“Message from the flag, ma’am,” said Mthembu. “Stand by for Admiral Galen.”
Mitchie unstrapped from her acceleration couch. “Hiroshi, you have the con.”
“Aye-aye,” said the pilot.
She stood in front of the comm box as Galen’s face appeared. “Captain Long. BDS Hammond’s torch has been damaged. Rendezvous with the ship and take survivors aboard.”
“Yes, sir, will do.” Finally, she thought. She’d been twitchy ever since they took on the special cargo. Galen’s plan called for them to wait until the Betrayers damaged a ship enough to fall out of formation, then send Joshua Chamberlain to the rescue. Everything should look perfectly normal to the AIs.
Mthembu jotted down the vectors displayed beside the admiral’s face.
“Sir, we don’t have room for more than a dozen casualties with all the cargo we have on board.” She hoped she hadn’t sounded too scripted as she said that.
“Jettison the cargo,” ordered Galen. “Personnel have priority.” He sounded almost surprised she’d ask. Superb acting given that this order was the point of the entire operation.
“Aye-aye.”
“Good luck, Joshua Chamberlain. Command out.”
Mitchie turned to her subordinates. “Hiroshi, make a dog leg to keep us clear of everyone’s plumes, then take us straight to the Hammond. Make an all-hands announcement of the new mission. Face the cargo hold toward the enemy. Mthembu, find out which squadron is closest to the Hammond and coordinate some counter-missile fire. I’m going to oversee jettisoning the cargo.”
That produced confused looks. Both thought Setta could handle discarding boxes without help. They didn’t say anything before she closed the hatch behind her.
Mitchie waited for the ship to finish pivoting onto the new course before starting down the cargo hold ladder. Setta was waiting when she reached the deck.
“We need to jettison the cargo. Let’s get suited up.”
The bosun and deckhands knew this couldn’t be the surprise the captain was pretending it was. But they’d given up on asking questions about the mysterious cargo.
The double-sized container opened to reveal a mass driver for throwing objects out of the hold. Instead of using the crane to lift containers out and drop them Setta and her deckhands would be setting them on this catapult to be flung clear of the ship. Mitchie hauled over a heavy-duty power cable and plugged it in to power the machine.
The first container was in place on the catapult before the hold was completely depressurized. When the doors were open to space—the usual beautiful starscape—Setta said, “Ready to fire catapult.”
“No,” said Mitchie. “Give me a hand with this hose.”
The liquid hydrogen tank had an insulated hose, just long enough to reach a valve on the container sitting on the catapult. There was no gauge to measure the transfer. Mitchie let the hydrogen pump through until a light on the nozzle turned green.
“Now you can fire it,” Mitchie ordered.
Setta flipped the lever. Capacitors discharged, powering steel arms as they flung the container out of sight.
She considered the effect. The box had been jettisoned so hard it would miss all but the coolest fringes of Joshua Chamberlain’s plume. This box wasn’t being dropped to burn up.
Deckhand Dubois had the next container hanging from the crane, ready to place on the catapult. Setta waved at her to go ahead, then checked that the capacitors were charging.
A slug of hydrogen, kick it overboard, put the next container on the catapult. The routine repeated a couple of dozen times until they were all gone.
“Good work,” said Mitchie. “Disconnect the catapult power lines and bleed off the rest of the hydrogen. We need to be ready to receive casualties.” The important part of her mission was done. The rest was just camouflage to convince the Betrayers the boxes were just abandoned trash.
As Setta worked on the valves of the hydrogen tank Dubois touched helmets with her. “Bosun, do you have any clue what’s going on with this shit?”
“I have some guesses. But when they’re being this uptight about security we shouldn’t talk about it.”
Guo left Mechanic’s Mate Ye to monitor the converter room and suited up with Spacer Finnegan to help with the rescue work. While the junior crew prepared the cargo net, safety lines, and vacctape, he took Mitchie aside for a chat.
“Hammond is Pete Smith’s ship, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes. At least, I think I would have heard some Fuzies screaming if his lab was moved to a different ship.”
