Worthy of time, p.23
Worthy of Time, page 23
“All clear, sir. The ship is operating as well as can be expected, especially after the damage we took during the battle and Collins’ sabotage. She’s a tough ship. We’re keeping an eye on everything to make sure things stay that way.”
“Very good. Captain out.”
Harris guided the Nemean into a graceful, high orbit around the gas giant, with the moonlet now orbiting between the Nemean and the planet.
“This should allow us to get a better look at that moon,” said the captain.
“EVA mission?” asked Peters.
“Possibly. Let’s take our time and find out what’s down there first.”
“Sir, new contact detected,” announced Marker.
“The Daedalus?”
“No sir. I’m not sure what it is.”
An image of the contact came up on the captain’s command console. He pressed a button and put the display up for the entire bridge to see.
“What are we looking at?” asked Peters. “That’s an odd-looking shape.”
The contact had a metallic appearance, with rod-like structures of different lengths and radii protruding around it like spokes on a wheel. It was dark gray in appearance and rotating counterclockwise relative to the Nemean.
“How did we miss that on the sensors?” demanded the captain. “That’s twice our size and doesn’t look friendly.”
“Sir, it was in a low orbit around the gas giant. It just crossed the horizon and came into view,” replied Marker. “It’s now moving up into a higher orbit, probably trying to match ours.”
“Helm, gently back us away into a higher orbit around this planet. Let’s keep ten thousand kilometers between us and the contact.”
“Aye sir. Increasing our orbital distance from the gas giant.”
They all watched as the contact continued to spiral into a higher orbit around the giant, quickly closing the distance between it and the Nemean.
“Helm, increase speed. Keep that distance between us.”
“Sir, I’m trying. Every time I establish a ten kilo distance it increases its speed of ascent.”
“Captain, I suggest we deploy the weapons bay and prime cannons,” said Peters. “That thing doesn’t seem to be getting our message to keep its distance.”
“Sir,” Marker exclaimed. “New contact. It’s the Daedalus.”
A new blip appeared in the bridge display, indicating the Daedalus’ path through space. Presently, it appeared to be headed for the gas giant.
“How did we miss the Daedalus too?” asked the Captain. “Are your sensors working properly, Lieutenant?”
“I’ve been running diagnostics since we entered this system. Sensors are fully functional. The Daedalus appears to have completed an orbit around the system’s primary star and is now headed this way. My guess is that it was obscured by the star.”
“A possibility. But I still want those sensors checked.”
The commander took the cue and ordered engineering to manually check the ship’s sensor systems and to send a technician to examine the bridge console interfaces.
“Lieutenant Paris, hail the Daedalus. See if you can raise Mr. Felix or his team.”
“Aye sir. Running through all comm frequencies.”
A few moments went by before static began to crackle in the bridge speakers.
“Nemean, this is Lance Corporal Eugene Felix. Come in. Over”
“Felix, this is the Nemean. We read you,” replied Paris.
“Yes! Paris is that you? We thought we lost you guys.”
“We’re here, Mr. Felix,” said the captain. “We followed you through your jump point.”
“Captain, I’m not sure that was a good idea. But regardless, we’re glad to hear you made it. Is EVAC possible?”
“Stand by on EVAC. We’re analyzing your radiation envelope. But it’s looking good right now. What do you mean, it wasn’t a good idea that we followed you?”
“Captain, we’ve learned quite a bit about the Daedalus. There’s a weapon in this system.”
“Where?” asked the captain.
“Last we saw it, it crashed into the gas giant, third from the primary. Since we’re talking to you, it’s probably been destroyed,” replied Felix. “We can’t see you from here. Where is the Nemean located?”
“Mr. Felix, we’re in orbit around the gas giant you alluded to. Our sensors have made contact with an object of unknown design. The weapon, I presume?”
“Shit, Captain! Cancel EVAC! Get the hell out of there, now!”
The captain had never heard Felix speak that way, especially to a superior officer. Uncertain of what danger they were really in, he decided to err on the side of caution.
“Helm, break orbit immediately. Take us out one AU from the gas giant.”
“Aye sir!”
“Tactical. Deploy weapons bay. Ready all weapons”
“Sir, replied tactical. “Contact’s energy readings just spiked.”
A general-quarters alarm automatically began ringing throughout the Nemean, as the ship’s automated systems sensed the dangerous energy spike and went into automatic preservation mode.
Within seconds, bulkheads were reinforced with double doors, the hull began cycling through a series of micro-adjustments designed to better dissipate the type of energy release the computers anticipated, and essential mission data was backed up into hardened, isolated data cubes located in the center of the ship. If the ship were destroyed, the hope was that Naval Command would at least know what had happened.
“Sir, the Nemean has just activated APM protocol,” shouted Peters over the alarm.
“I know, Commander. Maximum speed, Helm. Get us clear of the blast zone.”
“Sub-light drives on full, sir!”
A few seconds later a wave of energy washed over the Nemean’s hull, incinerating the sub-light drives and badly damaging her hyperlight pods. The outer layers of her hull began to melt off, as the heat rose tens of thousands of degrees. Cracks formed along her spine, as the extreme temperatures compromised the Nemean’s external structural elements.
