Hammerhead Resurrection Page 17

  “Let me know if that changes in any way.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cantwell looked across his bridge, to the younger officers, many new from training, lives just beginning, and thought of the similar officers on the other ships in the fleet.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Most of the pilots and support staff had made their way into the duct. Jeffrey looked at the few personnel still with him on the flight control deck. A young woman, a petty officer 2nd class, stood near him. She was pretty, in a awkward way, with wide, nervous eyes.

  “Are you all right?”

  She gave him a quick nod.

  Jeffrey could see she was definitely not all right.

  Personnel continued to kick off the deck and disappear into the darkness of the vent.

  “What’s your name P.O.?”

  In an unsure tone, she said, “Isabel Ellstrom, sir.”

  He took her gently by the shoulders. “Everything’s going to be okay, Isabel. I just need you to take a deep breath and trust me. Can you do that?”

  Closing her eyes, she let out her breath. When her eyes came open, she still looked terrified.

  “Are you ready to go?”

  Looking up to the vent, she nodded, but did not release her boots.

  Now only he, the young woman, and a male pilot remained. The pilot could have moved into the vent, but he clearly was waiting for Isabel to be on her way. In that selflessness, Jeffrey immediately liked the man.

  Jeffrey said, “Isabel, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going into the vent, you’ll be next, and… What’s your name pilot?”

  “Lieutenant Kessler sir.”

  “First name?”

  “Morgan.”

  He said to the girl, “Morgan will be behind you. We’ll be right with you the whole way. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  Unlocking his boots, Jeffrey kicked off the deck, floating up to the opening. As he pulled himself in, a sharp metal edge scraped his forearm. Tilting flashlights outlined the last airman’s silhouette, legs relaxed in the weightlessness.

  After entering the coppery-scented duct, Jeffrey realized the space was too narrow for him to turn around as Whitetip had, so he waited, looking under his arm to see if the girl would appear.

  He heard Kessler say, “You’ll do fine, Isabel.”

  After a moment, she peeked into the duct. She pulled herself in cautiously, a flashlight in her hand, looking as though she might be sick. Jeffrey moved forward to make room for her. Behind her, Kessler entered the duct.

  “You all right?” he asked her.

  “Yes, somewhat, sir.”

  Jeffrey pulled himself forward along the duct, the air growing hot as he moved away from the opening. The thump of boots and shoulders bumping the ductwork echoed down the narrow passage. Isabel’s flashlight played over his shoulders, throwing his shadow out ahead of him. Far ahead, Jeffrey could still make out the boots of the last pilot. The metal walls began to vibrate and Jeffrey had just enough foresight to brace himself as the floor of the duct, slammed into him. He found himself pinned to the metal. The Lacedaemon had begun deceleration. With the ductwork groaning under his weight, he wondered if it would hold. He began crawling, his body heavy.

  Moving forward, he found places where the ductwork had bent downward with the weight of the others. A concussive bang made him brace for a fall, expecting to drop out of the ceiling. His ears rang. Out ahead of him, he could no longer see the lights of the pilots. Isabel’s light still shone behind him.

  She let out a long, drawn out moan, sounding like a breeze catching the mouth of a bottle, but with a living, phlegmy rattle. He looked under his shoulder.

  The flashlight caught him in its circular beam. Looking into the small circle of light, which reflected off the bare metal walls, he could see the duct had been crushed shut. The space where the flashlight came from appeared far too narrow for hope. Still, the light moved a bit.

  “Isabel, are you there?” He asked.

  There was no answer.

  Jeffrey, twisted himself, jamming his shoulder and hips into the walls, forcing the duct to bend so he could turn. The metal crinkled and groaned as he got himself shoved around. He crawled back down the duct, until he had to turn onto his side to fit.

  The flashlight, now a foot or two away from him, turned over to shine on her frighteningly pale face. Her eyes were wide with fear, tears wetted her face, quick in the excessive G’s.

