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Even the smallest explosions can kill. A tiny pop, barely a firecracker, sent heated metal shards straight into Johnson’s airtube and facemask. He was dead before the vacuum of space could claim him.
Monica bit back a curse and forced herself to concentrate on her task. There would be time to mourn Johnson but that time wasn’t now. Time is your enemy she heard in her mind. She viciously fought back her feelings and peered closer at the breach she was trying desperately to seal. The distressed ship had floundered into an asteroid storm and was much the worse for wear. Sixteen hull fractures, a shattered engine and three coolant leaks. If the passengers survived it would be a miracle.
“Losing frac 2!” a panicky voice shouted in her ear.
“Switch to quadroxide!” she shouted back.
“But that’s dangero—”
“Just do it!” she snapped, beads of sweat making it past her bandanna. She shook her head and moved in a little closer. There was something wrong about the crack she was working on. It was irregular, and it appeared to be… moving. She fired her jets and tumbled in zero-gee just in time. The fracture erupted into a spray of fiery liquid. If she’d stayed put just another second longer…
She stared at the flames as her stomach sank. Somehow they kept burning, even in a hard vacuum. That meant there were gases leaking with the liquid. That meant it was more than just a simple breach, something even deeper was punctured. That meant…
“Retreat!” she shouted.
Her coworkers wavered. She knew why. She knew the sense of duty, she knew the pain, she knew everything they were feeling. But if they didn’t get out right now they wouldn’t be feeling anything. “That’s an order!” she snapped, hitting her emergency thrusters and rocketing away from the doomed vessel.
She had one more task to do and she had to do it quick. As she circled the vehicle, making sure her coworkers had listened to her order, she dialed in to the ship’s communications. “You’ve got a fire in your Altron Thrusters,” she said as calmly as she could. “There’s nothing we can do.”
She’d met the captain only over the ‘cator, and only thirteen minutes ago, but she’d gotten the distinct impression he was a strong man. His words confirmed that. “Altron burn, understood. Get to a safe distance.”
“We already have. I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” he replied, his voice cracking just a little. “Good job, and thank you.”
It sounded like he was going to say something else but the explosion cut him off. The entire aft end of the vessel twisted as the Altron Thrusters burst. Flame erupted and the ship expanded as its internal atmosphere vented into the harshness of space.
Only then did Monica feel the tears running down her cheeks. She stared at the dark coffin of the starship for a few moments before taking a deep breath and heading back toward the rescue vehicle.
Sometimes even Torch Angels couldn’t provide miracles.
The debriefing was somber. She went over the point-by-point inspection of the ship, pointing out each of the problems and the order they had been worked on. She was blunt when she needed to be, like when she had to reprimand Franky for not using quadroxide sooner.
“Yes it’s a dangerous welding technique,” she said. “But it’s far more dangerous to let a hull breach become unworkable. Time is your enemy, people. Always remember that.”
She moved on to the discussion of the Altron Thruster burn and the tell-tale signs she’d noticed that led her to that conclusion. It was these signs that had saved the lives of her coworkers. Well, all but Johnson. She looked out at her coworkers, her eyes scanning their faces and their expressions. This had been a bad day. They’d lost a friend and a charge with eight people aboard. Five of the remaining ten workers were veteran Emergency Deep-Space Ship Utility Mechanic/Medics. Two of the other five were green rookies and this was their first job. It was mostly for the newcomers that she continued her speech, but even the veterans could use a reminder.
“We did the best we could out there today. Yes, we all make mistakes, but in this case there was nothing we could have done. It’s a hard thing to live with. Talk to your coworkers. Talk to me. Each and every one of us have lost charges and friends. Today we lost Dave Johnson. We will have a memorial service for him tomorrow. Pour out your grief. Don’t bottle it up. Trust me. We have enough things working against us. But we do our job because nobody else can.”
She paused, looking out at the faces again. They were just a little brighter. That was enough for now. “Dismissed.”
The men and women of EDSSUMM-1497 got slowly out of their seats. She turned around and sat at her desk and took a deep breath. The sheer number of forms she would need to fill out today was mind-boggling. Triplicate forms detailing the circumstances of Dave Johnson’s demise. Letters of condolences to four of his family members and an official announcement for the local newsvids and for the local EDSSUMM chapter headquarters. Fifteen separate reports on the failed operation. Performance and pre-psych evaluations of the two rookies. A report on her early detection of the Altron Thruster burn and how better to train others on the warning signs. She might even have to turn that one into a technical exercise. A day’s work order, two equipment requisition forms and a funding update…
Somebody cleared their throat and she snapped back to reality. “Miss Navratil?”
