Hammerhead Resurrection (17 page)

“Perfect,” Jeffrey said and handed it to Whitetip.

She unlocked her boots and kicked off the floor, floating up to the grating. Jamming the end of the crowbar under its edge, she ripped it from the ceiling. It floated end over end, clattered to the deck, and rebounded toward the pilots. One caught it and jammed it into a gap between two stations.

Reaching up into the duct, Whitetip pulled herself into the darkness.

After a bit of shuffling and the crumpling of metal, she said, her voice sounding far away, “It appears to run parallel to the crushed corridor.” Her face appeared in the opening with a slight smile. “You’ll fit Captain… barely.” She moved out of view again.

“All but a small number of fighters have been destroyed,” the Nav-Con operator said.

Cantwell turned to the communications officers. “Get me Captain Holt in flight control.”

“Sir, we’ve lost communications with flight control. A Sthenos fighter struck the hull in close proximity to that area.”

Vice President Delaney came up the ladder. “What’s going on? Was that a collision?”

“Yes,” Cantwell said, “but with all due respect ma’am, I don’t need distraction right now.”

“What are you planning?”

Cantwell sighed hard, freely showing his exasperation with her. “We have to stick to our plan to land on Earth and disperse hardware.”

She shook her head. “I know you think it’s the right choice, but the more I think on it, the more the thought of landing the destroyers troubles me. Their armaments will be useless. There must be another way.”

“Madam Vice President, I appreciate your concern, but it’s based on an overly optimistic perspective. We have two options, stand or retreat.”

“Have we tried to communicate—”

“Are you still on that vein? Haven’t you been paying attention to what’s happening here?”

“I’ve seen a lot of destruction, but no
reason
. Why haven’t we been trying to communicate?”

“It won’t do any good.”

“How do you know that?”

Cantwell turned away from her to swear under his breath. He masked it by walking to his command seat.

She followed him saying, “I’ve been discussing the conflict more with Gerard Schodt, and he feels if we can simply discover some of their basic language—.”

“Gerard Schodt’s advice is useless.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He lacks a key understanding.”

“Which is?”

“What it means to kill a sentient being. It’s not a damn touchdown. Don’t make the mistake of thinking combatants are blood thirsty. We’re not. Yes, young soldiers may posture and run their mouths, but I’ve never known a single combatant who wasn’t scared shitless in the moment, nor one who didn’t want peace afterward. Let me make this clear, no one wants peace more than those who’ve lived through war. It is, by an extreme degree, the worst thing they’ll ever experience. When men like Gerard Schodt think we actually
want
to go to war, that we ignore other options, he can’t imagine what we’ve been through. When I say we must engage, I need you to believe that I absolutely see no other viable option for the best outcome in the long term. We either face the Sthenos or let them run us down.”

Her eyes narrowed as she squared on him. “I refuse to accept that with fifty-seven destroyers to their twenty-three we only have running as an option.”

Cantwell, not wanting to get into a shouting match, calmed himself as he said, “It’s the only way to generate possibilities in the future.”

“I don’t believe that you can
kno—”

He fairly yelled, “I can and do,” and calmed his tone as he said, “We cannot face them head to head. We must retreat, but if we do so anywhere but Earth, we’ll leave it defenseless and put ourselves at greater risk. I will not allow either.”

“But you’ve beaten them before out here.”

“We
won
, if you want to call it that, due to far better odds and unique tactics. Currently we have a third the advantage, and our new tactics have proven useless. The old, successful tactics aren’t available to us.” With a sigh, he said, “I need you to appreciate what happened here. We’ve lost the first battle of the war. Not simply lost it… we’ve had our main method of fighting obliterated. If we face them out in the open 2 to 1, we’ll be cut to pieces just as those fighters were.”

“But can’t these destroyers at least somewhat stand up—”

“We’ve been through this, ma’am. In the past, when our destroyers went head to head with the Sthenos, not once did we come out ahead.”

“What about the singularity warheads?”

“Our only method of delivering the warheads has been destroyed.”

“I can’t believe you won’t consider a better solution. I’m going to have to ask you to come up with some other options for my review.”

