by Jay Allan
Skarn had a frown on her face. “I know, Cole, but it’s not the branch systems I’m worried about. There were no enemy contacts on the way out either, not once we left the fleet, not along the Y chain. But how about when we get back to the X’s, where the fleet passed through…and when we try to catch up? The enemy was chasing the fleet like hounds after a fox when we left. And who knows how many systems we’ll have to pass through to catch up.” She paused and took a deep breath. “And that assumes the fleet stuck to the path toward Shangri la. Admiral Compton wouldn’t abandon that destination—or us—easily, I’m sure of that. But what if he had no choice? Would he head off in a different direction, give up on Shangri la in a desperate attempt to save the fleet?”
“We can only go on the assumption that the fleet is heading for Shangri la. All we can do is try to get there. Somehow.” Inkerman’s tone was dark, the short burst of optimism from the scanner readings gone. He turned back to his workstation and sat silently for a moment. Then he looked back toward Skarn. “Would you have volunteered, Captain? If you’d known.”
Skarn met his gaze. “You mean if I’d known there was nothing on that world but ruins?”
“Yes.”
“Honestly? I don’t know, Cole. I really don’t.” She paused, thinking. “I mean, in any other circumstances…to find a planet that had been home to another sentient race, even an extinct one, would be a career defining moment. Before the First Imperium war it would have been the greatest discovery in the history of mankind.” She looked down at the deck. “And now…we spent two days collecting artifacts, and we left, probably never to return. So, was it worth the risk coming here?” Another pause, longer this time. “I really, truly don’t know. I want to say I’d have gone anyway, that the scientist in me would have won out, that knowledge is worth almost any price. But, I won’t lie to you. I know the trip home is going to be difficult…and damned dangerous. And the truth is, I’m scared.”
She suspected admitting her fears to one of her officers was poor conduct for a ship’s captain. But she and Inkerman had been friends for a long time, and they were the only two on the bridge. And she wasn’t a captain, not a real one. Just the closest thing Cornwall had right now.
“I’m scared too, Ilsa.” Inkerman was speaking to his old friend now, not his captain. “But Cornwall will get back. I can’t explain it, but I just know. Call it a feeling.”
“Okay, Cole…I’ll go with your feeling. It’s the best thing we’ve got.” Skarn smiled. “Besides, that would be a pretty pleasant outcome, no? A lot better than getting blasted to bits by First Imperium ships.”
Inkerman nodded, a tiny smile on his face as well. “I thought so.”
The two sat for a while in silence. Finally, Skarn took a deep breath and said, “My gut is we’ll be okay until we get back to the X line, Cole. But I want to be ready by the time we get to Y1. The transit from there puts us right back in the crosshairs, and it’ll be a miracle if we can make it the rest of the way without running into any enemies. I want this ship 100% ready. Every system tested, double diagnostics run. I want all weapons armed and ready. And while we’re traversing the rest of the Y systems, I want every member of this crew doing battle drills.” Her voice was firm now, her moment of doubt gone. She’d needed her friend for a moment, and he’d been there for her. But now she was the captain again, and now she needed her tactical officer.
“Yes, sir,” Inkerman snapped back, feeding off Skarn’s energy. “I’ll issue the orders now.”
Skarn nodded. “If we need to fight our way out of a jam, I want us to be ready…and if we don’t make it back, I want to go out fighting.” She stared across the bridge, her voice stone cold, her eyes focused like lasers on Inkerman’s.
“You can count on that, Captain. If we don’t make it back, they won’t take us down without a fight.”
* * *
Sasha stood in doorway to Cornwall’s tiny cargo hold, watching as her shipmate worked, moving crates and securing loose items. “You wanted to see me, Tony?”
“Sasha, yes…come on in.” Tony Vaccilli turned around and nodded with a smile. “I was stowing the gear from the landing party. Well, it really should have been done days ago, but you know, none of us are used to running a tight ship. But the captain wants us in textbook condition before we get back to where we branched off.” He paused. “I guess if we’ve got a fight ahead of us, that’s where it will be.”
