James Wittenbach - Worlds Apart 06

by Crucible

“Put it on my tab,” said the cat. “You know Commander Keeler is good for it.” Eddie nodded and signaled to Puck, his erratic and unpredictable mechanoid servant, to make the notation. “We don’t see too many cats down here.” he said.

  “Well, with prices like this, no wonder.”

  There were no other customers in Eddie’s bar. Tactical alerts tended to empty out the place.

  Eddie shrugged. Go figure. If not for the presence of the Commander’s large gray and black cat with the white bib, Eddie would have returned to his quarters.

  He brushed his brown hand through the newly shortened curls of hair on his head.

  Pegasus had been in space for five years, almost. He had accomplished the one thing he had set out to do, owning a really happening bar. And now, he felt stagnant.

  And lately, he had found his face forming jowls, and the beginning of a second chin. His skin remained a rich and glorious brown, but his hair seemed to be getting a little drab and seemed to have begun a retreat from the front of his head. Similarly, his belly-button and his spinal column seemed to be getting further apart.

  “I wonder if anybody ever thought of referring to people as cats,” he said. “Maybe that could be my thing. Instead of ‘hey, you guys,’ I could be all like ‘Hey, you cats.’”

  “That would only work with very, very cool people,” Queequeg advised. He took a sip of his beverage. It was extra creamy, and the Borealan vodka was the smooth, good kind. He was pleased. His tail swished happily.

  “You like?”

  “I’m choking it down,” Queequeg, being a cat, could never admit to being satisfied. “So, whatever happened to those two humans you used to hang around with?”

  “Since they decided to just be friends, they don’t come around too often no more,” Eddie told him. “Who would have thought that Captain SkyPilot’s untenable infatuation with Ice Princess Jane was the glue that held our little trio together?”

  “I don’t really get human relationships,” said Queequeg. “Hold her down by the scruff, plant your seed and go home.”

  “I see how you are. You want another one of those?” He indicated the near-empty saucer of white Borealan.

  “No thanks,” Queequeg answered. “I’ve got cat business.”

  “Really? What and where?”

  “Where is deck minus 91, Section J.? What is Boobah, who is missing?”

  “Who’s Boobah?”

  “Tall skinny ginger cat. Stays with Operations Lieutenant Tata. Section J is his territory, and he’s been missing for four days.”

  “Don’t you guys… you cats … go missing for days at a time… just to annoy people.” Queequeg’s tail twitched. “This isn’t like that. Something might have happened to him. I have to find out.”

  “Are you worried about him?”

  “Balls no,” Queequeg hissed. “I just want to get my marks in before the other cats figure it out. Minus 91 J is a great hidey-hole. It’s right above the primary heat exchange for the hangar bay fusion reactor cluster. Location! Location! Location! We’re talking warm and dark!” He leaped down from the stool. “And all for Queequeg!”

  Main Bridge/PC-1 – Command Tower, Deck 100

  “… Six hours, 93 minutes,” Alkema was saying as Keeler regained the bridge.

  “Until what?” the commander asked.

  Alkema gestured toward the holographic display. The projection behind him displayed a one-meter resolution of the Pathfinder Ship Lexington Keeler. A readout to the left of the ship gave a list of the damage so far detected, most of which was evident in the blasted and pock-marked hull. Huge pieces of the ship, most prominently the command towers, were entirely gone.

  “Until Lexington Keeler impacts the surface of the planet,” Alkema explained. “It’s in a decaying orbit, sinking into the upper atmosphere.”

  “How close is the probe?” Redfire wanted to know.

  “1,200 meters,” Atlantic reported. “These images were taken when it was still 600

  kilometers out. We’re just now getting some high-resolution images.” The image in the holoprojection suddenly acquired much higher resolution.

  “No life signs detected,” American reported.

  Commander Keeler was shocked. “They’re all dead!” American turned around and faced him, her face deadly serious. “There’s a lot of interference from the planet’s atmosphere, but I have detected no signs that there is anyone still alive on-board.”

  “Could they have escaped to the planet’s surface?” Keeler asked.

