Only the Brave

by Richard Tongue

   “That did something,” Romano said. “Four of the ships on the perimeter just jumped out of the system. One of them is still hanging back. I guess he didn’t believe you.”

   “Or they want some sort of record, and that ship drew the short straw.”

   “One minute to departure, detonation four seconds later,” Zani said.

   “Anything from Lincoln?” Flynn asked.

   “Not a thing, sir,” the technician replied, shaking his head.

   Flynn watched as they flew past his base ship, knowing deep inside that there was nothing he could do for her or her crew, cold comfort that he would live through detonation. Most of his shipmates were about to be lost in time once again, and this time, they’d be going without him. He’d only served on that ship for a few months. It seemed an eternity.

   “Twenty seconds,” Zani said. “All hands, brace for turbulence.” She turned to Flynn, and said, “If I get this right, we won’t feel a thing.”

   “Get it right,” Flynn said. “Please.”

   “Five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One. Transition.” The ship shuddered as the strained power systems struggled to rip open the fabric of space-time, Komarov sliding through the portal and out the far side, the brown dwarf now no more than a tiny, distant disc. Flynn looked at Romano, who looked back with grim resignation in his eyes.

   “Whatever happened, happened eight seconds ago.”

   “How long before we can make another jump?” Flynn asked.

   “At least three hours,” Zani replied, throwing controls. “Let’s just hope we’re out of range of whatever the hell we just triggered.”

   “And say a prayer,” Romano said, quietly, “for Lincoln.”

  Chapter 27

   “Time to detonation?” Forrest asked, running into the hyperdrive control room. The corridors were chaos, crewmen running back and forth, a thin layer of smoke seeping out of damaged air filters, the taste of ozone in the air to announce electrical fires somewhere between the decks, the result of the recent battle. Lincoln had suffered a pounding more severe than anything it had ever experienced, but somehow, it was still moving, still operational, if just barely.

   “Less than five minutes, Captain,” Brooks replied, his eyes locked on the monitors, hands darting from one console to another in a desperate attempt to bring the drive back online, the flashing red lights an indication of his failure. “We’ve lost the power grid in three places. That took out the mains and all the backups. If someone had done it deliberately, they’d hardly have done a better job.” Shaking his head, he said, “There’s no way to fix the damage from here.”

   “What about outside?”

   “The corridor section is breached. We’ve got no way of getting to the relays. And we’ve got four minutes before that bomb goes off. Even if we could get to it, there’s no way we could fix the damage in anything less than six hours. There’s just too much work to do. We might have to get used to the idea that we’re going along for the ride.”

   “Not a chance in hell,” Forrest said, grabbing a toolkit. “Come on. We’re going outside. There’s got to be another answer, and we’re going to have to find it. Now.”

   Two technicians raced forward with spacesuits, hurriedly clipping them into position, while Brooks continued to protest, “There’s debris floating around out there, lots of it. One piece in the wrong place and you’re dead.”

   “That’s just the risk we’re going to have to take, Commander,” she replied, clipping on the helmet. She raced to the airlock, barely waiting for Brooks to get inside before working the emergency cycle, the outer doors sliding open and explosively releasing the atmosphere within, tossing the two of them clear of the ship before their suit jets could compensate.

   “This is crazy,” Brooks said, kicking himself around, following Forrest.

   “Less talk, more work.”

   Immediately, Forrest could see the damage, the angry burns on the outside of the hull where shrapnel had recently rained down upon it. The ship still had enough power to get them out of the system, but unless she could repair the network, there was no way of feeding it to the hyperdrive.

   “What about the SDC relay?” she asked. “No external sensors to power anyway, and it looks intact.” She ran a hand scanner over the unit, and said, “Telemetry looks good.”

   “It’s not designed to handle anywhere near that much juice. It’ll blow, and take half the port armor with it. We could have hull breaches in a couple of thousand places, and...”

   “One quick pulse is all we need. Just enough for a short-ranged hop. You take the topside, I’ll take the far side. We’ll have to rig the bypass manually.” Not waiting for the engineer to agree, she fired a long pulse on her suit jets, diving down to the hull, close to the burned out section. She caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye, and let out a sigh as she saw the body of one of her crew drifting past, hurled clear of the ship when the compartment he was in had been breached. Too many of her people had died in this war. At least, one way or another, it was over.

   She reached the control panel, pulling open the inspection hatch and reaching inside. First she had to switch three cables, clumsily but quickly in her suit, then start the laborious process of deactivating the safety overrides, one after another, the computer warning her that what she was attempting was suicidal insanity. Up above, Brooks was working at his panel, completing the same laborious process, trying to beat the clock.

   Nobody knew what would happen when the device detonated. It was powerful enough that the field would reach the black hole, but there was some doubt over how long the process would take. There might be a few additional seconds, maybe a minute. Forrest muttered half-remembered prayers from a world lost in time as she frantically worked through the control programs, one after another, convincing the computer that the greater risk was in holding back, rather than accepting the damage that would be caused to the ship upon the conclusion of the jump.

