An explosion that opened a ship or hab to vacuum made a strange sound. There was still atmosphere in one part – the part where the owner of the ears was, if he was lucky – so sound waves still travelled through the air and became sounds in said ears. But the other half of the explosion was going out into space and making no sound waves. And while that shouldn’t, logically, make any difference to the quality of the fuckamighty boom one’s ears heard when one was partaking in such an explosion … well, it did. It just did.
The detonation as the A-Mod 400’s mini-whorl guns ripped into the docking spar separating the Nope, Leftovers from the rest of the Black Honey Wings was a sort of flat, hollow whunk noise. The breathless howl of the Godfire that momentarily preceded it and the roar of escaping air following it did nothing to change the weirdness of the actual detonation. Drago’s brain insisted it was a thunderous explosion, but his eardrums were unconvinced.
It wasn’t something he had a lot of cause to muse over, however. He only just had time to hurl himself forward and grab the edge of a support strut before the deadly blast of outrushing air dragged him horizontal. Fortunately, this lasted for approximately one-tenth of a second and his fingers held out for two-tenths of a second, and the nearest emergency seal – some twenty feet behind him – slammed into place before he fell, gasping, to the floor.
The damage to the Black Honey Wings, and the fact that he had survived it, removed some of the urgency from his headlong charge through the ship. The damage was now done and the crew in the main body of the Black Honey Wings would assume that all their enemies were either on the Nope, Leftovers or back on their own modular. None of them had been in the main ship, and depending on the surveillance Dool had set up throughout his vessel it seemed unlikely that anyone would be aware of Barducci’s movements leading up to the explosion, although they might have been aware he’d left the dome. And now the docked modulars were severed entirely.
Drago got his breath back, regained his feet, and began to make his way slightly more carefully through the dark, alarm-caterwauling backstage areas of the Black Honey Wings.
“Main hold,” he muttered to himself. “Main hold … ” I suppose a map with ‘YOU ARE HERE’ on it would be too much to ask for.
Still, he’d been on a few Chrysanthemums and more complicated custom-starships built on a Chrys base, and this left him with a reasonably good idea of where he needed to go. And he could go most of the way in the maintenance tunnels, which was helpful. By the time he arrived, the alarms had been replaced by a less-jarring general alert tone and the running and shouting in the corridors had given way to silence, punctuated by the occasional purposeful hum of a repair drone or janitorial. Whatever was going on with the modulars, it didn’t seem as though all-out space battle had yet been joined. Not so it was noticeable here, anyway.
He emerged in front of the main hold’s access doors to find someone blocking his path. And not just any someone.
“Ahh, shit,” he said.