“Let me know when, Commander,” Swede’s voice echoed in her ear piece. A glance at the board told her he’d repeated the over-pressurization of the starboard bays to provide correction for their current roll.
“Standby.” She watched the radar returns and tried to correctly gauge the best time to push the Hudson sideways again. “Now!”
The starboard bays vented, sending the Hudson sliding fractionally to the left. O’Connell brought the ship out of its roll and dipped the nose slightly. She looked back at her instruments and smiled. With a roll of her shoulders, she flopped her head back against the seat.
“That was fun.”
The captain glared at the high backed seat hiding his second-in-command from view. He turned off the collision alarm before again activating the intercom. “We’ve avoided the collision. All hands return to previous rotations. Damage and casualty reports to the bridge, please.” He un-strapped himself and walked the twelve feet to the pilot’s chair. “What was it?”
O’Connell fiddled with a shoulder strap, loosening it slightly to shift in her seat. “A comet. I managed to catch the very end of its tail and pull us into a better trajectory. That vibration has definitely lessened now.”
She couldn’t turn in her seat and, so, missed the captain’s pale expression of shock. “Do I want to know how close we were?”
“I’d prefer I didn’t know, sir. But if the captain wishes to know the gory details…”
“I’ll pass.” He glanced at the chronometer on his wrist. “You’ve been at the helm for, what, fourteen hours now?”
“I’ve taken two fifteen minute breaks, sir.”
He grunted and walked back to his chair. Once seated, he transmitted a brief message to Dr. Ruger. Before she could reply, he had a status update from engineering. Lieutenant Guttmann was predictably agitated about the set back with restoring artificial gravity. His damage control parties were, now, also trying to fix broken hatch seals near the recently vented landing bays.
Maggie wasn’t the least surprised when a med-tech walked up beside her carrying a syringe and a bag of IV fluids. She was only astonished that it had taken this long for the captain to think of it.
“Ma’am, I have an order to administer fifteen cc’s of stimulants and attach a nutrient solution via an IV. I’ll need to check your vitals and have you lower the pressurization of your flight suit, please.”
O’Connell removed one hand from the controls long enough to marginally reduce the pressurization of her flight suit. The suit was meant to keep her from passing out and losing control of the ship in the event of a violent decompression of the bridge space, but after fourteen hours it was also increasing her heart rate and blood pressure. The stimulants would only exacerbate those effects, in addition to making her skin crawl and her toes twitch. She held out her left arm with a small sigh and tried to concentrate on flying.
“Captain, as officer of the watch please note that Commander O’Connell, as pilot of the watch, began stimulants and IV fluids at 0110 hours. With this course of treatment, regulations state that Commander O’Connell must be relieved of flight duties no later than 0600 hours today.” From the tired slurring of the technician’s voice it sounded as if he himself needed the stims more than Maggie.
“So noted in the log. Proceed.”
A few minutes later, the captain raised an eyebrow when he heard O’Connell let loose a soft little laugh and then sigh.
“You’ll let me know if you feel the sudden urge to show off your flight aerobatics, won’t you Commander?”
She laughed again, a slightly breathless sound that did nothing to reassure him. “As the captain wishes.”
The bridge crew watched as Captain Hill shook his head and looked down at his tablet. They couldn’t see the soft smile that just titled the corner of his mouth.
***
Lieutenant Guttmann had been awake for four more hours than O’Connell and did not have the luxury of stimulants to keep him from yawning loudly. One of the colonial engineers glared at him. He was so tired he grinned stupidly at her, then laughed out loud when she blinked with shock at his ridiculous expression. The senior engineer chuckled again and went back to his calculations. Whether it was the increased oxygen to his brain from his mammoth yawn, or the tension bled off by laughing, Swede didn’t know, but the numbers before him suddenly didn’t seem as grim.
“Here, see if this makes sense to you.” He transmitted his calculations to the civilian engineer. She was still shooting him suspicious side-ways glances, as if he might be a dangerous drunk prowling down a dark alley. That mental picture made Swede grin even wider.
