Authors: Thomas DePrima
"Me? Captain?" Gloria said incredulously.
"Yes, you're the first officer. That makes you the captain now that he's gone."
"No," Gloria said, shaking her head vehemently. "No, I can't. I can't. I shouldn't even be out here. I should be aboard some nice large freighter with a full crew, sitting safely in a protected convey. I was taking on as much as I could chew just by being the first officer. Before this trip, I was just a third. I'd never even had the watch before this run. The only reason that I'm the first officer is because the senior officers all refused to go and they couldn't find anyone else dumb enough to accept the berth." Gloria had been looking down at the floor while she spoke. Suddenly looking up, she said eagerly, "You! You could do it. You're a trained Space Command officer. You've been trained to command a ship and crew in battle. You can get us through this. You'll have to take over for the captain."
Gloria was trembling more visibly now. Jenetta had heard that it was like that with some people. After the shooting was over, and the realization of what had just happened dawned, they came down with the shakes. It wasn't something that you typically saw following battle simulations, because subconsciously everyone knew that their lives weren't on the line, regardless of how realistic the simulation appeared.
Out here though, lives depended on the captain's ability to make the right decisions at the right instant, and it was obvious that Gloria wouldn't be the effective leader that was needed right now. Nor did Jenetta think that either the Doctor or Charley would want to accept command since neither was particularly qualified to step in, despite their tenure and rank. Fortunately, Gloria had displayed a brave front to the crew during the action, and there was no one else in the briefing room to see her deteriorating condition. But the Raiders could return at any time. Nobody knew how many there were, and the group that had attacked might have only been an advance party.
"Gloria, I'm just an ensign," Jenetta said in protest. "I've never commanded a ship. I'm a science officer; an astrophysicist."
"But you've received training for ship command, haven't you? And participated in battle simulations as the commanding officer?"
"Well, yes, I've received the standard three-year NHSA command officer training. But I've never actually been in a battle before."
"Neither have I. And I haven't had three years of training for it either. You're our only hope."
As a very young girl, Jenetta had dreamed of traveling through space as the captain of a powerful warship. But being the smallest and weakest participant in a seemingly never-ending round of fiercely competitive games while growing up, it was rare when she was able to top her four brothers. She had become quite used to being cast in a supporting role, perhaps even comfortably so, rather than as the leader. Her scholastic achievements had done little to erase diffidence in her adequacy for command.
Her days as a member of the Vordoth crew, without any real responsibility, had been one of the most wonderful times in her life. She no more desired to take command now than she wished to become infected with a three-month bout of Kuwloon Flu. In fact, the mere thought of becoming captain made her stomach roil. But— with the Captain gone, and Gloria seemingly unable to continue in command, there was no one else. Meek surrender to the Raiders was not an option. She swallowed hard and made her decision.
"Okay— if that's what you really want," Jenetta said. She expected to feel sicker when she said it, but she actually felt better. "But I need you to get a grip on yourself. I'll need a good first officer, and you're it. Now take a few deep breaths and stop shaking."
Gloria's face registered shock as she looked down at her hands. Until then she hadn't realized that she
was
shaking. Clasping her hands together tightly, she took several deep breaths, seeming to calm a bit more with each now that the question of command had been settled.
"Good," Jenetta said. "That's better. Now put on as confident a face as you can and go out onto the bridge. You're presently the senior officer of this ship. You'll have to notify the crew that I'm accepting command at your request."
Gloria nodded. Taking one more deep breath, she composed her face, then led the way out of the office and over to the crewman that was manning the communications station. "I have an announcement for the entire crew," she said assertively. "Put me on all shipboard speakers."
"Aye, Lieutenant." The crewman said, before tapping some points on the communications console and handing her a tiny wireless microphone. "Whenever you're ready, Lieutenant."
"Attention all crewmembers, this is Lieutenant Sabella. First the good news. The six Raider fighters that attacked us have been destroyed, and there's no sign of others at this moment." She paused for a couple of seconds, allowing a little time for celebration. "I also have some terrible news to convey. It appears that Captain Lentz has been lost, along with whoever might have been with him in the aft laser section when the Raiders struck. We all mourn this loss, and we will carry on with the certain knowledge that he would have been proud of us. We are fortunate to have Ensign Carver on board. It was she that saved our skins by shooting down all six attacking Raider fighters. As you know, Ensign Carver is a Space Command officer, trained at NHSA. Her military training includes ship command under battle conditions and I've decided that that makes her the best candidate to assume command of this ship. She has consented to become our Captain. Captain Carver?"
