This Corner of the Universe

by Britt Ringel

  With the dots starting to connect, Heskan was now in the process of targeting ships he thought were connected to the hypothesized pirate activity and were scheduled to come in-system within the next month. Of the three freighters making their way to Skathi, one of the freighters, a HandyMax-sized freighter named Paragon, fit the profile. She was privately owned and self-insured, with a scheduled port of call after Skathi at Narvi itself and then a stop in Erriapius. She had also docked at the RALF six months ago with just sixty-five percent of her maximum cargo, citing a faulty cargo retention barrier field generator as the reason she couldn’t carry to her full capacity. Heskan would find out in a little over two weeks if Paragon had fixed her barrier field generator.

  Petty Officer Davis spoke excitedly in a slightly higher pitched voice than normal, “Confirmed red, sir. We’re getting a comm message from them; it’s been tagged with emergency priority.”

  “Let’s hear it, Sensorman,” Heskan spoke coolly. Keep things under control, Heskan, everyone on the bridge is looking to you for calm and confidence, he thought.

  The front wall screen blinked once and replaced the system tactical view with a screen of transmission snow. No discernible image could be made out and the audio was nearly as bad. The message was date-stamped thirty hours ago and set to play on a continuous loop. Between the static and noise, Heskan could make out the panicked voice of Orphan’s captain. They had experienced some kind of tunnel drive failure three days into their dive to Skathi. It had cascaded into a general power plant failure causing major radiation spikes inside the ship. How this had happened, Orphan’s captain didn’t say. His voice was soon obscured by tremendous static as he cited the freighter crew’s casualties. The static cleared up as the captain pleaded for any help available. He had set the forward starboard docking collar to auto-accept in case the crew was unresponsive when help arrived. The message ended with another plea for help before looping back to the beginning.

  “Status of the freighter, Davis?” Riedel asked the second shift sensorman.

  “Umm…” Davis hesitated. “With the Beta Field between us, it’s difficult to tell but there’s a lot of radiation emanating from her, sir. Lethal amounts.”

  “Immediately lethal or deadly over long term?” Heskan queried.

  “Not immediately lethal, Captain, but anyone inside there will need a lot of anti-radiation therapy. I’m no doctor but I’m not sure normal anti-rad medical procedures would do much good for their long term health,” Davis answered.

  Heskan exhaled not realizing he had been holding his breath. “Crew complement of Orphan, Davis?”

  “Twenty-four according to her specs, Captain,” the answer came back immediately.

  “PO Ball,” he turned to face the navigator. “Lay in an intercept course and bring us up to our best speed. ETA?”

  The young petty officer’s hands flew over the console. “Two hours, sixteen minutes, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Ball.” Heskan turned to his first officer. “Mike, get the staff together in ten minutes. We need a game plan.”

  The staff meeting started two minutes early. Riedel briefly outlined the situation and then played the audio of the message from Orphan. The system tactical view was displayed in the center of the briefing table. When Orphan dove out of the tunnel point, Anelace had been 31lm from its location. The corvette was now travelling at the blistering pace of .3c but would have to slow down to .1c as it traversed the Beta Field. Once clear of the asteroid field, she would resume .3c all the way to the distressed freighter.

  Lieutenant Riedel finished his briefing, “We don’t have much to go on but we’ll know more once we get clear of the Beta Field and get a better picture of Orphan. I expect a standard evacuation procedure in a high radiation environment. Some or all of the crew may not be ambulatory and may need assistance off their ship.”

  Heskan questioned, “Have we seen any lifeboats from the freighter yet?”

  The sensorman replied, “Not yet, Captain. We can’t see much because of the Beta Field but the nav buoy at the tunnel point hasn’t sent us any lifeboat distress signals, so there probably aren’t any yet.”

  “Isn’t that strange? If you were on a highly contaminated ship, wouldn’t you abandon ship as soon as you left tunnel space?” Heskan asked.

