"New contact!" Phelps shouted into his mike, alerting everyone in the operations center. "Sensors report a single point source." Chief of the Watch Maxwell rushed over to Phelps' station.
"Good catch, Chief. What've you got?"
"Jesus, Chief, a blind man could've seen that translation. It looks like a single ship came across the wall at full military power. I've never seen anything like it." He didn't even look up from his readouts, but continued reporting as more information scrolled by. "My birds are having a hard time cutting through the distortions, but I'm reading massive power fluctuations and an expanding debris field."
"An expanding debris field?" Chief Maxwell asked, frowning. "That makes about as much sense as a ship coming across the wall at full power. Are your sensors reading any explosions aboard the ship? Maybe the debris came from that."
"Negative. I would have to say the explosion took place immediately prior to jump. If that's the case, I'm surprised they even made it through the jump. Wait one." His hand pressed the earbud of his headset deeper into his ear. "I'm picking up something now from another bird, beyond the distortion field. It's an IFF signal. Signal reads as USS Fenris. She's one of ours."
"Brown, punch up data on the Fenris. Find out who she is and where she is supposed to be," Maxwell snapped, and Lisa moved to comply with his orders. He then reached past Phelps and cut himself into the watch officer's net. "Lieutenant, we've got something here you need to see."
An officious-looking lieutenant bustled over to the chief and his two techs and distractedly addressed the group while reading a pad.
"Okay, what've you got for me?"
Chief Maxwell looked up from Phelps' displays to the seemingly oblivious lieutenant.
"Sir, Phelps here has picked up a ship crossing the wall at max speed. IFF ID's her as the Fenris, and she's showing signs of heavy battle damage."
"The Fenris? What have you got on her?"
"Petty Officer Brown, what did you find on the Fenris?" Maxwell asked Lisa.
"Coming up now, Chief." Lisa began reading the information aloud, "Okay, here we go. USS Fenris, a heavy cruiser under the independent command of Captain Alexandra McLaughlin, currently attached to Admiral Stevens' battle group."
"Admiral Stevens? Aren't he and his battle group assigned to Groombridge 34?" The lieutenant had finally looked up from his pad at Lisa's litany, a quizzical look on his face.
"Here it is. Yes, sir. Admiral Stevens' battle group is assigned to the front lines, at Groombridge 34," Lisa replied.
"So what you're all telling me is that what we've got here is a ship, assigned to Admiral Stevens' battle group, showing up here showing signs of battle damage. Is that correct?" the lieutenant demanded of the three enlisted personnel in front of him.
"Yes, sir, that's what it looks like," Maxwell answered for the group.
"Run a reciprocal on her course and tell me where she came from."
"Aye, sir." Maxwell tapped Phelps on the shoulder, indicating he should begin the calculations.
"Got it, LT," Phelps called out as the final equations ran themselves out. "Reciprocal plotting shows an eighty-seven point four probability that the origin of her jump was Groombridge 34."
"Eighty-seven point four, huh? That's good enough for me. Patch me through to CIC, Chief."
"Yes, sir." Maxwell tapped some more commands into Phelps' panel then turned to the lieutenant. "CIC on the line for you, sir."
"Commander Easly, this is Lieutenant Ford in tracking. We've got something you need to see." He listened to his earpiece for a moment then replied to whatever he heard. "Yes, ma'am, sensor readings are on the way up to you now." He nodded to Phelps, who nodded back and began compiling his readings and forwarding them up to CIC. Phelps gave Ford a thumbs-up when all the information was sent.
"Data dump complete, ma'am. You should have it all, and we will continue a constant track and update you as the situation changes." He listened to the reply before responding and cutting the connection. "Yes, ma'am, I'll pass that along. Ford out." Turning to the team in front of him, he spoke again. "The commander passes on her compliments for the quick catch and rapid response from you three. Keep up the good work, and let me know if anything new develops."
"Yes, sir, we will," Chief Maxwell answered for the three of them.
