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   Chapter 51 No.51

Demonspawn By Christina Engela Characters: 5114

Updated: 2018-06-30 19:02

"Let's see now, " Joe said, playing along. "We seem to have solved the problem about the engine damage… we've defeated the bogeyman… blew up one big space ship… that just leaves the small matter of Blaine's murderer."

"And that's practically a minor footnote, considering everything else that'll be in your final report!" Harry smiled. "I'd love to take a look at it when you've finished – if you don't mind. It might be worth framing."

"It'll be the next best seller, Harry." Lofflin chortled. "Where's he now anyway?"

"Down in engineering, busy with the repairs." Said Harry. "Murphy is discreetly looking over his shoulder, checking on him. In the meantime, just over an hour ago, the medical center's subnet rebooted for no apparent reason."


"When it came back up again, my medical logs, including autopsy reports, scans of the crime scene – everything… all gone!"

Lofflin managed a fatigued smile.

"Why, that sneaky little mechanic!" He jibed.

"Of course, he doesn't know about the backup I made!" Harry grinned cheerfully. "Thanks to Mr. Hewitt!"

Harry continued to clean and heal his wounds with his small medical appliances.

"Things have changed a little in the last few days, Harry." Lofflin said, almost thinking out loud. "When he killed Blaine, Billingham might have felt justified, thinking we were all going to die anyway. We would all have died together. Now we have the parts to repair the engines – and he's the one doing the repairs, it sort of throws a different light on things

pened it at last, he recognized one of the youthful male communications specialists on duty.

"Yes, what is it, Specialist?" He mumbled.

"Sorry about that, sir, but it's urgent!"

"Come in, come in." He said, stumbling back to sit on the edge of his sofa, and yawned. "What the hell time is it?"

"Onboard communications are down, sir!" the Specialist reported urgently, ignoring his question. "All internal sensors and intercoms too!"

"Power failure?" Lofflin guessed, scratching a patch of freshly healed skin that itched like the dickens. He noticed the time on his desk screen over to the side of the cabin. "Good gods, it's three forty five!"

"No sir, sabotage!"

That got his attention – by the throat. 'The ship's coming apart around me!' He groaned inwardly.

"Say again?"

"Specialist Jennings and I went to check the patch panels in corridor A, and somebody jumped us in the maintenance chute, sir – Jennings is in sickbay with a skull fracture! Hit over the head, didn't see who it was."

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