She turned around and smiled at Franky. “Call me Monica. Everyone else does.”
Franky was clearly uncomfortable calling her Monica. He was also clearly uncomfortable about the day’s operation, and even more clearly uncomfortable talking to somebody about it. “Uhm. Monica?”
“What can I help you with, Franky?”
“Can I sit down?”
She smiled outwardly but inwardly she sighed. She had a pretty good idea where this was going. Rookies almost always did this. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”
He sat down and took a long time to answer.
She decided to answer for him. “Let me guess. You want to transfer out of the EDSSUMM and into something less demanding?”
He twitched. “How did you know?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Because that’s the exact same thing I want to do every time we lose a charge,” she admitted candidly. “I even have the form bookmarked on my Pertier.”
He looked at her with equal parts confusion and pain. “Why don’t you?” he finally asked.
She leaned back and lost the smile as she looked closer at Franky. He was young, just past nineteen, and just two days ago had been full of idealism and visions of heroism. Most of the rookies were like that, but Franky had been perhaps a little more eager than most. Shattered expectations, shame and regret, and probably a little bruised ego at being publicly reprimanded. She was used to that.
“Sometimes I really want to, Franky,” she admitted again. “Why don’t I, though? Because I can do more good here than anywhere else.”
“Well yeah, you can,” he said, his voice turning bitter. “But I can’t.”
“It was your first run and all you were guilty of was not using quadroxide earlier. Everything else you did was spot on. There was nothing any of us could have done today, Franky. She was a lost cause before we even got to her.”
“How do you deal with that?” he asked, tears coming to the edges of his eyes as the words tumbled out of him. “The… the feeling of helplessness? Of defeat? Of knowing that, even though you tried your best, you couldn’t have saved them?”
She sympathized with him. It was one of the hardest lessons a rookie had to learn. To let go. “I deal with it by trying to do even better on my next job,” she said softly. “That’s one of the reasons I don’t really like the nickname the media has given us. It makes us sound superhuman, that we can work miracles. We can’t, Franky. Like anybody else we do the best we can. Sometimes we mess up and people die. Sometimes we do our best and people still die, like today. The important thing I remember is that I’m doing more good here than anywhere else. Do you like hel
ping people?”
He nodded.
“Then don’t give up just yet. This is a rough and often thankless job but there’s not a better one out there. We risk our lives every time we go out. Risking your own life to save somebody else’s is the best feeling you’ll ever get. It helps you through the times when you fail.”
“You really think I’ve got what it takes?” he asked, hope returning to his voice.
“I do. Wait until we actually rescue somebody. Then you can make up your mind whether it was worth it. Promise?”
A tentative smile came to his lips. He saluted her smartly as he stood up. “Promise, Monica.”
She smiled inwardly this time. Another rookie helped back onto the path. It was almost as rewarding as the rest of her job.
Well, except for the forms. Those weren’t rewarding at all.
The next week passed without much in the way of incidents. Like most emergency jobs there were long lulls between the extremely stressful rescuing parts; it all evened out in the end. Monica spent the week working out a training exercise on Altron Thruster fires and the rest of the time inspecting and re-inspecting her equipment. The deep-space suit was most important and where she spent most of her time. Even triple layers of tear- and burn-resistant MarlinWeb fiber could begin to degrade. The transparent duCarbon bubble that made up the helmet had to be inspected at a microscopic level for any pits. The jetpack thrusters on the back, legs and wrists had to be in top shape. Any number of things could go wrong with just the suit. That didn’t even begin to cover the innumerable problems that could crop up in the XenosTec ‘Torch of Life.’ It was a wonderful piece of technology, combining a welder, a cutter, five types of pliers, a sonic defibrillator and a dozen or so smaller repair and medical tools… but XenosTec had been the lowest bidder. That meant a thirty-six-point inspection after every job.
It was almost a relief when the klaxon sounded. Eleven men and women scurried throughout the hangar, grabbing their personal equipment and getting into the rescue vehicle. Monica was last, her eyes scanning the hangar and personnel to make sure nobody had forgotten anything. Less than three minutes after the alarm had gone out they were out of the hangar and in hyperspace.
“Today is not an immediate emergency,” Monica told the crew as she read over the briefing file. “But it could quickly become one. Our charge is none other than Brantic Trauma Facility.” She paused as a few cheers broke out and she couldn’t kept grinning herself. Her group had a special relationship with BTF. Six of the current eleven crew, herself included, had received their emergency medical training under the direct tutelage of Master Healer Brantic.
