by Rob Buckman
“We copy, Prometheus.”
“Can you get down here and take over the tow, Charlie?”
“Oh god! Gramps?” Charlie Jenkins heard the call, and after seeing the telltale reading of the radiation leaking from the Prometheus, he knew what was happening.
“She’s done for, Charlie. I had to pull out all the stops to get us this far. She won’t last much longer.”
“On my way, Prometheus.” Charlie snapped, already pointing downward to his helmsman.
“Gramps! No. We can make it!”
“No, we can’t son. We have about fifteen, maybe twenty minutes before she gives out. Now get to the life pod! That’s an order.”
“But, Gramps…”
“Do I have to repeat myself, sailor?”
“No, sir.” Mike answer miserably. He knew that tone of voice. Gramps brooked no argument on some things, and this was one of them. Swearing a blue streak, Mike keyed in the autopilot, and bounded down to his cabin. It just took a moment to throw what little Gramps and he had brought aboard into a kit bag and dash for the life pod.
“I’m here, Gramps.” He called, switching on the pod’s systems.
“Good, now close the hatch and wait for me.”
“What!” For a second, he thought his hearing was playing tricks on him. “What did you say, Gramps. I didn’t hear it.” His grandfather came on screen them and gave him a wan smile.
“You heard me right, son. Close the hatch. It’ll keep the stray radiation out. I’ll be right there.”
“Radiation! Like hell, I’m leaving the hatch open. You have a couple of minutes to get here!”
“Close the hatch, Mike.” In the confusion, Mike looked at the hatch control, then back at his grandfather, unsure.
“Do it, Mike.” With a growl of protest, he stomped across the short space and hit the close button. The hatch hissed shut, and the moment it did the launch sequence started. Mike looked at it in horror, throwing himself across the pod to try and stop the launch. Nothing he did worked, and the seconds to launch continued counting down.
“You need to get into the shock frame, Mike.”
“Gramps!” It’s launching! I… I… I can’t stop it!”
“I know, son.”
“Wait… What do you mean you know…!”
“I’m not coming with you.”
“What!” He stammered. “I don’t understand.”
“Like I told Charlie, I had to pull out all the stops.” He held up his rad badge. It was solid black instead of white.
“Oh god!”
“Go, Mike, and may God’s speed be with you.”
“Gramps, I can’t stop the launch!” He screamed. Without thinking, he started scrambling for the exit hatch, but he knew it was useless. Once the launch sequence had started, there was no way to unlock the hatch.
“I know, son. I’m controlling it from here.” Mike beat on the hatch, then the cycle control to no avail.
“GRAMPS! Don’t do this…” He screamed. “We can get you treatment…”
“Too late for that, son. Massive radiation overdose.” Mike froze in horror. Gramps knew it, knew it when he’d pulled the rods all the way out. The shielding had failed and he knew it. That flash he’d seen was the radiation warning alarm, but Gramps must have killed it the moment it went off. He sat on the acceleration couch and cried.
“Why, Gramps?” He said at length.
“I had to do it to have any chance of getting the Queen Ann to safety.”
“But you could have put on a rad suit or…”
“I did put the rad suit on, and or what? Disengage the tow, and run for safety?”
“Oh god!” Mike then had a moment of perfect clarity. The decision, to disengage and run, leaving 300 passengers and crew to their fate, or stay and run the pile to the max knowing it would kill you.
“Gramps!” Was all he could say pass the lump in his throat.
“I know, son. And I love you too. Have done from the moment I brought you back from the hospital.”
“Ready to take up tow, Prometheus.” Charlie Jenkins voice was soft, almost sad.
“Breaking tow, Titan.” Mike felt a lurch as the Prometheus broke away, bucking and twisting without the drag of the Queen Ann.
“Have the tow, Prometheus.”
“Thank you, Captain Jenkins. Take them to safety.”
“Aye aye, Sir.” Charlie snapped formally.
Mike just sat and stared at the bulkhead, unable to move or say a word.
