Steel Walls and Dirt Drops

by Black, Alan

  Misha watched in shock as she saw a blue civilian craft spew missiles at another AMSF craft. The blue pulsed, rotating through yellow, to green, back to blue and then settled into a deep red. Another spacecraft's green AMSF designation shifted to red, then another and then another as the Kiirkegaard's IFF system began sorting through the conflicting responses.

  Misha shouted, "Britaine, do something. We are being fired on by human spacecraft. This convoy is going to be blown to bits if you don't do something now."

  A dozen vessels from Gurand's Wing blinked out of existence before anyone else could react. Britaine glared at Misha as if she was the culprit blasting away at the AMSF squadron.

  "But-" he started.

  A voice blasted over the loudspeakers. "This is General Gurand to all wing spacecraft: Code Black. I say again: Code Black. You have your orders."

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Britaine pulled a multicolored glass-pack from a pocket sewn into his crash couch. His fingers fumbled and he almost let it slip from his hands before dropping it into the data reader on his console. He spoke with a quiver. "All hands: battle stations-condition red. Colonel William Britaine to Kiirkegaard Automated Systems: Code B-1. I say again: initiate Code B-1."

  The spacecraft shuddered and jinked throwing everyone against their restraints or in the cases where they had unhooked themselves from their restraints: into bulkheads, chairs, consoles, trash cans, each other, and in one unfortunate case, across the vast area of a half empty cargo hold.

  The inertial dampers whined audibly in an effort to keep up with the wild gyrations. The Kiirkegaard curled, curved and kinked until it finally completed a 180-degree maneuver facing the way it had come. All around them, Gurand's wing began taking fire. Spacecraft spewed atmosphere into space or simply exploded in a flash of light.

  Britain squeezed his eyes shut and spoke again. His voice broadcast loudly to all parts of the vessel, even overriding the blaring klaxon of the condition red alarm. "To all aboard the Kiirkegaard: There is a Binder fleet in Gagarin. Hold fast. We are jumping out now."

  Without human direction, the Kiirkegaard reacted to the orders embedded in Britaine's glass-pack. It laid in an automated series of turns to throw off any possible enemy tracking systems. Then it initiated a reverse jump back to the system it had just abandoned.

  Britaine ordered an automated maneuver. It had to be automated as only an uncommon human could order a second jump following so closely behind the first. He knew he wasn't such a rare individual, so he had prepared a glass-pack with the orders preprogrammed. A wave of nausea swept over him. He could feel his gorge rise. He would be lucky not to lose what little was left in his stomach from his last meal with half of the command and control crew spewing vomit over their consoles and their spotless uniforms. His eyes grew fuzzy and he began to lose his vision as blood rushed to his eyes. His guts began to churn and cramp.

  Just as a jump through folded space acted on a human physiology like express atmospheric changes, repeated jumps without giving time for the body to rejuvenate was like a scuba diver's rapid ascent causing the bends. The problems began to compile and compound. Inertial dampers worked well keeping the body intact, but they didn’t work well on the internal blood gasses, bacteria and toxins found deep within the body.

  Britaine glared out of a fog. He could see that damned woman McPherson. She was staring at her console visuals, calling for updates and scans. She was watching the calamity going on around them, seemingly unaffected by the second jump churning through the spacecraft. Her skin looked flushed, but no more than if she had been through a moderate workout. Her uniform looked damp, but not soaked through as his felt. She seemed oblivious to the officers on either side of her. One officer was vomiting greenish bile; another had fainted.

  As fast as the jump had started it was over. He saw rather than heard McPherson shout orders into his command console. He couldn't clear his thinking long enough to imagine what she was going on about. The enemy was behind them in the Gagarin System. They couldn't have followed the Kiirkegaard. They would not have known her course. A spacecraft could jump in an almost infinite number of directions, although it was normally star to star as the stars themselves provided navigation points.

