, eking out just one more erg of energy, one more metre per second of speed.
Perihelion reached he ran through the calculations in his head, programmed the
thrusters and executed.
There. Perfect arrival calculated.
And with that Smith was finally able to rest.
Wednesday was Stars Without Number.
A derelict Mandate ship, crammed with goodies and danger.
Sometimes you catch a break, other times, a lethal dose of radiation.
In memoriam: Russell Smith, expert pilot and adventurer.
#SWN