by C. R. Daems
Laughter freed me from my paralysis. I called down to the alternate Bridge and assigned one section to each person. They were to determine who was critical to each section and those who could be freed for damage control or helping with the transfer. They were to call me on my SID with their findings and to get further instructions. When I reached the hospital, there were people in beds, chairs, and on the floors in the hallways. Medics were examining each person, trying to determine those with the most critical need. I weaved my way through the mass of mangled humanity to the operating table.
“Dr. Mileur, if you’ll assign me a medic, he can determine those who can wait for treatment, and I’ll have them moved somewhere out of the way, where we can get them food and first aid until you and the other doctors can get to them. It will also give you more room for those needing immediate treatment. You’re going to need space for the wounded that will shortly be coming in from the Leopard. Hopefully, there will be medical staff among the survivors who can help.”
Mileur didn’t look up from her current patient, whose arm contained a hunk of metal she was digging out. For a minute, I didn’t think she’d heard me. I doubted I was her main concern at the moment. As the piece of metal came out, she shouted, “Callum, help Commander Reese.” A minute later, an elderly sergeant touched my arm. He looked tired, and his clothes explained why. Callum’s white smock and pants were smeared with fresh and dried blood mixed with grease and dirt. He probably hadn’t had a break since the attack started. Mileur hadn’t either.
“Commander, I’m Callum. What do you need?”
A feeling of resolve and determination. There would be time to cry later, after the total cost had been assessed.
“Terril, are you alive and walking?” I said into my SID and crossed my fingers.
“What do you want, Commander?” She sounded tired, harassed, and angry. She had a right to be all of those and more, but there wasn’t time to grieve.
“I need whoever you can spare to help transfer the survivors from the Leopard.” I knew she’d like to have told me to space myself. She sighed instead.
“I’ll be there with what I have.” The line went dead. I called Shuttle Maintenance.
“Commander MacAll, I need to get whatever operational shuttles you have ready to evacuate the Leopard.”
“I have three army shuttles, with pilots, ready immediately in bay 2-22. I think two more will be operational within an hour. I’ll get back to you when they are.”
Everyone converged on me at the same time. Five Riss came walking down one corridor, Terril down another with a detail of nine, and the alternative Bridge officers began reporting in. “Terril, your Scorpions plus the six free sailors here will help evacuate the Leopard. Commander MacAll has three troop shuttles ready in bay 2-22.” My head spun with the overwhelming details.
I switched my SID to the system comm.
“Commander Kagle, get me a line to Zeller.” A few seconds later, Zeller appeared on my SID.
“Captain Zeller, have your serious wounded plus any doctors and medics you have report to one of your functional bays. The shuttles are preparing to leave in the next few minutes.”
“Bay 2-12, Reese.”
I called Colonel Seng. “Colonel, direct your shuttles to the Leopard’s bay 2-12. Terril is on her way with a team of fifteen to help Captain Zeller with the evacuation.”
Everyone worked through the night and the next day. Eighteen more died and another ten remained in critical condition. Callum plus two army medics had done a good job of treating the less seriously wounded. I had them moved into available crew quarters and fed while they waited for the doctors to finish with the seriously wounded.
The army and navy mess halls were set aside for the healthy to rest and eat. As the need for rescue teams lessened, the freed-up personnel were either sent to help out where necessary or back to the Leopard for blankets, bedding, medical supplies, and anything else they could salvage. By the following morning, the doctors had managed to get a few hours sleep and were finally available to look at the less seriously wounded. The medics assigned to evaluate the wounded had given each individual a number between one and five to prioritize who got treated first. When doctors finally became available, the Riss with their perfect memories were able to direct them to the appropriate rooms based on the individual’s assigned priority.
I’d been reporting to Kagle the status of each task as the hours dragged past. When I thought everything had been assigned to someone and things more or less under control, I reported to the Bridge. Sakaata was there with Zellor. They both looked like hell.
“Skipper, the transfer has been completed and most of the wounded treated. Only a few less serious injuries still needed to be treated. The doctors are taking turns resting and should be finished by tomorrow. The healthy are helping with damage control on a rotating basis for rest and food.”
“Reese, have you slept?” Sakaata asked. I shook my head. When did I have time?
“People needed help, and I was the central point of contact. If I had turned it over to other people, we would have lost focus.”
“How? The Riss?” Zellor asked. I nodded. I could probably remain functional for another...
“Go rest. Unless I’m mistaken, you’re going to pay for the abuse,” Sakaata said and pointed towards the door. I staggered to my quarters.
A relaxing sensation rippled through me as I hit the bed, unwashed, and fully clothed.
* * * *
When I woke, I washed and worked my way to the Mess hall. It was crowded with army and navy personnel. The distinction between branches seemed to have vanished. After a good breakfast, I reported to the Bridge.
“It’s your watch. The Snowcat is proceeding at quarter speed. We anticipate we’ll arrive at Elbe’s space station in ninety-six hours. Everything that can be done has been. I’m off to get some sleep.” Sakaata waved and exited the Bridge.
