This is, by all accounts, the last part of what I've come to call 'Outpost Eta'. Six months of writing, many, many votes by all of you and quite a lot of thinking have produced almost 45,000 words and a story that I'm actually very proud of.
There will be an epilogue and then, perhaps, a new story. I'm sorry that it didn't end as it began, but I hope you still all enjoyed the story.
"Achieving orbit was only the beginning of the difficulties regarding the recovery of the shuttle." I said, speaking aloud for the computer that was recording my log. Writing reports and logs was, without a doubt, one of the things that I liked the least about my position, however important it was. "The impact of the intercept with LLV-14 had severely damaged the rear sections of the shuttle bay. We were fortunate that the hull hadn't been breached at any point and that the damage didn't extend to rupturing any of the fuel lines present between the bulkheads. Due to this, it took longer than is normal to seal and re-pressurise the shuttle bay, and longer still to open the hatch to allow the damage control team entry to the bay."
I'd watched helmet camera footage live on my console as I worked with the bridge crew to bring the Vancouver back into a stable orbit. It was the closest I could get to being down there. There was nothing I could do that the four crew of the damage control team couldn't, but I couldn't shake off the urge that I should have been doing something more important. As if having the ship safe wasn't important, I chided myself.
"Initial images showed only limited damage to the shuttle's hull and external structure. It was assumed that all major scarring and breaches were caused by the impact rather than any previous effects."
We were wrong, of course, completely wrong. The shuttle was leaking atmosphere long before it reached the ship, the hull pitted with micro-holes by the storms corrosive effect. Not only that, but a more measured inspection found that the impact with the Vancouver had buckled and shattered the shuttle's spine and structural cross-members. She wasn't just damaged, she was a wreck. A full rebuild would require the replacement of so much of the structure that simply building a new one would likely cost less. LLV-14 was, as of now, at the end of her short career.
"Access to the shuttle was made the cockpit viewports, apparently shattered in the impact. While much of the outer skin was buckled, it was not enough that entry presented any immediate danger to the damage control team. The shuttle's crew had been protected by their emergency crash equipment, and for the most part the inside was as we presumed it to be before the interception."
We had shifted everything Wescott's surface team had collected into our own cargo bays over the course of several hours. We didn't have the time or resources to devote to cataloging it properly, and I made the decision to leave that to whichever research division the admiralty decided was the most appropriate. I was simply glad to have my crew back together and had no particular interest in delving into any of the mysteries presented when Wescott may have already found answers.
I sighed. The next part was my least favourite. It was not to be as difficult as perhaps some of the other reports I'd written. I had no letters to write. But that was aboard a ship that I'd Captained for a matter of hours, not one with a crew who I'd come to care about. The crew of the Vancouver were my crew, and nobody elses.
"Injuries to the surface team were mostly light and mostly occurred during the intercept maneuver. Warrant officer Murphy suffered a concussion and Flight officer Mcpherson a broken arm. Other minor injuries were shared amongst them, the worst a cracked femur on the part of Able Spacehand Kottindour when a mispacked container collided with her Leg. Additional minor injuries were suffered amongst the ship's crew at the time of the intercept."
I took a deep breath before continuing.
"The only exception was Lieutenant Devin Wescott. Mr Wescott was found in the shuttle's cockpit without his helmet and was improperly secured to his flight chair. We believe that the Lieutenant was suffering from Asphyxiation and Hypoxia even before we managed to begin re-pressurising the shuttle bay. He was also thrown from his seat by the impact and has been left with seven broken ribs, a fractured shoulder, two broken legs and a shattered bone in his left forearm."
I remembered the first images I'd had of the Lieutenant, tucked into a corner of the shuttle's dark cockpit somewhere behind the two flight crew and how badly I'd wanted to curse him, whatever foul fate had placed us into the situation, and myself for not finding another way. Had I been anywhere but the bridge I might have given into the temptation.
I struggled to find the words to adequately describe what he looked like in those first moments. Twisted. Bent. His suit was torn and bloody. I spent a dark moment wondering if he was dead and if I'd lost my executive officer on what amounted to his first excursion off ship. He looked, to all intents and purposes, a ruined man.
"The Vancouver does not have the required to meet the needs of Lieutenant Wescott as a patient. Our medic is concerned that he may well have significant brain damage by the time he wakes up, or that he will be suffering from internal bleeding that may lead to his death before we can return to an Admiralty facility with the proper equipment to treat him."
It was a real fear. I'd seen his body- him, lying motionless under the effects of what few high strength painkillers we had aboard. It was impossible to tell what was bruising and what was something else entirely.
