Paul chafed at the unfamiliar sensation of literally being in the dark. As an officer, he was used to be able to see situations. But, then, I probably don't want to see the Maury until I have to. How bad is the damage? How many of her crew died? That question again, the one he couldn't avoid thinking about.
"On final approach to the Maury," the gig's conning officer announced over the officers' command circuit. "Do you still want me directly amidships, Lieutenant Kilgary?"
"Affirmative." Kilgary's voice was almost that of a stranger, cold and controlled. "As close as you can get us."
"It's pretty ugly out there, Lieutenant. Lots of junk drifting loose."
"Don't risk the gig. We can jump to the Maury."
Paul felt grateful he was surrounded too tightly by sailors to be able to shiver. The survival suits had a limited self-maneuvering capability and he'd jumped through space as part of his training. But he remembered the endless dark all around, the sense of falling forever with nothing to grab onto, the feeling that if he missed his objective he'd just keep falling and falling until his suit's power and air gave out.
The gig lurched a few more times. Paul felt torn between dread at leaving the gig and a growing sense of urgency. Let's get going, dammit!
A moment later, the gig's conning officer called again. "That's as close as I want to risk it, Lieutenant Kilgary. I've got the gig's main hatch lined up with the Maury."
"Roger. I'm popping the hatch now." The hatch surface receded, then Lieutenant Kilgary pushed herself out, holding onto the inside with one hand while she looked around. "Mary, mother of God. Paul, Sonya, it's worse than I thought. The Maury's amidships is totally devastated. Both main engineering compartments definitely blew."
"Can you see survivors?" Lieutenant Sindh asked.
"No. I don't expect to, either. Not in this area." Paul heard a hiss as Kilgary drew in a breath. "It looks to me like everyone in engineering must have been wiped out."
I didn't hear it. I didn't hear it. I don't know what's happened to Jen. I won't know for a while. Just do my job. Think about that. Only that. There are people depending on me.
"I'm going to take Team One in deep amidships, try to assess internal damage and find out if anything or anybody's left. Paul, Team Two goes forward. Sonya, Team Three goes aft. It looks to me like the survival bulkheads held, so we want to strengthen and seal them. Find weak points and get them reinforced. Plug holes. You know the drill."
Paul and Lieutenant Sindh answered up simultaneously. "Aye, aye, ma'am." Lieutenant Kilgary wasn't Colleen to them right now, she was the officer in charge.
"Look for air-tight boundaries. Anyone in the forward or after sections will be trying to maintain the integrity of those compartments. If you find a working internal airlock, send someone through to make contact. We have to know what shape the Maury's remaining crew is in. Any questions? Okay, I'm launching. I want everybody to follow, one by one. Keep your spacing."
Kilgary lined herself up on something Paul couldn't see, braced herself, then pushed off. The gig bobbled slightly in reaction, then the first sailor in Team One was at the hatch, raising fingers one by one as he counted to five before pushing off in turn. As more sailors left, the gig's maneuvering thrusters began firing in quick bursts, compensating for the reactions created by the sailors shoving off against the hatch.
Paul shuffled forward, getting only glimpses of the Maury until he reached the hatch. Once he got his first clear view, Paul gasped, staring at the damage. His first impression, that something had taken bites out of the Maury, was replaced by an image of monsters inside the Maury who'd burst out, shattering everything around them. Where the engineering compartments should've been there were instead a couple of irregular areas in which everything had been blasted outward and away. Surrounding those cleared areas were sections where the blasts had torn and smashed their way along the lines of least resistance, leaving a tangle of wreckage in their wake. The masses of wreckage gave way to either open space or disappeared in the shadows created by the still intact portions of the Maury.
The last member of Team One leaped across the gap, his shape dwindling rapidly toward an area where Lieutenant Kilgary had gathered the rest of her team. Paul aimed for a point closer toward the Maury's bow, where he could see the remains of a compartment that seemed to offer a decent landing area. Okay. You've done this. Remember the drill. Line up your body. Both feet set firm. Push off evenly with both legs so you don't go off to one side. Don't push too hard because you'll reach your objective at that same speed. Keep your eyes on your landing spot. Ready. Go. He aimed and jumped, pushing off just as he'd learned during his training, not putting too much force into the effort, trying not to think about the infinite emptiness he'd just hurled himself into.
There wasn't anything under him, or above him, or to either side. Just the endless dark, lit with trillions of sparks of light. If Paul looked in those directions, he felt as if he might have been motionless, unable to judge his own movement against the incredibly distant stars. Part of his mind marveled at that. Both the Maury and the Michaelson's gig were traveling through space at speed measured in kilometers per second, yet Paul felt none of that since he was moving at the same speed and there was no air resistance, gravity or friction to slow him relative to the ships. He felt tempted to look back toward the gig, but remembered the warning not to take his eyes off his target. More than one jumper had slammed painfully into a target they'd forgotten to watch. But as he did look directly at the target, Paul felt like he was falling onto it. It took a determined effort to focus on the fact that his body wasn't accelerating under gravity's pull as it would in a fall, but was moving at a steady pace even though his Earth-bound experience kept insisting that couldn't be happening.
