by Ken Wolfson
3
2
1
REACTORS SPINNING UP, RESETTING ALL CIRCUIT BREAKERS.
BRACE FOR FULL POWER IGNITION
Vindication was still the toughest bitch in the fleet. He drove his fear away.
The lights came back on. Alarms wailed out test notes and fell silent. The machinery chattered as displays turned back on and atmospheric fans whirred back into gear. Damage contol displayed a rotating diagnostic of the supercarrier, highlighted worrying shades of red, yellow, and green.
"Adrian?" Amelie groaned, her eyes unfocused. In the light, he saw a purple bruise spreading across her brow like a corruption.
"I'm here," he said and dropped to his knees beside her. "We did it. We're in FTL."
"We're still part of creation?"
"Tunnel's stable; Vindication held strong."
"Of course she did. Where's...Aly?"
Adrian winced, and shook his head.
"I need you. We're in bad shape." Other officers were stirring now.
"At your service, Commander," she said, and got to her knees. Adrian helped her up and into her seat. He pushed a water bottle into her hands and kissed her once.
"Thank you."
"What do you need?" she said, and patted her console. Her eyes were wavering all over him, squinting at every flashing light. Concussion. Adrian needed to get someone to relieve her ASAP. Soon as he was certain the ship was stable, he'd do it. He didn't trust anyone else in this situation.
"Full diagnostic," Adrian said.
"Done."
He walked back to his station. Lieutenant Pask was leaning on his desk, vomiting into a recycler. Several more officers were on their feet and checking on their peers. Cage howled in agony and curled up around his right arm. Halfway between his shoulder and elbow it bent double with white fragments protruding.
"If you can type on a keyboard, get to your station and give me a report!" Adrian said. He picked up the wired phone on his console, and dialed engineering. "Colonel Ravin?" he said.
Crackling fire and whooshing extinguishers howled back at him.
"Commander, you broke my ship!" Ravin replied in that twisting Cockney accent.
" How bad is she?" Adrian said. Ravin yelled something at someone away from the receiver. Fire extinguishers wooshed.
"Bad. FTL spool number two had a containment failure just before we entered the warp tunnel. She melted her bearings, and would've breached containment if our ragged entrance hadn't wiped out the power grid and shut her down. Reactor 3 is breached again and I'm losing people sealing her up again. Aside from that, all fine. The power grid failure stopped the electrical fires, so we've just got chemical fires to deal with," Ravin said.
"So the power failure was a result of the warp tunnel?" Adrian said.
"Yes. Don't ask me for the science; I don't have the hour to lecture. The grid's fine. We'll get the FTL spool and reactor locked down," Ravin said.
The bulkhead slid open and a dozen thoroughly shaken paramedics rushed inside, followed by Sergeant Alenkot and several troopers. Adrian reached for his sword, until Alenkot knelt to help Cage into a stretcher.
"Of course, you will. You're the best crew in the fleet. Can we maintain the warp tunnel?"
"The real strain is in opening the tunnel. We can keep this one open as long as you need, though I'm not sure how many more the old girls’ got left in her."
Adrian let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. So long as Vindication had her FTL drives, she was an interstellar warship. Without them she'd be stranded in deep space, years from the fight she craved and trapped for the foreseeable future with a crew running short on provisions.
"Copy. Keep me posted; Adrian out," he said. He hung up and returned his attention to the bridge.
"XO, I need that status report," he said.
"I've got it," Amelie said as she shoved off a paramedic. "Stow it, that's a fucking order."
"Go ahead," Adrian said.
"We've got a hull breach in frame 11, and explosive decompression in frame fifteen, compartment J. There are fires in sectors 6-abc, 7-9-defgh, 16-j, and 26-a. The fire in frame six has lost control and the damage control crews are either considered lost, or are evacuating survivors," she said.
"Can it be contained within the sectors?" Adrian said.
"They don't think so. The fire suppression system in frames five, six, and seven are offline, and frame fours got ruptured airlocks," Amelie said.