  He brought his attention back to McPherson as she slammed her fist against the console. He heard her cursing, but could not seem to get his eyes to focus enough to see her lips move. She slammed at the release buckles of her crash couch restraints setting herself free. He couldn't imagine why she would want to do that. He wasn't in any position to move and didn't want to. For all he cared, the Binders could just kill him right now even if they had managed to follow.

  The next thing he knew McPherson was kneeling over him. He realized he was out of his crash couch and stretched out flat on the deck plates. His eyes were clearing and he tried to sit up. A huge hand attached to a thick wrist pushed at his chest thumping him back to the deck.

  "Not yet, Colonel," McPherson said staring down at him. "Here drink this." She slipped a tube into his mouth. He sucked at it without thinking. He was glad he did. It was cold, clear and sweet. It began to clear his head and settle his stomach.

  "What is…?" he tried to ask, but his voice faded away to a rasping rattle.

  "Water," she said. "I am not much of a medic. All I know is that if it hurts, then put water on it or in it. Hydrate or die. Water seems to help most people when they get bounce sickness. That is what rookies get the first few times in combat armor. Nausea, stomach cramps, dizziness. Sound familiar? Yeah, only bounce sickness isn't quite as bad as you went through, but I don't know what else to do."

  "Kiirkegaard?" he asked and was surprised to find his voice was working again. "What is the status of the Kiirkegaard?" He sat up. This time, he was thankful to note that McPherson kept her mitts off him.

  "Whatever preprogrammed course has been set is what is happening. I don't know enough to try to change anything. We may be at a dead standstill for all I know or cruising full tilt into a sun. I can tell we were hit with one signal after the jump. It was the Binder anomaly. That anomaly is an IFF signal of Binder origin intended for human reception. I assume we didn't respond."

  Britaine stood slowly and looked around him. Only a few of the crew were active. No one was moving beyond grabbing at cramped guts. He could smell someone or more than one someone had lost control of their bowels. He craved to be alone to check if he was one of the offending parties. He wasn't about to look and see if he had crapped his pants in front of this bitch.

  McPherson smiled. "I’m going to check on the others as long as you are up, Colonel."

  He nodded, "Your people?"

  "I broadcast an order for them to water up. They’ll get up and check on each other. They’re APES. It’s what we do."

  Britaine snarled, "Oh, so you're better than we are? Spacers can't take this, but you grunts are immune? Is that what you are saying?"

  McPherson turned away from him, ignoring his question. She went to help other officers. Britaine watched her for a moment and then crawled up to sit at his console. He began to call through his officer roster passing along orders whenever he got a response.

  Some officers seemed to come through the ordeal better than others. He knew he had a superior constitution. He was a FAC pilot after all. Still, it was good McPherson had come to him first. It was always best for a commander to recover quicker. Morale would be higher when the others came around to find him still in charge. He was sure he hadn't needed her attention and that he would have recovered before the rest of his crew even without her help. As for her reaction to the rapid double jump, he knew that just proved she was a mutant of some kind.

  As he made his comm calls Britaine watched McPherson unbuckling officers from their restraints and laying them out on the deck. As she went, she cleaned vomit off a few faces, even the blood from the nose of one young second lieutenant. He made a mental note have the man reassigned out of the CNC. He could handle the laundry or su
pply if he couldn't handle a little stress like a real warrior. He watched as McPherson collected water containers and began passing them around to his officers.

  He thought to himself, "Freak. Definitely. Medical ought to do an autopsy to find out what makes her tick." He chuckled, forgetting completely his own reaction to the double jump. He said to himself, "Yeah, autopsy. I know she isn't dead yet, but would that be such a loss?"

  "Say what, Muffin?" Britaine looked up and saw the First Watch Commander Major 'Nuke' Esteban's holo-image staring at him from the console.

  "Nothing, Nuke. We are just clearing away up here," Britaine smiled. "Rough trip in the flight office?"

  "Same-o, same-o, Muffin. Just another day in the life of a FAC pilot," Esteban said. Neither man mentioned the vomit stains down the front of Esteban's uniform.