“Other options for…?” Cantwell walked right up to her. “I’ve had enough. Get off my bridge.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re interfering with my command. Get off my bridge or be removed.”

She opened her mouth as if to yell at him, but no sound came out as though she were so angry she couldn’t form words.

“Nothing?”

“How dare you,” she spit the words at him. “I’ll have you—”

“Masters at Arms, remove the vice president from the bridge.”

As six large sailors approached, she looked to her security detail. “You will allow no such thing.”

Cantwell said to the two Marines, “You may assure her physical safety, but do not intervene with my order.”

“Sir,” one of the Marines said, “Our orders are—”

“Your
new
orders,” Cantwell said with the confidence only decades of experience can bring, “are to stay out of my security team’s way. Is that clear?”

The Marines looked to Delaney and the Masters at Arms. They moved aside.

As the masters at arms took hold of her upper arms, she said, “This is treason.”

“Ma’am,” Cantwell said, “You may feel free to throw me in the brig when this is over. However, until that time, you
will
stay out of my way.”

She struggled for a moment against the Masters at Arms, but when she failed to stop them walking her toward the ladder, she relented and allowed herself to be taken off the bridge. Her security detail followed.

“Navigation,” Cantwell said, “get the fleet decelerating for Earth orbit.”

“Yes, sir,” the navigation officer said, but sounded unsure.

“Concerns navigation?”

“If we begin deceleration for Earth orbit now, the Sthenos will run right through us.”

“I have a feeling,” Cantwell said, “their final attack isn’t coming right now. If so, when we begin deceleration, they’ll match us.” Cantwell looked out the latticework to where the Sthenos destroyers lay among the stars. “For whatever reason, they aren’t ready for us yet.”

After a few moments the navigation officer said, “Sir, I have the fleet prepared for deceleration burn.”

“Excellent. Begin.”

The ship came alive again as the subtle vibration of the massive thrusters returned and Cantwell’s weight pressed into the deck. Beyond the glass, the thrusters of the visible ships glowed.

The navigation officer said, “Deceleration burn begun.”

“Nav-Con.”

“Yes, sir?”

“What is our estimated time to Earth arrival?”

She looked at her display. “At current deceleration—two days, five hours, and ten minutes from orbit sir.”

“Our distance to the Sthenos?”

“They are decelerating at a higher rate. Distance is now over 4,000 miles, sir.” She stared at the display for some time before saying, “They’re now holding at 10,620 miles, sir.”

“Let me know if that changes in any way.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cantwell looked across his bridge, to the younger officers, many new from training, lives just beginning, and thought of the similar officers on the other ships in the fleet.

Most of the pilots and support staff had made their way into the duct. Jeffrey looked at the few personnel still with him on the flight control deck. A young woman, a petty officer 2
nd
class, stood near him. She was pretty, in a awkward way, with wide, nervous eyes.

“Are you all right?”

She gave him a quick nod.

Jeffrey could see she was definitely not all right.

Personnel continued to kick off the deck and disappear into the darkness of the vent.

“What’s your name P.O.?”

In an unsure tone, she said, “Isabel Ellstrom, sir.”

He took her gently by the shoulders. “Everything’s going to be okay, Isabel. I just need you to take a deep breath and trust me. Can you do that?”

Closing her eyes, she let out her breath. When her eyes came open, she still looked terrified.

“Are you ready to go?”

Looking up to the vent, she nodded, but did not release her boots.

Now only he, the young woman, and a male pilot remained. The pilot could have moved into the vent, but he clearly was waiting for Isabel to be on her way. In that selflessness, Jeffrey immediately liked the man.

Jeffrey said, “Isabel, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going into the vent, you’ll be next, and… What’s your name pilot?”

“Lieutenant Kessler sir.”

“First name?”

“Morgan.”

He said to the girl, “Morgan will be behind you. We’ll be right with you the whole way. Okay?”

She nodded.

Unlocking his boots, Jeffrey kicked off the deck, floating up to the opening. As he pulled himself in, a sharp metal edge scraped his forearm. Tilting flashlights outlined the last airman’s silhouette, legs relaxed in the weightlessness.

