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   Chapter 90 No.90

The Galaxii Series Omnibus 1 By Christina Engela Characters: 4992

Updated: 2018-06-29 19:02

"What's been going on?" He asked, "How long have I been here?"

"The answers to your questions, sir are: a) I don't know and b) about three hours. Now please lie down before I have to sedate you."

"Who's in command? Hanson?"

"Someone called Blachart, apparently." The man said. "It doesn't matter – that last torpedo took out the engines. We're being towed back to Tremaine. Don't worry, Captain – we're out of danger."

That he had to see for himself – especially with him in charge on the bridge! Mykl started to fling the sheet off. The medic was suddenly at his side, and with barely any effort, his hand somehow flattened him back onto the stretcher. Too weak, must be the blood loss, he thought. Mykl wondered if some of the dried blood streaks staining the man's uniform sleeves was his.

"I've got to get to the bridge…" He began.

"Captain, are you going to rest willingly, or do I have to persuade you?" The infuser swung before his eyes, dangling from the man's fingers. There were still blood flecks on them. He would've shrugged if he had the strength, or if it didn't still hurt. Not much choice, was there?

The medic left with a snort, shaking his head tiredly. His eyes closed and he drifted off into a dead, dreamless sleep. Then, about three hours later, he woke up again. This time he was strong enough to persuade the medic to let him go. He stopped by the ship's laundry and scratched up a clean black shirt, and then running out of steam, made his slow unstea

ines. A good panel beater could still restore it. The few bullet holes and dents wouldn't need much to repair. Mykl didn't remember much of his time in it, but he imagined Blachart had worked its case and no mistake. It had served them well.

"Mind if I keep it?" Blachart asked.

"Sure." Mykl said, reading the nameplate on the rear bonnet. "Why not? I sure as hell don't have space for it on the Antares!"

"Sentimental reasons." Blachart explained, grinning. "It really fucks off!"

The badge was old and a little corroded, but it still conveyed a feeling of technical excellence that had somehow spanned the couple of hundred or so years since the last one was made.

"Porsche." Mykl read, smiling. "Somehow you always seem to collect antiques."

"Only the good things in life." He said, reaching down to the front seat. He wanted to toss Mykl the machine pistol, then thought better of it, and put it down on the deck instead. "I think I'll stick to cars now, instead of guns."

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