“Whoa. One shot every twenty one seconds is a low rate of fire. Ok, so we need to create a procedure for using this thing, get the crew trained, and incorporate the pulse cannon into our combat simulations. Uh, after we fire the pulse cannon, how long will the enemy’s shields be down?”
“The shields won’t necessarily be down, Joe. They will be disrupted and weakened, in that local area.”
“Hmm. The procedure for using the cannon has to be that we fire the thing, then concentrate other weapons on that area.”
“That is how the kitties use their pulse cannons, yes.”
“Hey, could you bring me coffee and good news every morning?”
“Ha! I would not count on it.”
Now that we had a functioning warship, our strategy was to conduct hit-and-run attacks against isolated, easy Maxolhx targets. The goal of the attacks was to keep the Maxolhx off balance, to make them disperse their forces because they wouldn’t know where we would strike next, and to generally sow fear in the hearts of the enemy. According to Skippy, the last time the Maxolhx had lost a warship in combat was thirteen hundred years ago, during a brief dust-up with the Rindhalu. Now they had lost two ships that they knew of, the ones we framed the Bosphuraq for blowing up.
And they were going to lose more ships, lots of ships, and the attacks would be conducted all across their territory.
We had considered striking vital support facilities like shipyards and spacedocks, but those were hard targets. We might get away with hitting one spacedock, before the enemy pulled back their major combatants to protect their other major facilities. The risk, in my calculation, was not worth the potential reward. There were much less risky ways to tie up their fleet.
The first target we selected was a pair of destroyers that were scheduled to strike a Bosphuraq research base, in a star system the birdbrains called ‘Koprahdru’. It was a small, unimportant base, far from the ability of the Bosphuraq fleet to defend. That isolation was why the Maxolhx had selected the place as a target, and why they had tasked only two lightly-armed warships for what they called a ‘punishment action’.
We were going to show the Maxolhx the definition of ‘punishment’.
But first, we were going to work up the ship and crew for the operation. We had plenty of time before we needed to be at Koprahdru, so we created a list of attack scenarios we needed to train for, and Simms scheduled the training around the ship’s maintenance needs.
I was looking forward to the attack simulations. They would be a good way to get some emotional release, without endangering our ships and crews.
But first, I needed to do something more important.
Gunnery Sergeant Margaret Adams was ready to be awakened from the coma.
“Joe,” Skippy reminded me gently. “It’s time.”
“Just a minute,” I scrolled down a summary of the proposed attack simulation we would run that evening. Until my laptop blinked and shut off. “Hey! I was reading-”
“It’s time. You were only reading that to avoid making a decision. It’s time.”
“Ok,” I stood up and straightened my uniform top. Should I change into a fresh-
No. That would be avoiding again.
“I’ll be right there.”
“Hurry. I am starting the process now.”
Valkyrie is a big ship, and it was not a short distance from my office to the medical bay. To get there, I walked at a determined but not rushed pace, so I didn’t alarm any of the crew. That didn’t matter, I saw only two people along the way. A big ship and an undersized crew meant we weren’t crowded, that’s for sure.
Skippy did not need to guide me to the compartment where Adams was being cared for. Since Simms gave me a tough-love talk the day after she came aboard, I had been to the medical bay to visit Adams several times. Once a day, in fact. Sometimes twice. When I visited the medical bay, I combined seeing Adams with visiting people undergoing Mad Doctor Skippy’s therapy, so I wouldn’t be seen as favoring any one member of the crew. Except that was bullshit, and I knew it was bullshit, and the crew knew it was bullshit. The crew was polite and never said anything to me about how much time I spent in the medical bay.
“How is she?” I asked even before I walked through the airlock into her compartment.
“Don’t know yet, Joe,” Skippy chided me gently. “Speak softly, please. For now, don’t speak at all. Don’t move either. Her eyes will have to adapt to the light,” he was dimming the compartment lights while he spoke. “Movement might be confusing to her.”
In the darkness, I waited, pressed up against the wall, which was technically a ‘bulkhead’ aboard a ship. The floor was a ‘deck’, the ceiling was an ‘overhead’, rooms were ‘compartments’ and corridors were ‘passageways’. Often I got the terms wrong, that’s what happens when the military puts an Army grunt in command of a ship.
Did any of that matter? No, explaining that was a way to burn off nervous energy, and avoid thinking about all the bad things that could happen when Adams woke up.
Among the bad things I imagined, her not waking up wasn’t one of them. Skippy had talked me through the process, partly so I wouldn’t pester him with questions. Knowing what was supposed to happen, I knew it wasn’t supposed to take as long as it was. Certainly, I should not have been leaning against the bulkhead, breathing as quietly as possible, for more than thirty minutes.
A glance at my zPhone told me too much time had passed. “Skippy,” I whispered so low I could barely hear myself. His super-hearing would have no trouble understanding my words. “What is wrong?”
“I don’t know yet,” he replied almost as quietly, forcing me to focus on what he was saying. The voice was only in my left ear, the one where I wore a zPhone earpiece. “She has been revived from the coma I induced.”
“Ok, so?”
