Rule of Evidence

Chapter Five

There wasn't any noticeable change onboard as the time counter hit zero. The ship's systems responded as programmed and the Michaelson became highly visible to the universe. The visual by-pass system shut off, making her once again easy to spot by the naked eye. Active scanning systems activated, sending out clear signals of the ship's presence as well as pinpointing her location.

The biggest change was the sudden looming presence of the Maury. The fuzzy ball wasn't there anymore. Now, her own anti-detection mechanisms deactivated, the Maury was there, another ship clearly pacing them at a distance of precisely eight point nine kilometers. Not exactly matching vectors, but close enough that there wasn't any threat of collision in the immediate future. A ragged cheer went up on the Michaelson 's bridge.

"Good job!" Captain Hayes exulted. "Congratulations, everybody. That ought to impress anyone who's planning to mess around with us."

Paul realized he was smiling widely. He turned to Chief Imari, raised one hand and exchanged a long-distance high-five with the chief. Crisis over. Let's see if anybody we can see reacts to us. Opening the range scale, he looked far outward to monitor the nearest SASAL ships, which were fairly deep within their claimed area of space at the moment.

He was still messing with range settings when the high-pitched stutter of the collision alarm shattered the euphoria on the Michaelson. Paul stared at his display as the Michaelson 's systems added verbal warnings. "Multiple objects on collision courses. Recommend immediate engagement of all objects on collision courses." A debris field had suddenly appeared, spreading out at high speed from the Maury. It only took Paul a moment to realize the debris was too close and moving too fast for the Michaelson to hope to evade it.

The general quarters alarm sounded, overriding the collision alarm, its repeated bongs reverberating through the ship and spurring everyone in the crew into immediate, trained responses. "General Quarters! General Quarters! All personnel to battle stations. Seal all air-tight bulkheads. All personnel don survival suits and brace for multiple impacts."

A babble of voices sprung into life on the comm circuits, then Captain Hayes' voice overrode the rest. "Silence on the circuit! Combat, can you identify any of that debris? Are there any sailors in there?"

Paul looked toward Chief Imari, who quickly scanned her own displays even as she shook her head. "Sir, there's not enough time, and there's too much junk messing up our picture." Her face twitched. "Besides, sir, if any sailor hits us at the speed that stuff is moving, even a survival suit wouldn't save 'em."

"Yeah. Thanks, Chief." Paul's brain was working on automatic, responding to all the training and experience he'd had so far. Emotions hadn't come into play, yet, and Paul didn't particularly want any emotions warring with the advice he knew he had to give. "Captain, this is Combat. No ID of individual debris items possible within time constraints. Assess chance of survival of any personnel on collision course with us as nil."

The briefest pause followed. "Understand. All combat systems, engage any object on collision course with this ship."

Paul tapped his communications circuit. "Chief, make sure we're double-checking combat systems' choices of highest priority targets." Sometimes the computers would fixate on the wrong object or objects, blazing away at them while more dangerous things were left unengaged. On Paul's visual display, nothing could be seen but a twinkling of bright objects and a glowing cloud obscuring the view of the dim shape of the USS Maury. The Michaelson 's lasers and particle beams firing at the oncoming debris hurled shots invisible to the naked eye as they tried to divert the objects, blow them to dust, or at least shatter them into smaller fragments traveling at lower relative velocity to the Michaelson. Paul knew the weapons were firing from the subsonic hums that marked discharges of energy, from the occasional dimming of lights on non-critical circuits as weapons recharged, and from the symbols on his other displays, where objects headed for the Michaelson were vanishing or fragmenting. As Paul watched, a symbol representing a large object broke into a half dozen smaller pieces, most of them heading off at angles to their original path. He wondered what the object had been, which small part of the Maury it had once represented.

Paul finished sealing his survival suit, then hurriedly checked his personnel. "Is everyone in Combat suited up?"

Chief Imari gave a thumbs up. "Yes, sir. Any idea what the hell happened, sir?"

"I don't know, Chief. I haven't heard anything."

"At least the Maury 's still there. Part of her, anyway."

Paul hadn't thought about that, caught up in responding to the immediate crisis. Hadn't thought about where the debris had come from, hadn't thought about what its sudden appearance implied. An explosion on the Maury. Has to be. A big one, from all that debris. He focused back on the symbol for the Maury. Her navigational beacon had stopped operating. Instead, the Maury had been tagged with a blinking red warning that the ship's emergency distress beacon had lit off. The Maury 's course had altered as well, shoved off to the side by some blow to her. How big was that explosion? Where was it on the Maury? Jen. Please be all right.

Debris began impacting on the Michaelson 's hull, mostly tiny particles but still traveling fast enough to damage even the extremely tough materials in the outer and inner hulls. Warnings flashed on Paul's display as sensors were destroyed by impacts, their functions immediately and automatically shifted to whichever other sensor could try to cover the same area. Paul imagined he could feel the Michaelson quiver from all the tiny impacts, though he shouldn't have actually been able to notice.

"Lost some water cells," Chief Imari reported.

Paul nodded. He saw the warnings appear, as small clouds of water vapor puffed out from the Michaelson. The water-filled inner hull was designed in part to do exactly that, absorb the heat and other energy of anything hitting the ship. Something big enough to rupture those cells had made it through the defensive barrage of the Michaelson 's weapons.

The glowing cloud around the Maury expanded rapidly, dimming as it did so. "We've got gases headed for us, too," Chief Imari noted. "By the time it gets here it shouldn't be dense enough to hurt us, though."

Paul checked his own data, where the Michaelson 's systems had already automatically analyzed the composition of the cloud. Vaporized water from the Maury's inner hull. Oxygen and other gases from shattered compartments. Various chemical vapors. Trace elements. Carbon. Carbon? Oh, no. One likely source of that carbon had to be human bodies, blown into ashes by the explosion.