  Truesworth said nothing and then, after a moment, he realized the question wasn’t rhetorical. “Heck yes. The instant we dove out, I’d have my crew in the boats and launching. I guess it’s possible they ejected while in tunnel space but that’s a death sentence.”

  Lieutenant Vernay agreed. “I don’t see much point in ejecting from a ship if it’s in t-space since lifeboats can’t generate the tunnel effect to safely dive out.”

  “So it’s likely the crew can no longer self-rescue,” Heskan concluded.

  This comment brought forth a consensus of head nodding around the table. Vernay then broke the silence. “Captain, why wouldn’t they just hang out in a lifeboat and set the ship’s computer to eject them when the ship entered Skathi?”

  Heskan paused. “I don’t know, Stacy. Maybe there wasn’t time or maybe the captain didn’t think of that.” Still, that’s a good question, Heskan thought. But it’s not really fair to be second-guessing a ship captain who’s under considerable duress and might even be dead by now.

  “It’s possible that the lifeboats can’t provide as good protection from the radiation as somewhere else on the ship,” Riedel offered. “We should be thankful that they had the presence of mind to set one of their docking collars to auto-accept. That will make boarding her much easier than trying to override the computer from the outside.”

  Vernay pursed her lips. “I suppose, sir. I guess not everything is a conspiracy out here. This system is making me paranoid.”

  “Chief Brown, how many people will you need to affect rescue,” Heskan asked to bring the meeting back on point.

  The chief leaned back and thought. “Three, includin’ myself—”

  “You aren’t going, Chief,” Heskan cut him off.

  The chief raised his hand in protest but Heskan cut him off again. “Sorry, Chief, but I only want people under thirty going and I want them fully inoculated with anti-rad before they leave Anelace.”

  The chief frowned but offered no further complaint. “Four people. I can use one of my teams, three spacemen an’ a petty officer leadin’ ‘em. They can shuttle across, dock an’ evacuate the civilians. We can do it in one trip though it’s goin’ to be very tight inside the shuttle on the return trip.”

  “I want volunteers, Chief. They’re going to be taking a massive dose of radiation. I want just one trip and I want minimum exposure to our team. Just grab the people and get out,” Heskan stated.

  “They already volunteered, Capt’n,” Brown stated flatly. “They volunteered when they took their oath back at Basic Training.”

  Heskan was not sure he agreed with that but said nothing.

  “What if some of the crew are deceased, Captain?” Riedel questioned.

  All eyes turned to Heskan. Crap, he thought. I’d say leave them because there isn’t any point in ordering my crew to risk radiation sickness for a bunch of corpses. Heskan opened his mouth to answer and then shut it again. On the other hand, we don’t leave people behind and ordering my crew to do so will hurt morale. “Recover if practical but minimize risk of exposure to the living. Ultimately, it will be the team leader’s call based on their current situation. I’ll support it either way.” There, hopefully we all can live with that.

  Heskan stood up and looked at his staff. “Chief, get your crew prepared. We’ll go to action stations five minutes before we break clear of the Beta Field and then modify our plan based on what we see.”

  Heskan looked at the tactical plot. Anelace would clear the asteroid field in thirteen minutes. Orphan appeared to be drifting at .02c laterally to Anelace’s position from the tunnel point. He pointed to the stricken ship. “This is why we’re here, folks. We have a chan
ce to save twenty-four lives, people with families. Let’s get over to them and do what we’re paid to do.”

  * * *

  Anelace’s Allison T-22 drives powered her to .3c upon clearing the navigation hazards of the Beta Field. Her inertial compensators strained to keep life sustainable on board while the stresses of her movements tried to tear her apart.

  All of the bridge officers were present and the remaining operations crewmembers were at their assigned stations to act as medics or damage controlmen as necessary. Brown’s rescue team, consisting of Spacemen Cook, Wagner and Diaz and led by Petty Officer Second Class Lincoln, were in Anelace’s shuttle, waiting for clearance to launch.

  As soon as Anelace’s sensors could burn through the interference, Truesworth started relaying information about Orphan to Heskan. “Orphan’s leaking large amounts of radiation. It’s definitely some type of power plant breach. Levels are steady though, no wild fluctuations.”

