by Bob Mauldin
No normal person can long maintain those emotions with that intensity, and Kitty soon found herself drained. It was with a sense of great detachment that she noticed the blood running down her hands and into her lap, and she idly wondered how it got there. Sitting there in the cockpit of her Mamba, Kitty’s mind drifted into that curious state that is neither wakefulness nor sleep. Sharing the universe only with the hard, unblinking accusatory light of the stars, she sat quietly, waiting for ... she knew not what, nor cared.
Her journey through limbo continued for an indeterminate time, until she heard a voice call, “Captain.” Too weary to care, she didn’t answer. Somewhere in the back of her mind drifted the thought that she had turned the radio off along with the rest of the systems. “Captain, I need to speak to you.” The voice had an urgency to it that was hard to ignore, but she tried. “I’m not going away until you talk to me, Captain.”
Kitty slowly raised her head and asked, “Who’s that? I thought I was alone. I want to be alone. I’m the Captain. I order you to go away.”
The voice disobeyed. “I can’t go away, Captain. As long as you blame yourself for my death, I will be with you. You can kill all the aliens in the universe and it won’t be enough to get me to leave. The only way to do that is for you to realize that you weren’t responsible.”
Kitty wailed, “I am responsible! I’m responsible for all of you! I’m responsible for your lives and your deaths. I’m responsible for the deaths of hundreds more on that ship, and I want to die with you!’
“Captain, we are only responsible for the choices we make. I chose to join. Whoever was in that ship chose their own path. You chose to save those under your command. Do you think they would have let you and yours live if you hadn’t fired? Remember the gun. If you aren’t ready to shoot, don’t point it at someone ...”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Marsha and the rest of the bridge crew watched in horror as Kitty’s Mamba dove into the asteroid belt and sped up. The relative scarcity of material would not normally have been a problem except for two things: the lack of screens on a ship the size of a Mamba and the speed at which it was traveling. She ordered her helm officer to speed up and stay with the speeding ship. “Above and behind her, if you please. I don’t want her knowing we’re following.” Any ship under power has a blind spot ... directly behind in a cone-shaped, expanding pattern produced by the immense energies being created and expelled. Sensors couldn’t read through that much distortion. So, unless Kitty flipped her ship, she’d never know Heinlein was there.
Two hours passed as Marsha followed the little Mamba, and a collective sigh was heard throughout the bridge as it finally arced up out of the asteroid field. Gayle, still sitting at her communications console and monitoring the data, was the first to announce, “Ma’am, her ship is no longer under power.” Marsha had noticed this at almost the same instant, but also noticed that there was no deviation in the flight path, and as far as the sensor data could show, the craft wasn’t tumbling. Pretty fair indications that the ship hadn’t collided with something and that for some reason the pilot had intentionally shut down her systems. Concern for her captain overridden by their last conversation, Marsha merely kept watch. She ordered Heinlein to change her course and shadow Kitty’s ship from the same blind spot, and waited.
One hour turned into two, two finally turned into four, and Marsha could wait no longer. She ordered two Mambas out to intercept with their capture fields and bring the drifting ship in. This decision had not come easily. The last hour had been spent making calls to the little fighter and getting no response. Gayle had even traded on their long-time friendship by calling and making ever-more personal requests for Kitty to answer. When all attempts to talk failed, Marsha finally took the bit in her teeth.
The two rescue ships rendezvoused with Kitty’s craft and a voice came over the radio, “We have visual on the Captain’s ship. She looks like she’s asleep or unconscious. No response to our hails, no indication that she even aware we’re here.” Marsha ordered the two ships to bring Kitty back, and not needing two sensor stations active at that moment, or expecting to send any transmissions, she said, “Commander Miller, you have the bridge. Order a medical team to the flight deck. Commander Marshall, keep me informed of any changes. I’ll be on the flight deck.” With that, she left the bridge.
Flight Control had things well in hand. Kitty’s ship had just been docked and the two rescue ships were even then being moved back into their bays. As she strode down the deck to the bay that housed Kitty’s Mamba, she saw a familiar figure step through the hatch with Kitty’s body in his arms. The medical team and curious on-lookers around, Marsha could only ask, “How is she, uh, Chief. Is she alive?”
Anger and grief softened the voice of Chief Hargrove as he replied, “Yes, Ma’am, she’s alive. But look at her hands. Who could have done that to her hands?”
Taking in the steady rise and fall of Kitty’s chest and the slight smile on her face, two things at such odds with the blood-soaked uniform and mangled hands, Marsha dismissed the medical team back to sick bay with orders to have it ready for their momentary arrival. “Let’s not move her any more than absolutely necessary until we can get her on a table and the doctor can have a look at her.” Her secret reason was the expression on her uncle’s face. She had grown up around him and knew that he would sooner give up an arm than the delicate package he carried. In their infrequent conversations, she had heard him echo the sentiments of everyone she knew, herself included, she had to admit, concerning the high regard in which she was held.
I need to make an announcement at the earliest possible moment, she thought. Rumors are going to start flying almost immediately. The long walk to Medical solidified a resolve she had since she first came aboard Heinlein: that it was in need of more than one sick bay. There should be one off the flight deck as well, and as she looked at Kitty, she knew just who she would talk to once things settled down.
