by Britt Ringel
As Brooke worked to convince her body to move away from the advancing flames, she heard the powerful discharge of a fire suppression unit. The foam spray arched over her and pushed back the blaze, extinguishing it entirely several seconds later. Brooke sighed with contentment and closed her eyes. Even if Zanshin’s crew was doomed to sail in tunnel space forever, at least she was not going to be consumed by flame.
The firefighter stepped behind her and rudely disturbed her tranquility, dipping a gloved hand under her right armpit. The figure pulled her to her feet. With support, her second attempt to stand went much better than her first and her disorientation began to clear with the smoke. The compartment’s automated systems were venting the worst of the fumes and she found she could draw breath again. “Find Casper,” she wheezed.
“He’s on the other side of the compartment,” Lochlain answered through the speakers in his helmet. “I’ll get him as soon as you’re back at your post.” He towed Brooke to the engineer’s console. “Can you stand on your own?”
Brooke’s resolve fed off Lochlain’s presence. She squeezed his gloved hand with her own while placing the other on the console’s brace for support. “I’m okay. Go… go check on Casper.”
She watched his helmet bob and the man limped painfully toward Naslund. The junior engineer was rolling on the deck under his own power, slowly turning onto his stomach. His shipsuit was streaked in black. Brooke forced her focus to her panel. Zanshin was running on emergency power. The core had automatically flushed after sensing an imminent breach. She worked to reestablish communications with the bridge. “Hello? Anyone there?”
“There you are!” Truesworth replied. Relief flooded into his voice. “We lost contact and nobody would answer. What happened down there?”
Brooke’s stomach plummeted at the perceived accusation. Her eyes, already stinging from the smoke, let the tears fall. “I’m sorry, guys,” she answered miserably. “The supercapacitor failed and, well, exploded.”
“Failed? What are you talking about?” Truesworth asked. “Mercer, we’re back in normal space! We’ve made it to Carinae.”
The weight of her crew’s lives lifted from her shoulders. She brought her hands up to her face and wept openly.
“Have you seen the captain?” the Brevic asked anxiously, oblivious to Brooke’s struggle.
She wiped her cheeks and sniffed. She looked, bleary-eyed, at the pair near the power core. “He’s helping Casper. It looks like he got the wind knocked out of him and was maybe a little singed when the supercapacitor blew.”
“Well, could you ask the captain to come to the bridge as soon as possible, please?”
Brooke blotted at her eyes with the cuff of her shipsuit. “Sure. Why?”
The sensorman’s voice was grave. “Because there’s a Federation frigate parked six light-seconds from us and its boarding shuttle is already on the way over.”
Chapter 43
Lochlain pulled Naslund up using his one, good arm. In the final moments before Zanshin fired her thrusters to align with the tunnel point, Lochlain had reduced his closure rate to fifty-one meters per second. He had flown into and through the hangar with thrusters still firing until passing through the containment field at the far end. The field had provided additional resistance to help reduce his speed but not nearly enough to avoid a brutal impact with the rear of the hangar a meter and a half behind it.
Lochlain held no recollection of the collision. His last memory was his total concentration upon his EMU’s thrusters and the intercept course that would carry him into the hangar. When he awoke, he was lying on the deck. The entire left side of his body now ached with a fierceness surpassed only by the pain in his shoulder. Even the left side of his face inside his helmet felt like it was swelling.
With Lochlain’s limited support, Naslund rose unsteadily to his feet. The engineer’s shipsuit was scorched along its back. Even the man’s short hair had been singed. Lochlain released his grip and slapped open his visor. “Can you walk, Casper?”
The young man nodded but then attempted to walk in a direction that would steer him directly into a bulkhead. Lochlain grabbed him again and led him to Brooke.
“Mercer, help Casper,” Lochlain ordered as the pair approached her console.
Brooke staggered to Naslund’s side with her own unsteady gait. “The, um, power core is offline for now,” she reported. The engineers seemed to be leaning on each other. When they reached the control console, Lochlain and Brooke eased Naslund to the deck and propped his back against the side. “I’ll get the first response kit at the work station,” Brooke stated. She took two steps but stopped and raised both of her hands to her head. “Um…” She allowed herself a controlled collapse to the deck. Resting on the seat of her pants, she looked glassy-eyed at Lochlain. “Maybe you better get the kit,” she advised as she continued to cradle her forehead. “Oh! Reece…” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus. A hand left her head and pointed up and away from her, in the direction of the bridge. “They said an inspection team is coming.”
Lochlain moved quickly to Brooke and knelt beside her. He stared into her eyes. He was not exactly sure what to look for but he had seen medics check a patient’s pupils after head injuries. “Mercer, are you going to be okay?”
“I’m… concussed,” she answered slowly. She began to lean back onto the deck. “I’ll be okay but I need a couple minutes first.” Her breathing steadied once she was prone. “You did it, Reece. We’re in Carinae but there was a Federation frigate at the tunnel point and an inspection team is on its way.”
Lochlain ran a tender hand down the side of her face. He swept away stray, brown locks from her eyes. “Don’t fall asleep, Mercer. I’ll get you some help.” He pivoted painfully back toward Naslund. The engineer was still seated against the primary console. His head was back and his eyes were closed. “Keep an eye on Casper for me. I’ll be back with the inspection team in less than ten minutes.”
