"Nesre City Spaceport, Come in."
...
...
"Nesre City Spaceport, Come in. This is Federal Customs Patrol Boat GY575."
...
...
When given a glance, my communications officer just shrugged.
"Nothing I can do anymore. Receiver must have taken a hit."
I gazed out the window for a long moment. The two fighters were maintaining formation around the Red Sky. The Red Sky itself was still listing hopelessly through space. As for the smugglers, well, no big loss to humanity. Several intercepting Terrapin-style tugboats were still a few clicks away. Spacedock IV was rising over New Babylon.
"Lets head for the Spacedock, then. Any hope at all for communications?"
"None."
I'll have to make a scene.
"Markocheh, how are the engines?"
"There's a leak. We can get close enough for a quick recovery, at least."
"Do what you can. Whittier, switch on distress beacon Oh-five-Red."
Greg struck a few switches and, presumably, started the beacon. The entire ship shook as Markochech fired the engines, and groaned as he aimed it towards the Spacedock.
"You three, keep me updated. I'm going to check on the crew."
I lifted myself from the seat. Smith checked in a few minutes ago. Him, along with my three bridge officers and myself counts to five. two engineers, two gunners, and one medic left. Cycling the hatch, I walked out into the acess hallway. Running on backup power, the lighting was dimmed. I could hear some gas hissing out at the far end.
"Whittier, check the oxygen levels."
More hissing, and some heavy object clanged against the floor.
"Oxygen holding, Kyle."
"Hmm. Check all the fluid levels, get back to me."
Walking down the hallway, the ship continued to groan, and I began to realize my proximity to the harshness of space. Checking in on my quarters first, I found it empty with the exception that nothing was where it was supposed to be, and it looked like my blanket caught on fire at some point. Crew quarters were the same; a narrow space made even tighter by the matresses, blankets, and personal items scattered on the ground. Here I found one of my engineers, cleaning up. He took notice of me and just looked at me in an odd way.
"We gonna make it, captain?"
Twenty years old, I thought.
"Of course. Where is Jonathan?"
"Out back, with Officer Smith."
"Thanks. I wouldnt bother cleaning so much. Just collect your personals. They're gonna have to rebuild or scrap this entire ship."
"Got it."
Back to the hallway. The lights were holding steady, and I noticed the hissing had stopped. Working my way down to the gunnery positions, I patched into the bridge again.
"What was it, Whittier?"
"Air conditioner. As for everything else, the -
"Dont care unless it is critical. Anything critical?"
"Coolant is leaking along with the fuel. Should be safe untill we get to the Spacedock."
"That wasnt critical."
While talking to Whittier, I stubbed my toes on the heavy object that crashed into the floor. I still dont know what it is, but it is a hard little bastard. In the midsection of the ship, I found our medic and a gunner near his turret emplacement. The medic was kneeling over a limp gunner.
"What's wrong with him, Pierce?"
With a shock, the medic's attention snapped to me.
"He's got a pretty nasty concussion. He'll see tomorrow, no worry."
"Where is Hewett?"
"No idea, sir."
Thanking him, I exited the turret area, and turned into the weapon control area. A circular room with a number of consoles and the interior of the Raven pods, this is where I found the remainder of the crew. One was working at the console, and the other two were sitting against the wall, doing nothing but looking exhausted.
"Smith, Jonathan, Goroth."
As Jonathan and Goroth began to stand up, I interrupted them.
"Stay off your feet, boys. We'll be docking soon, hopefully. Smith, whats the weapon status?"
"Powered down. Turret got knocked clean off in the final moments. Ravens are spent."
"Like me. If I were you, I'd go to the quarters and collect your personals. This ship's done."
"Dont have to tell me that."
Suddenly, a voice came over the intercom
"Kyle, Looks as if we got an escort incoming from Spacedock IV."
"Got it."
With that, I made my way back to the bridge. Taking my seat, I could indeed see that a Viper was making a decent clip towards us, flying from the Spacedock. Within a minute, He was situated in front of us. Waving his wings, the Viper began to beat a path towards the Spacedock.
For now, there was nothing to do but stand by while Markochech did his job. I knew what would be waiting for us on the Spacedock. For me, at least. When and if we manage to dock, there will be an Emergency Response team at the ready. If we dont come out immediately, they'll probably cut open the door.The crew seems to be healthy, so I'll let the ERT work for their pay, today.