  “Life signs?” Heskan asked hopefully.

  “I think so, Captain. We’re not exactly a science ship and the radiation is making it hard to see but I think I’m picking up life aboard her.”

  They were still eighty-six minutes from rendezvous. “Keep monitoring, Ensign. Let me know if anything changes,” Heskan ordered. “Opinion, Mike?”

  The first officer stepped away from a side station and walked up to the captain’s chair. He spoke in a low voice, “Pretty much what we expected. I’d stick with the plan.”

  Heskan nodded in agreement and then called down to his engineering officer. “Brandon, you see what we have up here?”

  Lieutenant Jackamore’s voice came over the comm unit, “I do, Captain. My first guess is that radiation containment barriers failed around the core. The power plant seems to be operational although it’s leaking a lot of radiation.”

  “Brandon, is it safe to approach?” Heskan noted a long pause before he got his answer.

  “Sir, with the limited information available to me, I would say Orphan’s power plant is in no imminent danger of overload. I’d point out the obvious hazards of the containment leak and would advise very short exposure to anyone going aboard.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Heskan out.”

  Heskan cleared his throat. “Maintain course, Ensign Selvaggio. Bring us right up on her so our rescue party has the maximum amount of time protected by Anelace’s shield. Ensign Truesworth, raise our shield.”

  The duo acknowledged the orders as Anelace hurtled toward the freighter. Eighty-five tense minutes later, she kept pace with the dying freighter less than .5ls off her starboard bow. The distance was dangerously close but it allowed the shuttle to transition immediately from launch protocol leaving Anelace to docking protocol approaching Orphan. Transit time would be under twenty seconds.

  Chief Brown’s confident voice washed over the bridge from his operations station. “We’re awaitin’ launch clearance, Capt’n.”

  “Granted, Boats,” Heskan said. This situation will start to get out of my hands now, he thought as he watched the shuttle’s symbol on the tactical plot move quickly toward the freighter. The plot had been zoomed to near maximum, showing only the small area of space the events were playing out in.

  “Soft dock,” PO Lincoln’s voice announced over the comm unit, which was quickly followed by “Hard dock, we’re opening the Orphan’s hatch now.”

  Chaos erupted on the bridge as several people started yelling all at once. Over Heskan’s comm unit, Lieutenant Jackamore’s voice shouted out, “Captain, the safeties just shut down on Orphan! Core overload in sixty seconds!”

  Although Jackamore was screaming, the comm unit speaker diminished his volume to where his warning was nearly drowned out by Truesworth, who was sitting close to Heskan. “Whoa! Big spike in radiation, Captain! I’m picking up a major rad source in Orphan’s hold.”

  However, as loud as Truesworth’s voice was, it was drowned out by Selvaggio’s high-pitched alert, “She’s turning toward us, Captain! Orphan’s main drives just lit off! Collision alert!”

  All these warnings hit Heskan at once. Unprepared for the assault, his mind took several seconds to process what he had just heard and the consequences of it all. After three heartbeats, he heard his voice and that of his first officer’s crying out “Evasive action!” in unison.

  The commands proved unnecessary, as Selvaggio already had the lithe corvette spinning like a top ninety degrees to port. She had pounded her navigation console’s command key ordering Anelace to full military power so hard she drove the corner of the button into her palm, breaking the skin.

  Truesworth gasped, “My God, she’s loaded with dutronium thirty-six, Captain. That’s the radiation source in the hold.”

  Not good, thought Heskan. Dutronium-36 was not only highly explosive but, when detonated, it released radiation exponentially higher than an already deadly core overload. How do I stop this? What do I do?

  “Orphan core overload in thirty-five seconds, Captain.” Jackamore’s voice came over not only Heskan’s console but the entire ship’s main speakers, loudly carrying into every compartment. Heskan angrily snapped back over the ship wide speakers, “Acknowledged, Lieutenant!”

