"Bowden, this is Lemke. Aft is…bad. It's mostly evacuated, physically and radioactively hot, and structurally a mess. There are holes everywhere. I'm prepared to go by compartment on your order."
He checked time on his visor. There was no way to get everyone out in the allowed time. So they'd have to hope to beat the odds, because there was no way they could leave anyone behind. The nausea and heat came back, and he increased his oxy level. He needed it now.
"Lemke, copy Rescue, what do you see of the lifeboats?"
Lemke said, "They seem to be gone from this side."
Stadter said, "There are two not accounted for, but their bays are far back near the reactor. My call is not to go there."
Bowden said, "Agreed."
Stadter added, "You'll be glad to know there are some relieved parents. The engineering crew cleared the casino and lounge and forced them into the lifeboats. Tough call, but the right one."
"Good news. Lemke, Bulgov, come forward."
"Yes, sir."
"Rescue, this is Bowden. Four-three mobile casualties in masks. We can put some in balls. Is there any way to dock or catch?"
"Bowden, this is Rescue. Your team has planted charges on the reactor feeds. They plan to cut the lines the hard way and brenschluss that way." His voice sounded tight.
"Understood. Will that be soon?" Stadter did not sound happy.
"If you consent, I do."
"Do it." That would take the strain off the structure. He felt relief and guilt. If they'd been able to do that sooner…but he'd definitely live.
A moment later a bang and a rumble shook the creaky vessel, but thrust dissipated at once, to nothing.
"Bowden, this is Rescue, we can dock at Frame One Zero, Radius Two Zero Zero."
"Do that, and we'll shuffle people in one at a time."
"We can take the worst one-five, absolute max. The rest will have to egress for recovery."
"Understood."
This was going to mean a fight.
#
Stadter didn't want to tell Bowden how the feeds had been cut. Sergeant Diaken was dying from massive radiation exposure, from hand-placing charges inside the danger radius. The other four were adrift in the dark awaiting pickup from amateurs in craft not equipped for rescue, along with Arvil. Bowden and his team were cutting their way through the inside…
"Rescue, this is Barley Mow. We have an extra recovery."
Budd said, "Barley Mow, this is Rescue, elaborate, please."
"Sergeant Arvil. He slapped against the hull. We got a line on him. He's got some impact trauma, but his suit armor took it, and he's alive if bruised."
Budd, Vela and Stadter stared at each other for a second.
Stadter said, "Barley Mow, that's ludicrous, but thank you."
#
Bowden wished they'd opened the staterooms one at a time. While the three crew had done a fine job herding people in, they'd reach panic level soon. Nor could he use command voice, there was almost no pressure in the forward end.
He used his map projector on the bulkhead, and Lowther and Marchetti matched him in the other rooms.
CHILREN ARE ALIVE, he flashed. YOU WILL EVAC THROUGH FORWARD LOCK. SHIP WILL DOCK FOR WORST NEED. OTHERS WILL BE TOWED.
They nodded in worried understanding, but their confidence seemed a bit higher. He wasn't going to tell them how they'd be towed.
There was a pregnant woman, two more children, three people with minor but painful injuries—sprains and bruises from the runaway G—and seven people who, in his opinion, were near breaking point.
The schedule suffered again when Hensley had to spend long segs welding cracks in the airlock. To be fair, they seemed to be recent, but it was all part of the same utter failure. The owner didn't even deserve a duel. They'd found several patches aboard that were purely cosmetic. He'd known this wreck was subpar.
Lemke and Bulgov crawled up through the wreckage from below, looking fatigued, but functional.
With one troop in each room managing the oxygen, and three spare bottles from elsewhere, calm prevailed. That left him and Lemke to push forward.
The bridge lock was sealed from inside, and he rang the chime. He waited, and rang it again. The purser should be in there. He was about to call Rescue for relay when the latch moved.
The purser swung it open and the expression on his face was tragic.
Bowden gripped him and pressed helmets for conduction. "Mister Doherty, we're here for you."
Doherty maintained some composure. He spoke into his mic, probably to Rescue, then pulled the lead from his helmet. Inside his suit the man shivered. He let himself be led.
"Bowden, this is Rescue."
"Go ahead."
"Lowther and we came up with a plan. Take the passengers out singly. Stuff them into balls, toss them out. They'll be immediately available for pickup now that we're in free flight. All primary vessels are converging."
"That works. We can start now." The pregnant woman was already aboard Auburn. The kids were lined up and ready, and after that it was just a case of moving fast enough with O2 running low. Of course, the lack of lights, gravity and heat was going to be a problem. He welcomed it to the alternative.
There was an attempt at chivalry, with some men hanging back while the women were moved. A couple of quite cute ones shivered in goosebumps, underdressed for an evacuated ship. He handled them professionally, but it was hard to move someone under these conditions without grabbing their ass and shoving.
"That's fifteen," Lowther said.
"Balls," he replied.
The next woman came up the line, looked at the ball, and clenched in fear. She didn't resist as they stuffed her in, but she wasn't helpful.
Then it became clear that some people were hanging back out of fear, letting others precede them. That meant the end would be interesting.