"Very good. Carry on." And with that, the lieutenant moved back to his command console.
"Keep that up, Chief, and you'll be one in rank as well as name sooner than you think. You, too, Brown." Maxwell smiled down at the two blushing petty officers in front of him. "Now, you heard the LT. Keep it up, and let me know if anything develops as well."
"Aye, aye, Chief," they both responded quickly and spun back to their stations, trying to wring as much information from them as possible.
* * *
CIC had turned into a frantic hive of energy with arrival of the sensor readings from Lieutenant Ford's watch section. Admiral Sean Rachere, commanding Folkvang station, continued to stare at the "Eyes Only" pad he had been given when he first stepped into CIC, reading and rereading the pad over and over again. He kept coming back to the line "USS Fenris, Captain Alexandra McLaughlin, commanding." Slowly, a smile formed on his face. Rachere, a man of slightly less than average height, with short-cropped dark brown hair and dull, lifeless brown eyes, stood up from his command chair. His hand reached up to stroke his completely nonregulation goatee—it was good to be an admiral after all—and he turned toward the operations officer.
"Lieutenant Commander Milo, the Fenris still refuses our hails?" Rachere asked his comm officer perfunctorily.
"I don't know about refusing our hails, sir. She's heavily damaged. But the only transmission we've received is the encrypted recording from the emergency lifeboat. I don't think anyone's on board the lifeboat—they probably didn't even launch it. The transmission lag is dropping too fast in relation to the maximum speed of a lifeboat."
Rachere turned to the watch officer. "Commander Easly, contact bay three and have them prepare a fast courier. Tell the crew to plot an intercept course with the Fenris," Admiral Rachere ordered. "Tell them we will launch as soon as I arrive."
"As soon as you arrive, sir?" Commander Easly sounded shocked. "I don't understand."
"What part don't you understand, Commander? I am going to be aboard that courier when it meets up with the Fenris," he barked back at her. His face flushed slightly, hiding the light spattering of freckles that covered it. "Also, contact the master-at-arms. I want a squad of MPs on board as well, and I want them there before I arrive."
"Ah, yes, sir. I'll inform the courier-boat captain to expect your arrival and will have the MPs there before you arrive, sir." She sounded perplexed by the admiral's odd orders but moved to obey as he stood up and began to head for the hatch.
"Very good, Commander. Also alert Admiral Reynolds that she will be in command while I'm off-station."
"Yes, sir. Sir, shouldn't we send a larger ship to assist the Fenris? With that much damage, she'll have wounded on board, and her environmental systems may be nonfunctional." The admiral turned and looked back at the commander with a strange look in his eyes and an equally strange smile on his face. Easly stepped back.
"You have you orders, Commander. Carry them out." He turned back toward the hatch.
"Aye, aye, sir," she called to his retreating back. She could see a ten-centimeter scar running down the right side of the back of his head, and she smiled to herself, speculating how he had gotten it. Probably by being the officious, pompous prick that he is, and someone putting him in his place. That cheerful thought stayed with her as she turned back to her console and continued issuing orders.
And what is it with men and facial hair? They're always stroking it like it was a pet or something. Disgusting.
And just what the hell did that pad say?
* * *
Lieutenant Web, captain of the fast courier, hull number 254, ran though his checklist with his copilot.
&nb
sp; "Particle Drive?"
"Particle Drive, check," Ensign Coburn called off as he switched the drive to standby. Fast courier ships were the smallest ships to mount Particle Drives, but at the expense of weapons and armor. This was considered an acceptable trade-off in a ship designed for operations behind the front lines. The crews of the dozens of courier boats that had been lost to Xan-Sskarn fast attack frigates would argue that point—if the dead could complain.
"Reaction thrusters?" Lieutenant Web continued the litany.
"Reaction thrusters, check."
"Environmental?"
"Ah, Cap, did anyone tell you about MPs coming along on this trip?" Coburn asked as he saw the squad of marines forming up in the bay next to their craft.