  “They would have a better chance of survival on the ship,” said Lieutenant Scientist Magnus Morgan. Morgan was the ranking planetologist, a blandly good-looking fellow in his mid-thirties, with wavy chestnut hair, intelligent green eyes, and full, pouting lips. He used those lips to recite the latest sensor data on planetary surface conditions. “Surface wind velocity at 80-90 klicks, with cyclonic storms. High concentrations of sulfur dioxide, ammonia, and hydrogen sulfide. Average surface temperature is 35 degrees, rising to 60 degrees at the poles.

  “Sounds like Panrovia without the culture,” said Commander Keeler. “Wait, what am I saying, Panrovia has no culture.”

  “Keeler…. that is… Lexington Keeler is adrift in the high atmosphere. Its propulsion systems are off-line.” Alkema stared hard at the data. “If we could reconstruct the orbital spiral, we might be able to determine what happened to it.”

  “Could we pull it out?” Specialist Atlantic asked.

  “That’s what she said,” said Commander Keeler, wriggling his eyebrows, surprising no one.

  Alkema and American looked at each other. Alkema spoke, “Initially, I’d say that Keeler is too unstable.”

  “The truth comes out,” said Commander Keeler.

  Alkema continued. “It’s got an incredibly large mass, it’s twisting in the wind, and any attempt to pull it out could lead to complete loss of structural integrity.”

  “But enough about my penis,” the Commander put in. “Is Lexington Keeler salvageable, and can we do it. Just give me an answer. Part one, should we? Is the ship worth saving?”

  “There is some good news in the telemetry,” Alkema reported, illustrating his points with a series of additional displays. “83% of the structure is intact and retaining atmosphere. The power system has a lot of disruption, but I think the quantum reactors are intact. If we can get it out of the atmosphere, it is still salvageable.”

  “All right, then. Part two, how do we do that?”

  Alkema sighed. “The only way I can imagine doing that is putting a salvage crew on the ship, getting the orbital thrusters on-line, and getting it out of the atmosphere under his own power.”

  “How hard is that going to be,” Keeler asked.

  Alkema said, “Very, very difficult. If the thruster damage is worse than we can detect or there’s no way… and there will be no time to abandon ship if they fail.”

  “Probably the riskiest thing we’ve ever done,” Redfire observed

  “And that’s saying a lot,” Keeler added.

  “There’s only one person on this ship who could pull this off,” said Alkema.

  “You?” the commander asked.

  Alkema smiled and shook his head. “I was thinking of TyroCommander Lear.” Shock and surprise silenced the command crew. Even American, who had been deeply involved in reading the sensor data, looked up from her station.

  “If this is a set-up for another penis joke, it’s not working,” Commander Keeler growled.

  Alkema explained. “TyroCommander Lear oversaw the final construction and systems integration on Pegasus. She knows the Pathfinder systems, and how to get them operational, better than anyone else on board.”

  “Yeah, but she…” the Commander began, but didn’t quite get to finish.

  “I’m aware of that, commander,” Alkema told him. “But, if you want someone who can maybe… maybe pull this off in the time we have left, she’s the man.”

  “What if she declines,” ask
ed Atlantic.

  Keeler knew as well as anyone. “She won’t, you can be damned sure of that. We just need to make it clear that if she does recover the Keeler, the charges still stand.” He touched his communication panel. “TyroCommander Lear, report to the mission briefing room in Alpha Launch Bay.”

  He closed the channel. He had not decided whether he would tell her himself, or let Alkema do it. “What else will we need?”

  Alkema had already done his homework. “Six Aves with six salvage teams, five for the thrusters, one for command and control. That’s both the minimum and maximum, and every crew should know this could be a one-way mission.”

  The Commander agreed, “Let’s plan to have those crews on board Lexington Keeler in one hour, max. Are you planning on going?”

  Alkema hesitated. “Not this time, Commander.” Alkema offered no reason, but the fact that his wife was resting eighty decks below with his child in her belly might have been why.

  Keeler nodded, “All right, I’ll put you in charge of assembling the teams. Anyone else?” Powerhouse spoke up. “Sir, Lexington Keeler is going to need a really good helmsman to get out of the atmosphere.”

