Thakur easily caught up with him as he sprinted along the curved passage, racing towards the storage unit, one of the largest on the ship. Romanova still had her weapon drawn, and the crewmen they passed retreated in fear at their approach. After a moment, Mitchell reached the door, slamming his fist on the wall over the smashed controls, two cables dangling from the ruined mechanism.
“Emergency override,” he said.
“We can’t risk exposing the whole ship directly to hyperspace,” Romanova replied.
“This isn’t a pressure door,” Mitchell said. “If it goes, we’re in serious trouble.” Turning to Khatri, moving towards him, he asked, “Can you get at the leak without exposure?”
“Not a chance,” he replied. “No chance in hell.”
Frowning, he asked, “We couldn’t manage an uncontrolled exit from hyperspace. Can we manage a controlled one, now that the engines have settled down? Can we drop out of hyperspace and resume our journey in a reasonable amount of time?”
“I think so,” Khatri said, pulling out a tablet. “There’s a planetary-sized mass ahead. Probably a rogue planet of some sort. We can use that as a gravitational anchor, swing out of hyperspace that way.”
Pulling out his communicator, Mitchell tapped open the emergency frequency, and said, “Captain, Mitchell here. We need to leave hyperspace, right now, or we risk losing the ship to a structural failure.”
“Wha?” the dazed Ikande said, roused from sleep. “Are you sure about this, Lieutenant?”
“Absolutely, sir,” Mitchell replied. “There’s no option.”
“Then do it. I’m on my way to the bridge.”
Turning to Khatri, Mitchell said, “Stay here. I’ll complete egress from Auxiliary Control. Diaz, Romanova, you’re with me.” He sprinted away down the corridor, the others following in his wake, desperately racing to reach the emergency control room in time. Red lights flickered on, one after another, more evidence of structural systems failing. Endurance was a tough ship, but there was only so much damage she could take and exposing any part of the interior to the raw effects of hyperspace could have strange, unpredictable effects.
He raced into the control room, the duty technician, Spaceman Blanco, looking up from his station in shock at the hasty arrival of a trio of officers. Diaz immediately moved to the helm, pushing past the hapless technician, and Romanova moved to the flight engineering station, while Mitchell took navigation, hastily computing the flight trajectory to return them to normal space.
“Implementation in sixty seconds,” he said. “Midshipman, can you handle it?”
“I’ve got it, sir. Helm responding well to controls.” Looking across at her monitor, she added, “I have the course computed and laid in, sir.”
“What’s happening?” Blanco asked.
“A slight detour, Spaceman,” Mitchell replied. “Hopefully one that won’t keep us too long. Initiate emergence at your discretion, Midshipman.”
“Aye, sir. Thirty seconds.”
“Engineering?” Mitchell asked.
“If I’m reading this right,” Romanova replied, “We ought to be able to complete transition with no further damage. The hull ruptures are limited to Storage Nine for the moment.”
“All hands,” Ikande said, his voice booming over the ceiling speakers. “Prepare for emergency transition to realspace. Secure all blast doors. Damage control teams to their stations. That is all.”
“Any time now,” Diaz said. “Hang on.” She worked the helm, tearing a hole in the fabric of reality itself and easing Endurance through it, guiding the ship into normal space, breathing a sigh of relief as the stars appeared on the screen, framing a dim, dark orb before them, the rogue planet they had used to anchor their departure from hyperspace.
“Deactivate dimensional shielding,” Mitchell ordered. “Damage control teams proceed to the outer hull on the double.” Turning to Romanova, he said, “What’s in Storage Nine, anyway?”
“Food, sir,” she replied. “Primary food storage.”
“Hell,” he said, tapping a control. “Chief, what’s the story?”
After a moment, Khatri replied, “I’ve set up an emergency airlock, and we’re making our way into the compartment now. First readings indicate that the damage is limited. We ought to be able to patch it without too much trouble. I’m more worried about the contents of the room. Wait one.”
