Once commissioned, officers who had satisfied the service requirements of their Academy education, remained in the service until they either resigned their commission, or retired, but enlistment and reenlistment tours for Space Command and Space Marine NCOs and crewmen ran ten years. So it was unusual to find someone with thirty-eight years of service. Jenetta reasoned that although he looked healthy enough now, he might have been injured, and separated with partial disability. But it was also possible he took advantage of an ‘early out' provision that allowed a one-percent-pay per year of service retirement at age fifty-five if the applicant had at least thirty-five years in. A third possibility was that he'd been dishonorably discharged for some crime or infraction. Whatever the reason, Jenetta would overlook almost any fault if he could help in the situation where they'd found themselves.
"Okay, Gunny, at ease. I need you to take command of weapons control and give eight crewmen a crash course in gunnery. I'll leave the crew selection up to you, but we must be prepared for the next attack."
"Aye, Captain. If they'll give me twelve hours for training, we'll be ready for ‘em."
"Carry on, Gunny. Gloria, let's talk in the briefing room."
"Aye, Captain, I'm right behind you."
As he watched her walk away, the edges of Gunny Rondell's mouth curled ever so slightly upward, though certainly not enough to be to be obvious. Carver might not look much like a ship's captain, but she certainly sounded like one. There'd been no hesitation or doubt in her voice as she issued her orders. He'd begun to worry when he heard the captain was lost because he knew that Lt. Sabella was far too ‘green' for command. But Captain Carver appeared to be something else again.
* * *
Chapter Nine
~ July 9th, 2267 ~
As the doors whispered closed, Jenetta turned and asked, "Did you get a look at the battle damage list?"
"I studied it while you were speaking with Chief Rondell."
"I'd like to hear your assessment before I send a message to Space Command."
"But we're under strict radio silence!" Gloria said aghast. "You can't call Space Command."
"Gloria, there's no reason to observe radio silence anymore. I can't imagine that the Raiders don't know precisely where we are. Their fighters would certainly have transmitted our position before they commenced their attack run."
"Oh— oh, yes, of course. How foolish of me. Well, we're holding together so far. We're leaking unprocessed Bastnasite ore, and we've lost a couple of small wine casks from the Sebastian colony." As she was talking, Gloria moved over to the large viewscreen on the wall and activated the display. "Computer, display the reports from the damage control parties on the wall monitor."
The screen lit up with the text that Jenetta had been reading from the handheld display. Waving her hand lightly above the optical sensor on the desk, Jenetta scrolled down until they reached the reports that she hadn't seen yet. Charley reported that he was attempting to patch the hole where the wine casks had slipped out, but didn't think that anything could be done about the dribbling ore unless they went outside. As if aware of their contemplations, he called on the com system.
"We've managed to rig an inside patch in the container holding the wine casks, but we'll definitely have to go outside to plug the ore container."
"How long will it take?" Jenetta asked.
"We'll have to slow the ship, at least to Plus-50, to secure the patch. I estimate two hours for the work, and then another hour to build the envelope and get up to our top speed because we don't want to put too much strain on the cargo spine until we're sure of the structural condition."
"Okay, Charley, we'll slow to Plus-50 in five minutes. Be ready."
"Aye, Captain. Charley out."
"You can't seriously intend to slow the ship?" Gloria asked.
"We have to. Leaking unprocessed Bastnasite is like leaving a trail of radioactive breadcrumbs. If we alter course they'll only find us again by following the trail with their sensors."
"Oh— right. Guess I'm still not thinking like a military person."
"It'll come," Jenetta said gently, as she raised the cover of the communications unit on the desk and touched the Space Command ring on her right hand to the spindle in the console's media drawer. Received at graduation from NHSA, the decorative band replaced the cadet ring she had worn for four years. It contained Space Command's latest encryption codes at that time and should prevent anyone from listening in, if the ten-year old codes were still secure and could still be decrypted by Space Command vessels. Selecting the newest code from the list that came up on the screen, Jenetta pressed the start button and spoke directly at the display so the com unit's camera would record her image.
