Page 67 of Star Prince

“I show multiple systems failures.” Her green-brown, red-gold hair floated around her face.“Crat!Systems are dropping off-line faster than the ship can put them back on. And now the computer’s not giving me the backups.”

“Do it manually!”

“I am!”

The lights went out, and the auxiliary lights kicked on, dim and tinted amber.

“ELECTRICAL FAILURE, UPPER DECK,” droned the computer’s voice.

His stomach dropped with a wave of nausea, and he felt suddenly heavy in his seat. He swallowed convulsively, cold sweat prickling his forehead.

“I got the gravity generator back on-line,” Tee shouted.

There was a jolt and the ship went silent. It took him a few seconds to realize that the ever-present sound of the air-recyclers was gone.

“PRIMARY LIFE-SUPPORT SYSTEM FAILURE. BACKUP SYSTEM UNAVAILABLE,” the computer reported.

“There goes our air.” Ian unstrapped. “We’re out of here.”

Tee slammed her hands onto her desk. “Great Mother, I don’t show any pressure change on the status instruments. It’s got to be a computer malfunction.”

“We don’t know that,” he shouted back.

A klaxon blared. “ABANDON SHIP. ABANDON SHIP.”

“Abandon ship?” Tee gaped at him. “How are we going to do that?”

“The external maintenance pod will do,” he said as the thought occurred to him. It was a chamber of about three hundred square feet, little more than a launching point for space walks when needed for outside repairs. “We can detach it, then drift away from the ship.”

“HULL BREACH DETECTED. FIVE MINUTES UNTIL STRUCTURAL FAILURE.”

“Let’s go!” He unbuckled her harness even as she battled to throw more failing systems on-line. Dying he could handle, if he had to, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around the possibility of losing Tee. “Computer!” he commanded. “Transmit mayday message—situation desperate, need immediate assistance.”

Tee smacked her open hand on a red disc on the comm panel, activating a distress signal. Then she had the presence of mind to dislodge a portable emergency beacon to bring with them to the pod, to guide a rescuer to their location in case they drifted too far from theSun Devil.

No doubt about it; the pixie was clearheaded in a crisis.

They stumbled out of the cockpit. Pushing her ahead of him along the gangway, he scrambled after her and they sprinted down the corridor.

“Something’s affected the ship’s warning software,” she speculated, gasping as they ran. “It’s disabled the alerts that were supposed to tell us something was wrong. Now the computerthinkswe have massive failures.”

“THREE MINUTES UNTIL STRUCTURAL FAILURE. ABANDON SHIP. ABANDON SHIP.”

“Or,” she shouted above the klaxon, “we reallydohave massive failures and we’re about to depressurize.”

He swore. “Now’s not the time to turn pessimistic.”

Ahead was the hatch to the external pod. It looked like a golf ball with a white padded interior. He shoved her inside and pushed the heavy hatch closed, but it jammed a finger’s width from sealing.

“SIXTY SECONDS UNTIL STRUCTURAL FAILURE.”

He cursed viciously past his clenched teeth. If he couldn’t get the hatch closed and the ship in fact depressurized, they would lose all the air in the pod, with little time to grasp the thought before their lungs exploded and their blood boiled.

“FIFTEEN SECONDS UNTIL STRUCTURAL FAILURE.”

“Kick the door shut!” he shouted. They rolled on their backs, pounding their boots against the jammed hatch.Close, damn it, close.

“STRUCTURAL FAILURE. ABANDON SHIP.”

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