AUTOMATIC LAUNCH IN THIRTY SECONDS – PLEASE STRAP IN AND REMAIN IN YOUR ACCELERATION COUCH UNTIL AFTER LAUNCH. Mike’s eye flicked up to the counter, watching the numbers spin down. He didn’t move, or lay down, he didn’t care.
“Gramps.” He whispered.
“Lay down, son, and strap yourself in.”
“Gramps!”
“I uploaded a chip to your personal comp. When you get time you might want to play it.” The old face smiled at him. “You made the second half of my life even more interesting than the first half, son, and I love you for it.”
TEN SECONDS TO LAUNCH’. His body seemed to have a will of its own, and without conscious thought, he lay down and strapped in.
“Go with God, Mike.”
“GRAMPS!” He screamed one last time before the thrusters kick in and boosted the life pod clear of the Prometheus.
Up and out, the gravity pulling at his body feeling like a giant hand, pressing him down into the jell-pak mattress. Mike simply let the pod do what it was programmed for, but no sooner had it cleared the atmosphere when a tractor beam reached out and snatched the pod from its course. Immediately, the pod shut down its drive, as programmed and waited for retrieval. Through the armor-glass port, Mike saw the Titan and the Queen Ann emerge from the thin atmosphere like some leviathan from the deep as the life pod was heading for a docking with the Titan. To Mike it felt like they were adding insult to injury. The pod docked with a loud thud, and the hatch light turn from red to green, signaling air equalizing on both sides. The moment the hatch opened, Mike dived out, roughly pushing the deckhand out of the way, as he raced for the bridge.
“You money grubbing son-of-a-bitch!” He yelled at Jenkins as he stormed onto the Titan’s bridge.
“Mike… I…”
“Break off the tow, the Queen Ann is safe now, go get the Prometheus!” He yelled.
“I can’t!”
“You son-of- bitch!” Without even thinking, Mike stormed across the deck, fist clenched, ready to swing at Jenkins. Rock Hanson jumped in between, grabbing Mike by the upper arms to push him back.
“Get your dirty hands off me!”
Rock gave him a nasty grin and let Mike move in whipping his knee up to catch him in the crotch. Instead of Mike doubling over as expected, Rock yelled out in pain, his knee hitting something solid. He let go and grabbed his leg, and Mike simply pushed him out of the way. He lunged for Jenkins but before he could lay a hand on him, two deckhands grabbed him from behind. Both were older and tougher, and they jerked him back to slam against the bulkhead.
“Mike! I can’t go down and get, Gramps!”
“Why the hell not!” Mike yelled back, struggling with the two men.
“Because, Gramps ordered me not to.” His face had taken on the look of stone, motionless.
“Like hell! Since when did you start taking orders from Gramps!”
“Since before you were born, Mike.”
“What?!” He asked in confusion. Just then, the screen came to life, Gramps face behind the fuzzy image.
“Captain Jenkins!”
“Yes, sir,” Jenkins snapped back turning to face the screen.
“You will take the Queen Ann to safe harbor.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
“Gramps! Order him to come and get you!” Mike pleaded.
“Too late for the, Mike. The forward compartments have already collapsed. The heavy, overhead cross bracing supporting the Samson post, is about all that’s
holding the engine room together.”
“We can still get you!”
“Too deep for that.”
“I’ll come and get you if this son-of-a-bitch is too scared to.”
“No you won’t. Captain Jenkins, you will ignore any orders from my grandson to do anything other than what I have ordered you to do.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Good.” For a minute, the static got worse, then cleared.
“Attention on the bridge,” Jenkins snapped, squaring his battered cap on his head. “Admiral on deck!” He came to attention and saluted the screen. Even Rock struggled to his feet, and for a moment looked at the other crewmen, then came to attention and saluted with them.
“Thank you, Captain Jenkins, you always were a first rate officer.” Gramps painfully stood to attention and returned the salute.
“Goodbye, son. God’s speed.”