The Michaelson trembled as the wave of gases reached her then swept on past. Without those gases blocking the view, the Maury could be seen much better.

"Jesus Christ," somebody muttered, sounding more like a prayer than profanity.

The Maury 's mid-section looked as if something huge had taken bites out of it. Paul increased the magnification on his visual display. The bites became holes with ragged edges, where something had blasted through the Maury 's inner and outer hulls. Paul could vaguely make out the areas surrounding the holes, where structural members and internal materials were ripped and twisted. It's like looking at a human with his guts torn open. Exactly where'd the damage hit the worst? The Maury was the Michaelson 's sister ship, so she had the same general layout. Most of the forward section looks intact. Maybe half the ship. There's a section right at the stern that doesn't look beat up too badly. What would've been located in the parts of the Maury that've been torn up? That'd be… no. Please, no.

A voice over the command circuit confirmed Paul's conclusion and his fears. "Captain, it looks like at least one of Maury 's engineering compartments blew." Commander Destin, the Michaelson 's Chief Engineer, sounded as if she couldn't quite believe it. "Probably both."

Captain Hayes' voice over the same circuit carried more than a hint of shock. "Blew up? An engineering compartment? How could that happen?"

"I don't know, sir. It'd require an awful lot of equipment and software to fail simultaneously, and a lot of people to miss warning signs. But those holes are where the Maury 's engineering compartments are."

Captain Hayes' voice sounded flat and emotionless. "Where they were, you mean."

"Yes, sir. From what we can tell, Maury 's lost all power. I recommend we get as many people as we can over there to assist."

"Do we have any communications with the Maury?"

"No, Captain," Commander Garcia came on line, his answer blunt. "I'm in comms. We're picking up nothing but the emergency beacon's automated distress call. There's no telling what effect the shock from that explosion and its fragmentation effects had inside the Maury 's hull."

"Very well. How many damage control teams can the gig hold?"

Commander Destin answered again. "Normally, two, captain."

"I don't want normally. How many maximum?"

"Uh, three, sir. If they're packed in tight. Very tight."

"Get three teams over there pronto. I'll see how close to the Maury we can maneuver the Michaelson."

Paul listened to the conversation, feeling as if it were some sort of audio-book, dealing with fictional events which couldn't have happened here and now. Something I should be doing. "Chief, I want a recommendation for the captain on how close to the Maury we can get."

Chief Imari looked back at Paul, her face questioning behind the survival suit's face shield. "Considering what, sir?"

"Debris. And possible secondary explosions."

"If you're concerned about secondaries, sir, this is as close as we should get."

"We're concerned about helping the Maury, Chief!"

"Yes, sir. We'll scope out the debris and work up a recommendation disregarding the threat from secondary explosions."

"Good. Thanks." There. He'd done something. Not much. But something. Paul looked back at the image of the Maury, wondering why his mind kept insisting the picture couldn't be real.

He was jerked out of his detachment by a sharp voice. "Sinclair!"

Commander Garcia calling, his anger as usual easily apparent, but this time certainly not aimed at Paul. For all Garcia's faults, Paul knew he cared about the lives of sailors.

"Yes, sir."

"Get down to the gig. They want you to command one of damage control parties."

"Me, sir?"

"Yes, you! Your chief can run Combat and you're one of the only officers on board with actual experience leading a damage control team. Now stop asking stupid questions and get your butt down there!"

"Aye, aye, sir." Paul switched back to Combat's internal communications. "Chief, I've been tapped to go over to the Maury. You've got Combat. Get that recommendation to Commander Garcia as soon as possible so he can pass it to the captain."

"Yes, sir. Good luck, sir."

Paul exited Combat as fast he could, thinking as he went that he needed luck a lot less than the crew of the Maury did. Partway to the gig, the maneuvering alarm sounded and Paul managed to snap onto a tie-down just before the Michaelson lurched and swung in response to her thrusters. Getting closer to the Maury. Probably not all that close. There's got to be lots of junk still floating around her. And lots of stuff that could still explode, like Chief Imari said. Paul felt another inner chill. Did Maury' s fuel vent from all the ruptured tanks and lines? What happens to us if it blows while we're there? He tried to remember if the cloud of gases had included vaporized fuel, how dense a free-floating cloud of fuel would have to be to ignite, but his mind wouldn't focus on the calculations.

The push of the thrusters halted, followed by an "all-clear" announcement. Paul unhooked and hastened the rest of the way to the gig.

The area around the gig was a mess. Too many sailors, bulkier than usual thanks to their survival suits, along with portable damage control equipment of every description crowded into the space near the gig. Paul pushed through until he was close to the gig, where Lieutenant Kilgary and Commander Destin were organizing the rescue effort. "Lieutenant Sinclair, reporting in."

Destin nodded absently. Colleen Kilgary gave Paul a quick look, all business. "Paul, you'll be in charge of Damage Control Team Two."

"DC Team Two. Roger."

"I'll be in charge of DC Team One and the overall effort. Have you seen Sonya?"

"No, I-"

Lieutenant Sindh pushed up next to Paul. "Here. I assume I have command of DC Team Three?"

Kilgary nodded rapidly. "Right. Commander Destin and I are going to supervise loading everybody and everything into the gig. Try to sort out your people."

Sindh nodded back. "I'll move my team toward the aft bulkhead."

Paul checked his suit display, where a list of names had appeared, then activated the communications circuit designated for his team. "All personnel in DC Team Two, this is Lieutenant Sinclair. I want you up against the forward bulkhead." Sailors began moving as Paul's and the other damage control teams started sorting themselves out, the tightly packed crowd breaking into those moving forward, those moving aft, and those trying to reach the center. More quickly than Paul would've expected, the three groups formed up in their designated positions. No horseplay or delaying. Everybody knows the guys on the Maury need us.