“It appears she is still in a semi-conscious state. One that her body has induced. It appears that her Extrathalamic Control Modulat-”
“Her what?”
“It is also referred to as the Ascending Reticular Activating System.”
The only ‘reticular’ thing I had ever heard of was a type of python, and I had no idea what that meant either. “Explain it to a dumb monkey, please.”
“Ugh. The part of her brain that regulates sleepytime, Joe. She is asleep.”
“Oh. Can you wake her up?”
“I’m not sure I should. This may be a case where we need to listen to her body, and trust it. Although, hmm, this concerns me. Maybe you should wake her up.”
In the dimness of the compartment, lit mostly by tiny lights of the instruments on the far wall, I leaned forward to look at her. Again. Recently, I had spent a lot of time looking at her.
Her hair was longer. It had continued to grow while she recovered, and that had taken a lot longer than Skippy’s optimistic original estimate. The unruly curls of her hair would have embarrassed her, and certainly did not conform to Marine Corps regulation. Because her whole body had until hours ago been encased in thick gel, her hair had a dull residue and was limp. Her skin had multiple fine scars, and the right side of her face was healing from frostbite caused by exposure to hard vacuum. Until last week, her skin was criss-crossed by burst blood vessels, also caused by vacuum. The blood had drained, the swelling mostly gone, and the fine network of scar tissue was now more like the color of her unblemished skin.
Except that instead of her natural skin color, that I would describe as a cup of coffee with a spoonful of cream, she was gray. A darker gray than my skin would have been, but not a healthy appearance. There was no shine, no life to her skin either. Part of that, maybe a big part, was the gel she had been submerged in. Skippy had not cleaned all of it off, in case he needed to submerge her again.
Her eyelashes were sort of clumped together. The left side of her upper lip was still swollen and split. Her left earlobe had a scar where a tear had been repaired, and the earlobe was bent outward too far.
Overall, she looked
like hell, and I knew the real damage was on the inside of her head.
I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
“Me?” I asked. “Wake her? How? Like, I kiss her?”
Skippy did a combination gagging sound and chuckle. “Dude, this isn’t a fairy tale, and you are certainly no one’s idea of Prince Charming. Besides, a real woman getting kissed by you? No offense, but, yuck.”
“I appreciate that you added the ‘no offense’ in there, Skippy.”
“You’re welcome. How about you just squeeze her hand, something like that?”
So, I reached out, took her left hand in mine, and squeezed gently.
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. Then she squeezed back, her hand warm under mine. Blinking, she turned toward me. “Joe. I knew you would come for me,” she whispered, and my heart broke.
No.
That’s bullshit. None of that happened.
What did happen?
Nothing.
She didn’t respond to me at all.
Like Skippy said, this was no fairy tale.
One hour, then two went by, with me squeezing her hands, lightly touching her cheek, talking to her. We tried several types of physical stimuli, but Skippy concluded she was asleep and would be asleep until her Ascendant Articulating-
No, that’s not right.
Until her Sleepytime Clock decided it was time for her to be awake.
Skippy was not worried, exactly. He was concerned. Mostly because her reaction had been unexpected. From what he could tell, she was in a normal sleep cycle, and her brain waves were encouraging. When I mentioned that her eyelids were twitching and her skin felt warm, he explained she was in REM sleep, likely experiencing vivid dreams. That was a good sign, he said.
Major Kapoor came to relieve me, is the way he said it. Either Simms or Skippy had called him, as a way to get rid of me. Whatever I was doing, it wasn’t helping Margaret, and I needed to prepare for the attack simulation we were running that evening. Without arguing, I left her to Kapoor. Someone would be with her continuously until she was awake.
We ran the attack sim. It went Ok, I was distracted, and angry with myself for being distracted. Clearly, there wasn’t anything I could do for Adams, while I had an important job on the bridge. In my office later, I forced myself to concentrate on the after-action report, especially on what I could have done better. That’s where I was when it happened.
Adams woke up nine hours after I left, when Frey touched her hand. As far as I know, our gunnery sergeant and our Canadian special operator did not have any particular bond. It may simply have been good timing.
Anyway, I was not there when Adams awakened.
I sure as hell was there as soon as I could.
“Captain,” I nodded to Frey. She rose from where she had been kneeling beside the gel bed where Adams was lying.
“Sir, I’ll-” She looked toward the airlock.
“As you were, Frey,” I ordered. “She responded to you, stay here.”
“I think it was just luck,” Frey leaned over Adams. “I was here for twenty minutes before she reacted.”
“What happened?” I asked. I had seen enough sleeping people in my life to know that Margaret did not appear to be awake. Her hands were twitching and she rocked slowly side to side. The movement of her eyelids was a slow up and down, not the rapid movement I observed before.
“Joe,” Skippy interrupted. “Perhaps it would be best if Captain Frey were to leave, for now. Too many people in the compartment could be confusing, even frightening, to Margaret.”
“It’s Ok, Sir.” Frey let Adams’s hand gently fall back onto the gel bed. “I’ll be outside, if you need me.”
