Harlan cut him off with an upraised gauntlet and fixed him with a withering gaze.
"Carson, I’m sure the chief needs you right now more than we do up here. Tell him I want emergency power for this deck on standby, and to back away from whatever it is you found for now."
The engineer swallowed, then nodded.
"Yes, ma’am."
Carson looked at the two officers as if expecting some further commands but, after a few long seconds, realized that neither Harlan nor the captain were going to talk with him around. With more skill than he’d shown on arrival, he maneuvered himself so he was facing the out hatch, unhooked, and launched himself back into the ship.
Martin took a step forward and grabbed the rail, almost chuckling to himself at how close it had been while he was floating in the dark. The feel of it in his hands was reassuring, and helped to quell the roiling sensation in his gut. His eyes scanned the ruined command center
What happened to my ship? And why now, when I’m so close to . . .
"Sir, I want to scramble as many security teams as we can to midships. We have to assume a hostile incursion at this point, and I want to . . ."
Martin held up a hand to cut off Harlan’s statement, and then moved it down to his belt controls and released his boots. He then motioned for the lieutenant to follow him as he shoved himself down the rail.
A few quick pushes, then a hard grab brought him to his destination. Several members of Harlan’s team were working to free a body from under a mass of wrecked equipment, but Martin waved them away. Activating his boots again, he knelt and searched at Bill Williams’s neck for something. He heard Harlan touch down behind him, then her involuntary gasp as he pulled back his hand with a bloody circuit key in his fingers.
"Lieutenant, I need for you to designate one of these crewmen as your replacement. As of . . ." Martin tried to establish a timeline in his head based on what Harlan had said, but one of the men nearby realized what he was doing and supplied him with an answer.
"1806, sir."
"1806 ship time, you are now the Valiant’s executive officer, with the acting rank of Lieutenant Commander. Do you acknowledge this order?"
"Sir, yes sir. Ramirez, the squad is yours. Get me comms and power, then a shipwide status report."
"Aye aye, ma’am."
"Get to it, Alonso. We’re dead and blind right now, and I’d like to fix both ASAP."
Martin made as good an attempt as he could at cleaning the blood from the command key before handing it to Harlan. She was a good officer, just not part of his inner circle. He already knew she could handle herself in a crisis, but nothing about her politics.
Well, only one way to find out.
"Harlan, you’re right. We need a lot more intel before our next move, but there are a couple other things to do first. Get teams down there like you said, and have one meet us at my quarters. I want to get into my hardsuit as soon as possible, and we can talk on the way."
Harlan looked the captain in the eye for a few seconds, then nodded. She put the key into one of the small pouches and pockets affixed up and down her left arm, then resealed her helmet. Her hardsuit’s speakers squawked back to life, and everyone in the command center stopped to listen.
"All right, people, you heard the old man. Ramirez is in charge up here until we get back. Find me every trooper still mobile and scramble the best of the best to the captain’s quarters. Get everyone else amidships weapons hot, and I want to hear someone’s voice on channel three whispering in my ear before too much longer. Let’s do it!"
As the repair crews acknowledged her orders, Martin oriented himself on the out hatch. But before he could float over to it, a squad of security troopers appeared just on the other side in with full defense gear, including laser cutters. He turned to Harlan, who shrugged.
"Well, that’s one less thing to worry about. You men are with me and Commander Harlan now. Let’s go."
A chorus of ‘sir’ came back at him, and Martin moved past the troopers into the corridor. Once out, he saw that someone—most likely Harlan’s people—had slapped emergency beacons all the way down the corridor on their way up.
Martin started for his quarters with a practiced leap, sailing down the corridor ahead of the security escort with Harlan just a few meters behind. At the first junction, he held his release just long enough for her to draw a little closer, and once they were floating free again he spoke in a voice he was sure her suit mics could pick up.
"I don’t have time to properly read you in on what you have to know, so for now just smile and keep following my orders."
Without hesitation, Harlan popped her faceplate again and answered in the same tones.
"Sir, I’m with you. We all are."
Martin smiled, but did not look back at her.
Of course you are, Harlan. That’s what we told you to say back in training. It’s certainly what they told me, and look how well that’s turned out for us.
"Good, I appreciate it. Believe it or not, we have something more important to do right now than process damage reports, or even investigating whatever it was that hit us. There’s a prisoner aboard who is vital to our survival. We are going to collect that prisoner now, and then move her to a secured shuttle."
Harlan slapped her chest to activate the suit’s emergency lighting as they approached the end of the corridor. They were moving into areas she and her people hadn’t secured yet, and Martin wondered to himself why he hadn’t brought her into the fold before now.
Harlan did something with her left hand, and her boot jets flipped her heels-over-head. She landed on the bulkhead with her boots already magnetized near the emergency release and started working the hatch open. Martin stopped himself by grabbing a transit ring while several troopers performed maneuvers similar to Harlan’s. Once the hatch was open enough to get gauntleted fingers into the gap, they added their suit-assisted strength to her purely mechanical efforts.
