Tour of Duty: Stories and Provocation (9 page)

The kids started waking up.

The teenagers figured it out quickly, except for the one girl, who was apparently a claustrophobe. She thrashed and kicked, realized intellectually the problem with that, and curled up to hug herself, sobbing and trembling.

Some of the small kids, however, did not like the enclosures, nor the disorientation of waking up from the gas, nor being away from their friends. Some of them put up a healthy tantrum.

Luckily, the balls were designed not to be torn. Panic response was one of the design criteria.

One little boy found the emergency lanyard, designed for escape in case of some bizarre circumstance where one had entered by accident, closed up and needed out before the onboard O2 supply failed. He yanked it, peeled out fast, then started gaping like a fish in the very thin atmosphere, which now had several more holes to leak from. He sprawled in the direction of one cabinet. Lowther grabbed him by the collar, got face to mask as the kid faded, stuffed him back into a new ball from his kit, and in a dive, grabbed an armful of assorted stuffed toys and threw them in with the child. Hopefully one was his, and the rest could be sorted out afterward. Bowden sighed. Such things were essential support items for kids, but a pain to deal with.

Bulgov called from aft, “Someone was clever and locked themselves in an airlock between sections. The safety is working and it won’t open.”

Lemke said, “Arriving,” and dropped down the passage. A few second later, a rumble and bang indicated a breach of the door mechanism, shallow shrieks sounded just as Bowden glanced down, to see two disheveled teens, one male, one female, letting themselves gratefully be stuffed into rescue balls. They got limper as the rare atmosphere affected them.

As soon as he had green pings on his helmet readout from everyone, he ordered, “Hensley, we’re done. Pull the plug.”

They’d been inside the ship seventy-three seconds.

Hensley jabbed a sharp knife into the plug and sliced. It deflated, sucked through and stuck on a torn piece of hull, vibrating in an increasingly shallow flutter as the remaining atmosphere blew past. Then Lemke waved for attention and thumbed his detonator again.

Half the compartment hull disappeared in a flashing swirl, blowing out, peeling back, and ripping off into space. Some tatters blew in and tumbled down the companionway aft.

Stadter wished he could do more than listen and coordinate. His medic was over them pulling kids out. His two flight crew were coordinating sequences of ships to recover people floating in space, and the technicians from the Special Warfare boat were diddling the engines. Management was important, but he wished mightily for hands on.

“Rescue, this is Diaken.”

“Go ahead.”

“Got it down to zero point six G. How’s the structure looking?”

They’d done all they could, and it might have bought enough seconds to save a few people.

He said, “Bad. Complete spine failure is imminent. It’s still visibly deflecting.”

“I’m last on the line. I’ll see what I can do. Can you monitor my vitals?”

Vela said, “I have you.”

His screen flashed the tag DIAKEN as she said, “On winch. Winch on. Descending.”

Vela said, “Rad levels are reduced. Looks like you have eight-seven seconds outside the access.”

Diaken: “Well, it’ll be less, because I’ll be inside. I might have to break things.”

Vela did have a good voice for reassuring people. “We’ve got your readings. Good luck.”

Diaken: “Thanks. We’ll see if it matters.”

With the hull open like a cave, it was time. Bowden made the call.

“Rescue, this is Bowden. Ready to pitch on your order.”

“Outstanding. Stand by in five, four, three, two, one, throw.”

“Thrown,” he confirmed, as Bulgov and Lemke tossed a lashed bundle of three balls out into space. God and Goddess help the kids. Then he realized they had two extras.

“Rescue, we found two extra, where do you want them?”

“Crap. Last. Three, two, one, throw.”

“Thrown,” he reported, as another bundle went out.

The two larger bundles took effort, the troops grunting as they heaved the masses out, being so very careful not to rip one open on the torn section of hull.

Bulgov said, “I’m hit! Suit tear on the edge. Bleeding, level two. Pressure tight, but damn, bleeding.”

“Understood. Step out, apply aid. The rest of you finish throwing.”

Stadter said, “Bowden, your last three tosses are delayed. Stand by.”

