by Jay Allan
Barron inhaled deeply, feeling like he hadn’t taken a breath in hours. The enemy had just sat there for what had seemed like an eternity, though he knew it had been no more than a minute. He’d almost resigned himself to despair, believing his adversary had refused to take the bait. But now the enemy was coming. Just as he’d planned…and his stomach shriveled into a knot.
“Primary crews stand by.”
“Primary crews ready, Captain.”
He tapped the com. “Ready, Fritzie?”
“We’re ready, sir.” The voice on the com sounded anything but.
“Lieutenant Darrow, range.”
“Ninety thousand kilometers. Velocity, two hundred kilometers per second.”
“Fritzie, how long to start up the reactors?”
“A minute, Captain. If we get lucky.”
I should wait…I’d love to get the shot off at fifty thousand…but I can’t cut it that close…
“All right, Fritzie. Begin restart procedure. All power directly to the primaries.”
“Yes, sir.”
The big guns would take about forty seconds to charge up. That meant Dauntless had to endure almost two minutes more pounding before he could fire.
C’mon, old girl…you can do it…
“Fuck!” Barron heard Fritzie’s voice through the headset. She wasn’t talking to him, but she was upset. He’d heard the engineer swear before—when provoked she had a vocabulary that would shame a career crew chief. But he’d never heard her like this. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…get up there, try the main bypass.” A pause. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
“Fritzie!” Barron raised his voice, not in anger but to get his engineer’s attention.
“Sir, we’ve got some kind of burnout in reactor A’s control system…and I’ve got the two units slaved together for rapid restart. If we can’t get A going, it will take at least twenty minutes to disconnect the controls and fire up B alone.”
Damn…you knew something could go wrong. Probably would go wrong…
“Do what you can, Fritzie.”
“On it, sir.”
Barron stared at the display, a rough 2D image replacing the power-hungry 3D holographic projection. The enemy ship was coming straight for them, and Dauntless was helpless, her tortured hill absorbing hit after hit.
“Fritzie…”
* * *
“Billings, I want a dozen more bots in there, right now!”
Fritz was standing outside the reaction chamber, shouting orders to the cluster of engineers around her. Everyone there was well aware they had to get the reactor fixed and online within minutes. Or they would all die. Everyone on Dauntless would die.
“The bots aren’t going to get it done, Commander.” Billings was staring across the engineering space, his eyes locked on Fritz’s. “It’s a level two overload, and there’s no time to fix it. We need to work a quick bypass. It’s the only way.” Walt Billings was a jovial sort in less stressful moments, a jokester not above the occasional prank on one of his comrades. His reputation as a bit of a clown tended to obscure his considerable skill as an engineer. But now, in the middle of the crisis, he was focused, serious. And Fritz knew he was right.
“Get me a rad suit,” she shouted to one of the aides standing next to her. “Now!”
“You can’t go in there, Commander.” Sam Carson was standing behind Fritz. He had been working at a panel along one of the walls, but now he turned toward the chief engineer. “The radiation level in there is off the charts. The suit’s not going to be enough.”
“There’s no choice, Sam.” Fritz turned and took the silver radiation suit her aide was handing her. “If we don’t get these reactors back online, we’re all dead anyway.
“I’ll go, Commander.” It was Walt Billings.
Carson watched in amazement. Billings was his comrade, and his friend, but he’d never thought of the engineer as a hero before.
You never know what is inside someone until something brings it out…
“No, Lieutenant,” Fritz snapped back. “I’ll go. You two stay out here and reroute the power supply as soon as I get the connection back online.”
“Commander…”
“That’s an order, Lieutenant.” Fritz moved her hand down to close up the front of the rad suit…and then Dauntless gyrated wildly. Showers of sparks rained down from the electrical panels along the wall, and Fritz was thrown across the room.
Carson’s eyes darted up, and he saw a heavy steel support, snapped in half and ready to give way. Then, another explosion ripped through the ship, and shards of shattered metal went flying around the room like shrapnel.
Carson fell hard to the ground, landing on his injured arm. He shouted in pain, but as soon as he looked around the room, he bit back on it. Three of the technicians, at least, were dead, crushed by falling debris. Billings was down, trapped under a girder, but still alive.
“Ooooph…”
Carson heard the moan, and he knew immediately it was Fritz. The engineering chief was struggling to get back to her feet. She had a large bruise across the side of her face, and one eye was rapidly swelling shut. Then he saw it, a shard of metal, maybe forty centimeters in length, protruding from Fritz’s shoulder.
She managed to get back to her feet, though she looked like she would fall any moment. Carson could see now how bad the wound was. Fritz’s uniform was covered in blood.
“Help me…to the hatch, Sam,” she said, clearly struggling with every word.
“Commander, you can’t…”
“No choice, Sam…have to get…reactor back online…”
Carson turned his head, staring at the clear barrier between the engineering space and the reaction chamber. It looked harmless enough, no different than where he was kneeling now. But he knew invisible death waited inside that chamber…radiation a hundred times the lethal level. Even more.
“I’ll go, Commander…”
“No…Sam…it’s too dangerous.”