“What did you need, Tony? I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.”
“Oh, yeah…sorry, Sasha.” He turned and started moving items piled on top of a large crate. “I was stowing your environmental suit from the landing mission.” He rummaged around for a few more seconds, and then he turned around, holding the light gray suit in his arms. “I was about to pack it up, but then I saw this.” He held out one side of the suit, right around waist level. There was a rough circle, about eight or ten centimeters, much darker than the rest. It looked like a stain, but a strange one.
“Look at that,” she said. Her tone stiffened a bit, became harder, but Vaccilli didn’t seem to notice.
“I figured something got splashed on it, and I almost ignored it and packed it away anyway. After all, it went through the decontamination unit, so even if some substance got on there, it should have been sterilized.” He turned back around and grabbed another suit. “But then I saw the same thing on Don Rames’ suit. Not just a similar stain, but almost exactly the same. Size and shape…identical.” He looked over at Sasha. “Are you sure you don’t remember anything, Sash? I’ve got to show this to the captain, but I thought I’d check with you and see if you could tell me anything. That way, I’ll have all the data before I speak with Captain Skarn. I tried to reach Don too, but he was in the middle of some experiment, and I got his mailbox.”
“So you haven’t shown this to the captain yet?” Sasha smiled and took a step backwards.
“No, not yet. I just found it twenty minutes ago.”
“So, you haven’t told anybody at all?”
He stared back at her, a confused look on his face. “No, Sash…not yet. I figured I’d check with you first.”
She smiled again. “That’s good, Tony.” She took another step backwards. Then she ducked back through the hatch.
“Sasha, what is going on?” Vaccilli moved forward, but before he could get to the door she slapped her hand against the controls and the hatch slammed shut. She punched in a code, locking the door.
She stood and looked through the small window, watching as Vaccilli pounded on the door, shouting to her. But she couldn’t hear a word. The door was completely soundproof.
She turned and pulled out a small retractable keyboard, and her fingers began racing over the keys, punching in a series of codes. She turned and looked inside. Vaccilli had stopped pounding on the door, and he’d moved to the com unit. Sasha wasn’t sure if he was trying to contact her or the bridge, but she knew it didn’t matter. She’d already disabled communications from the cargo hold.
Her fingers were moving quickly, almost in a blur. She was overriding security codes, and doing it in a way that would leave no trace. She wasn’t sure how she knew what to do, but she did. Once she’d disabled the safeties, she punched a final key, opening the outer bay doors.
She turned to the side again, and she saw Vaccilli looking through from the other side of the window. He was frantic now, his face a mask of fear, hands pounding against the door.
I’m sorry, Tony…
She entered another series of codes…and then hit the final button. The ship shook hard, the effects of the rapid decompression in the hold. She turned and looked through the window. The hold was empty, the blackness of space visible through the open hatch. The crates were gone. The suits, Tony Vaccilli, everything…gone. Blasted out into the frigid vacuum.
She heard the alarms going off, and she turned and walked quickly away, slipping into one of the engineering spaces. She knew the exact layout of Cornwall—though she still
didn’t know how—and the room she’d chosen was little used, almost always vacant. She slipped into the large duct that ran by the room and crawled about twenty meters forward…and then climbed up a small ladder to the top level. And she slipped back out into a small store room…and into the corridor, about as far away from the cargo hold as she could get.
* * *
“No, it can’t be…” Sasha stood in front of Captain Skarn, tears welling up in her eyes. “Poor Tony,” she said, her voice distraught, miserable.
“It appears he made an error himself. He was preparing to do a refuse dump, and he overrode the security locks on the outer hatch but forgot to close the section off.”
