Jeri had the same thought as I did. We both began running towards the laser's source while Kyle was dealing with the other one. If you're wondering where the marines were, the Snappers knew about them and had gone for their emplacements first thing. Most of the ones outside the ship were dead. I jumped over two of their burned bodies on my way to the alien vehicle.
Jeri made it there first, but I was right behind her, getting close enough just in time to slither in under the beam at the point where it couldn't depress enough to hurt me. I needn't have bothered. The canopy above me and part of the alien car just disappeared. Jeri had maneuvered herself into position to effectively target her disintegrator on it. The bottom half of its occupants were still in place, leaking a thin ruddy orange fluid through severed alien entrails. The stench was horrible.
I turned back around but by then it was almost over. The airlock opened again and another squad of marines came charging out.
"Inside, everyone inside!” one of the sergeants cried above the noise of his rifle as he fired three shots together, then three more.
I looked around and saw Kyle running back toward the ship, assisted by Gordon. I didn't know when Gordon had come outside; he'd been under orders to stay inside until Jeri came in. But he had his own arm around Kyle's waist and Kyle's left arm gingerly over his shoulder. Kyle was pale and missing part of that left arm. Jeri grabbed hold of his right one and hurried him into the ship over his protests; Kyle wanted to help with the mopping up.
As soon as Jeri had Kyle, Gordon let go and rapidly began helping to hoist what wounded there were inside the airlock with that immense strength Crispies have.
I had no desire to do anything. I was nauseated and weak. All I wanted was to get inside and away from the sight of the charred bodies of friends and marines, men and women who had died so far from home.
* * * *
Again there was no question of recovering bodies. Captain Becker decided to get the hell away from there before the spaceship that had obviously been home for the Snapper aircars arrived. We had no idea of where it was or how it was armed, but almost certainly it would have lasers. That seemed to be their primary weaponry.
There was no real way of being sure but those aliens we met on Swavely's planet must have either had a starship in the system and deliberately concealed it for fear of it being destroyed, or one had entered the system right as we were leaving and somehow followed us. Or it might have remained hidden, intending to follow us if their attack failed. Or hell, maybe our unreality drive was leaving a trail of some kind and we didn't realize it. The last was the theory I liked best and I said so later when the Captain called a department heads meeting. He announced that both our satellite and the ship's systems had picked up emissions of the same sort the Snappers used when communicating between settlements on Swavely. That meant a ship somewhere.
We were already hightailing it out of the system as fast as we could go anyway, so there was little else we could do at that point. Jeri, Kyle, and Gordon headed straight for sickbay. I was headed for my quarters until a general announcement summoned me to sickbay, too.
Shit, I thought. What do they want me there for? Then I realized that they were probably inundated with injured, and as a geneticist I had enough background to at least make a decent orderly.
I went.
I wished I hadn't.
* * * *
It wasn't pretty at all. Doctor Honeywell and his chief surgeon, Dr. James Frederick Kingston, or “JFK” for short, as well as one other physician I hadn't had occasion to encounter, were up to their elbows in blood and guts, literally. As soon as he saw the mess, Kyle insisted that his arm be bandaged and Jeri and Gordon concentrate on helping those who were in more dire straits.
I scrubbed up and donned a clean lab coat, then did what I was told, as our three nurses triaged the patients. Between carrying trays of surgical equipment and locating bandages, I heard one of the nurses call, “Dr. Honeywell!” in a tone that ... well, that made all of us stop and look up.
Honeywell handed over to his assistant to close the patient being operated on, and headed for the triage nurse. He looked down at the soldier on the stretcher and blanched. “Jeri, Gordon, I need you,” he said immediately.
I managed to pass close enough to see what was going on, and then struggled to keep from heaving up my guts: One of the marines was lying there with half of his own guts missing, but he was still alive and conscious. Oh, God, I thought, and it was, even for me, nearly a prayer.