After entering the coppery-scented duct, Jeffrey realized the space was too narrow for him to turn around as Whitetip had, so he waited, looking under his arm to see if the girl would appear.

He heard Kessler say, “You’ll do fine, Isabel.”

After a moment, she peeked into the duct. She pulled herself in cautiously, a flashlight in her hand, looking as though she might be sick. Jeffrey moved forward to make room for her. Behind her, Kessler entered the duct.

“You all right?” he asked her.

“Yes, somewhat, sir.”

Jeffrey pulled himself forward along the duct, the air growing hot as he moved away from the opening. The thump of boots and shoulders bumping the ductwork echoed down the narrow passage. Isabel’s flashlight played over his shoulders, throwing his shadow out ahead of him. Far ahead, Jeffrey could still make out the boots of the last pilot. The metal walls began to vibrate and Jeffrey had just enough foresight to brace himself as the floor of the duct, slammed into him. He found himself pinned to the metal. The Lacedaemon had begun deceleration. With the ductwork groaning under his weight, he wondered if it would hold. He began crawling, his body heavy.

Moving forward, he found places where the ductwork had bent downward with the weight of the others. A concussive bang made him brace for a fall, expecting to drop out of the ceiling. His ears rang. Out ahead of him, he could no longer see the lights of the pilots. Isabel’s light still shone behind him.

She let out a long, drawn out moan, sounding like a breeze catching the mouth of a bottle, but with a living, phlegmy rattle. He looked under his shoulder.

The flashlight caught him in its circular beam. Looking into the small circle of light, which reflected off the bare metal walls, he could see the duct had been crushed shut. The space where the flashlight came from appeared far too narrow for hope. Still, the light moved a bit.

“Isabel, are you there?” He asked.

There was no answer.

Jeffrey, twisted himself, jamming his shoulder and hips into the walls, forcing the duct to bend so he could turn. The metal crinkled and groaned as he got himself shoved around. He crawled back down the duct, until he had to turn onto his side to fit.

The flashlight, now a foot or two away from him, turned over to shine on her frighteningly pale face. Her eyes were wide with fear, tears wetted her face, quick in the excessive G’s.

How can she still be alive in that small space?

He barely kept the thought from his lips.

“Help me,” she said in a whisper as tears fell from her chin, crystal clear and magnifying the light of the flashlight. “Please don’t let me die.”

Jeffrey knew, based on the narrowness of the duct behind her, that most of her body was crushed. There would be no way for one man without tools to free her. Even in the best circumstances she might not live. Behind her, Kessler was surely dead. If he’d told the pilot to take the lead… The flip of a coin had once again left Jeffrey alive.

Jeffrey stilled himself before saying in a calm, friendly tone, “Easy Isabel. Take slow breaths.”

I’ve been here too many times.

He thought back to finding Stacy Zack on the bridge of the crashed Jules Verne, remembered how thrilled he’d been when he realized she was going to live, remembered how hard he’d fought to keep her alive. This young woman would have no such chance.

“Please help me,” she said and began to sob, the convulsions obviously causing her severe pain.

“Isabel.”

Her crying lessened as she asked in a quavering voice, “Yes?”

“It’s a beautiful name.”

A smile hinted across her face before pain furrowed her brow again. Her eyes went glassy, and she fell silent for some time. Jeffrey thought she might have gone.

It would be so much better to go quickly.

However, her eyes opened, widening with fear. “Are you real? Am I dreaming?”

“It’s not a dream. I’m real.”

“Help me…” her voice faded to a whisper, “please.”

Jeffrey wanted to tell her he would, but he was unwilling to be dishonest to the dying. “Can you hand me the flashlight?”

She extended the flashlight toward him. He had to shove himself forward to reach it. He hung it’s lanyard on a rivet, which had been pressed out of the ductwork. It now illuminated the space without shining in her face. Shoving himself further in, he felt a sharp edge of metal cut into his shoulder. He kept shoving despite the cutting sensation until he could take hold of her hand, which felt death-relaxed until she registered he held it and gripped down. She pulled on it with a ferocity he hadn’t expected and screamed out in pain. Tears streamed from her eyes.