“Gramps!” But he was gone. Mike's eyes flicked to the main viewer, seeing the dull red blip of the Prometheus bloom for a moment. The pressure had finally crushed the remainder of the old tug. Air and water turned to ice, doubling the size of the radar return before it was swept away in the jet stream as if it had never been.
“Gramps!” Mike whispered, seeing nothing but a black void in front of him without his grandfather there beside him. For a moment, he teetered on the edge of the void, about to fall into it and never come back out. He couldn’t imagine his life without his grandfather, protecting, nurturing, and teaching. It was like suddenly looking at life without arms and legs.
“Chin!”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Do you have the Prometheus’ IFF transponder code?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Good, plug it in.”
“Captain?”
“You heard me! Do I have to repeat myself?”
“No, sir.”
“Take the helm, Mike. Take the Queen Ann home.”
“What?” Mike was too stunned to comprehend until Jenkins took him by the arm and led him over to the helmsman’s seat.
“Take the Queen Ann home to safety, Mike.” Numbly, he sat, and without conscious thought his eyes traveled over the status board.
“What the hell! I’m not giving up my share of the salvage to that fucking kid!” Rock yelled, nursing his knee.
“You’ll do exactly what I tell you, Hanson, or else!” Jenkins stalked across the deck and stood in front of the man, daring him to say a word. Rock backed down. There was a look in Jenkins eyes that he didn’t like. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, I’ll make sure of that.”
“Titan, this is the Queen Ann, do you copy?” Before anyone could move, Jenkins keyed his comm unit.
“This is the Prometheus, Captain Michael Gray in command, we copy you, Queen Ann.”
“Prometheus? But she went down…”
“I say again, this is the Prometheus, and we have you in tow.”
“Good god!” Captain Philips came on the screen and looked around the bridge, then nodded to himself. “Very well, Prometheus, I understand. Thank you for your assistance.” Mike listened, still numb, unable to keep track of what was happening.
“Is our contract still in force, Captain Phillips?”
“Indeed it is, Prometheus.”
“Very well, we are inbound to Christchurch and Port Stanley. Please be advised, that our ETA is approximately 35 hours and forty-five minutes.”
“Thank you, Prometheus, I have been so advised.” A sad faced Captain Phillips signed off and vanished from the screen. No sooner had he disappeared when the comm unit beeped again, and the outraged face of Jean Maxwell came on.
“What on earth is going on out there!” She demanded. “I have it on good authority that the Prometheus broke away from the tow!”
“And?” Jenkins asked.
“This is the Titan, you have the contract now.”
“I beg to differ, this IS the Prometheus, and we still have the Queen Ann in tow, inbound to Port Stanley.”
“Damn you, Jenkins. Don’t play games with me!”
“If you think this is a game woman, wait until I get to your office, I’ll show you what a game is!” He snarled back. His hand cut through the air killing the contact. Jean Maxwell’s outraged fat face vanished in mid word.
“Silly cow!” Jenkins muttered.
Mike sat in numb silence, not daring to say a word. He couldn’t, without his emotions getting the better of him. He’d misjudged Captain Jenkins by a country mile. He’d changed Titan’s IFF code to that of the Prometheus thereby ensuring all rights of the salvage to Mike. What prompted him to do it was anyone’s guess, but it went deeper than just one tugboat captain honoring another. The salute at the end, what was that all about? Mike stayed inside his safe emotionless prison and simply concentrated on steering the Titan and her charge home. He sat there for the whole voyage, refusing to be relieved less it break into his solitude.
Captain Jenkins stood at the back of the bridge for a time just watching Mike. In shock he might be, but there was nothing wrong with his piloting skills. Gramps had taught the boy well, and he handled the strange tug like a master. He knew about the captain’s license and Mike’s master mariner’s ticket seeing firsthand the confidence with which Mike handled his tug. If there was any doubt in his mind before, it was gone now. Mike’s judgment about going in to rescue the Queen Ann was another matter however.
