by James Palmer
I guess I better come up with something, he thought, suddenly wishing he had boarded the shuttle. Too late now, bucko.
“We’ll need weapons of some kind,” he told the eight brave men and women before him. “Bailey?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Find us some weapons. I believe security should have a hidden cache or two somewhere.”
“Yes we do. I’m on it.”
Silver turned to the doctor and nurse. “How are we on medical supplies?”
The doctor checked his bag, rifling around for a few seconds. “We can treat mild damage with this, but nothing serious. We’ll need to get to the med-bay and stock up.”
“Risky.” All eyes turned toward the voice belonging to Mr. Bailey. “If we have hostiles aboard, they will undoubtedly check the med-bay.”
The doctor stared intently at the younger man. “Why would they do that, Mr. Bailey?”
“A wounded target can’t fight back as well as a healthy one. And since we can be reasonably sure that whoever is on that ship is hostile…” Bailey raised his eyebrows to get the point across, not wanting to say the words out loud and add to the panic.
A flash of understanding sparkled in the doctor’s eye as the nurse reexamined his medical bag for anything he might have overlooked.
Ensign Bailey moved toward the nearest security locker.
“Okay,” Dr. Silver said, breaking the silence. “I need to get to Operations, but there must be injuries on the other levels. Lets split up our supplies and send two security guards with the doctor and two with Nurse Stevens.”
“A good idea,” the doctor said, nodding in agreement.
“You two,” Silver pointed to the two scientists. “I want you two to assist them and see if you can assess the damage. Repair what you can quickly, but only if it is a priority. Life support, air re-circulators, things like that.”
“We have no time for lengthy exams or inspections.” He looked at the faces surrounding him. “There are probably unfriendly types skulking about so lets try to avoid them if at all possible, okay?”
“Okay,” Nurse Stevens said nervously.
“Good luck.”
As the group prepared to move out, Ensign Bailey returned from his hunting expedition. He handed each person in the group a small, hand held weapon, despite a few attempts by the scientists to refuse them. To those reluctant few he insisted and they grudgingly acquiesced.
The security personnel also received a larger weapon, a plasma rifle. “For back up,” he added as he passed them out and kept one for himself. He also passed out flashlights and communicators to each group.
Addressing them in a manner that suggested they might have had some terrorist training, Bailey issued a few last minute instructions on each communicator and weapon. Finally, he said, “Lets keep the chatter to a minimum. Whoever they are, it’s a sure bet the hostiles are listening in on our comms. Let’s try not to make this too easy for them, okay?”
A flurry of nods answered.
“Good luck.”
Bailey turned to Dr. Silver as the others started out in separate directions. “Doctor Silver, I would very much like to accompany you to the Operations Center. I left some friends up there and I would really like to find them.”
Silver couldn’t help but smile, even in the face of the turmoil surrounding him. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, managing one of his traditional crooked Silverfox grins.
Within minutes the would be heroes of Space Lab were winding their own separate paths through the belly of the giant space station they had come to call home. For Doctor James Silver there was nothing heroic about his motivations. As he carefully stepped through the rubble, he had only one thought on his mind. The only reason that he would ever attempt anything as suicidal as what he was attempting.
A woman.
One he had once treated badly. He had hurt her without thought or conscience. Only now did he feel a need to apologize for his actions and to right those scales. Somewhere in the massive mess of devastation Dr. Cynthia Morgan was in trouble.
His plan was to find her and save her. Depending on the circumstances he might even consider dying in the attempt, although he obviously hoped it did not have to come to that. At the moment nothing was certain, however. He was in unfamiliar territory and out of his depth. He was happy to have an armed security officer watching his back though. That made all of this easier. He pasted on a crooked grin and motioned toward the direction they were going.
“After you,” he said as he fell into step behind the ensign.
18
Alliance Starship Ulysis
The starship Ulysis streaked toward Earth sector at top speed.
To those few ships that might catch a glimpse of the massive ship out of their view ports, it was like unto a comet. The ship and its valiant crew were on a mission of the utmost importance, saving lives.
Captain William Andrews had issued the order to return to Earth at the ships highest velocity immediately after his friend, Admiral James McKeen had come aboard. The two men had met in the captain’s office and had not deemed to share the contents of that meeting with anyone.
Not even the ship’s first officer, much to his chagrin. Commander Jonathon Maddox hated being left out of the loop. When he had been promoted to first officer of the Ulysis, he was so thrilled to finally be part of the inner circle. He knew what was going on at all times. Usually, he was in the thick of things. He was usually in the loop.
But not today. At least not yet.
He had waited patiently for Captain Andrews to brief him on the details of the mission, but decided he could wait no longer. After a full shift in the dark, he decided to take his concern directly to the captain. He gently rapped on the office door with his knuckles. It took a second knock before the captain responded.
“It’s open,” the captain called from inside.
