Smuggler's Dilemma (24 page)

"Help me get his vac-suit off. Nick, if you can hear me, I'm going to give you a mild sedative. We've got to take off your suit and I have no idea where your wounds are."

He must have hit something incredibly hard to have overcome the suit's ability to absorb damage. I placed a small disc on his neck. It would knock him out for a few minutes. With his suit off, I placed diagnostic discs onto skin where the AI directed. My HUD showed that his right arm had multiple fractures, starting at his wrist. He must have reached out to stop his impact with something. He also had a tear in his gluteus medius.

"He'll be fine, Marny." Saying it mostly to reassure myself.

"Captain, we're sixty seconds out," Ada broke in.

"Roger that, Ada."

I left Marny to look after Nick. Now that we were at the station, the most important thing was to gain control of the medical facilities. If Nick's injuries were any indication, the old timers would be in bad shape. I needed to be in the hold to drop the loading ramp. Fortunately, Dad had prioritized clearing the crates blocking the rear door.

I wasn't prepared for what I walked into. It looked like a horror scene from a vid. People had been crushed by crates and in some cases lost limbs. Mom had found the emergency med kit we had in the hold, but it was woefully inadequate.

"Mom, can we seal those suits long enough to get the injured into the station?" I asked.

The ship's hold was probably the worst place for the severely wounded to be. If I'd thought my mom couldn't handle this kind of stress, I'd have been wrong. She took in the information and then spat out orders to the group around her.

"We'll manage," she said.

"Ada, once they've unloaded the cargo, I need you to bring the
Hotspur
out to the debris field and coordinate the search and retrieval efforts. M-Pro is thirty-five hours out."

Thirty-five hours was literally a lifetime for someone stranded in a suit. Most only had enough reserves to last fifteen hours at the max.

"Can do, Captain. Are you leaving the ship?"

"Yes," I said simply.             

Download all fighter ship trajectories from Theodore Dunham
. I cycled into the air lock.

Mom's voice came over the comm. "Liam, where are you going?"

"Tabby's out there. I'm going to find her," I said. I knew it was nuts, but I reasoned that she could have been in one of the fighters when the destroyer blew up. I wasn't about to give up on her.

Once outside the ship, I fired my arc-jets. The green level docking bays were just under the equator and I was headed to the top of the station where the James' Rental Shop was located. I'd helped Wendy for enough years to know she'd have a few haulers clamped to the station.

I crested the top and looked across. I wasn't particularly surprised to see scorching and deep gashes where the security tower had once been tethered to the station. The destroyers would have taken it out first to stop the defensive guns from pounding away at their armor. I hoped the rental shop's equipment yard hadn't received collateral damage, as it was only two hundred and fifty meters away.

I'd been jetting around with a vac-suit since I was very young. I didn't even think about it as I flew across the pockmarked surface as fast as I could and pulled up hard at the rental shop. I was in luck and Wendy's best hauler was still in the yard and undamaged. It had the largest pressurized hold, having been used to transport both equipment and people out to the claims before she'd purchased it.

Vent atmo, open port door, disengage docking clamps
. My HUD showed the controls for the hauler. I laughed to myself as I climbed into the ship. I used to consider this type of craft a large vehicle and it now seemed tiny. The single vid screen in the center console lit up, showing a full load of fuel and O2. I marveled at the simplicity of the machine.

The hauler didn't have physical flight sticks but my AI knew to project a throttle and flight stick virtually onto my HUD. I grabbed the t-handled throttle and pushed it forward hard and lifted from the surface of the station. I reveled in the instant acceleration of the small ship.

It took thirty minutes to arrive at the edge of the battle's debris field. The first ship I came to was one of the pirate's destroyers. In my mind it deserved no name, and the survivors, if they were to be found, would not receive any priority from me. I'd plotted a course that would lead me across the hundreds of kilometers of continually expanding battlefield. The torn hunks of the derelict ships sailed along their final trajectories, at least until they collided with something else.

