Spheres of Influence

by Bob Mauldin

  Hastily assembling his staff, Victor began issuing orders for the fabrication attached directly to Libra herself. The base would have its own airlock, already under construction, and the other end would be open to space until the Clarke could be pushed into place and held there by the capture fields of the base itself. Construction pods, positioned in the tube, would first seal the ship and tube together, then cut their way into the shattered hulk, allowing for the offloading of any survivors.

  During the agonizingly long hours that it took the Heinlein and the Niven to transport their sister ship to the dock, no word was received from any of the Clarke’s complement. Mambas from both escort ships reported that all external antennae had been lost, leaving no way to communicate even if the comm center had managed to survive.

  Word flashed to Earth almost as fast as it had to Libra, considering the distances involved, and Lucy, beside herself with grief and fury, raced to the spaceport, climbed into her Mamba, and left a double sonic boom behind her as she made for the ship in orbit.

  “Marsha, this is Lucy,” she said as soon as she cleared the atmosphere. “Prepare to leave orbit for Libra Base as soon as I dock, and you’re elected.”

  She arrowed directly for the bigger ship, slowing finally as she drew near. “First Captain, this is the McCaffrey Flight Control,” she heard an unfamiliar, no-nonsense voice say. “Come alongside the flight deck, cut your engines, and be prepared to be pulled into the bay.”

  Cutting her power and turning control over to the crew operating the capture fields, Lucy sat through the procedure of being pulled through the force field and into the McCaffrey’s bay. She released the cockpit controls and, as the canopy slid up and back, grabbed the quick dismount rail above her head. Allowing it to pull her bodily from the cockpit, she rode the bar just far enough to clear her ship and dropped to the deck, in complete disregard of all safety precautions, many of which she had instituted. Both feet hit the deck together, and she let her knees bend, taking up the shock of her landing, with only one hand going out to lightly touch the deck for support before standing up to her full height.

  She turned around to find a full commander waiting for her with a look of disapproval on her face. “Permission to come aboard?” she requested.

  “Permission granted, First Captain,” the woman ground out frostily. “Captain Kane is expecting you on the bridge. If you will come with me, please?” She led Lucy to the elevator, and when the door closed on the two officers, she punched the hold button and said, “I’m glad none of my pilots saw that stunt you just pulled, First Captain. I have enough trouble keeping them from pulling dumb stunts without having them see you go all cowboy on us.”

  “Which is a polite way of saying to follow my own rules, right?” Lucy said, contrition in her voice.

  “I don’t know how polite it is, ma’am, but I have enough on my hands as it is,” the commander, whose nametag read Valentine, said. “Besides, do you know how much trouble I’d be in if the boss got hurt on my deck on my watch?”

  “I’d feel the same way in your position, Commander,” Lucy said. “I helped formulate some of the rules I just broke. I apologize, and the only excuse I have is that I need to get underway as quickly as possible.”

  “Apology accepted,” the commander said, apparently expecting anything but that from the First Captain to a mere commander. Emboldened by her success in chastising the boss, Commander Valentine pressed the bridge button and added, “I’d like to point out that whatever has happened has already happened, and that kind of haste won’t help at all.”

  As the elevator began its ascent to the bride, Lucy said, “While I agree with you in principle, you’re about to see another rule broken, Commander. And I’m not going to apologize for this one.”

  Seconds later, the door slid open and Lucy strode down the short hall to the command center of the ship, the perplexed commander following in her wake.

  Setting foot just inside the bridge proper, Lucy saluted Marsha and asked, “Permission to enter, Captain?”

  “Permission granted, First Captain,” Marsha answered. “I assumed you’d want to get underway immediately. Engines are online, and we’re ready to break orbit on your command.”

  “No, Captain. On your command,” Lucy corrected. “Can I see you in your ready room first?”