“Holding,” he said, and gritted his teeth. He pointed at Lowther, who nodded and climbed over to help Bulgov apply a pressure bandage. They wore skintight constriction suits, so there was no risk of suffocation unless the helmet was cracked, but vacuum drew body fluids out, too. Speaking of which, he found a safe direction, popped a valve and let loose a liter, to boil away into nothing. That felt better. The gees dropped again, as did the noise and vibration.

Stadter said, “Bundle that last pair together.”

Lemke grabbed a short elastic cord, wove it through the grips and thumbed up.

“Ready.”

“Ready in five, four, three, two, one . . . ”

The last bundle rolled out and dropped aft into space.

“Rescue, that’s them all. Proceeding aft and forward for other casualties.”

“Good luck, Bowden. Thrust steady at zero point six gee, but structure increasingly compromised. Estimate five hundred seconds max.”

“Is it really that close, or is that your safety margin, over?” He was moving as he asked, with a wave to the rest.

“I say four hundred, I figure you can handle five hundred.”

“Understood.”

“Rescue, I need a count,” he called over Rescue channel.

“Current count is one four seven.”

“There are theoretically seven zero people left aboard.”

“Correct.”

“Shit.”

He left it at that, and led the way forward as Lemke and Bulgov went rear. It was much easier at .6 G, but only relatively. The wreck was a mess. Struts were bent and bending, panels buckling, and leaks increasing. It was hard to see through a haze of condensation in the dropping pressure. Lacking pressure, some areas of the hull were collapsing in. Others bowed out, lacking the structural tension to hold them. The first lock they came to was jammed closed, until Hensley slapped a ready charge on it and cracked the latch. Bowden moved through, and the override on the other side worked. Apparently, the lock had been holding atmosphere within. That seemed to run in this ship. Had the pressure switches ever been tested since it was built?

He swung the lock and jumped in startlement. A figure in an emergency mask stood just inside. He could see the man talking, but there was no atmosphere. In a moment, the man switched to pointing. Staterooms. He pointed at his mask with both hands, simulating donning it, and pointed at the compartments again.

Bowden nodded, and ordered, “Check the staterooms, have masks and balls ready.”

The three men swarmed around him and the crewman, used demolition bars on the hatch-doors, and ripped into the staterooms.

Sharp thinking. They held partial pressure of atmosphere, and overpressure of bodies. Three staterooms had forty-three people, with their emergency masks, taking turns connecting to the emergency bottles. They hadn’t fought each other in a panic over oxy, but from the relief on their faces, they would have soon.

“Bowden, this is Lemke. Aft is . . . bad. It’s mostly evacuated, physically and radioactively hot, and structurally a mess. There are holes everywhere. I’m prepared to go by compartment on your order.”

He checked time on his visor. There was no way to get everyone out in the allowed time. So they’d have to hope to beat the odds, because there was no way they could leave anyone behind. The nausea and heat came back, and he increased his oxy level. He needed it now.

“Lemke, copy Rescue, what do you see of the lifeboats?”

Lemke said, “They seem to be gone from this side.”

Stadter said, “There are two not accounted for, but their bays are far back near the reactor. My call is not to go there.”

Bowden said, “Agreed.”

Stadter added, “You’ll be glad to know there are some relieved parents. The engineering crew cleared the casino and lounge and forced them into the lifeboats. Tough call, but the right one.”

“Good news. Lemke, Bulgov, come forward.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Rescue, this is Bowden. Four-three mobile casualties in masks. We can put some in balls. Is there any way to dock or catch?”

“Bowden, this is Rescue. Your team has planted charges on the reactor feeds. They plan to cut the lines the hard way and brenschluss that way.” His voice sounded tight.

“Understood. Will that be soon?” Bowden asked. Stadter did not sound happy.

“If you consent, I do.”

“Do it.” That would take the strain off the structure. He felt relief and guilt. If they’d been able to do that sooner . . . but he’d definitely live.

A moment later a bang and a rumble shook the creaky vessel, but thrust dissipated at once, to nothing.

“Bowden, this is Rescue, we can dock at Frame One Zero, Radius Two Zero Zero.”

“Do that, and we’ll shuffle people in one at a time.”

“We can take the worst one-five, absolute max. The rest will have to egress for recovery.”

“Understood.”

This was going to mean a fight.