“That doesn’t sound like Tony,” Sasha said, sniffling as she did. But she knew that’s how it had happened…or at least that’s how it looked to the others. She knew because she’d altered the computer files herself to make it appear so. And then she’d modified the security video, removing any trace of her in the area, even removing the record of the door to the bay opening when she’d entered.
“I know.” Skarn was affected by the loss too, her voice soft, sad. But she was holding it together, clearly determined to act the part of the ship’s captain. “But the records confirm it. He’d been working long hours…and like the rest of us, he was more at home in his lab than playing the part of ship’s quartermaster. It was careless of him to disengage the entire security system instead of just authorizing the dump. It must have been fatigue. He just wasn’t thinking clearly…and at that moment, disaster struck.”
Skarn stepped forward, and she put her hand on Sasha’s arm. “I know it’s difficult, Sasha, but what’s done is done. We can’t do anything for Tony, and we all have to stay focused if we’re going to have any chance of getting back. Tony’s death was a tragedy, but there are thirty-one other people on this ship. He’d be the first one to want us to put our energy into getting everyone home.”
Sasha sniffled and wiped the tears from her face. “You’re right, Captain…I know you’re right. It’s just hard to believe he’s gone.”
“It’s hard for me to accept too, Sasha, but we have no choice. And it’s not the first loss we’ve suffered in the fleet.” Skarn paused. “I’d like to say it will be the last, but we all know how unlikely that is.” Skarn paused, then she added, “Why don’t you get back to your research? You’ll be better off if your mind is occupied. And no doubt, Dr. Cutter is going to want a complete report when we get back to the fleet.”
“Yes, Captain.” She nodded, wiping her face again as she did. “You’re right, of course.” She turned and walked toward the door. She stopped alongside the hatch and looked back. “Thank you, Captain. Talking to you really helped.”
“I’m glad, Sasha. You should always feel free to come to me any time.”
Sasha stared back with a weak smile. “Thank you, Captain. I will.” Then she stepped through the hatch and out into the corridor.
Yes, I will, Captain Skarn. And long before we get back to the fleet.
Chapter Seven
From the Personal Log of Terrance Compton
Another battle. Another desperate fight. More of my people dead, more ships lost. I know I must stand like a monolith, indefatigable, a beacon for the exhausted spacers of the fleet. They must see me not as a man, one as tired and worn and heartsick as they are, but as something superhuman, as a commander who can lead them to victory when to their sight, nothing is visible but death and defeat. I try to be what they need me to be, but I often feel like a charlatan, a fraudster. Am I leading them to salvation? Or simply misleading them, giving them hope where there is none.
AS Midway
X78 System
The Fleet: 98 ships (+7 Leviathans), 23792 crew
Grant Wainwright felt alone. He was still conscious, though he didn’t know how long that would last. His shipmates were all out. Mariko Fujin, at least, was still alive…barely. He’d done what he could for the others, but the reserve breathing masks were exhausted. He’d lined them all up on the floor where it was cooler. But cooler was a relative term, and he didn’t know how long they would survive. He wasn’t even sure they were all still alive. He’d been checking them every few minutes, but for the last half hour he hadn’t been able to force himself to take too close a look.
He was a pilot, one of the best in the fleet…a daredevil, a risk taker. He’d imagined death in battle before. After all, he was brave, but he wasn’t a robot. But always he’d envisioned his end, if it came, would be quick, sudden. Death at the controls of his fighter. He imagined himself blown apart in an instant by an enemy missile or laser blast, not dying slowly inside his ship, flipping a mental coin to decide it suffocation or heat would kill him first.
He’d almost panicked. For all his coolheaded control in combat, this was something he found difficult to handle. On one level, he envied his comrades. They were unconscious. They would either be rescued…or they would never wake up again. But Wainwright had nothing to do but think. About whether he had done all he could for his mates. To think back, to wonder about things he’d forced himself to set aside over the last year and a half. He’d left parents behind, and three sisters and a brother. They’d been a close knit family, despite the fact that all of them served the navy in some capacity.