It was a good thing the engines were completely down. It took a lot longer than five hundred seconds to transfer everyone. More than half would have died on that schedule.
They passed people out, stuffed them into balls, and handled them through the wedged-wide lock, where Lowther and Marchetti lashed them to Auburn. The passengers could see out the tiny windows, and they all looked frightened or frozen. It was going to be traumatic for them, but, Bowden observed, not as traumatic as dying. One by one, the medics played out sections of line, looped and lashed them, and occasionally peeked in a window to smile and give someone a thumb's up.
The last woman and last man clung to the stanchion next to the O2 supply. He was middle aged, in good shape, even athletic, but shivered like a lapdog. She was completely numb with a thousand meter stare. Both had to have their fingers pried loose, and be towed to the lock.
And that was that. After the earlier excitement, the ending was somewhat anti-climactic.
Lowther shook hands, swung back out, clipped and unclipped lines and monkey-crawled around his charges, letting them see that he was outside with them. He would ride that way until another craft matched course to take them off.
"We're clear. We'll mount. Transponders on, awaiting pickup sometime in the next four divs." He felt an odd mix of elated, satisfied, nervous, frightened and lethargic. They'd done it.
"Understood, and your sled transponders are still live. Tracking already."
"Thanks, Rescue." It would be divs before they were recovered, days before they filtered from ship to ship and back to their own craft, and then probably down for debriefing. One thing about real world missions; they beat the hell out of exercises for both value and intensity.
He'd say he never wanted to do it again, but he felt more alive than he ever had. Some people never knew if they mattered. Blazers didn't have that problem.
He checked his harness and prepared to line aft, leaving Mammy Blue cold and dead in space.
#
Stadter's guts flipped at the current exchange, but he had to do it.
"Rescue to Sergeant Diaken."
Her voice w
as raspy and ill-sounding. "Go ahead, Rescue."
"One-eight-six recovered. Four-three after you cut feeds."
"Glad to hear it. Thanks for all your efforts. Diaken out." The transmission ended in an odd fade.
"Rescue out," he said, needlessly. There was no way she'd live to reach the station after that dose, much less anywhere that could hope to do anything. It wasn't even safe to recover her body. That hiss had been her helmet unsealing to vacuum. There were no good ways to die, but that seemed so cold.
He turned his attention back to Bowden.
"Bowden, this is Rescue. I have an interim AAR if I can relay the good and bad."
"Rescue, go ahead. I can take it."
"Bowden, one eight six of two one seven recovered and expected to live. Those extra two you caught had to be towed outside and transferred to another ship. They're pretty shaken. I think most of the survivors are well-tranked."
He paused and continued, "One lost on recovery, we'll need to check your cameras to determine who. Bundle of five tumbled, one separated and caught in engine wash. I'm sorry."
There was momentary silence, then Bowden said, "Continue."
"Regret to relay that Special Projects Sergeant Diaken absorbed lethal dose, by choice, to effect shutdown on the feeds. She bought you the additional time."
"Then she saved at least forty lives. She was a good woman." The man sounded steely, but Stadter figured he'd be torn up as soon as his mic was closed.
"That's it for your watch. Other casualties due to lifeboat failing and no crew aboard to assist with backup O2. The bottle worked, they just couldn't figure it out in time. Some of the crew died aboard, and twelve passengers."
"On the whole, then, I guess we all did an amazing job. Thank you, Lieutenant, and your staff, for coordination."
"And you, Bowden. Stadter out, listening." He figured to leave the man to deal with his troops and his frustration, for the next half day.
Bowden would be the last man out of a powerless derelict, in free flight in space, awaiting pickup in the darkness. That took insane amounts of courage.
They spent a full day passing the passengers in the balls outside to other ships, swapping fuel and oxy, coordinating others. They breathed canned air, ate plastic-wrapped food bars and were grateful for both. The rescued passengers were stuffed into the two cabins of the small craft, making any movement a pain. Luckily, the pregnant woman wasn't close to labor. They all stank of fear, the filters couldn't keep up, and even the latrine was overloaded, despite venting to space twice. Garwell had to pretty well sit on top of them. Two were billeted under his couch and controls.
Eventually, they maneuvered into their cradle and docked. He hit the switches to cut power, dumped a reload request for supplies expended, and crawled out the hatch into the station. The alternate crew had lined up to cheer them, in both tribute and jealousy. A mission like this happened once in a career, though, he reflected, once was enough.
He shook hands with his opposite, Captain Brown, and said, "I need to debrief and rest. Thank you," he turned to the rest, "and thank you all. We'll catch up later."
He near staggered on his way to Station Control.
Captain Vincent, looked worn, satisfied and angry. It was an odd combination of expressions.
"Lieutenant Stadter. You're just in time."
"Yes, sir?" He didn't think there was a problem at his end, and Vincent wasn't one to string things out.
"Things are very good. I want to make sure you know that. Exceptional work all around. Among your crew, Warrant Vela is to be commended for outstanding traffic control."
"Thank you, sir."
"Just thought you'd like to know I have the ship's owner on another screen."
"That's interesting," Stadter said. He didn't want to make any assumptions about that. He was too edgy and likely to snap.