“Can you get an internal camera feed?” Mitchell asked.
Romanova threw a control, and replied, “System’s been knocked out. Could be the effects of hyperspace. They aren’t designed to deal with that sort of exposure.”
“Or it could be our friend the saboteur, once again,” he replied. “Hull breaches don’t just happen, Lieutenant. Not in hyperspace. This was deliberate, intentional. Someone wanted to cripple us, and…”
“Sir,” Khatri said. “We’re inside. It’s a mess, Lieutenant. Anything that survived the exposure to vacuum has been contaminated. All of this is going to have to be dumped. I hope you don’t mind algae soup, sir, because that’s all we’re going to be having for a long time.”
Turning to Romanova, Mitchell said, “We’d better go talk to the Captain. We’ve got a decision to make.”
“Do you really think he’s going to turn around and go home because the food selection is limited?” “No, I don’t,” he replied. “And that’s going to give us a hell a problem. Morale was bad enough before. Now we’re about to quite literally throw it out of an airlock.”
Chapter 22
The cavernous room opened before DeSilva as she stepped through the hatch, dominated by long-sealed crates of supplies, disassembled equipment secured to the walls, stacks of printed manuals rising a hundred high to the ceiling. Zhao walked over to her as the door slammed shut, a smile on his face as his arms gestured to encompass the room.
“An impressive waste of space, isn’t it,” Zhao said.
“I don’t know about that. Just because nobody has ever had to use the Crusoe package…”
“The largest cargo bay on the ship, given over to a one-shot colony package that in all probability would never actually work,” he replied, shaking his head. “Think what else could be done with this much space. Another hydroponic bay, big enough to feed half the crew, maybe even produce some meat, eggs, milk from housed animals.”
“You want to open a farm on a starship?” DeSilva asked, a smile on her face.
Holding out his hands, he replied, “I grew up in an agricultural dome. I spent most of my childhood looking after crops, animals, anything that might make a profit. I couldn’t wait to get out of there when I hit eighteen, but I’ve been wishing myself back there, more and more. Maybe someday, when I get out of the service.” He shrugged, and said, “The others are waiting.”
“Who else is here?”
“Recent events mean that the situation has changed somewhat. We’re calling in as many people as we can. The Chief will explain.” He ducked through a gap between two crates, where a small group of people were sitting around an emergency light, the smell of coffee filling the air. All the faces were familiar to DeSilva, though few in the context of the Underground. Nguyen of course, with Blanco, Schneider. And Wagner, sitting next to Nguyen by the light.
“It’s good to see you again,” Wagner said. “I couldn’t be seen with you openly, of course, not without Security setting all sorts of alarms ringing, but I’m glad you managed to get out of detention.”
“I still want to ask how she did that,” Blanco said, shaking his head.
“Peace,” Zhao said. “I was there when she was checked out. She’s one of us.”
“I hope so. We’re running a big risk, Lieng.” Turning to Nguyen, he continued, “This meeting is a mistake. If Romanova and her thugs find us…”
“Right now, they’re far too busy dealing with the mess on the upper levels,” Nguyen replied. “There’s a fist-fight taking place in the Recreation Room at this moment that should distract them for a while, and t
his room is meant to be permanently sealed off, kept in a vacuum. There’s no internal surveillance. I’ve been leeching air from the lifesystem for the past month to get it ready. Nobody’s noticed.” Looking at the group, he continued, “The Captain’s made his decision. He told the senior enlisted an hour ago. We’re continuing with the mission as planned.”
“With the food supplies wiped out?”
“He’s going to continue on the algae. Technically, I suppose he’s right. You can live on that glop.”
“Why would you want to?” Schneider replied. “What about the crops from the hydroponic farm?”
“Some of it is going to the officers, the rest is going into cold storage to replace the emergency rations. If the algae tanks fail, we’re in real trouble.” He shook his head, and said, “You can imagine how this is going to go down with the crew. We’re looking at a three-month voyage, as a minimum, perhaps even longer if we don’t find the settlement on the first try.”
