TFS Navajo: The Terran Fleet Command Saga – Book 3 (21 page)

“What’s the status of the survivors?”

“There were no life-threatening injuries, but all three do need medical attention. They also weren’t very happy to see us at first. Fortunately, they were all mess staff of some sort — not the kind of folks who were likely to put up much in the way of resistance. We just kept talking to them and trying to convince them that we were here to help. We also told them what we knew about Admiral Naftur. I’m not sure they entirely believed us, but they did finally allow us to zip them up in their triple EPs for evac.”

Expandable Emergency Evacuation Pods, or “triple EPs,” as they were commonly called, were two-and-a-half-meter-long cylindrical capsules that were just over one meter in diameter. When originally developed in the late twenty-first century, the inflatable pods were primarily intended to provide a simple (and, therefore, inexpensive) lightweight means of escaping a damaged spacecraft. Each was equipped with its own power supply as well as enough water and emergency rations to keep a single occupant alive for up to a week, if necessary. Even though early versions were derided as little more than a “one-person space tent,” crewmembers who found themselves in a situation where they were forced to choose between using one of the pods or subjecting their bodies to a hard vacuum universally selected the EEEP as the better of the two options.

TFC’s latest version of the triple EP, while similar to the original in some respects, had a number of enhancements intended to facilitate the evacuation of injured military personnel. The pod’s onboard computer now included a specialized AI capable of performing a surprising number of medical procedures, from administering antibiotics and pain medication to laser suturing wounds. Each pod also included a small gravitic field generator, allowing the entire device to “hover” in the same manner as the ubiquitous “grav chair” now used in hospitals worldwide. This feature alone had revolutionized the concept of medical evacuation — allowing a single, uninjured person to both treat and transport a much larger colleague, if necessary. In addition, although they could still be used by an individual to escape a damaged ship, the pods were much more commonly used by military personnel during rescue operations — often to stabilize their injured occupants and transport them from one spacecraft to another. The addition of a small, three-axis Cannae thruster allowed the pods to accomplish short journeys of this type entirely on their own once outside the damaged vessel.

“Good work, Sergeant,” Jacks replied. “Now here’s what I need you to do next. Rescue 11 has run into some difficulty reaching our survivors. We can get there, but it’s going to take us a little longer than expected. The captain wants us back aboard
Theseus
ASAP, and there’s no reason for you to delay out here waiting on us.”

“Sir,” the Marine sergeant replied, “how about I send three or four guys in there to help clear the way? That should speed things up quite a bit.”

“Negative, Sergeant. Now listen up. We don’t need that SLR team outside. Dismount the railgun, load up your section and your three survivors, and head back to the ship immediately. I’ve got six of my section’s seven guys with me. That will be more than enough to handle getting these four survivors out. Any questions for me?”

“No, sir, but I don’t like it … and Top’s not gonna like it either.”

“I’d say you’re right about that, but you’ll notice that he isn’t commenting over the radio. That’s because he knows it’s the right call. He also knows that you two work for me,” Jacks replied in a joking tone that still left little room for additional debate. “Now get moving, Marine.”

“Yes, sir. See you back onboard.”

“No worries, Sergeant. We’ll be along shortly.”

Jacks paused momentarily, knowing full well that the bridge might also be listening in on their tactical comm channel. Given how much time they had already burned, he half-expected to receive orders to abort the remainder of the mission at any moment. In his short time working for Captain Prescott, however, Jacks had seen no evidence that he was the kind of commander who was inclined to “micromanage” his people. So far at least, he seemed to trust their judgment and expect them to make the right call without his constantly needing to look over their shoulders or second-guess their decisions. Jacks appreciated this kind of leadership style, but understood that it implied a greater burden of responsibility on his part. In his mind, that really left him with only two choices at the moment. He could either abort the mission and return to the ship, or, within the next few minutes, contact the bridge and make the case for taking a bit more time. Disregarding the captain’s instructions and pressing on without reporting in was just not an option under the circumstances.
Living up to professional obligations really is a pain in the arse sometimes,
he reflected.

“Okay, I’ve got an alternate route for us,” his AI reported. “Unfortunately, with the
Keturah
running on spotty emergency power, there’s no way I can confirm whether it’s any better than our current route. We’ll just have to check it out and see. One thing I can say for sure, however, is that we’ll have to put our survivors inside their triple EPs for the trip back to the access point. No matter which way we go, we’ll have to cross though at least one unpressurized section.”

Humph
, Jacks grumbled inwardly,
I don’t see us getting past the end of this corridor humping four of those pods unless we take the time to cut our way through some of the debris, so let’s take a look at your alternate. Is it something we can check quickly?

“Actually, yes. Take the next right. There should be a short, ten-meter corridor that ends in an entrance to another that runs parallel to the one we’re in now for another fifty meters.”

Great, that should be long enough to reach our survivors,
he thought, fully aware that this was mostly likely their last shot at completing the rescue successfully
.

It took Lieutenant Jacks only a moment to update his section on the change in plans, after which they quickly cleared the intersecting corridor and moved up to the bulkhead door leading to their alternate route. Jacks then paused to once again allow his AI to access the
Keturah’s
security system. With so much of the ship open to the vacuum of space, it was necessary to override safety protocols, gaining access one section at a time. Not surprisingly, the overall result was painfully slow progress.

“Significantly reduced pressure in this area — most likely due to a small leak somewhere between here and one of the major hull breaches just aft,” Jacks’ AI reported. As the door slid open, water vapor in the surrounding air instantly condensed into a cloud of fog with a disconcerting WHOOSH as air rushed past the Marines and into the adjacent hallway to equalize the pressure. “The environmental system is attempting to compensate, but it’s fighting a losing battle at this point. Gravity is still steady at their standard .8 G.”