   Another connection, another linkage. She’d spent years working on engineering crews, back at the start of her career, her first mentor making it clear that she’d never make a good commanding officer if she didn’t understand every detail of the ship she was commanding. She could have sent someone else out to do this, one of the trained drive technicians, but the risk was far too great. Sometimes the captain had to lead from the front. This was one of those times.

   “Forrest to Bridge,” she said. “We’re almost there. Stand by for jump. Keep it short. Do you have a good target?”

   “We’re going to follow Komarov,” Kirkland replied. “There’s a subjovian out on the extreme fringes of the system, maybe a billion miles out. I figure we might need some help when we get to the other end of the ride.”

   “Could be right about that,” Forrest said, as the final light winked red. “That’s it! All systems go down here! Brooks, report.”

   “I’ve completed the last circuit now. Starting back to the airlock.”

   “Make it quick,” Kirkland warned. “We’ve got less than a minute.”

   “On my way,” Forrest said, but as she turned to engage her thrusters, she saw the hull beneath her start to ripple, seams popping free. She fired her jets as hard as she could, trying to give her all the boost she could manage, but it was no good. The hull ruptured, right underneath her, and the force of explosive decompression tossed her clear of the ship, far faster than her suit jets could manage. She frantically attempted to stabilize herself, then tapped out a projection for a course to take her back to Lincoln.

   A red light winked on.

   Projected course impossible with current fuel.

   She was traveling too fast, had been thrown too far, and there was less than thirty seconds on the clock before detonation. Under normal circumstances, a search and rescue shuttle could have her safely back on the deck in a matter of minutes. Now, there just wasn’t time. She reached for h
er communicator, watching with satisfaction as Brooks made it back into the ship.

   “Captain, we’re...”

   “No, Commander, you aren’t,” she replied. “Get out of the system now. That’s a direct order. Don’t disobey my last command.” She smiled, then continued, “The care and maintenance of Lincoln and the rest of the fleet is down to Commander Flynn, now, assuming he survived. Wish him my best, and tell him that if he screws up, I’ll come back and haunt him.”

   “Captain,” she protested.

   “That’s an order, Commander. Now get the hell out of here, you’re spoiling my view.”

   “Aye, Captain,” she replied, with a resigned sigh. “It has been an honor to serve with you.”

   “The honor, Commander, was all mine.”

   A blinding blue flash filled the sky, and Lincoln jumped away, clear of the system, safely away from the impending detonation. Using the last of her thruster fuel, Forrest turned to face the star, looking almost directly at the station and the hyperspace core attached to it. Her heads-up display showed her a collection of ships, all racing for safety, few of them knowing or believing what they were facing. They’d know soon enough.

   She flicked through the communication channels, more out of curiosity than anything else, a cacophony of chaos as ships called for help, trying to work out what was going on, to conjure some miracle to save themselves. One Guilder tanker managed to jump clear, bare seconds to spare, and another, behind it, made an attempt of their own. Instead of blue light, white flame. Too close to the star, to the unpredictable gravity field of the black hole. Only drifting debris remained of their desperate hopes.

   The seconds streamed away, one after another, counting away her time in this century. Finally, the last one ticked clear, and there was another blue flash, this time brighter than before, so much brighter that it threw on the safety overrides, and instead of disappearing as normal, it simply grew, and grew, and grew, brighter and stronger, surging through the system with a boiling rage.

   One by one, the starships winked out, caught in the eddies of other-dimensional space and tossed into eternity. For an instant, she thought that she might be spared, that the rift might falter and weaken before reaching her, but then it touched the surface of the star, and the light grew infinitely stronger, her headphones ringing with what sounded like nothing less than an endless, eternal scream, drowning out everything, even her thoughts.

   The blue wave swept towards her, surging and pushing, stronger and stronger, finally catching her in its embrace.

   All was dark. Then and always.

   And then, much to her surprise, there was light.

  Epilogue

   “That new uniform suits you,” Benedetti said, looking at Flynn. “Though I’m surprised you didn’t hold out for General.”

   “Colonel seems strange enough,” he replied. He flexed his bionic hand, wondering whether the faint noise of the working gears was his imagination, and continued, “Congratulations on your promotion, as well, Commander.”

   With a shrug, she said, “Same job, more pay. Not a bad deal for me. Though I get the impression that things are going to be a lot quieter around here from now on.” The door opened, and Kirkland walked inside, one of the few present still wearing United States Space Force uniform. Most of Lincoln’s erstwhile crew had signed up with Zemlya following the disappearance of Captain Forrest and the signing of the ceasefire. Kirkland, who had opted simply to quit the service, still wore her old uniform, for the last time. She looked at Flynn, and shook her head.

   “I still think you should have waited,” Kirkland said.

   “It’s been a year, Sandy,” Benedetti replied. “That’s long enough to mourn a ship. Or a person. Time to face realities.”

   “Maybe,” she said. “I suppose most of the crew agrees with you, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.” Glancing at the door, she added, “They’re waiting for you outside. You don’t want to keep the great and the good of a hundred worlds sitting idle for too long. Wars have started for less.”