Chief Meyer sketched a quick salute. "Team Two ready, sir."

"Thanks, Chief." Meyer's from engineering. Lieutenant Kilgary's division. He ought to be real nice to have along.

"Any idea what things are like over there, sir?"

"Bad." The sailors in Team Two shifted uneasily at Paul's single word reply. "I just got a quick visual look, but Maury looked real torn up from just aft of amidships."

Meyer nodded slowly. "Engineering spaces."

Paul felt the hollow space in his gut again. Jen. "Yes."

"How torn up, sir?"

"I don't know, Chief. We'll know when we get there."

"Yes, sir." Paul watched Chief Meyer stare toward the gig. Engineering's a fairly insular community. Odds are Meyer knows a lot of people in Maury 's engineering department. How many of them are still alive? He shied away from the question, wishing he could somehow banish it from his mind.

Team One shuffled forward as Commander Destin and Lieutenant Kilgary directed them to positions in the gig. Paul brought his own team up behind them, waiting until Kilgary pointed his way. "Your turn. Make sure your people pack in tight."

"Aye, aye. Team Two, I want everyone up close and personal in that gig."

A muttering of acknowledgements followed, along with a few cracks. "Sir, can I have a window seat?" "Sir, can I get up close and personal with Petty Officer Velos?"

Velos craned her head to look at whoever had spoken. "In your dreams, Gino."

Chief Meyer glared at the sailors. "Zip it. I don't want nothing else said that ain't mission essential. Understand?" He faced Paul and shrugged. "They're nervous, Mr. Sinclair."

"I understand, Chief. Just between you and me, so am I."

"I guess that makes it unanimous, sir."

The inside of the gig had never felt expansive to Paul anyway. With thirty-some sailors in survival suits and all the damage control gear they could carry being shoved inside, it felt like a king-sized can of sardines. Paul let Chief Meyer go first, then followed the last of his team in and pushed up against those already in place. Whoever Petty Officer Velos' admirer happened to be, he was probably pretty disappointed at the moment, since the survival suits let you feel nothing but the bare outlines of the shapes you were up against and in the press of bodies any motion with arms or legs was out of the question.

Lieutenant Kilgary came last, shaking her head. "We're breaking a few safety regulations doing this, people, but there's no doubt the Maury needs us and needs us fast. Nobody panic." She wedged herself in and cycled the gig's hatch shut.

Paul immediately understood Kilgary's last instruction. With the hatch closed, the gig's packed interior felt dangerously claustrophobic. Somehow the lighting also felt dim, perhaps because some of the internal lights were covered by sailors or equipment, which only contributed to the feeling of being crowded into too small a space. But no one panicked, at least not openly, as a series of bumps, jars and lurches marked the gig's lifting from its cradle. An unbearably long period, perhaps a minute, passed before the gig's main drive lit off. The sailors near the rear groaned as the mass of their companions pressed against them. "Take it easy!" Lieutenant Sindh called out. She was back there with her sailors, feeling everything they felt, and her presence kept any of them from being overwhelmed by the mental and physical pressure.

Paul chafed at the unfamiliar sensation of literally being in the dark. As an officer, he was used to be able to see situations. But, then, I probably don't want to see the Maury until I have to. How bad is the damage? How many of her crew died? That question again, the one he couldn't avoid thinking about.

"On final approach to the Maury," the gig's conning officer announced over the officers' command circuit. "Do you still want me directly amidships, Lieutenant Kilgary?"

"Affirmative." Kilgary's voice was almost that of a stranger, cold and controlled. "As close as you can get us."

"It's pretty ugly out there, Lieutenant. Lots of junk drifting loose."

"Don't risk the gig. We can jump to the Maury."

Paul felt grateful he was surrounded too tightly by sailors to be able to shiver. The survival suits had a limited self-maneuvering capability and he'd jumped through space as part of his training. But he remembered the endless dark all around, the sense of falling forever with nothing to grab onto, the feeling that if he missed his objective he'd just keep falling and falling until his suit's power and air gave out.

The gig lurched a few more times. Paul felt torn between dread at leaving the gig and a growing sense of urgency. Let's get going, dammit!

A moment later, the gig's conning officer called again. "That's as close as I want to risk it, Lieutenant Kilgary. I've got the gig's main hatch lined up with the Maury."

"Roger. I'm popping the hatch now." The hatch surface receded, then Lieutenant Kilgary pushed herself out, holding onto the inside with one hand while she looked around. "Mary, mother of God. Paul, Sonya, it's worse than I thought. The Maury 's amidships is totally devastated. Both main engineering compartments definitely blew."

"Can you see survivors?" Lieutenant Sindh asked.

"No. I don't expect to, either. Not in this area." Paul heard a hiss as Kilgary drew in a breath. "It looks to me like everyone in engineering must have been wiped out."

I didn't hear it. I didn't hear it. I don't know what's happened to Jen. I won't know for a while. Just do my job. Think about that. Only that. There are people depending on me.

"I'm going to take Team One in deep amidships, try to assess internal damage and find out if anything or anybody's left. Paul, Team Two goes forward. Sonya, Team Three goes aft. It looks to me like the survival bulkheads held, so we want to strengthen and seal them. Find weak points and get them reinforced. Plug holes. You know the drill."

Paul and Lieutenant Sindh answered up simultaneously. "Aye, aye, ma'am." Lieutenant Kilgary wasn't Colleen to them right now, she was the officer in charge.

