Page 58 of Rogue Starfighter

She opened her eyes. “You forgot privacy.”

“That too.”

“Hours?”

“As many as you can endure.”

“That’s cocky.”

“Accurate.”

The alarm became continuous.

“Fine,” she said. “Save our air. Then hours.”

I sealed her flight suit with hands that were not steady. The second pressure loss came from a stress fracture beneath the pilot’s console. We pulled up the floor panel, packed the crack with seal compound, and braced it using part of the broken copilot housing. Priya held the brace while I welded it in place.

“Tool,” I said.

“Which one?”

“The narrow cutter.”

She handed me the wrong tool.

“That is a sealant injector.”

“The names are in Velerion.”

“The implant translates them.”

“The implant says that one is a pressure-assisted molecular bonding device.”

“Sealant injector.”

“Then why didn’t you say the short version?”

“I just did. Cutter.”

She found it. “Bossy.”

“Alive.”

“Good point.”

We worked until the alarm stopped and the pressure held. Priya never panicked. She asked questions, learned every tool after one explanation, and stayed beside me even when the damaged hull groaned around us. When the repair was finished, she sat on the deck and rested her head against my shoulder.

“Wake me if we start leaking again,” she said.

“I will.”

“Or if the enemy arrives.”

“I will.”

“Or if you decide we have time to finish what we started.”

“Sleep, Priya.”