“Would you stop that?” The dark-haired woman snapped, ferociously. Her black eyebrows drew together. Full lips pinched together in a slim line as repressive as her tone.
“Stop what?”
“Acting like an idiot. People are staring!”
Swede glanced around at the engineering crew and civilians. Most of them appeared to be sleepwalking zombies. “Which people would those be?” He whispered his question in a lilting tone. He sincerely wished he could remember her name. Why don’t colonists wear name badges too? He stored the thought for later contemplation.
“Your numbers are just fine, Lieutenant. You will have to seal the damaged corridors to allow for proper pressurization and then recalibrate once the corridors are re-opened, of course.”
Swede replied, “Yes, of course. Hey, I’m hungry. You want a sandwich?”
“You’re obviously suffering from vertigo induced dementia. We have to get these calculations finished so that your time will be free when the engines are cooled.”
Not the least bit chagrined, Swede shrugged. “I still have to eat.” From the woman’s stern look he decided she wasn’t going to accompany him. “Well, thanks for your help. I’m off to eat and shower. You will let me know if you change your mind and want to come along?”
She blinked.
“Er, for the sandwich, of course not the er… well, see you later, I guess.” He watched her walk away and wondered if perhaps he was suffering from dementia.
On the way to the officers’ mess he passed O’Connell. She was leaning against a bulkhead staring at the ceiling struts. Concerned, Swede stopped and looked upward as well. Instead of the warped and buckled panels he’d feared seeing, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.
“Commander? Is there something wrong?”
“Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.” She stopped, took a deep breath, and slowly lowered her chin. “Beyond the engines being shut down, spending eighteen hours at the helm trying to keep us from smacking into comets, and the overwhelming urge to vomit up the non-existent contents of my stomach, no there’s not a damn thing wrong. Why do you ask?”
“Uppers making you hurl, again? I thought you’d figured out how to prevent that.”
She cut him a sideways glare and went back to breathing deeply and counting. “I have figured it out, which is why I haven’t yet hurled. I just haven’t figured out how to appear perfectly normal while I’m doing it.” She paused and moved her head slowly. “Gravity feels better.”
“Just brought it back to 98% of normal. The damaged seals are throwing everything off just a bit. We’ll be back to full operations by the end of the day.” He raised his hand so that it hovered just under her elbow. “I was just going to the mess to grab something to eat. Can I walk with you?”
O’Connell nodded and straightened from her leaning position. “When was the last time you slept?”
“I can’t remember, so it has to have been awhile. I’m on official stand-down for the next four hours.”
“Same here. Four hours sleep is going to be like a small snack.”
“It will probably feel worse for you. At least I won’t wake up with a hangover.”
“It’s a bundle of cheer you are, Swede.” She slapped at the button for the mess doors.
When they entered, Ensign Robertson jumped to his feet and hastily started
gathering papers and diagrams. “Ma’am, sir. My apologies I wasn’t... well the table helps because it’s so big, and I needed to see…” He gulped.
Too tired and sick to care what the ensign was babbling about, Maggie flicked her wrist towards the door. “Out, Ensign.”
He hurried out, but not before he noticed Lieutenant Guttmann’s eyes narrow on the documents tucked beneath his arm. As the door hissed shut, Robertson caught sight of Swede pulling out a chair for Maggie and leaning over to speak to her.
“Did you see what he was working on?
Maggie lowered her head to rest on the table. “Don’t know, don’t care.”
Distracted, Swede continued, “I could have sworn they were engine diagrams.”
From beneath her folded arms, O’Connell’s voice came out muffled. “You’re loopy from lack of sleep. Why would he have engine diagrams?” She raised her head and swiped at the hair in her eyes. “He’s probably trying to figure out where we are and how to get us back on course. He is supposed to be this mathematical prodigy.”