"With that said I would like to continue to recommend that First Lieutenant Devin Wescott be awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for his actions during the Vancouver's operations both on and off planet. I would also like to mention the conspicuous gallantry of Spacehands Kottindour, McPherson, Robinson and Hallman, and Warrant Officer Murphy as well."
Did I have anything else to add? Nothing that couldn't be appended at a later date. Everything that would be needed for what was sure to be an investigation had been recorded. After all, I had made decisions that led to the destruction of a shuttle and the injury of more than twenty percent of my crew. It wouldn't be a court martial, those were reserved for the loss of actual vessels, but the Vancouver and her crew would likely be grounded for the foreseeable future.
"Lieutenant-Commander Felicity Gibson, HMS George Vancouver, time and date attached" I said, and finally switched off the recording. Yawning, I looked jealously at my bunk. I hadn't rested properly for several days, long before Wescott and his team finally came back aboard. Hopefully we would soon be back at our home port and I would find some respite.
I pushed myself off my chair, floating gently up towards the ceiling in the soothing embrace of freefall. As much as it was useful to strap yourself down for working, I hated it. It felt too much like the deadly grip of gravity.
Rotating I pushed off a bulkhead with my foot and sailed slowly towards the door. It was time to begin our journey home.
Swinging around the hatches frame I tuck in flight so I didn't enter the bridge feet first. As much as the Captain had near total control over her ship, it wouldn't do very much for my image. As much as we might have grown together in the last few days, they still had to respect me and perhaps even fear me just a little. Wescott, as XO, was the one they should love, the binding link between me and them. I had no doubts that, after word of his actions spread from the other's who came back with him, there would be any trouble with that.
I caught the back of my chair with both hands and cushioned the impact until I was floating almost directly over my console. The forward viewports were open again, the crystal clear glass analogue giving a beautiful view, half filled by the deadly planet to port, the other half the midnight black of space and the stars that glimmered so far beyond our grasp. Except they weren't beyond our grasp, the faster than light drive that hummed quietly in the engineering compartments aft made mockery of that idea. Cherenkov and her great invention had allowed all this.
"What's the news on Coleman's shuttle?" I asked the space at large, not particularly interested in who answered. I'd barely looked at the faces of the crew on my bridge as I floated in.
"Just entering the bay now, Ma'am."
My crew, those who were rated for extravehicular work at least, had worked tirelessly in the shuttle bay to prep her to bring LLV-17 back aboard. They had cleared debris, repaired servo's in both the main and internal hatches and ensured that we would be back to normal operations at least for long enough to get us back to port, all in vacuum.
More importantly, I recognised that voice and it was one that shouldn't have been present.
"Murphy?" I said a little more sharply than I'd intended. He looked up just long enough to nod before going back to his board. His arm was tightly packed and strapped against his chest. "You're supposed to be on bed rest, your arm-."
"When Anderwitz becomes a Doctor, I'll let him give me orders about when I sleep." He chuckled at some joke I didn't see the funny side of. "I asked Belluci to swap. I think she's embarrassed about the black eye you managed to give her. You might be the first one in the fleet."
Belluci had been dabbing gently at a steadily forming black eye every time I'd seen her since the crash, the after effects of the nasty blow she'd taken from her console during the interception.
"A black eye hardly compares to a broken arm." I said, and fought back a frustrated sigh. The returning members of the surface team had proved themselves argumentative and surly ever since. I had a feeling they were simply upset by the injuries that Wescott had sustained, but whatever it was either it would come to an end soon or I would end it with the full powers provided to a captain of His Majesty's Navy. "Very well. Just let me know when the midshipman is back aboard. I'd like to be away from here as soon as we possibly can be."
"You know McPherson is well rested, Ma'am-"
"Don't test me, Mr Murphy. Now is not the time to be seeing how far you can push me. That man has a concussion and I am not entrusting an interstellar starship to someone in his condition." I snapped. "Is that clear?"
He smiled at me, a broad smile that showed the barest flash of teeth. I wondered if he had wound up with a concussion of his own, somehow.
"Aye Ma'am. Perfectly clear." He turned back to his console and continued to work in silence for several minutes.
I rolled the taste of my irritation around my mouth like a bitter sweet, studying it, analysing it. I didn't regret it for a moment, the man had clearly overstepped the boundaries provided to us by the service. He had already pushed me with his very presence, to then attempt to push again was the height of insolence. Well, perhaps not the height, but enough to be particularly irritating.
I wondered how the Lieutenant had been with them, down on the surface. Had he been a petty tyrant in his miniature fiefdom, and this indignation came from the surface team rebelling against that? No, that didn't fit the pattern. I figured instead that he had been soft to the point of friendship, not coddling them but allowing them to operate independently of the command structure in so much as they felt able to do so. It was a mistake, a mistake that could prove costly in the future if it wasn't managed carefully.