Despite his concentration on his target, the ruined compartment on the Maury grew in size with shocking speed as Paul got close. Paul swung his feet forward and took the impact with flexed legs. He could almost hear an instructor grunting out a reluctant "not bad" as he grabbed hold of the nearest object, in this case a section of electrical conduit swinging free on one end. The friction pads built into the survival suit gloves held firmly onto the conduit's smooth surface. Paul tested his stability, then looked up just as the first sailor on his team came flying into the compartment only about a meter from him. Blast it. I should've remembered to get clear of the landing spot. Paul swung off to one side, motioning the sailor to clear the area as well.
More sailors came sailing into the ruined compartment, landing with varying degrees of force and grace. Last came Chief Meyer, grunting as he landed. "Where to, sir?"
Paul looked around, trying to judge where best to go. "Our orders are to proceed to the survival bulkhead forward of the damage. Let's move toward the Maury's bow."
"Yes, sir. Spread out or stay together?"
Tough question. Spreading out would let them learn more, faster. But also separate them in an environment rendered unknowable by the damage the Maury had sustained. "Together. There's no telling what's blocked up ahead. I'd rather not have some of the team cut off from the rest of us."
They moved through the compartments, roughly along the line where the Maury's outer hull had been. Segments of the inner hull, unmistakable with their hollow, honeycomb shapes, still clung to structural members or were bent back by the force of the blast. Wires and fiber optic cables drifted across his path, while clouds of fragmented insulation and other materials floated amid the wreckage. A large piece of warped metal that might have once been a control console in engineering had been wedged across their path, requiring the team to traverse some of the rougher areas. Paul reached for a pale, white object for his next hold, then stopped in mid-reach. It's an arm. The limb, naked against space, protruded from a crushed compartment. Is somebody still attached? I can't find out now. Not that I want to find out at all. He reached elsewhere. "Watch out for human remains." Somehow, Paul's voice didn't shake.
"Sir? Mr. Sinclair?"
"Yeah, Chief."
Meyer pointed inside the Maury. "I'm pretty sure we need to head inside, now."
Paul checked his position, trying to remember exactly where the next survival bulkhead would be located. Once seen, the survival bulkheads were impossible to mistake, with their extra armoring and damage control equipment. But from outside the Maury, with her hull torn ragged and internal compartment arrangements jumbled, Paul couldn't get be sure of the distance remaining. "How sure is pretty sure, Chief?"
"Real sure, sir."
"Okay. Let's go." Paul led the team deeper into the Maury, wending past obstacles and wriggling through some tight spots. He reached a relatively clear passageway and followed it forward, his team following. Funny. When I led that damage control team into a fire on the Michaelson, there wasn't time to think. And I couldn't see a thing because of the smoke and all. Now there's too much time to think and way more to see than I want to see.
The survival bulkhead was easy to recognize when they reached it, both because of the scarred armor still protecting it, and the three bodies floating near the sealed hatch leading forward. Paul wanted to hang back, wanted to let someone else go close, but knew he had no right to demand that of anyone. Steeling himself and trying to tighten his throat against any urge to throw up, he pulled himself forward to the hatch. One of the sailors had somehow survived the blast for long enough to grab a survival suit which remained clenched within one of her frozen hands. The other two had apparently died in the explosion, judging from the injuries visible on them. "Chief." Paul felt his voice squeaking, swallowed, and spoke again. "Chief Meyer. Detail someone to secure these remains. We want to make sure nothing happens to them."
"Yes, sir."
Paul examined the bulkhead, trying to ignore the feeling that the Maury's dead sailors were watching him accusingly. It's not my fault. Whatever happened here isn't my fault. I'm trying to save your shipmates. "Chief, it looks to me like the survival bulkhead is damaged but holding. There seems to be atmosphere on the other side, but the airlock here looks too damaged to use. What's your assessment?"
Meyer made a careful examination himself before answering. "I concur, sir."
"Okay, then, let's break the team into sections, two sailors per section. I want them to work to all sides from here, checking for damage to the survival bulkhead, pressure on the other side, and any working airlocks leading forward. Everybody is to exercise caution. Understood? Report in every . . . five minutes."
"Every five minutes, aye."
Chief Meyer quickly divided up the team. Paul found himself paired with Petty Officer Velos. Despite the circumstances, he found himself trying to remember what she looked like underneath the survival suit, then felt a wave of self-anger. How can that thought even cross your mind? He knew the thought was born of anxiety, a desperate need for distraction, but he still felt sick over it.
More wreckage blocked paths along normal routes, but openings were available where there shouldn't have been openings. "Sir?" Petty Officer Velos pulled herself down near deck level. "There's a hole here."
A hole. In a survival bulkhead. Whatever had made that hole had to have been traveling very fast. Paul grabbed a nearby tie-down and pulled himself next to Velos, then frowned as he checked the damage. "It's been patched. From the inside." Somebody's still alive in there. Thank heavens for that, at least.
