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Chapter 12: Distress

Distress

The readouts scrolled across the consoles neatly arranged around his desk in a slightly circular arc. One screen hadn’t been enough, so Roger had linked five of them together. He sat in the Network Control Room, or NCR as he liked to call it. It made it sound more official, even though it was only a room filled with computer memory banks, cooling systems, and high-speed processors. When you worked for the United States government, though, everything important had to have an acronym.

He kept the lights turned down while he worked so it would put less strain on his eyes. He could’ve worked from his quarters; the access port in his room was hooked through to the same network throughout the ship, but if he made a habit of doing that, he’d never be able to separate his personal time from his on-duty time.

He didn’t get many visitors, so Roger was surprised to see Dr. Chiang. Reflexively, he punched a button on his keypad and the consoles went dark. He swiveled around to face her.

"Hi, Roger. Sorry to bother you. Mind if I ask you a favor?"

"Sure." He sat up straighter.

She tossed her hair casually behind her shoulders. "I’m hoping it’s not a big inconvenience or anything. I was wondering if you could link the molecular analysis processor in my lab directly to the satellite receiver communications server."

"What for?"

"We developed a special piece of code to receive air and radiation emissions remotely from the MiniProbe, transmit the data directly to the dish, and automatically relay it to our diagnostic computers. It saves us a lot of effort of having to manually manipulate the data."

"But...how could you possibly...? In order to compile the necessary code, you would’ve needed access to both the satellite gate-net functions, as well as the ship’s main server VPN codes."

"Correct. You’re very astute. But as you know, this craft was manufactured by ExxEon in my country. I approached my superiors with the idea to automate this part of the data collection process months ago, once I was assigned to this mission. Thus, I was given the communication uplinks so we could prepare in advance."

"Alright," he said slowly, making a mental note to himself to change those particular access switches, "but I’ll still need to clear it with Commander Hawke."

"I’ve already spoken to him. He told me to come down here and talk to you. Do you want me to contact him now?"

"No, that’s not necessary," he assured her. "Well, in that case, I can do it when we reach the M51 galaxy."

"Oh...I was hoping for sooner than that. You see, we never had the opportunity to test the full-up system. We have to run some baseline routines in case we need to debug the software. If we wait, it could cost us valuable time that we really can’t afford."

"You could give me a copy of the code. I’d be happy to check it for you."

"That’s very kind of you, but you have enough to do already. I wouldn’t want to impose any more on you than necessary. Besides, it’ll be good to give my assistants something to keep them busy."

"Well, okay. I’ll see if I can get to it in the next couple of days. I’ll let you know when it’s done."

"Thanks, Roger. You’re a wonderful help." She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, her hand resting briefly on his.

Roger adjusted his glasses to hide his embarrassment. "You’re quite welcome. Ummm..." he stuttered, and his face flushed even further.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind...I mean, that is, maybe sometime I could meet you...uh, in the galley for dinner or something?"

She smiled warmly at him; his heart skipped a beat. "Sure. I would like that."

Long after she had gone, Roger could smell traces of her perfume, feel the warmth of her hand, see her smile. As he performed his network diagnostics for the millionth time, he wasn’t aware of the foolish grin plastered on his face until the muscles in his cheeks began to ache.

*****

There was a knock at the door. Hawke set aside the e-book he was reading. His shift ended thirty minutes ago and he’d gone to his quarters to unwind. "Enter." There was a small click as the computer identified his voice and unlocked the door, allowing it to slide open with a soft rush of air.

Instead of her usual white lab coat, Dr. Hoyos wore a pair of slacks and a pink blouse. Her hair, normally pinned up or tied back to keep from getting in her way, loosely flowed around her shoulders. She had one arm behind her back and a look of set determination on her face.

"Is something the matter, Doctor?"

"I’ll say there is, Commander. Please, I’ve asked you to call me Ana when we’re off-duty."

He smiled. He knew it always pushed her buttons. "My mistake. Is there a problem in the Medi-room?"

"No. Well..." Her face creased and she chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Actually, a few small items, surgical tools mostly, have gone missing recently, but–"

"Were they coded? The ship’s locater can track–"

"The items didn’t belong to the university, so they never got tagged. It was a laser scalpel kit, my own from when I was a med student. It’s an older model, but I find it to be more reliable than the newer ones. Still, you’re right, I should’ve coded it. Standard procedure. I’m sure one of my assistants, Peter perhaps, or Rachel, just put it back in the wrong place."