Jenetta had been silently rehearsing what she would say. Taking the small microphone, she forced her voice to sound clear, calm, and confident. "This is Carver." She wasn't yet willing to use the title of captain. "Until we're out of danger, we'll operate as if this is a military ship. We need complete damage reports as quickly as possible. And if there are any former military people with gunnery experience aboard, report to me on the bridge. Carry on. Carver out."
She had an overwhelming urge to take a deep breath, but she knew that it might conflict with the image she was attempting to convey. She calmly handed the mike back to the com operator and turned to the crewman manning the security station, "Any sign of other vessels?"
"Negative, Ens— Captain. The plot is clear."
Turning to the crewman at the science console, she asked, "What's our distance to the objects responsible for disengaging the Light Speed drive?"
"They're gone, Captain. The contacts disappeared right after the six fighters were destroyed."
"Disappeared? Completely?"
"Aye, Captain. One second a seemingly solid barrier of obstructions stretched for thousands of kilometers across our bow, and the next they were gone. There's no trace of them left."
Jenetta stared at the large front viewscreen as she thought, then said to the communications crewman, "Any reports yet from damage control parties?"
Holding out a portable viewpad, the female crewmember said, "Here's everything so far, Captain."
Jenetta scrolled down the list of damages that had been reported. Items were still coming in and the list was being updated as she watched, but so far, the most serious ship damage seemed to be the loss of the aft laser array section and two cargo link-sections. Two crewmembers, Deitrich and Higgiby, were unaccounted for, in addition to the captain, and two others were injured, but not critically.
As soon as the new ‘captain' called for former military people with gunnery experience, Chief Rondell headed for the bridge. He stepped in front of her while she was still scanning the data on the viewpad. She was so absorbed in what she reading that she didn't immediately acknowledge his presence. Although he hadn't talked to her previously, he'd been in the maintenance bay the day she came aboard and he'd seen her jogging in the ‘tunnel' a number of times. He also knew of her kick boxing training, and that she'd shown she wasn't afraid to mix it up with people whose skill level was far above her own in order to learn and improve. And once, when he hadn't been able to get back to sleep after waking too early, he'd caught sight of her flying down the maglev sled track at top speed. There was only one thing about her that bothered him; she looked like a ‘snot nosed' Academy cadet. The facts proved there was more in that diminutive package than outside appearances indicated, but if she hadn't just shot down all six fighters that attacked the ship, he still might find it difficult to take orders from her.
As Jenetta finished reading the list and lowered the viewpad, she realized that a crewman was standing in front of her.
Bracing to attention, he said, "Senior Freight Operations Chief Rondell, Captain. Thirty-eight years in the Galactic Space Marine Corps. Most of that as a Master Gunnery Sergeant."
Standing about six-foot four-inches tall with a close-cropped haircut, Gunny Rondell looked exactly like you'd expect a Space Marine gunnery sergeant to look. And despite the early signs of a budding beer-gut at fifty-six, he was still able to handle any three ordinary men stupid enough to take him on.
Once commissioned, officers who had satisfied the service requirements of their Academy education, remained in the service until they either resigned their commission, or retired, but enlistment and reenlistment tours for Space Command and Space Marine NCOs and crewmen ran ten years. So it was unusual to find someone with thirty-eight years of service. Jenetta reasoned that although he looked healthy enough now, he might have been injured, and separated with partial disability. But it was also possible he took advantage of an ‘early out' provision that allowed a one-percent-pay per year of service retirement at age fifty-five if the applicant had at least thirty-five years in. A third possibility was that he'd been dishonorably discharged for some crime or infraction. Whatever the reason, Jenetta would overlook almost any fault if he could help in the situation where they'd found themselves.
"Okay, Gunny, at ease. I need you to take command of weapons control and give eight crewmen a crash course in gunnery. I'll leave the crew selection up to you, but we must be prepared for the next attack."