"Look for air-tight boundaries. Anyone in the forward or after sections will be trying to maintain the integrity of those compartments. If you find a working internal airlock, send someone through to make contact. We have to know what shape the Maury 's remaining crew is in. Any questions? Okay, I'm launching. I want everybody to follow, one by one. Keep your spacing."

Kilgary lined herself up on something Paul couldn't see, braced herself, then pushed off. The gig bobbled slightly in reaction, then the first sailor in Team One was at the hatch, raising fingers one by one as he counted to five before pushing off in turn. As more sailors left, the gig's maneuvering thrusters began firing in quick bursts, compensating for the reactions created by the sailors shoving off against the hatch.

Paul shuffled forward, getting only glimpses of the Maury until he reached the hatch. Once he got his first clear view, Paul gasped, staring at the damage. His first impression, that something had taken bites out of the Maury, was replaced by an image of monsters inside the Maury who'd burst out, shattering everything around them. Where the engineering compartments should've been there were instead a couple of irregular areas in which everything had been blasted outward and away. Surrounding those cleared areas were sections where the blasts had torn and smashed their way along the lines of least resistance, leaving a tangle of wreckage in their wake. The masses of wreckage gave way to either open space or disappeared in the shadows created by the still intact portions of the Maury.

The last member of Team One leaped across the gap, his shape dwindling rapidly toward an area where Lieutenant Kilgary had gathered the rest of her team. Paul aimed for a point closer toward the Maury 's bow, where he could see the remains of a compartment that seemed to offer a decent landing area. Okay. You've done this. Remember the drill. Line up your body. Both feet set firm. Push off evenly with both legs so you don't go off to one side. Don't push too hard because you'll reach your objective at that same speed. Keep your eyes on your landing spot. Ready. Go. He aimed and jumped, pushing off just as he'd learned during his training, not putting too much force into the effort, trying not to think about the infinite emptiness he'd just hurled himself into.

There wasn't anything under him, or above him, or to either side. Just the endless dark, lit with trillions of sparks of light. If Paul looked in those directions, he felt as if he might have been motionless, unable to judge his own movement against the incredibly distant stars. Part of his mind marveled at that. Both the Maury and the Michaelson 's gig were traveling through space at speed measured in kilometers per second, yet Paul felt none of that since he was moving at the same speed and there was no air resistance, gravity or friction to slow him relative to the ships. He felt tempted to look back toward the gig, but remembered the warning not to take his eyes off his target. More than one jumper had slammed painfully into a target they'd forgotten to watch. But as he did look directly at the target, Paul felt like he was falling onto it. It took a determined effort to focus on the fact that his body wasn't accelerating under gravity's pull as it would in a fall, but was moving at a steady pace even though his Earth-bound experience kept insisting that couldn't be happening.

Despite his concentration on his target, the ruined compartment on the Maury grew in size with shocking speed as Paul got close. Paul swung his feet forward and took the impact with flexed legs. He could almost hear an instructor grunting out a reluctant "not bad" as he grabbed hold of the nearest object, in this case a section of electrical conduit swinging free on one end. The friction pads built into the survival suit gloves held firmly onto the conduit's smooth surface. Paul tested his stability, then looked up just as the first sailor on his team came flying into the compartment only about a meter from him. Blast it. I should've remembered to get clear of the landing spot. Paul swung off to one side, motioning the sailor to clear the area as well.

More sailors came sailing into the ruined compartment, landing with varying degrees of force and grace. Last came Chief Meyer, grunting as he landed. "Where to, sir?"

Paul looked around, trying to judge where best to go. "Our orders are to proceed to the survival bulkhead forward of the damage. Let's move toward the Maury 's bow."

"Yes, sir. Spread out or stay together?"

Tough question. Spreading out would let them learn more, faster. But also separate them in an environment rendered unknowable by the damage the Maury had sustained. "Together. There's no telling what's blocked up ahead. I'd rather not have some of the team cut off from the rest of us."

They moved through the compartments, roughly along the line where the Maury 's outer hull had been. Segments of the inner hull, unmistakable with their hollow, honeycomb shapes, still clung to structural members or were bent back by the force of the blast. Wires and fiber optic cables drifted across his path, while clouds of fragmented insulation and other materials floated amid the wreckage. A large piece of warped metal that might have once been a control console in engineering had been wedged across their path, requiring the team to traverse some of the rougher areas. Paul reached for a pale, white object for his next hold, then stopped in mid-reach. It's an arm. The limb, naked against space, protruded from a crushed compartment. Is somebody still attached? I can't find out now. Not that I want to find out at all. He reached elsewhere. "Watch out for human remains." Somehow, Paul's voice didn't shake.

"Sir? Mr. Sinclair?"

"Yeah, Chief."

Meyer pointed inside the Maury. "I'm pretty sure we need to head inside, now."

Paul checked his position, trying to remember exactly where the next survival bulkhead would be located. Once seen, the survival bulkheads were impossible to mistake, with their extra armoring and damage control equipment. But from outside the Maury, with her hull torn ragged and internal compartment arrangements jumbled, Paul couldn't get be sure of the distance remaining. "How sure is pretty sure, Chief?"

"Real sure, sir."

"Okay. Let's go." Paul led the team deeper into the Maury, wending past obstacles and wriggling through some tight spots. He reached a relatively clear passageway and followed it forward, his team following. Funny. When I led that damage control team into a fire on the Michaelson, there wasn't time to think. And I couldn't see a thing because of the smoke and all. Now there's too much time to think and way more to see than I want to see.