“Mutinies have started for a hell of a lot less,” Zhao said. DeSilva’s eyes widened, and he continued, “They’re kept secret, for obvious reasons, but it’s happened three times in the last decade that I know of. All of them failed, everyone involved spaced, though the usually wrote the deaths off as caused by enemy action. Which I suppose is true, to a degree.”
“Let’s keep that sort of talk to a minimum,” Schneider said. “I don’t want to start breathing vacuum any time soon, and I don’t see how it would help. What we need to do is convince the Captain that he should turn back now. Or at least head to one of our outer bases for resupply. YZ Ceti isn’t that far, and…”
“All that’s waiting for us at YZ Ceti is an old research station and a refueling depot. I doubt they’d have enough supplies to make the detour worth it,” Wagner said. “Face it, Spaceman. This is a binary decision. We go home, right now. Five weeks, give or take. Or we press on, and it becomes more like twelve, fourteen, maybe more. The crew would accept the first choice.”
“No option, really,” Zhou mused.
“The second choice will lead to trouble.”
“There’s something we’re overlooking,” DeSilva said. “If we find what we’re looking for, we get all the fresh food we could want. Any long-established colony has a food surplus, or they don’t get to be long-established. We might be able to get everything we need from them.”
“At the point of a gun,” Zhou replied. “Is that really the answer?”
“If I can think of it, so can the crew,” DeSilva said. Looking at Nguyen, she asked, “Just what are we actually here to discuss, anyway? We’ve ruled out direct action, I hope. You’re planning to send a petition to the Captain, to hold a protest march? I can’t see either of those working either.” Nguyen turned away, unwilling to look her in the eye, and she pressed, “Is there something else you aren’t telling us?”
“The hydroponic farms are the key,” Blanco said. “Hell, if they’d only share the food fairly, we wouldn’t have a problem. I know Lieutenant Mitchell’s refusing to eat it, and so is Midshipman Diaz, now.”
“Maybe we can hit them in their sense of fair play,” Schneider suggested.
“You’d have to find it first,” Zhao replied. “I’d rather look for the sleeper ship.” Looking at DeSilva, he added, “What’s needed is some direct action. Something that will directly improve the lives of the crew, as well as sending a message to the officers that they can’t take the loyalty of the lower deck for granted. The solution couldn’t be more obvious. We’re going to have to raid the hydroponic plant.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Blanco replied. “That’s one of the most secure areas of the ship, and with good reason! Any significant damage to the systems, and we’ll…”
“Have no choice but to turn back,” Nguyen said. “We couldn’t press on with only one food source, no matter how strong the political motivations behind the mission. Our goal has to be giving the Captain only one alternative, making the decision to return.”
“This isn’t just about the crew,” Wagner replied. “I’m certain that we’re going to find something at our target star, a colony that is sizable enough to defend itself. Either we get caught in a pointless battle that we cannot possibly win, or we end up conquering another world, creating another Callisto. I can’t be a party to anything such as that.”
Turning to the professor, Zhao said, “That’s a consideration to us, but I’m not sure how it will play out to the rest of the crew. I’ve been sounding them out, very carefully, and while they aren’t particularly enamored with the Tyranny, they’re not willing to risk their lives for the cause either. Given the odds, I’m not even sure that I can blame them for that. We’re going to have to bring them to our side and distributing some fresh food will help.”
“We might run into trouble with the Quartermaster,” Blanco replied, looking around nervously. “He’s running the black butchery, down on the lower decks.”
“And working in the Supply department, you wouldn’t have any connections with him at all, would you,” Nguyen said. “We’re providing the salad to go with his burgers. Think of it that way. And if he has any serious complaints, point him in my direction. We’re all supposed to be on the same side.”
