The battlecruiser was left in three powerless pieces, illuminated by the explosions of ejected zero point cores and her shattered engines.
Chapter 19
Hessian System
13:50 September 5, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
SFG-001 Alpha Six – Falcon-type Starfighter
Michelle had been right. The other starfighters of SFG-001 hadn’t been close enough to nail down a vector for Roberts’ spinning and disabled starfighter, and were too far away to localize it once they’d decelerated to destroy the Commonwealth battlecruiser.
For fifteen long minutes, she’d thought she’d thrown away her career for nothing when she hadn’t found anything. Deveraux and Garnet were starting to make noises about returning. Then, a tiny blip pinged the sensors.
“Focus on that, Garnet!” she ordered, straining her eyes and implants to try and resolve it. The engineer obeyed her order, and the image suddenly cleared up.
It was unquestionably a Falcon starfighter. Dark and without power, it looked like a floating tomb.
“I have no power signatures, nothing,” Garnet said softly. “They’re gone, sir.”
“A Falcon is armored enough to conceal a suit signature,” Michelle replied stubbornly, even as her heart died a little inside her.
Ten minutes later, even that tiny hope was gone. As the starfighter closed distance and velocity with the wreck, they soon passed the line where they should have detected life-signs or any remaining power.
“We came this far,” the Flight Lieutenant said sadly. “We may as well lock on and bring them home.”
If nothing else, a six thousand ton mass moving at a quarter of the speed of light was a navigation hazard.
As they closed, she forced herself to tune out the sensors and focus on the finicky task of matching the vector and rotation of the uncontrolled wreck. She matched velocities to within a few hundred meters per second, slowly closing the remaining distance.
A thousand kilometers. A hundred. Carefully, she matched the spin of her own ship to the command starfighter, a dizzying sensation for herself and her crew.
Five kilometers.
“Sir, I’m getting something odd,” Garnet said quietly.
“This is not as easy as it looks,” Michelle replied, her voice strained as she tried to balance three dimensional vectors to match an object given motion by an explosion.
“Yeah, well you might want to be even more careful,” Deveraux told her sharply. “There was some extra shielding in the cockpit that messed up our sensors at a distance.”
“What do you mean?” Michelle demanded, locking the ships at two kilometers apart.
“Someone’s alive over there,” Garnet confirmed. “But I wouldn’t be pausing if I were you, boss – whoever’s left is fading fast.”
Hessian System
03:00 September 6, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
DSC-001 Avalon – Flight Deck
There was a medical team already standing by when Michelle slowly and carefully lowered her starfighter to the landing deck. The ‘medical facilities’ aboard a Falcon were limited, but the auto-doc had managed to pump Wing Commander Roberts full of enough drugs and tubes to keep him alive for the achingly slow trip back to the carrier.
She’d passed two of Avalon’s Search and Rescue shuttles going the other way, searching out the time-delayed beacons of starfighter auto-eject pods. The other four remained in orbit around Hessian, continuing to hunt down the scattered survivors of Hessian Orbital.
Combined with the local small craft and freighters, there were fifty or so ships scouring the debris field for anyone who might have survived. The odds weren’t good, but Michelle wouldn’t begrudge anyone the search.
According to the auto-doc, though, they’d had less than twenty minutes before the radiation damage to the Wing Commander would have been fatal. If she hadn’t disobeyed orders, Commander Roberts would have died.
With a sigh, Michelle exited her starfighter behind the medics, nodding for her crew to return to their quarters while turning to face the control center she knew would contain her acting CO.
She didn’t make it six steps before said acting CO intercepted her.
“I’m pretty sure regulations say I should court martial you,” Michael Stanford’s quiet, drained, voice said from behind her. He had apparently snuck up from the other side of her ship while she was focused on carrying herself to her doom.
“On the other hand, I have Dr. Pinochet’s professional assessment of the auto-doc’s readouts,” he continued. “According to her, the computer overestimated the Commander’s chances. There were minutes to spare before you got him hooked up. Potentially seconds.
“Saving the life of a comrade at risk to one’s own life is usually worth a medal,” the Flight Commander concluded, his eyes unreadable as he looked towards the exit the stretcher was leaving. “You’re not getting one,” he said dryly. “But the record will show that I ordered you to pursue Commander Roberts’ fighter. Do you understand me, Flight Lieutenant Williams?”
With every bone and muscle in her body, Michelle drew herself up to attention and saluted.
“Sir, yes, sir,” she replied as crisply as she could.
“The prognosis still isn’t good,” Stanford told her quietly. “We’ll know more in the morning – get some sleep, Lieutenant.”
Michelle turned to walk away, then paused and looked back at the squadron commander.
“What about yourself, sir?”
“Someone has to co-ordinate S and R,” he told her. “We have the best gear in the system – if we couldn’t save their station, helping save as many as we can is the best we can do.”
Michelle waited a moment longer, remembering her mission when all of this began.
“Any word on Commander Kleiner’s shuttle, sir?” she asked.
Stanford shook his head.