The survival bulkhead was easy to recognize when they reached it, both because of the scarred armor still protecting it, and the three bodies floating near the sealed hatch leading forward. Paul wanted to hang back, wanted to let someone else go close, but knew he had no right to demand that of anyone. Steeling himself and trying to tighten his throat against any urge to throw up, he pulled himself forward to the hatch. One of the sailors had somehow survived the blast for long enough to grab a survival suit which remained clenched within one of her frozen hands. The other two had apparently died in the explosion, judging from the injuries visible on them. "Chief." Paul felt his voice squeaking, swallowed, and spoke again. "Chief Meyer. Detail someone to secure these remains. We want to make sure nothing happens to them."

"Yes, sir."

Paul examined the bulkhead, trying to ignore the feeling that the Maury 's dead sailors were watching him accusingly. It's not my fault. Whatever happened here isn't my fault. I'm trying to save your shipmates. "Chief, it looks to me like the survival bulkhead is damaged but holding. There seems to be atmosphere on the other side, but the airlock here looks too damaged to use. What's your assessment?"

Meyer made a careful examination himself before answering. "I concur, sir."

"Okay, then, let's break the team into sections, two sailors per section. I want them to work to all sides from here, checking for damage to the survival bulkhead, pressure on the other side, and any working airlocks leading forward. Everybody is to exercise caution. Understood? Report in every… five minutes."

"Every five minutes, aye."

Chief Meyer quickly divided up the team. Paul found himself paired with Petty Officer Velos. Despite the circumstances, he found himself trying to remember what she looked like underneath the survival suit, then felt a wave of self-anger. How can that thought even cross your mind? He knew the thought was born of anxiety, a desperate need for distraction, but he still felt sick over it.

More wreckage blocked paths along normal routes, but openings were available where there shouldn't have been openings. "Sir?" Petty Officer Velos pulled herself down near deck level. "There's a hole here."

A hole. In a survival bulkhead. Whatever had made that hole had to have been traveling very fast. Paul grabbed a nearby tie-down and pulled himself next to Velos, then frowned as he checked the damage. "It's been patched. From the inside." Somebody's still alive in there. Thank heavens for that, at least.

"Yes, sir. I bet it could still use some reinforcing from this side."

"Good idea. Go ahead." Paul swung away as Velos pulled out some materials from her backpack and went to work. "Chief? Any luck?"

Chief Meyer's response sounded faint due to the interference of the transmission from the wreckage. "No joy, sir. A few teams report finding holes in the bulkhead. They're patching any that haven't been already taken care of."

"Roger, Chief. Your transmission's weak. How do you read me?"

"Weak but readable, sir."

"Same." Paul looked around, finally spotting a compartment number. "I've just about reached the inner hull going this way. We'll be heading back your way in a few minutes."

"Aye, aye, sir."

As Paul had predicted, he and Petty Officer Velos ran into a dead-end at the inner hull only a few meters farther on. Paul thumped the inner hull sections nearby, trying to determine if they remained intact and still held water inside them. When that method failed, he checked his suit's radiation readings. Radiation is being blocked. Water must still be in there. Good.

The return journey went quicker, since they knew the way. Chief Meyer and half the damage control team were already there when Paul arrived. "Sir? Lieutenant Kilgary wants to talk to you soon's as you got back."

"Thanks, Chief." A quick circuit switch. "Lieutenant Kilgary, this is Lieutenant Sinclair."

"Paul. This is Colleen. What's your team found up forward?"

"It's a mess, but progressively better as we got farther forward. Number Two survival bulkhead held. We patched some holes in it, and found other holes had been patched from the inside."

"From the inside? Great. Any communications with the Maury 's crew?"

"No, ma'am. None of the internal airlocks we found were judged safe to use."

"I was afraid of that. The damage near the engineering compartments is unbelievable. I've got my team and Lieutenant Sindh's team bracing the remaining structure so the Maury doesn't rip herself apart. I need two things from you. First, I want your team to check your area again, but this time for structural stability. Tell Chief Meyer to look for places that need to be reinforced. Second, can you find the forward external airlock on the Maury if you move along the outside of the hull?"

Paul pondered the question for a moment. He knew exactly where to reach that airlock from the inside, but the outside of the Maury provided few clues to your location when you were crawling along it. Still, if I orient myself using the parts of the Maury's insides that have been exposed, I should be able to find it. "Yes. I think so."

"There's still no communications with the Maury. We need to know what's going on inside her. Leave Chief Meyer in charge of your team and get to that airlock. Bring along a portable power unit so you can open it up. Find out what the survivors need, and make sure they know not to try to power up anything, especially any maneuvering systems."

"Aye, aye, ma'am." It wasn't until then that Paul realized he'd volunteered to crawl along the outside of a crippled spacecraft. Okay. I can do this. Just keep my eyes on the Maury 's hull. The friction pads on my hands and feet should hold me to her. "Chief Meyer, this is Mr. Sinclair. I've been ordered to find the Maury' s forward external airlock. You've got the team until I get back." He quickly passed on Kilgary's instructions.

"Aye, aye, sir. If we spot anything, do we try to fix it?"

Paul hesitated. "Try to report it to Lieutenant Kilgary. If you can't, use your judgment. Err on the side of keeping this ship together."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"I'll need a portable power unit with enough juice to cycle that airlock."

"No problem, sir."

No problem. Paul kept repeating that phrase to himself as he moved along the damaged portions of the Maury, peering into compartments ripped open to space so he could tell where he was relative to the airlock. Clouds of debris floated and spun through the wrecked areas, some of the larger pieces identifiable as the remnants of equipment or personal items, and occasionally one that was probably a remnant of one of the crew. That's… one of the passageways through officer's country. I guess all the staterooms got taken out, too. I sure hope no one was in their bunk when it happened. Or maybe that would've been a mercy. Okay, that means the airlock should be about… that way.