He couldn’t make up his mind if it was youthful rashness, or calculated risk. No matter what it was, it had got someone killed, someone he admired very much. No matter what prompted Mike to go in, or any other tug for that matter, at that depth there was always a risk of someone getting killed or a tug getting crushed by the pressure. He couldn’t blame Mike for that, nor would he. No one ever said that the life of a tugboat crew was easy or free from everyday dangers, it was part and parcel of what they did. Any tow or salvage could turn nasty at a moment’s notice, but the question that nagged at the back of his mind was, how could he help, or stop Mike from beating himself up over Gramps’ death. He might not right now, what with the shock, but in the end, he would.
The welcome home in Christchurch was something none of them expected. The media got hold of the story and ran with it. Helicams buzzed everywhere poking their cold, impersonal noses into everyone’s faces. Sometime the speakers squawked to life and asked some inane question or other. Most of the tug crews ignored then, but more than one clubbed the camera into electronic scrap and dumped it in the nearest trash disposal. After that happened a few times, the media decided to avoid close encounters of the third kind and shot footage of Titan’s crew from long distance. That didn’t stop the talking heads from making up sensational stories about the rescue and speculating about the possible consequences. It had the effect of blowing Mike’s secret, which caused an embarrassed Port Captain and a few others to answer a lot of uncomfortable questions. Why was a 16-year-old boy captaining a deep space tug in the first place? That fed into the recounting of the spectacular fly-by of the Prometheus in full living color, and who was at the helm at the time? That prompted a full-scale investigation with charges and counter charges.
All in all, it was a rough time. They put Mike’s master mariner’s ticket on hold until he was 21 and suspended his captain’s license until he was 18. For Mike, it felt as if he had spent all his time in a courtroom of one sort or another giving testimony until he was sick of it. He rarely came out of his self-imposed fog, fearful the full weight of the emotional impact would be more than he could bear. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Jean Maxwell made an issue of paying off on the salvage. That took a Naval Board to sort out, but all the records indicated that the Prometheus had completed the rescue of the Queen Ann and her towing to port. They refused to listen to her charges that the Titan had changed her transponder code to match the Prometheus’ as irrelevant. They knew what had happened and why; all the board members saluted Mike for his resourcefulness, and Captain Jenkins for his compassion.
The subject of why no other tug would go in after the Queen Ann or why it took so long to negotiate a contract were also raised which placed Jean Maxwell in the hot seat. She squawked like a plucked chicken for a while, spouting off to the board and the media until she was summoned home by the CEO of the shipping line on the next available ship out. That turned out to be an old passenger-cargo ship that was more cargo than passenger. That was the last anyone ever heard of her. She did get the last laugh though, maintaining that the Prometheus was working under a standard Lloyds’ towing contract. It hurt as this was worth half of what it should have cost the insurance company. The question of whether Captain Phillips had endangered his ship by entering the planet’s atmosphere was broached, but a short board of inquiry decided to leave that question to the shipping line and the Earth authorities to answer. Mike let his attorney handle most of the matter, shying away from involvement less he reopen the wound, but it left him in a legal limbo. The money he’d received from the insurance company just about covered his legal expenses, while the insurance check for the loss of the Prometheus went to cover the expenses of the Titan and her crew. This left little or nothing in his credit account to cover day-to-day living expenses, but that was secondary to his legal status.
* * * * * *
Mike roused himself at the insistent knocking on the front door, having ignored the chimes for ten minutes. Another persistent local newsy begging for an interview wouldn’t have persisted so long. It had to be someone else. He froze for a moment when he opened the door, seeing his other grandfather standing there. He half-heartedly tried to close the door, but a large rough hand held the door ajar. In a way, he knew this moment was inevitable.
“What the hell do you want?” He snapped, turning his back and walking back into the living room. He knew why he was here, and legally he couldn’t stop Gordon Tregallion from entering the house, but he didn’t have to like it or be civil.
“A slightly less hostile tone would do for a start!” The big man replied.
“Why?” He looked at the man who looked so much like his brother and himself. Big, muscular, dark hair cut short, dressed in dark gray “moss worm” silk pants and shirt. He looked so much like Gramps, his brother Gordon Tregallion, it was almost heartbreaking.