After the crew is offboard, one of two things will happen. One, we'll be congratulated for such a big bust, or I will be nailed up for risking my crew and ship. Hopefully it will be the former, but will most likely be a mix of the two. This story'll make the local news no doubt, maybe even reaching the nearby systems. Or the ship, my crew and myself will become part of a rapidly expanding fireball before we even make it to the Spacedock.
I probably shouldn't think like that.
Fortunately, nothing else deadly happened on the trek towards Spacedock IV. Still following the Viper, we've got less than enough fuel to stop, it seems. This'll be interesting. The Viper sped ahead to dock 4-C, waved his wings, and flew off. As we approached, the docking hatch widened for our entry. I flicked on the intercom.
"All crew, report to bridge"
As the ship glided into the dock, the crew filed in, one by one. I never thought that the interior of a dock would ever look so appealing. Predictably, an ERT was waiting and watching from the opposite side of the viewport. Must be quite a sight for them, seeing this wounded vessel drift into the dock. Markochech fired the fore engines, slowing and bringing us to a stop. The hatch was closing behind us, and gravity would soon be restored. A loud pop sounded from the bottom of the ship, shaking her as something fell away.
"What the hell was that?"
Markochech turned to me, shock in his eyes.
"I think it was the hover engine, Kyle."
...
"Really?"
"Yeah"
We all heard the hatch shut tight.
"Oh ****, brace for--"
Any amazement the ERT had while watching this crippled ship drift in was quickly lost as the 95-ton vessel slammed into the floor of the dock. The 15-man team snapped into action, rushing out towards the sparking, smoking, and groaning hulk. Acting quickly, three men began cutting away at the door, while another six ran around the perimiter, putting out any dangerous fire. Lastly, a six-man medical squad stood by to enter the ship. The boat's door impacted on the ground, and a number of crewman stood in the hole punched into the side. Assisting eachother, the crewmen passed down two unconcious men, one wearing a captains' stripes and the other a gunners', and assisted one, whom seemed to be favoring one leg, off the ship and into the arms of the medics.
As the medics assisted the wounded and standing, shouting came from the direction of the firefighters, followed by an explosion that was deafening in the enclosed space. Light blinded, sound deafened, and blood splattered against the far wall. Klaxons sounded the alarm as dockworkers sprinted in and cleared everybody out, less two members of the ERT.
As fire tore through the hull, and raced towards the engine compartment, the klaxons continued to blare. The access door slammed shut and the docking hatch popped off the side of the Spacedock. The ensuing chaos caused by the vacume blasted everything out into space- Patrol boat, hoses, wires, tools, bone, barrels,smoke, loading lifts; everything was sucked out. The patrol boat tumbled around aimlessly, whipping through space untill it detonated into an unforgiving inferno. As the crew looked in through the viewport, the klaxons continued their drone. As the dockworkers prepared for the task of reclaiming the docking hatch, the klaxons continued to blare.
The Klaxons, so loud.
"Whats wrong? Whats going on?"
The battle was still blazing ferociously outside the carrier. The Auroran frigate has been blown to pieces, and the fighters are busy picking each other off as the two battle fleets converged.
"It's some sort of ship, Admiral. It just...appeared. Unkown origin. It is holding position between the two fleets"
Suddenly the lights on the bridge of the UFS Eisenhower blinked out, as did every single Auroran and Federation vessel. The only light was coming from the now blank holo-map. Above the map, however, a projection of one lithe, grey-robed woman appeared. She stood at attention, with a wild mane of raven-black hair falling around her shoulders. She's staring straight at me.
::stop::
::stop::
The projection of the woman dissapeared, and was replaced with a projection of the battle, or lack thereof. Every single ship on the map was destroyed or disabled. No victor. The lights clicked on in order around the circular bridge. Except the bridge was no more. A titanic tear had ripped all along the side of the deck. Everybody was dead. Blood pooled and coelesced at the feet of the crew. Blank eyes and paled faces stared back at me. Chests were torn, legs were missing and shattered. Only the deafening Klaxons broke my hypnotic trance into death's face.
(This message has been edited by KleinScheisse (edited 09-20-2003).)
(This message has been edited by KleinScheisse (edited 09-20-2003).)
(This message has been edited by KleinScheisse (edited 09-20-2003).)