“I’m not demented,” Swede exclaimed with a bit too much fervor. He blushed, an interesting sight on such a big man.
Maggie’s eyes widened before she moaned and clutched her head. “Screw eating. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you at staff briefing in four hours.”
Guttmann watched her leave. Once she was gone, he viciously kicked at a chair leg with his booted foot. He wasn’t demented, and Robertson had been reading engine diagrams.
Chapter 9
“You may proceed, Lieutenant.”
“Sir, at 1300 hours today, I will enter the starboard engine with a team of three. We will investigate the power rods, all converter tubing, and the engine casing itself. We will take sensor readings every 10cm along the exposed surfaces to monitor isotope decay, metal fatigue and density, and any signs of structural anomalies. We will also place long-term monitoring devices to record any changes in the engine after we have finished our inspection.” Lieutenant Guttmann turned his head to look at Dr. Ruger.
“After the lieutenant and his team have left the engine, they will be quarantined and the standard decontamination procedures will be instituted. There is no scientific or medical cause to use anything other than our standard post-engine inspection cleaning cycle. This process will take fifteen minutes. For two hours following that, the crew members in question will have their bio-feeds constantly monitored.”
The captain nodded in acknowledgement. “And tomorrow you will repeat the entire process for the port engine?”
Swede shook his head. “No sir. Unless the doctor observes an adverse reaction, we will plan on checking the port engine starting at 2100 hours.”
“That will make for a long day not only for you, but the medical and support staff.”
“Yes sir, but the sooner we get the engines powered up the sooner we get steerage. That means significantly shorter days for the pilots and bridge crew.”
“Don’t rush on our account, Lieutenant.” Maggie favored the engineer with a cocky grin. “Now that I don’t have to fight that damn long-wave vibration, there’s not much to piloting the old girl.”
Captain Hill gave her what was meant to be a quelling look. It didn’t work, since she was studiously avoiding eye contact. He returned his attention to Swede. “If the doctor is ok with your schedule, then you are cleared to proceed.” He motioned with his chin for Lieutenant Price to report.
“Sir, I will be taking lander 3 out to do a visual and sensor scan of the hull, with emphasis on the external engine casings. I anticipate no trouble with docking, egress or ingress, as long as the commander can avoid any more stray comets.”
The commander snorted.
“Good report. I’ll let you all get to it. Order of the day includes hot meals. Make sure your departments are getting what creature comforts they can. They can catch up on sleep once the engines are on-line.”
The captain paused to watch the mess clear. O’Connell walked to the fridge and yanked the door open. She grabbed a bottle and pivoted to kick the door shut as she twisted the cap off. While Hill watched with a look of mild amusement, she chugged back half a caffeinated drink.
“How’s your head, O’Connell?”
Her mouth quirked at the corners. “How’s the jaw, sir?”
He rubbed it and gave a slight shrug as a response.
“I would think after growing up with him, you would learn to dodge your brother’s right hook.”
“Left hook.” He caught her curious look. “Ryan’s left handed. You know, I think you are the only one who has any idea how I got this bruise.”
“Yeah, well, I was the one who watched you storm off after hearing Cassie’s report.” She tipped her head back to finish her drink.
“How many of those have you had this morning?”
She paused long enough to answer him. “Third, no, maybe fourth. Not sure.”
His chuckle echoed up from the depths of his chest. “You really need more caffeine after all those stims?”
The back of forearm dragged across her mouth, preventing speech. She held up the bottle as if peering at the label would yield the answer to his question. “No, I need the caffeine to recover from the crash after the stimulants.”
“There’s logic there, somewhere.”
The empty bottle flipped end over end and clunked into the recycling bin. “Yup. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lecture scheduled about all the harmful things I’ve done to my body in the past thirty-six hours. After which, I get to sit pilot’s watch for another twelve hours.”
“Boring day.”
Maggie grinned and tossed her head. “Join the ISA they said….”