“Her docking port was less than two hundred meters from the fuel tank, Michelle,” he said gently. “There’s a thousand techs on the surface scanning every frame of every video and scanner we have, but it looks like Kleiner and her crew were completely vaporized.
“Get some sleep,” he repeated after a long moment of silence. “I will make it an order, Flight Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir,” she accepted wearily.
Hessian System
05:00 September 6, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
DSC-001 Avalon – Flight Control Center
“Bessarabia, we need you in sector 74-CT-9,” Stanford told the tiny schooner cutting its way through the debris field. “One of our probes picked up a heat signature, might be a fragment large enough to keep power and atmo.”
“Jawohl, Avalon,” the captain replied. Moments later, the ship on the control screens surrounding Michael changed course. The half-dozen schooners in Hessian atmosphere, with their relatively low-powered ion drives, could move through the debris field without the risk of radiation and other issues larger ships would have.
Around Michael, a new shift of Federation Space Navy officers and ratings were filing in, replacing the night shift. Twenty hours and two shift changes had passed, but the personnel in Avalon’s Flight Control Center were as determined to find any survivors as they had always been.
“How’s the search, Flight Commander?” a quiet voice asked behind Michael.
With a start, he turned to find Captain Blair standing at his shoulder, the man’s cybernetic eye spinning slightly too quickly for his peace of mind as the Captain surveyed the FCC.
“Slow,” Michael admitted. “I think we’d found most of those we were going to find before I got back. We’re up to two hundred and eighty-five.”
Blair winced, and Michael nodded his grim agreement. According to Hessian, there had been forty-two thousand, seven hundred and fifty-five men, women and children aboard Hessian Orbital. Seven survival pods had launched, and been retrieved, but now it was up to the fluke of fate to have saved anyone left.
>
The more time passed, the lower their chances got.
“What about our people?” Blair asked. “All of the emergency beacons should be up now.”
“We pulled four survival capsules out of orbit,” Stanford told him. “The SAR shuttles have confirmed they’ve picked up three more out where we fought the Hercules and they expect to bring them aboard inside the hour.”
A starfighter’s crew segment was a tiny fraction of its multi-thousand ton mass. The ships were designed so that if the onboard AI had enough warning of the starfighter’s destruction, it could eject the entire compartment as a survival pod to save the crew.
Seven pods launched out of twelve fighters lost was a very good ratio. They’d been lucky – and still lost at least seventeen people, including the two confirmed dead on Commander Roberts’ fighter.
“We’ve also pulled in about fifteen from the Commonwealth squadrons – but none from the pirates,” Stanford concluded. “Any word on the cruiser itself?”
“Major Crystal will be attempting to board the various fragments shortly,” Blair replied. “Kyle’s decision to go after them with lances looks like it’s going to pay a huge dividend – we might get a damned clue as to what the hell Terra thinks they’re doing.”
Michael glanced away, surveying the screens and the sensor data showing orbit.
“How is he, sir?”
“Alive,” Blair confirmed. “Beyond that, I don’t know. Dr. Pinochet has had him in intensive care since he arrived, and young Miss Angela made it very clear that, Captain or no Captain, I have no place in the surgery ward during the aftermath of a battle.”
The Captain sighed, and laid his frail hand on Stanford’s shoulder.
“I talked to Joint Command,” he said after a long moment. With a gentle pull, he got Michael to turn and see the paired gold circles of the insignia in his hand.
“They have confirmed your promotion to Wing Commander,” Blair said softly. “Until such time as Kyle can return to active duty, you are officially Avalon’s CAG.”
“I can’t take this, sir!” Michael protested. “Kyle is this ship’s CAG.”
“And he still will be, when and if he returns to active duty,” Blair confirmed. “He remains senior to you by a significant time in grade, Wing Commander Stanford.”
“But for now, I need to make sure someone is in the slot and able to put this ship’s fighter group back together,” the Captain continued grimly. “We’ve taken a gut-punch, Michael, and I fear what we’ll find on that battlecruiser.”
“I need to know my fighters can go to war if we have to. That’s now your job, CAG.”
Michael stared down at the insignia that had somehow ended up in his hand.
“Yes, sir,” he acknowledged slowly.
“First, though, I recommend you get some sleep,” Blair told him. “Captain’s orders.”
Chapter 20
Hessian System
12:00 September 8, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
DSC-001 Avalon – Main Infirmary
Kyle woke up slowly. Nothing felt quite right. His entire body hurt, a weakness and fiery ache that seemed to saturate every inch of his being. His eyes hurt and itched, his eyelids were heavy and sandy.
Keeping his eyes closed against the strange feeling, he tried to query his implant for where he was and what time it was.
There was no response.
His eyes snapped open to darkness, and he realized he had no idea where he was or how he’d got there. He knew who he was… but his memory was foggy, fuzzy. Everything seemed a little uncertain, and lacking the sharp clarity he now only vaguely recalled.
He tried to query his implant again. Time. Location. Self-check routines. Nothing. His implant was silent – it was like the molecular circuitry installed in his head was gone.
That thought had him bolt upright in the bed. The motion tugged along the tubes and sensors connected to him, scattering a tray of scanners across the floor with a metallic clatter as he realized that he was naked under the smart blanket.