“How are we going to do this?” Schneider asked. “We can’t just run around hydroponics, picking leaves from the racks. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“Every twenty-four hours, the crops for the day are collected, and placed in a sealed crate for storage. We’ll just have to take that crate. It’s small enough to fit on a standard loader, and we’ll be able to get it to one of our secured areas without much trouble. Once we’ve done that, all we do is spread it around while it’s still fresh and make it clear that the food is complements of the Underground.” Looking at Schneider, Blanco added, “We can probably just send it out in the distribution chutes, a care package to each enlisted cabin. That way, we can keep our tracks covered, and Security won’t know where to start.”
“They’ll try and catch us,” DeSilva warned. “We can be sure of that. We’ll have to be pretty damned careful if we’re going to pull this off.” Looking at the others, she added, “And I don’t want to hear that someone is too important to stay behind. As far as I’m concerned, we’re all in this together, and we’re going to share the risks equally.”
“Agreed,” Zhao said, nodding. “You took the words right out of my mouth.” He looked at Blanco, and said, “What about you?”
“You can’t even get into the place without me,” he replied. “I might have access to a few additional security codes, but it’s not going to be easy. You’ll have to…”
“I think you can leave the details of the diversion to the Professor and I,” Nguyen said. “Rest assured that we will play the same active role in this operation as the rest of you.” A smile crossed his face, and he said, “It’ll be good to see a little bit of action again, anyway. I’m getting out of practice.” Raising his hand, he added, “One thing. This is a non-violent operation. We might have to sedate one of the duty technicians, but we do no lasting harm to anyone. I want that clearly understood.”
“Unless that bastard Fitzroy gets in the way,” Zhao replied.
“I mean it, Lieng,” Nguyen said, locking eyes with the technician. “This isn’t about personal feelings, and it isn’t about vendettas. We’ve got a job to do, and we do it coldly and emotionlessly, or we play right into their hands and we lose. If we get caught, the Underground is dead on this ship, and they’ll be able to operate as they choose. I think this plan stands an excellent chance of forcing a mission abort.”
“Fine. Have it your way,” Zhao said. He looked at DeSilva, and said, “I can almost taste that lettuce now. It’s been too long. And if the officers were playing it fair, then this wouldn’t be an issue at all.”
“That is a point,” Wagner replied. “What do we do if the response is to simply start distributing the food? Then we’re back to where we started, still heading…”<
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“Come on, Professor,” Schneider said. “Wake up. Do you honestly think that the egos of the senior staff would permit them to contemplate anything like that, even for a second? They’ll do exactly what we want them to do. Initiate a crackdown. Search the ship for radishes and tomatoes. It’ll expose them as the petty tyrants they are, convert some of the doubters to our side.”
“Don’t push them too far,” DeSilva warned. “If we’re going to do this, then we’ve got to keep control of it, stop anyone doing something stupid.” Glancing at Zhao, she added, “I’m sure we all know people who might be willing to push this too far.”
“No need to look at me,” Zhao replied. “I promised to be a good little soldier, and I intend to keep my word. Though I’m forced to admit that you might have a point.” Looking at her, he added, “Though this might help, a little. Like a safety valve. And if it convinces the Captain to turn and run for home, none of it will matter anyway.”
“We can’t count on that,” Wagner said. “You don’t know these people like I do. His entire career is focused upon completing this mission. If he comes home simply because of the discomfort of the crew, then he’ll never command a ship again, and he knows it. He’s got too much at stake to pull back unless he truly has no other choice. This is a step in the right direction, primarily to help us recruit other members of the crew.”
Nodding, Nguyen replied, “We’ll meet again after the raid is over. Blanco, when is the next shipment of crops due?”
“In about ten hours.”
“Then that’s when we make our move, before Endurance returns to hyperspace. That’ll make it an easier choice for the Captain, when the time comes. No worries about unsafe transit to normal space.” Looking around, he said, “DeSilva, you’ll take the lead on this. The rest of you, back her up. I’ll leave the details of the strike to you and Blanco. I don’t want to know anything specific. There’s no need. Lieng will give you any equipment you want.”
Exiles of Earth: Rebellion Page 18