“You’ll never make it, Commander. I’m the only one who can do it now.”
Fritz stumbled, dropping slowly to her knees.
“No…I can…” She gasped for breath.
“You know there’s no choice, Commander. Give me the rad suit…” Miraculously, the shard of metal hadn’t hit the open rad suit.
Fritz hesitated, but then she nodded slowly. She moved her arm, wincing in pain as she slid out of the suit. Carson reached over, helping her pull the metallic fabric off. He tried to be as gentle as possible, but it tugged against the chunk of steel in her shoulder, and she let out a loud cry.
“I’m sorry, Commander.”
Fritz looked back up at him with teary eyes.
“No, Sam…I’m sorry…”
* * *
“All guns concentrate on the midsection…let’s pound that ship right at the source of the explosion.” Kat hadn’t abandoned her caution, not entirely, but she was beginning to believe she had the victory. The enemy ship was still sitting dead in space, no fire, not even any power generation her scanners could detect. It certainly looked like the massive explosion had been some kind of critical hit, and every second the enemy just sat there seemed to confirm that. But she wasn’t taking any chances, not with this enemy commander. The area of the explosion had to be the weak point, and she wanted every gun she could bring to bear blasting away at it.
“Yes, Commander.” The arrogance was back in Wentus’s voice. Kat had always served her people, and despite any private concerns she might have had, she’d always believed in the cult of Palatian strength and superiority. Her people were brave, devoted to duty, and they had prevailed in every war they had faced since they’d broken free of servitude. But now she wondered how they would handle defeat. She’d watched her first officer and the rest of her bridge crew, noting the changes in their moods and tones as the battle ebbed and flowed.
The Alliance had never faced an enemy that could defeat it, not really. The best its smaller foes had managed was to
make victory costly. But even on the verge of victory, Kat recognized that this enemy could have prevailed. And she was fairly certain her people realized that too. How would it affect them? Would they push it aside, rewrite the history in their own minds, removing any recollection of potential defeat? That was likely, the solution that was most in line with the Alliance’s dogmatic principles. But she knew she would never forget. And she worried what the war with the Confederation would be like…the war her victory was about to bring to her people.
She stared down at her workstation, watching on the screen as her gunnery stations fired. Her crews were racing against each other, she knew, striving to fire the kill shot, the one that destroyed the enemy vessel. But there wouldn’t be one, not if the enemy’s reactors were down. Not unless there was some kind of magazine full of explosives or something similar. There was no containment to breach on a scragged reactor, no “quick kill” shot that would turn a vessel into a miniature sun. The enemy was helpless, but there were still emergency systems, batteries, scattered pockets of life support. Her people would literally have to slice the enemy vessel to bits…and it was a big ship.
“All guns, increase to one hundred ten percent output.” It was a strange order, she knew, considering the enemy’s apparent status. But there was still something nagging at her, a vague concern that seemed to make no sense. She wanted her adversary blasted to atoms as quickly as possible.
“Yes, Commander…all guns to one hundred ten percent.”
* * *
“Fritzie, what’s going on down there?
No response. Fritz was Dauntless’s last hope…Barron knew that for sure. And if his engineer wasn’t responding, something was terribly wrong.
Barron’s eyes moved around the bridge, watching his people at their stations. They were pretending to work, though he knew without power there was little any of them could do. But there was no panic.
He was proud, more so than he could adequately describe, and he mourned for them. They were all going to die. They’d put their faith in him, followed his every command to the bitter end. And their reward would be death.
Barron thought of his grandfather, of the talks they’d had about service. They had been few. No doubt Rance Barron had thought there would be time when his young heir was older. But war had come again, and with it this time, the elder Barron’s death. Talks postponed became talks that never were, and much of the old man’s knowledge had died with him.
You taught me some things, grandfather…but not how to die. And not how to bear the guilt, to watch others die because they followed you. How did you do it? So many terrible battles, so many thousands dead. All of them there because they followed you. How did you endure it?
But he wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. He tapped the com unit.
“Atara?”
“Yes, sir.” Travis was down in the main gunnery control center, ready to fire the primaries when the reactors restarted.
“Something’s wrong down at the reactor…Fritzie’s not answering my com. Get down there as quickly as you can.”
“Yes, Captain. I’ll report as soon as I’m there. Travis out.”
Barron sat in the middle of Dauntless’s bridge, the nerve center of one of the Confederation’s massive battleships…and he felt utterly helpless. He wanted to run to engineering himself, to see with his own eyes what was happening down there. But that would do no good. His place was here, sitting stern and unflappable…even as he felt himself falling to his doom.
* * *
Sam Carson shoved his legs into the bulky rad suit one at a time. Then he pulled it up, sliding his arms through as well.
“Sam, are you sure?” Fritz was leaning against a nearby wall. There was blood covering the front of her uniform, and a large chunk of jagged steel was still wedged in her shoulder. Her voice had become a scratchy rasp, the pain from her wounds apparent with every word.