They arrived at the sick bay, to find Doctor Penn anxiously awaiting their arrival. “I knew this would happen sooner or later,” he said. At the sharp look he got from Marsha, he said, “I don’t mean to the Captain specifically. I mean to anybody in general. That they get hurt far enough away from sick bay that they need to be transported here.” These comments came as he began his examination of Kitty. “Commander, will you clear the room, please? Ensign Dorsey, you will stay to assist me.”
To Marsha he said, “Elevators, turns, twists. This ship isn’t designed to cart injured people from one point to another easily. We either need to widen the corridors or we need to have auxiliary sick bays in other parts of the ship.”
Marsha shooed everyone from the room, saving Chief Hargrove for last. The expression on his face said that he wasn’t about to leave, but Marsha looked up at him. She looked both ways to make sure they were alone and then promised in a quiet voice, “Uncle Anse, as soon as we know anything, I’ll let you know, okay? Let’s not disrupt things any more than they already are. Go on back to the flight deck. Please?”
At his silent nod, she turned back to the doctor. “If you really believe that about extra sick bays, Doctor, I want you to know that I feel the same way. After this is over, you and I will go to Simon and insist on some changes in future ships. Oh, by the way, I’m staying, too. If I can help in any way, let me know.” The doctor just nodded and kept up a running commentary for the tape recorder that hummed at his side.
Doctor Penn first examined Kitty’s hands, determined that they were no longer bleeding, and then went on with the rest of his examination. After a complete exam, he told Marsha that the only physical damage was to Kitty’s hands. He began to delicately clean the wounds and, where necessary, he either stitched up the cuts or taped them.
As he wrapped both hands in gauze, he told Marsha, “She will need a pair of hands when she wakes up. I trust you to take care of that. All my medics are male and I’m sure she’ll be more comfortable with a female
for certain things. Beyond that, I can find no reason for her to be unconscious. No head trauma, not enough blood loss to be significant, no other indications of anything that might bring her to this state. The only possible reason that I can come up with at this time is exhaustion. Mental, physical, or possibly both. You do realize that you are in command from this moment on, don’t you? And as far as I am concerned, you will be for the foreseeable future.”
A flustered Marsha replied, “I will certainly take care of seeing to her needs, Doctor. I have someone in mind as a matter of fact. I would like to see that she is moved to her quarters if you would have your people assist me. And as far as being in command is concerned, I want you to return her to duty as soon as possible, without causing her any trouble, of course.”
Doctor Penn called two of his medics in and gave instructions for Kitty’s transportation to her quarters. “First, I’d like to see if we can get her to wake up enough to recognize her surroundings,” he said. “It would help if she knew what we were doing to her, too. It would seriously reduce the stress she would experience if she woke up without any forewarning.” He leaned over her and spoke softly but with authority. “Captain? Captain? I need you to wake up, Captain.” The voice that came to Kitty’s ears this time was male, carrying an undertone of concern. “As far as I can tell, all she needs is rest, Commander,” the voice said quietly. “I suggest that we rendezvous with Galileo as soon as possible, and I would like to talk to her to gauge her mental state as far as I am able as soon as she wakes up.”
Another voice, Marsha, Kitty thought hazily, spoke. “Very well, Doctor. She’s in your care. I don’t need to tell you what the feeling is on this ship right now. I’ll make sure she gets rest and you call me the instant she is awake enough to talk.”
As Marsha’s voice started to recede, Kitty clawed her way to awareness for a moment. “Marsha?” When she felt her First Officer touch her arm, Kitty grabbed at it and jerked her hand back involuntarily as unexpected pain exploded from her bandaged hands. “I spoke to her, Marsha. She said I wasn’t responsible.”
Trying to say all the things one says at a sickbed, Marsha groped for the right words. “That’s good, Captain. Don’t talk, anymore. You need to get your strength back.”
“She said I could let it go, Marsha. That I shouldn’t blame myself,” Kitty murmured as she started to drift off. “She said to remember the gun ...”
“Yes, Captain. Now get some ... Who said those things, Captain?” Marsha asked.
Kitty made one final stab at consciousness. “Toni did, Marsha. Toni told me.”
Marsha headed toward her cabin, wondering how she was going to word this message to Simon.
Simon was blissfully unaware of the battle that had taken place outside of Galileo’s sensor range, having judged the odds that Heinlein’s sensors had actually picked up their bogey to be very low. In one respect he was right: the odds were low, but not outside the realm of possibility. But as soon as McCaffrey’s message came in, he got his nose rubbed in reality.
The report that made its way to Simon as he sat discussing some of Libra’s construction details with her future commander gave no details of the battle other than that there were no injuries or damage. It merely stated that McCaffrey was going to rendezvous with Galileo and bring material recovered from enemy wreckage.
McCaffrey parked alongside the larger ship and Lucy beamed aboard bringing with her all the sensor data from her ship as well as Kitty’s. She immediately called Simon and Stephen to pass along everything she had. Stephen, in turn, woke up several members of the science staff, it being the night shift and asked them to make themselves available to start analyzing the new data. The two retrieved missiles were parked a safe distance away.