"Message to any Space Command vessel in or near deca-sector 8667-3855, with a copy to Higgins Space Command Base.
"This is Jenetta Alicia Carver, ensign, GSC serial number 3974A32, originally posted to the GSC quartermaster supply ship, Hokyuu. The commercial freighter Vordoth picked up my life pod thirty days ago. I'm well, and had expected to report for duty as soon as the ship reached Higgins Space Command Base at Vinnia. Unfortunately, Raiders attacked the Vordoth in sector 8667-3855-1642.3817 post-median 0072. The captain is missing and presumed lost. The first officer has asked me to take command in light of my military training and I am now acting as the Vordoth's captain. We've lost three crewmembers, including the captain, and have two injured. We managed to destroy the six Raider fighters that attacked us, but we lost a small part of the ship's cargo section during their assault. We need assistance from any Galactic Space Command vessel in the area. We're slowing to make external repairs and expect to resume our top Light Speed within one-eight-zero minutes. In light of the imminent danger, I ask that my family not yet be notified that I'm alive.
"Captain Jenetta Carver, aboard the Vordoth, message complete."
Pushing the stop button, Jenetta logged the message for immediate wide-spectrum transmission on the emergency IDS bands. Although traveling at point-zero-five-one-three light-years per minute, it still might take hours for the IDS band transmission to reach a Space Command vessel, and many more hours for a reply.
"Gloria, take over on the bridge. Have the helmsman slow to Plus-50. I'm going back to take a personal look at the damage. Call me immediately if anything shows up on the sensors."
"Aye, Captain."
As she exited the briefing room, Jenetta observed that Sergeant Rondell was already working with the group of gunnery trainees he'd selected. The weapons fire control stations were set to simulation mode and she heard him bellow as loudly and gruffly as any Marine Drill Instructor with a handful of raw recruits, "No, no, no! I keep telling you that you have to get a lock on the target before you fire! If you don't have a lock, it means that the light energy isn't focused. And if it isn't properly focused, the pulse won't slice through butter, much less steel or titanium. Remember— the targeting circle will change from yellow to red when you have a focus lock."
As the hover-sled glided silently through the tunnel, Jenetta's right hand gripped the throttle handle tightly to keep her travel down to a respectable speed of no more than twenty kph. She longed to open it up, but restrained herself; awareness that there could be possible damage to the track ahead tempering her hunger for a speed that would push her current situation from the forefront of her thoughts, if only for a few minutes. The full realization of her commitment kept rolling over her like thunder during a violent storm. She was now responsible for every person on board, not to mention the ship and billions of credits in cargo. Such liability is supposed to come gradually, after years of service and steadily increasing responsibility. It's not supposed to be thrust upon someone who graduated from the Academy just six months ago. Since she'd slept in stasis for most of her time since graduation, that was a fair, if inaccurate, description of the past eleven years.
Several engineering crewmen were working to raise a fallen support truss that was blocking the lane just b
eyond the five-kilometer point, so she picked up the sled and ducked through a shower of cutting torch sparks before placing it down again on the other side of the fallen beam to continue her trip. Charley was supervising another work party five-hundred-meters beyond the blockage while devoting half his attention to a work monitor temporarily clamped to the railing beside the walking track.
"How's it going, Charley?"
"As soon as we slowed to fifty kps I sent out the space tugs," he said distractedly as he watched the repair efforts via live image feed from a camera mounted on one of the tugs. Pointing to the monitor, he added, "They have prefab sections to weld over the holes as soon as they cut away the obstructions. With luck, they'll be back within ninety minutes. Without luck, it could take two hours or more."
"Very good," she said, nodding as she shared his view of the repair effort. "Charley?"
"Yes, Captain?"
"How many link-sections do we have after the last laser array section, and what's the cargo."