   “I’m coming,” Flynn said. “And Commander, thank you. For everything. The Diplomatic Service is getting one hell of an administrator.” He walked out of the anteroom, Benedetti and Kirkland following, and stepped out onto the hangar deck, one of the few parts of Lincoln they’d been able to salvage after her escape from the singularity.

   Even a year later, no ship had been able to approach that part of space. A handful of brave fools had died in the attempt, and all the probes dispatched by the numerous interstellar governments had failed to return. Long-range scans revealed nothing. Literally, nothing at all. The star, the debris, the station, the ships, all had disappeared without a trace. The very fabric of space-time had been weakened in that region, and tall tales were already beginning to circulate of what might lie in waiting out there.

   Waiting on the hangar deck were eight hundred people, all rising to attention as he walked into the room. Presidents, Chairmen, Senators, Admirals, Generals, wearing uniforms from all over this part of the galaxy. More than half of them were from the Guild, the war simply coming to a stop when the scale of the devastation wrought upon their fleet became apparent. As well as the realization that while Lincoln had been taken permanently out of the game, she’d left a powerful legacy. A bomb that could quite literally destroy a solar system. Suddenly, the concept of war had become far too expensive to contemplate, and the Guild’s swarming systems vulnerable to attack from a hundred quarters. The ceasefire had taken less than a month, and while a formal treaty was likely years away, there was no stomach on any side for a resumption of the fighting. At least, not yet.

   Sitting in the front row, at the place of honor, were the survivors of Lincoln. Three hundred and one officers and men, most now in Zemlyan Green, a few still wearing their old uniforms, just like Kirkland. Leaving the Space Force had been the toughest decision of his life, but General Markova had finally come up with a way to sweeten the deal that he could accept, and the bulk of the crew had gone along with it.

   The podium was empty, waiting, and as he walked over to it, he saw the banners fluttering from the walls, the old United States flag proud among them. He still had citizenship, for whatever it was worth, and there were still those among the crew who dreamed of somehow, someday, resurrecting their country. Sufficient that Zemlyan Intelligence had been forced to have quiet words with a few potential troublemakers.

   He took the podium, and the assembled mass returned to their seats, Benedetti and Kirkland waiting in the wings. He looked down at Romano, sitting opposite him with a smile on his face, now wearing the uniform of a Zemlyan Major.

   “Precisely one year ago,” Flynn began, “the universe changed forever, with the detonation of the first temporal bomb, a device that weaponized the hyperspace malfunction that brought us here. Our best scientists have probed the heavens, and found no evidence that any other such weapon has ever been deployed.” He paused, frowned, and said, “We’ve never found any sign of any other intelligent race, no matter how far our ships have flown. Perhaps now we know the reason why.”

   “I am aware that many of the nations represented in this room are beginning their own projects to recreate that device. Some of you are perhaps on the verge of success, though I state now as I have stated before, that all the data we possessed was destroyed upon the signature of the ceasefire agreement. I suspect that many of you believe that the existence of this weapon, even potentially, mandates its construction for the purpose of strategic defense, the same peace of the gun that existed on Earth during the 20th and 21st Centuries. A time I perhaps am better aware of than many of you in this room.”

   Looking at the audience, he continued, “Humanity damned near went extinct. Twice. Once as a result of the ecocaust, and then following generations of interstellar warfare. Imagine what would have happened had this weapon been available then? How many of your worlds would have been wiped o
ut, blotted from existence, either destroyed or hurled forward into an unknown, uncertain future.”

   “This course of action cannot be permitted to resume. Too many lives are at stake. One war has ended, and the developing technology of humanity means that it must be the last.” Gesturing around the room, he said, “My ship, Old Abe, was damaged too badly for any conceivable repair, though we were able to salvage large portions of it, such as this hangar deck.”

   “Most of you know that the temporal bomb was converted out of the hyperspace core of a new carrier, one that was in the earliest stages of construction. What was built once can be built again.” He reached for a control on the podium, and all the lights went dark, a green hologram appearing in the air, the lines of a ship similar to the one that had been destroyed.

   “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce the Abraham Lincoln, first of a class of fighter carriers. Not merely a reproduction of the lost vessel, but an improvement, with input from Zemlya, Lemuria, Colombia and a dozen other worlds. Her crew will be gathered from those worlds who contributed to her development and construction, and her mission statement is borrowed from an old arm of the United States Air Force.”

   “Peace is our profession.”

   “In the long-term, perhaps, humanity will unify under one government, one administration. That time, I suspect, is far in the future. Nevertheless, there must be a means by which the myriad worlds of mankind can work together, to cooperate, in the peaceful exploration and colonization of deep space, and to prevent any future disputes that could lead to the end of all we hold dear.”

   “The new Lincoln,” he continued, “or perhaps, New Abe,” he said, obtaining the expected chuckle from the audience, “will serve as the flagship of an organization to be known as the Congress of Worlds, modeled on the old international organizations of Earth, but with one critical difference. This time, it will have its own permanent military arm, and its mission will, first and foremost, will be to keep the peace. To prevent aggression, to promote liberty, justice and freedom for all, to fight for the weak against the strong, and to try and ensure that the ideals of the flag I was born under, the flag I fought for, still remain.”