The Nemean began a long arc down towards the gas giant, losing altitude fast as the enormous gravity of the planet overcame the ship’s outward momentum. The captain, the bridge staff and the entire crew held on to anything that would give them some level of comfort, as they knew there was no way to recover from this.
Time seemed to slow, as the captain watched the gas giant get bigger and bigger on the view screen, which was somehow still operational, providing the bridge staff with data feeds and crystal-clear views of their final destination.
A moment later, that view changed as the green moonlet swung into view, looming larger than anything Gregory had ever seen, now mere miles away as its orbit brought it between the Nemean and the gas giant below.
The Nemean’s hull thundered as it made contact with the moonlet’s atmosphere, the heat of entry burning more of her hull away and scouring it clean of any Alcmene Naval markings. What fell from the moonlet’s sky was a sand-blasted, scorched hulk of metal — a lifeless, shapeless, mangled approximation of a planet’s once proud achievement in engineering.
With a surprisingly muffled thud, the Nemean skidded onto the surface, sending plumes of dust, smoke and other rocky debris high up into the moonlet’s sky, the half gravity making it that much easier for debris to fill the sky many miles away with evidence of the Nemean’s demise.
--
“Roll call!” shouted Peters, his body aching from the crash and his uniform torn, burned and stained beyond recognition. “By the numbers! Form up in three columns,” he said, pointing to three markers erected around a hastily constructed command center.
Of the original one hundred and fifty crew members and fifty remaining Marines aboard, Peters and his team of people counters had been able to account for one hundred twenty-one, thirty of them Marines and the rest naval personnel.
The thirty Marines had been broken up into six units of five. Two units were assigned to patrol the command center as well as the perimeter of the crash site, three units were aiding in the search for unaccounted crew, and one unit was ordered to recon the general area for food, water, supplies and inhabitants.
Doc Smith and his medical team had set up an emergency triage station, three first aid stations and an intensive care station. The medical team had suffered mostly minor injuries and medical supplies had generally been undamaged, thanks — in part — to the ship’s design, which placed emphasis on protecting medical facilities through material reinforcements and facility location, generally somewhere near the center of naval vessels.
Relatively speaking, based on their numbers, the Marines had suffered the most, largely due to the fact that shipboard military facilities, including barracks and training fields, tended to be located away from the ship’s core, allowing for faster troop deployment and recovery during military operations.
The bridge suffered heavy damage but was spared complete destruction largely due to luck: The ship had crashed with the bridge on top of the Nemean rather than below, where it made contact with the moonlet’s surface.
Waverly had suffered a broken arm and a host of cuts, scrapes and bruises, but was well enough to lead a fire brigade struggling to stamp out the fires that still ranged within the Nemean’s battered hull.
The hope was that once the fires were put out, what remained of the Nemean, which would likely never fly again, could serve as a refuge for the crew — at least until more permanent arrangements could be made.
“State your name and rank,” said Peters to the crewman standing before him.
The man looked dazed and was covered in dark streaks of ash, plus other materials that were likely the remnants of his incinerated uniform.
“Andrew Saunders, culinary specialist. Mess hall lounge west and barracks mess."
“How do you feel, Mr. Saunders?” asked Peters.
“I don’t know, sir. Not well, I guess.”
“Do you have any injuries that will prevent you from working?”
“No sir,” Saunders said. “I can work. I just feel exhausted.”
“As we all do, crewman. Report to supply officer Reynolds over there. Assist her in inventorying our basic foodstuff.”
“Yes sir,” replied Saunders, saluting with an arm covered in dirt and dried blood.
“Next in line! State your name and rank,” said Peters to the next crewman before him, feeling exhausted; he had been at this for untold hours, after the initial shock of the crash began to fade.
“Amanda Lilbet, medical recovery ward two.”
“How do you feel, Ms. Lilbet?”
“As bad as you look, sir,” she said, eyeing him from head to foot. She managed a half smile. “That was a joke, sir. I feel like shit. I probably look like shit too.”
“You look fine, Ms. Lilbet,” replied Peters. “Do you have any injuries that will prevent you from working?”
“None, sir. I took some stims after we crashed and some pain killers an hour after that. I’m fine to work.”
Peters nodded. “Doc Smith has set up medical over there,” he said, pointing in the general direction of the field hospital quickly erected after the crash. “There’s a lot you can do over there to help.”
She gave him another half smile and slowly walked towards the field hospital tenting.
“Ms. Lilbet,” called Peters. “A favor please? When you get a chance, let me know how the captain is doing.”
“I will, sir.”
--
Captain Gregory’s command console had erupted in flames when the Nemean crashed onto the moonlet’s surface, which caused severe burn injuries across much of his torso and limbs. Making matters worse, a support pillar directly behind the captain’s command area buckled upon impact, falling diagonally across the captain’s back, crushing the bones in his left leg and right shoulder.
Commander Peters, Lieutenant Paris and several other bridge officers had struggled to free the captain and managed to take him to safety, where the surviving medical team led by Doc Smith immediately put him under sedation and began treatment with emergency surgery and an injection of medical nanos.