“Yes, we get to see the good Master Healer again. The problem is a spatial-engine crack in the East Wing. The engine started to hiccup yesterday and just this morning it split. We need to contain the damage and make sure that nothing worse happens. Remember: it may not be an L6 emergency but if we mess up it could easily get that way. Brantic Trauma houses dozens of the finest medical minds there are and they currently have two hundred and seven patients. We cannot afford to be lazy today. I’ve sent the details to your Pertiers; I also want everyone to catch up on their spatial-engine theory. Let’s see if we can spot trouble areas before they begin, ok? We’ve got thirty minutes until destination.”
The thirty minutes were not wasted. Between herself and her two most veteran Angels they worked out five potential breaking points in BTF’s East Wing that could be affected by the lost spatial-engine. Even Franky spotted a potential line severance that could cause combustible liquid spillage. She praised him vocally. It was important to her that everybody be reprimanded publicly when they did wrong and be praised publicly when they did right. Whether that was the best way to handle a crew of Torch Angels she didn’t know; but it seemed to work thus far.
The rescue pilot, James, was an expert. They came out of hyperspace less than two minutes from the East Wing of the floating Brantic Trauma Facility. The facility, looking odd as it sat in the middle of nowhere in deep-space, evoked powerful memories. It was aboard BTF that she had been brought by Torch Angels as a child, and it was there she had determined what she was going to do in life. She would give every last ounce of her strength to keep it safe and sound.
As they came to a coasting halt and began docking she reminded her crew that this was every bit as important as an actual L6 emergency. She would not have her people acting lax just because there was no immediate threat to life. Six men and women boarded the medical facility. Monica remained onboard the rescue vehicle; all but one of the veterans would handle the outside work while Gar, her lieutenant, handled the less experienced crew working inside. By working both sides of the problem they could ensure that nothing disastrous occurred.
The rescue vehicle made a slow barrel-roll in space and brought the target spatial engine into view. Monica’s breath caught in her throat; the device was huge. Her mind automatically went over everything she knew about spatial engines. They were a strange mutation of the Memphis Engines that allowed interspace travel; instead of propelling ships through hyperspace the spatial engine kept them locked in a relative position in space. It made facilities like Brantic Trauma and Stardock Valupent possible; otherwise a giant floating station would get lost in the drift of planets. They had been discovered by accident, if she remembered correctly, and because of that they were incredibly complex and could be extremely temperamental.
If this one hiccupped one more time, or if the split got any worse, it might stop moving in the right direction. That would cause it to tear off, and if that happened it might just take the whole section with it. That was the last thing a hospital needed, especially one like Brantic Trauma.
The vehicle stopped its barrel-roll and she was outside the airlock in an instant. Most of the rookies had a rough time with vertigo, but not her. She’d always felt born for zero-gee. She loved it and experienced it whenever she could. A smile split her face despite the tense situation. As long as she was working in space she would be happy, come what may.
The job went even smoother than she could have hoped. She located the faulty jumper and had it replaced within ten minutes. The split itself was less than a foot in length, and was also properly welded in less than ten minutes. The symptoms resolved themselves within another two minutes and she felt a larger smile on her face. Days like this were practically vacations. She had both crews inspect the rest of the troublesome engine while she jetted across space to inspect the next closest spatial engine. They might as well run the gamut while they were here. It wouldn’t be fun to come back out here to fix a different engine a week from now.
She’d just finished her inspection when six low, urgent tones sounded. Her blood turned cold. She switched on her ‘cator instantly. “Brantic! What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” the Master Healer answered immediately. “We’re just getting the details now. Starliner accident…”
“Oh no,” Gar breathed, listening in on the team’s channel.
“Looks like an explosion,” Brantic continued, his voice going grim and hard. “Monica, I’m sorry…it’s the Starsong Way.”
Time froze in front of her eyes as her body went numb. Dimly, she heard voices calling to her but she couldn’t understand them, couldn’t make sense of them. The Starsong Way…and her family’s trip on the Exotic Line. Her parents, her brother, her two sisters…
It wasn’t real. It wasn’t happening. It was all just a twisted dream, some unrealized fear of losing her family materializing in a vivid nightmare.
Gar appeared suddenly in her vision and shook her shoulders. “Monica!”
She felt bile rising in her throat as she realized it was only too real. “Monica, can you hear me?” Brantic asked on the ‘cator.
She took a shuddering breath. “I can hear you.”
“I am truly sorry,” the Master Healer said, his voice soothing yet urgent. “But I need to know if you can answer this call. Hundreds of lives are stake, including your fami
ly’s. Will you respond?”
Respond. Always the word had meant duty, a job she loved, saving lives when she could. But now that her own family was involved…would she respond? Could she?
“We’ll respond,” she heard herself say, and suddenly the word meant something different. She just didn’t know what…yet.