I sat in the Captain’s chair and reviewed the damage control monitors. The Snowcat was barely operational. Our odds of winning a fight with a Shark were two to one against. I used the controls in the Captain’s chair to switch through the various sections and talked to each section head. The carnage looked worse in the monitor than the written description would indicate. Lieutenant Commander Willard of Environmental and Commander Numan of Engineering were dead. Lieutenant Commanders MacAll and Iglis were among the walking wounded. Four lieutenants had died and three were in serious condition. Two chiefs were killed and two seriously injured. Forty-nine Riss were dead and five injured. It was a miracle that Elissa and Jaelle had survived, thanks to Rejuv. I concluded war was a nightmare from which I hoped someday to wakeup.
Chapter 19
The Vancil floated silently in a system classified as 71B271C. The sun, a Red Dwarf, had three lifeless planets circling it.
“It’s been four days and we’ve had no contact from Sa’Velte or the others. I think we’re waiting here for nothing. It seems the rumors are true and the entire fleet has been destroyed.” Dione Ka’Baako spoke the words as she sat drinking her third glass of Ling wine. “The question is, what do we do next?”
“We’ll wait two more days. If no one shows, we’ll return to Freeland and get new instructions,” Toma Ka’Baako said, his sharp retort a clear sign of his growing frustration.
Dione laughed. “Maybe the clan will give up on raids and make us all merchants. It seems it would be far more profitable when you consider the co
st of producing cruisers. Our merchant ships return profits between forty and fifty million on each run, and our ships last for decades.”
“Maybe you’re right. The question is whether the SAS is smarter than us or whether we’ve selected reckless and stupid Captains for our raiders. Perhaps we should command the war ships.” He smiled at the thought.
“Perhaps, Toma,” Dione said, gulping down the remaining wine in her glass and reaching for the bottle to refill it.
* * * *
Two days later, a Light cruiser entered the system.
“What do you think, Toma?” Dione asked. “It’s certainly not one of Sa’Velte’s hunting nest. We can’t hide, and we certainly can’t out run it. If they aren’t clan, we can always claim we’re lost and need help. Of course, if they’re competitors, that would be the ultimate irony.”
“Boiko says he’s receiving a Baptiste signal. Our visitor claims to be the Coral,” Toma said and shrugged with resignation. “Boiko, tell them we’re the Vancil, a trader out of Darkov.”
As they waited, the Coral slowly came to rest several hundred kilometers from the Vancil, and dispatched a shuttle.
* * * *
A half-hour later, the shuttle entered one of the Vancil’s empty bays, and a rotund man with a bushy unkempt beard and mustache exited along with four heavily armed men. Toma had elected to meet them personally. The tension would be high with none of the Sa’Velte cruisers in the area. He hoped his appearance, unarmed, would avoid any knee-jerk violence that may otherwise result.
“Toma Ka’Baako, I presume. I’m Captain Da’Maass, and these…” he waved to the four men spread out behind him, “…are my chaperones.”
“Welcome, Da’Maass. Will you join me for a drink? I have some fine Ling wine,” Toma said and gestured to the corridor. The Vancil was a typical merchant ship, the hull bare to provide the maximum cargo space; however, the Captain’s cabin and adjoining conference room were comfortably appointed. The chairs were covered with animal skin, which looked well used. The table was made of wood and sat on a woven-wool rug with an intricate flower and animal design. It looked in good condition but had seen better days. The conference room was meant to give the impression of a moderately successful merchant—one that was neither desperate for business nor too well off to accept a lower than standard rate. While Toma greeted the group from the Coral, Dione had in anticipation, placed three glasses and two bottles of Ling wine on the table.
“Please, Captain, sit and be comfortable,” Toma said as soon as they entered the room. Da’Maass scanned the room as if he couldn’t believe it was empty, before sitting. His four men stood spread around looking like statues, except for their eyes, which continuously scanned the area. “I’m curious why you’re here and Sa’Velte or one of his nest aren’t.”
“You seem suspicious, Captain,” Dione said, when he looked in her direction.
“Not suspicious, just...clan.” He snorted. “Well, where is he?”
“I honestly don’t know. I’ve been waiting here for six days. He or one of his cruisers should have been here four days ago. At first, I assumed he became delayed. I now believe that the rumors Dione heard on Retreat are true.”
“Rumors are not to be relied on. The clan frequently uses them to our advantage. There is no reason to believe the SAS can’t do the same.” Da’Maass reached over and poured himself a glass of the wine, which he drained in one gulp.
“True. I assume then that you are not interested,” Toma shrugged. “Just as well, it’s an unpleasant story.”
Da’Maass laughed and slapped the table. “A typical trader. If you can’t get your client drunk, you talk until you wear him down, and they’ll give you anything to shut you up. You win. Tell me your story, before I have to get unpleasant.” He poured himself another glass and drained it before Toma could continue.
