Burden of Proof ps-2

by John G. Hemry

  "A little heavy, but she's okay, sir. A few more seconds and I'll start reeling in our catch."

  "Our first catch, Boats."

  Paul tapped his own control. "Boats, is Petty Officer Sharpe down there?"

  "Yes, sir. Along with all his deputies. We got a nice little reception waiting for our guests."

  Paul grinned. "Be nice, Boats. Use minimal force necessary to maintain control."

  "Heck, sir, I never use excessive force." The bosun mate at the back of the bridge coughed suddenly, his face reflecting disbelief at the statement.

  "Never?" Carl asked.

  "Well, hardly ever, sir. We got a firm grip on the pod, sir. Starting retraction sequence. What'll I do with the pod once I get the dirtbags out?"

  Carl frowned, then glanced at Captain Gonzalez, who frowned and looked at Paul. "Mr. Sinclair, is there any fleet legal guidance on that?"

  Paul swallowed. "Ma'am, I'll have to check."

  "Do that. It's not like any of the rest of us thought of it before now."

  Paul called up his legal references, hastily conducting a series of searches while trying not to notice how the pod was being reeled in closer every second. "Captain, the general rule is that an escape pod belongs to the originating ship or ship owner and should be either held for their retrieval or left with a beacon for eventual pickup."

  Gonzalez rubbed her chin. "That's the general rule, huh? But we just seized that ship."

  "Yes, ma'am. The guidance on seizure of ships violating restricting areas says we should hold them for whatever disposition is decided upon by fleet command."

  "It sounds like you're telling me we have to drag those things along with us, Paul."

  "Yes, ma'am, I think so."

  "We can't just leave them with a beacon?"

  "No, ma'am. I'm reading between the lines here, but I guess there's concern that if they're left, the Greenspacers might be able to swoop in with another ship and recover them before another of our ships can do the job."

  "Well, hell." Gonzalez threw up her hands. "Thank you, Mr. Sinclair. Mr. Meadows, inform the Chief Bosun that we'll need to bring all the pods along. I'd appreciate any recommendations she might have for doing that."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  A few minutes later, the Chief Bosun called the bridge. "Mr. Meadows, Petty Officer Sharpe's got our, uh, guests in hand. I've got just enough room in this here air lock to cram in two pods. The after lock can hold two more, then the starboard locks can hold another four. That'll leave four, which I think I can shove in with the ship's gig."

  Captain Gonzalez rubbed her forehead this time. "Boats, are those pods going to damage the locks or the gig?"

  "I can't swear they won't, ma'am. But I'll tie them down good, and pack stuff around them. That's the best I can come up with."

  "Very well. Let me know when the ship can maneuver again."

  "You can do that, now, Cap'n. We've got this pod snugged in."

  "Thank you, Boats. Mr. Meadows, let's go."

  "Aye, aye, ma'am." Carl motioned to Paul, who activated the next maneuver.

  Once again thrusters fired, then main drive, then thrusters. Paul took a deep breath and tensed his abdominal muscles, trying to stretch his body where it had been jerked around. The next pod loomed only fifteen minutes away on their current intercept course and speed. "Boats, the next pick-up's coming up fast."

  "Understood, sir. I'm tracking it."

  The second catch went smoothly as well, followed by another maneuver to head for an intercept with the third pod. Despite having his body jerked around by the firing of the thrusters and drive, Paul couldn't help admiring the way the Michaelson moved smoothly along each trajectory before altering course to the next. I wonder why making the Michaelson dance feels so good? And these clean pick-ups feel good, too. At least these Greenspacers gave us an excuse for some fun.

  Chapter Two

  On the third pick-up, as the Michaelson swung in less than two minutes from intercept, the escape pod suddenly fired its own thrusters, jinking off at an angle. "What the hell is that moron doing?" Carl seethed.

  Captain Gonzalez made an angry face as well. "Being a pain in the butt. I guess they're trying to complicate our pick-ups just to screw up things a little longer."

  Carl tapped his panel. "Boats, can you still get that pod?"

  "Negative, sir. It's heading off too fast, now. Even if I managed to get latched on, the line'd part for sure under the strain."

  "Understood. Captain, recommend launching the gig to recover this pod and continuing on ourselves to the fourth."