But this was why the Captain would forever be the taskmaster. If they had gotten used to being cared for then it was only right that I was there to remind them of exactly what it was like to serve in the Navy, even if it was the Science Service.
Murphy would be the most intractable, and yet the most important to bend back into line. He was the senior enlisted man aboard, and the others would follow his example. Once the Lieutenant was back on his feet and we'd had some quiet words about exactly how a commissioned officer should act around the enlisted crew then perhaps we would be able to do exactly that.
But that was a conversation for another time, after we'd made it back to Port Antmouth and Wescott had recieved some actual treatment instead of the anxious ministrations of a half trained field medic.
"Copelands aboard, Ma'am." Murphy said, barely lifting his head from his console.
"Logan, have Aldridge and the Midshipman report to the bridge."
We waited in silence. I was tired, and tiredness made me short tempered. Why the people I commanded insisted on testing me when I was like this I didn't know. Once we were at luminal speeds I would be able to retreat to the safety of my office and my bunk but until then i had to simply deal with the issues I was facing.
They were not serious issues, I reminded myself. Serious issues were what the Lieutenant had faced down on the surface. I just needed a watch's worth of sleep.
"Midshipman Coleman reporting, Ma'am." The girl - and she could hardly be described as anything but that - positively chirped from off my left shoulder, interrupting my chain of thought. Aldridge sailed past me, a shaky salute snapped as he went by, and grabbed the back of the pilot's chair with his back to the view of space.
Both of them were still in their ship suits instead of deck uniforms, as the Lieutenant and his team had been when their shuttle landed. They could change once we were on our way. I had more important things to think of than their comfort right now.
"Any issues to report?" They'd spent more than a day in their shuttle while we arranged to recover them and prepared the shuttle bay for their arrival. The shuttle's were well equipped with survival rations so they could hardly have starved, but given how those chalky nutrient bars tasted I still pitied them the experience.
"None, Captain. Our final approach was simple enough despite the damage to the auto-dock system, and Aldridge and I slept shifts while we waited for the rendezvous." She smiled widely, a beam that reached her eyes. "We're well rested and ready for duty, Ma'am."
I suddenly had no pity for them at all.
"Take your stations then, and prepare for interstellar flight."
"Aye, Ma'am."
My bridge was suddenly alive again. It was cramped when it was full, eight people crammed into a space big enough for four at most, all contending with the lack of gravity and their various tasks, but it felt right. Any less and suddenly there were gaps, spaces where people should be and there was an intense sensation wrongness. The bridges of warships were worse, - better? - filled to the brim with electronic warfare officers, gun commanders and more but even this relatively quiet space needed to be alive.
"Flight, set course for Sol."
"Destination is Sol system, aye Ma'am!"
"System's, ready the Cherenkov drive."
"Aye, capacitor's charging."
"Comm, set shipwide to transit."
Logan flicked a series of switches, setting a heavy yellow glow across the bridge. A series of similarly coloured lights would be flashing across the rest of the ship as well.
"Now hear this, now hear this, prepare ship for interstellar flight." He said into his comm set. The crew would be slamming hatches shut, sealing compartments and ensuring any equipment was secured properly. We didn't have to worry about retracting the spin pods - I hadn't bothered to have them extended again after the drop into the atmosphere that recovered Wescott and his team. I had only intended to be in the area for another day at the most, after all.
The Vancouver rotated, the same flank thrusters that I'd used to ensure the capture of the Lieutenants shuttle now used as intended to turn the ship in the direction of home. Navigation was simple with the Cherenkov drive, a case of 'point and shoot' as it were, and there was something immensely satisfying about knowing that we were looking in the direction of our collective home.
"Capacitors at half charge."
"Nav is set, flight is locked."
"All sections report ready for flight."
"Capacitors are at seventy percent charge."
"Bridge secured, Ma'am." I heard, only half listening as the hatch closed and sealed behind us. There were only a few times when the bridge was sealed off from the rest of the ship. Interstellar flight, combat and docking were the big three, the three times when it was considered so vital that the Captain and her crew go undisturbed that they would be locked in.
She was ready. All we had to wait for now was the drive's capacitors to be charged, huge amounts of energy pouring into them from the Vancouver's powerful nuclear reactor. I was tense in my seat, muscles waiting for the sudden release that would throw the ship at several times the speed of light.
"Capacitor's charged, Captain."
"Go."
The command was given. The ship vanished. The system was left empty, but for the relics of the dead.
Those are all really interesting questions!
