Rescue Branch (Kinsella Universe)

by Gina Marie Wylie

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Currently we are running eight hour watches, with four watches on rotating shifts. At maneuver stations, we call everyone in -- acceleration, fan transitions and the like.”

  Becky made a mental note. Everybody was a bad idea; Miracle at Orleans had lost their entire engineering staff in their malf. Better to hold some back.

  Lieutenant Commander Brown laughed. “Do you play poker, Lieutenant?”

  “No, sir.”

  “It’s a job requirement in engineering; we will teach you the game. We’ll not take all your money -- at least not at first.”

  There were some good-natured laughs.

  “I’m not sure I understand, Commander,” Becky said, curious about what appeared to be a non sequitur.

  “You need to develop a poker face, Lieutenant. Just now your expression was ‘make a note: memo soonest.’ For the life of me, I don’t know what about. Please, Lieutenant -- you reacted instantly. That tells me that you observed a very seriously bad practice. I don’t shoot people who disagree with me, Lieutenant -- not at first.”

  “Sir,” she said, ignoring the titters. “I was on the Miracle at Orleans rescue. They too had everyone present for the fan transition. The malf took out all but one engineer, hiding in the head. He wasn’t of any subsequent use and eventually deserted. The fourth watch -- the one on break, not the actual fourth watch -- should be far away and safe.

  “At the Board of Inquiry, we learned that a half dozen crew members were killed ejecting the reactor, because none of them knew how to do it safely. If any of the power watch had survived, they could have prevented those deaths.”

  Commander Brown raised his voice. “I never promised you a rose garden -- quite the opposite. Yeah, I’ve made a couple of dozen transitions to High Fan. Yeah, I’ve been more worried about losing my cookies than losing my life. But the risk is there; it’s real. I won’t fault anyone for being scared. I won’t fault anyone for being terrified. I will fault anyone who can’t do their duty.”

  One of the enlisted men spoke up. “Sir, in the spirit of that comment and the moment, I wish our positions had barf bags. You aren’t the only one -- uncomfortable -- at High Fan transitions. I had my wife send me some plain brown paper lunch bags.”

  “Funny, I thought I was a wimp for asking my wife to do the same thing. It would be cool if we had official Fleet barf bags -- maybe with an admiral pictured on it.”

  “I’d rather barf on politicians,” Becky said, and then blushed for speaking her mind. “Some of them.” There had been a few laughs at her first observation, a few more at the second.

  “Regrettably the politicians control the purse strings. I don’t think that’s the right way to butter them up.” There were a lot of laughs at that.

  He spoke abruptly. “Second watch, you’d be lounging around in your skivvies now, if we weren’t about to go to High Fan within ninety minutes. I’ll message Captain Cook that he should find you something useful to do on the bridge. Be careful of the acceleration. I’ll have a memo out later today. Go now.”

  A couple of hours later, they swung into orbit around Ceres. Captain Cook promptly called Becky to the bridge. “Tell them we come in peace, we’re not from their government and want to help in any way we can.”

  Becky dutifully spoke to Mr. Ramujin, the colony manager. He focused like a laser on his top priority. “My wife is safe?”

  “Yes, sir. The shuttle landed safely in Mumbai and the passengers were resting comfortably, I was told before we went to High Fan.”

  “And you are not here to rescue us?”

  “Sir, this ship is Southern Cross; she’s working up for a survey mission. The first Australian ship, the Magellan, suffered a fan failure on their return to Earth. The Australians and the Federation want to exercise the ship and crew further, before risking them on a long flight. We could have gone anywhere; Captain Cook thought you might still be having a problem and opted to come here.”

  “We’re still having problems; our engineers made a suggestion that has exacerbated the problem. We flooded the lower level with water; the thinking was that would reduce heat transfer. That part of their plan has worked, but the fact is that the colony is heavier than ever and sinking faster. The added heat that keeps the water liquid isn’t helping either.”

  Another voice intruded on the circuit. “Ramujin! This is Eagle from out Jupiter way. I understand you are offering free water?”

