obviously searching for the right response to her initial reaction. Which had been, all things considered, relatively mild.
“All right, fine,” he surrendered, “you win. It looks cobbled together. But give it a fair go. People are raising families in there.”
“Families?” Torin leaned forward and took another look at the tangled mass of habitats referred to as Salvage Station 24. “In that?” It was hard to pick out details given the glare off the hectares of deployed solar sails, but she was certain she could see one of the H’san’s ceramic pods cozied up next to a piece of a decommissioned Navy cruiser, as well as half a dozen Marine packages. Tucked up against it, in no discernible pattern, she could see a dozen ships the Promise’s size or a very little larger. Apparently, salvage operators didn’t believe in docking arms on their stations.
A direct hit by the enemy would turn ninety percent of this particular station back into the scrap it had started as.
“Not at war,” she reminded herself. “Not anymore.” Then she added aloud, “Shouldn’t you let them know we’re on our way in?”
“They know.”
Eyes narrowed, Torin studied the board. There’d never been any question that Craig would teach her to both fly and repair the ship—she’d spent most of her previous career working to keep the Marines under her alive and now all that training and experience had been refocused on the Promise and her captain—but she’d been infantry and that meant starting essentially from scratch.
“Give me a large group of heavily armed people and I’ll make it do whatever you want, but this ..” Blowing out a deep breath, she’d shaken her head as she tried to make sense of the display. “I’m neither a pilot nor an engineer.”
“You’ll dux it out. This is easier than dealing with a large group of people.”
“Maybe for you.”
Definitely for him. Torin sectioned the board but still couldn’t find a data stream that suggested the Promise was in communication with the station. “I don’t see it,” she admitted at last.
“They pinged us 100 kliks out and got the codes.”
She stopped staring at the board and turned to stare at him. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“And docking?”
“I’ll bring her in alongside a free nipple and we’ll grapple in. Use the universal hookup if there’s no match.”
“Well, that’s very . . .” Torin considered and discarded a few words. “. . . independent.”
Craig grinned at her. “You’re swearing inside, aren’t you?”
“Not at all. Watch where you’re going.” She sat back and rested her hands on her thighs, watching so that her fingers didn’t curl into fists. “I spent my entire career being carted around by the Navy, depending on their engineers to do the math right. This is just a difference in scale.”
Craig’s brows rose as he micro-fired a forward thruster.
“A big difference,” Torin admitted.
They rose a bit higher.
“Fine. I’m swearing a little. There’s a reason docking computers are the default.”
“No worries, I can do anything my computer can. Although in some cases it may take me a little longer,” he added quickly as Torin opened her mouth.
As she hadn’t decided if she appreciated or was appalled by the sentiment, Torin let that stand. “So who’s in charge here?”
The corner of his mouth that she could see, twitched. “Group consensus as needed.”
“So, essentially, no one. Shoot me now.” After watching mismatched pieces go by for a while, and watching Craig’s brows dip closer to the bridge of his nose, she asked, “What happens if there isn’t a free lock?”
“There’s always a free lock,” he muttered. Promise twitched as he gave the upper aft thrusters a bit of juice. “But it looks like we’ll have to hook in a little far from where I usually dock.”
“And that means? Other than the obvious?”
“We’re going to need a native guide once we get inside.”
“Craig! Hombre! Empezabamos a pensar que no quisiste que los de mas te ven con nosotros, you son of a bitch!”
Torin moved back half a step as a tall man with four-centimeter dreads and three white stars tattooed on his left cheek swept Craig up into a hug that looked painful. She didn’t recognize the language—although it sounded Human—and she didn’t know their relationship—although since no one had started throwing punches, she assumed they were at least friends. It seemed safest to give herself some maneuvering room.
“Pedro!” Craig locked his arms around the other man and lifted him off his feet. “Too long, mate! Too long!”
“Had to let the bruises fade,” Pedro snickered as they