"Frame 7 is where the atlatl magazines for the onboard launchers are held!" Cage cried as he lunged from his stretcher. "Their fuel cells are volatile—if the fire hits them..." He bit his tongue and collapsed back. Alenkot held him down while a paramedic prepped a syringe.
"The fire will jump frames in minutes at best; if it reaches the missile fuel cells the blast will be catastrophic. We'll lose the entire forward section of the ship," Amelie said. Adrian knew that, if Vindication were intact, the damage would be severe, but not total. In her current state, the blast would be catastrophic, enough to finish Tarly's job light-hours later. That choked off all but one path to victory.
"We cannot survive that. Seal sector 7 and prepare to emergency vent," Adrian said.
"There's near a hundred people left inside. Give me three minutes to get them out," Amelie said.
Adrian shook his head. "There's seven-thousand people in the forward sections. We're putting them all at risk. Vent now."
"Yes, sir." She typed in the commands, and closed her eyes. A klaxon thundered in the atmosphere.
Adrian walked over to DC and found the knobs responsible for atmospheric control. He entered the code for frame six sectors a, b, and c.
Amelie grabbed the knob. "I've got this, sir, and add sector D." Adrian entered the last code and stepped back.
"Venting now," she said, and twisted.
The airtight doors slammed shut in the faces of the crew trapped inside. Atmosphere shut down and sealed off in the sectors, and airlocks opened. The deck thumped underfoot. Sector seven changed from red to yellow.
"We're clear," Amelie said. She sat back down, and cradled her head in her hands. Not good; he needed all his officers functioning mentally now more than ever.
"You did good," he whispered. He rubbed her shoulders.
"Did I? I just killed 100 of my crew."
"You saved a lot more. Take a well-earned rest." Adrian let the paramedic through to do the mandatory concussion protocol. "Who's left...Pask, today's your big day. Get on damage control," he said.
"Sir." The boy's pajamas were splattered with Sare's blood. He got to work. "We're not in immediate danger of dying, but there's many serious faults in Lady's structure."
"Call engineering and talk with Ravin," Adrian said, and handed him the phone.
"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," he said, and winced at the thought.
One more immediate concern—the fact that they were in the middle of a mutiny. And Adrian was low on people he trusted the extra mile.
"First-Sergeant Alenkot, get over here," he said. The bulky trooper saluted. He wasn't mountainous, but still a head taller than Adrian. His arms were thick as Adrian's waist, which was immense, even accounting for the black armor.
"Orders, sir?" he said.
"Two of my ensigns attempted to kill me as the shooting started. There could be more traitors on this ship. I trust you. Take first platoon and secure the FTL spools; no one gets in without Colonel Ravin's explicit permission. I'll notify engineering you're coming," he said.
"What of the rest of the garrison?" Alenkot said.
"They'll be notified once you reach FTL. Just get to your post and leave the rest of the worrying to me," Adrian said. Some mid-level rate was going to throw a bitch fit over command channels, that would be another day’s fight.
"Yes, sir." Alenkot saluted, and departed with his hand gripping his gladius-hilt.
Adrian plucked the intercom mic from the remains of Sare's station and keyed in. Static crackled
shipwide, some ghosts wined over the loudspeakers.
"Attention, please. This is your commander speaking. As of 0330 hours military cycle, there is a mutiny underway in the United Systems. Tollyon's status is unknown, but given the weight of firepower arrayed against it, it's logical to assume that the system has fallen. I do not know the scale of the mutiny, the numbers against us, or the noble players supporting it, but I can confirm that it is led by Emoche Hulle. As of now, we are in a civil war." Every eye on the bridge bored into him.
"It's been a long day, and we've said good-bye to a lot of friends. But there will be a tomorrow. Focus on bringing Vindication back to combat readiness. We defeated Emoche Hulle last time we met. This time we kill him. Commander out."
The filled beds stretched from wall to distant wall. Red-clad doctors ran from bed to bed, juggling lives. Adrian limped over still wet bloodstains and discarded uniforms, singed and lacerated. He stepped aside as a pair of nurses ran past, arms full of IV bags. “Good work,” he said as they passed. They snapped a glance up, and were gone.
