I see his hand moving, and fire my weapon as pain erupts in my side. The captain stumbles back with a grunt as I gasp and bend over. My eyes travel from the red-soaked knife in his hands to the gaping gash in my side. Blood gushes out around the fingers I press against it. I don’t need a close look to know that it’s bad. I’ve seen enough of these kinds of wounds. On Titan we called them “countdowns.” They might not kill you right away, but once you have one, it’s only a matter of time.

Captain Murdock wheezes, coughs, then laughs. He rubs at the scorch mark my shot left on his body armor, already fading.

“Damn, this Gaian tech is nice,” he says appreciatively.

I raise my gun, but he lunges at me and slashes the knife, forcing me back. My shot pings off the metal hull, and his boot slams into my wounded side. My gun drops as pain blackens the edges of my vision. I stumble back while he keeps advancing on me.

“Maybe not so much of Auriga in you after all,” he says. “You’re far too emotional.”

While he’s busy gloating, I slide my own knife out of its sheath on my leg, Primus blade glinting in the light. He hesitates, less certain now that I have a weapon in hand—so I strike first.

No point conserving energy when my one hope is a short fight. I pour every ounce of myself into attacking: a thrust at his ribs, a slash toward his neck, a flurry of jabs toward his stomach. He blocks and deflects the first few, but he can’t keep up. I shred through his vest and sometimes cut deep enough to draw blood beneath it. After one attack cuts a shallow gash across his torso, he lets out a hiss of pain and frustration and makes a predictable thrust toward me.

Dodging to the side, I grab his arm at the elbow and twist it hard enough to send his knife clattering to the floor. We end up face-to-face. Despite being in control now, cold sweat breaks out on my forehead; he’s barely winded, his wounds insubstantial, his expression more angry than defeated. I’m gasping for air, barely able to hold him when he struggles.

“The cargo—” I pant out, and he grits his teeth and shoves the fingers of his free hand deep into the wound at my side. Darkness consumes my vision. Next thing I know, I’m on the floor with him on top of me, my knife gone.