by Dave Bara
He looked down on me with contempt. “None that you are authorized to operate. No one aboard is, even Zander. They’re only for extreme emergencies. Survival of the ship’s data core and library,” he said. “You’ll just have to use the atomics.”
“You know the shuttles won’t survive an atomic blast! Not the way they’re damaged,” I said. I was calm outside, but inside I was seething at this man. Tralfane said nothing in response. Instead he crossed his arms and stared down at me, large and intimidating, as if he had spoken his final word. I wasn’t willing to accept it. There had to be another option to both protect Impulse and rescue the shuttles. I had to make a decision; it was what Wesley and my father had warned me about.
I walked past Tralfane to the railing above Kasdan’s nav station.
“Mr. Kasdan, your sidearm,” I held out my hand while keeping my eyes focused on the Historian.
“Sir?”
“Now, Kasdan!” I ordered without looking at him. Kasdan unbuckled his coil pistol and put it in my hand. I released the safety and powered up a round, then stepped up to Tralfane with the gun trained on him.
“Is this an extreme enough emergency, Mr. Tralfane?” I said, loud enough now for everyone to hear. The bridge was dead silent and all eyes were on the standoff. Tralfane leaned in close to me.
“You don’t want to do this, young man,” he said, soft enough so that we were the only ones who could hear. I extended my arm so that the cold gun barrel rested firmly on his forehead.
“I think you’re forgetting some of the people on those shuttles are my superior officers and my friends, people I admire,” I said, equally softly. It was a bluff, but I was angry and inexperienced enough to try it anyway.
“I could take you out in seconds, Cochrane.”
“Then do it before my finger slips on the trigger,” I said. I was operating on pure adrenaline now.
“If you kill me you kill the knowledge of any weapon that might save your friends, and this ship,” he said.
“My guess is you don’t want to die any more than I do, Mr. Tralfane. But the longer we stand here the more time those displacement weapons have to regenerate and finish us all off,” I said, as coolly as I could muster. My heart was pounding in my chest.
Tralfane’s jaw clenched into a tight line as he considered the circumstances, then looked up to the gun barrel. He nodded almost imperceptibly. I immediately withdrew the pistol, powered it down, and handed it back to Kasdan.
“What the hell are you all staring at? You have your orders!” I bellowed at the crew. They scrambled back to their duty stations. Tralfane made for his workstation and I followed.
“We don’t have much time,” I reminded the Historian. He didn’t look up from his station while responding.
“You could have saved some by not sticking that gun to my head,” he said.
“I deemed it necessary,” I replied, not willing to let him know I could never have pulled the trigger. Tralfane worked furiously over the controls, with no time to respond to me verbally. Finally he nodded to the longscope.
“Go! And use your com,” he said. I went to the ’scope and fired her up again, clicking in the com while her displays came to life.
“Click on the new display icon and activate the controls,” he said through the com. It was like he was standing next to me and whispering in my ear. Earth technology. I did as instructed, which he could no doubt track from his monitor station. The display came up with a green tactical target overlying a plain black screen.
“What am I looking for?” I said quietly.
“Be patient!” Tralfane snapped. He should have known it wasn’t one of my better traits by now. Suddenly the screen painted with a hi-def display of one of the displacement wave weapons. It was still glowing red-hot from the first blast. I could see nearly into its maw, like I was just a few miles out.
“That’s amazing—”
“Focus!” he hissed in my ear. I swallowed hard.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Get me the vector marks to the target,” he said. I did as instructed. “Stand by,” he said. A second later and the screen painted with the target hardened. A firing resolution showed in a column to the left of the display.
“Can you follow these instructions?” I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me behind the hood.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“Good. Give the orders and fire at will.”
“What am I firing?” I asked. His voice came back after a second’s delay.
“The forward coil cannon.”
I jumped from behind the longscope and shouted orders to shut down our visual and tactical displays, along with communications.
“Lock her down! Go black, Mr. Kasdan. Those are my orders,” I said. The bridge grew very quiet around me as I returned to the ’scope and my display. Coil weaponry was known on Quantar. It basically involved mixing chemicals in a chamber to produce and project high-amped laser energy. But we had never been able to use it for more than short-range pistols and rifles. I couldn’t imagine what this one could do, but I figured I’d find out soon enough.
I peered in at my screen. The displacement wave weapon was changing color to amber, and its HD signature curve was climbing again. It was preparing to fire another salvo.
“We’d better do this quick, Mr. Tralfane,” I said.
“Transferring firing control to you,” he said, loud enough for the crew to hear.
My screen went all green as each of the items in the instruction list checked off. I targeted the asteroid and took the fire key in my right hand.
“Counting down!” I said loudly. “Three, two, one . . . firing!” I depressed the key, holding my breath. A beam of orange-white light shot across my view from right to left and struck the asteroid. The display exploded in a cascade of bright light, and I closed my eyes against the glare. When I opened them again, the screen was clear.
The asteroid had disintegrated in a second, and Impulse had felt nary a bump.
“Amazing!” I whispered, in awe of the power in my hands.
