His mask steamed up and condensation ran down inside it. He tried to rub his face with his sleeve, but it just squashed the mask and it slid uncomfortably around. He stopped to fix it, turning to keep an eye on Decker. Decker nodded and gave him a weak thumbs up.
He was about to start again when he heard the clink of metal on rock from the other side. Dirt began to fall from his side of the wall and he moved clear. A hole appeared, a wobbling light streaming through the opening.
“We’re through, we made it!”
“Not exactly,” John answered. “We’ve got gas problems. Take these.” John poked an oxygen canister through the hole.
“Commander?” Wright queried.
“How many of you are in there?” John shoved a second, then a third canister through. He undid his jacket and reached for more canisters.
“Everyone except the captain… Four of ours and a couple of miners. Smith and Chief Grey are dead.”
John hesitated. “You’ll be out in a few minutes. Just breathe easy.”
John shoved the remaining canisters through then slumped down to catch his breath. He knew he should be grateful there weren’t more dead, but it was still two too many. He waited impatiently for Kowalski. Muck ran down his face and down the back of his neck. Dust clung to him; his hair was plastered to his head. The mask steamed and sweated with every breath.
The few minutes before he heard the familiar voice seemed ten times as long.
“The captain’s here. We’re bringing the rest of you up now, sir.”
John hadn’t realised the captain had gone. He looked across to see the empty boulder resting in the dirt.
The scene hazed, then cleared into the familiar surroundings of the transporter room. He pulled the mask and glasses down, unbuckled the helmet, his gloves fumbling with the catch, and took it off. He peeled the gloves off and ran a sweaty hand through his hair. It came out caked in muck.
He spun back to the transporter pads as the remaining crew materialised. His focus rested on the two bodies lying motionless. Two sick bay trolleys were waiting. The newly materialised engineers helped the medics to lift them onto the trolleys.
He dumped his gear on the console, unbuckled the belt and slung it on top of the rest of the gear.
“That everyone?” he asked Kowalski.
“Yes, sir.” Kowalski’s eyes remained on the console until the trolleys disappeared.
“Not your fault, Sam,” John spoke quietly. “You got the rest of them out.”
Wright was slumped against the wall near the doorway.
“Matt, you all right?” John asked.
“Yes, sir,” Wright answered automatically.
John went to him, grabbed an arm and slung it around his shoulders, helping to take the man’s weight. “Come on, let’s get you to sick bay.”
“Yes, sir.”
Wright seemed to sag and get heavier with each step. By the time they reached sick bay, he was ready to collapse.
Andrews rushed over to take him, and John was glad to hand him over.
“The captain?” he asked.
“Dunlop’s got him,” Andrews pointed to a table at the far end of the room.
“Thanks.”
John had never seen sick bay so busy. Half the staff looked like they had just been dragged from their beds, with tousled hair and stifled yawns. Orders and requests snapped backwards and forwards; the jargon of medical abbreviations obeyed instantly. Along one wall, two lone trolleys rested, white sheets fully covering their contents.
John picked his way towards Decker; Dunlop was working frantically on him. A drip ran into the captain’s arm and while a tube strapped around his head pumped oxygen through two nozzles into his nostrils. A machine beeped out an erratic heart beat; the graph on its tiny screen mapping the beat.
“Get back to the bridge,” the captain growled, all colour drained from his face.
“No. Not until I know you’re all right.”
“Commander, will you get out of my way.” This time it was the doctor who growled.
“I just want to know how he is.” John reluctantly stepped clear.
“I’ll let you know as soon as I know… You reek of the stuff. How do you feel?”
“Fine –” John began, but was suddenly struck by a coughing bout.
The doctor didn’t stop; he barely needed to look up from what he was doing. “Take the commander. Get a tube in him and filter his lungs. He’s full of it, too.”
Andrews and Gunston grabbed an arm each and dragged John backwards before dumping him on an examination table. Gunston held him down while Andrews ripped open his jacket and dragged his shirt up.
“What –” John lifted his head, saw the needle coming at his ribs, dropped his head and stared at the ceiling.
Panic and sweat hit him in equal amounts. His breathing faltered as his lung deflated. Any air he took in felt like it was being sucked out again.
“Just relax, Commander,” Gunston told him.
His eyes flicked to the medic as Andrews moved to his other side and repeated the procedure.
Less than a minute later, Andrews straightened up. “All done.”
Gunston let him go and moved off to attend to someone else.
John lifted his head and looked down to his ribs. Two tiny sticking plasters covered the punctures. Half a dozen deep breaths refilled his lungs, but he still didn’t feel right.
“Not very pleasant, is it, sir?” asked Andrews as he examined the contents of the filter. “You’re lucky. Most of it’s dust.”
John sat up and glared, swinging his feet off the side of the table. He pulled his shirt down and did up his jacket; the punctures stinging as he brushed them.
“Clean up and you can go back to work, sir,” Andrews told him.
“The captain…” John slipped off the table and pushed his way back to the captain.
“That was a stupid thing you did, going after us,” Decker told him.
