Shit! Shit shit shit shit!

Nick was furious with himself. Yes, this was probably a suicide mission. Yes, something had gone wrong immediately, and he had to take a prisoner. He expected that.

But fucking up by sticking the damned dongle into the wrong jack? Nick, you fucking dumbass!

His terror was that he would get captured or killed before he managed to get the new dongle in place. Because if he failed, one more of the fuakalas would have to squeeze into the last suit of armor available and try to complete his mission in this part of the ship. Maybe someplace other than Sickbay, since in that case it was likely to be crawling with security.

I should have just found an empty cabin or conference room or whatever...but I might have burst in on someone and that would have fucked things up too.

The doctor was trying to negotiate, talk her way free, which was understandable. Nick did his best to tune her out and just listen for someone coming into Sickbay and seeing the doctor missing. Oh, shit, she's going to call for help the moment someone comes in. How do I stop her? This isn't the movies, if I hit her on the head I might kill her, or give her a chance to disarm me.

Nick thought it over. If I hear someone come in, I'll press the rifle against her head as a warning to stay silent. Either it works or it doesn't.

The pain was starting to get really distracting, and Nick had to exert a little effort to keep from throwing up in the helmet. He noted the irony of being in Sickbay with a doctor while injured and not being able to get so much as a painkiller. Thoroughly miserable, he breathed shallowly, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Petra finished printing the new dongle. He pulled her out of her pouch on his belt just long enough to grab the dongle, then stuffed her back in. I hope the doctor didn't see that. I'm already tempting fate by bringing the bad guys the exact thing they want, I don't need to wave it around in full view of anyone who walks in, on top of that!

Nick fought between the panic to rush and the fear of fucking up the jack again. He wasted several seconds making very sure that he was using the one Jenkins had confirmed. Then he plugged it in.

No smoke or sparks this time. Nick slid a mysterious piece of medical equipment forward to block the sight of the dongle, then went back to standing over the doctor, and desperately tried not to vomit.

How will I know when it works? If it works? Should I be trying to get to the bridge to back up Xanadu? What should I do with the doc? If I shoot her, the sound will probably bring Security running. Nick wished that he dared transmit, but Petra wasn't certain that it wouldn't get picked up by some security system on board. With seconds to make the decision during docking, they'd decided not to transmit from the armor, just receive what Petra relay-transmitted with her AI taking suggestions from Jenkins.

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Nick started to shiver a bit inside the armor. I'd better not be getting sick from these aliens too! I haven't cracked the helmet yet but this thing presumably has carried Goldaskians or whatever the fuck they call themselves, and they probably don't sanitize it every time.

Maybe I'm just going into shock. Nick didn't know much about shock. He'd always meant to take a CPR class because it seemed both good and cool, but he just never got around to it. I wonder if they have demonic ibuprofen in here, and whether it would work on me. He was desperately tempted to take off his helmet but he wasn't that much of a dumbass.

Everything was in Jenkins' hands now. He was running the show.

Nick really hated waiting. It gave him time to panic, and time to realize how fucking crazy this whole plan was. "Plan." Yeah, right. We are totally fucking winging it. I hadn't thought beyond it being essential for Petra to take over all the controls on the ship. How are we going to defeat the crew, though? They might put stuff on manual to take back control, or more simply they might just grab a bunch of guns and come kill all of us. For all I know, that's already in progress.

Why isn't Jenkins giving me any more updates? Nick forced himself to slow down and think, and guessed that Xanadu needed to be led through a conversation with the ship's captain and Jenkins had to pick out the words on the fly and pray Petra understood him well enough, to translate quickly enough, so that this house of cards didn't collapse.

There were a million questions he wished he could ask Petra, and would if he had a tablet linked to her, where he could get at it. And if that wouldn't give away the whole game. But his curiosity was driving him mad, waiting here like this.

How many bad guys are on this ship, anyway? If we manage to kill them all and some of us survive, will we be able to fly the ship? Keep it running, even? Is it going to be missed? Are they supposed to check in with superiors? How long until the ship gets hunted?

Should I go check on Xanadu? Could I help, without the doctor blowing it all to hell?

Trust Jenkins, Nick told himself over and over. Jenkins is the one with the plan, with all the cameras, with Petra turning his words into bullshitting in satanic or whatever they speak. Don't go off script. If he needs you to do something else, he'll tell you.

He looked around the Sickbay. Will any of this gear be helpful? Petra will know.

His mind drifted a bit while he waited.

Kathy is dead. Ktheg!lik. I wonder what happened. She had seemed to be the leader, though that may have just been that she was most willing to talk to an alien. The fuakalas didn't seem to be terribly organized, more a random group of survivors than a military troop or even a set of close neighbors. He'd like to hear their stories, at some point.

This is so surreal. I'm on an alien spaceship. I'm on an alien spaceship. This should be awesome. Instead I'm trying not to barf while I wait to be executed.

I don't want to die.

The words of his therapist came back to him.

So, don't.

It wasn't that you could always win. It was that you could always keep trying to win. That's all life ever offered anyone.

Nick took a deeper breath, and his panic subsided. Panic later. There's still work to do. If I'm stuck here doing nothing, I should be planning.

All right. Suppose we take the ship. Do I bring the fuakalas to Earth? They're not going to be treated well. People suck. Maybe I can find another civilization willing to take them. I guess it depends on how many people are needed to fly this thing. Not sure I could bring it to Earth all by myself, and that's assuming the fuakalas let me keep it. Maybe I can get them to drop me off on Earth? Ooh, maybe I could keep the drop shuttle, that would be a good compromise. Not as good as a warship, but enough. Plus Petra herself, which in theory could give Earth everything, eventually.

Yeah, it's nice to imagine living through this. If I go down, go down swinging. Go down hoping.

Who knows? Maybe this will actually work.

I can hope.

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