“I think we’ll still be here,” Brooke assured him as she stared blankly at the ceiling.
Lochlain grunted as he forced himself to his feet. His own head was throbbing and every step sent jolts of pain through his hip and shoulder. He looked spitefully at the stairwell. “The ladder’s going to be much worse,” he mumbled as he limped toward the stairs. He needed to meet the inspection shuttle in the hangar.
On his way, he tried to open a connection with the bridge using his pressure suit. After three failed attempts, he figured the helmet’s transmission electronics were smashed and focused on safely climbing the ladder into the bay. By the time he cleared the final rung, a shuttle was carefully creeping into the narrow confines of the compartment. Lochlain kicked himself for failing to close the hangar doors earlier. He hobbled to the control panel and contacted the bridge.
“Truesworth here.”
“Jack, it’s Reece. The inspection team is touching down now.” He worked the controls to close the hangar doors behind the shuttle. “I can escort the Feds. I need you to stay up on the bridge.”
“Copy that, Captain,” Truesworth replied eagerly. “I’ve sent them our cargo manifest.”
“Tell Elease…” He gritted his teeth briefly. “Check that. First, are you two all right?”
“Yes, sir. We’re both still on the bridge and we’re fine, Captain.” Concern laced deeply into the sensorman’s next words. “How bad is Engineering? Sir, we’re on emergency power right now.”
The hangar doors fully closed. Lochlain had briefly considered claiming the doors were broken and could not seal but that would only delay what would be a much more thorough inspection later. He nodded as if convincing himself that this was the perfect time. It was now or never. He swept the door controls aside on the screen and began to add atmosphere outside of the containment field. A communications request from the shuttle’s pilot appeared on his display. He ignored it for now and returned his attention to Truesworth. “Mercer and Casper are hurt but not too badly and they’re
both conscious. Tell Elease to get down to the ship’s mess just as we’ve planned. Can she hear me?”
Lingenfelter’s cheerful voice came over the speakers. “Yes, sir! I’m on my way now! We made it, sir!”
“Elease!” Lochlain barked. “Lose that upbeat attitude! We’re depending on you.” He stabbed the panel to kill the connection and accepted the shuttle’s request. Before transmitting his greeting, he let the last half hour of stress flood into his voice. “Shuttle Two-Three-Six-A, this is Captain Lochlain of Zanshin. Hangar doors are secure and atmosphere is at eight hundred millibars and rising. We need immediate medical attention in Engineering. I’ll escort you there.”
A calm, neutral voice sounded over the panel’s speakers. “Standby, Zanshin.”
Lochlain removed his helmet and dropped it to the deck before running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. After the hangar’s pressure equalized, he dropped the containment field and shambled toward the shuttle. A gasp of escaping air announced the deployment of the shuttle’s ramp. “Thank God you were so close!” Lochlain exclaimed.
The inspection party’s commander was the first person to emerge from the craft. He was dressed in the standard blue uniform of the Federation’s navy. Two gold stripes ran parallel to each other near the edges of each epaulette. The officer stepped onto the hangar’s deck and turned to face the shuttle. More sailors filed out, carrying inspection equipment.
Lochlain exaggerated his limp as he hobbled toward the sublieutenant. He estimated the officer to be in his mid-twenties. “Lieutenant, where’s your medical team?” he asked in controlled hysterics. “I’ve got several people who need immediate attention!” He reached out to grab the officer’s arm.
A senior non-commissioned officer who had stopped next to the sublieutenant batted Lochlain’s hand away and took an aggressive step toward him.
Lochlain’s eyes widened at the man’s hostility. “I’m sorry, sir,” he apologized meekly. He turned painfully toward the front of the hangar and started to limp toward the ladder. “Please, sir,” he sniveled. “My people might be dying! They need your help!”
The sublieutenant flinched at Lochlain’s words before springing into action. He turned to the senior NCO and ordered, “Chief, have Jackson grab the shuttle’s first aid kit.” The officer then trotted after Lochlain. “Captain, we’re not here to respond to a medical emergency. We’re here to conduct an inspection on your ship.”
Lochlain stumbled to a halt. He turned to face the young man. A tear slowly ran down Lochlain’s cheek. He turned his head slightly to the right to display more prominently the swollen side of his face. Judging the distance between himself and the officer, he waited an extra half-beat for the man to come closer and then answered in a crestfallen voice, “I… I understand, sir.” He let his words drift and his body wobble. Once the sublieutenant reached out to steady him, Lochlain allowed his legs to fold and he collapsed into the officer’s arms.
“Jackson!” screamed the officer as he eased Lochlain to the deck. “Chief, get back into the shuttle. Tell Nokota we need a team of medics now!”
Lochlain’s eyes popped open in panic. The last thing he wanted was more navy on his ship. “No, I’m okay, sir,” he insisted. “I just got dizzy for a moment.” He looked up at the officer with a pleading expression. “Sir, please, can you just have your men check out my two engineers? We had a terrible time in the tunnel.” The tear was stubbornly hanging from his jaw and annoying the hell out of him but he knew better than to diminish his performance by brushing it away.