“Then this is good news.”
Mitchie laughed. “His ship getting blown up? We don’t even know if he’s still alive.”
“If the AIs are targeting his ship they must be afraid of his research. That’s proof he’s found a vulnerability.”
“Or they just found a big ship with weak defenses to be an irresistible target.”
“Humans shoot stuff to see the explosion. AIs have a goal. If Hammond is the first ship knocked out of formation they think it’s the biggest threat.”
“Well, when we get Pete on board we can ask him his opinion.”
Guo leaned down to look directly into her eyes. “Once we have Pete keeping him alive has to take priority.”
“Are you suggesting we abandon the rest of Hammond’s crew?”
“If we’re drawing enough fire, yes.”
“Sure it’s not your own hide you’re trying to protect?” she snapped.
“If I wanted to be safe I’d’ve stayed on Tiantan. This is about winning the war.”
“Admiral Galen didn’t give any orders for special treatment.”
“He’s a good admiral. But he thinks of winning with ships. That won’t be enough.”
“I’m not going to throw away lives,” said Mitchie. I’ve done enough of that already, she thought.
“Just make sure you don’t throw away Pete’s.”
BDS Hammond, acceleration 3.1 m/s2
Chief Warrant Officer Langerhans wondered if he’d have to pick Peter Smith up and throw him off the Hammond. His Marines and Smith’s boffins were suiting up and choosing which bits of essential gear to take with them. Smith was standing by the computer rack, data transfer paddle pressed to his forehead, as he had been since the ship had been hit.
“Sir, you need to prepare for evacuation.”
Smith didn’t move. “I am preparing. I’m backing up essential data.”
“We’re bringing backups of the data,” said Langerhans.
“Those are fragile. EMP, concussion, explosive decompression, there’s lots of ways they could break. My implant is the safest place for it.”
Langerhans hated Pete’s neural implant. Giving up a chunk of brain to make room for electronics wasn’t just creepy. It was a sign of someone being uncertain where he sided in the war between men and machines.
“Why didn’t you back it up before?”
“I didn’t have the capacity. I’ve had to wipe my personal data to make room.”
The Marine clamped his jaw shut.
A color corporal said, “Chief, I have Dr. Smith’s pressure suit.”
“Fine. Doctor, we’re going to help you into your suit.”
Pete said, “I’ll take this outfit off as soon as I’m done with the backup.”
“No need. Lift him, boys.”
Four Marines held Pete horizontally. This took no effort in the low acceleration. They didn’t disturb the arm holding the SKIRW paddle.
CWO Langerhans produced a boarding knife. Slashing Pete’s boots from ankle to sole let them drop to the deck. He cut away Pete’s pants next.
The senior private holding Pete’s left leg noticed the socks were undamaged. He tried to keep the leg as still as he could.
When Pete was down to his underwear the Marines shoved his feet into the pressure suit and continued suiting him from there. Their training included handling unconscious casualties in pressure loss. This wasn’t much dif
ferent from practicing on an mannequin.
Pete didn’t object until they went for the arm holding the paddle.
“Switch hands,” snarled Langerhans.
Then Pete was suited up except for his helmet. Nobody had put helmets on yet, though most of the people in the lab were carrying one.
When the Marines set him back on his feet he looked at the activity in the room. “Are we getting all the samples?” he asked. He’d assembled a collection of computer cores from all the Betrayer systems the Combined Fleet had occupied.
“Your people are carrying some,” said Langerhans. “Mine aren’t going to touch that crap.”
“We need to salvage as much as we can.”
“I ordered them to carry some of the Fusion-built analysis gear.”
Joshua Chamberlain, acceleration 15 m/s2
Hiroshi broadcast on the general frequency. “All hands, this will not be a free-fall recovery. The Hammond’s converter room is destroyed, no survivors. Some pipes are stuck on. They can’t reduce acceleration below three gravs without spinning the ship. First pick-up will be the lab modules. Rendezvous in ten minutes. Bridge out.”
