Paul stole another look at the bridge. Ensign Jack Abacha, still standing watches under instruction, was looking around with ill-concealed enthusiasm. . Where ignorance is bliss. He's probably the only one on board not experienced enough to know how dangerous this is.
The time counter scrolled down toward zero. On the window in Paul's display where video from the bridge was displayed, he saw Captain Hayes hold up one hand with his fingers crossed. Over his headphone he heard the captain's forced joviality: "Here's hoping."
Chapter Five
There wasn't any noticeable change onboard as the time counter hit zero. The ship's systems responded as programmed and the Michaelson became highly visible to the universe. The visual by-pass system shut off, making her once again easy to spot by the naked eye. Active scanning systems activated, sending out clear signals of the ship's presence as well as pinpointing her location.
The biggest change was the sudden looming presence of the Maury. The fuzzy ball wasn't there anymore. Now, her own anti-detection mechanisms deactivated, the Maury was there, another ship clearly pacing them at a distance of precisely eight point nine kilometers. Not exactly matching vectors, but close enough that there wasn't any threat of collision in the immediate future. A ragged cheer went up on the Michaelson's bridge.
"Good job!" Captain Hayes exulted. "Congratulations, everybody. That ought to impress anyone who's planning to mess around with us."
Paul realized he was smiling widely. He turned to Chief Imari, raised one hand and exchanged a long-distance high-five with the chief. Crisis over. Let's see if anybody we can see reacts to us. Opening the range scale, he looked far outward to monitor the nearest SASAL ships, which were fairly deep within their claimed area of space at the moment.
He was still messing with range settings when the high-pitched stutter of the collision alarm shattered the euphoria on the Michaelson. Paul stared at his display as the Michaelson's systems added verbal warnings. "Multiple objects on collision courses. Recommend immediate engagement of all objects on collision courses." A debris field had suddenly appeared, spreading out at high speed from the Maury. It only took Paul a moment to realize the debris was too close and moving too fast for the Michaelson to hope to evade it.
The general quarters alarm sounded, overriding the collision alarm, its repeated bongs reverberating through the ship and spurring everyone in the crew into immediate, trained responses. "General Quarters! General Quarters! All personnel to battle stations. Seal all air-tight bulkheads. All personnel don survival suits and brace for multiple impacts."
A babble of voices sprung into life on the comm circuits, then Captain Hayes' voice overrode the rest. "Silence on the circuit! Combat, can you identify any of that debris? Are there any sailors in there?"
Paul looked toward Chief Imari, who quickly scanned her own displays even as she shook her head. "Sir, there's not enough time, and there's too much junk messing up our picture." Her face twitched. "Besides, sir, if any sailor hits us at the speed that stuff is moving, even a survival suit wouldn't save 'em."
"Yeah. Thanks, Chief." Paul's brain was working on automatic, responding to all the training and experience he'd had so far. Emotions hadn't come into play, yet, and Paul didn't particularly want any emotions warring with the advice he knew he had to give. "Captain, this is Combat. No ID of individual debris items possible within time constraints. Assess chance of survival of any personnel on collision course with us as nil."
The briefest pause followed. "Understand. All combat systems, engage any object on collision course with this ship."
Paul tapped his communications circuit. "Chief, make sure we're double-checking combat systems' choices of highest priority targets." Sometimes the computers would fixate on the wrong object or objects, blazing away at them while more dangerous things were left unengaged. On Paul's visual display, nothing could be seen but a twinkling of bright objects and a glowing cloud obscuring the view of the dim shape of the USS Maury. The Michaelson's lasers and particle beams firing at the oncoming debris hurled shots invisible to the naked eye as they tried to divert the objects, blow them to dust, or at least shatter them into smaller fragments traveling at lower relative velocity to the Michaelson. Paul knew the weapons were firing from the subsonic hums that marked discharges of energy, from the occasional dimming of lights on non-critical circuits as weapons recharged, and from the symbols on his other displays, where objects headed for the Michaelson were vanishing or fragmenting. As Paul watched, a symbol representing a large object broke into a half dozen smaller pieces, most of them heading off at angles to their original path. He wondered what the object had been, which small part of the Maury it had once represented.
Paul finished sealing his survival suit, then hurriedly checked his personnel. "Is everyone in Combat suited up?"
Chief Imari gave a thumbs up. "Yes, sir. Any idea what the hell happened, sir?"
"I don't know, Chief. I haven't heard anything."
"At least the Maury's still there. Part of her, anyway."
Paul hadn't thought about that, caught up in responding to the immediate crisis. Hadn't thought about where the debris had come from, hadn't thought about what its sudden appearance implied. An explosion on the Maury. Has to be. A big one, from all that debris. He focused back on the symbol for the Maury. Her navigational beacon had stopped operating. Instead, the Maury had been tagged with a blinking red warning that the ship's emergency distress beacon had lit off. The Maury's course had altered as well, shoved off to the side by some blow to her. How big was that explosion? Where was it on the Maury? Jen. Please be all right.