When the airlock door slid closed behind Frey, I looked over at the medical monitor, which I knew Skippy was using to watch and listen in the medical bay. “What the hell was that about?”
“What?” He asked innocently.
Touching Adams’s hand, it felt cool and clammy to me. Though I was not a doctor, I figured that could not be a good sign. “I know when you are lying, you little shithead. You didn’t want Frey to hear whatever you’re going to say.”
“Ok, Ok, Joe. You got me. Margaret did wake up, briefly. I sedated her.”
My mouth dropped open. “Why would you do that?”
“Her condition is not good, Joe. Instead of us engaging in a lot of useless blah blah blah, I will withdraw the sedative and you can see for yourself, Ok?”
“Do it.” She was alive. The worst I had imagined hadn’t happened. Whatever would happen, I could handle it.
Five minutes later, I was not sure about that. Something was very wrong with her. Her eyes were open, pupils wide at first, then dilating as Skippy brought the room lighting up to a soft glow. Her eyes were open but she wasn’t seeing. Or, she was seeing, and what she saw frightened her.
Yes, that’s very funny, my ugly face scared her.
Shut up.
Her arms were flailing. No, more like flopping around uncoordinated. Like she was trying to use her arms to keep something away from her, and she couldn’t control her muscles.
That wasn’t the worst part.
She couldn’t talk.
Her mouth was making sounds, grunts, squeals, nothing intelligible. Her speech was not that of a drunk person, she was not slurring her words.
She couldn’t use words.
After trying to calm her, whispering assurances to her, I slowly stepped back. “Skippy, what is wrong?”
“Joe, I did warn you about the significant possibility of brai-”
“Uh! Do not say that,” I watched Adams for a reaction. “You said she might be able to hear us.”
“Hear us, yes. Understand us? Unlikely.”
“Don’t do it.”
“Ok, is this better?” He switched to my earpiece, where Adams could not overhear. “I warned about the potential of significant brain damage. Listen, the part of her brain responsible for speaking, and understanding spoken words, is impaired. She also has impaired motor control function. That’s why her movements are uncoordinated.”
“Sure. Right. Yeah.” It was my turn to babble. “It will just take time, right? She needs to learn to talk again. Like, I read to her, work with her?”
“No, Joe. Well, that might happen, if given enough time. I wouldn’t bet on it. If I were Margaret, I wouldn’t want to bet on it either.”
“Ok, so there’s nothing I can do. Got it. What can Skippy the Magnificent do?”
“Unfortunately, nothing.”
“Nothing?” That came out louder than I intended, and Adams reacted by grunting.
“I can’t do anything, because Margaret had not given me permission for intrusive medical procedures.”
“Shit.” I knew what he meant. She had given me power of attorney to make medical decisions for her. Since Simms told me about that, I had pestered Skippy about every aspect of the creepy alien nanobots he wanted to flood into her brain. They could help, a lot. Maybe too much. There was a risk that the person who emerged from the procedure would not be Margaret Adams. She might not recognize herself, and she would know that. Know what happened to her.
Know what I did to her.
“Skippy,” I took a breath. “I have to know, no fooling, no absent-minded bullshit, that this nanobot procedure is the best way to, to fix her.”
“Dude. I have never been so serious about anything in my life. The nanobots are the only possibility that she will recover.”
“Yeah.”
“So, do I have your permission?”
“It’s not that easy. I have to consider what she would want.”
“Joe, look at her. Do you think she wants to be like this?”
At that moment, one of her flailing arms slapped her face hard and she flinched. With a strangled cough, she spat up a wad of drool, it ran down her chin.
Crap. Was that her way of telling me what she wanted?
Because she sure didn’t
want to be like that.
“Do it. You have my permission. Uh, log it, whatever you do to make it official. This is my decision. If she hates someone for letting nanobots in her head, she can blame me.”
If Margaret recovered enough to hate me, I could live with that.
I hope she could.
CHAPTER NINE
How many times did we practice for our first attack, at Koprahdru? If you said thirty-seven, you would be wrong, because it was thirty-eight. Thirty-eight times, we sat on Valkyrie’s bridge, strapped into our seats to simulate combat conditions, and ran through scenarios ranging from the most likely to the truly ridiculous. Each simulation lasted about two hours, so including the time spent planning the attack scenarios, and conducting after-action reviews to study lessons learned, the practice sessions took up a full two weeks of our time.
We even practiced, six times, a scenario where Valkyrie was severely damaged in the battle, and the Flying Dutchman had to jump in to rescue us. Our old star carrier attached to the powerless battlecruiser, using extendable docking clamps, grappling cables, and magnetic fields. Then both ships jumped away, with Skippy warping spacetime to prevent the enemy from pinpointing where we had jumped to. Of the six times we practiced that desperate maneuver, only once did the ships actually attach and jump. Skippy was worried that even the Dutchman’s upgraded jump drive would fail if we tried that stunt more than once, so the other five practice runs were pure simulations. The one time we ran through that scenario for real, Skippy said he hadn’t needed to warp spacetime at all. The jump signature was so chaotic, even he would have had a tough time analyzing which direction our ships disappeared to.
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