“What choice is there, Commander?” Carson looked around the room, his eyes finally landing on the spot where the suit’s head covering had landed. If I don’t go, we all die.” Carson hoped he sounded brave, but inside he was struggling to fight the urge to run for the door. He’d never felt fear like this, and the idea of stepping into that chamber terrified him like nothing he’d ever experienced. But there was no choice.
“You know what to do, right?”
“Yes, Commander. I know.”
And if you do it fast enough…if you get out of there in a few minutes, just maybe this suit will be enough to save your life…
“You are a good man, Sam…one of the best I’ve ever served with…”
“Thank you, Commander.” His voice cracked a little as he spoke, but he managed to cling to his fragile control. He knew Fritz meant well, but the last thing he needed now was emotion, to think about what he was about to do. This was an engineering fix and nothing more. At least that was what he told himself…that was what he needed to believe to step into that chamber.
He slid the head piece down over the suit, running his hand over the connecting strip. The rad suit was the best protection Confederation science had developed, but that chamber was full of high energy gamma rays. The suit would offer considerable protection, but it wouldn’t block everything.
He stood in front of the airlock for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. The AI control system was down with the ship’s main power, so he reached out and opened the emergency panel. There was a handle inside, and he placed his hand around it and pulled.
The door slid open and he stepped in. Then he turned and repeated the process with the interior panel, closing the door behind him.
There was a similar control on the inner door. He opened the panel and stared at it for a moment. When he opened it, the airlock would be flooded with radiation. He didn’t know how long he had, what number of minutes and seconds his suit would keep the deadly threat at bay, or at least enough at bay that regen treatments could save his life. But he knew it wasn’t long. He didn’t have time to waste. Dauntless didn’t have time to waste.
He reached out, putting his gloved hand on the control. Then his fears burst out from every corner of his mind, images of Lise, of his child…of him doubled over in sickbay, vomiting blood as his body surrendered to radiation sickness. He found himself wishing Billings or Fritz had been able to do this…and then he hated himself for those thoughts. He felt the urge to turn, to run. But he knew that wouldn’t save him. If he didn’t get the reactor online, he would die anyway. And everyone else on Dauntless would die with him.
He felt a sudden burst of determination, and he pulled on the latch. The door slid to the side, and Carson stepped out into the reaction chamber.
Okay, you’re in…now do this as quickly as possible, and get the hell out of here.
* * *
Atara Travis raced down the corridor. She’d taken an intraship car from the gunnery station, using her command overrides to divert battery power to the otherwise shut down system. Dauntless was a big ship, and the gunnery was almost a kilometer away from main engineering. Right now, seconds counted.
They were fighting for their lives, for the lives of everyone aboard Dauntless. And she’d be damned if she was going to let him down. But for the first time, her self-assurance was gone, and she didn’t know what to do. She’d been waiting to fire the primaries, to put everything she had into making a single shot count. But now she was racing through the ship’s gloomy, partially-lit corridors, headed to engineering to see what had happened to Commander Fritz…and if there was any chance at all of getting the reactors back online before Dauntless was blown to atoms.
She sucked in a deep breath, pushing her legs harder as she saw the open doors to the section ahead. She raced through…and stopped abruptly. There were bodies everywhere, and wounded men and women. And lying against one of the bulkheads was Anya Fritz, covered in blood, a huge chunk of metal sunken in her shoulder.
“Anya, what is…” She froze, her eyes fixed on the clear shielding
between the engineering deck and the control room of the reaction chamber. The radiation markers were flashing red…and inside the contaminated control room she saw a single figure, clad in a bulky rad suit moving slowly toward the columns of tubes and circuits on the far wall.
“My God,” she whispered to herself. Then she looked at Fritz. “Anya, who is that?
* * *
Sam turned his head back and forth, scanning the conduits and control panels in front of him. There was a break, somewhere in the system. It would be an easy fix, he knew, which seemed odd considering the tremendous importance of his task. But first he had to find the malfunction.
He was moving quickly. If he wanted to get out alive, he knew time was his enemy. He could feel the frustration building. The engineering team had been able to isolate the problem, to a certain degree. But he still had to find the damaged connection, and the only way to do that was to check each one in turn.
He could feel his uniform below the metallic fabric, wet, soaked with sweat. The rad suit was hot, like an oven inside, and it was cumbersome, slowing his movements. He was tense, knowing each second that passed might be the last one, the final chance to save Dauntless. And he was scared to death, struggling to keep his body from shaking as he worked his way down the line of pipes and wires and conduits that made the reactor function.
Then he saw something. Not the damaged section, but a clue where to find it. It was an alarm, one that had been tripped when the damage occurred. But it was also damaged, its wiring charred.
That’s why we didn’t get anything on the main panel…
He reached out, holding an instrument he’d pulled from his bag. It was a battery-powered spectrographic scanner. It would pulse energy through the reactor’s circuits, not enough to do anything except identify the location of the break. Carson knew it had to be close. The tripped alarm was part of a limited series of connections.
His eyes moved down to the small display on the device, and he felt a wave of excitement. There it was. But his satisfaction was short-lived. He walked about two meters, and he looked up at a bank of equipment ten meters high. And the damage was almost at the top.