“Commander?” The boy had one eyes exposed, the rest of his face covered in bandages. An IV bag ran blue healing stimulants and white blood substitute into his remaining arm.
“You did good, soldier,” Adrian said and moved along. A few other noticed him and tried to rise. Most were buried under medical comas or brain-damage unconsciousness. “Good job,” Adrian whispered to the few who were conscious. It was the best he could do.
Doctor Veris was a stubby high-gravver with thick glasses, but stood the tallest in the room as he kept up conversations with half a dozen surgeons mid-procedure. He was up to his shoulders in blood, though the red uniform performed as designed by making it hard to tell. Adrian leaned on a structural beam and took a breather until Veris noticed him.
“Commander,” he said and hurried over. “Radio’s down, I sent a runner.”
“Hello doc, I missed them. What’s the casualty report?” Adrian straightened back up.
“1,076 dead, 1,567 wounded. Some of them aren’t even from our crew, what the hell happened?” Every death was an added weight on Adrian’s shoulders, which had already been strained under Vykhor’s weight. He was running low on warm bodies. Vindication was low on automated components by design. She needed hard boots on the deck to function.
“They must have slipped on in the scramble to get everyone back aboard.”
“Our supply situation is bad. I’m running dry on healing stimulants and blood substitutes. The rest of my consumables are 20% capacity. We’re going to run out long before the last casualties are stabilized.” A stretcher rolled past, carrying a woman with half her combat trousers burned away. She was screaming in a language Adrian didn’t understand.
Adrian whispered, “prioritize our crew for the remaining supplies, and anyone who can be returned to duty.”
“You want me to let the badly wounded die,” Veris accused him. Adrian ignored his glare. His hands were trembling enough as it was, letting comrades die.
“Yes. We are on our own in what is now hostile territory. We need all able bodies back in their stations, not rotting away with treatable injuries. Patch up the walking wounded first and do what you can for the rest. Do not discriminate by rank.” He saw a defiant snarl on Veris’ face.
“My job is to treat all who need saving.” Adrian took him by the shoulder.
“And my job is to keep this ship alive. I am giving you an order to ensure that. Are you going to obey or not?”
“Yes, sir,” Veris said.
“Good, as you were.” Adrian turned away. He could sit down on the monorail.
“You’re going to still need that ankle looked after, unless you want it to turn into something debilitating.” Adrian stopped and spun around.
“Make it quick.”
#
Chapter Eleven: Conference
Adrian showered, then took a three-hour nap with his boots on in one of the crash hammocks in the officer's rec room, falling asleep to the uneven hacking cough of a ship running on a weak heart. He awoke, and immediately called a station chiefs' meeting the commander's conference.
His radio buzzed. "Commander." He recognized Amelie's voice.
"Go ahead."
"There's an altercation underway in the number 2 enlisted lounge and security was summoned. Just thought you should know."
Adrian wasn't a telepath, but he’d put down his life savings on it being stress related to last night. Using force would only aggravate the problem. His crew needed a soft touch right now.
"Hold security back. I'll deal with it." He postponed the meeting and walked there.
A dozen shouting voices burst out of the portal and splattered over him. He entered the lounge to find himself at the back of a crowd of uniforms.
"Look, I don't know who the fuck Emoche is, but clearly he's won. House Venko and our own fleet ships joined his side. We ran from Tollyon and our families like cowards. I want them back." The voice was deep and ragged. Over the taller heads Adrian saw a bulky, bald man in an able crewman's black jumpsuit and gray equipment vest. Specialist Winslow Keller. He was on the final year of his five-year enlistment.
"And I want to get paid! We never got our final paychecks.” The woman had a mane of brown curls and equally wild desperation in her eyes. Instead of a vest she wore a trenchcoat, but without crimson trimming. Technical crew Mary Wol. "If Emoche has Tollyon, he's got the treasury, and we're working for free right now."
The crowd murmured in agreement. This was bad; they were terrified and desperate.