Vincent turned, lit the screen and looked into it.
"Mister Etzl, Lieutenant Stadter was in charge of the rescue effort."
Etzl didn't look like a cheap bastard, nor was he oily. However, he didn't waste any time.
"I'd like to thank you for recovering my passengers, sir."
"You're welcome. We all did the best we could. I directed a lot of professionals and dedicated volunteers."
"I'd like to discuss recovering my ship, and compensation."
Adminwork, the bane of existence, he thought. Though to a man like this, reports were everything. He saw figures. Statder saw people.
"If you are asking for a report for your insurance, it will come to you in time, after it works through our system."
Etzl shook his head. "I'm not worried about that. But there's cargo and gear and supplies aboard. I understand it's in free flight. This wouldn't count as rescue, but recovery, and of course you're entitled to a share as salvage. But will you be able to get back out on that shortly? The sunk costs increase the further out it gets." He seemed agitated.
Stadter was too numb from the mission to get angry. It was just too surreal. Etzl needed to worry more about what would happen when charges started piling on him, and challenges to duel. If he was lucky, he'd only be indentured for life.
On the one hand, it would be nice if the passengers recovered any items of personal value. There was even a chance the cargo contained things that couldn't be replaced by money alone. At the same time, they'd already lost too many people, injured several, and one had volunteered to die to help save others and reduce the burden this scumbag faced. He really should be enraged. He should challenge the man himself, Bahá'í rules on dueling be damned.
He was just too wired, tired and overloaded to deal with it right now. He was giddy with fatigue, disoriented, and this didn't feel real. There was a policy that applied here, though. He went with that.
"Sir, you may contract whomever you wish for salvage. Neither I nor my crew are available. Your ship represents a hazard to traffic as is, so I recommend you move quickly on any recovery. I will officially recommend that the military use it for target practice if it's not dealt with in a week. This matter is closed. Good day to you."
He nodded to Vincent, who nodded back with a faint smirk. Then he turned, and headed for his cabin. He could pick up the anger later, if there weren't better things to do.
AFTERWORD
I read a lot.
This house has several thousand books, mostly nonfiction, on a plethora of subjects. Somewhere in the section on ships is a story about a ferry in New York Harbor sometime in the 1890s, I recall.
This small vessel, in winter, was full of people traveling from island to island or mainland. Most of them were immigrant laborers.
This boat did have a boiler explode, rupturing one side, causing it to founder and sink. There were lifeboats, bought cast-off from some better vessel, not seaworthy. There were kapok life jackets, but the rubber had dry-rotted, the kapok mildewed, and they weren't in usable condition even if the water wasn't barely warmer than the freezing air.
Every craft in the harbor did respond, in a frenzy not seen again until Flight 1549 landed in the Hudson river more than a century later. I can't recall how many survived, but most did. The owner was held in very poor regard, and if I recall correctly, sued into poverty, as he should be.
From there, I wondered how such a story would work in the Freehold universe, which, despite some parties alleging it to be a "utopia," bears several significant resemblances to the era of robber barons and exploitative management. There are many things done better by the free market. However, some things actually do require government infrastructure to effect properly. Whether or not quality standards for spaceship inspections are among the latter probably depends in part on who's arguing the point, and if they intend to be aboard. Even if one can settle up economically afterward, duel or seek vengeance, it's probably better to have the intact ship in the first place.
Honorverse Tech Bu9
by David Weber
Letter from Stephanie
FROM: Harrington, Ste
phanie HS-SKM-78-10009.033
TO: Kerensky, Maja MK-MDAHL-10005-93061.042
DATE: 01/17/1519 PD (SR)
TIME: 13:27:04 (local)
RECORDING BEGINS:
Hey, I'm sorry I didn't get around to recording this as soon as I meant to. Like, I dunno, maybe a T-year or so ago? I really meant to get to it sooner, but things have been sorta hectic since we got here. And up until a couple of weeks ago, I didn't really have anything exciting to tell anybody about.
Guess that sounds pretty dumb, doesn't it? Well, I thought it was going to be a lot more exciting than it turned out to be, too. I mean, interstellar trips sound really neat, don't they? But I found out that's only until you actually take one. A starship looks just the same inside as an intra-system ship, you know? Well, aside from the spin sections, of course. What a pain! The Madeleine Davenport's a pretty big ship, but her spin section's still only seventy-five meters across. Even that makes her look like a sausage that got pregnant, stuck in the middle that way, and there's no way they could've made it any bigger. They had to spin it at three RPM just to produce about three-quarters of a gravity, and that gets pretty lame pretty fast. I don't care what anyone says, spin gravity isn't the same thing as real gravity! You're heavier at your feet than your head, and that takes some getting used to. In fact, I never did really get used to it all the way. And lower gravity isn't anywhere near as much fun as it sounds like, either. It was pretty neat bouncing around for the first couple of days, but nobody’ll let you really have fun with it. Traffic rules everywhere! And nothing weighs what it's supposed to. Personally, I'd’ve preferred to be closer to my right weight instead of less than two thirds of what I weighed back home, but the Captain got on the intercom and explained why they couldn't make it any higher.
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