“Now you see why I wanted to keep this from you. Such power can destroy worlds if used improperly,” said Tralfane. I shut down the longscope and came out from under the hood, looking at the Historian face-to-face.
“I’ve no doubt of that,” I said.
I stood at the captain’s chair, one hand on the arm, watching on the main bridge display as the remaining two displacement wave weapons propelled themselves away from the shuttles and toward the safety of L-6. I was amazed at how objects of such size and destructive power could move so fast.
“Do we pursue, sir?” asked Kasdan. I shook my head.
“Negative. Search and rescue is our priority now. Fire up the impellers and take us closer to the shuttles. I want you to calibrate the last known location of Captain Zander’s shuttle and make for it at flank speed.”
“But what about shielding, sir? Our Hoagland Field is inoperative. We could take a pounding from those asteroids if they come back and fire on us again,” he said.
I looked down at Kasdan, a man just a few years older than me. Under normal circumstances we would probably be becoming friends and shipmates. Instead I found myself ordering a more experienced officer around.
“Par for the course, Mr. Kasdan,” I said. “We have no choice. I want Impulse to find the captain’s shuttle. I’ll be taking the Downship out with Corporal Marker to assist in finding the Search and Rescue shuttle. As soon as you get the Hoagland Field back up and running I want you to extend the field around the captain’s shuttle. Impulse will have to pull the heavy duty.”
“Aye, sir, understood. But the Downship isn’t prepped for S&R. She’s made for atmospheric flight primarily, sir.” I frowned down at Kasdan from my perch.
“I’m aware of her limitations, Mr. Kasdan,
but we have no choice. We’ve got to find those shuttles and conduct a rescue before those displacement wave weapons decide to come back.” And while there’s still a chance Dobrina and Zander might be alive, I told myself.
“Is it wise for the commanding officer to leave the bridge in a crisis?” The words came from behind me, from Tralfane again. I turned to him.
“Wise?” I said. “This whole mission was unwise, Mr. Tralfane. But I intend to do what Captain Zander prevented me from doing in the first place, and that’s being out there instead of locked into this chair.” I took a few steps toward Tralfane’s station.
“Which reminds me, I need an Officer of the Deck,” I said. Tralfane shook his head.
“Not me. I’m not navy,” he said calmly. I crossed my arms, emulating the Historian’s favorite pose when he was being intransigent.
“But you serve at the pleasure of the captain of Impulse. Given the circumstances, that may end up being me for quite a while. And I think you’d find serving under me might be something you’d rather not do for the rest of your life,” I said. Tralfane motioned me closer and I went.
“Cochrane, I’m not navy!” he seethed from between tight lips.
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Tralfane. But this ship is in crisis and it needs an experienced hand at the con. Now I’m asking you, will you take acting command?” I could see hesitation in his eyes, but also resignation. He knew it was the right thing to do.
“All right!” he finally said. “Go and rescue your friends! But keep in mind that once you relinquish command, I am under no obligation to return it to you.” This last comment pushed me to the line again. I stepped close enough to the Historian to feel his breath on my face and spoke in hushed but intense tones.
“When I return, Mr. Tralfane, be assured that I will take you on in any physical challenge you so desire. In the meantime, I assume you have some natural human feelings for this ship and her crew. I’m asking you to take care of them, hopefully only until Captain Zander returns.”
With that I stepped away, verbally gave the con to Tralfane, and was off the bridge in another second, sweat flowing inside my shirt as the lifter raced toward the landing bay.
“How long?” I asked Marker impatiently inside the Downship, watching as we approached the Search and Rescue shuttle in deep space. Marker checked his nav screen display, and then looked out the forward window for good measure. The shuttle grew ever larger.
“About four minutes, sir,” he said. I nodded and unstrapped my braces to stand.
“Take us in as close as you can. The tether won’t hold me over more than thirty meters,” I said, “and I don’t want to miss the hatch.”
“Aye, sir. Still insisting on decompressing the airlock sir?” asked Marker.
“Yes, Corporal,” I said as I prepped my EVA suit helmet. “I did it plenty of times in training. I’ll just have to make sure I don’t accelerate enough to punch a hole in the hull.”
Marker looked at me, a quizzical expression on his face. “Accelerate? How do you intend to do that, sir?” I touched the small white plastic cones fastened at each hip.
“Compression jets. Used them extensively for space-borne jumps, mostly for maneuvering, but you can use them almost all the way to your target to decelerate as well, at least in zero-G.” I didn’t tell him that I’d never used them in such close quarters before, and that the last cadet I saw try ended up as a rather large stain on an exterior bulkhead of the shuttle he was trying to board. I figured, why worry him? It was my risk, and the commander and Layton were my friends.
“I still think we should use the umbilical,” Marker said. The umbilical was a tube of clear plastic and aluminum that extruded from the Downship and similar sized vehicles as a means of moving anything from heavy cargo to people between ships in space. It was a luxury I didn’t have time for.
I shook my head no as I donned my helmet and sealed the clamps, then activated the suit com. “We don’t have time. They’ll be out of air just a few minutes after we rendezvous, and the umbilical takes ten minutes. You know that.”
