After twenty years away, Doctor Leander Dade is forced to return to space, with orders to help humanity find a new home. When sabotage strands their ship, Leander must either put his trust in an old enemy or doom the ship’s civilian passengers.
The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet meets Battlestar Galactica. #LGBTQ+
Even through the ship’s double hull, the crash of waves was deafening. Leander had to shout to be heard.
“Narang, grab the light!”
The flickering bulb above Leander’s head swung in a wide arc as the ship swayed, its intermittent light giving the impression that the room was spinning. It would have knocked him in the back of the head had he not been bent low over his latest patient, carefully working a ten-centimeter shard of metal out from between his ribs. Gilchrist had passed out already from the pain, so Leander only had to contend with the uncertain light and the deck pitching beneath his feet. Narang grabbed the wayward bulb, re-focusing the light on the wound.
“Steady,” Leander muttered under his breath, as though by force of will alone he could calm the sea. The shard came free at last. Blood spilled from the gaping hole it left behind, soaking the rag he pressed to the wound in order to staunch the flow. “Autosuture!”
Sanders tossed him the device, and Leander started to close the wound. He was thankful they had not yet run out of autosuture units, or else he would be forced to wield a needle with a steady hand while the ship was tossed about on angry seas. Their dermal regenerators had already been run into the ground by the casualties of the engine room fire six hours before.
The entire room lurched to starboard. Leander slammed into the table, his hip connecting with the edge with a sharp crack.