“Will someone get him out of here,” Dunlop ordered. “He’s disturbing my patient.”
“Rubbish,” Decker put in.
“Then he’s disturbing me,” Dunlop corrected, his tone carried as much authority as the captain.
“But!” John backed out reluctantly, the path of his eyesight now blocked by Gunston, the medic following him to make sure he left. He kept trying to peer over the man’s shoulder.
Decker was coughing fitfully, then he was suddenly still. The doctor reacted instantly, attempting to resuscitate him. John stepped quickly forward, bumping Gunston, who deliberately blocked his path.
“There’s nothing you can do, sir. It’s out of your hands.” Gunston kept John moving backwards.
“But –” John began, but the sick bay door closed in front of him and he found himself alone in the corridor. He suddenly felt completely alone.
Back to top
Chapter three
After a shower and change of uniform, John made his way back to the bridge. Giacomo vacated the captain’s chair and took up his position at the helm.
“How’s the captain?” McReidy asked.
“I don’t know!” John snapped. He sat down, raising his hand to the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes momentarily as he regained his composure. His hand dropped, his voice was quieter. “They won’t tell me anything. They kicked me out.”
The crew was quiet; the depression setting in.
“Haven’t you lot got work to do?”
The crew busied themselves and John dropped his hand and switched the intercom on to sick bay. Before he could even open his mouth to speak, he heard Dunlop’s voice raising above the background noise: “If that’s the commander, tell him to go away.”
He switched off, sighed and stared blankly at the main screen.
A minute later, Hartford broke the silence. “Commander, Commissioner Coghlan wishes to talk to you.”
“Well, I don’t wish to talk to him.”
Hartford’s visible flinch told John t
hat his statement had been relayed. He shook his head slowly.
“Put him through,” he said reluctantly.
Coghlan appeared on the main screen. “Good evening, Commander.”
John had no idea what time of day it was. It took all his restraint to remain civil. “What do you want?”
“I understand your concern over the accident –”
“Concern?” John’s fists clenched the arms of his chair. “You knew there was hydrogen in those rocks!” he accused. “You couldn’t have done a proper survey and not known it.”
“It was only minute,” Coghlan brushed away responsibility. “Hardly worth mentioning.”
“Tell that to the two men who died.”
There was an awkward silence. John’s eyes blazed, all diplomacy and tact gone. His grip tightened on the arms of the chair and he fought to control his temper. Not because he wanted to, but because he knew he had to. Eating away at the back of his mind was the captain’s condition.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hartford watching him, ready to cut off the transmission if he went too far. He needed to pull it back before that happened.
“We need to continue the tests,” Coghlan finally broke the silence.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” John stared back defiantly. “I’m not letting my crew set foot down there until it’s one hundred percent safe.”
“How are we supposed to do that? This is still a partially uncharted planet.”
“That’s your problem.”
Coghlan’s eyes narrowed and he pointed his forefinger at John, his tone darkening. “Now you listen to me. Your orders are to assist us in any way possible. I’ll go over your head if I have to.”
“Fine. You do that –”
The screen went blank.
“Put it back on!”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir,” Hartford defended himself.
“Put it back on!”
Hartford relented and re-established the transmission.
“You can report me to whoever you like,” John’s voice was calm. Cold and calculated, he was past anger. “As long as I’m in charge of this ship, I refuse to risk anyone else. The matter is no longer open for discussion.”
This time it was John who ended the transmission.
The tension began to dissipate. John was not angry with the crew; they had done nothing wrong. If anything, he admired the way they handled themselves.
The engineers had risked their lives unnecessarily, doing a job that wasn’t really theirs. Sick bay was run off its feet picking up the pieces. The bridge crew – Giacomo and Hartford – had both been down there. McReidy – if she kept her mouth shut, he’d be happy.
“Do we have an accident report?” John asked softly.
“Here, sir.”
John took the report from Hartford and began to read it. He could feel the beginnings of a headache. His eyes lifted, resting on Giacomo and McReidy at the helm in front of him.
Giacomo was quietly explaining the helm, and John watched with mild amusement. McReidy seemed to be getting along quite well with Giacomo. They could have been mistaken for old friends.
Giacomo chatted on incessantly and John soon realised they were longer discussing the ship when the subject of opera was mentioned. That could have kept Giacomo talking until change of shift or the captain’s return to the bridge. Neither of which was imminent.
The intercom sounded: “Dunlop to bridge. Is Commander Madison there?”
“Yes,” John answered anxiously.
“I’d like to see you in sick bay. Now, if it’s convenient.”
“I’m on my way.” John leapt from his seat and hurried from the bridge.
“He’s the only one of us the captain likes,” Giacomo’s soft voice followed him.
“He’s the only one game enough to stand up to him,” Hartford whispered, the bridge door closing on his words.
*
John was out of breath when he reached sick bay. Dunlop met him at the door; his face grim.
“He’s dying. But he keeps asking for you.”
John’s look asked what he couldn’t put into words.
“He’s got massive internal injuries. I can’t stop the bleeding… That he lasted this long is a miracle.”