Her crew responded in record time, something that would have made her proud at any other moment. They entered hyperspace less than three minutes after the L6 alarm had gone out. For the first time since joining the EDSSUMM she was glad she wasn’t the pilot. It would have been much worse. The minutes seemed to pass instantly and before she truly realized it they had arrived.
Never before had a job made her sick, but this one did. It wasn’t just about her family. Out there in front of her was a blackened husk that had once been the greatest starliner in existence. It had been a crown, a jewel, a treasure and now…now it was little more than space debris.
“EDSSUMM-1497 responding to L6 Emergency,” she said on the open-wave frequency, her throat burning. “Point us in the right direction.”
Long-range life sign scanners were being defeated by an unusually large amount of radiation and that meant old-fashioned deck-by-deck searching. There were fourteen teams already onsite and so Monica and her crew found themselves working a lower deck room location, moving upwards to meet another team in the middle before moving on. Of course, ‘room location’ was now a bitter pseudonym for ‘coffin collection.’ It was obvious that there were dozens of explosions that had erupted aboard and even outside the Starsong Way, and the ship bore the marks visibly. Nearly everything was crushed, torn, splintered or burned. Some parts of the ship were open to the vacuum of space and it was only these areas that were eerily empty. Everywhere else there were bodies, or parts of them. It was the worst disaster she had ever personally witnessed, by far the worst disaster since the end of the Second Cartel War. She knew her rookies were taking it badly but she couldn’t stop. Every room, every bathroom, every corridor had to be searched visually.
Her Torch of Life beeped weakly and her heart skipped a few beats. A life sign! The map on her HUD blinked fuzzily, showing a probable location. “Gar, you getting this?” she asked, holding as still as she could.
“I’m getting it!” he confirmed excitedly. “Anybody else?”
Two of the others had the signal as well and they set off as quickly as they could. A twisted bulkhead blocked their path but judicious use of their Torches let them through. With the hull resealed to keep the vacuum out they pressed onward, calling out as they went.
They found the life less than two minutes later.
“Get her in a vacsuit!” Monica snapped, staring in open wonderment at the blonde woman. She was standing up as they entered, dressed in normal clothing. Surprisingly, she only had a few scrapes and burns on her. She double-checked to make sure Gar was setting up the vacsuit properly but needn’t have worried; Gar was almost as good as she. She stepped back to survey the area and couldn’t help but shake her head in wonderment.
“What’s your name?” she asked the woman once Gar was done.
“Katrina.”
“Katrina, you are extremely lucky,” Monica said, still not quite believing it. “The decks above and below you bent in just a way to encase your room and three others in a cocoon, and you’re the only one in it. You should thank whatever you believe in.”
“I already have,” Katrina said quietly, staring off into space. “I already have.”
Monica peered closer at the woman. There was nothing physically wrong with her but it was obvious that she was in extreme shock. You didn’t need to be injured to be dazed, she’d always said.
“Gar here will assist you back to our rescue vehicle,” Monica said carefully, making sure Katrina understood. “And from there you’ll be on your way to Brantic Trauma Facility. We’ve got more decks to search.” Still shaking her head, Monica left the room with the rest of her crew and continued on.
Franky walked up next to her and her private ‘cator link turned on. “Have you noticed the excess radiation?” he asked in a whisper.
She smiled slightly despite the grimness of the situation. Private ‘cator links were nearly impossible to eavesdrop on unless you were really close and yet he still felt the need to whisper. “Yes, why?” she answered.
“I’m thinking this wasn’t an accident.”
Monica pursed her lips as she used the Torch to cut herself an opening in yet another twisted bulkhead. Different types of radiation were put off in small amounts by any number of large starship components, but now that Franky had brought it up…it was looking ominous. Enough radiation to block long-range life sign scanners wouldn’t be a natural residue from a natural explosion.
“That seems likely,” she said slowly. “What does it have to do with us?”
“What Alpha Cartel would be stupid enough to destroy the Starsong Way? Isn’t it owned by the BloodGutters?”
“No, not directly. But it does fly mostly in BloodGutter space, and that’s where we are now…”
“Exactly!” Franky hissed. “Who would be stupid enough to do that?”
Before she could even think about that, yet alone answer, her Torch beeped again. “Hold it!” she snapped, switching over to her team frequency. “Anybody else get that?”
“I got it for a split second before it disappeared again,” Franky answered.
“Anybody else?”
There were negatives all around. She stared at the map, watching as the little circle that represented a human life blinked in and out of existence right at the edge of her range. Every rescue instinct in her body flared to life. It was erratic, very weak, and probably blocked by tons of metal, but it was still…there!