The Hammond was visible in the open cargo bay hatch as they approached. The giant container ship had more damage than just its converter room. Rows of containers were ripped open, remnants of their contents caught on the ragged sides.
The stern produced two ragged plumes from opposite sides of the nozzle circle. The sides of the stern had more damage than the base. One rip in the hull was bigger than the Joshua Chamberlain.
Mitchie appreciated Hiroshi’s flying. Three years of practice had made the centurion gentle when maneuvering the freighter. His approach to the Hammond was smooth, staying clear of the megaship’s plume without any jerks or overcorrections.
Guo’s attention wasn’t on either ship. Looking past the Hammond he saw missile plumes streaking by in batches of ten or twenty. The fleet was providing plenty of fire support to protect the rescue operation. He wondered how many missiles the Betrayers had allocated to defeat it.
They approached the Hammond from astern, as they had with the Currie. This time Joshua Chamberlain slid up along the other’s hull. Peeking over the edge of the cargo hold deck the crew could see sparks and flares as their plume blasted the stacked containers. Holes from battle damage widened as plasma tore away tattered walls.
He recognized a stack of containers as Pete’s laboratory from their previous visit to the ship. Hiroshi matched Hammond’s acceleration, placing the cargo hold in front of the lab’s hatch.
The hatch popped open. Someone in a Fusion Marine pressure suit waved at them.
Spacer Finnegan threw a safety line to the Marine. He caught it and disappeared inside. When he emerged again the deckhands pulled it tight and tied it off to a handhold.
Someone in a civilian-model suit emerged from the hatch, arms and legs wrapped around the line, and crawled across the gap. Once in the hold the deckhands grabbed him and escorted him to the back wall.
More came out, only a few meters apart. Mitchie stood back and watched. Her crew had set this up with no help from her. She wasn’t going to interfere. One of her Academy instructors had “NEVER GIVE UNNECESSARY ORDERS” written on the wall of her classroom. It was a time to live by that.
No matter how bored she was.
A civilian came down the line roped to two Marines. Mitchie noticed the civilian’s hands and feet had been vacctaped together. Setta used her knife to free him from the line. The Marines frog marched him to the rear of the hold.
A steady stream of Marines came next. The last landed on his feet in the cargo hold. He drew a knife and cut the line.
Mitchie recognized the CWO insignia on the suit’s shoulder. She walked up to him and turned on her radio. “Welcome aboard, Chief Langerhans. You’re last?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted.
Marines. She returned it and said, “Was that Dr. Smith getting assistance earlier?”
“He’s very . . . task focused, ma’am.”
“Thanks for taking care of him.” She switched channels. “Captain to bridge. That’s all of them. Let’s get the people from the bow compartment.”
The ship’s acceleration increased to ten gravs without warning.
Hiroshi spoke on the general frequency. “All hands, short period of free-fall.”
Mitchie glanced at her new passengers. The deckhands were checking that they were all hooked onto the cargo net. The Marines were grouped to one side. Bet Langerhans is thrilled to hand the boffins off to someone else.
They only had seventeen seconds of free fall, interrupted by a missile striking the Hammond and throwing a few bits of shrapnel into the hold. Fortunately it all bounced out again without causing significant damage.
Joshua Chamberlain’s torch fired again as the bow module came into view. A hatch was already open. The spacesuited figure threw a coiled line across. One of the deckhands caught it and tied it down.
The first ones across were survival bubbles clipped to the line. Setta drafted a few of the Marines to carry them back, admonishing one with, “Don’t fucking roll them.”
Another missile hit close by. Mitchie could feel the impact of fragments bouncing off the hull through her feet.
A spacer crossing over was hit by shrapnel tearing his body into the void. His severed arms clung to the line until the next one through brushed them off.
Guo touched his helmet to Mitchie’s. “Staying here is dangerous.”
“The crew is mostly aboard,” she said.
“We need to keep the boffins safe.”
“I will.” She stepped away.
Another missile hit the Hammond before the transfer finished. That one was around the curve of the ship, just a light show.