"Still, Bishop might want to know. She lives for that sort of thing."

"I don’t want to make a fuss."

Hawke took it to mean she hadn’t included it on her authorized list of personal effects everyone had to fill out and submit to Security for approval. "I understand. I’ve got a few items of contraband myself."

"You?" She looked at him through dark lashes. "I thought the Commander of the ship was supposed to set a moral example for the rest of us?"

"That’s just in old movies. Mostly we’re a bunch of bums." When she didn’t even crack a smile, he noticed her fixed stare over his shoulder, saw her face change to one of surprise, then uncertainty. He looked back. The video played in the frame where it stood on his nightstand.

"I...I’m sorry. Is that your son, and your...wife? I thought...I mean, I never heard..."

"I’m not married. And I don’t have any kids. It’s me. And my mother. She passed away."

"Oh. I’m so sorry," she said with genuine feeling.

"Don’t be. It was a long time ago."

"Was it an accident? I understand if you don’t want to talk about it."

"An illness. Pardinnia melathymal."

Her mouth made a small ’o’. "That’s extremely rare. It must have been hard for you." She started to say more, stopped, before asking, "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Hawke indicated the negative. "I was an only child."

"I only ask because I’m the oldest of seven. Sometimes it helps having a brother or sister to talk to." Her face crinkled, "Sometimes not. Do you know how...?"

"She was dying long before she even knew it." Hawke cleared his throat which had suddenly become dry.

"You don’t have to–"

"No, it’s okay. They say it’s better to talk about it. Not that ’they’ know anything. They couldn’t cure her. Not with transporter technology, and not with traditional methods. The cause was a toxic pollutant she’d been exposed to when she was young. It had lain dormant, undetected, until one day when it suddenly manifested. I vividly remember the way the Physician Chief of Staff rendered the autopsy results – cold, detached – as though he were lecturing a class of pre-med students and not a six year old boy and his father!"

"I’m sorry," she repeated. Ana’s eyes limned with tears. "They teach you everything you need to know in medical school, except how to help your patients cope with loss."

"Like I said, it was long ago. I don’t even know why it still gets me so worked up. It’s stupid."

"I don’t think so."

Hawke made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Anyway, you didn’t come here for me to cry on your shoulder, and if you didn’t come here to report missing supplies, why are you here?"

She brought out a bottle of wine and two glasses from behind her back.

Hawke gave a low whistle. "Is that the genuine article?"

"Yes. For medicinal purposes, of course."

"Of course," he agreed with a conspiratorial grin.

She asked hesitantly, her eyes seeking his, "If this isn’t a good time..."

"It’s fine. Honestly, I think I could really use it."

She sat on the bed and squared her shoulders, peeling off the bottle’s label. "You know, we’ve been traveling for over four months now and you’ve never once invited me to your room for a drink. I thought we were friends."

Hawke arched an eyebrow. "I don’t think being friends is what you’ve got in mind."

"You’re so very perceptive, Nathan. It’s one of the qualities I admire about you."

"Computer. Lights. Luminosity twenty percent." The lights in the cabin dimmed. "Computer. Background music. Volume level two. Johann Pachelbel. Canon in D Major." The symphonic piece began playing lightly.

"Excellent choice." Her eyes never left his.

He cupped his hand gently behind her neck and pulled her toward him, her lips opening for his. With his other hand, he gently caressed her breast through the blouse and felt the nipple stiffen in response to his touch. She yanked up his shirt and slid one hand up around his chest and abdomen. With his free hand, Hawke undid the buttons of her blouse, pressing their bodies skin to skin. Her heart pounded, matching his, beat for beat. He rolled her over so she was under him and looked into her eyes, her need mirroring his. He kissed her again, her lips eagerly seeking his, his hands questing out for other parts of her body, around the curve of her hips, his fingers tracing playfully around her navel, then gliding down further between her legs. She gasped, one arm wrapped around his neck, and pulled him closer.

Later, once the urgency of their needs had been satisfied, they shared the bottle of wine together in bed. Then, much later, they slept soundly wrapped in each other’s arms.

