By Teisha J. Priest
“Running off to the Navy? You selfish coward!”
Her mother’s last message rang in Mira’s ears. Blinking hard, she refocused on the junction where the optical data lines for this section converged. Normally protected by the conduit pipes that lined the corridors, they cast a glow from the open panel.
The chief would have her head if she didn’t track down the faulty circuit by the end of her shift. Rummaging through the scuffed blue tool bag, she pulled out the spectrum analyzer and set to work scanning.
A two-beat alarm shrieked through the corridor outside the aft cargo section. The scanner slipped from her hands, clattering to the metallic gray deck plating. Catastrophic systems failure? That wasn’t supposed to be possible anymore.
Time slowed. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Someone jostled her arm in passing, snapping her into action. The nearest escape shuttle was by engineering—almost two sections away. Scooping up the tool bag, she threw it over her shoulder and ran.
Tremors rattled through the deck plates as an explosion ripped through the corridor. Mira skidded to a stop and froze in horror. A blast of heat flung her to the deck, and the emergency bulkhead snapped shut bare inches from where she had landed. The thick metal held back most of the fire racing toward her, but a tendril of flame slipped through at the last moment and seared her left arm. Spots danced before her eyes and an acrid smell filled the air. She vaguely wondered who was screaming before registering the burning pain.
Through blurred vision she spotted the bright orange med-kit on the bulkhead. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself across the deck and stretched her undamaged arm toward the box. She wrenched it off the wall and bit back a sob. Trembling fingers fumbled for the z-blox vial. Pressing the automatic injector to her injured shoulder, she exhaled as numbing relief flooded her arm. The metal wall that saved her life now trapped her—alone.
Tossing the med-kit into the tool bag, she grasped the closest data conduit to steady herself. Her legs felt like jelly, and a tentative movement of her burned arm sent a spike of pain through the damaged flesh. Reaching carefully, she eased the bag strap over her right shoulder. She’d have to head for the forward sections and hope they weren’t sealed off yet.
Another tremor shuddered through the deck. Emergency lights flickered, but there was no ominous fiery glow this time. Why did the bulkheads feel closer than usual? She took half a step back and then shook her head. If she didn’t pull herself together and quit imagining things, she wouldn’t get off this ship alive.
“Help!” Straining to listen, she followed the muffled cry to the enlisted rec center a few meters ahead. A twisted metal conduit pipe was jammed into the door, pinning it shut. An experimental tug on the pipe yielded nothing. The only way to get through meant cutting—something she didn’t have time for.
“Is anyone there?” Someone was pounding on the door now.
Mira bit her lip. What could she possibly do with just one good arm? Every survival instinct screamed at her to run, but one word rang louder. Coward.
Dropping her bag, she yelled, “I’m here! I’ll get you out!”
She yanked the laser cutter from the bag and held it with both hands. Refusing to look at the scorched flesh covering her arm, she took a deep breath and snapped it on, wincing as she strained to heft it. It took three excruciating minutes to cut through the pipe. Sweat dripping in her eyes, she dropped the tool and yanked the fragment free. The door slid open and four crew members poured out.
“Whoa!” One steadied her as she swayed. “C’mon, we’ve gotta get out of here.” He looped her good arm over his shoulders and dragged her down the corridor behind the rest of the group. “Thanks for getting us out. I thought we were goners for sure!”
She stumbled forward trying to keep up. Stars above! The anesthetic was wearing off. Everything blurred out of focus except the burning. The crewman eased her into a seat on the shuttle and carefully strapped her in, pressing another z-blox injection to her shoulder.
Snatches of conversation started to pierce the receding pain-induced fog. Nine of them had made it to the shuttle. Outside the viewport, the damaged ship shuddered as a final explosion ripped apart what was left, leaving a cloud of debris—and no other survivors.
“Lucky I’m a field medic.” The crewman who’d tended her winked as he dropped into the seat next to her. “We’re used to making do with whatever we’ve got on hand. I once patched up a patient with nothing but a ration wrapper and can of bulkhead sealant!”
She smiled faintly.
“Rescue ship’s on its way. They’ll give you the good drugs when they arrive, so just hold tight a bit longer, eh?” He grinned and squeezed her right hand. “Name’s Phil, by the way.”
“Mira,” she whispered.
“Never been happier to meet anyone! We’re all grateful that you stopped to get us out, especially with that whopper of a burn. You saved us, you know? The Commonwealth Navy’ll pin a medal on you.” He winked at her again and gave her an injection that made everything start to look soft around the edges. “Drinks are on us once we get back to port—least we can do for our hero.”
Mira’s eyelids drifted shut. Her body felt like she could sleep for a week, but her mind churned. Phil didn’t know that she’d almost left them behind. Would a real hero have hesitated? She was scared… and wanted to run—but hadn’t. “No matter what, I’m no coward,” she whispered to her memories. Mira exhaled an invisible weight and slipped into quiet sleep.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
taut action. mira is a hero.
Great story! Thanks for the read.
I like your fine distinction between coward and hero. Being a hero is continuing despite the fear. Excellent story!
I enjoyed the character focus in this story. It really brought the theme to the forefront.
Great story of how hero’s are really made. Loved the descriptions for the setting.
Love your story!
Love this beautiful story of heroic courage!