I'd hoped that the Navy's destroyers would have some remaining structure where survivors might be able to band together and seek shelter. A normal vac-suit had limited propulsion available, but it should be enough to allow survivors to hold on long enough for rescue. The destroyer's remains in no way resembled the once proud warship. Shredded husks were all that remained and my heart sank as I found no sign of life.

I knew it was unlikely that Tabby would have been in one of the fighters, but I held out hope and raced after the closest. I had to move fast as several of the fighters had been going at high speed when the dreadnaught shot them down. Two of the ten fighters with wreckage big enough to track were already far enough away that I would never be able to reach them. The farthest was a full twenty hours away in my current craft.

After a hard burn - at least as much as this hauler had to give - I caught the first craft. Before I even arrived at the ship, I knew there would be no survivors. A large hole had been punched through the cockpit, removing the entire passenger compartment. I forced myself to look hard, but didn't see anything too awful.

This went on for a few hours. The ship debris drifted further and further apart and I could find no sign of survivors. I'd been hopeful a couple of times. The fighters had some sort of protective foam that filled the cabin when the ship took significant damage. In all the ships I'd found like that, the pilots were damaged beyond the point where I could even recognize them as human. A sense of hopelessness filled me as I reached the final ship, once again, finding nothing.

Ada had set up in the middle of the debris field and was organizing the search efforts, using the hold of the
Hotspur
as a triage center. Apparently, I'd been too hasty when inspecting the debris field. Ada and her group were finding survivors, many of whom were inside the undamaged sections of the larger ships. Many had only slight injuries and were joining the recovery effort.

"Ada, did you find her?" I asked impatiently when I got close enough for a line of sight communication. The comm disruptors the pirates had left were still making it impossible to communicate over any distance.

"I'm sorry, Liam. No," she answered.

"How many survivors?" I asked.

"A hundred forty-five so far," she said. "I need you to make a run back to the station. We're getting full."

"Okay," I said. Darkness threatened to overtake me again.

I pulled alongside the
Hotspur
and helped people I didn't recognize, wearing naval uniforms, load the injured into the hauler. Once loaded, I sailed back to P-Zero. We were met by even more people I didn't recognize, many obviously injured, pulling the wounded out of my craft and carrying them into the station. I felt ashamed at my greedy, self-interested actions, wasting valuable time on a fruitless search.

I vowed not to make the same mistake again nor to continue wallowing in my grief. I'd have plenty of time for that later. These people, Tabby included, had sailed into harm's way to protect my family and they deserved my best efforts.

For thirty hours we searched and ferried survivors, Navy and pirate alike, back to the station. There's one thing that's never in short supply with the military; people wanting to take charge. Probably the biggest upside to that was the fact that most are competent to do so.

"Captain Hoffen, you need to land that bird," a voice I didn't recognize came over my headset. I was exhausted and wondered if I was making it all up.

"Sure, just one more trip," I said.

"Negatory, Captain. The fast response unit from Terrence has just arrived and they'll be taking over the mission now. You all have born enough of that burden. The Navy thanks you for your service, but you need to land that bird and get some shut-eye. You understand, son?"

He didn't need to push at that point, as I was having a difficult time keeping my eyes open.

"Is the
Hotspur
in?" I asked.

"She's in bay four, same level, Captain," he said.

I landed the hauler in the bay next to the
Hotspur
, arc-jetted over and cycled through the airlock and into the hold. I saw the end of the wing and the missing engine laying in the now, otherwise empty hold. The berth deck was empty, although the first bunk room door was closed. I took the lift up and stepped into my quarters. Nick and Marny lay on the bed. Marny started to rise, but I held my hand up to stop her and exited the room. I pulled a blanket out from under the couch and lay down. It wasn't the first time I'd slept on the couch and just stretching out meant the world to me.

"Cap, sorry. The other rooms are all taken," she said.

"It's okay, Marny. That's how we arranged it. I'd just forgotten. Go back to sleep," I said.

"Did you find her?"

"No." There was nothing more to say. I allowed the tears to flow.