  The door closed, cutting the two friends off from the rest of the ship, and Lucy began immediately. “Your Commander Valentine just chewed me out for breaking a flight deck rule, and rightly so,” she said, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of Marsha’s desk. “And now I’m going to ask you to break a bigger rule. I need to get to Libra soonest. I want you to micro-jump into the belt, Marsha, but I won’t order it. This is your ship and crew. It’s a risk, and you have to make the final decision. But as a friend, I’m asking you to consider it. I ordered the action, and I need to be on the scene. I figure if you jump to a point just above the plane of the belt and Libra, I can take my Mamba in the rest of the way. That way, I can get there before Victor can get the Clarke opened up, and you can either come back to Earth or I can send Jerry or Robert back here,” she said, referring to the captains of the Heinlein and the Niven.

  Lucy made a helpless gesture with her hands, letting them fall into her lap and slumping down into the chair. Marsha looked at her friend for a few seconds and began to call figures up on her desk comp. She made several false starts, clearing her screen each time, until she finally got the results she wanted. Picking up her comm link, she called her Helm officer. “Bunny, I need you to run us up to jump speed as fast as possible. I’m sending coordinates to Nav. Just go with ‘em. I know what you’re going to say, but the rules just changed. There will be quite a few things done differently for a while, I’m afraid. Let me know when we’re about to jump.” Lucy heard a muffled response, and Marsha set the comm down, stood up, and asked, “Something to drink?”

  Lucy waved her hand indifferently. “Pepsi if you’ve got it. I think I want my caffeine cold.”

  “Nothing stronger?” Marsha asked, skepticism in her voice.

  “I’m flying soon, remember? That’s one rule even I won’t break.”

  “Glad you’ve got some of your wits about you, girlfriend,” Marsha said, opening the refrigerator at the side of the room. Peering inside, she said, “Coke’s all I’ve got here.”

  Lucy flopped her hand in her lap again and Marsha popped the tab on the can and set it in front of her. “Look, you can’t beat yourself up over what’s happened, Luce. It’s turned into a war out here, and somebody has to make the tough decisions. You can’t blame yourself.”

  The ship shuddered as it got under way, settling down to a smooth purr. Lucy picked up the red and white can and took a long pull. Setting it down hard, she asked angrily, “Who the hell can I blame then? Simon for getting shot? The people who shot him? Kitty for getting hurt? The same people who caused that? How about some faceless aliens who lost a spaceship? Or some other faceless aliens who probably don’t want us to keep it? You tell me who to blame, Marsha. Somebody’s to blame for so many lives lost on the Clarke! Who do you think the families of those people are going to blame? I sent those ships out there.” She stared absently at the brown liquid bubbling up out of the can she’d just slammed down on the desk.

  Unable to answer the questions Lucy posed, Marsha sat there, wishing she could do something, anything, to ease the pain her friend was feeling but knowing she’d probably feel and react much the same way under those conditions. She also knew that at some future date, she just might. The silence lengthened, and both women felt the ship continue to change its subtle vibrations until Marsha’s comm chimed. She picked it up and listened for a few seconds.

  “Thanks, Bunny. I’ll be right out.” Hooking the device on her belt, she placed a hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “Time to go, Luce. We’re about to jump. You’ve got to get to the flight deck.”

  Lucy picked up the can from the desk, looked down at
the ring of drying liquid, and asked, “Bunny? For real?”

  “For real,” Marsha confirmed with a grin. “Bunny Bradshaw, a real whiz at Helm, but watch what you say around her. She’s kinda sensitive about it. There’ve been a few black eyes I’ve had to overlook, but nothing serious, and not a one lately.”

  The two women walked out into a scene of quiet efficiency, though with some slight apprehension in the air. Marsha said, “Report, Number One.”

  Her executive officer responded, “We’re almost ready to jump, ma’am.” In a quieter voice, he added, “The crew knows the destination and seem a little tense, but there haven’t been any incidents.”

  “Very well, Number One. You have the bridge. I’ll be on the flight deck for a short time.”

  “I have the bridge, aye, ma’am,” the exec acknowledged. Apparently dismissing her from his thoughts, he turned to the rest of the bridge crew. “Helm, how long until we reach jump speed?”

