Spoilerific: PMF 6 In the Works! (Patreon)

Hi all!

Apologies for not sharing this sooner. Had a bunch of appointments and obligations to knock out all in the same few days. BUT! I am back at work on the next Poor Man's Fight.

In our next novel, Tanner and Alicia are both roped into helping out on a mission with Union Fleet Special Forces (who may get a different name than SF before I'm through). It's only an academic quarter or two after the events of Last Man Out. Tanner has most definitely and explicitly NOT enlisted, but even with that understanding he's, uh... not super thrilled to be in a military environment again.

“Gah. Sorry. I’ve got this,” Tanner croaked. With the faceplate of his helmet racked back, he could finally suck in a sharp breath of fresh air—or, at least, fresher than his helmet’s supply. He gestured at the mess on the deck. “I’ll clean it up. Where are your cleaning supplies?”

From the other side of the airlocks’ open inner hatch, Vinson, Parekh, and Haavik looked on with variations of the same wide-eyed grimace. Two others shared the airlock with Tanner: Alicia calmly disengaged and pulled off her helmet while Lieutenant Dai practically tore his off to stare at Tanner in disgust.

“Seriously?” Dai snapped. “I thought you were qualified for zero-g. Experienced. You are famous for your void-jumps.”

“He is,” said Alicia. “It’s all true.”

“And he throws up as soon as he’s back in gravity?” Dai pressed.

“Yep. That part’s true, too,” said Alicia.

“To be clear,” said Tanner, “I also got sick as soon as I left the ship’s gravity, but I muted my mic on the net.” He tugged the helmet off his head. “There’s a reason I wanted Archangel gear. These have real good vacuum safeties. Gotta clean that out now, obviously.” He stepped over the mess and out of the airlock. “Supply closet?”

“Malone. Come here.” Haavik already had a reader strip in hand. Tanner shrugged and let the team medic apply the strip to his neck, collecting his vitals in seconds. Sensors in Tanner’s vac suit and holocom would do the same, but medics liked their double-checks and redundancies.

“I dunno how you guys didn’t know about this.” Alicia stepped clear of the offending splatter like she’d done it only yesterday. “The others might step in that without even noticing. Might want to clean it up before they come back in.”

“I would if somebody’d point me to some towels or a mop,” said Tanner.

“Parekh, you mind?” asked Vinson. His subordinate made a face, but walked down the passage without protest. Vinson looked to his team medic. “Haavik?”

“Vitals are normal.” Haavik pulled the reader strip away and shrugged. “Not even the sort of bump you’d expect after someone vomits.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice. At this point it hardly phases me,” said Tanner.

Dai looked to Vinson in obvious protest. “Jake.”

“Malone, didn’t tell anyone about your gravity sickness before signing on to this mission?” asked Vinson.

“It’s gravity sickness and motion sickness, and I told the ship’s doctor when I came aboard. Gave him the whole rundown. What he did with that information, I don’t know,” said Tanner. “More importantly: ask yourself if your boss cares.”

“Do you take anything to deal with it?” asked Haavik.

“Dranaxol and G-6, every day I’m in space. They don’t always work, but they help with the low impact issues. I can’t take the stronger stuff. It messes with my other meds. I gave the ship’s doctor that whole list, too. If you haven’t gotten the file, I’ll pass it over.”

“Yeah, you might want to do that,” Haavik muttered. He glanced to his team leader.

“Malone.” Vinson scratched the side of his frown. “I’ve gotta know you’re up for this mission.”

“I completed the course. I did the exercises. Right?” Tanner asked, looking to Dai.

“Exercises are not combat,” said Dai.

Tanner knew he should hold back his grin, but everyone could see him fighting it. Thankfully, Alicia said it for him, if dryer and flatter than he would’ve: “Tanner has been through more zero-g combat than everyone on your team put together.”

“We’re aware, Miss Wong. It’s why we’re so concerned,” said Vinson.

“I get grav-sick. Space sick. Pukey.” Tanner gave up trying to turn his breath away from everyone, or at least away from Vinson. “I threw up in basic. I vomited in weapons and tactics school. Barfed before and after my zero-g certification. I blew chunks on my first day on my first ship, and the next, and the third. I actually lost weight on that ship. The only reason I didn’t spew after St. Jude got wrecked was that I was so scared, my stomach fucking forgot. I have dry-heaved through whole battles, Jake. And I hated it every fuckin’ time.” Tanner held his arms out wide. “I’m still here.”