Once the hatch was open, she swung herself inside, brandishing a weapon he hadn’t seen her draw. Once Martin was through himself, he activated his own boots and attached them to the wall on the other side. He studied the faces of the men and women filing through the hatch, meeting the gaze of a sergeant who stopped on the other side of the hatch next to him.
"Dog it, and seal it tight. We’re not coming back this way."
"Yes, sir." The trooper waited until Martin was through, then got to work. As Martin launched himself down the passageway he heard the sounds of an emergency hand welder in action.
Good man. No questions.
Martin waited until he came up beside Harlan before continuing his explanation. "In case you were wondering why we we’re out here in the middle of nowhere in the first place, it’s because no sane person is supposed to be looking in this direction. It’s cost us twice as much fuel as it should have and most of my political capital to get us within striking distance of the planet below, and it’s just our bad luck that someone else seems to have had the same idea."
"Sir?" He didn’t have to see her face to know what expression she was wearing. It wasn’t fear, it was the hard stare of an officer committed to a course of action she didn’t fully understand
"We’re at war, Commander, whether the people down there know it or not. And I’ve gone too far down this road to let a broken ship and some lunatic firing mass drivers defeat me. We’re going to secure our prisoner and regroup while I figure out how much firepower we’ve got left."
"Yes, sir. I was going to ask if there’s anything I should know about the prisoner."
As Martin sailed through the still air of his dying ship with an armed force at his back, he felt almost as young as the officer he’d just recruited into his shadowy, interplanetary rebellion. She was asking the right questions, and that said a lot about who she really was. But as he’d said, the road to here was neither short nor straight, and there was no going back now.
"How much do you know about the Transgenic virus, Harla
n? Because whatever you were told in school, I’m pretty sure we’ve found a cure."
Malik
SOMETHING’S WRONG. I CAN’T MOVE MY . . .
Knives of pain stabbed through Malik’s chest, and he decided to stop trying to speak. His eyes refused to focus, and he couldn’t quite make out the voices speaking nearby. But they were somewhat familiar, so it stood to reason that at least two other members of the team survived the impact.
Broken arm, broken ribs. Cranial damage, possible infarction. Vision seems to be getting better, I can see some . . .
". . . pupillary response. He’s definitely trying to communicate, but there’s no telling how much damage there really is. I’d need to unpack some of the . . ."
". . . of the . . . tion. There’s no telling how long we’ve got until we . . . pany."
Doria? Jantine? I think I hurt myself. You have to . . .
"I said, can he be moved? We can’t stay here."
Jantine’s voice was getting stronger, but Malik still couldn’t see her face, or much of anything else. All he could really make out was a blue-white flashing from somewhere off to his left, but he didn’t want to risk more pain by turning to see what it was.
"No. Neither of us are in any shape to go anywhere. But I think I can reach him, with just a little more time. Malik, can you hear me?"
"Na. Na!" Malik’s tongue wouldn’t move he way he wanted, but from what he could tell Doria understood him. Then JonB’s voice came from Malik’s left, complaining as usual.
"What do you mean, you think you can reach him? Commander—Jantine, we need to start the descent process. He’s got most of it programmed in, but I need your disarm codes. They’re almost through, but I can do this!"
JonB, no. We’re done. You have to, you have to . . .
Malik tried to move his arm again but couldn’t. When Doria spoke again, her words seemed to strip away some of his pain.
"Relax, Malik. I’m here with you. Just picture in your mind what you want me to tell them, and I’ll do the rest."
Picturing his computer closing on JonB’s hands, Malik tried to focus on what she was telling him. Doria said she couldn’t read minds earlier, but he could hear her voice a lot clearer than he could Jantine’s or JonB’s—almost as if it was coming from inside his own head. He felt her hand on his cheek, and more of his pain slipped away.
"NnnnNuooo."
"That was a no," said Doria, "in case you hadn’t figured it out, JonB. He says not to proceed with his calculations."
"But it’s plain as day! It’s all right here."
"He says it won’t work."
I do? Yes, no. No! That trajectory isn’t for us. Tell Jantine to find another way down. Tell her, Redstone dreadnaught. Tell her . . .
Malik felt a pinching pain in his right shoulder, then a spreading warmth. Doria’s hand moved from his cheek to the back of his neck, and something like feathers was moving around inside his skull. He had the impression of something else, something very sad nearby. Two somethings in fact, but Malik filed them away as problems to deal with later.
Redstone. Tell her!
Before Doria could relay his message, Jantine spoke.
"JonB, can you tell me anything about where we are? What’s around us?"
"There’s a big planet down there that we can get to, that’s all I need to know. Mass readings match what we have on file for . . ."
Malik felt something slide into place in his mind, and he heard Doria’s voice stronger than ever.
"I’m not exactly sure what it’s called, but Malik wants you to know that we hit a ship. And that we need to find another way down to the planet."
"That’s ridiculous! How are we supposed to complete the mission if we don’t—"
"JonB," Jantine interrupted, "tell me right now if you think you can use those equations to pilot both containers. And remember that Doria’s not the only one around here who’s good at figuring things out."
Malik felt something new, a vibration of some kind coming from behind him. His back was against a hard surface, and since Doria was unwilling to move him it was likely one of the container’s walls. What had JonB said?
"They’re almost through . . ."