  “Yes, of course. All you need.”

  “I brought our tug; it is designed to haul a cubic kilometer of liquid methane. Liquid methane is close enough to water’s weight for government work. I brought a couple of techs to oversee the work on our big shuttle. We have a couple of hundred extra slots; but our smaller shuttles are committed for the day. I just had to make do. Where do you want me to set the big shuttle down, so I can get my techs to all that water?”

  There followed a detailed discussion between the two men. Becky had, in the mean time, turned pale.

  “Lieutenant, clearly you know something of consequence. What is it?” Captain Cook asked.

  “Sir, the asking price for water from Ceres was a thousand dollars a cubic meter. One of Eagle’s fuel bubbles holds a cubic kilometer.”

  “Something is escaping me here, Lieutenant.”

  “Sir, a cubic kilometer is a million cubic meters. At a $1000 dollars a cubic meter -- the Ceres colony just gave away a trillion dollars to the Trojans.”

  Captain Cook turned pale as well. “I can’t imagine that will go over well back home.”

  “Sir, it’s not obvious, but the numbers are clear. On Earth, it’s rare to see ocean depths below two kilometers. On Ceres, it’s rare to see depths less than a hundred kilometers. Ceres might be a lot smaller, volume-wise than the Earth, but Sir, Ceres actually has more water than Earth. I can’t be sure, but I suspect we just witnessed the most massive bribe in human history being passed.

  “Good God! A trillion dollars! That sort of sum does get the old blood pumping and my heart beating for all it’s worth! Why does Eagle want that much water?”

  “Sir, he lives in a carbon rich environment. Water can be reformed to hydrogen and oxygen; their abundant methane can be reduced to water and carbon monoxide. From there, there are a lot of pathways to other compounds and fuels.”

  “Dr. Skinner?” Captain Cook asked of his chief scientist.

  “I’m still trying to wrap my brain around a trillion dollars. I suspect I need a better calculator -- mine only goes to twelve significant digits. Yes; water and methane are important feedstocks. The two together would be... a huge multiplier. The Trojans are not noted for having a water surplus.”

  “Lieutenant Cooper -- tell me more.”

  “I just started studying habitat and colonial economics in space. I’m not used to all those decimal places either.”

  “What should I offer?”

  “To help, sir.”

  “That I can do.”

  “Mister Ramujin, I realize that Eagle’s shuttle can take aboard your remaining population, but I have some spare capacity as well.”

  “Mr. Eagle has promised transportation as far as Earth orbit; his shuttle won’t land.”

  “We can land, sir.”

  “Then we will transfer our remaining children and pregnant women. About a hundred and fifty.”

  “That’s not a problem, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Cooper is familiar with our methods, if she supervises, I’ll be content.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Cooper,” Captain Cook asked a moment later. “I’m lagging behind on what’s not being said. What do I need to know?”

  “How many shuttles does Southern Cross have?”

  “Three, that carry about thirty people each.

  “Why does he want you?”

  “I’ve done it before, sir. Out here...” she spread her hands helplessly, “the person you want helping you the most is the one who has done
it successfully before. I would recommend at least one, and preferably two other lieutenants come along and be what help they can -- and watch how it’s done.”

  Someone spoke up from one of the bridge positions. “We’re getting a transmission from Earth, addressed to Lieutenant Cooper -- out of Admiral Delgado’s office.”

  “Is it private?”

  “No, sir. It’s a FLASH, OPERATIONAL IMMEDIATE message.”

  “Put it up on my computer. Lieutenant Cooper, come stand next to me.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  The communications tech blinked and reported, “Sir, the message is a single video frame.”

  The picture appeared on the captain’s monitor.

  “Either I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole,” Captain Cook said, “or this is some bizarre code.”

  It was a written order that was two sentences long: “Please post this warning sign in common areas of your vessel: ‘Weight is what you lift, mass is what hurts when it hits you.’” Below that was an embedded photograph of a skier buried head down in the snow, only his ankles and skis showing. At the bottom it was signed, “Captain John Gilly, Chief, Rescue Branch, by direction.”