"Aye, Captain. If they'll give me twelve hours for training, we'll be ready for ‘em."
"Carry on, Gunny. Gloria, let's talk in the briefing room."
"Aye, Captain, I'm right behind you."
As he watched her walk away, the edges of Gunny Rondell's mouth curled ever so slightly upward, though certainly not enough to be to be obvious. Carver might not look much like a ship's captain, but she certainly sounded like one. There'd been no hesitation or doubt in her voice as she issued her orders. He'd begun to worry when he heard the captain was lost because he knew that Lt. Sabella was far too ‘green' for command. But Captain
Carver
appeared to be something else again.
Chapter Nine
~ July 9
th
, 2267 ~
As the doors whispered closed, Jenetta turned and asked, "Did you get a look at the battle damage list?"
"I studied it while you were speaking with Chief Rondell."
"I'd like to hear your assessment before I send a message to Space Command."
"But we're under strict radio silence!" Gloria said aghast. "You
can't
call Space Command."
"Gloria, there's no reason to observe radio silence anymore. I can't imagine that the Raiders don't know precisely where we are. Their fighters would certainly have transmitted our position before they commenced their attack run."
"Oh— oh, yes, of course. How foolish of me. Well, we're holding together so far. We're leaking unprocessed Bastnasite ore, and we've lost a couple of small wine casks from the Sebastian colony." As she was talking, Gloria moved over to the large viewscreen on the wall and activated the display. "Computer, display the reports from the damage control parties on the wall monitor."
The screen lit up with the text that Jenetta had been reading from the handheld display. Waving her hand lightly above the optical sensor on the desk, Jenetta scrolled down until they reached the reports that she hadn't seen yet. Charley reported that he was attempting to patch the hole where the wine casks had slipped out, but didn't think that anything could be done about the dribbling ore unless they went outside. As if aware of their contemplations, he called on the com system.
"We've managed to rig an inside patch in the container holding the wine casks, but we'll definitely have to go outside to plug the ore container."
"How long will it take?" Jenetta asked.
"We'll have to slow the ship, at least to Plus-50, to secure the patch. I estimate two hours for the work, and then another hour to build the envelope and get up to our top speed because we don't want to put too much strain on the cargo spine until we're sure of the structural condition."
"Okay, Charley, we'll slow to Plus-50 in five minutes. Be ready."
"Aye, Captain. Charley out."
"You can't seriously intend to slow the ship?" Gloria asked.
"We have to. Leaking unprocessed Bastnasite is like leaving a trail of radioactive breadcrumbs. If we alter course they'll only find us again by following the trail with their sensors."
"Oh— right. Guess I'm still not thinking like a military person."
"It'll come," Jenetta said gently, as she raised the cover of the communications unit on the desk and touched the Space Command ring on her right hand to the spindle in the console's media drawer. Received at graduation from NHSA, the decorative band replaced the cadet ring she had worn for four years. It contained Space Command's latest encryption codes at that time and should prevent anyone from listening in, if the ten-year old codes were still secure and could still be decrypted by Space Command vessels. Selecting the newest code from the list that came up on the screen, Jenetta pressed the start button and spoke directly at the display so the com unit's camera would record her image.
"Message to any Space Command vessel in or near deca-sector 8667-3855, with a copy to Higgins Space Command Base.
"This is Jenetta Alicia Carver, ensign, GSC serial number 3974A32, originally posted to the GSC quartermaster supply ship, Hokyuu. The commercial freighter Vordoth picked up my life pod thirty days ago. I'm well, and had expected to report for duty as soon as the ship reached Higgins Space Command Base at Vinnia. Unfortunately, Raiders attacked the Vordoth in sector 8667-3855-1642.3817 post-median 0072. The captain is missing and presumed lost. The first officer has asked me to take command in light of my military training and I am now acting as the Vordoth's captain. We've lost three crewmembers, including the captain, and have two injured. We managed to destroy the six Raider fighters that attacked us, but we lost a small part of the ship's cargo section during their assault. We need assistance from any Galactic Space Command vessel in the area. We're slowing to make external repairs and expect to resume our top Light Speed within one-eight-zero minutes. In light of the imminent danger, I ask that my family not yet be notified that I'm alive.