Jeri and Gordon, followed by a newly-bandaged Kyle, moved to Honeywell's side, as did JFK as soon as he could finish with his current patient, and they all looked at each other, trying to hide their horror. Honeywell and JFK looked questioningly at Jeri and Gordon. Both Crispies shook their heads, and I understood: they had to have time, as well as something to work with, in order to perform healings. This soldier, Murphy by the name on his uniform, wasn't going to last long enough for that.
Murphy saw their expressions and knew what it meant. He grabbed Honeywell's hand. “It's okay, Doc,” he managed to grate out. “I've seen you in the chapel, too. You and I know where I'm goin'. I'm not afraid of death. It's ... the dying ... it hurts, and I...” Fear filled his eyes. “Don't let me lose it, not right at the end. Help me cross over in peace."
Honeywell and JFK exchanged looks. “That, we can do, Murphy,” he said softly. “That, we can do."
JFK glanced up and saw me. He pointed at the nearest nurse. “Give that stuff to her,” he said urgently, “and go get a morphine pack."
I shoved my surgical kit into the arms of the indicated nurse and sprinted for the supply cabinets. In seconds, and with the assistance of another nurse, I was back with the morphine. By then, Gordon and Jeri were using their perceptive abilities to help anesthetize the dying soldier. I handed the drug kit to JFK, who opened it and carefully injected a substantial dose into Murphy. Honeywell was bent over Murphy, holding his hand and murmuring what was evidently a quick prayer with him. Then their eyes met in understanding; doctor and patient squeezed hands lightly, and Honeywell was gone, off to work on a patient he had a chance of saving.
I started to go, but JFK turned. “Stay here, Doctor Trung, if you don't mind,” he murmured. “I'm going to see this boy through, the nurses are needed elsewhere, and I may need someone to fetch something. I hope you don't mind. It ... won't take long."
I nodded mutely and stood behind him, out of the way. Once the morphine took effect and added to what Gordon and Jeri were already doing, Murphy seemed to relax, fear fading away. “Thank God,” he whispered softly, with a slight smile. “I can handle this."
"Good,” Jeri murmured in reply. “Forgive us for being unable to do more."
"It's okay,” Murphy told her acceptingly. “Comes everybody's time, sooner or later. Some of us are sooner,” he gestured weakly at his missing guts, “and some come later.” He looked at Kyle and the Crispies.
"True,” Kyle agreed quietly.
We were all silent for a moment, contemplating that thought. No one knew I was like Kyle now except a very few. I knew that, unless I got shot or otherwise hacked up, I was one of those “laters.” But Murphy didn't have the luxury. His time was now.
Suddenly his eyes lit up. “It's here!” he said, excitement and recognition showing through the death glaze that was starting to descend on his gaze.
It was the last thing he said. After a moment, JFK gently closed his eyes and pulled the sheet over his face. He turned and looked for his next patient.
I would have done the same, except for the expressions on two of my favorite Crispies’ faces. Jeri and Gordon were staring at each other in a kind of shock.
"What's wrong?” Kyle asked in concern, putting his good hand on his wife's arm.
"Gordon ... did you feel it, too?” Jeri asked in an awed whisper.
"Yes,” he responded in a similar tone. “At least ... I think I did..."
"Feel what?” Kyle wondered.
&n
bsp; Gordon shook his head. “His life force ... it didn't fade, at least not like usual,” he explained, confused.
"It ... sort of ... left,” Jeri finished, puzzled. “Into the quantum foam. At least that's what it seemed like. That's just ... peculiar. Or is it? Can it be explained by quantum mechanics? Or unreality physics? Can it ... can it be explained at all?"
We all stared at each other. Judging by their expressions, I had to wonder if our converted Crispies might have discovered something humans had been agonizing over for ages.
* * * *
Once the rush was over, Jeri and Gordon worked on Kyle some, beginning to get the missing part of his arm regenerating. Eugene's leg was already beginning to heal. Both men were certainly in stable condition, thank God.