Debris began impacting on the Michaelson's hull, mostly tiny particles but still traveling fast enough to damage even the extremely tough materials in the outer and inner hulls. Warnings flashed on Paul's display as sensors were destroyed by impacts, their functions immediately and automatically shifted to whichever other sensor could try to cover the same area. Paul imagined he could feel the Michaelson quiver from all the tiny impacts, though he shouldn't have actually been able to notice.
"Lost some water cells," Chief Imari reported.
Paul nodded. He saw the warnings appear, as small clouds of water vapor puffed out from the Michaelson. The water-filled inner hull was designed in part to do exactly that, absorb the heat and other energy of anything hitting the ship. Something big enough to rupture those cells had made it through the defensive barrage of the Michaelson's weapons.
The glowing cloud around the Maury expanded rapidly, dimming as it did so. "We've got gases headed for us, too," Chief Imari noted. "By the time it gets here it shouldn't be dense enough to hurt us, though."
Paul checked his own data, where the Michaelson's systems had already automatically analyzed the composition of the cloud. Vaporized water from the Maury's inner hull. Oxygen and other gases from shattered compartments. Various chemical vapors. Trace elements. Carbon. Carbon? Oh, no. One likely source of that carbon had to be human bodies, blown into ashes by the explosion.
The Michaelson trembled as the wave of gases reached her then swept on past. Without those gases blocking the view, the Maury could be seen much better.
"Jesus Christ," somebody muttered, sounding more like a prayer than profanity.
The Maury's mid-section looked as if something huge had taken bites out of it. Paul increased the magnification on his visual display. The bites became holes with ragged edges, where something had blasted through the Maury's inner and outer hulls. Paul could vaguely make out the areas surrounding the holes, where structural members and internal materials were ripped and twisted. It's like looking at a human with his guts torn open. Exactly where'd the damage hit the worst? The Maury was the Michaelson's sister ship, so she had the same general layout. Most of the forward section looks intact. Maybe half the ship. There's a section right at the stern that doesn't look beat up too badly. What would've been located in the parts of the Maury that've been torn up? That'd be . . . no. Please, no.
A voice over the command circuit confirmed Paul's conclusion and his fears. "Captain, it looks like at least one of Maury's engineering compartments blew." Commander Destin, the Michaelson's Chief Engineer, sounded as if she couldn't quite believe it. "Probably both."
Captain Hayes' voice over the same circuit carried more than a hint of shock. "Blew up? An engineering compartment? How could that happen?"
"I don't know, sir. It'd require an awful lot of equipment and software to fail simultaneously, and a lot of people to miss warning signs. But those holes are where the Maury's engineering compartments are."
Captain Hayes' voice sounded flat and emotionless. "Where they were, you mean."
"Yes, sir. From what we can tell, Maury's lost all power. I recommend we get as many people as we can over there to assist."
"Do we have any communications with the Maury?"
"No, Captain," Commander Garcia came on line, his answer blunt. "I'm in comms. We're picking up nothing but the emergency beacon's automated distress call. There's no telling what effect the shock from that explosion and its fragmentation effects had inside the Maury's hull."
"Very well. How many damage control teams can the gig hold?"
Commander Destin answered again. "Normally, two, captain."
"I don't want normally. How many maximum?"
"Uh, three, sir. If they're packed in tight. Very tight."
"Get three teams over there pronto. I'll see how close to the Maury we can maneuver the Michaelson."
Paul listened to the conversation, feeling as if it were some sort of audio-book, dealing with fictional events which couldn't have happened here and now. Something I should be doing. "Chief, I want a recommendation for the captain on how close to the Maury we can get."
Chief Imari looked back at Paul, her face questioning behind the survival suit's face shield. "Considering what, sir?"
"Debris. And possible secondary explosions."
"If you're concerned about secondaries, sir, this is as close as we should get."
"We're concerned about helping the Maury, Chief!"
"Yes, sir. We'll scope out the debris and work up a recommendation disregarding the threat from secondary explosions."
"Good. Thanks." There. He'd done something. Not much. But something. Paul looked back at the image of the Maury, wondering why his mind kept insisting the picture couldn't be real.
He was jerked out of his detachment by a sharp voice. "Sinclair!"
Commander Garcia calling, his anger as usual easily apparent, but this time certainly not aimed at Paul. For all Garcia's faults, Paul knew he cared about the lives of sailors.
"Yes, sir."
"Get down to the gig. They want you to command one of damage control parties."
"Me, sir?"
"Yes, you! Your chief can run Combat and you're one of the only officers on board with actual experience leading a damage control team. Now stop asking stupid questions and get your butt down there!"
"Aye, aye, sir." Paul switched back to Combat's internal communications. "Chief, I've been tapped to go over to the Maury. You've got Combat. Get that recommendation to Commander Garcia as soon as possible so he can pass it to the captain."
"Yes, sir. Good luck, sir."
