Chapter Text
Ryland thought the sheets tangled around his limbs and zero-grav harness were a result of his own somnambulant thrashing. Even if the memories of the dreams flee from him, he can feel evidence of them in his bloodshot eyes, like dry grit as he blinks awake.
The world thrashes. Ryland can feel the straps pushing into his skin uncomfortably in a bout of microgravity as a voice echoes from the cockpit.
“EAT SHIT CONSOLIDATION FUCKS!”
A pang of fear shoots through him, and he struggles to get free of the straps, and then to kick off the sheets clinging to him in the inconsistent drift. He shoots off through the hatch and scrabbles over to Rocky’s shoulder.
“Uhhh Rock, status report?”
“No hull damage on the Long Shot.” A warning siren flares. “FUCK!” Rocky jerks the yoke violently and his eyes, glinting between green and red in the flashing lights, scan the scrolling screens. “MINOR hull damage to the Long Shot,” he corrects. “Aaaaand we’ve got a C.O.I. shuttle up our asses.”
Ryland sighs as he wipes his eyes. “Figures.” He floats off to check various other systems around the cockpit. He bites his lip. “Damage is on the fuel bay. Think you can shake them?”
“Is my name ‘Rocky, the Best Fucking Pilot After the Quiet Rapture’?”
“Your name is none of those things.”
“Well I am getting us out of this so let me work on it,” he grits out between his teeth.
The issue is that they were low on fuel to begin with. That’s why they had to turn the artificial gravity system off. That’s why they were, as Rocky would say, “balls deep in the asscrack of Consolidation territory”. They just needed a quick in and out to run through the faint star-eater line, and fill up their nets. But now, even if they did get the fuel, they’d have to patch the hull to make sure it stayed. And they didn’t have the materials for it.
WARNING: FUEL LEAK. ABANDON VESSEL. FIND NEAREST CONSOLIDATION STATION – Rocky’s pre-recorded voice cuts in – And tell them to fuck themselves on their damn rebar! (It originally said, “And surrender materials for reuse.” It was, after all, a salvaged Consolidation system. But Rocky decided to change it.)
“Shit-” Rocky hisses. His tone switches to a panicked sing-song, “Shit, shitshit, shitshit, shit shit!”
PROXIMITY WARNING.
“We know, Long Shot!” Ryland snaps, and mutes the warnings. Or at least, he does after some pinwheeling his arms through the air. Rocky’s zipping through a debris-field, and the microgravity changes again. If he had anything in his stomach, Ryland knows it would be evacuating right now. As it is, the bile just vaguely burns his throat and he swallows.
“Hold on to your ass, Ry.”
“Holding it!” He pushes off the back wall, grabs some less important part of the console, and does his best to anchor his legs around Rocky’s and his chair.
The ship speeds up, and it reminds Ryland of a car. His shoulder presses back into Rocky’s chest. Both are watching the main display.
Upon meeting the debris-field, and more likely, the edge of their patrolled territory, the blips on the radar turn around.
The ship slows to a stop. Rocky lifts his hands off the yoke, glancing at Ryland with a self-satisfied grin. “Eh?”
Ryland grins back and claps once. “You’re fudging INCREDIBLE Rock!”
He starts to laugh and tries to jump in to spew his own praises, when-
HULL BREACH
“Fffffuck me.”
HULL BREACH. HULL BREACH.
“Do we have enough materials to patch it?” He already knows the answer.
HULL BREACH. HULL BREA-
Rocky switches the alarm off, by hitting the console, then puts his head in his hands. “You know we don’t.”
Maybe Ryland would’ve liked a little lying to save his feelings.
Rocky looks down to where he hit the console, which had dislodged a chunk of metal. He unbuckles himself from the pilot’s seat, then braces his legs on either side of the panel as he grabs and pulls. It comes free, and Rocky careens backwards head-over-feet. The gap reveals a mass of wiring, which was certainly a fire hazard.
Ryland turns to Rocky, who is cursing, as usual. He’s also shaking his hand and nursing a small cut.
“You need to take care of that.” He’s very, very aware of what that means for him.
“Yeah, sure fuckin’ do! It’s not that bad, but…” he shoots Ryland a meaningful glance. “And I need to check on the fuel bays and crunch some numbers.” He tosses the panel to Ryland, after he carefully ensures there’s no blood on it, and hides his injured hand from him. “You’re going on a spacewalk, doctor.”