  “Know any?” Keeler shot back. “Just kidding. All right, make ready for departure. Atlantic, switch to helm. We’ll get you a booster chair.”

  “Kumba Yah!” Redfire exclaimed.

  “And I thought he wasn’t paying attention,” said the Commander.

  “Check it,” said Redfire, and he opened a new holodisplay in the foredeck. The imagery was no better than the low-resolution version of the Keeler, but the shape was distinctive.

  There, spinning and adrift in the outer limits of the debris field was the wrecked hull of an Aurelian attack ship.

  Chapter Two

  Mission Briefing Room – Deck Minus 9

  Executive TyroCommander Lear’s pod glided to a halt near Alpha Landing Bay. The gull-wing hatch lifted up and she stepped out into the crowded access ramp. Everywhere were technicians in the gray, tan, and red-trimmed jackets of the technical and engineering cores.

  They paid her no attention, hurrying with their equipment packs toward the Aves docks.

  She entered the Mission Briefing Room and was surprised to find Prime Commander Keeler waiting there. She had expected him to send his pup, Alkema. Lear grudgingly gave Keeler credit for meeting her in person. Past the far end of the conference table, a bulkhead was given over to a holographic backdrop of the badly battered Lexington Keeler, twisting and burning in the atmosphere of 15 215 Crux II.

  She spared it only a glance. This was not a briefing. It was a face-off. While Alkema filled her in on everything Pegasus had learned about Keeler since they arrived in the system, she kept a steely gaze fixed on the Commander, who pretended not to notice and fixed his attention on a panel on the conference table where he pretended to play holographic quoits.

  She grudgingly commended his dedication to pretending to ignore her, especially when he pretended to be listening to smooth jazz on his earpiece, and when he pretended to go to the bathroom and pretended to be gone for over ten minutes.

  “Let me be clear on what you expect of me,” Lear said to Keeler when Alkema had finished explaining the situation, not a gram of deference in her voice. “My mission is to take command of a salvage crew to repair Pathfinder 06.”

  “Keep it from impacting on the planet’s surface, at least,” Keeler said, deactivating his earpiece.

  “I also assume that the mission also involves a search for survivors.”

  “Of course, as I’m sure Lt. Alkema explained to you when he said, ‘the mission will also involve a search for survivors.’”

  Lear moved to the projection, not so much to study as much as to position it as a backdrop for the point. “Frankly, from what I see of the damage, I would estimate the possibility of survivors to be low,”

  Keeler’s response was unexpectedly angry. “There have to be survivors, there. They may be in stasis pods, they may be hiding in the reinforced sections of the UnderDecks, but there have to be survivors. If there is even one of our people left alive on that ship and you can save him, the mission will have been worth it.” He paused. “Unless, of course, some of the rescue party gets killed in the process.”

  “Which is exactly what is likely to happen,” Lear said.

  “Your job is to prevent that from happening. I won’t lie to you. There is extreme risk to this mission.”

  She turned toward the image, stared at it for a moment, then turned back to Keeler. “No survivors. Extreme risk. Why do we want to salvage the ship, then?”

  “Because 7,000 people were on that ship,” Keeler said. “They deserve better than to have their journey end in a burning heap on a lost planet.”

  Alkema waded in. “There are other reasons. We also have to find out what happened here.

  Keeler’s logs may be the only record. And even if the ship is unsalvageable…” Lear began talking over Alkema. “You make it sound as though the value of the mission is entirely symbolic… denying a defeat to the Aurelians.”

  Keeler stared her down. “I will not risk the crew if you judge the ship unsalvageable. You should have enough time to evacuate. I trust your judgment.” Her lips parted as though to say something, but she didn’t.

  “And, of course, you can refuse,” Keeler told her.

  Not a chance. “And if I agree to lead this mission, will you consider something for me?”

  “I didn’t come here to make a deal, Goneril Lear,” Keeler told her. “If you don’t take charge of this mission, I’ll put Lieutenant Duke in charge. As things are, you are under no further obligation to contribute to the Odyssey Mission at all.” With that, he gestured for Alkema to cut off the holographic display, deactivated his playscreen, and stood to leave.