“Typical raider, use force—” Toma held up his hand when Da’Maass’s face turned into a snarl. “Dione, tell Captain Da’Maass what you heard.”
“I was visiting the bars on Retreat hoping to find targets for Sa’Velte and his fleet. Our meeting had been set for three weeks from then. He had intended to return to the Oracle Sector if I couldn’t find something interesting in Darkov. I was following up on a rich merchant who operated between the Darkov and Oracle sectors. This merchant deals in anything illegal that returns a good profit and purported to be well armed. I was trying to determine how well armed,” Dione said. She took a swallow of her wine before continuing. Da’Maass’s angry stare made her throat dry. “I stopped at a table with three crew members, who looked to be off a shady merchant or small pirate ship. They’d just arrived from Elbe the previous day. One of them said that two navy ships had intercepted four armed ships. He’d heard from someone who worked at the Elbe space platform that five of the ships had been destroyed. One had survived, but it wasn’t capable of FTL flight. The Elbens didn’t seem interested in investigating. As we were leaving, another crewmember said he’d heard that it had been two navy Hunters and four raiders. The ship that limped into Elbe was a navy Hunter. Apparently, it was barely operational when it arrived. The big buzz was that the Hunter had a Riss-human and Riss on board.”
Da’Maass slammed the table hard causing two glasses to tip over and the other to shatter on the floor. He stood, pointing a fist at Dione. “Damn you to space! You were supposed to kill that bitch. Everywhere she appears we lose clan and ships.”
“I can’t kill her while she’s on a Hunter. Why haven’t the clan’s raiders killed her? They’ve certainly run across her often enough,” Dione said as she stood, her face flushed. They stood glaring at each other, neither willing to drop eye contact.
“Pointing fingers solves nothing. Lieutenant Reese, who is now a Commander, certainly didn’t destroy our cruisers. The navy ships did. We were told to kill her, but she hasn’t been planetside since we arrived. We can’t do the impossible.” Toma waved for Da’Maass and Dione to sit. “The Hunters finding Sa’Velte’s fleet was probably another case of bad luck, in which Reese may or may not have been involved. Whether she was or not, she’s become a dybbuk to the clan. She must die if only to make the clan feel like we’ve won a small victory. I don’t believe the Vancil has been compromised. The Hunter will require major repairs and will be in Elbe for some time. We’ll return to Elbe and kill her or arrange for her death.”
Da’Maass sat back, downed his fourth glass of wine and poured another before speaking. “Whatever it takes, she must die. The Clan demands it.” He took another swallow. “Have you found any targets for me? I feel like killing something—anything.”
“Yes. There’s a passenger ship on Auspex as we speak. They’ll be leaving with a group of VIPs from several of the Darkov sector’s larger colonies. They’re headed for a conference in Eden. The ship is faster than the Coral, but since you know were they’re going, you can lie in wait for them. I don’t believe they’ll try to outrun your missiles given the importance of their passengers. They’ll think first about their lives, not the consequences. If they don’t stop, you’ll have something to kill.” Dione smiled and raised her glass to Da’Maass. He returned the gesture.
“To Clan Baptiste,” seven voices echoed.
Chapter 20
The Snowcat had been lucky, if you call two hundred thirty-six deaths out of a crew of five hundred lucky. On the Leopard, the engines had exploded and only ninety-seven had survived. During the four days it took to crawl back to Elbe, eleven of the seriously injured had died. Between the two Hunters, we were one hundred thirty-nine short of a full compliment. Worse yet, when looked at specialties, we were barely fifty percent manned, since environmental and engineering took major damage on the Snowcat and were completely destroyed on Leopard.
The four days to Elbe seemed an eternity. Those of us who’d survived uninjured, like those of us on the Bridge, felt guilty when we took stock of the friends and crewmembers who’d been killed or seriously injured. Rejuv saved lives and could repair ma
jor damage to the body, but the body still required time to recover and complete the repairs the Rejuv began.
I spent most of my off-duty time visiting the various sections. I don’t know if I did it more for me or for the living.
Thalia’s subtle reminder we mourned for our loss not for them. They were beyond our ability to help or comfort or... If one wasn’t careful, the mourning would soon become self-pity and debilitating.
“Alena, how are you coping?” She was in work clothes and as dirty as the two mechanics next to her in the pit with the five-ton pump. She jerked up too quickly and I could see the pain register on her face.
“Commander.” She turned back to one of the men. “Harrow, you and Cemano take a break. We’ll finish after you get something to eat—in the mess hall where you can relax for an hour.” She wiped her hands on a towel she had over her shoulder and walked over to me. “I think we’re making progress. With the reduced number of crew and the large number of facilities inoperative, we can get by at fifty percent operational.”
“You’ve done a good job restoring the unit to the current level,” I said and meant it.
“You’ve helped us all. Your advice about poking our noses into everything is now paying off. We’re understaffed and I’m competent to assist with the repairs and even help diagnose problems. And it takes my mind off...”