"MPs?" Web craned his neck to look past his copilot to see for himself. "No. No one told me about any damn marines on my boat. All I got was an order for an emergency launch, and that we would have a passenger. Nothing more than that."
"Well, your passenger has arrived, Lieutenant, so you had best be prepared to launch," said a voice from the hatch leading to the flight deck behind them.
"We are. And while you're on my boat, you will refer to me as—" Lieutenant Web began waspishly only to freeze in mid-snarl when he turned and saw the owner of the voice.
"Yes, Lieutenant, I'll refer to you as what?" Admiral Rachere inquired, staring at the shocked face staring back at him.
"Ah, you'll refer to me any way you please, Admiral. Please excuse my rudeness—emergency launches always put me on edge," Lieutenant Web said apologetically.
"That's right, I will. You are forgiven, Captain. Emergency launches are stressful, but I would like to think that I have a good reason to order it." Admiral Rachere settled into the flight engineer's chair and began strapping himself down. Lieutenant Web could hear the thump of boots as the marines boarded his ship and settled down in the passenger compartment.
"Of course, sir. Okay, Coburn, looks like the marines are all tucked in. Let's go."
"Roger that, Skipper. Thrusters are coming on line now. She's all yours."
"Thanks." He nodded to his copilot and dialed up flight control. "Tower, this is Courier 254, request permission to launch."
"Courier 254, this is the tower, your flight path is clear and you are clear to launch,"a seemingly disinterested voice replied.
"Roger, tower. Courier 254 launching now." Web eased the throttle forward and felt himself being pushed back into his chair as the lights of the landing bay streaked by. Seconds later, the inky blackness of space surrounded Lieutenant Web and his ship. "Ensign Coburn, please bring the Particle Drive on line and set coordinates for intercept with the Fenris."
"Yes, sir, P-Drive coming up now. Coordinates locked in. Fifteen seconds to full drive envelope."
"Thank you, Ensign." Lieutenant Web turned his head and looked over his shoulder at the admiral behind him. "ETA to the Fenris, assuming she holds current speed and heading, is two hours forty-seven minutes." Web watched as the admiral checked his watch then smiled.
"Very good, Captain," Admiral Rachere said. Then, after a moment's pause, he spoke again, softly. "I've waited this long—I can wait another three hours."
Though the admiral's last statement was very low, Web still caught it.
"Excuse me, sir?" His voice quizzical.
"Oh, nothing, Captain," the admiral replied and settled back into his chair with a look of satisfaction on his face. "Nothing at all." Unnerved by the admiral's expression and tone, Lieutenant Web turned back to his controls. He would be glad when this particular flight was over.
Chapter Fourteen
USS Fenris
October 8, 2197
0925 z
Sol
Alex awoke to darkness, facedown on the deck. A heavy weight across her back pressed her down, and as she tried to move, a wave of pain flared through her body causing her to gasp out. As the pain subsided, she tried to ascertain her situation. Twisting her head around, she fought down the nausea even that small movement caused and surveyed her surroundings. The dim red lights of emergency lighting glowed feebly, diffused by the smoke filling the command deck, but there was enough liht to allow her to see. She felt more than heard the footsteps of someone approaching her.
"Captain McLaughlin?" the voice coughed out, raw but undeniably Ensign Green's. "Ma'am, are you alright?" There was deep concern and a tinge of fear in his voice.
"Still alive, Ensign. Don't know about alright, though." Alex barely recognized her own voice. It sounded to her as if she had been gargling razor blades. The acrid smoke that filled the compartment was choking her. With the weight across her back, she could not get a full breath. "Get this weight off my back, and I'll let you know."
"Ah, of course, Captain, just give me a sec." The voice had an odd quality that Alex could not quite understand. That is, until she felt the weight shift off her and she rolled onto her back. As the blinding pain subsided, she understood all too well. Commander Greg Higgins' blackened and burned face was mere centimeters from hers. She began remember. A shout, something heavy hitting her, flames, and then blackness.