  How can she still be alive in that small space?

  He barely kept the thought from his lips.

  “Help me,” she said in a whisper as tears fell from her chin, crystal clear and magnifying the light of the flashlight. “Please don’t let me die.”

  Jeffrey knew, based on the narrowness of the duct behind her, that most of her body was crushed. There would be no way for one man without tools to free her. Even in the best circumstances she might not live. Behind her, Kessler was surely dead. If he’d told the pilot to take the lead… The flip of a coin had once again left Jeffrey alive.

  Jeffrey stilled himself before saying in a calm, friendly tone, “Easy Isabel. Take slow breaths.”

  I’ve been here too many times.

  He thought back to finding Stacy Zack on the bridge of the crashed Jules Verne, remembered how thrilled he’d been when he realized she was going to live, remembered how hard he’d fought to keep her alive. This young woman would have no such chance.

  “Please help me,” she said and began to sob, the convulsions obviously causing her severe pain.

  “Isabel.”

  Her crying lessened as she asked in a quavering voice, “Yes?”

  “It’s a beautiful name.”

  A smile hinted across her face before pain furrowed her brow again. Her eyes went glassy, and she fell silent for some time. Jeffrey thought she might have gone.

  It would be so much better to go quickly.

  However, her eyes opened, widening with fear. “Are you real? Am I dreaming?”

  “It’s not a dream. I’m real.”

  “Help me…” her voice faded to a whisper, “please.”

  Jeffrey wanted to tell her he would, but he was unwilling to be dishonest to the dying. “Can you hand me the flashlight?”

  She extended the flashlight toward him. He had to shove himself forward to reach it. He hung it’s lanyard on a rivet, which had been pressed out of the ductwork. It now illuminated the space without shining in her face. Shoving himself further in, he felt a sharp edge of metal cut into his shoulder. He kept shoving despite the cutting sensation until he could take hold of her hand, which felt death-relaxed until she registered he held it and gripped down. She pulled on it with a ferocity he hadn’t expected and screamed out in pain. Tears streamed from her eyes.

  “Isabel, I don’t think we can get you out.”

  “Oh God, please don’t say that.” Her sobs cut her words up. “Please don’t leave me here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere Isabel.” Jeffrey fought to keep his voice even. “I’m going to be right here with you the whole way. Do you understand?”

  “Please don’t go.” She fell silent, her eyes waxing vague again.

  It’s okay to go. Let yourself pass.

  At that Jeffrey’s own breath trembled in his throat, and a hot tear spilled down his face because it wasn’t okay. She hadn’t even started living yet.

  When Isabel’s eyes clarified and focused on Jeffrey, he brushed the tear away.

  She gave him a distant smile. “You’re still here.”

  “Yes, I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, her fingers narrow and delicate, cold.

  Her eyes clamped shut with pain.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Isabel.”

  The corners of her mouth turned down, and she said, “I finally got a date out of him.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He works in the machine shop.” She smiled slightly. “…pretty e
yes.” Letting out a sigh, which clearly hurt, she said, “But I suppose he wouldn’t have much interest in me now.”

  Understanding her, Jeffrey said, “Isabel, you’re gorgeous. You understand that? Beautiful.”

  At that her mouth turned down, and she said, her voice no more than a tremoring whisper, “I told the other girls I was going to marry him.”

  At that a possibility of Isabel’s life flashed through his mind. Her standing in an elegant, white dress beside a lean young man by the sea. He saw her kissing her first son’s forehead, his hair soft on her nose, and her as an old woman, looking out a window, her delicate hands wrinkled.

  In those thoughts Jeffrey felt the sore, stabbing guilt at having survived when so many others had died.

  Isabel’s hand had gone limp again. Her eyes were closed, but Jeffrey could feel her breathing through a slight draw and release of her fingers. Every so often they twitched as if she were dreaming.

  After a few moments her eyes opened and traced the space before her until they found him. She smiled, seeming far away.