Turning to look at her as he rubbed his chin, he said, "Let's see, we were sixty-four-meters over six and half kilometers, so we added an extra laser array link at the end. With that gone, and two cargo sections with it, that would leave three cargo link-sections following the last weapons section now. The last kilometer of cargo is all unprocessed Bastnasite ore from the mines of Kesserith, intended for delivery to the orbiting foundry factories around Lazziter."
"How difficult would it be to separate the last three sections while we're traveling at top speed?"
"Not difficult at all. Single section separations are normally handled by the tug jockeys. As a space tug locks onto a section, the airtight doors in the prior section automatically close to prevent the tunnel from losing atmosphere, unless someone in the link section activates an emergency override. Once the sensors indicate the doors are sealed, the tug pilot can remotely release the section's locks and it floats free of the ship. But we can detach single sections without a tug being involved. For longer section removals, the designated separation point can only be unlocked from either the bridge or engineering. That's to allow us an opportunity to insure that the entire section is empty of personnel."
"What happened when the last couple of sections were cut away by the Raiders?"
"The tunnel automatically sealed all airtight doors as soon as the pressure drop was detected. But anyone within three or four link-sections could have been sucked out before the doors closed completely. There's also the chance that someone can get caught by a closing door and be cut in half, but we didn't find any body parts when we re-pressurized and opened all doors except the last."
"Would separating at FTL do any damage to the cargo section separated, or the rest of the ship?"
"No. Temporal envelopes stretch slightly at first, but as the new envelopes form, they exclude the detached section once the gap exceeds fifteen-point-two-eight centimeters. Without an envelope to surround the section, it's immediately back in normal space at a dead stop. Why just the last three sections?"
"Two reasons. One, the absence of the sections will allow the last laser array link greater coverage. Once the sections are gone, the turrets can swing around to fire straight back. Right now, the three sections are a handicap because they create a blind spot for the gunners. A fighter could conceivably come up behind us, and sit in complete safety as he fires his laser weapon into the spine. Even if we closed all the link-section doors, he'd eventually be able to cut through everything and evacuate the atmosphere in the ship."
"I see. You said two reasons?"
"Yes, I did," she said grinning. "The other one is a little nastier. As you said, when the envelope has decayed around the detached link-section, it will immediately be at a dead stop in space. If someone gets a little too close, and we can't get them off our six, we'll just release one of the link-sections. Contact with thirty-two-thousand cubic meters of Bastnasite ore, sheathed in reinforced steel cargo containers sitting at a dead stop, will end their all their problems quick."
"Ouch!" Charley said, and then grinned. "Any fighter that hit that would wind up looking like one of the grease spots on the wall at Harry Hardy's Hotdog & Hamburger Haven back home in Cinci. Do they teach sneaky stuff like that at the Academy?"
Jenetta returned his grin. "No, I had to become sneaky just to have a chance of beating my brothers at the games we played when we were young. They had all the size and strength, so I had to be devious one."
"Gottcha. Okay, as soon as my crews return we'll work on the connections."
"Put a tracking transponder in each of the link-sections. It'll enable us to locate the sections later so the cargo won't be lost for good if we have to detach them. After the work is done, seal all the airtight doors between the last three sections. We want to make sure that no one wanders into that area, in case we have to drop them off in a hurry. How's the rest of the ship?"
"Not nearly as bad as I originally thought. The Raiders never reached the main ship and they didn't score very many solid hits on the spine." Grinning, he said, "I guess they were too busy dodging your laser fire. Anyway, we had one section that was a bit weak, where we took a substantial hit, but we reinforced it to better than new, and my people are now busy repairing and reinforcing the other damage points. By tomorrow we'll be as solid as any ship plying the lanes, unless we get clobbered again."
"Then we'll just have to make sure that we don't get clobbered again. Say Charley," Jenetta asked thoughtfully, "how fast are your tugs?"