Hours after the surgery, the captain regained consciousness but was unable to stand or walk. At his insistence, the medical team agreed to provide him with a mobile recovery chair, allowing him to move about. He hated the thought of lying in bed while the rest of the crew struggled to rescue trapped crewman, find missing personnel and ensure the security and habitability of the crash site.
He had spent the day after surgery wheeling around in his recovery chair, offering words of support and confidence, issuing orders and conferring with his command staff on next steps.
However, two days after the crash he began to withdraw and started spending spend most of his time in bed, occasionally asking one of the medical staff for updates on their situation.
“I’m certain of it, Commander,” said the doctor. “He is severely, clinically depressed, and is blaming himself for this.” Smith waved an arm across the crash site.
“If there is blame here,” replied Peters, “the command staff shares it, starting with me.”
Smith held up his hand. “Don’t go down that rabbit hole, Commander. I won’t debate fault here. The fact of the matter is I also told the captain following the Daedalus would be the best course of action to take. The issue at hand is that the captain is unable to perform his duties. Physically, I think he’ll make a good recovery eventually. Psychologically…right now, I’m not so sure.”
“I’m surprised we haven’t cured clinical depression yet,” said Peters.
“There are things we can do chemically speaking, but my view is that they are temporary measures. And I am loath to use nanos for this. He needs to be walked back by his friends. Like you, Commander.”
Peters nodded. “What can I do to help?”
“We have to combat his social withdrawal by engaging him, change his tendency to ruminate about perceived failures by redirecting those energies towards something constructive like organizing our resources, planning next steps and things like that.”
--
The next day, at the doctor’s incessant prodding, the captain agreed to attend a meeting of the senior staff.
The makeshift command center had been put together using furniture recovered from the Nemean, including a large table that came from the barrack’s mess hall, along with an assortment of chairs from throughout the ship. A tent had been erected as protection from the elements and to offer a degree of privacy, and the captain’s flag had been hoisted to indicate that it was the command center. Other temporary field facilities were erected around the command center and surrounding area, dotting the crash site with tents and other makeshift shelters.
The doctor escorted the captain to the staff meeting, where he was greeted by grim yet friendly welcoming faces.
“Captain, we are happy to see you making such a swift recovery after your surgery,” said Peters.
Gregory nodded. “You should thank the doctor, I really didn’t do anything.”
“No need to thank me,” said Smith. “I’m just doing my job. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
The captain seemed uncomfortable with the doctor leaving him alone with the others, but didn’t try to stop him. When Smith exited the tent, Peters began.
“Captain, I’ve prepared a set of status reports and uploaded them to your console. They detail the supplies we’ve inventoried — food, medical, general use — that we’ve either managed to remove from the Nemean or are certain can be accessed when needed. Another report summarizes our findings regarding this moonlet’s biosphere and the flora and fauna contained therein. Regarding equipment—“
The captain interrupted him. “How many did we lose, Ron?
Peters paused for a moment, looked down at his notes, and took a deep breath. “Sir, we have accounted for ninety-one naval personnel and thirty Marines.”
“I’ve lost more than half my crew,” mumbled Gregory, the pained look on his face reflecting the turmoil he felt inside.
“Sir. We still have teams searching the Nemean,” said Peters. “There are areas that are still inaccessible to the search and rescue teams. We believe many of the missing are simply trapped but will be recovered soon. The Nemean is a well-designed, tough ship.”
“She was a tough ship, Commander. Look at her now,” Gregory said, pointing to the twisted, melted remains of the Nemean. “That ship is never going to fly again.”
Peters nodded silently. He glanced at Paris and Harris, who were whispering to each other. They looked like they were about to say something. Peters gestured in their direction, and Harris cleared her throat. “Captain, this really isn’t your fault. I had the helm. I crashed the ship.”
“And I’m equally at fault,” said Paris. “I should have noticed that energy spike sooner. But I didn’t.”
“Irrelevant,” said the captain. “Ms. Harris, you could have pointed the Nemean nose down towards the planet and set the drives to maximum and obliterated us all, and it would still be my responsibility. Mr. Paris, the Nemean went into automatic preservation mode a second before you reported on the energy spike. There’s nothing you could have done.”
“Captain,” said Peters, “let’s agree that the command staff all share degrees of responsibility here. There’s no need for you to become a martyr. We need to come together now and plan our next steps.”
“Agreed, Commander,” said Gregory. “However, I no longer trust my judgement in command matters. Effective immediately, I am placing you in command of what’s left of this mission. Now, if you don’t mind, I really need to get back to bed and get some rest. This has been an exhausting day.”
The captain saluted the staff, turned his chair and exited the command center.
Peters shrugged. “I’ll speak with the Doctor later. Let’s continue this meeting. Our priorities, as I see them, are shelter, food and water, medical facilities and communications. Let’s go through each one.”
Marker looked down at his console and said, “We have erected a sufficient number of shelters to house every member of the crew. The fires on the Nemean have been put out, and if needed most of us could fit inside the cleaned areas to sleep. For now, shelter has been taken care of.”