"Yes, sir. I bet it could still use some reinforcing from this side."
"Good idea. Go ahead." Paul swung away as Velos pulled out some materials from her backpack and went to work. "Chief? Any luck?"
Chief Meyer's response sounded faint due to the interference of the transmission from the wreckage. "No joy, sir. A few teams report finding holes in the bulkhead. They're patching any that haven't been already taken care of."
"Roger, Chief. Your transmission's weak. How do you read me?"
"Weak but readable, sir."
"Same." Paul looked around, finally spotting a compartment number. "I've just about reached the inner hull going this way. We'll be heading back your way in a few minutes."
"Aye, aye, sir."
As Paul had predicted, he and Petty Officer Velos ran into a dead-end at the inner hull only a few meters farther on. Paul thumped the inner hull sections nearby, trying to determine if they remained intact and still held water inside them. When that method failed, he checked his suit's radiation readings. Radiation is being blocked. Water must still be in there. Good.
The return journey went quicker, since they knew the way. Chief Meyer and half the damage control team were already there when Paul arrived. "Sir? Lieutenant Kilgary wants to talk to you soon's as you got back."
"Thanks, Chief." A quick circuit switch. "Lieutenant Kilgary, this is Lieutenant Sinclair."
"Paul. This is Colleen. What's your team found up forward?"
"It's a mess, but progressively better as we got farther forward. Number Two survival bulkhead held. We patched some holes in it, and found other holes had been patched from the inside."
"From the inside? Great. Any communications with the Maury's crew?"
"No, ma'am. None of the internal airlocks we found were judged safe to use."
"I was afraid of that. The damage near the engineering compartments is unbelievable. I've got my team and Lieutenant Sindh's team bracing the remaining structure so the Maury doesn't rip herself apart. I need two things from you. First, I want your team to check your area again, but this time for structural stability. Tell Chief Meyer to look for places that need to be reinforced. Second, can you find the forward external airlock on the Maury if you move along the outside of the hull?"
Paul pondered the question for a moment. He knew exactly where to reach that airlock from the inside, but the outside of the Maury provided few clues to your location when you were crawling along it. Still, if I orient myself using the parts of the Maury's insides that have been exposed, I should be able to find it. "Yes. I think so."
"There's still no communications with the Maury. We need to know what's going on inside her. Leave Chief Meyer in charge of your team and get to that airlock. Bring along a portable power unit so you can open it up. Find out what the survivors need, and make sure they know not to try to power up anything, especially any maneuvering systems."
"Aye, aye, ma'am." It wasn't until then that Paul realized he'd volunteered to crawl along the outside of a crippled spacecraft. Okay. I can do this. Just keep my eyes on the Maury's hull. The friction pads on my hands and feet should hold me to her. "Chief Meyer, this is Mr. Sinclair. I've been ordered to find the Maury's forward external airlock. You've got the team until I get back." He quickly passed on Kilgary's instructions.
"Aye, aye, sir. If we spot anything, do we try to fix it?"
Paul hesitated. "Try to report it to Lieutenant Kilgary. If you can't, use your judgment. Err on the side of keeping this ship together."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"I'll need a portable power unit with enough juice to cycle that airlock."
"No problem, sir."
No problem. Paul kept repeating that phrase to himself as he moved along the damaged portions of the Maury, peering into compartments ripped open to space so he could tell where he was relative to the airlock. Clouds of debris floated and spun through the wrecked areas, some of the larger pieces identifiable as the remnants of equipment or personal items, and occasionally one that was probably a remnant of one of the crew. That's . . . one of the passageways through officer's country. I guess all the staterooms got taken out, too. I sure hope no one was in their bunk when it happened. Or maybe that would've been a mercy. Okay, that means the airlock should be about . . . that way.
He paused, watching a rectangular piece of paper twisting through the airless ruin of the officers' staterooms. The paper's front came into view as it rotated, revealing it to be a photograph of a smiling woman, the seashore at her back a weird contrast to the deadness of space. Girlfriend? Mother? Wife? Sister? Whichever, I hope your someone gets safely home t
o you. Or that they never knew what hit them. The memory of the dead sailor at the survival bulkhead haunted him. She'd lived long enough to get the suit, feeling the cold and the emptiness as the compartments around her decompressed, knowing at some point that she'd never make it into that suit before she died.
The torn portions of the hull came to an end. Paul let go his last grip on the wreckage and began moving across the outer hull. Like all warships, the Maury's hull had been kept smooth to minimize the chances of being spotted. Corners and edges caught things like light and radio waves, creating visible signatures for unfriendly eyes searching space. Right now, feeling a bit like a fly crawling over a sheet of glass, Paul wished someone had figured out how to install hand grips on a ship's outer hull anyway.
His friction pads gripped well, but the circular motions required to lift each pad before moving a hand or a foot began to fatigue his arms and legs rapidly. How much farther? The hull presented an almost featureless expanse on all sides. If I miss it, how will I know which way to go looking for it?
Rule of Evidence Page 11