"Captain Jenetta Carver, aboard the Vordoth, message complete."
Pushing the stop button, Jenetta logged the message for immediate wide-spectrum transmission on the emergency IDS bands. Although traveling at point-zero-five-one-three light-years per minute, it still might take hours for the IDS band transmission to reach a Space Command vessel, and many more hours for a reply.
"Gloria, take over on the bridge. Have the helmsman slow to Plus-50. I'm going back to take a personal look at the damage. Call me immediately if anything shows up on the sensors."
"Aye, Captain."
As she exited the briefing room, Jenetta observed that Sergeant Rondell was already working with the group of gunnery trainees he'd selected. The weapons fire control stations were set to simulation mode and she heard him bellow as loudly and gruffly as any Marine Drill Instructor with a handful of raw recruits, "No, no, no! I keep telling you that you have to get a lock on the target before you fire! If you don't have a lock, it means that the light energy isn't focused. And if it isn't properly focused, the pulse won't slice through butter, much less steel or titanium. Remember— the targeting circle will change from yellow to red when you have a focus lock."
As the hover-sled glided silently through the tunnel, Jenetta's right hand gripped the throttle handle tightly to keep her travel down to a respectable speed of no more than twenty kph. She longed to open it up, but restrained herself; awareness that there could be possible damage to the track ahead tempering her hunger for a speed that would push her current situation from the forefront of her thoughts, if only for a few minutes. The full realization of her commitment kept rolling over her like thunder during a violent storm. She was now responsible for every person on board, not to mention the ship and billions of credits in cargo. Such liability is supposed to come gradually, after years of service and steadily increasing responsibility. It's not supposed to be thrust upon someone who graduated from the Academy just six months ago. Since she'd slept in stasis for most of her time since graduation, that was a fair, if inaccurate, description of the past eleven years.
Several engineering crewmen were working to raise a fallen support truss that was blocking the lane just beyond the five-kilometer point, so she picked up the sled and ducked through a shower of cutting torch sparks before placing it down again on the other side of the fallen beam to continue her trip. Charley was supervising another work party five-hundred-meters beyond the blockage while devoting half his attention to a work monitor temporarily clamped to the railing beside the walking track.
"How's it going, Charley?"
"As soon as we slowed to fifty kps I sent out the space tugs," he said distractedly as he watched the repair efforts via live image feed from a camera mounted on one of the tugs. Pointing to the monitor, he added, "They have prefab sections to weld over the holes as soon as they cut away the obstructions. With luck, they'll be back within ninety minutes. Without luck, it could take two hours or more."
"Very good," she said, nodding as she shared his view of the repair effort. "Charley?"
"Yes, Captain?"
"How many link-sections do we have after the last laser array section, and what's the cargo."
Turning to look at her as he rubbed his chin, he said, "Let's see, we were sixty-four-meters over six and half kilometers, so we added an extra laser array link at the end. With that gone, and two cargo sections with it, that would leave three cargo link-sections following the last weapons section now. The last kilometer of cargo is all unprocessed Bastnasite ore from the mines of Kesserith, intended for delivery to the orbiting foundry factories around Lazziter."
"How difficult would it be to separate the last three sections while we're traveling at top speed?"
"Not difficult at all. Single section separations are normally handled by the tug jockeys. As a space tug locks onto a section, the airtight doors in the prior section automatically close to prevent the tunnel from losing atmosphere, unless someone in the link section activates an emergency override. Once the sensors indicate the doors are sealed, the tug pilot can remotely release the section's locks and it floats free of the ship. But we can detach single sections without a tug being involved. For longer section removals, the designated separation point can only be unlocked from either the bridge or engineering. That's to allow us an opportunity to insure that the entire section is empty of personnel."
"What happened when the last couple of sections were cut away by the Raiders?"
"The tunnel automatically sealed all airtight doors as soon as the pressure drop was detected. But anyone within three or four link-sections could have been sucked out before the doors closed completely. There's also the chance that someone can get caught by a closing door and be cut in half, but we didn't find any body parts when we re-pressurized and opened all doors except the last."
"Would separating at FTL do any damage to the cargo section separated, or the rest of the ship?"