That's when the call came in.
"All section chiefs to the control room. Repeat, all section chiefs report to the control room immediately."
"Surprise,” Kyle muttered.
"No rest for the weary,” Honeywell said quietly. He checked to make sure he could be spared, captain's orders or no, and then we all headed for Control.
* * * *
We met in the control room so that the captain would be right there in case of emergencies or unanticipated repercussions from the fight on the planet.
"First of all,” Captain Becker began, “I want to thank a certain Crispy for disobeying initial orders and making a tactical decision in an emergency situation. Gordon, it is my considered opinion that your entrance into the fight kept it from being a total debacle."
"Thank you, sir,” Gordon said quietly. “I sensed what was going on a few seconds before the call to general quarters sounded. You might say I got a head start."
"You did excellently, and I, for one, thank you,” Becker noted.
"It seemed ... right,” Gordon shrugged, evidently slightly embarrassed.
"You've definitely proven yourself, I'd say, as well as Dr. Trung's theories about mentoring the transition process. Speaking of the good doctor: I have it to understand she believes we're being traced. What makes you think we've been leaving a trail, Ms. Trung?” Captain Becker said, turning his attention to me. He had his hands twined together on the conference table but they weren't making any nervous movements. It's just the way he liked to sit at meetings.
"Please, Captain Becker. I hate that term. Call me Mai or, if you insist on being formal, it's Miss Trung.” I always had to remind him.
He nodded and I continued, still not knowing how he was going to address me next time. “Sir, it's just too much of a coincidence for another spaceship to show up in this system the same time as us and to be the same kind of aliens as the last contact and to attack us both times while we were grounded. If it is just chance, then this area of space ought to be swarming with their ships."
"Do you have anything else to base your conjecture on?
"No, sir, other than that I don't believe in coincidences, not of this kind. And we saw no signs of occupation before we landed."
"Comments?"
"I have to agree,” Jeri said. Both the Crispies were present at the captain's request, just as I was. I suppose he was looking for opinions from his top scientists.
Before she could say anything else we were interrupted. While Captain Becker handled that, she closed her eyes and went back to concentrating on growing a new arm for Kyle. Jeri had insisted on bringing him along so she could be close to him and keep the healing process going.
"Com."
"Go, Com."
"Sir, we've picked up a tail."
"How close?"
"Just on the verge of our capabilities, sir, but they're maintaining a bit more than our speed. At first they were flicking in and out of contact, but it's constant now. At the present rate, we'll be inside the diffusion range of a heavy laser cannon in four to six hours."
"Major Wong?"
"That's an extrapolation, Captain,” the chief engineer said, leaning forward in her seat to speak. “We have no factual data on how powerful their laser cannons will be if that's what they use in space. Nor do we have any idea of what other weaponry they might have. However, if the projections are correct, then that's what we have. And it is all we have to work with at present.” She eased back upright and waited.
"Comments?” No one had more to say on that subject. “Then let's discuss intentions. Does anyone care to venture an opinion?"
"Perhaps they believe they can chase us home. Back to our home system, I should say,” Commander Prescott ventured. His voice was muted from having to talk around a bandage on his face. “They may think we're already headed there."
"That may be, but they're crazy if they think that. Wait, I take that back,” Maddie said. “Twice now they've attempted to take our ship. Perhaps they were after astronomical data, and when that failed, they decided to try a pursuit."
"Possible,” Prescott said.
"Recommendations?” Becker scanned the circle of the control room.
"Try to outrun them,” Commander Prescott advised.
The rest of us agreed and Captain Becker nodded.
"XO, I want all available speed, same bearing. Let's see what kind of legs they have."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"And let's drop a torp and see what happens."
Aye, sir.” He commed Captain Larry Morrison, the weapons officer. He was an MIT graduate with a doctorate in physics and had worked for DARPA—Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency—before being pulled for duty with The Group. His long brown hair and chubby face made him look as if he should still be in college. He looked up from his alcove across the way, nodded and began preparations with CPO Perkins to launch a missile at the alien ship.