JonB wasn’t saying anything now, and Malik tried to smile. He’d done it; he’d saved the sleepers. Jantine would take care of the rest—that’s what she was here for.
There wasn’t any more pain, but Malik still couldn’t make his mouth move properly. Then the hand on his neck shifted, and he felt something brush against his right ear.
Doria’s voice was soft, warm, and this time on the outside of his head.
"We don’t have a lot of time, Malik. Is there anything else you want her to know? I’ll be here to help you. Just tell me what to do."
Doria, I . . .
"It’s okay. Jantine and JonB know how badly I’m hurt, but the others don’t. The stims are handling most of the pain, and I can stay with you until it’s done. Tell me what she needs to know. Just stay focused, and I’ll be your voice for now."
Malik felt the paired sadness move inside him, and the strength of it was nearly overwhelming. But at the same time, it gave him some comfort, and the longer he was in contact with it, the less it hurt. Although he couldn’t say how, he recognized the presence of the Omegas in his mind alongside whatever it was Doria was doing to him. He pictured their faces as best he could, and when he asked his question, he was sure they heard it as well
I never knew. Is it . . . are they like this all the time?
It felt to Malik as if the words were plucked out of his mind as soon as he thought them. When Doria’s whispered response came a few seconds later, he had the distinct impression that she was smiling.
"All the time," she said. "Don’t be sad. And that goes for the two of you as well. This is a natural part of life. This would have happened eventually in any event; you two will live longer than any of us."
Malik tried to find words of his own to share with the Omegas, but as soon as he decided on the right ones, he felt them flow away and knew the mods understood.
Okay, here’s what we have to do.
Doria
DORIA FELT HER BROKEN RIBS GRINDING INSIDE HER chest. The pressure bandage Harren applied before the second impact was likely doing more harm than good, but at least he’d dealt with the bones that had pierced the skin and slowed her bleeding down.
For now. There was no way to confirm the diagnosis without alarming the rest of the mods, but she could feel the cuts inside her body. Every movement let a little more blood flow, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Though she was still crouched over Malik, she could feel waves of anticipation pouring off Jantine and JonB standing behind her. Fighting to keep her voice calm, she relayed what Malik had seen on his screen in the seconds before the impact.
"It’s hard to be sure, but he thinks there’s probably just a few tender ships left out there. The slug was on a trajectory to hit the larger vessel. He keeps showing me something, a small rock of some kind. It’s a . . . oh, I understand now. A red stone. Does that mean anything to you, Commander?"
Jantine gave an uncharacteristic gasp.
"A Redstone dreadnaught. Intelligence says the enemy has about a dozen of them, and they never travel alone."
Malik’s thoughts signaled agreement, then he summoned up a series of images that took Doria a few seconds to process.
"If I understand him correctly, he says if you move fast, you may be able to commandeer a scout ship, possibly a shuttle. But you have to leave us here. It’s . . . it’s the only way."
Doria lowered herself to the deck and turned to put her back against the wall next to Malik. In the flickering light of the computer screen, JonB’s face matched his emotions, concerned, impatient, and more than a little frightened. But even though Jantine wasn’t handling the situation well herself, she was in command, and needed the others to know it.
Like Malik said, it’s what she’s her
e to do.
"Can you handle this, Doria? Or should JonB stay with you?" Jantine said she was back in control, even though Doria could sense doubt creeping in around the edges.
JonB’s confusion deepened, then his expression hardened as he realized what was about to happen. Doria felt a touch of regret that he’d never truly opened up to her, but given who he was and why he was on the mission, there really wasn’t a lot she could do for him until the colony was established.
And now . . .
"I can . . . we can do it. Malik’s got an excellent visual memory, and my hands are still functional. It’s not the kind of detail work I’m used to, but I’ll adapt. And if you’ll bring the computer a little closer, I should be able to make things a little easier for you in the short term."
Doria gestured to the computer, and JonB slid it closer to her hands. The screen was cracked, but still functional, and by guiding Malik’s memories she brought the lights up enough for the mods to see each other clearly, instead of by dim emergency beacons.
It seemed like a lot longer than thirty minutes since she’d seen Jantine’s face, but it seemed different now. It wasn’t just the low light, her demeanor had definitely changed. It wasn’t the uniform either; even with the faceplates open, the encounter suits gave everybody a little more confidence. This was something different, more fundamental. Reaching out to her mind, Doria felt none of the uncertainty Jantine had struggled with just a few hours before. She was every bit the commander now, and Doria tried to share some of it with Malik.
She’ll be okay. They all will.
Jantine leaned closer. Her eyes conveyed her concern for Malik and Doria, but more for her second-in-command than for the Gamma. Doria shared as much of it as she could with Malik. His response was both immediate, and heartbreaking.
"It’s okay, Jantine. He wants you to. Has for some time."
Jantine closed her eyes, and bent down to press her lips to his mouth. Malik couldn’t move in response, but he didn’t have to. This was about feelings, and feelings were what Doria did best.
The Omegas were already moving along the wall, orienting themselves by the heat generated by what must be cutting torches on the other side. They weren’t big on goodbyes, another thing she liked about working with them.
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