  Britaine smiled, "Same here." He glanced around. "We've got a few non-FAC jocks who seem to be unable to hold their mud, but everything seems to be a go. Sorry for the short notice on the jump."

  "It is not a problem. I am zapping you a flash status report. We are still getting info from the rest of the watch on duty. I just talked with the XO in ops. He is getting a total ship status report for you ASAP."

  Britaine said, "Continue at battle stations, condition red. Indications are there may be additional Binders in this system as well. I know we are not going to be fully manned very quickly. I doubt if very many of the enlisted crew can handle a simple double jump. I am not expecting speed records, but let's get it done as quickly as we can. It looks like Gurand walked us into a shit storm. We need to get ready for anything."

  Britaine frowned as McPherson stepped through the open hatch into the corridor and began to undo the strap on the unconscious security spacer. He remembered he had ordered security to arrest her. He thought, "Well, all in good time. Let her putter around pretending to be useful. She isn't going anywhere; we'll get around to refrying her hash soon enough.

  Esteban interrupted his thoughts, "Do you want me to have navigation lay in a course back into Gagarin?"

  "Negative, Nuke. Are they functioning yet? Good. Navigation, lay in a course back to Heaven System with minimum rejuvenation time between jumps," he ordered.

  "What?" Esteban said. "Wait. I know we can't jump back in until we are ready to go in with guns blazing, but we have to go back."

  "Negative Nuke. Nav, respond." Britaine said.

  He looked up to see McPherson standing at his side watching him. He shook his head. Couldn't he do anything without her hovering about like a lovesick cow! He decided maybe it was time for him to deal with her. Before he could call for security he was interrupted.

  "Navigation here, Colonel. Please repeat destination."

  "Heaven's Gate, Nav. I am not in the habit of repeating myself. Get the crap out of your ears."

  Esteban said with an edge in his tone. "Come on, Muffin. We've got friends back in that fur-ball. We can't just leave them there."

  Britaine shouted, "Can't? Since when do you tell me can't, Esteban? I've known you since you were a snot-nosed wingman who couldn't find his crotch with a whore's hands. It is not your place to say can't."

  Esteban shouted back, "Damn you, Britaine. I say we go back as quickly as we can recover to do so. And we launch the FACs upon entry. We can smoke those weed-eaters."

  Britaine snarled, "No. Negative. Not now. Not ever. Do you understand, shit-for-brains? Navigation, lay in the course as ordered."

  He looked around at the shocked faces of his CNC officers. His voice rose in pitch as he shouted. "What? Do you want to give me an argument, too? I don't have time for this. Any more back talk and I will have the lot of you up on charges of insubordination. I don't need to explain myself to anyone here. I am in command, do you understand?"

  A couple of officers stood with clenched fists. He didn't give a damn what they thought of him. He had ordered a course to Heaven's Gate and that was where they were going. He saw officers glance at him, up to McPherson and back down at him. He realized it might not hurt to have her stand at his back until he got this mess straightened out. He was sure the double jump had temporarily scrambled a few brains.

  "Navigation?" he asked.

  "No, sir," the navigation officer said. "Not me. I am not going to be the one to abandon the flight wing without firing a shot."

  "Navigation, you are relieved of duty and confined to quarters pending insubordination charges."

  The navigation officer replied, "Fine with me, Colonel Britaine. I would rather do time under arrest than go back to Heaven's Gate and be called a coward like you."

  Britaine's voice cracked with anger. "Get out of my operations office. Nuke, get those co-ordinates input and do it now."

  Esteban's face glowed bright red in his holo-image. His jaw clenched. "Not only no, but who the hell do you think you are no!"

  Britaine said, "Comms off to flight operations. Kiirkegaard, voice print authorization: this is Colonel Britaine, lock off all commands from operations and the flight office. Full spacecraft control to CNC consoles."