I’m dead to them now, he thought. They mourned me already, eighteen months ago. They still miss me, but the wounds of loss aren’t fresh anymore. They’ve adjusted, gone on with their lives without the slightest expectation that I’m still alive.
For another few minutes, at least…
He heard a loud creak, and he turned his head and looked back at the hatch. He knew the fires had gotten to the catapults, that the wounded fighter was engulfed in flames. The fighter’s hull, at least, hadn’t been breached when Midway was hit. And the skin of the ship was heavily insulated, mostly to keep out the frigidity of space, but also to help dissipate heat from explosions and laser blasts. That was the only reason he was still alive. But he knew the hull was almost at its limit. Any time now, the exterior would begin to melt, and the fighter would crack open like an egg. Then the fires would get in…and they would consume the last traces of oxygen. He wasn’t an expert on how flames spread, but he suspected immolation might beat out suffocation.
At least that will be quick…
“Grant…”
It was Fujin’s voice, soft, weak. He’d almost missed it.
He crawled over toward her. “Mariko?” he said softly.
Her eyes were open, looking right at his. Unlike earlier, she was entirely lucid.
“We’re done, aren’t we?”
He took a breath, almost choking on the smoky, low oxygen air. “No, Mariko…don’t say that.”
“But it’s true.” She gasped for her breath. “Thought I’d die in combat,” she said, struggling to keep her speech audible.
“Just rest…don’t waste your strength.” He was dizzy, weak. He could feel his own strength fading, what little was left of it.
He looked down at Fujin. Her eyes were closed again. For a moment, he thought she was dead, but then he saw her chest move, a breath, fitful, difficult. But a breath nevertheless.
He laid back himself, closing his own eyes. The smoke was getting heavier, and he could hear the creaking sounds growing louder. It wouldn’t be long now.
Clang!
He sat up quickly, abruptly, making himself woozy in the process. But he’d heard something…something other than the sounds of the fire destroying his ship. He turned, gritting his teeth against the dizziness as he did.
I heard something, I know I did.
But he was beginning to doubt himself, to assume he had hallucinated. Then he heard it again. Another clang, louder even than the first. Then another.
There was something—someone—outside the ship!
He turned over and tried to get up, but the room was doing flip flops, and he fell back down to his knees. He crawled forward, toward the interior of the hull…
as close to where he thought the sound was coming from. He grabbed a wrench he’d left on the floor, and he swung it as hard as he could against the hull. Then again…and again.
“Hey,” he yelled as loudly as he could. He knew his voice wouldn’t penetrate the hull, but it made him feel better anyway. “Help…we’re in here!”
And he swung the wrench again, as hard as his exhausted arm could manage.
* * *
Sara lay on her cot, staring up at the ceiling. Dr. Flynn had wanted to keep her in sickbay, but he’d finally relented and agreed to let her go back to her quarters…as long as she promised to rest and remain off duty. Snow Leopard was a fast attack ship, and her sickbay wasn’t much more than a couple beds attached to banks of monitors anyway. Still, Flynn hadn’t looked happy when she left, and he’d insisted she try to get as much sleep as possible.
She had tried to renege, and she’d snuck back up to the bridge, intending to quietly go back to work. But Captain Ving had already spoken to the doctor, and he’d sent her back to her cot without so much as an instant of discussion. She’d had a brief urge to argue, but then she meekly obeyed. She was willing to spar with the doctor, but she didn’t have it in her to stand up to the captain. And she was tired, despite all the doctor had done. Flynn had given her a massive dose of antibiotics and antivirals, and she felt better. Not great, not even good. But better than she had.
She was still sore though, the body aches she’d had before, but also new ones, the result of being poked and probed in more ways than she’d thought possible before she’d experienced it. Flynn had run every kind of test imaginable on her before he’d reluctantly released her from his custody. His early analysis suggested some variation of influenza, a virulent strain, but ultimately a treatable one. But he was still reviewing the samples.