  “Sir,” Lt. Commander Bradshaw replied, “five minutes. Ten, tops.”

  Lucy and Marsha walked onto the flight deck and found it to be a place of furious activity. Commander Valentine, having returned to the flight deck when Lucy and Marsha had gone into conference, turned away from the crewmen she was giving orders to, tucked a clipboard under her arm, and saluted. Lucy, as senior of the two being saluted, returned it.

  “Problem with my ship, Commander?” she asked, nodding at a pair of legs dangling out of an open hatch near the rear of her Mamba.

  “Not to speak of, ma’am,” the commander replied. “I ordered a diagnostic run on your systems and found a wobble in your grav compensator. Not dangerous yet, but without attention…” she let her voice trail off and shrugged.

  “How much longer do you figure, Commander Valentine?” Marsha asked.

  The pair of legs turned into a full body as the technician wriggled his way out of the access hatch. “I can answer that, ma’am,” he said. He reached inside, pulled a small tool case out, sealed the hatch, and said, “All done. Just needed to recalibrate the sump sensors. They were throwing off the compensators just enough to register as a glitch on our diagnostics.”

  Commander Valentine said, “I noticed that your ship only carries four torps. That makes it one of the older models. I suggest that you have your power core replaced sometime soon, ma’am.”

  Lucy nodded. “Sentimental attachment, Commander. Thanks for your attention to detail.” At that moment, the triple tone that indicated an upcoming jump sounded. “That’s my cue to lock and load,” she said.

  Marsha said, “Safe trip, First Captain. I’ll see you on Libra. Think about what I said, okay?”

  “I’ll keep it in mind, Captain,” Lucy answered. She saw Valentine signal the Ops officer to lower the dismount rail. As the bar came within reach, Lucy grabbed it with both hands and nodded at Valentine, who then waved her hand, thumb up. Immediately, Lucy’s feet left the floor as she was carried up and over her cockpit. Looking down, she slid her feet forward as her butt met the seat. She slid each arm through the crash webbing, locked it in place, put her helmet on, and hit the power button. Once her systems were live, she called Launch Control.

  “Comm check,” she announced.

  “Loud and clear, First Captain,” came through the speakers built into her helmet. “Stand by for jump.” A pause, then a short countdown. “Four, three, two, one, mark.” On the last word, the familiar queasiness that signaled a jump through the mathematical anomaly humans had started to call “otherspace” twisted her stomach and then disappeared. “Jump complete. Prepare for launch.”

  “Prepare for launch, aye,” Lucy replied, and the ship, lifted by the interior capture fields, slid smoothly to the open bay doors and was pushed through the force field into space. When the last of her status lights turned green, she powered up her side thrusters and moved effortlessly away from the McCaffrey.

  Lucy queried her onboard computer for information about nearby space, and moments later, objects began to appear on her radar screen. First, the slowly receding blob that was the McCaffrey showed up, followed by several small asteroids. That’s why we don’t do this! She thought to herself. Finally, the conglomeration of blobs that was the complex known as Libra Base showed up on her screens. She locked the center of the base into her computer and fired up her engines, allowing the little ship to pick its way through the clutter surrounding the base.

  Less than a minute after she’d done so, three Mambas appeared on her screen headed straight toward her, and a hail came over the speaker. “Solo Mamba, this is Libra patrol. Identify yourself or be fired upon.”

  “Libra patrol, this is First Captain Grimes. Request an escort to Libra Base. I believe I’m expected. Isn’t your reaction just a bit overstated?”

  “You’re a bit ahead of schedule, First Captain, and no, our reaction isn’t overstated. We have no idea who could have possession of a Mamba or Mamba-style craft, so we take no chances. Neither will any other base anymore. Anyway, welcome to Libra space. If you’ll follow me, ma’am, I’ll lead you in. Just stay a bit to starboard to clear my engine wash.”

