"What the -?" Jason glanced behind him, half-expecting to see Tiny piled up against the back wall. That was way out of character for their pilot.

"Focus," said Mark. "Report." Maybe just a hint of annoyance in the voice.

"Evacuation ships say they're just leaving planetary orbit," said Princess. "They're glad to see us."

"Three more ships, bearing three five two, extreme sensor range," Keyop said. "Spectran."

"Speed? Course?"

"Not sure."

Jason was leaning on the back of the Swallow's chair even before he got Keyop's silent appealing glance requesting help. He wasn't surprised the kid was struggling. He wasn't nearly as sure as Keyop had sounded that there were three of them.

"Course is towards us - I think," he said. "They're almost out of range and the sensor data's noisy as hell. Give us thirty seconds."

"But you're sure they're Spectran?"

Keyop was nodding, and what else could they be? Certainly they were huge. And real numbers were starting to emerge from the noise.

"Yeah. Three Spectran mecha on an intercept course, moving fast."

Mark drummed his fingers on the console. "G-3, get back to the evacuation fleet, tell them to move it. G-2, go see what's keeping Tiny."

.

The bathroom door was pushed to. Not closed; not locked. Jason's cheery "so, you planning to..." died on his lips as he opened it fully. Tiny lay slumped on the floor, helmet alongside him, face greenish-grey and beaded with sweat.

"You look like crap," he said instead. "Want to self-diagnose?"

"Thought I'd tweaked a stomach muscle," Tiny said, no weight behind his voice. "Now I'm thinking appendix."

"Great." Jason knelt alongside him. "Let me -"

Tiny folded both arms protectively across his stomach. "Poke me and I'll scream. I've got all the symptoms you're about to test for."

"Okay." He thought quickly. Paramedic training was a long time ago. "How long has this been going on? How much worse is it now?"

"I..." Tiny looked at the floor. "I felt like absolute crap last night. Then suddenly better this morning. Now it's worse than it's ever been."

Oh, no. All his careful calculations went out of the window. You had twelve hours or so after a ruptured appendix before it was really seriously dangerous rather than just thoroughly miserable. He'd been thinking that Tiny would be mighty uncomfortable, but there was no real risk.

But that set of symptoms pointed to his appendix having ruptured hours earlier. You did feel better for a while, with the pressure relieved. Then your abdominal cavity started to get involved. Peritonitis. That was serious as all hell. He needed to get Tiny back through jump, pumped full of antibiotics, and to a doctor. In that order, since he couldn't go through jump with the drugs in his system. Never mind how long ago it was, paramedic training had never seemed so inadequate.

"Stay there," he told Tiny, though he doubted the other was capable of moving. He headed back to the flight deck at a run.

"We need to abort," he announced as he burst through the door. "Tiny's got a ruptured appendix. Turn her round."

Mark swung round, shock obvious. "What?"

"Abort. Now."

"We can't. He'll have to wait."

"Mark, he can't wait. It takes twelve hours until peritonitis is really serious. He's already had nine of them."

To his horror, Mark's jaw was set. "I said he'll have to wait. We're committed."

"You'll kill him." No point beating about the bush.

And Mark was on his feet, faster than Jason had thought he was capable of yet. He indicated the screen. "G-2, there are five thousand Rigan civilians on those ships, and I just told them that we would stand between them and the Spectran mecha. Five thousand men, women and children. I need you at your post in three minutes. Go do what you can for him."

"But -"

"That's a direct order, G-2."

"Yes, sir!" Jason didn't even try to hide the fury in his voice.

.

Tiny had moved just far enough to be throwing up into the toilet. Jason put a hand on the back of his neck - damp with sweat - hoping it was some comfort. There was, quite literally, nothing more he could do.

"Sorry, Tiny," he said as the other finally stopped heaving. "We're committed. You'll have to hang on."

Tiny said nothing at all. His ragged breathing was enough. Jason pushed his anger far, far down.

"Sickbay, or your flight seat?" The usual option would have been sickbay, but he wondered whether Tiny would want to lie flat.

"Stay here," the other groaned.

"Not an option."

"I'm serious. Moving's not an option."

"But -"

"Who's the medic here?"

Actually, Jason was pretty sure he was the senior medic on the team right now given the state Tiny was in. But Tiny appeared to be coherent, and he did have a lot more medical training, and it was his gut that was on fire.

"Okay," he said. His bracelet pinged - that would be his three minutes up, then. Without checking who it was, he responded, "Two more minutes," and cut the connection.

"We may be in combat very shortly. Let's get you sitting against the wall, at least."

Tiny allowed himself to be half lifted, half dragged the couple of feet to the back wall, and sagged against it like a man already half dead as Jason extended the emergency fastening straps from the wall. One from above each shoulder, crossed over his chest and fastened off tight level with the bottom of his ribs. Not great, but much better than nothing, and not putting any more pressure on his stomach.