He paused, watching a rectangular piece of paper twisting through the airless ruin of the officers' staterooms. The paper's front came into view as it rotated, revealing it to be a photograph of a smiling woman, the seashore at her back a weird contrast to the deadness of space. Girlfriend? Mother? Wife? Sister? Whichever, I hope your someone gets safely home to you. Or that they never knew what hit them. The memory of the dead sailor at the survival bulkhead haunted him. She'd lived long enough to get the suit, feeling the cold and the emptiness as the compartments around her decompressed, knowing at some point that she'd never make it into that suit before she died.

The torn portions of the hull came to an end. Paul let go his last grip on the wreckage and began moving across the outer hull. Like all warships, the Maury 's hull had been kept smooth to minimize the chances of being spotted. Corners and edges caught things like light and radio waves, creating visible signatures for unfriendly eyes searching space. Right now, feeling a bit like a fly crawling over a sheet of glass, Paul wished someone had figured out how to install hand grips on a ship's outer hull anyway.

His friction pads gripped well, but the circular motions required to lift each pad before moving a hand or a foot began to fatigue his arms and legs rapidly. How much farther? The hull presented an almost featureless expanse on all sides. If I miss it, how will I know which way to go looking for it?

His arms and legs were aching now, but Paul stubbornly kept moving, trying to keep his eyes focused on the Maury 's hull for the small features which would reveal the presence of the airlock from up close. It occurred to Paul that he was probably being watched from the Michaelson, as if he were a bug on the expanse of the Maury 's hull. "USS Michaelson, this is Lieutenant Sinclair."

" Michaelson, aye."

"I'm been ordered to reach the Maury 's forward external airlock. Can you give me an idea how close I am?"

"Wait, one."

Paul kept moving as he waited, wondering how long it would take to urge his screaming muscles back into motion if he stopped.

"Lieutenant Sinclair, we estimate you are within three meters of the airlock and slightly above it."

"I understand I am within three meters, slightly above." Paul moved over some more, angling downward now. One foot slid against something the friction pad wouldn't hold on. That's the airlock rim. Got you. A little farther over and down. His hands crossed the slick rim, then Paul saw the location of the external power plug. "I am at the airlock. Plugging in my portable power unit, now."

"Lieutenant Sinclair."

Paul recognized the voice even through the rasp of the communications circuit. "Yes, Captain."

"Try to find the captain of the Maury if you can."

"Aye, aye, sir." Paul cautiously tried to attach his portable power unit, but the jack kept wobbling away from the plug, until Paul cursed and rammed it home. Using his suit's systems, he activated the airlock, waiting impatiently as it cycled, then as the hatch inched open. Swinging inside, Paul felt his limbs trembling with exhaustion and relief. At least I'm not hanging on the edge of nothing anymore.

The inner door swung open more smoothly. Paul pulled himself inside the Maury, looking either way down the passageway. No one here. Anyone left is surely involved in damage control or repair. Air's okay in here. Pressure's a little low, though. I need to get to the Maury' s bridge. He knew the way, though as always traveling through one of the Michaelson 's sister ships felt odd, as if he were simultaneously in a familiar and an unfamiliar place.

Paul checked the bridge hatch, finding it sealed. Paul released the hatch, opening it to swing inside.

The Maury 's bridge was crowded, something which brought Paul great relief after the eerie feeling of abandonment in the passageways he'd gone through. In the dim illumination of the emergency lights, sailors were working on equipment while officers huddled together. In their focus on their immediate tasks, in a compartment full of personnel in survival suits, no one seemed to notice Paul. He made his way over to the captain's chair, and found her seated there with a data pad on which a diagram of the Maury could be seen, watching the activity around her with an intent and agonized expression.

"Ma'am? I'm Lieutenant Sinclair, from the Michaelson."

Heads snapped around. The Maury 's Captain gave Paul a brief nod of greeting. "Captain Halis. How'd you get here, Mr. Sinclair?"

"The Michaelson 's sent over three damage control teams, ma'am. I came in through the forward external airlock to establish contact with you."

A commander, probably the Maury 's executive officer, pointed brusquely toward the data pad held by the captain. "What's the damage look like from outside? We can't tell, and we've been focused on trying to maintain air-tight boundaries in the forward part of the ship. All of our systems are off-line. Even a lot of the emergency gear. We took a helluva shock."

"Yes, sir." Paul noticed for the first time that the commander had one arm in a splint bound tightly to his body to keep it from drifting. He probably wasn't the only member of the Maury 's crew with broken bones or other internal and external injuries. Paul came forward a little more and pointed at the diagram of the Maury. "There's massive damage here and here."

Captain Halis stared grimly at where Paul had pointed. "The engineering compartments."

"Yes, ma'am. Damage spreads outward from them. We're still trying to assess damage, but so far there don't appear to be any airtight spaces left between the number two and number four survival bulkheads."

The commander tried to rub his forehead, his survival suit glove sliding over the surface of his face shield, his eyes glazed. "No wonder we can't talk to anybody back there."

"What about my engineering personnel?" Captain Halis demanded. "Massive damage, you said. What does that translate to in terms of my people?"

Paul felt a sudden tightening of his throat, but forced the words out. "Lieutenant Kilgary, our officer in charge, estimates… very serious casualties in engineering."

Captain Halis closed her eyes as if unable to accept the news. "Any idea what very serious means, Lieutenant? Were those Lieutenant Kilgary's exact words?"

"No, ma'am. She…" The tightness grew, reaching down into the hollow space in Paul's guts. "She said she thought they'd been wiped out."

"Dear God." Captain Halis covered her eyes with one hand for a moment. "Dear God." She slowly lowered the hand and looked back at Paul. "Tell your Lieutenant-" Her eyes finally focused on Paul's face. "Sinclair. From the Michaelson. You're Lieutenant Shen's sierra oscar, aren't you?"