"I'm sorry, Cap," she said quietly. Marny sat down on the couch next to me and stroked my hair. Mercifully, sleep found me.

When I finally woke up, I found myself in my bed. I was disoriented and for a moment I didn't remember the horrible battle or that Tabby had been lost. When reality struck home, a fresh wave of intense sadness crushed me and I slumped back into the bed, willing myself back to sleep.

Sometime later, I heard knocking at the door. I didn't care. I had nothing to say to anyone.

"Liam. Cover up, I'm coming in." It was Mom. I had nothing to cover up; I was still in my vac-suit. She handed me a cup of coffee, which I drank automatically. I was extremely thirsty, but couldn't drink too fast because the coffee was so hot. "I need to talk to you," she continued.

"Mom, I don't think I'm ready for this," I said. I wasn't about to listen to a lecture. I just didn't care.

She sat down beside me and put her hand on my leg. "No dear, we found Tabby."

My heart leapt. "Where? I've got to see her," I pushed the blanket away and tried to sit up. Mom stood and held out her hand.

"Liam, she's hurt and it's bad. She was trapped in the wreckage. When she was freed… well… she's barely alive and might not make it."

"I have to see her," I said. "Take me."

I stood and walked to the door. Mom hurried to keep up with me. I didn't know where we were going, but I knew it was off the ship.

"She's in a tank on the
Hope
. The Navy brought out a hospital ship. They'll shuttle you out, but you have to listen to them," she said to my back.

"Sure, of course," I said.

We wound our way through the interior of the station. Signs of life had already started to appear. As promised, a shuttle waited in one of the docking bays. The shuttle was painted bright white and the interior was spotless. We approached the destroyer-sized hospital ship and plunged through a translucent orange pressure barrier.

A man in a light blue vac-suit met us as we disembarked down the small ramp extending from the shuttle.

"Jon Bentcourt. I've been looking after Tabitha." He was an average looking man, spacer build. I found it odd that he wasn't wearing a helmet, given only a pressure barrier separated us from vacuum.

"Liam Hoffen," I said. I shook his proffered hand.

"There are some things you need to be aware of, Mr. Hoffen. Tabitha…"

"Tabby," I corrected.

"Right. You have been identified as Tabitha's next of kin."

I looked dumbly at him. It was weird. "What about her father?"

"He has been contacted, but you are her primary contact. The Navy is very good about keeping these types of records and Tabitha has specifically identified you as such."

"Okay. I'm not sure why you're telling me this."

"I wouldn't be able to share her condition with you if this weren't the case. As for Tabitha, her body has been subjected to extraordinary trauma. There's no good way to say this, but she's lost both of her legs, several ribs on her right side and her right arm. She's also suffered substantial burns to her abdomen. Of a more minor nature are the multitude of lacerations and contusions over what remains of her body. In short, she's alive, but barely."

I swallowed hard. It was a lot to take in.

BEGINS WITH THE FIRST STEP

Bentcourt led me into a long room with tall silver oval cylinders lined up against the wall. Each cylinder was almost a meter in diameter. I recognized them as medical tanks, having spent time in one when I'd received an upgrade for my prosthetic foot.

He pressed his hand on a cylinder's access pad and it slid down, allowing us a view through the clear, top third. Tabby was suspended in a pale yellow liquid. Tubes ran into virtually every part of her body. Bentcourt had warned me of her missing limbs, but seeing her like this was difficult. Her normally smooth skin was gouged, scraped, and black and blue over every square centimeter. A modesty shield had been applied to her torso and my eyes searched for her missing arm. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I forced myself to take it all in.

"When will you start reconstructing her limbs?" I asked.

"We've already inserted temporary ribs. It will be up to Tabitha's civilian doctors to work on any reconstruction. We will, however, fit her with a fantastic prosthetic arm, most people won't even be aware that it is not her own. Her legs are, unfortunately, beyond prosthetics, but you should see what they're doing with arc-jet chairs," he said.

"You have to make her whole," I insisted. "She's one of yours."