"There's so many loose and broken wires out there, ma'am. It'd-"
Captain Halis held up one hand palm out. "I understand. We need to establish reliable communications with people outside this ship. I need you to make your way back outside. Can you serve as a comm relay in the airlock?"
"We've got better than that, ma'am." A hollow-eyed petty officer with a large bruise visible on his left temple offered Paul some pieces of equipment. "Emergency relays. Plug one in to the jack inside the airlock and the other to the jack on the outside. It's a manual bypass. They should let us talk to the world again."
The task gave Paul the excuse he needed to try to shove away any more thoughts of Jen. "Will do. Any special message, captain?"
"If the relays don't work, tell your captain we need portable power units in here, as well as some air recyclers. Let your officer in charge of your assistance teams, you said Lieutenant Kilgary, correct? Let her know we're still trying to seal the number two survival bulkhead. Any further assistance from her side would be appreciated."
"Aye, aye, ma'am. You need portable power and air recyclers, and our continued assistance sealing the number two survival bulkhead." Paul came to attention, saluted, and then moved as quickly as he could back the way he came. He kept his mind focused on Captain Halis's message and the job he had to do. Once back at the airlock, he only had to look a moment to find the necessary jack for the first relay. Plugging it in firmly, Paul cycled the airlock, then slid outside and plugged in the second relay. "On the Michaelson, this is Lieutenant Sinclair. Do you copy?"
"We copy."
"The Maury 's captain says they need portable power units and air recyclers. I've installed some relays. You should be able to talk to the Maury 's bridge now."
"Roger." A pause, then the voice came again. "We have comms with the Maury 's bridge. Thanks, Lieutenant."
"I'm returning to my team now." Paul began moving carefully across the still-too-smooth surface of the Maury 's outer hull, hoping his friction pads would hold, trying not to think beyond the next hand or foot hold. Finally reaching the edge of the damaged area again, Paul found his progress progressively easier, as tears and bends in the hull provided firm holds. His hand slipped on one attempted hold, though. Startled and angry, Paul tried to grab that point again, felt his hand slipping once more, then while reaching back for a third try noticed the survival-suited palm of his hand. There was something on it, now. Something black, with bits of paler material in it.
That's… oh, no. Paul fought down nausea, staring at the hull surface directly before his eyes. Someone. What's left of someone. Pieces of someone. The blood's black. No oxygen to make it red. Dried out, all the moisture sucked into space, but the powder left makes the surface slick. He looked around, desperately seeking something to wipe his palm on. Paul finally rubbed his hand quickly several times over the nearest protruding metal edge. He didn't look at the palm again, not wanting to know if his rough cleaning efforts had left a lot of material on his glove.
Swinging in past the ragged edge where the Maury 's hull had been blown open, Paul scanned the wreckage for signs of his team. Dark patches moved here and there amid the wreckage. Lighter objects could be seen among the dark, some of them still recognizable as bodies or large pieces of bodies. Jen? I can't look. I- He swallowed convulsively. "Chief Meyer."
"Here. Lieutenant Sinclair?"
"Right. I'm just aft of the number two survival bulkhead." Paul looked around, trying to see his surroundings without seeing the torn remnants of Maury 's crew among them. A bright object appeared on his display. There's his beacon. "I see you, Chief. I'm on my way."
"Yes, sir."
"Lieutenant Kilgary? This is Lieutenant Sinclair."
There was a pause before she answered. "Here. Did you get to the bridge of the Maury, Paul?"
"Yes, ma'am." It felt a little odd to still be using formality with Colleen, but Paul needed to concentrate on professional rituals to keep darker thoughts at bay. "Captain Halis rogered up on not powering up anything. I helped establish comms from the Maury to the Michaelson, so they're talking now. Captain Halis says they're still trying to seal the forward survival bulkhead, and would like our assistance there."
He could hear Lieutenant Kilgary's heavy sigh over the circuit. "I need about twice as many people as I've got here. Okay. Chief Meyer tells me there's relatively less structural damage in your area. Take your people away from what I had them doing and start them going over that bulkhead again and sealing any problem areas."
"Aye, aye, ma'am."
"How's Captain Halis doing, Paul?"
"She's…" How to say it? "Very unhappy but on top of everything."
"I understand. How are you doing?"
"A little tired-"
"That's not what I mean. I know what the damage here implies for you personally. Can you still remain focused on your job?"
"Of course I can!" Paul put force into his reply, as if that could somehow fill the hollowness inside him.
"I wouldn't think less of you if it were otherwise. Okay, get your people moving. We've got less than an hour left before we need to get back to the gig."
Startled, Paul checked his own suit's readings. The rebreather's okay so far, but it's not guaranteeing anything past another couple of hours. Power level's not great, either. Colleen's right. We need to allow a decent safety margin for getting back to the Michaelson. "Chief Meyer, we've got new orders."
The maze of wreckage made it easier to forget other issues as Paul worked his way back to the forward survival bulkhead. Then he immersed himself in overseeing his damage control team, personally checking for ruptures or weak spots in the bulkhead whenever a free moment offered itself. At some point, he heard Kilgary warning everyone that the gig was delivering two more damage control teams and everyone should watch for sailors landing around them.
"That's it." It took a moment for Paul to recognize Kilgary's voice this time, hoarse with physical and emotional strain. "Paul, Sonya, get your teams back to the outer hull for pickup by the gig. It's coming in a little closer this time and it'll have a retrieval net spread around the airlock."
"Aye, aye. Chief Meyer, it's time to go." Out and back again, Paul both looking for and dreading seeing the frozen arm that'd been near their arrival point. But he didn't see it again, and soon enough his team was back near where they'd arrived on the Maury. He could see the gig floating where it awaited them, looking far too small against the emptiness around it. But he could also see the glowing lines which outlined the retrieval net, a large mesh surface spread out for ten meters around the airlock to catch anyone who aimed badly. As he watched, some of the glowing lines vibrated as a sailor from one of the other damage control teams landed in the net.
"That's all of my team," Kilgary advised. "Paul, take yours over next. Sonya, your team boards last this time."
"Aye, aye. Chief, you go first. I'll send the rest after you and follow last."
"Aye, aye, sir. Me first, you last." Chief Meyer's voice didn't seem to have changed, but then it had been emotionless and controlled since they got their first good look at the Maury. Paul watched the chief launch himself out, heading like a slow-moving bullet for the target center represented by the hatch on the gig. Meyer landed and pulled himself to one side, waving for someone else to follow.
Paul sent them off at the usual five-count intervals, concentrating on that task. When the last sailor was clear, he aimed himself and jumped.
Now, sailing between the Maury and gig, there was nothing to think about. Despite his training, Paul twisted his head to look back at the Maury. Up close, it had sometimes been easy to forget how widespread the devastation was, how insignificant the chance of survival had been for anyone caught in that blast. From here, and with all he'd see inside the ship, it couldn't be mistaken or ignored. Admit it to yourself. Jen's gone.