"Huxton was a good commander, he really kept our asses alive. But he’s out of his league; there’s a reason he was retiring. We're stuck here because of him. We've only got so much time before Emoche kills us all. And I don't want to die for a lost cause, do you?"
Adrian studied Winslow's face. He was genuinely angry and terrified. A bandage covered his left eye.
He pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and silence fell. Winslow and Mary looked like they’d looked into the face of the angel of death.
"We're not dead yet, Specialist Keller."
"No, s-sir, but we will be. What can we do against that armada?"
“Why should we do anything when we’re not getting paid," Mary said. "And my wife's on Tollyon."
Adrian saw a vodka bottle at her feet. He picked up a mug. "We're tired, and we've gotten our asses kicked across the Expanse. And my daughter's alone on the Anchorage. I had to leave her before the oath breakers killed us both." The crowd’s expressions changed to sympathy. Good, he had their hearts.
Mary poured him a full glass.
"I'm sorry about her, sir. But what good are we doing out here if the war's lost?"
"Emoche Hulle hired a tribe of Wendago to kill our comrades and sack Vykhor. Do you believe what comes out of his mouth about peace and a golden age? He’s just another warlord.” He took a drink. “I don't know how he started a mutiny. But we're soldiers, we do our duty. We kill the enemies of the Systems."
"We ain't getting paid, either," Winslow said, shamefully.
"We'll get paid when we make port. I'll add Nereus to our prize total. I've gotten us our prize money before—paid for my vacation with my daughter to Volantis once," Adrian said. He took the bottle from Mary and emptied its contents into two more glasses. "So, we can panic and surrender to the people raping our worlds, or we can do our duty and kill them."
"Sir, what is our duty?"
"Our duty is to get Vindication repaired and back to combat capability. Then we’ll resupply, there’s many supply depots lying around the region. Then we go back into combat and kill the motherfuckers raping our worlds. We do not surrender.”
Mary and Winslow raised their glasses. They drank. Adrian finished his mug while they got halfway through theirs. The crowd began to disperse.
Adrian nodded to the security troopers as he left. "Commander to XO, situation resolved. Report to the conference room now."
&nb
sp; "Hey," Amelie said. She settled into the only armchair in the rotund room.
"How's the bell?" Adrian said.
"Rung pretty bad, but nothing irreparable. I'm supposed to take the next forty-eight off, then report to Doc Veris personally for a followup," she said. Adrian kissed her.
"You did good out there. Saved a lot of lives that would've been lost if you’d delayed another thirty seconds," he said, and sat down beside her and enfolded her hand in his. "Remember, every face you saw on the way over here is alive because of you."
"I know," she whispered.
Ravin arrived next. His wild shock of white hair preceded him. "Adrian, my boy, I'm pleased to report that I've resisted your latest attempts to kill my ship!" He sat down hard. His uniform was fresh yellow, and his gnarled face had a ‘beard’ of soot tracing the outline of a breather mask. Adrian reasoned that the soot had become a permanent stain on his features. Ravin had served in the engineering sectors of one ship or another for fifty years, since making midshipman at age seventeen, completing the academy in two years instead of four. He was the best engineer Adrian had ever laid eyes on. But he had a fatal flaw: he despised anyone who didn’t understand engineering. That had kept him as a deck engineer instead of an advisor writing engineering policy, where the best minds were sorely needed. Adrian had found him wasting his talent on the heating vents of a remote outpost. When he'd gotten his first capital command in Vindication, he'd pulled a favor and gotten Ravin transferred from dead-end duty to his supercarrier. Ravin had immediately set about mapping the ship, and with 50,000 man-hours by humans and countless drone surveys, had crafted the only up to date blueprint of the super carrier in existence.
"Well then you know you need a reward. Have a seat and a drink. Or don’t, that’s bad for a concussion." He'd provided beer. Betelgeuse Brew, largest brewery in the known galaxy. He hadn’t provided enough to get them ineffectually drunk, but enough to ease the tension.
"Hi," Cage said, slipping in next. His arm had been fused and strapped into a nano-fibre brace. Normally the brace injected KPX-stimulant straight into the wound. Now, Cage would have to heal the slow way.