*****

"If things continue unchecked, mankind will become an endangered species, and only those with enough money and power will survive the aftermath." The statement, intentionally made in a loud, clear voice, brought all conversation in the room to a close. Eyes turned toward the anthropologist.

Here we go. Hawke waited expectantly. It was Dr. Bhattacharya who picked up the gauntlet.

"That’s a strong claim, Claudia. A strong claim, indeed. What evidence is there to support it? We’re experiencing shortages in food, certainly, and habitation, but so we have in the past. Through engineering, determination, and innovation, we’ve always found a way."

"But at what cost, Victor? We’re the only species capable of adapting our environment to suit our needs rather than vice versa. And in doing so, we cause irreparable harm."

"I agree," said Dr. Lehman. Claudia favored him with a smile and laid a hand on his arm. "In the last hundred years alone, we’ve knowingly driven to extinction over ninety percent of Earth’s indigenous flora and fauna. Just look at our oceans. Once teeming with sea life, they’re virtually toxic cesspools capable of sustaining only the hardiest species. The seafood we harvest comes from underground fish farms using genetically cloned stock and multilayer seawater filtration systems. I can’t even dive in many parts of the world without wearing a chem-resistant protective wetsuit."

"All I’m saying is," Claudia continued, "when are we going to take responsible action for our own irresponsibility? Even beneficial new technologies have had unforeseen side-effects on the environment and its ecosystems. For instance, advances in the medical field. Human longevity is fifteen percent greater than it was just fifty years ago. Modern medicine has the ability to cure nearly all genetic, contagious, and environmental maladies through Smart Pills, MediPortals and Genetic Optimization. All these things put greater and greater stress on our food stores and drive more creatures out."

Max spoke up. "So what do you suggest – that we encourage mass starvation? Or better yet, you think we should take all the old people and line them against a wall and shoot them, just so we can save a few birds and squirrels?"

"Don’t be absurd. You know that’s not what I’m saying. In the past, factors such as sickness and old age were natural processes for controlling limitless population growth. The point is: I don’t think God ever intended for us to, well...play God. I believe our fate as a species will soon reach critical mass. And when that reckoning comes, will we be able to look God in the eye? Will He let us ascend into Heaven after what we’ve done?"

"I fail to see the reasoning behind your doomsday prophecy," said Victor. "There is enormous untapped potential to create new habitats for human existence. The moon has barely been colonized. I’ve heard the military base on Io is developing quickly and may be ready for civilian deployment sooner than anticipated. And one day, we’ll be able to correct the mistakes we made attempting to terraform Mars and get its atmosphere back under control. Why, just weeks before we left Earth, I read several intriguing theories on that topic. And let’s not forget the purpose of this mission. If the M51 planet lives up to the potential of its spectragraphs, we’ll have solved the problem for at least another millennium."

"But what if it doesn’t? Or what if it’s already populated by an intelligent race? Will we drive them to extinction, too? Will we do to them what we did to the American Indians? Or the Eskimos? Or the Australian Aborigines?" Snelling glared at her.

Victor calmly stroked his chin. "Those are valid examples, but I don’t agree with your conclusion. Vishnu has intended we use our abilities to the greatest extent possible, or else why would we have been gifted with them? That is the way to Nirvana, to enlightenment."

"Your conclusion assumes that higher intelligence, greater diligence, implies higher enlightenment."

"That is one of the dogmas of my faith," he acknowledged.

"But what if the pursuit of knowledge is only half of the equation?"

"And the other...?"

"Restraint."

*****

Billions of miles now separated them from the cosmically meandering black hole. Since Dr. Miller initiated the debate, no one had since raised the issue again. However, a feeling of uneasiness hovered in the back of Hawke’s mind. He hadn’t heard from Roger and the thought that someone onboard was actively plotting to derail the mission weighed heavily on him – a fact he hadn’t shared with anyone, not even Jim.

"Hey, Hawke, listen to this."

A red light flashed intermittently until Starling pushed a button on his console. Immediately, the cockpit was filled with the sound of a high-pitched beeping. It had a regular, recurring pattern to it – three short beeps followed by three long ones and three short ones. Then the pattern repeated itself.

Hawke’s eyes widened. "What the hell? That sounds like a distress call. I haven’t heard one of those since Intro to Emergency Training class."

"I know. Me, too. Since I had audio turned off, it really stumped me when it came through as a flashing text message."