Glancing furtively around the corner, Jacks was gratified to see that the corridor was largely free of debris. At the same time, it struck him how similar the view was to a scene from any one of a hundred sci-fi movies he had watched over the years. Although his suit obviated the need for ambient lighting, several light panels dangled from the ceiling, flashing randomly. To complete the effect, a myriad of cables hung loosely from several locations — all of which he was sure would be arcing wildly if the ship’s reactors were still online. The only things strangely missing were bodies. Upon their arrival,
Keturah’s
AI had indicated that over three-fourths of her crew had been killed within moments of the nuclear detonation. Most of the rest had suffocated shortly thereafter due to the innumerable breaches that had occurred along the entire length of her hull. Ironically, as some of the last members of her crew had attempted to make their way to areas they believed might offer them the best chance of survival, they had found their way blocked by doors sealed in an effort to preserve the few remaining pressurized areas of the ship.

With less than five minutes remaining before Captain Prescott’s deadline, Jacks made his call back the
Theseus
.

“Bridge, Rescue 11.”

“Rescue 11,
Theseus
-Actual. How much more time do you need, Lieutenant Jacks?” Prescott asked, preempting his question.

“The corridor ahead looks pretty clear, sir. If all goes well, I’d say an extra ten to fifteen minutes will probably do it. The biggest problem we’re likely to have from this side is pressurization. If we can’t seal off a section of the corridor outside the room they’re in, we’ll cause a rapid decompression when we open the door. They’re accustomed to slightly higher air pressures than we are, and the pressure out here is currently around thirty kPa and dropping. That’s well below the atmospheric pressure at the summit of Mount Everest. Our survivors will go hypoxic almost immediately and will most likely be unconscious in less than thirty seconds.”

“Won’t that be enough to cause decompression sickness?”

“Maybe so, sir. There are lots of variables, including the amount of time they are exposed to the lower pressure. At thirty kPa, we’re well above the Armstrong limit, though, so there won’t be a problem with exposed bodily fluids boiling away. As long as we get them into their triple EPs pretty quickly, they should be fine. The pods will get them back to standard atmospheric pressure and provide one hundred percent oxygen until we get them back aboard the
Theseus
. After that, the doc will need to evaluate them to see if they require hyperbaric treatment. Bottom line, it’s still better than staying here, sir.”

“Agreed. Fifteen more minutes, Lieutenant … and don’t bother asking for more. We’re on borrowed time as it is and I’m just not willing to risk having you and your people out there any longer than that. Understood?”

“Understood. Thank you, sir. Jacks out.”

Knowing that he would still need every moment of the additional time Captain Prescott had given him, Jacks issued a rapid series of orders for four members of his section to secure the surrounding area — which, he admitted to himself, seemed somewhat pointless under the circumstances. If training and experience had taught him nothing else, however, it was how following well-established procedures could keep you alive when something unexpected happened. And in situations like this one, it often did. At the same time, Jacks’ two remaining Marines set about preparing to deploy the inflatable evac pods while he worked with his AI to determine if there was anything that could be done to avoid the need to depressurize the room containing the remaining four Wek survivors.

“The problem is that the first pressure door we can close is just beyond the room where they’re located,” Jacks’ AI reported after a few minutes spent in a fruitless search of the surrounding area. “Unfortunately, closing that one doesn’t help us since all that would do is cordon off an area that’s already losing pressure. We could, of course, use an inflatable barrier, but I estimate that doing so will require at least ten minutes more time than Captain Prescott has given us to complete our mission.”

Yeah, I assumed that was the case. Here’s the thing, we’re not likely to hurt anyone in there when we open the door, right?
Jacks asked.

“Most likely not,” his own voice replied. At times like this when the situation demanded extensive interaction with his suit’s AI, it really did start to feel like he was carrying on a two-way conversation with himself, and the fact that his own words were rarely spoken aloud lent a somewhat surreal air to the entire conversation. “Now that I’ve had a little more time to interface with their environmental systems,” the AI continued, “it appears that their pressure doors have the capability to micro-advance, much like ours do. When we breach, we can command the door to open just enough to break the seal. The pressure will still equalize pretty quickly, but it won’t be nearly as traumatic as it would have been had we just opened the door all at once. As far as hurting anyone inside goes, that really depends on their condition. Unless they’re already gravely injured, however, it’s unlikely we’ll do them any additional harm. Since we have little choice in the matter at this point, I recommend we attempt to communicate our intentions beforehand.”

Good idea. Can you patch me through to some sort of intercom system?

“Surprisingly, yes, it’s still working. Stand by.” Seconds later, a chime indicated that an active intercom connection had been opened. “Go ahead, Lieutenant,” his AI prompted.

“Hello in there. Can anyone hear me?” Jacks began tentatively. He knew that his words were being translated on the fly by his AI, and thought it best to avoid mentioning specifically who he was for the moment.

“Yes, we can hear you,” a male Wek replied after a slight pause. “Who is this?” he asked in what Jacks took to be a suspicious, if not openly hostile tone.

So much for establishing trust up front,
he thought darkly.

“If I may, Lieutenant,” his AI interrupted, “they almost certainly know of Admiral Naftur. Although they are unlikely to believe you if you mention him alone, perhaps also including the fact that we are working with Commander Takkar from the
Hadeon
might engender some trust.”

Yeah, I’m also not going to stand around out here begging them to let us continue to risk our lives to save theirs,
he thought, then continued aloud, “This is Lieutenant Jacks from the starship
Theseus
. We are here on a rescue mission at the request of Commander Takkar of the
Hadeon
. Admiral Rugali Naftur is also a guest aboard our vessel. We have already rescued three other members of your crew. Unfortunately, we have very limited time to get you evacuated back to the
Theseus
.