Chameleon Ch 33

“I’m sorry, Jack. Wagner was hit by a bulkhead. There wasn’t anything we could do.”

Jackson held one hand over his face to slow the gush of emotions penetrating his soul. It was bad enough that Wagner was killed, but at least his remains were aboard. Graham was gone, probably pulled into the atmosphere of Tau Ceti D by its gravity. Fortunately, he would have died quickly, long before he disintegrated in a fiery ball of ash in the stratosphere.

Two men, dead, because Pegasi were putting radioactive junk into orbit. Not two Pegasi, two of his men, damn fine men. His hand curled into a fist that he slammed against the bulkhead in sick bay. Adams jumped at the sound.

“We all know the risks when we come into space,” Adams reminded him.

“Senseless deaths. We weren’t in combat. We weren’t doing anything. Just orbiting an ally, a planet where we have a colony.”

“It was an accident,” the doctor said, laying a hand on the captain’s shoulder. He walked away from the touch, not wanting any kind of consoling. “Let me get you some coffee, Jack.”

“I don’t want anything to eat.”

“You want an emesis basin?” Jackson shook his head dramatically. He turned away from Adams as if the doctor might be able to read the vile insults and violent acts against Pegasi scrolling across his face.

“Do you know how much I hate composing condolence letters? The only thing worse is giving eulogies. And yet I must do it with the most care and professionalism I can muster because it’s all a family may have left – words from the C O about bravery, or duty, or valiant effort, or something that’s supposed to make a death acceptable.” Jackson sank into the nearest chair.

“I, uh, think Quixote needs you, Jack, down in engineering.” Jackson swallowed hard and steeled his spine, standing with resignation. He couldn’t look at Adams for fear of meeting the man’s pale blue eyes full of sorrow. He diverted around the old doctor to meet with the crew who were now patients. Adams followed.

Danielle was still unconscious; Adams expected another twenty-four hours would pass before she would awaken. He stepped to Harchett’s bed, touching him on the shoulder. The man’s eyes opened slowly.

“Captain.”

“Shh. You rest and get well. Doc said you’re living here for a while.” He nodded and closed his eyes.

“It’s hard for him to talk,” Adams whispered. “Broken ribs.”

“Bailey?” Adams led Jackson to the farthest bed. She looked up at the sound of their footsteps.

“There’s my trooper,” Jackson said to her. “Why are you here and not with Keith taking shore leave?”

“I wish I was, sir,” she mumbled.

“Keep your chin up. Doc says you’ll be up and at em real soon.”

“Harchett saved my life, sir, I was almost stuck in the doors!”

“Easy, Bailey,” the captain said, taking her hand. “It’s all right, everything will be all right.”

“And Jules!” her voice quavered. Jackson looked at Adams for help.

“It’s okay, Bailey, I know,” he said. Adams brought a hypodermic and quietly injected her. “He didn’t suffer; it was quick,” was all he could say to her without making things worse.

“Doc!” she shouted. “I’m not hysterical!”

“Your blood pressure is up. You need to stay quiet.”

“Feel better, Bailey. Rest.” Jackson squeezed her hand and hurried out before the conversation turned to Wagner next.

Jackson entered engineering and found Quixote at the very aft of this ship in the reactor room. Walking past the components, in a minimal power state while orbiting, he shut the thoughts of Wagner and Graham out of his mind. Crewmen die. It’s a fact of command.

“Captain,” Quixote greeted. “It’s good to see you. I’m afraid we’re in trouble.”

“I saw the damage on the shuttle ride up.”

“I have only ever dealt with a radioactive clean up one time before. I had to send Cerebrus outside to neutralize the residue before we could even get people out in EV suits.”

“You followed the standard emergency response protocols.”

“I neglected to visit the people in the sick bay.”

“Your job is to secure the ship, not help with the triage. I stopped by. Do you have an incident report?”

“I finished it last night, sir, once the immediate emergency was over. I left it in the doyen’s office.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Mr. Painter is off shift. Ms. Byrd and Mr. Chin are repairing Cerebrus and—”

“Cerebrus?”

“Mr. Chin has a keen grasp of the situation. He was damaged during the repair activity.” Jackson made fists but shoved them into his pockets rather than pound on something again. “They are also working with Mr. Campbell to seal the hull breaches. I’m putting a plan together for the interior spaces’ refit.”

“How long?”

“If we had a space dock, five days. While we are in orbit, twenty. Every time we change the shift, we lose two hours each way in the decompression chamber.”

“I understand the difficulty, but what other choice do we have?”

“Would it be possible to employ anyone from the surface. I need people in EV suits, and I don’t even have two full teams.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that. Maybe we have some Kiians or Cetians. I won’t bring a Pegasi up here. I’ll do the whole thing myself before I bring a Pegasi up to help.”