Composing himself, Commander Maddox accessed the door control, entering the expansive office. His commanding officer sat behind a large oak desk, covered, as usual, with a mountain of paperwork. The captain himself looked fairly haggard and the commander wondered when the last time the man had slept.
From the look of things, it had been quite a while.
“Commander Maddox. What can I do for you?” He looked up from his paperwork for the briefest of moments to acknowledge his second in command’s arrival.
“Might I have a word, Captain?”
“Sure, Jon. Come on in.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It amazes me,” Andrews said as he moved aside the papers to one side of his desk while his second in command strode toward his desk. “I keep hearing how we’ve gone to a paperless society, yet I can’t seem to get away from paperwork. I’m beginning to think there’s a department inside the Alliance that sits around thinking up new reports that have to be filed. Sometimes I wonder if anyone reads these things.”
“Well, at least the paper’s no longer made from trees,” Maddox said. It was a popular argument that synthetic paper was far superior and more ecologically friendly that paper made from wood pulp. If it were up to Bill Andrews all paper would have been outlawed years earlier.
“That’s something, I suppose,” he said. “In my experience, paper, no matter what it’s made from, simply leads to paperwork.”
“I had not thought of it that way.”
“That’s why I’m the captain,” Andrews joked as he rubbed his tired eyes with the palms of his hands.
“Yes, sir.” Maddox smiled.
“Take a seat, Commander,” Andrews said as he nodded toward the chair across from the desk. The captain was not a man that often stood on ceremony. If anything, he was the most laid back officer he had ever met in his short career.
Maddox dropped into the offered chair and waited as the captain signed the report in front of him. After a second or two of silence, Captain Andrews looked up from his paper at the commander. He straightened, tossed the old fashioned wooden
pencil on the desk, and leaned back in his chair. For a moment, he almost appeared at rest. He regarded the first officer silently for a moment.
“Something on your mind?” he finally asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Andrews noted the commander’s apparent reluctance to say whatever was evidently on his mind. The captain preferred his command staff to be say what was on their minds. “Speak your mind, Jonathon,” the captain offered.
Maddox shifted uncomfortably in his seat, some of his indignant rage gone. “It regards our mission, sir. I--” He searched for the most diplomatic way to phrase his problem. “I wish to know the particulars of our current mission, sir.”
Andrews pursed his lips, dressing down the commander. “You want to know what’s going on, is that it?”
“I think it will help me to better perform my job if I have all of the pertinent details of our mission, yes, sir.”
Captain Andrews looked intently at the younger man. “I see,” he said.
Watching as the young officer tried to cover the nervous tick wherein he kept fidgeting with his eyeglasses. He also picked up the ‘sir’ after each sentence. This conversation could not have been an easy thing for him, the captain knew.
“Did it ever occur to you, Commander Maddox,” Andrews began, “that our mission might be of such importance that the brass didn’t want me to share it with you? Or anyone else for that matter?”
“No, sir. It did not.”
“You are an officer in the UPA Military, Commander. You have a duty to perform, which primarily consists of doing what I tell you to do, does it not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I cannot have my first officer second-guessing my command decisions, can I?”
“No, sir.”
“How would you like it if, say, Lt. Commander Beddingford were to come to you in this manner regarding one of your decisions?”
“I would probably be a little upset, sir.” He started to stand. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Captain.”
“Keep your seat, Jonathon,” Andrews said sternly.
Chastised, Maddox uncomfortably eased back down into the chair.
“As much as I would like to address every command decision I make with you, and you’d be amazed how many things I do keep you involved in, sometimes I can’t. I, like you, have superiors to answer to. Am I understood on this, Commander?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
The commander looked straight ahead, clearly chastised to the point of embarrassment. The captain hated to do that to the man, but a first officer could not, as a habit, contest the orders of a starship captain. Although, the captain did appreciate the fact that his second had chosen to have the conversation in private instead of on the bridge. Andrews understood duty, knew first hand the willingness of his second in command to perform that duty. He respected the man’s sense of obligation, even if he was a bit more high maintenance than Andrews would like.
“Look, Commander,” he said after a breath. “I understand how frustrating it can be to be left out of the loop. I know how that feels. Trust me.” Stretching his arm, Andrews felt some of the kinks pull out.
“I have always tried to keep you well informed when I can,” he continued. “I have no intention or desire to change that, but there are times when I won’t have information for you.”
“Is this one of those times, Captain?”
“No.”
“Then sir, with respect, I wish to know our mission objectives. It will help me to do my job more efficiently, sir.”
“I understand.”
“If you had exercised a modicum of patience we could have started this meeting with the briefing instead of that little chat. There’s probably a lesson in that somewhere, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir. It won’t happen again.”
“Very well, Commander.” The captain said. As far as he was concerned that was case closed. He leaned in closer, starring at him across the desk. “But be warned, what I am about to tell you is of the highest importance. Top secret. You are to talk to no one about this with anyone outside of myself and Admiral McKeen. Understood?”
“I understand, sir.”
“Very well, Commander. Sit back and get comfortable. This could take a while.”