  Lear interjected quickly, “Don’t misunderstand, Prime Commander, I will lead this mission, and we will recover Keeler. And I will agree to participate unconditionally. But know this, time is short and the situation of Keeler is desperate. Once my mission lands, I’ll be in charge. We won’t have time to run every decision through Pegasus for approval, and I have to make command decisions…”

  “That goes without saying,” Keeler said. “You’ll have the same authority as any landing team leader.”

  “Then, we have consensus,” Lear told him. “I’ll take the mission.” Tactical Rapid Analysis Lab — Deck 101

  At the time Pegasus had launched, the oblong chamber above and to the rear of the Primary Command Center (but open and accessible from the Outer Bridge) had been an environmental telemetry laboratory. After coming out on the unhappy side of a battle or two, Redfire had convinced the Commander of the necessity for rapid analysis of battlefield telemetry. While Pegasus had waited outside the Chapultepec Starlock, the refit had been under-taken, under the direction of Engineering Specialist Scout, leading to her promotion to Engineering Lieutenant Scout.

  The TRAL was darker than the rest of the bridge, the better to see the holographic displays.

  Some of the routing panels were left open, the better to quickly redirect power and processors in the event of attack.

  Redfire and four advanced tactical officers occupied the TRAL. The center of their attention was the large projection in the center, where a crescent-shape cloud of fog was coalescing backward into a large sphere, surrounded by a field of debris.

  “We just extrapolated the trajectories of a few billion bits of material backward,” reported Specialist Guttenburg Saic, a wiry Republicker with a barely-kempt halo of spirally curls encircling his brow. “The bulk of the debris comes together in a sphere 1,014 kilometers in diameter.”

  “We’ve also been tracking the heat and radiation dispersion,” said Specialist Cutty Skylark, a Sapphirean female, on the short side of middle-age but with enough roundness in the right places to show for certain she had been a heartbreaker two or three decades earlier. She was primarily assigned to the Environmental Core, with secondary duties to the T
actical Core. “By calculating the heat dissipation curve…”

  “And matching it against the expansions rate of the debris field…” Saic put in, “… we estimate the sphere was destroyed sixty-four hours ago, closing in on sixty-five.” Redfire looked over the display, the time index, the heat curve, the pieces of the Megasphere flying back together. “Kumba yah,” he said appreciatively. “What about the radiation signature?”

  Skylark answered. “We detected a retreating gamma emission expanding outward from the point of origin with trailing type five neutrinos…”

  Redfire cut her to the chase. “Short version… was it a Nemesis detonation?” Skylark tried to explain. “The white hole in the center of the megasphere detonated. That much is certain. The only thing we know that could cause that is a high-yield Nemesis detonation. But, because the supernova that followed produced orders of magnitude higher levels of energy. It washed out any trace of the missile.”

  “A bit like trying to find the firestarter that started a forest fire,” Saic analogized helpfully.

  “Thanks for the helpful analogy everyone can relate to,” said Redfire.

  “The question is why Keeler would fire a missile at the Megasphere, knowing what the result would be,” Skylark asked.

  Redfire crossed his arms and sighed a little. “They didn’t know. The only reason we knew was because we sent a crew over to the one we encountered in the Bodicea system. Where was Keeler when the Megasphere detonated?”

  “In orbit around the second planet,” Saic answered. “Most likely.” Redfire contemplated this. “What were they doing there? Was there a colony?”

  “Our sensors can’t cut through the debris in the atmosphere,” Skylark told him. “There could be a colony on the surface, but we haven’t detected anything.”

  “Or the detonation could have destroyed the colony also,” Redfire paused and looked thoughtful. “Have Geological Survey drop a probe into the lower atmosphere and scan the surface for signs of civilization.”

  “I’ll do it,” volunteered Saic. He pulled up probe telemetry on his workstation. “Probe Alpha two is in a good position,” he said, indicating the highlighted dart shape in an orbit furthest from the Lexington Keeler. “I’m requesting Geological Survey to re-task… Geological Survey complies. Let me pull up the view. ”