"Where’s it coming from? There’s no record of anyone being this far out of the solar system. Houston would’ve notified us of any deep-space military exercises in this sector."

"I know. It could be a phantom. Some random radio message that’s been bouncing around this sector of space for decades. Still, seems a bit suspicious."

"See if you can pinpoint the source and we’ll open up a direct line of communication. Find out who she is and what she’s doing here."

"Yeah. Just give me a minute to spot her."

Hawke considered the political implications of answering a universal distress signal. It was against international law to ignore a call for help in space – not that he’d have done so anyway. It was completely against every moral fiber in his being. Yet, he was certain the presence of an unidentified spacecraft could not be a coincidence.

"Got her. She’s three hundred thousand miles to our starboard side at four-point-two degrees declination," Starling announced. "Strange. It’s a JA-111/F Supernova, German-made. Wait, scratch that. It’s the smaller version – a JA-111/B Nova. Sorry. It’s hard to judge scale from these readings. She must be lost. That’s not a craft I’d have chosen for a prolonged flight."

"Armaments?"

"None that I can detect."

"See if you can scan her SCUIC and run it through the GLL. I want to know when and where she was going. In the meantime, I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to raise a COM line with us. She must be aware of us by now."

"She could be a ghost ship."

Hawke made a face. "Let’s hope to God she’s not. But just in case, run her identifier through the Missing Craft Directory."

"Way ahead of you."

Hawke pictured Snelling’s reaction to this new development, but he’d worry about that later. The distress call could in fact be genuine.

"No luck. She doesn’t come up through the global log – civilian or military. It’s possible she could’ve set out from the moon. The Colonies are sometimes a bit behind in updating their logs. You know how they are."

"This ship would’ve had to have left sometime around when we did. That was months ago. The Colonies are never that far behind. Is their radio functional?"

"We’ll find out in a second." Jim’s fingers flew over the buttons and dials. "Attention crew of the Nova. This is the U.S. StarCruiser, Xī Wàng. What is your emergency?"

Hawke tapped Jim on the shoulder and said, "If you don’t get a response, try again in German." Jim nodded absently, still monitoring the gauges in front of him. There was a lot of static but no response. "I repeat: this is the Xī Wàng. Please respond."

"Bring her up on the cameras."

The image on screen was dark – too dark, Hawke knew. The ship hung listlessly in space, drifting slightly askew to its starboard side. Maybe she is a ghost ship.

Starling was about to repeat his broadcast when a man’s voice came through over the speakers in distinctly British accent. "Jolly good show! Xī Wàng, is it? This is Commander Charles Davies of the EU Nova, Blitzkrieg. Your timing couldn’t be more appreciated. We were starting to get a little jumpy over here."

Hawke, who was standing behind his copilot, replied to the address. "Commander, this is Commander Hawke, United States DoSD. Please tell us what your emergency is so we can be of assistance. Then perhaps you can tell us what your ship is doing in this sector."

"Hmmm. Yes, well, we’ll get to that, won’t we? At the moment, Commander, we have more pressing concerns. It appears we’re having teleportation drive problems. We were thrown off our course and our blasted computers can’t manage to pinpoint our position. To make matters worse, our provisions are running low and we’ve got a malfunction in our oxygen generator. The blasted thing is already overheating and ready to pop."

"Don’t you have a spare?"

There was a pause. "No."

"That wasn’t very wise planning on your part, Commander."

"I can assure you, sir, the decision to remove it was not mine. Nor did I have the authority to countermand the order."

"Can you corroborate their story?" he asked Jim in a low tone.

"Unfortunately, no. Not without a direct link to their computer. They’d need to grant me access. But I can certainly believe they’re running out of food. The Nova’s a small ship, housing a crew of four, maybe five, and it doesn’t hold much. It’s not designed for long voyages. So with or without life support problems, I doubt they’d be able to make it back to Earth or wait for a DSR without our help."

"Commander, how many men do you have onboard?"

"Eight, including myself."

Starling interjected, whispering into Hawke’s ear so his words would not be picked up by the other craft, "If there’re that many, they must be really cramped. There’s no way they could’ve packed enough provisions for the duration. As it is, even to have survived this long they’d have had to strip her down to all but the bare essentials."