  Gonzalez nodded. "Very well. Get the gig going. And work up a message to broadcast to the pods that if they keep playing games, we might not be able to get them all recovered before their life support gives out."

  "Aye, aye, sir. Ensign Diego, launch the gig and recover the pod designated Contact Alpha Charlie Three."

  Ensign Diego sounded startled when he replied. "Yes, sir."

  Paul breathed a silent prayer that Diego had been smart enough to follow Carl's advice and remain aware of what was happening. If he's been buried in his training records, Diego might be dangerously disoriented until he gets himself up to speed. I hope there's a good helm driving that gig. "Do you want me to draft the warning to the pods, Carl?"

  "No, I'll do that. Tell the ship to head to intercept the fourth pod."

  "Head for the fourth pod, aye." Paul ordered the maneuver, wincing as the latest thruster firing pushed his straps against a bruise caused by an earlier firing. Okay, that particular part of sailing around nabbing these guys isn't fun.

  The thrusters fired again briefly to counteract the launch of the ship's gig. A moment later, Carl pointed to his display. "What d'you think, Paul? Give me a sanity check on this statement before I run it by the Captain."

  "Sure." Paul read quickly. To all escape pods. Be advised that you have limited life support. We are attempting to recover your pods, but if you maneuver away from us when we attempt recovery we may not be able to bring in all the pods before some suffer from life-support failure. I repeat, any measures you take to avoid or complicate recovery may result in the deaths of some individuals on some of the pods. "Can I suggest adding something?"

  "That's why I asked you to read it."

  "Sorry. Okay, I'd add something along the lines of 'Anyone who complicates and delays the recovery of their and other pods will be held criminally liable for any deaths which occur as a result.'"

  Carl looked surprised. "We can do that?"

  "We won't. Civilian law enforcement types can, though. And I'm betting the captain will want to threaten these people with more than guilty consciences."

  "Okay. Thanks." Carl rapidly added the sentence, then transmitted the message to the captain's display. "Captain, I've got a draft warning for your approval."

  "Thank you." Gonzalez read intently, then nodded. "Looks good. Go with it."

  "Yes, ma'am. Sending message to the pods now." Carl keyed an emergency broadcast circuit reserved for search and rescue functions, one which he knew the escape pods would automatically monitor, and repeated the statement slowly, then set the communications system to retransmit the warning at ten minute intervals.

  The fourth and fifth pods were nabbed and reeled in by the time the Michaelson 's gig had caught up with and snagged the third pod. The Michaelson 's thrusters and drive rolled and shoved the ship onto her intercept course with the sixth pod while the bridge watch began concentrating on keeping their breakfasts down. The fairly rapid series of accelerations, vector changes and abrupt returns to zero gravity had even the most veteran crew members feeling increasingly queasy. Paul made another unsuccessful attempt to adjust his harness straps so they'd hold him firmly and not aggravate any existing bruises, wondering once again why the Navy couldn't seem to design comfortable harness systems. Rumor had it that if aircraft aviators back on Earth rejected a harness as substandard it got sent to a spaceship.

  " Michaelson, this is
the gig. We have secured the pod. Request scheduled course and speed activity so we can plan an intercept."

  Carl made a slapping forehead gesture, then quickly sent the requested data. "This is the Michaelson. Our current course and speed projections are attached to this transmission."

  "Roger. We copy full transmission. Preparing intercept plan. Request advise disposition of pod."

  Carl glanced at Captain Gonzalez. "Ma'am?"

  Gonzalez gave him an arch look in reply. "When's the gig going to get back to us?"

  "Uh, I'll find out, Captain." Carl checked with the gig, waiting with visible impatience until the reply came. "They project intercept in forty-five minutes, halfway between our pickup of pods eight and nine."

  "Good. Ask the bosun where he'll want that pod at that time."

  "Yes, ma'am." Carl looked cross as he called the bosun and got the reply, then sent the instructions on to the gig.

  Paul leaned close to him and spoke in a whisper. "What's the matter?"

  "What's the matter?" Carl muttered back. "I should've realized the bosun needed that information before the captain asked me for it. At least Gonzalez was nice about it, but she could've burned me and I wouldn't have had any grounds to complain."