He slid the paperwork to one corner of his desk while his anxious first officer waited. Once the desk was nice and tidy, Andrews leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk.
“What do you know about Earth, Commander?”
19
Space Lab Science Station
Slowly, Dr. Cynthia Morgan opened her eyes.
Darkness surrounded her. The Operations Center, which normally seemed so cavernous, suddenly felt claustrophobic. She could taste the acrid smoke and heard the sizzling of burning wires. However, she could see nothing save thick, inky blackness.
When there was light, it came in the form of sparks and electrical arcs shooting from ruined control consoles. What little she could see of Operations in those quick flashes was a total loss. The sound of sizzling circuitry filled the air, occasionally accompanied by a coughing sound.
Someone else was alive in the room.
“H--Hello?” she called, finding it a struggle for the words to escape her lips. The uncontrollable coughing that followed had no trouble finding voice, however. She winced as a sudden pain shot up her side as the cough subsided, leaving an increasingly uncomfortable throbbing pain in its wake.
She doubled over as another coughing attack hit her, her side screaming in protest. Hoping that was the last of the coughing fits, she spit the bile rising in her throat onto the floor. Or at least where the floor should have been. It was very difficult to make anything out in the darkness.
What she did know was that artificial gravity had remained on-line. Everything seemed to be sitting at an angle, which she found odd considering they were floating in space much the way they had been the day before and the day before that.
Not that she really had the time to ponder such things. A voice called out of the dark. “Wh--who’s there?” the shaky voice asked.
“Doctor Morgan,” Cynthia answered, the words are like agony. As she tried to pull herself into a sitting position, her side screamed in agony. Somehow she managed to stumble into an upright position despite the pain.
“Don’t worry,” she said, trying to sound calm. “I’m sure efforts are being made to get us --uunnggh-- out of here even as we speak.”
“Don’t count on it, Doc.”
Dr. Morgan had no trouble recognizing the voice. Lt. Vandrell climbed over a mound of rubble near the entrance to Operations, flashlight in hand with which she scanned the room. There had only been four people remaining at their respective stations after the evacuation order had been given. Dr. Morgan’s actions had undoubtedly saved a good many lives.
“The door is blocked,” Lt. Vandrell announced as she stopped to check on Doctor Morgan’s injuries. She ran her hand along the side where Cynthia clutched with her shaking hands. Her hands came back crimson.
“You’re bleeding pretty badly from your side,” Vandrell told the doctor softly, voice calm. “I’ve administered some basic first aid, but you need a trauma team. I’ll keep you safe until they get here.”
“Unless they evacuated as ordered.”
“That’ll be enough of that, Doctor. We’re alive and I have every intention of remaining that way. Both of us.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” Morgan said with a laugh, which made her wince.
“Unfortunately, all of the pain relievers were destroyed by the fire.”
“Fire?” Morgan asked, trying to sit up again.
Lt. Vandrell held a reassuring hand on the administrator’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We took care of it. Now, what can I do to ease your pain.”
“I’ll --unghh-- live,” Dr. Morgan answered through clenched teeth.
“That’s the spirit, Doc.”
“Were there any other survivors?” Seeing the answer in the young woman’s face, she doubted the answer was good news.
Lt. Vandrell shook her head. “I’m not sure. Communications are dead, at least on this level. Our scanners are shot to hell and I can’t find one of my officers in the rubble. Security Officer Waylon is clearing rubble from around the doorway. If we can get the door open we can try to find a way out of here.”
Dr. Morgan tried to stand and the Lieutenant helped her to her feet. She let out a low moan as the pain in her side lanced through her entire body, the agony almost more than she could bear.
“Slow and easy, Doc,” Vandrell cautioned. “Don’t push too hard.”
“Just get me to a working console,” she told the Lieutenant.
Against her better judgement, the Alliance officer complied. Despite being a civilian scientist, Cynthia Morgan was the administrator of the station and Vandrell reported to her. She was in charge.
“No problem getting you there. Finding one that works might prove difficult.” Vandrell scanned the room with the light, replacing the dark for the briefest of moments by the thin beam of light. The beam passed along every station without success, until a small beep broke the silence of the room.
On one console, a small red diode began to flash.
“There!”
Lt. Vandrell helped the injured scientist to the console. Dr. Morgan propped herself against a collapsed section of the ceiling as the Lieutenant cleared rubble out of the way before carefully helping her into the chair.
Dr. Morgan set to work reattaching wires, jury rigging what could not easily be repaired. Silently, Vandrell watched as the scientist made major modifications from memory. It would have been an amazing feat under even the most perfect of situation, but in the dark and dusty Operations Center, her work was nothing short of miraculous.
“Can you fix it?”
“I hope so,” she answered before doubling over the console as another wave of pain stabbed at her. For a few seconds, an eternity to her, Dr. Morgan lay there in agony. Then, as quickly as the pain had struck, it subsided and she returned to her work.