  “Look at the address,” Dr. Skinner said.

  Becky had glanced at it, but hadn’t paid it much mind. “First Lieutenant Rebecca Cooper, Professor of Space Rescue Science, aboard Fleet Ship Southern Cross.”

  “Getting back to the meaning,” Captain Cook said. “Code or rabbit hole?”

  “Code, sir,” Dr. Skinner said.

  “Code?”

  “Captain,” Becky said, “just how far is the fellow going to sink?”

  “Obviously not far. And the comment in front? If there is someone on this crew who doesn’t know that already, I’d prefer they stay home.”

  “Sir, you’re bound to have watched someone moving heavy equipment in zero-g, sir.”

  “Of course.”

  “One person can get a ten ton block of metal moving by themselves. They do have to push for a bit, and be very, very careful when they go to stop it.”

  “I know that.”

  “Sir,” Dr. Skinner said, “to stop the habitat from sinking, they need something like outriggers -- like that poor fellow’s skis.”

  Captain Cook started to say something, stopped and laughed. “I was just about to say a habitat is too massive for something like that to work. Except mass isn’t at issue here, is it?”

  “No, sir,” Dr. Skinner replied. “The outriggers only have to support the colony’s weight, not its mass -- although I don’t think a Ceres quake would be good.”

  “This is going to ruin Eagle’s bribe,” Becky said.

  “Bribe? What bribe?” Captain Cook said. “I didn’t hear a quid pro quo. Ceres should be happy that they are likely safe -- although they are going to likely want ships around until they are sure.”

  An hour later Becky was part of a party of five that landed near the colony. She pointed out to the shuttle pilot where he was to land, and they made a vertical landing, gentle as a baby’s kiss.

  “This looks like a concrete pad, Lieutenant,” the pilot told her. “It’s really water ice though, I imagine.”

  “It is a concrete pad, not ice. Concrete doesn’t flow and it doesn’t melt. Yeah, no one figured it would be worth dragging a few thousand tons of material out here, but it makes good sense. If you landed on ice, water ice, you’d be just like that colony over there, sinking out of sight.

  “They have concrete pads like this on Psyche, which has no ice, but it’s just a good idea. The Trojans have three pads on their main asteroid, and a couple of more. They also have concrete sidewalks on the surface -- the ice there isn’t to be taken lightly and you don’t want to be tracking ice into any place around human activity.”

  Dr. Skinner had joined Becky and the two of them made their way to the colony. The colony manager was standing just inside, along with Eagle.

  “Hello Becky, Kat sends her regards,” Eagle told her.

  “Tell her I’m reading her book.”

  “We hate to spend money on Earth, but I ordered everyone in the habitat their own copy,” he said with a laugh.

  Becky turned to the colony manager. “I see you’ve brought the first shuttle load of passengers,” she said, waving to about two dozen mothers and kids. “About that, I’d like a moment of your time -- in private. Eagle, you too. And Dr. Skinner, the Chief Scientist from Southern Cross.”

  Mr. Ramujin sighed. “They are eager to leave; although at the rate we’re sinking it will take a month -- in two weeks the last airlock will be unusable.”

  “A moment of your time, sir. In private.”

  In a few minutes, the four of them were in a small equipment room, off the airlock corridor. Becky was blunt. “Mr. Ramujin, you offered Eagle some water and I heard no qualifications. Is that the case?”

  “Yes, of course.” Of course it was hard to tell, but she was certain he was uncomfortable.

  “How much is the colony worth to you? A load of water?”

  “If we leave, the colony becomes worthless. I expect I have a long future ahead of me sweeping floors and emptying wastebaskets in my new career as a janitor. I could care less about water.”

  “If you didn’t have to leave, would you still feel the same way?”

  “We have a lot of water and just one colony.”

  Becky explained and Mr. Ramujin’s eyes lit up.

  “Do you think this will work?”