"Don't undo them," he said. "Don't. If you puke, you puke."

Tiny forced a weak smile. "I'm too empty to puke."

"I'm serious."

"I know. Go kill Spectrans."

.

Mark was on his feet as Jason went back onto the flight deck. Shoulders back, cape wings flared, chin up. Spectrans had hacked into their comms system again, then. He'd suggested they simply remove the front camera. Anderson hadn't wanted that, of course, but the main reason they'd kept it was that intel said G-Force in uniform scared the Spectran regulars rigid. At that point, Jason was quite happy to help the Spectran command staff psych their own men out.

He did so now, favouring the camera with a paint-stripping Condor glare before heading to his seat without giving the screens up front another glance.

"Those ships are under my protection," Mark was saying in full oration mode. "If you go near them, you won't go home. This is your only warning."

Princess had her right hand flat on her console, their sign that she had retaken control of her systems, and Mark half-turned and slashed the edge of his hand across his throat. Cut them off.

Commander Silly Outfit Du Jour disappeared from the screen, replaced initially with grey fuzz, and then a starfield, a planet of the blue and green habitable variety, and four giant ships silhouetted against it. Keyop had superposed some basic sensor information over each of them. Slow-moving behemoths. It would take them an hour or more to reach this position.

Jason activated his sensors, the highly specialised variety which didn't care about ships or missiles but only about the fields and forces which determined where you could and couldn't take a ship into jump-space. As he'd suspected, the only suitable location was a few miles directly behind them. They'd just come out of it.

"No alternative jump-points," he said.

Mark didn't respond. He'd taken Tiny's seat, with its more sophisticated, wider range of flight controls, and now set them on a course for the evacuation ships.

"I strapped Tiny to the bathroom wall," Jason said, more loudly than usual. "He couldn't even get as far as sickbay."

"G-4, tell me the moment those Spectrans do anything."

"Don't you care?"

Mark still didn't look round. "Do your job or get out. G-4?"

The distress was clear in Keyop's voice. "They're heading for the convoy. Accelerating."

Mark swore in Russian, the first indication Jason had seen in a while that he was even human, and the Phoenix accelerated hard. "Call your shots and take them, G-2," he said.

Three of them, one of us, and those evacuation ships won't be armed or armoured. "Understood," Jason said, bringing his targeting systems on line. They needed to hope that Mark's intimidation had worked and each mecha captain was too afraid to go it alone. Jason was an average pilot and a worse tactician, but even he knew that the Phoenix couldn't stop all three mecha getting to the target if they split up.

Mark brought them round on a long looping course, keeping the Phoenix between the mecha and the evacuation ships, and Jason evaluated his targets. That was easy. Two snuggled up close and the third just starting to break away from the formation.

Mr Independent ate two missiles from the Super launcher and exploded in a satisfying fireball, just as Mark hauled them into a tight reversal of course. A selection of what appeared to be flaming plasma streaked past their nose, far too close for comfort.

"What's that?" asked Keyop.

Don't know, don't care, don't want to find out. Jason readied two more missiles. "Going for the leader," he said.

They were close to the lumbering evacuation ships now. Probably close enough for the Spectrans to take a shot, should they get a clear one. Could Rigan civilian tech hold up to Spectran plasma weapons? He didn't want to find that out either. Princess was on the radio, reassuring the Rigan captains, telling them to hold their speed and course. He assumed that was already maximum speed.

The Phoenix lurched as it swung into another attack run, and for a moment Jason had no idea why their flight path wasn't its usual smooth self. 'Tiny's not piloting' and 'Tiny's strapped to the bathroom wall writhing in agony' hit pretty much simultaneously. He had just enough self-control not to launch wildly, to take a breath or five and wait for the sights to steady again. Mark had to be wondering what was keeping him. Mark was enough of a pro to say nothing and carry on setting up shots. Jason didn't miss his second chance. Two down; one to go.

Mark pulled the Phoenix round hard again. No ambiguity at all; a direct course for the third mecha. The Super launcher couldn't reload that fast, but it didn't matter. The mecha turned on its tail in a manoeuvre which defied the laws of physics and fled.

"Status, G-4," Mark snapped.

"No more Spectrans. Evac ships ten minutes from jump."

"Tell them to punch it."

Princess went back to work in calm, fluent Rigan, asking for confirmation that the ships were already at maximum speed, and Jason cleared his throat, hoping he didn't have to go to war with his commander.

"Go check on him. If I call a scramble, I want you back here inside twenty seconds. Otherwise, eight minutes."

And then we're going home. No matter what destination you give me. No discussions. He'd just do it, and face the consequences later.