“Shit indeed,” Jackin said, pained grimace hardening into resolve. “We need to get the crew free and hightail it outta here, boss.”
“The effusion stalled out,” Warner said. “Doors are still locked.”
Adequin stepped to the torus controls screen, gripping the edge of it as if she could somehow wring out the last percent. She tapped through a few menus to try and reset it, but the system didn’t respond.
She threw a look back to Griffith and Jackin. “We gotta get this door open—fast. Ideas?”
“When the computer fails…” Jackin began. “I’d say our best bet is brute force.”
Griffith looked to Warner and Erandus. “There should be a boarding kit in the arms locker.”
The two rushed away, returning a minute later with a large gear case. Adequin threw open the case, tossing aside a pack of small charges. More explosions would have to be a last resort.
Underneath a smattering of small electronics and hacking tools lay two thick crowbars. She pulled one out and extended it, the nanite-laden metal weaving itself together to form a single, long handle.
She caught Griffith’s eye. “You up for this?”
He gave her a flat look. She tossed him the crowbar, then took the other for herself.
“It’s one of the few reinforced entries on the ship,” Griffith explained. “There’ll be a blast door on either side of an inner seal.”
“Copy that,” she sighed. This would be a one-for-the-price-of-three kind of deal.
She walked to the torus chamber entrance, fitting the flattened end of the tool into the seam where the door bisected. Griffith did the same, facing the other direction. Adequin counted down, and together they heaved. She summoned every one of her Imprints to aid her, which sent a jolt of prickling hot pain to the left side of her face as the ones that had been dedicated to numbing and healing her burns rushed to join the others. A handful of squares slid to wrap low around her core, the rest rushing to bolster her upper-body strength.
Griffith bared his teeth, the pain evident on his crumpled brow. She eyed the alarming number of Imprints on his arms that remained static—stranded, malfunctioning.
The seam finally gave way, opening a couple of centimeters. Griffith held his side steady as she worked her crowbar farther in to find stronger purchase. They heaved again, repeating the process until the outer blast door’s safety mechanism triggered, and it slid itself into the open position.
Adequin swept the beading perspiration from her brow, wiping her damp hand off on her pant leg before resuming her white-knuckled grip on the heavy crow bar. Unsurprisingly, the inner seal proved the most stubborn, but with even more Imprint-infused effort, it gave way a minute later along with a short burst of cold, pungent, ammonia-tinged air.
“One more,” Griffith said by way of encouragement, though the edge of his voice came strained under a tight grimace of poorly masked pain. He clearly still suffered from the effects of the forced deceleration, but she knew he’d be too stubborn to admit it—right up to the point of passing out. Yet even injured, with half his Imprints malfunctioning, he still outmatched the others in strength. So as much as she wanted to force him to stop and send him directly to the Synthesis’s medbay, she had to let him see it through if she wanted to get the crew out in time.
They positioned the crowbars again and sweat stung Adequin’s eyes as they heaved, growling through the final few centimeters until the inner blast door clicked and skated open the rest of the way.
Inside the dimly lit, circular chamber, three Sentinels stood shoulder to shoulder, pistols aimed straight at Adequin and Griffith in the doorframe. Front and center stood Griffith’s second-in-command, a young circitor with short, black hair named Eura.
Eura’s blood-stained hands trembled as she lowered her pistol, brow creased in confusion. “Excubitor? How…”