  Dr. Skinner nodded. “I’m certain of it. Ceres’ gravity is about 3% of that on Earth. A metric ton on Earth weighs 30 kilograms here -- you’ll need some sturdy outriggers, and the longer the better, but it’s not going to be technically difficult to manage.”

  “Lay the steel outside and bolt the girders together,” Becky advised. “When you’re all done with at least one outrigger ready on each side of the colony -- weld a plate to the structure, then bolt them to it. Use sheer bolts if you have them.”

  “We don’t have them, but obviously, we can get them. You are worried that I will renege on my word to the Trojans.”

  “The thought never crossed my mind,” Becky said.

  “You need to work on that poker face, Lieutenant!” Eagle laughed. “You’re giggling.”

  “It’s the hiccups.”

  All of them laughed. Mr. Ramujin picked up his radio. “Mr. Rathi! I need to see you in the west airlock, at once!”

  The colony manager turned to them. “It would be better not to say anything about water to Mr. Rathi. He is a competent engineer, but a creature of the government’s.”

  Mr. Rathi was a thin, intense man, but he seemed competent. He clapped his hands in glee. “This is good, Ramujin! It will work!”

  “Are you confident enough that I should tell people they don’t have to evacuate?”

  “Ramujin, my wife refused to come out here. I have no stake beyond my own personal desire to survive. I believe that this will work. I understand the desire of others to see their families safe. I would say go ahead and evacuate the women and children. We can make an announcement that the others should stay.”

  Eagle spoke then. “Mr. Ramujin I’m not you and I don’t have your responsibilities. But there is not a person in my habitat who is there for any reason other than their free will. I would use this opportunity to weed out the weak reeds -- if they are afraid, they are more likely than not to die uselessly -- but expensively -- out here.”

  “He is right, Mr. Rathi. This will be a chance to replace known weak individuals with unknowns. Some of them will turn out to be weak as well, but some will serve.”

  Shortly they were ready to depart, and Becky spoke to Captain Cook. “They still wish to evacuate the women and children, sir. And a few others.”

  “I’ll send the other shuttles. Two trips, I expect.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She did indeed make two more trips. The last time only Lieutenant Abbott and the pilot were with her. When they docked on their
return she reported to Captain Cook.

  “The last of the passengers are being secured, sir.”

  “Commander Brown has been beside himself. He feels, he told me, that your poker education is sadly lacking. In spite of that, get some sleep. You won’t be able to sleep long, I’m afraid, Lieutenant, as we’re only a few hours from landing them.” He grimaced, “Good orbital geometry my navigator tells me. Three hours, lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir.” Becky sent a short message to Anna and then was asleep.

  She was half awake when tugs eased Southern Cross against a dock inside Mumbai harbor. The refugees trekked off the ship. Only then came the speeches. Becky was used to them, by then. It didn’t hurt that Captain Gilly was there to salute Captain Cook.

  She had to laugh at her captain’s reaction. “Captain Cook,” Captain Gilly said. “As you’ve heard, the Ceres colony appears to have a good chance of survival. We haven’t heard the last word on that, but we’ve heard from the Indian government.

  “Return to Ceres. Send Lieutenant Cooper down to the settlement -- let her share her knowledge. The Indian government is predisposed to listen and those on Ceres doubly so.”

  “Sir, what is Lieutenant Cooper’s status as a member of my crew?”

  “She is going out with you on your voyage. For the time she’s on Ceres though, you will just supply logistical support and transportation.”

  “We’re the Lieutenant’s space taxi service, sir?”

  “I’m afraid so, Captain Cook. The Indian government hasn’t gotten the word yet that the colony might survive after all -- the word is being passed as we speak. We want an excuse to station you out there in case the colony isn’t as safe as we think. We should know before Lieutenant Cooper’s period of instruction is complete. It gives us plausible deniability as to the reason for your presence.”

  Captain Cook shook his head and laughed a little harshly. “My father retired from the RAN with three stars. When I was Lieutenant Cooper’s age he told me that reaching flag rank was as much a matter of luck as anything -- and that if I ever did get a star, I would find it a decidedly mixed blessing.