“Can you stand, Captain…”
Lochlain placed his hand on the officer’s forearm and squeezed gently. “Reece. Please, sir, call me Reece.” He began to rise, whimpering slightly at the pain in his hip.
The officer pushed him down. “Stay still, Reece,” he said compassionately. “My name is Lieutenant Forrester.”
A junior enlisted man crashed to a stop in front of them. He waved an instrument over Lochlain and cringed as he interpreted the results. “Mild concussion, dislocated left shoulder, moderate bruising and swelling all down the left side of his body.” He moved behind Lochlain. “Sir, I need to pop that shoulder back into place.”
“What the hell happened to you, Reece?” the inspection officer asked.
Lochlain braced himself for the pain as the enlisted man pushed up close behind him and grabbed his arm tightly. “Just relax as best you can, sir.”
Lochlain grunted in acknowledgement. “We suffered major malfunctions inside the tunnel, including our entire navigation suite,” he recounted with honest emotion. “I had to spacewalk to help find the tunnel exit.” His body jolted with agony as the medic repositioned the humeral head back into its socket. Lochlain allowed himself an unembellished yelp but then looked at the enlisted man with appreciation. “That’s better, thank you.” He began to stand again. “Lieutenant, can you please have your man look at my engineers? There was some kind of explosion during our dive.”
The officer nodded eagerly. “Certainly. Lead the way.”
“L-T!” It was the senior NCO. “What about calling Nokota for additional support?”
The sublieutenant looked back to Lochlain.
“Sir, I don’t want to be a bother,” he replied modestly. “Surely you and your men can handle the situation.” He looked past the officer to the grey-haired NCO. “Besides, there isn’t enough room for another shuttle in the hangar and the bow airlock is broken.” He returned his gaze to the junior officer but let it fall away as he admitted humbly, “I’m afraid that Zanshin isn’t as grand as your warship.” He watched from the corner of his eye as the officer mulled his decision.
Forrester’s voice brimmed with confidence when he made his announcement. “We can wait for now. Chief McCormick, let’s see how bad the crew is before we pull over a second team.” He returned his attention to Lochlain. “If you’re up to it, Reece, lead us to Engineering and I’ll see what I can have my people do.”
The short trip took much longer than necessary. Every step down the ladder was an opportunity to generate sympathy. Each rung was eloquently expressed agony. By the time the group stepped down the stairs to the engineering compartment, no less than three men were assisting Lochlain. “Please, sirs. See to my crew,” he hissed between torment-filled steps.
The engineers were where Lochlain had left them, Brooke lying on her back with an arm covering her eyes and Naslund against the main control panel. Jackson raced quickly toward Brooke.
Lochlain pointed stiffly at the molten supercapacitor. “We suffered a power failure. She had to rig some kind of battery to keep the ship going.” Behind him, he heard muted gasps of horror as the inspection team examined the spectacle that had once been a pristine engineering compartment. The power core was cold and looked dead. Ugly, black scorch marks had woven their way up the side of the core’s housing nearest the supercapacitor, itself a melted, leaking hulk.
“Second-degree burns on his back,” an able spaceman examining Naslund noted, “but I think his shipsuit saved him from anything more severe.” The sailor rotated around his patient to face him. “Sir, can you focus on me?” The man lightly pulled at the skin under Naslund’s glazed eyes. “Concussion, for sure.”
“She has one too,” Jackson confirmed as his hand found its way to the back of Brooke’s head. It pulled away upon discovery of the large knot at the base of her skull. “What the hell happened on this ship?”
Lochlain noticed that McCormick was sweeping Engineering with a sonic interrogator. The chief appeared unfazed by the injuries and devastation around him and was conducting a basic search for hidden compartments.
“How badly are they hurt?” Forrester asked. “Do we need to call for more medics?”
Jackson moved over to Naslund to perform a quick assessment with his medical device. “The burns aren’t too bad but his concussion is worse than hers.” He stared at the screen of his handheld. Finally he asked, “Are there more injured on board?”
“Easy, Reece. It’s over now. We’re here,” Forrester soothed. He turned toward his men. “Let’s get these people up to their medical bay.” He turned back to Lochlain. “Can you escort us to your med-bay, Reece? Perhaps a common room if the bay isn’t large enough, something like your ship’s mess?”
Lochlain’s stomach turned at the mention of the mess. He opened his mouth to answer but the chief was stalking toward them.
“From what I’ve seen so far, it’s clean, L-T,” McCormick said. “Although I need more time to sweep the entire compartment properly.”
“Let’s take care of the injured first, Chief,” Forrester replied while bringing a hand under Lochlain’s arm for support.
If the trip from the hangar to Engineering was a burst of agony, the voyage up the aft spine was a trail of woe. Every few steps, a different crewmember of Zanshin would stumble, sometimes unintentionally. Halfway through the 96-meter corridor, Forrester offered to have the frigate, SFS Nokota, shuttle over three stretchers. Lochlain graciously, and quickly, refused the overture and Zanshin’s crew remarkably moved at a slightly faster rate.