Becker didn't ask any of us who normally had no duty there to leave the control room, so I stayed. Probably he wanted us around in case the Snappers did something the control room personnel couldn't figure out that we might be able to help interpret.
After a while I began to wish I had left. The tension began mounting as our speed increased, and I began anticipating that horrible creepy-crawly sensation when the unreality drive kicks in to FTL speed.
But before that happened, I got to see our torpedo blossom into a red blotch on our screen and then fade to nothingness before it was close enough to do any damage. It seemed they had very good defenses.
I was sitting back in one corner out of the way with Kyle and Jeri beside me. Presently Jeri pointed to a power gauge. It was blinking yellow. The captain ignored it so I tried to do the same. I watched the monitor avidly. The Snapper ship had first been sighted when it was right at the edge of the screen. During the conference it had crept away from the edge as it gained on us. Now, with the Galactic going all out at its maximum speed of about 2 light years per hour—that's 12 trillion miles an hour for the uninitiated—the Snapper ship began to lose ground. The foremost perimeter of the screen seemed to creep up on it as it fell behind.
The power gauge began blinking from yellow to red. A few minutes later it settled into the red and stayed there.
"Redline, Captain,” Prescott warned, as was his duty, even though the captain was staring directly at the gauge.
"Maintain speed,” he said grimly. He intended to get away from the alien or blow the ship up in the process.
I found myself hoping a big safety margin had been built into the unreality drive. Eventually the gauge blinked back to yellow as if the ship was thinking for itself and decided it wasn't in danger. Then the ship jerked as it left the real universe and I became very ill.
Hours passed while we all sat there, relieved only by occasional cups of coffee or quick runs to the bathroom. Finally I had to take a break from the tension, and as if asking for permission to leave had given a signal, the captain dismissed half the control room personnel with orders to report back in four hours.
* * * *
The next day the captain commed and asked me to report to his cabin. When I arrived I found Jeri there as well.
"Just so y
ou both know, I will have your com screens modified to have a direct punch-up link to the control room permanently so Prescott or Maddie or myself can consult you immediately. No sense in your having to run halfway across the ship to come to the control room each time I'm there. Should've been done from the first, but we weren't fully thinking battle mode then.” He paused. “You can probably tell, we're running fast."
"Yes, sir,” Jeri noted, and I nodded. “Any signs?"
"Hard to tell,” Becker sighed. “You know how it works."
"Yes, sir,” Jeri nodded. I didn't, but I didn't plan to admit it to the captain. I'd ask Jeri as soon as we left his cabin, though.
"That's all I had,” Becker said. “I figured my two top scientists needed to have direct access to Control without having to run over the entire damned ship is all. The orders are already in the works. Expect it in your cabins by later today. Offices, a day or two more."
"Good,” I agreed. “Anything else we can do, sir?"
"Keep your eyes and ears open, and your brain in gear. Try to figure out if they really are trailing us, and if so, how. Dismissed."
We nodded and left.
* * * *
Once outside the closed door, I turned to Jeri. “Why can't we tell they're following?"
"Oh,” she said. “That's right; you wouldn't know. That's physics, not genetics. Well, we're not in normal space, we're in ... ‘unreality.’ How much physics and mathematics did you have?"
"Enough to get by for the genetics."
"Okay, then you know about real numbers and imaginary numbers,” she said, and I nodded. “And you know that imaginary numbers sometimes come into play in physics, for instance when solving for the kinematics of a harmonic oscillator, like a pendulum or a spring.” I nodded again, and she continued. “But normally, you discard the imaginary components. But we discovered that there's actually a facet of physics that utilizes those ‘imaginary’ solutions, and we used it to build the unreality drive. So that's why our sensors don't work like they do in normal space."
"Are you saying we're running blind?"
Darrell Bain Page 22