"Oh, God," she whispered. "Greg!"
"Captain?" Green called out softly. Alex could hear the desperation in his voice but could not take her gaze off of her friend's disfigured face. "Captain, are you alright?"
Alex knew she had duties, knew she had obligations to what was left of her ship and crew, but just could not get past the face next to hers. It took a moment for her to realize that she was looking at Greg's face though only one eye. She fought down a wave of panic as she tried to lift her right arm to probe her face and find out why. The pain, worse than before, caused her to gasp and inhale a lungful of smoke, which in turn caused a spasm of coughing to wrack her body, setting every nerve ending in her body afire. Broken ribs grated together as she fought to stay conscious and get her body under control. Once she could concentrate on something more than the pain, she again tried to move her arm, this time very slowly. The pain that lanced through her body was bad, but not incapacitating. She gently felt the side of her face and could feel the swelling keeping her eye shut. She managed to take her gaze off of her friend's face and look up at Ensign Green. The concern on his face was evident. Her crew was decimated, her ship shot full of holes and falling apart around her. Two crews, two ships, two lost battles. Tears flowed from her one good eye, running down her soot-streaked face. There is no time for crying. She fought down that pain as well and tried to get her emotions under control. You are an officer, and you have a job to do, so do it.
"Battered, bruised, and beat to hell, Ensign, but raring to go." She forced a smile onto her face for his benefit. "What's our status?"
"Well, first off, Commander Higgins is alive, but barely." She could hear the relief in his voice at her revival. "We need to get him and the others to sick bay, but the lift is jammed and internal comms are down. I've got Chief Mendez trying to get comms back now."
"Good work, Ensign. What else?" She gasped out in pain as she tried to sit up. Green reached out to steady her as he continued his report.
"Engines are off line, but we're running near full out with the momentum we carried over the wall. Most of my sensors are burnt out, but from what I could see, we're home. I'm effectively blind beyond a few thousand kilometers, though. I have no idea as to the status of weapons—both primary and auxiliary panels are slag. That's all I can tell you at this time. I haven't had a chance to take a closer look at anything, I . . . " He faltered and stopped.
"You were looking after the wounded. I understand, and it was the right thing." She gave him a real smile now. "Help me up. Then get back to the wounded. I'll take care of the DC net from my chair, assuming any of the panels are working."
"Yes, ma'am." He put his arm around her and slowly rose to his feet, bringing her with him, then began to move slowly toward the command chair. Alex let out a hiss of pain with each step. She was sweating and shaking by the time they reached her chai
r. Ensign Green helped ease her down into it, then stepped back to look at her, the worried expression back on his face.
"Thanks, I'm fine," she rasped out to him and could see him hesitate to move on. "Really, I'm fine. Carry on, and I'll do the same." She tried to wink, but was reminded, painfully, that her right eye was swollen shut. So she decided to begin checking her panels and waited until he had moved off before leaning back into her chair, trying to get her mind to focus on something more than the pain. It took her a moment to realize that most of her panels were indeed working, and she could ascertain the status of her ship. It was worse than she had feared. Engines were definitely down, and there were only three surviving energy mounts. Missile tubes did not really matter, as she had ordered Greg to launch everything they had. With her mind turning to Greg, her good eye did the same. She could see him lying there on the deck. Ensign Green was bent over him, trying to do something that would help ease the commander's suffering. She wrenched her mind back to her duties and continued to pull up more information. Primary environmental was off line, but secondary systems functioned, barely. External communications were nonexistent—not even the short-range emitters and receivers were operational; for all intents and purposes, they were silenced. She continued to read and saw that Ensign Green was correct: sensors, too, were effectively nonfunctional. She winced as she began to absently stroke her chin, contemplating their situation. The Fenris was blind, mute, and crippled. Structural integrity was so bad, she was half-afraid that the relief ship that should be heading their way would send the remains of her ship spinning apart into space with the impact of their docking.
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