Paul nodded mutely. The use of the Navy phonetic alphabet to spell out the initials for "significant other" had for some time struck him as an amusing in-joke. But not now.

Captain Halis raised one arm and gripped Paul's shoulder so hard he could easily feel the pressure through his survival suit. "Sorry," she whispered. "So very sorry." Then the arm fell and she was captain of a stricken ship once more. "What else can you tell me?"

Paul forced himself to concentrate only on his job. "Lieutenant Kilgary has our damage control teams trying to reinforce your ship's internal structure. It's badly ripped up. She asked that you be certain not to light off any maneuvering system, or anything else without coordinating with us."

The executive officer's jaw worked. "You think we could tear the Maury apart?"

"Sir, she's… really hurt bad, sir."

The commander grimaced, but Captain Halis merely nodded. "Bad doesn't mean hopeless. We'll save her. Don't worry, we won't try to get any navigational or maneuvering systems going. Why is your Lieutenant concerned about other systems?"

"There's so many loose and broken wires out there, ma'am. It'd-"

Captain Halis held up one hand palm out. "I understand. We need to establish reliable communications with people outside this ship. I need you to make your way back outside. Can you serve as a comm relay in the airlock?"

"We've got better than that, ma'am." A hollow-eyed petty officer with a large bruise visible on his left temple offered Paul some pieces of equipment. "Emergency relays. Plug one in to the jack inside the airlock and the other to the jack on the outside. It's a manual bypass. They should let us talk to the world again."

The task gave Paul the excuse he needed to try to shove away any more thoughts of Jen. "Will do. Any special message, captain?"

"If the relays don't work, tell your captain we need portable power units in here, as well as some air recyclers. Let your officer in charge of your assistance teams, you said Lieutenant Kilgary, correct? Let her know we're still trying to seal the number two survival bulkhead. Any further assistance from her side would be appreciated."

"Aye, aye, ma'am. You need portable power and air recyclers, and our continued assistance sealing the number two survival bulkhead." Paul came to attention, saluted, and then moved as quickly as he could back the way he came. He kept his mind focused on Captain Halis's message and the job he had to do. Once back at the airlock, he only had to look a moment to find the necessary jack for the first relay. Plugging it in firmly, Paul cycled the airlock, then slid outside and plugged in the second relay. "On the Michaelson, this is Lieutenant Sinclair. Do you copy?"

"We copy."

"The Maury 's captain says they need portable power units and air recyclers. I've installed some relays. You should be able to talk to the Maury 's bridge now."

"Roger." A pause, then the voice came again. "We have comms with the Maury 's bridge. Thanks, Lieutenant."

"I'm returning to my team now." Paul began moving carefully across the still-too-smooth surface of the Maury 's outer hull, hoping his friction pads would hold, trying not to think beyond the next hand or foot hold. Finally reaching the edge of the damaged area again, Paul found his progress progressively easier, as tears and bends in the hull provided firm holds. His hand slipped on one attempted hold, though. Startled and angry, Paul tried to grab that point again, felt his hand slipping once more, then while reaching back for a third try noticed the survival-suited palm of his hand. There was something on it, now. Something black, with bits of paler material in it.

That's… oh, no. Paul fought down nausea, staring at the hull surface directly before his eyes. Someone. What's left of someone. Pieces of someone. The blood's black. No oxygen to make it red. Dried out, all the moisture sucked into space, but the powder left makes the surface slick. He looked around, desperately seeking something to wipe his palm on. Paul finally rubbed his hand quickly several times over the nearest protruding metal edge. He didn't look at the palm again, not wanting to know if his rough cleaning efforts had left a lot of material on his glove.

Swinging in past the ragged edge where the Maury 's hull had been blown open, Paul scanned the wreckage for signs of his team. Dark patches moved here and there amid the wreckage. Lighter objects could be seen among the dark, some of them still recognizable as bodies or large pieces of bodies. Jen? I can't look. I- He swallowed convulsively. "Chief Meyer."

"Here. Lieutenant Sinclair?"

"Right. I'm just aft of the number two survival bulkhead." Paul looked around, trying to see his surroundings without seeing the torn remnants of Maury 's crew among them. A bright object appeared on his display. There's his beacon. "I see you, Chief. I'm on my way."

"Yes, sir."

"Lieutenant Kilgary? This is Lieutenant Sinclair."

There was a pause before she answered. "Here. Did you get to the bridge of the Maury, Paul?"

"Yes, ma'am." It felt a little odd to still be using formality with Colleen, but Paul needed to concentrate on professional rituals to keep darker thoughts at bay. "Captain Halis rogered up on not powering up anything. I helped establish comms from the Maury to the Michaelson, so they're talking now. Captain Halis says they're still trying to seal the forward survival bulkhead, and would like our assistance there."

He could hear Lieutenant Kilgary's heavy sigh over the circuit. "I need about twice as many people as I've got here. Okay. Chief Meyer tells me there's relatively less structural damage in your area. Take your people away from what I had them doing and start them going over that bulkhead again and sealing any problem areas."

"Aye, aye, ma'am."

"How's Captain Halis doing, Paul?"

"She's…" How to say it? "Very unhappy but on top of everything."

"I understand. How are you doing?"

"A little tired-"

"That's not what I mean. I know what the damage here implies for you personally. Can you still remain focused on your job?"

"Of course I can!" Paul put force into his reply, as if that could somehow fill the hollowness inside him.

"I wouldn't think less of you if it were otherwise. Okay, get your people moving. We've got less than an hour left before we need to get back to the gig."