  “I’m right here, Isabel.”

  “Dad?” Her tone was easy.

  Jeffrey had no idea what to say.

  Her eyes went wide and searched, seeming not to see him. She said again, now worried, “Dad?”

  “I’m with you,” Jeffrey said, doing everything he could to keep his voice even.

  She began crying quietly.

  “Don’t cry.”

  “I’m so sorry Dad. I didn’t mean to die. I’m really sorry.”

  Jeffrey hushed her and said, “It’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I tried dad.”

  “I know you did,” Jeffrey whispered.

  An easy smile spread across her face. “I love you.” The light in her eyes faded as her hand relaxed.

  Jeffrey held her soft hand. It didn’t pull with breath nor twitch with dreams.

  “I love you too,” he whispered to her, the sound of his words caught and muffled by the narrow walls he lay jammed between.

  He held her hand for some time, limp and delicate, before letting it go. It dropped out of reach. Shifting his weight backward, he felt metal stab into his shoulder. Reaching to his shoulder he found a tear in the metal ducting. The tear protruded to a point behind his shoulder blade. He could not move forward to free himself.

  He pulled backward again, the metal slicing into his shoulder with a deep pressure. If he wanted out of that space, he’d have to cut muscle to pull himself free, and if the metal turned far enough inward, it could slash deep. He could bleed out here beside Isabel.

  Maybe that’s for the best. I’m so tired of outliving others.

  But the idea didn’t stick. When he thought of Isabel, he didn’t want to be here beside her. He didn’t suffer despair. What he felt glowed like an ember, a smoldering thing which had been dormant for decades. The ember stoked up and ignited. Like a boxer who can’t fire up until he’s punched hard, Jeffrey found his purpose. In that moment, he didn’t care why they’d come. He wanted only to kill them, all of them, not for the sake of death, but because he didn’t know how many more like this girl he could stand to lose. He felt himself on a precipice, kill or lose his mind in grief. With or without warheads or fighters he’d do it. If he had to, he’d rip their arms off with his bare hands.

  He pulled on his shoulder again and the metal cut deep, pinning him. Yelling out, he hauled on his shoulder again.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Cantwell asked, “Distance to Earth?”

  “Five hours, six minutes on the current deceleration curve, sir.”

  Leaning forward in his command seat, elbows on knees, he stared at the decking in front of him. He closed his eyes, imagining the distance between the fleet, the Sthenos, and Earth. For two days they’d matched the fleet’s deceleration perfectly.

  What do they have planned for us?

  He felt as though he were trapped at the bottom of a pit with a boulder leaning over the edge high above.

  “God damn you Holt,” he said under his breath. “Why did you have to be so right?”

  Holt and the flight crew had been missing for over forty eight hours. While he knew what that probably meant, he still didn’t want to acknowledge it. Large sections of the ship in that area had remained pressurized, but were cut off by damage, so hope remained, no matter how thin.

  Taking his mind from Holt, he thought back over the last few years. If he hadn’t been in retirement maybe he could have prevented the removal of manned fighters. He opened his eyes. On the Nav-Con the fleet lay out before him, engines glowing off the cowls that seemed tiny and delicate but were, in reality, armored arcs of metal fifty feet high.

  “Communications,” he said, “Any transmissions from Earth?”

  “Nothing sir.”

  “Nav-Con,” Cantwell said, “give me a visual on the Sthenos fleet.”

  “Yes sir.”

  He moved to stand beside the Nav-Con officer. “That’s a strange configuration.”

  The ships, flying thrusters backward with their deceleration, were arrayed out in a vertical disk, flying face on to the fleet, each ship slightly staggered. Their engine housings glowed a deep blue. Two hours earlier, the Sthenos destroyers which had laid waste to Earth’s military installations and communications infrastructure, had come out of orbit, gone around the incoming fleet with astounding acceleration, and joined the larger Sthenos attack force.

  Cantwell pointed to the ships. “What do you suppose this staggering is for?”