  He nodded to himself. That will fix them. He looked at his assembled officers. He spotted the second lieutenant who had been bleeding through his nose during the jump. The man was listening with his eyes wide open as his fingers picked at his uniform front, pulling off small chunks of vomit.

  He said, pointing at the man, "You, go sit at the navigation overlay console. Set up the ordered course to Heaven's Gate. I know you are not nav qualified, but let the Kiirkegaard's systems do the math."

  The man looked at the junior-grade major standing next to him. The major shook his head no and sat back in his chair. The young lieutenant shook his head no at Britaine and sat down next to the jg major.

  Britaine exploded. "Kiirkegaard, command and control functions on my voice command only." He looked at the officers surrounding him. "Anyone here not willing to lay in the course to Heaven's Gate can get out of my CNC now. I will bury you all with insubordination charges. Get out now."

  He watched in utter amazement as all of his officers quietly left the center. He felt a presence at his shoulder. He saw McPherson still standing at his back.

  "Okay, McPherson. What the hell do you want?" She said nothing as she stood looking at him. "Of all of the people I would have expected to be insubordinate at a time like this, I would have chosen you, McPherson. What are you still doing here?"

  She said, "Waiting, Colonel Britaine. I am just waiting."

  He shook his head and turned back to his console. "Ops?" There was no answer. "XO? Major Paradise in the flight operations office, respond." There was still no answer.

  "Colonel Britaine here: open communications to all levels of the craft. Security, send an armed detail to the operations office on the double. Second watch, report for duty. All first watch personnel are relieved of duty and confined to quarters."

  He turned to McPherson, "Come with me to the flight office. There may be something wrong there and I am formally requesting your services per our contract for in-transit emergencies."

  McPherson nodded, "Yes, sir."

  Britaine thought, "Good. Damn good she didn't say anything else. I don't need a frustrated, frigid bitch to start in on me. Maybe she will make herself useful." He nodded and beckoned her to follow him.

  McPherson stopped at the hatchway and spoke. "Colonel, if I may make a suggestion?"

  "What is it now? Can't you see that we have a crisis to deal with?"

  "Yes, sir, I believe it might be best if we seal the CNC hatch and put a voice lock on it."

  "What? Yes, that is a good idea." He spoke the command into his comm unit and they watched the hatch slide shut without a sound. He voice printed the lock and turned to go. McPherson didn't follow him. He stopped and turned back to her.

  "Now what?"

  She pointed at the lone security spacer standing by the hatch. The man was a mess and he looked baffled at the activity around him. The spacer was a one striper. He was so new he still had p
acking material stuck to his backside, but Britaine realized the man might be useful whatever his state.

  Britaine said, "Right. Spacer, follow."

  The spacer looked almost panicked. "Sir, um…sir, I request to be allowed to go to sickbay."

  McPherson shot out a hand and ripped the man's needler from its holster. She stuck the needler in a pocket. Then she put her other hand on his chest and gave a slight shove. The spacer collapsed to the deck.

  "Sorry, Colonel, but I don't believe this spacer will be joining us."

  The flight office overlooked the FAC ramp for take offs and landings, so it was not near the command and control center. The operations office was widely separated from both. The design prevented a missile attack from taking out more than one major center of control. It would make a long walk for Britaine and McPherson.

  As a result of their hurried pace, Britaine was slightly out of breath when they reached their destination. He had been expecting to run into other personnel, but he did not see many. The crew he did see was still either working their way out of the jump nausea, or scurried out of his sight, ignoring his shouts.

  The flight office was empty when they stepped through the open hatch. He sat at the first console he came to and checked the ship status. He saw McPherson shut and lock the hatch behind them. He couldn't imagine why she needed to lock the hatch. She would only have to open it when the second watch and security showed up.

  He readily saw the Kiirkegaard was sitting still in space with all monitors on passive. That was good. The Binders would have a hard time finding one small non-moving spacecraft in the vast volume of space, if they were in the system. His mind refused to lock onto the fact that some of the vessels firing at Gurand's wing had been human.