“Understood.”

“I’ll be in manufacturing, then the bridge. Let me know if things change.”

“Aye, Captain,” Quixote said.

Jackson would have stopped by the galley if anyone had been there. Sealed off from where it attached to the former mess hall, if he wanted coffee, he was going to have to get it from his quarters. Fair enough. But it could wait. He had another stop to make before he could think about that.

“Good morning,” Jackson called from the door to prevent startling his engineers.

“Captain, please come in,” Mr. Chin said, standing. Ms. Byrd also stood up. Cerebrus sat on a table, his legs hanging over the edge, swinging back and forth, alternating, like a happy child.

“I hear we have a problem.”

“Yes, sir, we do indeed.” Chin stepped over to Cerebrus and Jackson followed, noticing he was missing a few components. “I could see it happening while he was foaming the rupture.”

“See it?”

“My eyesight has gotten much better than it used to be. I could literally see the fabric of his joints starting to unravel, for lack of a better word. I called him to come in but he said he was fine and wouldn’t return. Look how the boots have disintegrated around the joints.”

“Has he been decontaminated?”

“Yes, yes, sir, I did that,” Byrd said. “He’s zeroed.”

Jackson folded his arms across his chest and sighed. He looked Cerebrus over carefully, examining the joints up close.

“Was he compromised?”

“I’m not certain, but I believe so. He’s gone into a dormant state, at least his net. The body seems to keep working, somewhat.” Cerebrus seemed oblivious to the humans’ chatter, swinging his legs, his hands folded in his lap. “He isn’t blinking, so I have to assume at least his mimicry process is damaged.”

“Any other abnormal behavior?”

“All of it’s abnormal, Captain. The radioactive fallout ate up his sleeves and shorted out some of his brain.”

“I think he needs to be repaired, and then rebooted. We may have to train him from scratch back to usefulness.”

“Oh, sir,” Byrd moaned.

“He’s useless like this. Put him on ice. I need you two to report to Quixote and get ready for EVA. Especially you, Kym. I don’t want you getting aerobullosis again.”

“It was an emergency, sir.”

“Thirty minutes on the treadmill, and a full hour on the oxygen. I don’t want to lose any more people. Adams has his hands full as it is.” The two of them nodded. “I’ll be looking for astronauts to hire from the planet; I’ll want you two and Ron to each pair with an alien and we’ll have three shifts. Keith can run the EBMs. He has no training for EVA.”

“He’s never run an electron beam melt before.”

“You can teach him that quicker than he can learn extravehicular activities.”

“Aye, sir,” Chin called as he hurried out. In his quarters he made some coffee, changed his clothes, and set himself up in the doyen’s office to read Quioxte’s report. The coffee didn’t disappoint. He looked out the window at the stars, but what he didn’t expect to see was another radioactive containment box floating by.

He slammed his hand on the intercom and hailed engineering.

“Quixote! What’s our EM exhaust?”

“Sir?”

“There’s another goddamn box out there off our starboard! I don’t want another explosion!”

“We’re at station keeping.”

“Shut every EM source down right now!”

“We’ll lose our orbit!”

“We’ll lose Maria Mitchell! All power off!”

“Aye, sir,” Quixote replied. A few moments later Jackson felt the shift in dynamics as the atmosphere breezed the hull. He darted onto the bridge.

“Captain! I lost all power!” Mr. Lee shouted.

“There’s another box! Didn’t you see it?”

“Nothing’s on sensors!”

“Aft screens!”

The image of the rear of the ship, four views from each quarter, appeared instantly. In one picture the box appeared for a split second before it clipped the tip of the starboard fin. The ship shook briefly and the image went dark. Jackson swallowed hard.

“What happened?” he asked Mr. Lee.

“We just got lucky,” Jackson sighed, leaning on the helm. He shoved one hand through his hair and fell into the navigator’s chair. “Recall everyone on the planet as soon as the last cargo is down.”

“There’s one more shipment, Captain, scheduled at 15:00.”

“Jackson to Quixote.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Restore thrusters ASAP and prepare to leave orbit in twelve hours.”

“Aye, sir, right away.”

“Mr. Lee, recalibrate the sensors specifically for radioactive objects in orbit. When you have thrusters move Maria Mitchell from 20,000 to 60,000 kilometers.”

“Aye, sir.”

“And get me someone at Terra Ceti, I don’t care who, even if it’s Mosi the bellhop. I’ll be on the shuttle at 15:00.”

Jackson stood and walked to the elevator. When the door opened, he hesitated. The elevator was dark, without lighting. The ride was going to be very, very interesting.