"Space tugs are mostly power-plant, Captain. They have to be if they're going to generate the opposed gravity forces necessary to lift huge loads from the surface of planets and to control the mass contained in huge sections of fully loaded cargo links while in space. Our speed in n-space is really only limited by rate of acceleration, time, fuel quantity, and the physical laws of relativity. Since space tugs are constructed with an eye towards towing merchantmen and passenger liners that become disabled in deep space, most have temporal field generators for FTL. I'd guess that ours are like most, and can achieve Light-75, although the Vordoth has never had a situation arise that required any of our tugs to use faster-than-light speeds. With no armament, no crew quarters, and no long range sensors other than AutoTect and DeTect, our tugs have no business wandering very far from the ship."
"Thank you. Carry on, Charley."
"Aye, Captain."
Since being awakened by the red alert, only three hours had passed, but it felt much longer. As Jenetta returned to the main ship, she stopped into the officer's mess to grab a cup of coffee before continuing on to the bridge. The caffeine would help keep her alert. Anthony, the mess attendant, greeted her as ‘Captain', and guessing her reason for being there, hurried to fetch a mug of coffee.
"I heard that you did some mighty good shooting this morning, Captain," he said as he handed her the mug. "I'm sure glad you're on board."
"Thank you, Anthony. I'll just take this to go. I want to get back to the bridge."
"Okay, Captain. If you want more, just call and I'll bring you a fresh pot."
On the bridge, things had returned to normal, except for Gunny Rondell's intensive class in gunnery. Within thirty minutes of her return, the crewman at the communications console said, "The Chief Engineer reports that the stopgap repairs are complete, the space tugs are back aboard, the ship is sealed, and we can resume Light Speed whenever you wish, Captain."
Jenetta leaned forward in the command chair and said, "Very well. Helm, start building our envelope and take us up to full speed, slowly, as you resume the programmed course."
"Aye, Captain."
Turning towards the crewman manning the science station, Jenetta said, "Science, scan the area behind us and see if we're leaving any kind of a trail as we increase speed."
"Aye, Captain."
Jenetta leaned back in the command chair to relax and sip her coffee as she watched the front viewscreen.
Formation of the envelope took just two minutes,
but it was another sixty before they were back up to Light-150 as the ship built up speed gradually to insure that the temporary repairs would hold. Although a ship essentially remains stationary within its envelope during FTL travel, and disassociation with normal space eliminates all sensation of movement, there is some stress on the ship's frame as new envelopes form and pull the vessel ahead into the new position.
When the science station crewman reported that nothing was being trailed except a normal residual ion stream that dissipated fairly quickly, Jenetta moved to the astrogator's station and entered a course change. It would add a few hours to the trip, but might foil the Raiders if they were waiting somewhere ahead in ambush. The computer would advise the helmsman of the necessary course corrections in easy increments designed to prevent too much stress on the ship's structural integrity.
Just before noon, a reply to Jenetta's message arrived from the Space Command destroyer Brasilia. She watched the communication in her briefing room with just Gloria in attendance. As the message began playing, the face of a senior Space Command Captain, who looked to be on the verge of mandatory retirement age, appeared on the monitor.
"To Jenetta Carver, Acting Captain aboard the Vordoth, from Robert Aubrey, Captain of the Space Command destroyer Brasilia, GSC-D1240."
"I regret to inform you that neither the Brasilia nor any other GSC vessel can come to your aid at this time. All ships within thirty-days travel time are presently responding to other declared emergencies. The nearest available ship, the destroyer Kiev, is a full thirty-eight days from your location, and it makes little sense to divert from its present patrol since you allege that you've destroyed the Raiders and are about to resume Light Speed travel.
"I suggest that you build your envelope and not again foolishly drop out of FTL speed until you reach Higgins. If you learned anything at all at the Academy, Ensign, you should have known that you couldn't be attacked while traveling FTL.
A Galaxy Unknown Page 11
