obvious problem, and tried to sound confident. "You cover Jan. I'll handle the rest."
Kyle made his way up the ramp, turned towards the cockpit, and passed through the lounge. Waller dropped out of the overhead turret, saw Kyle's thumbs-up, and returned to his post.
Jan had allowed Kyle to initialize the ship's systems after the repairs were made and the access code was fresh in his mind. He entered the numbers, watched the control panel flicker to life, and grabbed a headset. "Truly Sorry to Hangar Control."
The woman was bored. "Control here - go."
"Request permission to depart hangar bay five minutes from now."
The controller's voice was stern. "Not funny Sorry. Departure requests must be filed at least thirty standard hours prior to takeoff. Permission denied."
Kyle checked to ensure that Rosco was clear, fed power to the repulsors, and danced the ship out onto the taxiway. He hadn't flown a ship like the Sorry before, and she wobbled like a trooper on leave. The response came quickly.
"Control to Sorry! Return to your slot, power down, and lower your ramp."
Kyle tried to look in every direction at once as he spoke into the boom comm. "No can do, Control. Open the doors - or I'll open them for you."
"You don't pack enough punch," the woman countered grimly. "Return to your slot before someone gets hurt."
Kyle checked his weapon selector switches, discovered that he didn't pack enough punch, and chose a different approach instead. "Hey, Waller. See that shuttle on the far side of the bay? The one with the SoroSuub logo? Work it over."
Bolts of energy burped across the bay, hit the other ship's starboard wing, and sheared part of it off.
A klaxon sounded. Warning lights flashed. The PA system came on.
"This is an emergency. Clear the hangar deck. I repeat, clear the hangar deck. Standby for depressurization. This is . . . "
Sentients dropped their tools and ran, waddled, and, in at least one case, oozed towards the nearest lock. Kyle fought to hold the ship stationary. "Where's Jan?"
Rosco spoke into the headset he wore. "No need to panic, Admiral - she's on the way!"
Kyle saw a lock open, saw Jan start his way, and wondered about A-Cee. The Rebel agent was about halfway to the ship by the time the lock opened again and a posse spilled onto the deck. There was a Rodian in the lead, followed by Nathan Donar, and a mixed bag of Imperial military personnel. They opened fire and Rosco returned it.
Jan picked up speed, Waller fired the turret gun, and four of her pursuers fell. The rest scattered. Kyle saw Nathan duck into one of the secondary locks and felt relieved. They hadn't been friends, not in the real sense anyway, but he wished the officer no harm.
Jan watched the Truly Sorry fade in and out of focus while it lurched up and down. Her breath came in painful gasps, her heart beat faster than it should, and lead filled her legs. She realized that the bleating noise meant something, that the air was getting thin, and she was about to die. Jan threw herself forward, stumbled, and fell. The steel felt cold beneath her cheek.
Kyle saw Jan fall, guessed the nature of the problem, and moved the ship in that direction. "Rosco? Can you help?"
Rosco, who had taken the precaution of slipping an emergency oxygen mask over his face, was already in motion. Kyle saw him, fought to slow the ship, and struggled to focus. The ramp was halfway open, which meant air was being sucked out of the Sorry's cabin. Kyle fumbled for a mask, found it, and pulled oxygen into his lungs.
Rosco bent, scooped the girl into his arms, and turned. A stray piece of paper whipped past his face as the doors parted and air rushed into space. He had a minute, maybe less, to reach the ship's interior. It was that or wait for the ensuing vacuum to turn him inside out. But what about the ship? Was it there? Or had the kid left them to die?
Rosco turned, found the Sorry looming over him, and saw the ramp touch the deck. The Rebel took five steps,
Kyle made his way up the ramp, turned towards the cockpit, and passed through the lounge. Waller dropped out of the overhead turret, saw Kyle's thumbs-up, and returned to his post.
Jan had allowed Kyle to initialize the ship's systems after the repairs were made and the access code was fresh in his mind. He entered the numbers, watched the control panel flicker to life, and grabbed a headset. "Truly Sorry to Hangar Control."
The woman was bored. "Control here - go."
"Request permission to depart hangar bay five minutes from now."
The controller's voice was stern. "Not funny Sorry. Departure requests must be filed at least thirty standard hours prior to takeoff. Permission denied."
Kyle checked to ensure that Rosco was clear, fed power to the repulsors, and danced the ship out onto the taxiway. He hadn't flown a ship like the Sorry before, and she wobbled like a trooper on leave. The response came quickly.
"Control to Sorry! Return to your slot, power down, and lower your ramp."
Kyle tried to look in every direction at once as he spoke into the boom comm. "No can do, Control. Open the doors - or I'll open them for you."
"You don't pack enough punch," the woman countered grimly. "Return to your slot before someone gets hurt."
Kyle checked his weapon selector switches, discovered that he didn't pack enough punch, and chose a different approach instead. "Hey, Waller. See that shuttle on the far side of the bay? The one with the SoroSuub logo? Work it over."
Bolts of energy burped across the bay, hit the other ship's starboard wing, and sheared part of it off.
A klaxon sounded. Warning lights flashed. The PA system came on.
"This is an emergency. Clear the hangar deck. I repeat, clear the hangar deck. Standby for depressurization. This is . . . "
Sentients dropped their tools and ran, waddled, and, in at least one case, oozed towards the nearest lock. Kyle fought to hold the ship stationary. "Where's Jan?"
Rosco spoke into the headset he wore. "No need to panic, Admiral - she's on the way!"
Kyle saw a lock open, saw Jan start his way, and wondered about A-Cee. The Rebel agent was about halfway to the ship by the time the lock opened again and a posse spilled onto the deck. There was a Rodian in the lead, followed by Nathan Donar, and a mixed bag of Imperial military personnel. They opened fire and Rosco returned it.
Jan picked up speed, Waller fired the turret gun, and four of her pursuers fell. The rest scattered. Kyle saw Nathan duck into one of the secondary locks and felt relieved. They hadn't been friends, not in the real sense anyway, but he wished the officer no harm.
Jan watched the Truly Sorry fade in and out of focus while it lurched up and down. Her breath came in painful gasps, her heart beat faster than it should, and lead filled her legs. She realized that the bleating noise meant something, that the air was getting thin, and she was about to die. Jan threw herself forward, stumbled, and fell. The steel felt cold beneath her cheek.
Kyle saw Jan fall, guessed the nature of the problem, and moved the ship in that direction. "Rosco? Can you help?"
Rosco, who had taken the precaution of slipping an emergency oxygen mask over his face, was already in motion. Kyle saw him, fought to slow the ship, and struggled to focus. The ramp was halfway open, which meant air was being sucked out of the Sorry's cabin. Kyle fumbled for a mask, found it, and pulled oxygen into his lungs.
Rosco bent, scooped the girl into his arms, and turned. A stray piece of paper whipped past his face as the doors parted and air rushed into space. He had a minute, maybe less, to reach the ship's interior. It was that or wait for the ensuing vacuum to turn him inside out. But what about the ship? Was it there? Or had the kid left them to die?
Rosco turned, found the Sorry looming over him, and saw the ramp touch the deck. The Rebel took five steps,
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