  Almost immediately, a Mamba passed above her and slowed as it moved into position. Her screens showed two other ships flanking her, but since neither of them spoke, she ignored them and followed the patrol leader as requested. Ten minutes later, she was warped into the docking bay of Libra Base and being greeted by Victor McCord.

  “Permission to come aboard?” she asked formally.

  “Granted, First Captain, and gladly. Good to finally meet you,” Victor said, reaching out to shake her hand. “I’m sorry that it’s under these conditions.”

  “Me, too, Commander. But we’ve met before. Back then I was just a third-shift watch officer and you were concerned with setting up a deep space manufacturing facility for spaceships, so not remembering me is understandable,” she answered. “What’s the status on the Clarke? I saw her on the way in. God, what a mess. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “We haven’t gotten her opened up yet, ma’am, so we don’t have any word from the survivors, if any. But the sensor data from the Heinlein and the Niven seems to show that the last wave of Mambas and the Clarke fired on the bogey at the same time. Most of the Mambas were able to veer off from the explosion, but the Clarke either couldn’t turn in time or Captain Miller felt she could ride it out. What we’ve recorded is a second explosion after the enemy vessel was destroyed. So far, that’s all. We’ve just warped her into the boarding tube, and I have three construction pods welding the two together right now. We should be able to cut through within the hour.”

  Two pods welded the hastily constructed boarding tube from the outside while a third worked from the inside. Welded to the hull just forward of the engine compartment, it was thought that the cutting process from the single pod inside the tube posed the least danger to both the remaining crew of the Clarke and to the base in general. The specially constructed airlock on the station side of the tube was kept closed until the inside pod could cut through to the inside of the stricken ship and poke a camera inside to assess conditions.

  Lucy chafed at the slowness of the process, calmed only slightly by Victor as they watched the pod on a monitor set up just outside the airlock. “One step at a time, or we could do more harm than good,” he cautioned. “I want to go charging over there, too, but one thing I’ve learned is that you have to let people do their jobs and trust that it’ll get done. Sometimes, like now, you can supervise the process, but it still gets done by someone else.”

  Lucy and Victor, along with a growing crowd of people, watched as the pod operator turned off the cutting torch and checked a gauge he had attached to the outside of the Clarke. “Positive pressure,” he announced. Lucy watched as an extension arm threaded a small tube through the hole. Victor tapped a command into the monitor’s console and the view changed to a surreal view of the inside of the ship. Lit by a dim red glow, the camera showed several people
floating to one side of the picture, most oriented with their feet toward the floor but a few at odd angles to the camera. The posture of three or four indicated that they were injured, while two others held crewmates and a third held a laser trained on the camera snaking into the ship.

  Victor pulled his comm from his belt and spoke into it. “Relax people. We’re the good guys. This is Commander McCord of Libra Base. You’ve been towed to the dock, and we’re cutting our way in now. What’s your situation?”

  The man holding the laser lowered it to his side. “I’m Chief Engineer Gordon Conners, Commander. We have fourteen still alive in this section. I have no idea about the rest of the ship. All airtight doors are closed down and all communications are out. Life support seems to be operating, just barely, but no other sections answer our calls. I can’t even get into the engine room to check on my crew. I’ve banged on the bulkhead, and I do get a response, but I can’t tell much more than that. There are dozens dead though, mostly due to stuff flying around from exploding equipment.”

  “Very well, Chief,” Victor answered. “Stay back while the operator cuts a bigger hole. We’ll get you out and to medical attention as quickly as possible.”

  The view cut to the skin of the ship as the pod operator pulled the camera out of the small hole he’d cut, and Victor switched to the wider view offered by the exterior camera. Sparks flew as the torch began to cut a swath inches from the edge of the tube.

  Working quickly in the weightless environment, the hole was soon finished, and the section of hull was pushed inward by the extendable arm of the pod. Seconds later the pod disappeared inside the ship, allowing room for the swarm of people moving from Libra to the Clarke to assist in the rescue process.

  Lucy tried to move across as well, but Victor held her back. “There’s only room for one pod and so many people over there right now. You and I will wait until the pod cuts through to the bridge.”