Startled, Paul checked his own suit's readings. The rebreather's okay so far, but it's not guaranteeing anything past another couple of hours. Power level's not great, either. Colleen's right. We need to allow a decent safety margin for getting back to the Michaelson. "Chief Meyer, we've got new orders."

The maze of wreckage made it easier to forget other issues as Paul worked his way back to the forward survival bulkhead. Then he immersed himself in overseeing his damage control team, personally checking for ruptures or weak spots in the bulkhead whenever a free moment offered itself. At some point, he heard Kilgary warning everyone that the gig was delivering two more damage control teams and everyone should watch for sailors landing around them.

"That's it." It took a moment for Paul to recognize Kilgary's voice this time, hoarse with physical and emotional strain. "Paul, Sonya, get your teams back to the outer hull for pickup by the gig. It's coming in a little closer this time and it'll have a retrieval net spread around the airlock."

"Aye, aye. Chief Meyer, it's time to go." Out and back again, Paul both looking for and dreading seeing the frozen arm that'd been near their arrival point. But he didn't see it again, and soon enough his team was back near where they'd arrived on the Maury. He could see the gig floating where it awaited them, looking far too small against the emptiness around it. But he could also see the glowing lines which outlined the retrieval net, a large mesh surface spread out for ten meters around the airlock to catch anyone who aimed badly. As he watched, some of the glowing lines vibrated as a sailor from one of the other damage control teams landed in the net.

"That's all of my team," Kilgary advised. "Paul, take yours over next. Sonya, your team boards last this time."

"Aye, aye. Chief, you go first. I'll send the rest after you and follow last."

"Aye, aye, sir. Me first, you last." Chief Meyer's voice didn't seem to have changed, but then it had been emotionless and controlled since they got their first good look at the Maury. Paul watched the chief launch himself out, heading like a slow-moving bullet for the target center represented by the hatch on the gig. Meyer landed and pulled himself to one side, waving for someone else to follow.

Paul sent them off at the usual five-count intervals, concentrating on that task. When the last sailor was clear, he aimed himself and jumped.

Now, sailing between the Maury and gig, there was nothing to think about. Despite his training, Paul twisted his head to look back at the Maury. Up close, it had sometimes been easy to forget how widespread the devastation was, how insignificant the chance of survival had been for anyone caught in that blast. From here, and with all he'd see inside the ship, it couldn't be mistaken or ignored. Admit it to yourself. Jen's gone.

Packed in tight on the gig again, Paul no longer had anything at all to divert his attention. No looming hazardous mission, no constant work with his hands and mind, no oversight of his team's work. All he could do was sit in the dimmed interior of the gig, feeling the survival suits around him press in from all sides, feeling the hollowness in him, and wondering if he'd ever feel anything but empty again.

Bumps and lurches announced their arrival back at the Michaelson. A wait followed, only minutes long but seeming an eternity for those inside the gig, as the gig's dock was pressurized. Finally, the hatch cracked open and sailors began pulling themselves out of the gig. Lieutenant Kilgary hung at the gig hatch, waving the sailors onward. "Everyone clear the gig area. Get into another compartment and get out of your suits. No bunching up. No ass dragging. Keep moving."

Paul's turn came. He moved automatically, swinging out of the hatch, then feeling a hand on his arm. He looked to see Lieutenant Kilgary motioning him to the side. "How are you doing?"

"I…"

"That's what I thought." Kilgary had already pulled off her suit's helmet and now she assisted Paul in getting his helmet off. Her own eyes were haunted by fatigue and sorrow. "I don't want to risk you wandering around in this state oblivious to your own danger readings."

"I'm not that bad off."

"Can you hear your own voice? You held up great out there, Paul. I'd have never known you had such a personal stake in this. But now that pressure's off and you're feeling it."

Paul hung against the nearest bulkhead, staring at nothing. "I guess I am. Are you sure…?"

Kilgary's face sagged. "Damage to the after survival bulkhead hadn't been patched. We couldn't get in there, back into the less damaged sections aft of that bulkhead, but that says something."

"Yeah." A last very slender hope gone. "I guess-"

The comm panel in the compartment blared an attention signal. "Is Lieutenant Sinclair still down there?"

The sailor nearest the panel glanced at Paul, then pushed the transmit button. "Yes, sir. He's listening."

"We've received a Personal For message for him from the captain of the Maury."

Paul blinked in confusion, then felt the emptiness growing inside once more. They found her. That must be it. Found what's left of her. I don't want… But, as if of their own accord, his legs pushed him toward the comm panel and his arm raised so his hand could push the transmit key. He stared stupidly at the panel for a moment, the hollowness spreading to his brain, before he remembered to talk. "What is it? I mean… this is Lieutenant Sinclair."

"Personal for Lieutenant Sinclair from Captain Halis. Quote: Contact has been established with Lieutenant Shen and twenty-one enlisted who remain alive in the after section of the ship. Unquote."

Paul's vision hazed. As it cleared, he realized he was drifting limply against the bulkhead, one arm still raised toward the comm panel. Someone was yelling at him.

"Paul! Come on!" Hands grabbed Paul's arms and brought him around to face Colleen Kilgary. "Don't lose it, Paul."

He tried to straighten his body, his arms and legs still feeling rubbery. "Jen-"

"I know. I heard. Somebody up there really loves you or her or the pair of you. Can you make it to your stateroom? How about sickbay?"

"I don't need sickbay." Paul looked around, blinking as if the lights in the compartment had just come on. Some of the enlisted from the damage control teams were grinning at him, not in derision at his weakness, but clearly in shared happiness at the news he'd received. "Thank you. Thanks all of you. I can make it now, Coll."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Yes, I can make it now." In more ways than one. I can't believe it. Jen's alive? Not that I'm complaining, but how?