“Isabel, I don’t think we can get you out.”

“Oh God, please don’t say that.” Her sobs cut her words up. “Please don’t leave me here.”

“I’m not going anywhere Isabel.” Jeffrey fought to keep his voice even. “I’m going to be right here with you the whole way. Do you understand?”

“Please don’t go.” She fell silent, her eyes waxing vague again.

It’s okay to go. Let yourself pass.

At that Jeffrey’s own breath trembled in his throat, and a hot tear spilled down his face because it wasn’t okay. She hadn’t even started living yet.

When Isabel’s eyes clarified and focused on Jeffrey, he brushed the tear away.

She gave him a distant smile. “You’re still here.”

“Yes, I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, her fingers narrow and delicate, cold.

Her eyes clamped shut with pain.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Isabel.”

The corners of her mouth turned down, and she said, “I finally got a date out of him.”

“What’s that?”

“He works in the machine shop.” She smiled slightly. “…pretty eyes.” Letting out a sigh, which clearly hurt, she said, “But I suppose he wouldn’t have much interest in me now.”

Understanding her, Jeffrey said, “Isabel, you’re gorgeous. You understand that? Beautiful.”

At that her mouth turned down, and she said, her voice no more than a tremoring whisper, “I told the other girls I was going to marry him.”

At that a possibility of Isabel’s life flashed through his mind. Her standing in an elegant, white dress beside a lean young man by the sea. He saw her kissing her first son’s forehead, his hair soft on her nose, and her as an old woman, looking out a window, her delicate hands wrinkled.

In those thoughts Jeffrey felt the sore, stabbing guilt at having survived when so many others had died.

Isabel’s hand had gone limp again. Her eyes were closed, but Jeffrey could feel her breathing through a slight draw and release of her fingers. Every so often they twitched as if she were dreaming.

After a few moments her eyes opened and traced the space before her until they found him. She smiled, seeming far away.

“I’m right here, Isabel.”

“Dad?” Her tone was easy.

Jeffrey had no idea what to say.

Her eyes went wide and searched, seeming not to see him. She said again, now worried, “Dad?”

“I’m with you,” Jeffrey said, doing everything he could to keep his voice even.

She began crying quietly.

“Don’t cry.”

“I’m so sorry Dad. I didn’t mean to die. I’m really sorry.”

Jeffrey hushed her and said, “It’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her brow furrowed. “I tried dad.”

“I know you did,” Jeffrey whispered.

An easy smile spread across her face. “I love you.” The light in her eyes faded as her hand relaxed.

Jeffrey held her soft hand. It didn’t pull with breath nor twitch with dreams.

“I love you too,” he whispered to her, the sound of his words caught and muffled by the narrow walls he lay jammed between.

He held her hand for some time, limp and delicate, before letting it go. It dropped out of reach. Shifting his weight backward, he felt metal stab into his shoulder. Reaching to his shoulder he found a tear in the metal ducting. The tear protruded to a point behind his shoulder blade. He could not move forward to free himself.

He pulled backward again, the metal slicing into his shoulder with a deep pressure. If he wanted out of that space, he’d have to cut muscle to pull himself free, and if the metal turned far enough inward, it could slash deep. He could bleed out here beside Isabel.

Maybe that’s for the best. I’m so tired of outliving others.

But the idea didn’t stick. When he thought of Isabel, he didn’t want to be here beside her. He didn’t suffer despair. What he felt glowed like an ember, a smoldering thing which had been dormant for decades. The ember stoked up and ignited. Like a boxer who can’t fire up until he’s punched hard, Jeffrey found his
purpose. In that moment, he didn’t care why they’d come. He wanted only to kill them, all of them, not for the sake of death, but because he didn’t know how many more like this girl he could stand to lose. He felt himself on a precipice, kill or lose his mind in grief. With or without warheads or fighters he’d do it. If he had to, he’d rip their arms off with his bare hands.

He pulled on his shoulder again and the metal cut deep, pinning him. Yelling out, he hauled on his shoulder again.