Jessica solar's Arc

Chapter 10 of 15

The airlock sealed and Jessica turned to the engine bay. She had less than a minute before the cutters broke through. Her tools lay scattered across the deck from the negotiation, kicked wide when she'd swept the crate between herself and the diplomat. A driver here. A spanner under the crate. Her calibration wrench three paces behind her. Without them stacked at the core, she could not rig any defense before the attackers reached it. She dropped to one knee and started grabbing. Driver. Pliers. The heavy coil spanner. She stacked them against her chest. Sparks kept biting through the seam above her head. She could hear the cutters now, a wet grinding sound through the plate. "Michael," she said into the slate. "Get down here. I need hands." A grate popped two meters above her. The artist dropped, landed hard, and caught himself on the bulkhead. Glasses crooked. Sketchpad still shoved in his belt. He looked at the mess on the deck and said, "Tell me what." "Wrench behind me. Torque bar under the crate. Bring them to the core hatch. Now." He moved. He didn't ask why. He scooped the wrench, kicked the crate aside, and dragged the torque bar behind him. Jessica reached the core hatch and dumped her armful. She counted. Driver, pliers, coil spanner, wrench, torque bar. Enough. "Hold the hatch open," she said. Michael braced it with his shoulder. Jessica went in on her knees. She could see the containment ring humming clean. Good. She pulled the coil spanner and cracked the housing on the secondary feed. If she cross-wired the feed through the outer plating, the whole corridor between the breach and the core would carry a charge. Not lethal. Enough to drop a man in armor for a count of ten. Enough for her locks to hold. She worked. Her hands knew the shape of it. She stripped the feed, jumped it to the plating conduit, and torqued the coupling down. Her knuckles bled. She didn't stop. A cutter punched through above the corridor. Boots hit her deck. "Now," she said. Michael threw the switch on the wall. The corridor lit blue. A shout, then a thud. Another thud. The boots stopped moving. Jessica backed out of the hatch and sat on her heels. She looked at Michael. He was already drawing. Pad on his knee, pencil moving. He didn't look up. "Don't publish that one yet," she said. "I know." She stood. The corridor hummed. Her tools lay where she needed them, in a tight ring around the core hatch, each one within a hand's reach. Her ship was hers again for the next hour. Through the plating she heard more boots. A second wave, further out. And under that, the dry click of glass wolves on metal, closing from the other side.