  Paul nodded. There's so many details to handle in such a short time. It's a good thing we've got multiple people watching everything. "Coming up on the sixth pod." The first couple of pod intercepts had been exciting, but by now the process was beginning to feel tedious. Paul's mind drifted a bit, as he imagined his upcoming reunion with Jen, but he jerked himself back to full attention. This is still dangerous. I've got to stay sharp.

  Six, then seven, then eight. As the Michaelson was pushing over to her intercept with escape pod number nine, the ship's gig called in. "We are closing on you at this time. Request further instructions."

  Paul glanced at Carl. "They had quite a stern chase to catch up with us."

  "Yeah. I'm sure they burned a hunk of fuel doing it."

  "Did Randy top off the gig before they launched?"

  Carl indicated his read-outs with one extended finger. "Nope."

  "Oh, man."

  As the acceleration eased again, Carl pivoted his chair to face the captain. "Ma'am, the gig has the pod and requests further instructions."

  "So I understand, Mr. Meadows." Captain Gonzalez pondered the question for a moment. "What's the gig's fuel state?"

  Carl rechecked his remote read-outs on the gig. "I read 51 percent fuel remaining, ma'am."

  "Fifty-one percent? How can it be that low already?" Gonzalez thumbed a communications switch. "Gig, this is Captain Gonzalez. Confirm your current fuel state."

  Ensign Diego's voice held a hint of worry when he replied. "The gig is at 51 percent fuel, ma'am."

  "How'd you get down to 51 percent this quickly? Is there a problem with a fuel tank?"

  "Uh, no, ma'am. We, uh, launched at 75 percent — ."

  "You didn't launch with one hundred percent fuel?"

  "N-no, ma'am."

  Gonzalez glowered at her display, her face reddening, the fingers of one hand drumming on her chair arm. "Mr. Meadows, order the gig to come back aboard. Have the Chief Bosun Mate personally supervise getting the gig and the escape pod secured inside the dock. Mr. Diego, in the future you are to ensure the gig's fuel is topped off prior to launch so that I have the option to use it as needed instead of bringing it back almost immediately. Is that clearly understood, Mr. Diego?"

  "Y-yes, ma'am."

  "It had better be."

  Carl turned toward Paul and let a flash of exasperation show on his face.

  Paul nodded briefly back. Carl told Randy to fuel up the gig. Randy didn't listen, probably because he'd stayed focused on getting his training records reviewed. Now Randy's in the captain's dog house and the captain is probably looking for someone else to screw up so she can rip their head off. I hope Carl and I don't run into any more problems until Gonzalez calms down again.

  Fortunately for Paul, Carl, the rest of the bridge watch and any other sailor within Captain Gonzalez's sight and hearing, no further problems hampered the recovery of the remaining pods. Whether cowed by the warning the Michaelson had sent out, or simply exercising an uncommon degree of common sense, the demonstrators avoided any other maneuvering, so their pods could be snapped up in tense but problem-free intercepts.

  "Knock it off!" Carl gave the enlisted watchstanders a hard look to accompany his order, and both ceased their conversation instantly.

  Paul raised an eyebrow at Carl. "They weren't that loud," he noted in a whisper.

  Carl frowned, then nodded. "No, they weren't. I'm a little on edge."

  "Me, too. We sit here for half an hour, then for a few minutes everything's tense as we grab a pod, then we get beat up by the ship maneuvering and get to wait a while again. I'll be real happy when we either get that last pod or our watch reliefs get here."

  "They're here, Paul." Carl hooked a thumb toward one corner of the bridge.

  Paul glanced that way, surprised to see Lieutenant Diem and Ensign Gabriel attached to tie-downs there. He checked the time, shocked to discover he was already past due for relief. Heck, I've been so wrapped up in each stage of this I lost track of how long we've been chasing these damn pods. "Why haven't they relieved us?"

  "In the middle of this goat rope? I wouldn't want to take over under those conditions, and neither would you. We'll finish this out, then they'll relieve us."

  Paul nodded reluctantly. "I guess that's true. What if we'd only been halfway through snagging the pods when our relief time rolled around?"