  “I’m not sure, sir.” She rotated the image side-on and scowled at it. “There is this.” But she fell silent as if in thought.

  “What?”

  “Each ship has its front quarter clear of the others in a vertical plane. If they fire their energy cannons in the manner they did at Europa, they wouldn’t strike each other.

  Cantwell nodded. “That’s good Lieutenant, very good. I’m thinking you’re right. It’s some kind of attack formation. It’s close now.”

  Cantwell walked out to the center of bridge, under the great lattice the stars sharp and bright overhead. Turning to the bridge crew, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the time that I should offer a wise speech. I have none. Nothing I say will change what you know to be true. I can’t armor our ships with words, and I can’t steel your hearts. That is up to you. I will tell you we appear to be Earth’s last line of defense. We must be decisive. There are four billion souls planet-side, all relying on us. I won’t dress it up; this is going to get much worse before, and if, it gets better. In the next few hours, days, and months, our actions will steer the course of human history. You must find your strength even in the face of near-certain failure. We may not live through the day, or even the hour, but I do know this one thing: each one of you who sets self aside for service moves us that much closer to achieving the impossible.”

  Not waiting for their reactions, which was something between them and themselves, he walked back to the command seat and sat down, feeling tired.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Stacy Zack walked onto the bridge with her team. Indicating that Marco, Horace, X, and Jacqueline should remain at the back of the room, she approached Admiral Cantwell.

  “Sir, you asked for us?”

  Cantwell, his eyes exhausted but his voice strong, said, “Commander, we’re dealing with large scale warfare, but if we’re lucky enough, we’ll need your small scale operational expertise in the near future. I want you and your team to be here from the beginning to assure a full understanding of our situation.

  The navigation officer looked up from her console, saying, “Deceleration reduction for orbital entry will begin in ten minutes, sir.”

  “Excellent.”

  Cantwell briefed Stacy on what had occurred up to that point. When he’d finished, the deceleration maneuver was a few moments away.

  The navigation officer said, “Reducing deceleration on my mark
. Three… two… mark.”

  Just at the edge of her perception, Stacy felt the ship go quieter, less alive. Her weight reduced to a now incredibly light-feeling, single G. Above, the stars seemed more still, despite the ship’s high velocity. The sense of stillness at such staggering speeds could be deceptive. She’d once completed a space walk at a solar-relative speed over one million miles an hour. Floating in the deep dark, the swath of the Milky way ranged broadly over her left shoulder as she drifted in a state of profound peace.

  “Sir,” the Nav-Con officer said, but fell silent as she watched her podium screen.

  “Yes?” Cantwell said.

  “I’m sorry, sir, just a moment please.”

  After what seemed to Stacy much more than one moment, the Nav-Con officer said, her face glowing with the light of her podium, “The Sthenos ships have not reduced deceleration curves. They are falling behind quickly.”

  Cantwell said, “Keep me informed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cantwell said, as if to himself, “If they aren’t going to enter Earth’s orbit, what the hell are they—”

  The Nav-Con operator cut him off. “The Sthenos have cut deceleration completely now. They’re turning… into an acceleration configuration.” After a moment, she said, “They’re accelerating.”

  “At what rate?”

  The Nav-Con operator looked to Stacy and Cantwell as though she couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “Eight G’s sir.”

  “Eight?” Cantwell moved to stand beside her. “How is that poss—,” but he let the comment go. “They’re most likely going to make a strafing pass. We’re going to catch some hell. Bring up the battle group, and Sthenos positions. Collapse accordingly.”

  The Nav-Con blurred before the sharp red and yellow lights swept into view over the display. Near the center of the battle group, the Lacedaemon glowed a more-intense red.

  As Cantwell stared at the narrowing gap between the Sthenos ships and the fleet, he said quietly, “What the hell is your game?”

  “Velocity delta is already 2,500 miles an hour sir,” the Nav-Con officer said.