Light filled the room in response as the door opened and a young brunette woman rushed in. Kyle was sure he knew her, but he couldn’t put a name to the face. He should have looked at her and remembered everything he knew about her, and been able to access her Navy service record with a thought.
“Commander, please don’t move,” she told him. “We’re still running a lot of meds and nanites into and out of your body. Losing one of those tubes could be dangerous.”
“My implant…” he choked out, finding his mouth was as dry and sandy as his eyelids. How long had he been sleeping?
“Your implant was damaged,” the nurse told him. “It’s been disabled until we’ve dealt with the gross physical injuries.”
“Water,” he got out, and she nodded quickly.
“Of course, Commander,” she replied. She had a glass of water into his hand before she’d finished speaking, and ever so gently helped him drink it – slowly.
He gave her a grateful smile, knowing it wouldn’t be misconstrued. It was funny what he remembered without his implant – he couldn’t remember the woman’s name, but he knew that she was in a relationship with one of his female pilots.
“Lie back down,” she instructed. “I’ll fetch Dr. Pinochet.”
Slowly, somewhat unwillingly, Kyle obeyed. The woman fussed over him, making sure all of the tubes – some connected in very sensitive places! – were still connected and flowing correctly. Once that was done, she swept out of the room.
Thankfully, she turned the lights in the private room on low. Kyle was at least not left alone in the dark, even if he was left alone with his thoughts.
He remembered a battle. A Commonwealth warship. He wasn’t even sure what that meant – his memory, his knowledge, everything was so foggy without his implant. Had they won the battle? Were his people okay?
It was a few minutes before the dumpy, red-haired, and reassuringly familiar form of Doctor Alison Pinochet entered the room. She softly keyed the door to close behind her and walked to the side of his bed, crossing her arms and looking down at him.
“You’ve left me a fine mess to fix, haven’t you?” she said quietly, a catch in her throat that Kyle didn’t recognize.
“There was a battle,” he said softly. “I remember that much. How bad?”
“Horrific, but not for us,” she told him. “Twenty-four of your people either didn’t eject or died of injuries before we got to them. We’re still totaling the Commonwealth’s butcher bill – and Hessian’s.”
“The station,” Kyle remembered with a flinch.
“Between the station, the freighter and Jäger, the Hessians are estimating over fifty thousand dead,” she told him, and he flinched back from her.
“How long was I out?” he asked. “My implant is disabled.”
Pinochet shook her head. “A little over two days,” she said quietly. “And I’m afraid that Miss Alverez engaged in a little white lie.”
Kyle met her gaze calmly. Somehow, he could guess what was coming.
“We didn’t disable your implant, Commander,” the doctor said softly. “It was too badly damaged – we removed it.”
“I can’t remember anything without it,” Kyle admittedly softly, swallowing hard against the burn of fear inside his chest. “I can’t remember Alverez’s name.”
“Your first implant was installed when you were four, Commander,” Pinochet reminded him. “You’ve had a military grade implant since you were eighteen. Your organic memory is badly atrophied.”
“Can you… put it back?” he asked, hating how much his voice sounded like he was begging.
“As soon as the physical damage from the radiation is fully repaired,” she assured him quickly. “You have a full backup on file from before you launched, so we’ll probably be able to run the builder nanites tonight. You should have your implant back by tomorrow morning.”
Something in her tone caught his ear, and he looked t
he doctor directly in the eye.
“What’s the catch, Alison?” he asked, very, very softly.
“NSIID,” she answered bluntly, and the ground fell out from underneath Kyle.
Neural Scarification Induced Interface Degradation. He somehow still remembered that. Nanotech could rebuild the molecular circuitry inside his skull, but damaged neurons still healed in their own way and at their own pace. If the damage to his implant had hit the wrong way, his ability to interface with an implant could be damaged – even completely destroyed.
“How bad?”
“I won’t know until we start hooking you up again,” the doctor replied. “But your implant was completely overloaded by radiation and EMP. You could be looking at a complete loss of bandwidth.”
Kyle had an unusually high level of compatibility with the brain implant technology. That was why, twelve years before, the Federation Space Force had drafted a much younger Spaceman Recruit Kyle Roberts out of a Federation Space Navy recruitment class.
To even be a pilot, you had to be in the ninety-ninth percentile of the human race with regards to implant bandwidth. Kyle was in the ninetieth percentile of that ninety-ninth percentile. But NSIID could render even him unable to fly.
And twenty-four of his people had just died in the first battle of a war that could easily consume his home.
Hessian System
17:00 September 8, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
DSC-001 Avalon – Flight Country
Angela slipped into Michelle’s quarters with a noticeable grin on her face. Despite being busy setting up candles on the desk she’d detached from the wall to serve as a table, the Lieutenant couldn’t not notice.
“What canary did you eat on the way down?”
“It seems I’m not the only one sneaking around Flight Country tonight,” the nurse told her. “I almost physically ran into Commander Mason slipping into Commander Stanford’s quarters.”
Space Carrier Avalon Page 18