  "We weren't. Different situation. Don't get locked into fixed procedures, Paul. If everything could be handled by formulas they'd have a couple of robots doing our job." Carl paused, his expression thoughtful. "Of course, my robot would be a lot better than your robot."

  "And prone to delusional thinking. Okay, we're about to snag the last pod."

  Carl tapped his communications panel. "Boats, any problems with stowing this last pod?"

  "No, sir. It'll fit. The gig's not going anywhere else 'til we off-load these pods, though."

  "Understand the gig's penned in by the pods in the dock. Thanks, Boats. Here comes number twelve."

  Another pass, another lurch, and Michaelson had the last pod in tow. Carl gazed upward thankfully. "Mission accomplished. Captain, we have the last pod in tow."

  Captain Gonzalez nodded shortly. "So I see. Notify me when the pod is secured."

  "Aye, aye, ma'am."

  Lieutenant Diem stole a glance at Captain Gonzalez, still stewing in her chair, then unlatched himself, quickly swung over to Carl and spoke in a low voice. "What's with the CO? She looks ready to chew some serious butt."

  "It's a long story, starting with the Greenspacers screwing up the test firing. Just be real careful around her for a while."

  "You don't have to tell me twice." Diem watched intently as the last escape pod was hauled in toward its resting place in the gig dock.

  After several more minutes, the Chief Bosun called the bridge. "All pods secured, sir. Request permission to secure the gig and grapnel details."

  Carl looked toward Captain Gonzalez, but before he could repeat the question she nodded sharply. "Permission granted."

  Carl echoed the command. "Boats, permission granted."

  He gestured to the bosun mate of the watch, who sketched a salute, keyed his all-hands circuit, then blew a wail on his pipe to get the crew's attention. "Secure the gig and grapnel details. I say again, secure the gig and grapnel details."

  Lieutenant Diem looked from Carl to Gonzalez. "What do we do now?"

  "Good question." Carl gave the glowering captain a look out of the corner of his eyes. "I really don't want to do this, but I have to."

  "I can ask…"

  "No. It's still my job." Turning to face the captain, Carl spoke with careful precision. "Captain Gonzalez, request further instructions."

  Gonzalez took a moment
to reply. "Prepare a course back to Franklin Station. Standard speed. Hold off executing it until I get confirmation from the Commodore, but I expect we'll need to drop off our 'guests' and wait for the test firing to be rescheduled." She turned a hard face toward Carl, then made a visible effort to relax. "Well done, Mr. Meadows. You and your bridge team handled things well." Ripping her harness loose, Captain Gonzalez pulled herself off the bridge.

  "Captain's off the bridge!" The bosun of the watch made the announcement as Captain Hayes, his face betraying no emotion, followed in Gonzalez's wake.

  Carl Meadows inhaled deeply, then exhaled with relief. "I still live. Can you cook up that course for the captain?"

  "Piece of cake," Diem assured him. "What else you got?"

  Carl and Paul quickly filled in their reliefs on other information, then Gabriel offered Paul a salute. "I relieve you, sir."

  Paul returned the salute gratefully. "I stand relieved." Raising his voice once more, he announced the change. "On the bridge, this is Ens-" Dammit. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Sinclair. Ensign Gabriel has the watch and the conn."

  "This is Ensign Gabriel, I have the conn." Gabriel lowered her voice and made an apologetic face. "Sorry we relieved you guys so late."

  "It's not your fault. Taking over in the middle of picking up those pods would've been asking for trouble, and the captain might've raised hell if you'd tried."

  "Thanks, Paul. Hey, congrats on the promotion."

  "Thanks back at you. There's hope for everybody, I guess."

  Gabriel laughed. "I think you earned it."

  Paul looked over at Carl, who'd also been relieved of the watch but was spending a few minutes unwinding by chatting with Lieutenant Diem. Paul waved at the other officers. "Later, guys." He pulled himself wearily off the bridge, using the easily reached handholds in the overhead. Before I got to a real ship, I used to worry about getting stuck in the middle of a big compartment with no way to reach a handhold. I never stopped to think that there isn't any reason at all to have big, empty compartments on spacecraft. They'd be just a waste of space inside the hull. He floated for a moment outside the bridge hatch, eyes closed, feeling the tension from being on watch slowly draining from his muscles.