Captain Hill watched as she walked, or bounced if he was honest about her movement, down the corridor towards the lift. He knew she was over-doing it, but he didn’t have the luxury of caring. He needed every person on the crew working as hard as possible for as long as possible. He resisted the urge to kick the chair beside his foot. Two perfect jumps and now this, he thought.
In the medical bay, O’Connell was busy rolling her eyes and being as annoying as possible while Dr. Ruger lectured her. Since she’d experienced the after-effects of stimulants on multiple occasions, Maggie wasn’t really paying attention. She figured there was a regulation, somewhere, stating that all doctors had to advise their patients about the need to properly reduce dosages of stimulants in order to avoid a cascading crash of the body’s nervous system. Really, though, O’Connell knew there was no easy or comfortable way to recover from being dosed. She didn’t have time to puke her guts out every time she ate, or to deal with the crippling migraine that her soda consumption was barely keeping at bay.
“I’m surprised, really.”
Maggie blinked. Her inattention caught up with her, since she had no idea what the doctor was talking about. “Uh?”
Cassie sounded only mildly exasperated when she replied, “That you aren’t cursing the captain for not letting you fly the lander to check out the hull.”
The commander raised a hand in front of the doctor’s face. Her fingers trembled. It wasn’t a large tremble and it wasn’t constant, but she made her point.
“I knew without him telling me that the captain couldn’t let me fly that mission. My reflexes are all shot right now. It’s a delicate task. I’ll need another couple of hours to get back to full readiness.” She stood and rolled her head around clockwise. “It’s ironic you know. They give me stims to keep me on duty for as long as possible, but then they can’t let me do my job—well, the fun parts anyway—for twenty-four to thirty-six hours afterwards.” She continued, “So it’s back to sitting on my ass and not doing a damn thing for the rest of the day.”
Realizing that whether she was finished with her lecture or not, O’Connell was departing, Cassie gave her roommate a rueful look. “Try to grab a protein bar at midwatch. Your stomach will thank you.”
Maggie made a grunt that could have indicated several
emotions as she left. A second later she was back. “Hey, by the way, how’s your head? The duty roster has you listed on sick call for a concussion. I didn’t even know!”
It was Dr. Ruger’s turn to brush off the other woman’s concern. “I’m fine. It was more of a bad headache than a concussion. Nothing to worry about at all.”
“Uh huh. I’ll see you later?”
Cassie smiled more brightly. “Yeah, if we’re both still awake.” She waved her hand in a shooing gesture. “You better go; the captain will dress you up for being late to watch.”
Maggie giggled. “Dress me down, Cass. Please, the reverse is just too disturbing to contemplate.” With visions of the captain decking her out in the play-clothes of a little girl, complete with over-big hat and shoes and her mother’s long necklaces, the commander chuckled all the way to the bridge.
***
Captain Hill sat on the edge of the chair Chancellor Trell offered. He kept his back rigidly straight. His hands rested gently on his knees, betraying none of the emotional or physical exhaustion that he felt. Trell’s quarters looked nothing like the orderly and Spartan space that the captain inhabited. Metal frame chairs were draped with thick quilts or covered with pillow-like cushions. A lamb’s wool rug covered the deck. That, thought the captain, was a hideous waste of quality and comfort. No one walked around barefoot on a starship.
Ryan Hill lounged in a chair to the side of the divan where the Chancellor splayed his chubby thighs and leaned forward.
“Are we going to die out here?”
Captain Hill blinked. That was definitely not the question he’d anticipated. He was prepared for recriminations, accusations, and general ranting. Questions about their survival didn’t even occur to him.
“No life systems were affected by the power surge. We are in a relatively open area of this system with few obstacles to travel.”
“Except for a few stray comets,” his brother interrupted.
The captain didn’t need to take a deep breath to control the flash of irritation he felt. He was far too used to his brother’s wheedling. He stored for later contemplation the fact that Ryan knew about their close encounter with the comet—knowledge the captain was sure only the bridge crew was privy to.
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