John pushed his way past the doctor and headed straight for Decker. Sick bay was quieter than it had been before. Andrews was still working on someone and Kat was stitching up a gashed arm, while the remaining casualties lay unconscious or covered.
“Ah, Madison, there you are.” Decker’s voice was calm, almost serene. “Promise me you’ll take care of my ship.”
“Until you get back on your feet and start bossing us around.” John tried to appear relaxed, but he knew he was doing a dreadful job of it.
Decker’s face was still. “I don’t need all these vultures hanging around to know that I’m dying.” He began coughing violently; spitules of red blood and black muck covered the hand he raised to his mouth.
John took the other hand in both of his.
“You know it too, don’t you?”
John couldn’t bring himself to answer. He also couldn’t lie, and nodded slowly.
“Barrett was right. You do have potential. You could be one of the best captains around. You just need to learn more –” Decker began coughing again, the convulsions throwing his body upright, until it passed and he sagged back to the bed in a sweat and gasping for breath, “more control.”
“Take it easy, Captain. Just breathe.” John looked anxiously from Decker to the doctor, meeting the blank expression, and back to Decker again.
Decker sucked in some huge breaths, his eyes rolling in their sockets before he focused on John again. “Don’t let those admirals crush it out of you. Stand up to them… Like you do to me.”
“That’s completely different –”
“No, it isn’t. I’ve been tough on you, tougher than you deserved.” Decker paused for breath. A cough only caused stained saliva to dribble down his chin and out the corner of his mouth. “Bismarck’s yours. Don’t let them take her from you.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“You’ll do better than that.” Decker was quiet. His eyes remained on John, saliva still dribbled from his mouth.
It took John a few moments to realise the captain was dead. The eyes were losing their shine, a huge clot of bloodied saliva erupted and ran freely, and the grip on his hand had gone. He gently laid the arm across the still chest and released it. His legs collapsed and he sank into the chair Dunlop had slid up behind him; the firm hand on his shoulder guiding him. He took the small glass of clear brown liquid that was offered.
His hand shook as he raised it to his mouth and swallowed it all in one mouthful.
“Hmmm,” Dunlop looked into John’s eyes. “Well, at least that’s brought a bit of colour back. You’re in shock, though. Head still pounding?”
John nodded, the voice sounding so far away, and took the refill. He drank slower this time, although not that much noticeably.
“I’ll have my reports ready in a few hours,” Dunlop continued, placing the cap on the bottle.
“Reports?” John questioned, looking up into the doctor’s face as though seeing him there for the first time.
“You do realise that you have to file an accident report with Command and notify next of kin. We lost five men altogether.”
John paused for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. His gaze caught the empty glass in his hand. “Not without another one of these I don’t.” He held up the glass.
Dunlop was reluctant, but decided to fill it. “Another one of these and you won’t make it back to the bridge.”
“At the moment, that’s the least of my worries.”
*
Somehow, John made it back to the bridge on his own. His head no longer ached. The fact that he could feel nothing didn’t register with him.
He refused all communication from the planet, ordering Hartford to swi
tch the channel off. He did keep a line open for the backlash he knew would come from Command.
He knew he should get in first and file his own report. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He closed his eyes briefly to clear his head and allow himself to think properly. His eyes flew open as he felt his head drop; suddenly realising he had nearly fallen asleep. He quickly looked around. No one had noticed.
He moved uneasily in his seat, trying to get more comfortable. His muscles were tense and stiff. A quick glance at his watch told him the shift was almost over. The crew sensed it and became edgy. But that only presented another problem – he was running short of senior officers.
The ship only had a minimum. With the captain and chief engineer both dead that only left Giacomo, Tan, the doctor and himself. Humphries had handled the bridge before, but he was still a junior who lacked age and experience. McReidy and Gillespie also qualified, although, officially, they were not part of Bismarck’s crew.
Giacomo also knew the current crew status. He slowly spun his chair around to face John. “Sir?” he asked hesitantly.
John lifted his eyes from the accident report.
“Do you want me to get Humphries back?”
“No, leave him where he is.” John’s voice was tired.
“I could stay longer… if you like.”
“You’ve already put in a double shift, if I’m not mistaken.” He smiled, grateful of the offer. “Get Gillespie up here. He won’t take any crap from the miners.”
“Yes, sir.”
John raised his voice a little as he spoke to the entire bridge. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the captain’s office. Gillespie’s got the bridge, but he is to do nothing without consulting me first. Please inform the next shift before signing off.”
He dragged himself from the chair and headed to the office. He threw the report onto the desk in front of him, his palms raised to his forehead, his fingers sliding through his hair. He couldn’t feel the pain in his head but the pounding seemed to vibrate into his hands and down his arms. He slid his hands over the top of his head and down his neck before dropping them to his sides.
He stared at the report on the desk as though it could give him the answers that he needed. It refused. He stepped around behind the desk and sat down. The soft, black leather armchair had been well broken in. Being of the same approximate height as the captain, although a fair bit lighter build, John found the chair extremely comfortable.
When the Dust Settled Page 5