"No. Temporal envelopes stretch slightly at first, but as the new envelopes form, they exclude the detached section once the gap exceeds fifteen-point-two-eight centimeters. Without an envelope to surround the section, it's immediately back in normal space at a dead stop. Why just the last three sections?"
"Two reasons. One, the absence of the sections will allow the last laser array link greater coverage. Once the sections are gone, the turrets can swing around to fire straight back. Right now, the three sections are a handicap because they create a blind spot for the gunners. A fighter could
conceivably
come up behind us, and sit in complete safety as he fires his laser weapon into the spine. Even if we closed all the link-section doors, he'd eventually be able to cut through everything and evacuate the atmosphere in the ship."
"I see. You said two reasons?"
"Yes, I did," she said grinning. "The other one is a little nastier. As you said, when the envelope has decayed around the detached link-section, it will immediately be at a dead stop in space. If someone gets a little too close, and we can't get them off our six, we'll just release one of the link-sections. Contact with thirty-two-thousand cubic meters of Bastnasite ore, sheathed in reinforced steel cargo containers sitting at a dead stop, will end their all their problems quick."
"Ouch!" Charley said, and then grinned. "Any fighter that hit that would wind up looking like one of the grease spots on the wall at Harry Hardy's Hotdog & Hamburger Haven back home in Cinci. Do they teach sneaky stuff like that at the Academy?"
Jenetta returned his grin. "No, I had to become sneaky just to have a chance of beating my brothers at the games we played when we were young. They had all the size and strength, so I had to be devious one."
"Gottcha. Okay, as soon as my crews return we'll work on the connections."
"Put a tracking transponder in each of the link-sections. It'll enable us to locate the sections later so the cargo won't be lost for good if we have to detach them. After the work is done, seal all the airtight doors between the last three sections. We want to make sure that no one wanders into that area, in case we have to drop them off in a hurry. How's the rest of the ship?"
"Not nearly as bad as I originally thought. The Raiders never reached the main ship and they didn't score very many solid hits on the spine." Grinning, he said, "I guess they were too busy dodging your laser fire. Anyway, we had one section that was a bit weak, where we took a substantial hit, but we reinforced it to better than new, and my people are now busy repairing and reinforcing the other damage points. By tomorrow we'll be as solid as any ship plying the lanes, unless we get clobbered again."
"Then we'll just have to make sure that we don't get clobbered again. Say Charley," Jenetta asked thoughtfully, "how fast are your tugs?"
"Space tugs are mostly power-plant, Captain. They have to be if they're going to generate the opposed gravity forces necessary to lift huge loads from the surface of planets and to control the mass contained in huge sections of fully loaded cargo links while in space. Our speed in n-space is really only limited by rate of acceleration, time, fuel quantity, and the physical laws of relativity. Since space tugs are constructed with an eye towards towing merchantmen and passenger liners that become disabled in deep space, most have temporal field generators for FTL. I'd guess that ours are like most, and can achieve Light-75, although the Vordoth has never had a situation arise that required any of our tugs to use faster-than-light speeds. With no armament, no crew quarters, and no long range sensors other than AutoTect and DeTect, our tugs have no business wandering very far from the ship."
"Thank you. Carry on, Charley."
"Aye, Captain."
Since being awakened by the red alert, only three hours had passed, but it felt much longer. As Jenetta returned to the main ship, she stopped into the officer's mess to grab a cup of coffee before continuing on to the bridge. The caffeine would help keep her alert. Anthony, the mess attendant, greeted her as ‘Captain', and guessing her reason for being there, hurried to fetch a mug of coffee.
"I heard that you did some mighty good shooting this morning, Captain," he said as he handed her the mug. "I'm sure glad you're on board."
"Thank you, Anthony. I'll just take this to go. I want to get back to the bridge."
"Okay, Captain. If you want more, just call and I'll bring you a fresh pot."
On the bridge, things had returned to normal, except for Gunny Rondell's intensive class in gunnery. Within thirty minutes of her return, the crewman at the communications console said, "The Chief Engineer reports that the stopgap repairs are complete, the space tugs are back aboard, the ship is sealed, and we can resume Light Speed whenever you wish, Captain."