Paul exited Combat as fast he could, thinking as he went that he needed luck a lot less than the crew of the Maury did. Partway to the gig, the maneuvering alarm sounded and Paul managed to snap onto a tie-down just before the Michaelson lurched and swung in response to her thrusters. Getting closer to the Maury. Probably not all that close. There's got to be lots of junk still floating around her. And lots of stuff that could still explode, like Chief Imari said. Paul felt another inner chill. Did Maury's fuel vent from all the ruptured tanks and lines? What happens to us if it blows while we're there? He tried to remember if the cloud of gases had included vaporized fuel, how dense a free-floating cloud of fuel would have to be to ignite, but his mind wouldn't focus on the calculations.
The push of the thrusters halted, followed by an "all-clear" announcement. Paul unhooked and hastened the rest of the way to the gig.
The area around the gig was a mess. Too many sailors, bulkier than usual thanks to their survival suits, along with portable damage control equipment of every description crowded into the space near the gig. Paul pushed through until he was close to the gig, where Lieutenant Kilgary and Commander Destin were organizing the rescue effort. "Lieutenant Sinclair, reporting in."
Destin nodded absently. Colleen Kilgary gave Paul a quick look, all business. "Paul, you'll be in charge of Damage Control Team Two."
"DC Team Two. Roger."
"I'll be in charge of DC Team One and the overall effort. Have you seen Sonya?"
"No, I—"
Lieutenant Sindh pushed up next to Paul. "Here. I assume I have command of DC Team Three?"
Kilgary nodded rapidly. "Right. Commander Destin and I are going to supervise loading everybody and everything into the gig. Try to sort out your people."
Sindh nodded back. "I'll move my team toward the aft bulkhead."
Paul checked his suit display, where a list of names had appeared, then activated the communications circuit designated for his team. "All personnel in DC Team Two, this is Lieutenant Sinclair. I want you up against the forward bulkhead." Sailors began moving as Paul's and the other damage control teams started sorting themselves out, the tightly packed crowd breaking into those moving forward, those moving aft, and those trying to reach the center. More quickly than Paul would've expected, the three groups formed up in their designated positions. No horseplay or delaying. Everybody knows the guys on the Maury need us.
Chief Meyer sketched a quick salute. "Team Two ready, sir."
"Thanks, Chief." Meyer's from engineering. Lieutenant Kilgary's division. He ought to be real nice to have along.
"Any idea what things are like over there, sir?"
"Bad." The sailors in Team Two shifted uneasily at Paul's single word reply. "I just got a quick visual look, but Maury looked real torn up from just aft of amidships."
Meyer nodded slowly. "Engineering spaces."
Paul felt the hollow space in his gut again. Jen. "Yes."
"How torn up, sir?"
"I don't know, Chief. We'll know when we get there."
"Yes, sir." Paul watched Chief Meyer stare toward the gig. Engineering's a fairly insular community. Odds are Meyer knows a lot of people in Maury's engineering department. How many of them are still alive? He shied away from the question, wishing he could somehow banish it from his mind.
Team One shuffled forward as Commander Destin and Lieutenant Kilgary directed them to positions in the gig. Paul brought his own team up behind them, waiting until Kilgary pointed his way. "Your turn. Make sure your people pack in tight."
"Aye, aye. Team Two, I want everyone up close and personal in that gig."
A muttering of acknowledgements followed, along with a few cracks. "Sir, can I have a window seat?" "Sir, can I get up close and personal with Petty Officer Velos?"
Velos craned her head to look at whoever had spoken. "In your dreams, Gino."
Chief Meyer glared at the sailors. "Zip it. I don't want nothing else said that ain't mission essential. Understand?" He faced Paul and shrugged. "They're nervous, Mr. Sinclair."
"I understand, Chief. Just between you and me, so am I."
"I guess that makes it unanimous, sir."
The inside of the gig had never felt expansive to Paul anyway. With thirty-some sailors in survival suits and all the damage control gear they could carry being shoved inside, it felt like a king-sized can of sardines. Paul let Chief Meyer go first, then followed the last of his team in and pushed up against those already in place. Whoever Petty Officer Velos' admirer happened to be, he was probably pretty disappointed at the moment, since the survival suits let you feel nothing but the bare outlines of the shapes you were up against and in the press of bodies any motion with arms or legs was out of the question.
; Lieutenant Kilgary came last, shaking her head. "We're breaking a few safety regulations doing this, people, but there's no doubt the Maury needs us and needs us fast. Nobody panic." She wedged herself in and cycled the gig's hatch shut.
Paul immediately understood Kilgary's last instruction. With the hatch closed, the gig's packed interior felt dangerously claustrophobic. Somehow the lighting also felt dim, perhaps because some of the internal lights were covered by sailors or equipment, which only contributed to the feeling of being crowded into too small a space. But no one panicked, at least not openly, as a series of bumps, jars and lurches marked the gig's lifting from its cradle. An unbearably long period, perhaps a minute, passed before the gig's main drive lit off. The sailors near the rear groaned as the mass of their companions pressed against them. "Take it easy!" Lieutenant Sindh called out. She was back there with her sailors, feeling everything they felt, and her presence kept any of them from being overwhelmed by the mental and physical pressure.
Rule of Evidence Page 10
