Survival Tactics

What Fresh Hell is This?

The shuttlecraft cleared the bay's forcefield, and Burnham felt the slight tremble that went through the ship as it slipped beyond Discovery's artificial gravity and its own grav-generators kicked in. Keyla piloted it the little craft in a long arc that gave them a breathtaking view of Discovery's belly—still unblemished and Azteced by her interlocked hull-plates—then the deep, rich black of space, and finally the pink corona Noviani-7's outer atmosphere.

Burnham admired Keyla's skill as a pilot, even as she felt the woman's resentment coming off of her in waves. She wondered if this was a result of her unfortunate interruption or Keyla's general antipathy toward her since the Battle at the Binary Stars.

Her Vulcan upbringing—that ill-fitting garment she wore over her feelings—told her not to care what Keyla thought of her. She likely couldn't change the woman's feelings and whatever conclusion she'd come to about Burnham, so preoccupation with it was both a waste of energy and likely counterproductive. But as with so many of her Vulcan teachings, this too was just barely out of her reach. There were too many memories of their time together on the Shenzhou, when they were crewmates and colleagues and she had Keyla's respect as a commander. Those were hard things to lose

"Locking coordinates into the nav system," Burnham said efficiently. "Should be an easy flight."

"Just let me worry about the flying," Detmer replied without looking at her. "You deal with whoever it is we're picking up. Make sure we don't have sit on the ground any longer than we have to."

Burnham gave a leisurely nod. Okay, attempt #1 to be civil has failed, what's our tack for attempt #2?

"Believe me, I don't want to be down there any longer than you do. That mining operation is producing tereon radiation at an insane pace."

"Great, so we'll both be on anti-rad meds after this. Wow, this mission just gets better and better."

"Hopefully a low dose," Burnham said. "If we can extract him within an hour or so."

Detmer didn't answer, just let her fingers play over the console and assiduously avoided looking at Burnham.

Oh the hell with it, Burnham thought. "Keyla...I want to apologize about intruding on you and Tilly. That was inconsiderate of me."

Detmer stared through the canopy at an undefined point in space and pursed her lips. "You might consider knocking next time," she remarked dryly.

"Definitely. I guess I'm a little unused to living with a bunkmate, but Tilly and I can both accommodate one another, and..."

"What? You didn't have a cellmate in prison? Or you just weren't getting that much action?"

Burnham felt the sting of that one. Very well, if the gloves were coming off...

"Keyla," she said, "I hope that you'll be...mindful of Tilly's feelings."

"What?" Now Detmer was staring her incredulously. Burnham considered it a win.

"It's just that Tilly doesn't have your...sophistication, when it comes to relationships, and I'm concerned that she's going to get emotionally hurt."

"'Sophistication?'" Detmer gave a harsh laugh. "That is the most diplomatic way anyone has ever found to call me a slut. You're amazing, Burnham."

"That's not—"

"So, I exercise my sexual agency—since, you know, we might be dead tomorrow—and I'm supposed to feel ashamed that I have, what? Sulliedmyself? Because a woman isn't supposed to enjoy sex? Hey, I guess we're living back in the 20th century again! Let's all inhale carcinogens and stare at our television set screen!"

"That is not what I said!" Burnham's temper flared. "The fact is, Tilly is still very naive in many ways—"

"Tilly is an adult. And the big sister routine is just about feeding your ego, Burnham. The world doesn't need your preternatural wisdom to guide it. You've already made enough of a mess of things."

Burnham's angry reply—half-formed, probably too vicious—was cut off by the whine of the proximity sensor alarm on the shuttlecraft's panel. Burnham checked her readings, felt her blood rush at the red icons appearing on the starmap.

"Klingon birds-of-prey just warped into the system. They've picked us up on their short-range sensors."

"Damn it," Detmer growled. "Our stealthy descent just turned into a power dive. Hang on, I gotta bring is on target..."

The view out the windscreen shifted, space slipping away upwards like a cheap window shade, and the brownish-yellow atmosphere of the planet dominating the view. Burnham turned her attention to the sensor panel in front of her. "It looks like Discovery is engaging the Klingons."

"Was there any doubt?"

The cockpit of the shuttlecraft was suddenly bathed in harsh, red light as a phaser bolt split the atmosphere outside the windscreen.

"Dammit, someone's onto us," Detmer muttered. "Hopefully all this crap in the atmosphere is messing with their targeting sensors..."

Suddenly the little craft shook as it batted by an enormous cat's paw. The lighting went, smothering them in darkness broken, only by the panicked blinking of the panel lights and the cascading sparks and darting flames from aftward. Klaxons wailed like an attention-starved child.

"We've been hit!" Burnham shouted over the din. "Not direct, but—"

"It was direct enough!"

The shuttle began to rock as if on gimbals, the nose dipping forward to meet gravity.

"Damn," Detmer said through gritted teeth. "We're losing power. Couplings must have been burned-out."

"Can we make it to the landing site?"

"We'll reach the ground all right. That's not a problem," Detmer shook her head. "But we're going to lose anti-gravs in about two minutes, and since this craft doesn't have any lift-capable surfaces per se..." She punched in a few more things to the console and spun to face Burnham. "We're going to have to HALA."

Burnham felt jarred. She hadn't performed a High-Altitude/Low-Activation maneuver with an anti-grav harness in years. "Bail out? This far off-target?"

"In about ninety seconds this shuttle becomes a great big rock that we can't steer or stop." She launched herself from her seat and grabbed her pack from its equipment slot. "You wanna live, you jump."

Urgency overrode Burnham's misgivings, and she scrambled out of her seat and pulled on her own pack. She pulled the straps tight enough around her that the ruck felt like a great tick fastening itself to her body, then took the anti-grav harness Detmer held out to her.

"Set it to synch with Harness One. That's mine."

Burnham shrugged into the front-worn harness and strapped the control onto her wrist. "Harness One, synched." She faced Detmer, and for a moment the woman was someone else. Intense. Focused. Professional.

"Let's go."

Burnham nodded her agreement.

Detmer triggered the emergency evac control and the starboard hatch blew outward. Instantly, the interior of the shuttlecraft became a tornado of howling, swirling wind. Detmer didn't hesitate, just threw herself bodily out of the craft and into the infinity of the roiling atmosphere. A moment later, Burnham followed.