When a suit with four rings painted on each forearm came aboard with no one following him Mitchie didn’t bother to wait for confirmation. “Hiroshi, get us the hell out of here!”
Setta cut the line.
Mitchie’s knees complained as Joshua Chamberlain went from three gravs of acceleration to twenty. She saw a few passengers fall, there’d be some hurt wrists from that. Her crew seemed to be all right.
Standing in double normal acceleration was still unpleasant, especially with the weight of the pressure suit added to her own. Mitchie slowly went to her knees then lay down. The collar of her suit cut into the back of her neck. The padding was only good enough for fifteen gravs.
She glanced at the cargo doors. They were already closing. Good. We can pressurize the hold and I can get out of this damn suit.
She felt a jolt as a hole appeared in the side of the hold. More than one. Mechanic Ye called, “Senior Chief to the converter room! Senior Chief to the converter room!” A spacer flipped over, one leg ending mid-thigh. Acceleration dropped. Mitchie pushed herself up, estimating it at six gravs.
Which meant they were falling behind the fleet, not catching up.
Guo sprinted for the lower deck hatch.
Mitchie reached the wounded spacer at the same time as a Marine. Blood was spraying from the severed leg, freezing where it landed on the deck or someone’s suit.
The casualty was thrashing, flipping about in the low acceleration. Mitchie grabbed the arms and pinned them down to the deck. The Marine kneeled on the intact leg.
Mitchie looked at the spacer’s chest. ‘Dubois’ was written there. One of Setta’s deckhands.
Acceleration dropped by half. Dubois bucked, pulling Mitchie off the deck. She grabbed a tie-down point recessed into the deck with one hand, tried to hold both of Dubois’s wrists with the other. Her hand wasn’t big enough. The arms slipped out and flailed some more.
Mitchie grabbed an arm, pushed it down on the other, and pulled as hard as she could on the tie-down. That let her hold Dubois still, at least at this end, but she couldn’t hold it for long.
A second Marine was holding Dubois’s leg to the deck. The first had a corpsman badge on his chest. He was w
inding a safety line around what remained of the deckhand’s thigh. Many tight loops. The bleeding had stopped.
Dubois went limp. The corpsman cut the line and tied a knot.
Mitchie touched her helmet to his. “What are her odds?”
“Depends how soon we get her back in pressure, ma’am.”
She looked around. There were three holes in the hull she could see. Finnegan was applying a patch to the lowest one with the help of a couple of Hammond’s crew. One of the boffins was missing his head. Pete was holding onto another—injured or panicking, she couldn’t tell.
On the general frequency Hiroshi announced, “Fleet is increasing the amount of counter-missile fire for us, so we’ll be safer.”
Mitchie thought, That only helps while we’re in range of the fleet.
***
Guo dropped through the hatch and dogged it shut above him. The corridor was in vacuum. The airlock at the outer end had a hole torn in it.
The converter room had pressure. It took Guo and Ye together to close the hatch against the escaping air.
“There’s broken pipes and two of the water tanks are punctured,” shouted Ye. “I’ve sealed off as much as I can.”
The chief mechanic looked over the array of pressure and flow gauges. After years of studying them the pattern leapt out at him.
“Yep. Okay, we need to get full thrust back. Open the valves to tanks two and three. Cross-connect to feed all four quadrants of the torch off those two. We need to use that reaction mass before we lose it. Once they’re empty we’ll switch to the undamaged tanks.”
Ye obeyed, undoing his initial frantic work. “Won’t we be unbalanced?”
“We will. But with punctured tanks there’s no helping it. Get the rest of the valves open. I’m going to adjust the converter down. This calls for more mass, less energy. I’m going to conserve fuel by putting more water through the torch and not heating it as much.”
“Aye, aye.” After a full circuit of the converter room Ye reported, “All quadrants have full flow.”
“Good.” Guo picked up the intercom mike. “Converter room to bridge. Full thrust available. Warning, center of gravity will shift to port, we have two tanks open to space.”
Torchship Captain Page 30