Hawke considered that. "Commander, I’m going to terminate our line of communication while we discuss your situation. We’ll reestablish the connection shortly."

"Understood. We’ll be standing by." The line went dead.

Starling swiveled toward him. "We can certainly provide them with the necessary provisions and flight path to safely navigate home. Heck, after all the work Roger and I did last week, I think I’ve got the whole damn set of coordinates memorized. The bigger issue is the life support system. If it’s failing, we can’t just leave them here. That would amount to nothing less than cold-blooded murder."

"I know. Can we give them one of our spares?"

"I doubt it, but you’d need to ask Frank. If anyone could make it work, he could."

A few minutes later, the maintenance engineer sauntered in, grease stains on his coveralls. To Hawke’s dismay, Snelling was right on his heels.

"What’s going on?" demanded Max. "Why have we stopped this time, Commander?"

Hawke was about to give an angry retort but Major Bishop stalked in right behind him. Fucking great. Hawke explained the situation to Frank.

Frank scratched behind his ear. "Well, yeah, I could make it work – normally. But this ship uses an oversized twin-injected, super-cooled OGS. In order to make room for one on that old Nova, we’d have to evacuate half her crew and probably knock down a few bulkheads. Even then, it’d likely draw more power than she can handle and bog down her teleportation drive. Back home I could probably do something to stop that, too, but I don’t think I’ve got a compatible regulator in my supply room."

"Then I don’t have any choice."

Snelling looked at him aghast. "Don’t tell me you’re actually considering teleporting them aboard? You can’t bring those rogues here. It’s a complete breach of the mission’s security."

"The hell with the mission!" Hawke snapped. "I can’t leave these men to die."

"Major!" Snelling turned, pleading his case to the Chief Security Officer.

Bishop’s face was inscrutable. "The Commander is right. To ignore their plea for help would be a grievous violation of international, not to mention criminal, law."

Snelling said, "It’s a trick, I’m telling you. A ploy to infiltrate the ship."

Hawke said, "For what it’s worth, Max, I think you’re right. There’s more to this than they’re telling us. But it doesn’t change the fact that we can’t abandon them here in a crippled ship."

Snelling fumed and left the bridge. Hawke sighed inwardly with relief. He reopened the line of communication with the Nova. "Commander Davies, we’re going to teleport your crew to our ship. We’ll lock on to your position and move closer to get within ship-to-ship TelePortal range. However, we will not be returning to Earth for at least eight months. During this time, you and your men will be treated with proper respect, but for security reasons you’ll need to be confined to quarters. Are those conditions acceptable?"

There was a pause on the other end; they could hear the Commander talking in the background. "You’re asking us whether we’d prefer to sit in relative confinement or die a cold, black death. Pardon my bluntness, Commander, but I think we’ll take a few months of idleness to becoming pieces of frozen space debris."

"In that case, please transmit your TelePortal’s access codes to us so we can get you and your men aboard."

"Roger dodger, Commander. Davies out."

Hawke turned to Bishop. "Major, can you take your men to the TelePortal room and greet our visitors? I’ll let Ben know. He should be waiting for you by the time you get there."

"Do you have any thoughts about where to put them?"

"This ship isn’t even near to full capacity. We’ve got plenty of extra quarters."

"With all due respect, Commander, the living quarters aren’t secure enough for my liking. I don’t have enough men to permanently station a guard outside their doors for the duration of this mission, and their proximity to the labs would be troublesome, to say the least."

"Did you have something else in mind?"

"Yes. With your permission, I’d like to quarter them in one of the larger storage bays. Beds and other amenities can be brought in, and they can all be housed in a single room. But most importantly, the doors are substantially sturdier, they can be locked from the outside, and there’s only one way in or out, the external bay doors notwithstanding."

"I see. Very well, make it so."

She was already on her UCD as she strode onto the lift. That left Hawke alone with Jim. "Their being here was no accident, you know."

"Probably, but to be fair, they haven’t offered an explanation yet."

"Didn’t it strike you as odd he wasn’t the least bit curious why we’re out here?"

"I see your point, but–"

"That’s because he already knows."

"But if staking a claim to Eden M51 ahead of us was their goal, they could never have packed enough food and water for the roundtrip voyage...unless..." Comprehension dawned in Jim’s eyes.

"Exactly. It was a one-way trip."

Next Chapter: Chapter 13: DSR