She took three steps to her right and one forward and suddenly the circle blinked brightly for a moment before disappearing. “We’re losing it fast!” she shouted. “Let’s go!”
But before she could take another step a loud whistle sounded in her ear, causing her to jump. “All rescue crews, abort operation,” an arrogant voice ordered. “Repeat: abort operation.”
“Excuse me?” she bristled, responded to the wide-frequency order. “I’ve got a life sign here!”
“Stand down,” the voice responded coldly. “And abort your operation immediately.”
Another voice spoke up into the conversation. “This is MediMaster Gregor Larson. Who is issuing the abort command?”
The first voice returned, dripping with even more arrogance. “I am Instigator Thomas Massfield of the Cartel Discrepancy Outfit. The Barons have issued a lockdown of the site. All crews: you will abort your operations.”
Monica shivered. The CDO, here, and an Instigator? They ranked higher than Interrogators even. Franky had been right all along: this was no ordinary accident.
Her Torch beeped again, the ever-elusive circle fuzzily showing up. On the one hand, a direct Baron lockdown was just about as serious as anything ever got. And on the other hand…here was a human being, a living, breathing, thinking person who was probably dying right now. How would she respond?
Respond. There it was again, that word. What was her responsibility? Her mind flashed to all of the people she had saved in her line of work, all of the times she had failed to save lives. Would she blindly follow orders? Or would she live up to her vow, her dedication?
Something deep in her snapped. The fading life might be a family member but the odds of that were low. It didn’t matter if it was a family member or a random stranger: right now there was a human being whose life hung in her hands. There was only one way to respond to that.
“Torch Angels don’t take orders from the Barons,” she said as strongly as she could before turning off her wide-frequency ‘cator. “None of you have to follow me,” she said on her team frequency. “This is my decision. I cannot allow this life to fade, not because of the Barons or anybody.”
Her heart swelled with pride as every member of her crew stepped
forward next to her. They were one and all, rookie and veteran, standing up for what they believed in.
The life scan was a Siitral to hunt down and she knew their time was limited. One did not defy a CDO order and have long to keep doing so. Monica busted through bulkheads with an almost reckless abandon as she kept following the tiny beeping circle. It grew brighter and brighter as they moved through wrecked parts of the ship. She flipped on her external speakers and called out, her voice getting lost in the tangle of metal, wires, and pockets of air leaking into the vacuum.
The signal locked into place and they rushed forward. A muffled scream caught their attention. They didn’t have to fight the vacuum here; they were deep in the bowels of the ship. Two decks had collapsed onto the one they were on, and even now several areas were still on fire. Her team swept the fires away and cracked down through the metal with their Torches, desperately cutting away the shards that held a life in stasis.
And finally they made it. Monica bent back one particularly sharp piece of metal and felt her throat catch. A man, burned almost to a crisp, was trapped, his body twisted and broken between girders and wiring. Monica spoke softly to the man, unsure if he was even still conscious. “You made it,” she said, crying in reaction as adrenaline flowed out of her body and she started to shake. “You’ve survived.”
They stabilized the man with everything they had, injecting him with pain killers and broad spectrum antibacterials. As they lifted him out of his makeshift coffin Monica couldn’t help but smile. She had probably lost her entire family this day. She couldn’t bring herself to think about that, not yet. But what mattered most was that she had saved two people. She had brought all of her training, her determination, and her sheer stubbornness to work.
And in the end, one never knew just how essential a single life was. The man she was carrying back to the rescue vehicle might just well be more important than they ever realized. She would probably never know. She would probably lose her job for this, maybe even the jobs of all of her crew. But it didn’t matter. They had rescued two people from the very jaws of death.
They were Torch Angels. And that was enough for her.
###
Thanks for reading my short stories! I hope you enjoyed this little view of the Frontier Worlds. If you want more adventures in this universe, you can find them in Avarice Dynasty: Evasion, a 99¢ ebook available at most retailers.
About the Author
Dyego Alehandro is an author who has been writing since a very young age. He enjoys creating his own cover art and has received many accolades for his work. His hobbies include playing Legos, board games and PC games with his wife. He lives in Phoenix AZ and really needs to move somewhere that has rain.
Other books by Dyego Alehandro
The Chauncy Rollock Series
(with Alex Zabala)
Treasure of the Mayan King
The Golden Scepter
The Mind Games of Doctor Sova
Chauncy Rollock Chronicles
The Avarice Dynasty Series
Avarice Dynasty: Evasion
Connect with Dyego Alehandro
Friend me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/dyego.alehandro
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/ArcaniArts
The Frontier Archives: Series 1 Page 4
