“‘Salvageable’?” Upworth’s sarcasm could not be repressed for long.
He pursed his lips. “‘Repairable,’ if you prefer. The important point being, no one else was lost.” That was the issue with hypersleep pods, he knew. They functioned, or they failed. There was no middle ground, either for the technology or the sleeper. Though he’d heard rumors that in unique cases it might be otherwise, and the results weren’t pretty. Successfully repairing a damaged pod with the sleeper still in it was a steep hill to climb.
There was no “otherwise” on the Covenant. Not while he was in charge.
“So what was it? What happened?” Tennessee deftly shifted the subject. “Let me guess. Mother was in the cybernetic can, and while she was distracted dumping excess bytes, we ran into something?” Rosenthal and Cole smiled slightly, but nobody laughed.
Glad to return to technical matters, Oram let Walter explain.
“The ship was broadsided by a highly charged shockwave whose initial proximity was blocked from our long-range sensors by the dense presence of other particulate and radiant matter in our immediate spatial vicinity,” the synthetic said. “That is why it was not detected until it was right on top of us, so to speak. It struck before the collectors could be furled, and we absorbed the full brunt of it. If we had…”
Irritated by a sudden thought, Oram interrupted him.
“Why weren’t you monitoring? Between you and Mother isn’t that what you’re here for?”
“That,” Walter conceded, “and many other things. I can offer no excuses, only explanations. All monitoring systems were online and fully operational. I was attendant at all times, as usual. However, there is no precedent or procedure for detecting or coping with charged particle flares whose presence is masked by similar obstructive fields. It was assumed that in deep space, the coincidence of occurrence would be too small to be of concern.” He paused. “Plainly, that is not the case. Or to put it in less technical terms, we have been unlucky.”
“Walter’s right.” Ever understanding, Faris sided with the synthetic. “It was bad luck. Even the best pilots have been known to encounter bad luck.” She smiled at Walter. “Even the best synthetics.”
Oram refused to accept it.
“No, no. I don’t believe in luck, good or bad,” he said. “Deep space is the last place to rely on ‘luck.’ I’d rather we were more prepared and capable, than ‘lucky.’”
His wife shrugged and crossed her arms, eying her husband. “I’m sure the designers of the Covenant took that into account when installing and calibrating her systems.”
“Placing blame, if it can be called that, won’t do us a bit of good.” As usual, Tennessee could be relied upon to bring a discussion back on an even keel.
Seeing that further admonitions would gain nothing, Oram decided to accept the explanation—unsatisfactory as it was—and move on. He could discuss the matter further with Walter at a later time, after other important decisions had been made and acted upon. Discuss it, and prepare a report on the incident for relay back to Earth.
“We’ve got, what—eight more recharge cycles to go before we arrive at Origae-6?” he said. “So let’s get to it. The torn collector sections need to be repaired or replaced, and so does the damage to the ship. Everything critical needs to be fixed before we can make the next jump.”
An uncomfortable silence ensued. He sensed they were, once again, waiting on him to say something else. Something more. But what? Karine tried to signal him with her expression, but for the life of him he couldn’t understand what she was hinting at.
Somewhat surprisingly, it was Walter who elucidated what everyone except Oram was thinking.
“Shall we schedule the funeral services, sir?” he asked. “For the dead?”
So that was it? While part of him understood… and even sympathized, it was the officious, businesslike part of him that was in control.
“Let’s deal with the necessary repairs first,” he replied, and then he added, “I hold as much respect as the rest of you for the departed, but I have more concern for the living.”
While Security was nominally under the captain’s command, it operated with a degree of independence denied to operations staff. As such, Lopé was never hesitant to speak up. His tone was somber.
“We just lost forty-seven colonists and our captain. We need to acknowledge that.”
Flustered by the sergeant’s protest, Oram turned to his wife. This time there was no attempt at non-verbal communication.
“He’s right, Christopher.”
Oram was not persuaded. “And if we don’t make repairs quickly, we could lose all the colonists.” He scanned the room. “Perspective, ladies and gentlemen. The greatest good for the greatest number, and no milling about.”
The joke was lost on the others, leaving him feeling even more ill at ease.
“We should do something for Captain Branson, at least.”
The fact that the remonstration, mild as it was, came from the usually supportive Tennessee only induced Oram to harden his position. Either he established authority now, or he would find himself and his decisions subject to continual questioning for the rest of the voyage. Maybe it wasn’t the right time or the appropriate issue on which to be assertive, but circumstances had chosen him—and not vice versa.
“No. This is not a debate. The decision has been made. I see no reason why there needs to be any further discussion.”
His wife looked down at the floor, embarrassed for him. At the same time she had to know that the worst thing she could do to undermine his new command would be to side with the crew. So she stayed silent.
It wasn’t the most uncomfortable moment Daniels could have chosen to finally join them, but it was close. No one said anything, which was the best approach. Business now, grieving and consolation later.
She looked damaged and on edge as she looked from face to face, taking a seat next to a conspicuously empty chair. When she addressed the others, however, her voice was firm.
“The terraforming equipment module is stable,” she said, “although the, um, connecting struts took some damage. Can’t tell for certain without an EVA inspection.”
“I can handle that remotely,” Walter assured her. “If anything was critical, Mother would have told us by now.”
She nodded. “I still need to check the clamp lockdowns for the heavy machinery and the vehicles. I’m not worried about the small stuff. If some of it got knocked around, we’ll just reposition it. Bay monitors don’t show any damage, but I want to be certain. We were rocked pretty good.”
“I can also help with that if you like,” Walter told her. “Mother will inform me if my attention is required elsewhere.”
She glanced over at the synthetic. “Thanks.”
Oram queried him. “How long before we can make our next jump, Walter?”
“I should have a better idea within hours, as Mother is still compiling final damage reports. We must remain here until recharge is complete. Fixing the damaged collectors will of course speed our departure. Assuming the most significant issues can be addressed swiftly, I would say that a few days would be sufficient to allow us to get underway again.
“Once all vital repairs have been completed,” he continued, “we should make an effort to vacate this sector, in case there may be subsequent flares that prove as undetectable as the one that just struck us. Secondary repairs can be made in the course of the journey.”
“I agree.” Oram eyed each of them in turn. “We can complete minor repairs the next time we come out of jump to recharge. Let’s go to work.” They had a plan of action. Oram absorbed it the way others might down a pill to relieve constipation. “Dismissed.”