Lucy handed the sensor data to Stephen who passed it on to an aide to take to the science staff. She made a point of noting how many hits it took to take down the enemy ship when their projections hadn’t led them to consider it would even take half that many. The conclusions that finally came down from all this data weeks later (and this from people who had been in space and using this technology for less than two years) was that the ship that they had dealt with was not a craft of the Builders. They based this decision, in the final analysis, on the two missiles they had recovered along with the earlier bit of wreckage.
Rather than monopole powered energy sources, these missiles consumed themselves to provide their propulsion in some manner that baffled the scientists. The warheads, if that is what they could be called, seemed to be some form of energy absorption device. Enough of them striking a target would absorb all the energy from it, effectively disintegrating the craft. This would be harder to do to McCaffrey as her shields had been stiffened by having their own monopoles to power them. Any other missile to strike the ship would begin to absorb the energy that bound matter together,
Simon, busy with the thousand-and-one things that needed to be done in Galileo’s life, and keeping his finger on the pulse of Libra’s construction, and now with Lucy’s report of the battle, was just beginning to get the impression that Heinlein’s daily report was overdue. Once the realization hit, he wrapped up his meeting with Lucy and made his way to the bridge and over to the communications console where he upset the ensign on duty by committing the faux pas of showing up unannounced.
Keeping his message terse, all he said was, “Heinlein, your daily report is overdue. Please contact Galileo at your earliest opportunity.” Not knowing Heinlein’s location or situation, Simon gave the comm officer instructions to call him as soon as a reply came in. With nothing to do while he waited for a response, Simon wandered the ship making a general nuisance of himself. Only the fact that his comm link went off saved him from having Victor physically eject him from the manufacturing section of the ship.
Although he hadn’t been officially confirmed or promoted to the rank, it was general knowledge that Victor was going to be commander of Libra Base, and since the system worked so well for Gemini and Orion, it had become policy to have the commander, who was an engineer, and the people who were actually going to crew the base, work together to construct it. It tended to slow things down a bit in the beginning, since each base was being constructed by nearly as many newbies as veterans of at least one other trip but in the long run, the crew of the base knew it intimately from the very first rivet, and they were well able to work together from the first day of ship production.
While this system sometimes caused problems due to the dual chain of command, it normally didn’t interfere with the workings of the ship when she was in construction mode. In this particular case, Victor was saved from having to exercise a prerogative he wasn’t sure he had. When Simon acknowledged receipt of the message from Heinlein, he left for his ready-room, unaware of the near-confrontation averted by his departure.
Simon poured a cup of coffee and sat back in his chair, prepared to enjoy the sound of his wife’s voice. He pressed a button on his console, and to his surprise and disappointment, it was Marsha Kane’s voice that filled the air. He sat bolt-upright, coffee forgotten, at the first sentence: “TAS Heinlein, mission report. Commander Marsha Kane, commanding, per Doctor Harrison Penn’s orders. Captain Hawke is under mild sedation in her quarters after an incident. Heinlein is on course to rendezvous with Galileo. Approximate ETA is seven hours from this message’s transmission. The Captain is not, I repeat, not, injured due to battle. Heinlein sustained no damage. Injuries to the Captain are minor and she is resting comfortably. Further report to be made in person.” Simon was sure he heard a tremor in Marsha's voice. “This is TAS Heinlein, out.”
Simon replayed the transmission from Heinlein several more times, trying to glean any more information he could from it. He finally called Stephen giving no reason other than, “I need a friend.” When Stephen showed up moments later, Simon waved him to a chair. “I just got Heinlein’s daily report. I think you should hear it.” With no further comment, he played the message.
“It’s what she didn’t say that worries me, Stephen. No mention of what kind of accident, what kind of injuries, nothing. And her word was incident, not accident. And under mild sedation? Something happened out there after McCaffrey left the area. Lucy said that Kitty was going to patrol the area. Well, that’s what our first ships are supposed to do. So what could they run into that would get one person out of an entire crew and that one be the captain?” Simon was on his feet, pacing. A flash of Kitty chiding him for just that habit flashed through his mind and he forced himself to sit back down. “I don’t know what to say any more than you do, Stephen. I’ve listened to that message half a dozen times now and I can’t get any more out of it than the first time. Maybe I just want misery to have company. You and Gayle were with us when we got this business started, and I thought you should know as soon as possible. Gayle already knows as she’s out there with Kitty. About six more hours and we’ll have all the facts. Or I’ll have someone’s ass.”
Stephen walked over to the wall console and dialed up two cups of coffee. “I thought I’d strangle Marsha for not giving more information, but on second thought, I guess not,” he said over his shoulder. “I heard the top secret stamp at the first of the message, but I’ll bet you that it’s all over Galileo and McCaffrey by now.”
The hours seemed to drag by, relieved only by regular reports from Heinlein updating their ETA. Sensor data finally showed the ship approaching about two hours before her actual arrival, and Simon haunted the Astrometrics lab watching Stephen try to tweak any additional data from the sensors.