Stadter didn’t want to tell Bowden how the feeds had been cut. Sergeant Diaken was dying from massive radiation exposure, from hand-placing charges inside the danger radius. The other four were adrift in the dark awaiting pickup from amateurs in craft not equipped for rescue, along with Arvil. Bowden and his team were cutting their way through the inside . . .

“Rescue, this is
Barley Mow
. We have an extra recovery.”

Budd said, “
Barley Mow
, this is Rescue, elaborate, please.”

“Sergeant Arvil. He slapped against the hull. We got a line on him. He’s got some impact trauma, but his suit armor took it, and he’s alive if bruised.”

Budd, Vela and Stadter stared at each other for a second.

Stadter said, “
Barley Mow
, that’s ludicrous, but thank you.”

Bowden wished they’d opened the staterooms one at a time. While the three crew had done a fine job herding people in, they’d reach panic level soon. Nor could he use command voice, there was almost no pressure in the forward end.

He used his map projector on the bulkhead, and Lowther and Marchetti matched him in the other rooms.

CHILREN ARE ALIVE, he flashed. YOU WILL EVAC THROUGH FORWARD LOCK. SHIP WILL DOCK FOR WORST NEED. OTHERS WILL BE TOWED.

They nodded in worried understanding, but their confidence seemed a bit higher. He wasn’t going to tell them how they’d be towed.

There was a pregnant woman, two more children, three people with minor but painful injuries—sprains and bruises from the runaway G—and seven people who, in his opinion, were near breaking point.

The schedule suffered again when Hensley had to spend long segs welding cracks in the airlock. To be fair, they seemed to be recent, but it was all part of the same utter failure. The owner didn’t even deserve a duel. They’d found several patches aboard that were purely cosmetic. He’d known this wreck was subpar.

Lemke and Bulgov crawled up through the wreckage from below, looking fatigued, but functional.

With one troop in each room managing the oxygen, and three spare bottles from elsewhere, calm prevailed. That left him and Lemke to push forward.

The bridge lock was sealed from inside, and he rang the chime. He waited, and rang it again. The purser should be in there. He was about to call Rescue for relay when the latch moved.

The purser swung it open and the expression on his face was tragic.

Bowden gripped him and pressed helmets for conduction. “Mr. Doherty, we’re here for you.”

Doherty maintained some composure. He spoke into his mic, probably to Rescue, then pulled the lead from his helmet. Inside his suit the man shivered. He let himself be led.

“Bowden, this is Rescue.”

“Go ahead.”

“Lowther and we came up with a plan. Take the passengers out singly. Stuff them into balls, toss them out. They’ll be immediately available for pickup now that we’re in free flight. All primary vessels are converging.”

“That works. We can start now.” The pregnant woman was already aboard
Auburn
. The kids were lined up and ready, and after that it was just a case of moving fast enough with O2 running low. Of course, the lack of lights, gravity and heat was going to be a problem. He welcomed it to the alternative.

There was an attempt at chivalry, with some men hanging back while the women were moved. A couple of quite cute ones shivered in goosebumps, underdressed for an evacuated ship. He handled them professionally, but it was hard to move someone under these conditions without grabbing their ass and shoving.

“That’s fifteen,” Lowther said.

“Balls,” he replied.

The next woman came up the line, looked at the ball, and clenched in fear. She didn’t resist as they stuffed her in, but she wasn’t helpful.

Then it became clear that some people were hanging back out of fear, letting others precede them. That meant the end would be interesting.

It was a good thing the engines were completely down. It took a lot longer than five hundred seconds to transfer everyone. More than half would have died on that schedule.

They passed people out, stuffed them into balls, and handled them through the wedged-wide lock, where Lowther and Marchetti lashed them to
Auburn
. The passengers could see out the tiny windows, and they all looked frightened or frozen. It was going to be traumatic for them, but, Bowden observed, not as traumatic as dying. One by one, the medics played out sections of line, looped and lashed them, and occasionally peeked in a window to smile and give someone a thumb’s up.

The last woman and last man clung to the stanchion next to the O2 supply. He was middle aged, in good shape, even athletic, but shivered like a lapdog. She was completely numb with a thousand meter stare. Both had to have their fingers pried loose, and be towed to the lock.