  Selvaggio interrupted, “Collision averted but Orphan is pursuing. Distance is point two light-seconds but we’re pulling away.”

  Heskan spun his chair to face Chief Brown. “Chief, can we get them back in time?”

  The chief shook his head, “No, I don’t think so.”

  Heskan hit the transmit button on his comm unit. “Lincoln, Orphan’s core is overloading, get to engineering and stop it!” I don’t even know if anyone on that rescue team has any training in engineering but I’ve got to give them something to believe in.

  Jackamore’s voice once again came through Heskan’s chair arm comm unit, this time quieter. “If they’re carrying dutronium, we have to get away, Captain. We need to be at least a half light-second away before she blows.”

  “Overload estimated in twenty-five seconds, distance to Orphan is point three-one light-seconds,” Selvaggio’s voice struggled to regain a semblance of calm.

  I need more time to pull away but I’m not going to get it. Think, dammit! An idea came to Heskan as he slammed his fist down on his chair arm console. “Vernay, shoot her engines,” he ordered bluntly.

  Unfortunately for Anelace, her main armament, the bow-mounted Kruger Mk 237 mass driver, was facing directly away from the freighter. Since Orphan was outside of the two hundred seventy degree arc the mass driver could rotate through, it was useless. However, the freighter was within the firing arcs of the two rearmost Lyle Dual GP pulse lasers. Although no Brevic military regulation or naval standard operating procedure had instructed Vernay to have her crew at maximum alert with weapons trained toward the “friendly” civilian freighter, the lieutenant had done so out of an abundance of caution. When she had given the order, even she had thought such action was unnecessary and bordered on paranoia but she had spent the last two years aboard Anelace preaching to her weapons section that they were the ship’s guardians. They were the last line of defense and no extra action was unnecessary or too paranoid when it came to protecting Anelace.

  Heskan watched as the lieutenant updated the target data into the weapons’ director computer. Milliseconds later, commands were sent to each of the pulse laser stations manned by Petty Officers Pruette and Jamison, her LAZ subsection heads. Already pointed toward Orphan, the laser mounts adjusted an average of only two millimeters and barked out their first pulsed shots within three seconds of Heskan’s command. The charged energy bursts moved toward Orphan at the speed of light.

  Orphan possessed two engines. Each was positioned at her stern, one mounted above the ship’s hull and one below. Both energy bursts struck the unshielded, unarmored topside engine of Orphan. The engine, technically running at one hundred eight percent of maximum, was already tearing itself apart when the bursts burned through the exterior casing, melting many of the engine’s mo
ving parts. As the energy dissipated, the cold of space immediately fused those parts together and the resultant destruction created an imbalance inside the engine that caused enormous vibrations throughout the engine frame. Four seconds later, the twelve mounts attaching the engine to the hull failed and the drive physically separated from Orphan. Orphan’s course immediately altered “upward” as her bow was pushed high into the z-axis of travel by the remaining lower engine. The freighter’s automated navigation computers were unable to compensate and maintained neither her course nor her acceleration. Heskan watched the tactical plot draw an increasingly greater distance between his corvette and the freighter.

  “Fifteen seconds to go and point five-one apart, Captain,” a relieved Selvaggio called out.

  Heskan’s comm unit flashed again and he heard the tortured voice of Petty Officer Lincoln. “We’re at the door to Engineering, Captain, but it’s been welded shut, we can’t get in.” The anguish and fear in the man’s voice were easily apparent.

  Unsure what he would say, Heskan opened his mouth to respond but stopped when the freighter’s tactical symbol on the plot flashed once and faded.

  “Detonation,” Truesworth quietly confirmed.

  The explosion reached Anelace six seconds later. Now outside the destructive zone of the dutronium-36, her shield protected the crew from the shock wave and radiation.

  Heskan saw expressions of relief begin to break out among the bridge crew but felt his heart sink when he gazed back to tactical. The symbol that was Orphan and his four crewmembers was now gone.

  “Damage report,” he said sedately.

  Chapter 10