I entered the airlock without another word and sealed the hatch behind me, then peered out the window just as the Search and Rescue shuttle came into view. Marker was indeed positioning the Downship perfectly, as promised. I made it less than twenty meters between the ships when he called full stop.
“Eighteen point six-five-four meters, sir,” called his voice in my ear. Smartass, I thought. “You ready in there, sir?” Marker said.
“Affirmative,” I responded. “Go on my mark.” I positioned the cones to point at a reverse angle to the exterior shuttle hatch, then checked my tether one last time. I pulled myself down into a tight ball, like a sprinter in his set crouch, and held my breath, my attention fixed on the airlock door. With luck I would shoot out like a torpedo, the deceleration cones would fire, and I would come screeching to a halt before I smashed through the shuttle’s hull. With luck.
“Three . . . two . . . one . . . mark!” I shouted into the com. The airlock door exploded open as the chamber decompressed. I became instantly disoriented—air rushing out around me, the shuttle above me, then the airlock door, then open space.
“You’re stuck!” shouted Marker in my ear. “The tether’s caught on something!” I believed what he told me but I had no way of knowing what to do about it. I was spinning wildly out of control and I felt nausea coming on strong.
“Which direction am I spinning?” I shouted out. If there was a touch of desperation in my voice it was because that’s how I felt.
“Counterclockwise!”
I closed my eyes as I struggled to reach the firing mechanism for the cones on my inner left arm. I would have to shut one off and fire the other to slow myself down or I’d pass out before I could rescue anyone. I put my hands down to the firing controls. As disoriented as I was there was no way of knowing which one to fire, and there wasn’t time. I had to fire one of them, but which? The sensation in my stomach was of falling from a great height and my ears were filling with the sound of rushing blood, my blood. Marker was yelling instructions at me but I couldn’t recognize what he was saying anymore. I was passing out, and I had to do something.
I shut the valve on the firing control on one of the cones, I couldn’t tell which, and then depressed the trigger on the other, praying for the best.
My universe went black.
In Deep Space
The next thing I was conscious of was that someone was speaking. Whether to me or someone else I couldn’t tell. The rushing in my ears was calming and I could feel weight again. Breathing in was difficult and my chest felt heavy, but after a few deep breaths I slowly felt the heaviness subside and opened my eyes. I recognized the lights of the cabin above me but my vision was blurry. I felt a warm hand on my face as the voice I was hearing became clear to me at last.
I looked up at Commander Dobrina Kierkopf. She was bending over me in her EVA suit, her helmet off, with a very concerned look on her face.
“Commannndddurrr,” I mumbled out, my words slurring. There was a mask over my face feeding me oxygen, and it wasn’t helping me speak any clearer. I tried to reach up to pull the mask off but my arms felt like lead.
“Stay put, Mr. Cochrane,” she said to me, then tucked my arm back in to the safety seat I was strapped into. I nodded, then looked around the cabin of the Downship. Layton was at the pilot’s station, with Marker at the copilot station. Dobrina and I were a few rows back and down, in the passenger cabin. She had me strapped in like a baby in a ground car. I felt her run a hand through my sopping wet hair.
“What happened?” I said more clearly, or so I hoped.
“Your tether caught on an explosive clip that malfunctioned. You were spinning like a top at a carnival,” she said. I tried to smile.
“You needed help,” I said.
“Like hell!” she responded. “Anothe
r half minute and we’d have been out there to greet you! We took the displacement wave straight on against our shields. It burned everything out, communications, propulsion, you name it. But thanks to Layton here we were as ready as we could be. When we saw you coming we were already kitted out for EVA. We figured we’d just pop the hatch ourselves and float on over. That was until I looked out and saw you spinning like a pinwheel. Oh, and by the way, you fired the wrong cone. Nearly sheared your tether off too. By the time we caught you, you were almost at escape velocity. Thank goodness you didn’t puke in the suit.” She smiled at me. I smiled back. The oxygen was quickly clearing my head.
“Did I have you worried?” I said. She squeezed my hand but said nothing, then turned to her pilot.
“Mr. Layton, ETA to Captain Zander?” Kierkopf asked.
“Eight minutes, sir,” said Layton. She turned back to me.
“You have that long to get yourself ready,” she said.
Captain Zander and his volunteer crew had less than ten minutes of air left when we rendezvoused with the bulwark shuttle. Marker had positioned us as close as he dared. Commander Kierkopf and I stood behind the airlock hatch watching the umbilical deploy foot-by-foot to the sealed main cargo hatch of the shuttle. It wasn’t going fast enough.
“Status of the shuttle!” demanded Dobrina.
“Main cabin temperature 1140 degrees Celsius and rising. Cargo cabin is exposed and at space normal temperature,” said Marker. “There must be a hole in the hull we can’t see from here.”
“If the pilot’s nest is that hot then she must be burning hydrazine fuel,” I said.
“There’s a main fuel line running through the pilot’s cabin on the Werder class shuttles,” said Marker. “It must have burst.”
“That’s a great design. Who thought that up?” I was angry.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Kierkopf. “They can’t survive much longer, even in the EVA suits. They’re built primarily for space, not fire duty.”
