A TALE OF BROTHERS

— by Jeff Karamales

Chapter 8
 

  “This is the situation,” Captain Palmers said as screens throughout the ship flared to life with stills of the Al-Myr refinery. “We’ve received an automated distress call from the refinery and mine. Being automated, we don’t know exactly what the situation is, but we are the only vessel within range to lend assistance. At this point it’s anybody’s guess as to what’s going on. It could be some kind of equipment malfunction, raiders, or any of a hundred problems.

  “What we do know is that there have been no replies from the station itself, and the status of the crew is as yet undetermined. Long range scans have shown that there’s been some sort of event, though the details aren’t clear. There is a noticeable spike in radiation, but nothing that can be considered hazardous at the moment.

  “Al-Myr facility RS-32 is an older establishment with most of the operations and living quarters housed within the asteroid that it obtains the metals from for the Al-Myr corporation on Fyn. Total personnel count according to the last SPF safety inspection from seven months ago was ninety three. The actual refinery and processing station is on the surface, with a myriad of shafts sunk into the body of the asteroid and accessible by a central transit hub.

  “If it’s raiders or claim jumpers, I want combat teams standing by at the ready until we’re close enough for a detailed sensor sweep. Should it be something along the lines of equipment malfunction or failure, we’ll need every single body available to mount a rescue operation that we’ll be running in shifts. Depending on how many casualties we may be facing, I’m going to make the request that all junior SPOs begin to double up in their cabins for necessary room for possible wounded that don’t need to be in the infirmary. Those that are mildly hurt or uninjured will be quartered within cargo bay three.

  “That is all. As soon as we know more we will let you know. Captain Palmers out.” 

*** 

  “Looks like there was some sort of explosion according to this scan,” Lietenant Commander Lans Ranson commented as the Vanguard’s First Officer looked at both telescopic images and the readings from the latest sensor sweep. The tan colored cairn terrier shook his head while he pulled at his muzzle fur that was styled longer than the rest of his sandy brown coat. “What would do that?”

  Beggin’ the Commander’s pardon,” Alistair said from the copilot’s position. “If’n they were minin’ heavy metals such as platinum an’ such, some of the residue is bein’ rather dangerous. I been seein’ this once a’fore on Earth. A tungsten refinery wasn’ ventin’ the gasses proper like an’ a faulty conveyor motor caused a spark tha’ blew the whole thing in tae a million bits. Thank God t’was an automated facility…”

  “The trailings can explode with that much force?” Valencia Palmers asked with wide eyes.

  “Aye, Ma’am,” the Scot said. “With residues tha’ volatile, a nearly pure oxygen atmosphere, all ye’d need is a small spark tae ignite the whole mess. Tae be honest there bein’ improvised bombs tha’ are safer tae fiddle with.”

  Valencia nodded at the assessment. “It looks like the refinery is gone,” she said with a claw tip pointing to a crater that was peppered with conduits and the remains of equipment. “Took out the freighter that was there at the dock as well.”

  “Prarie Dog class,” Ranson said. “The airlock at the dock is out. The whole tube is gone. The best we could manage would be an expedient. Cut away as much of the debris as possible and fix a flexible sleeve to the Vanguard. It would put us closer to the habitat sections.”

  Valencia looked at the picture and frowned. “Mister Tivnan. Can you get us close enough to that to establish a temporary berthing?”

  “I could, Ma’am,” Elias answered as he brought up readings from the sensor sweep. “If I may, however, the transit hub airlock looks to be intact. We could establish a hard dock there and access most of the facility with the exception of the refinery. It would also be a prime location to sweep the tunnels for workers.”

  “It’ll be a pain to move possible wounded from the habitation subsections that far,” Lans interjected.

  “According to the data from our sweep, the refinery also took out their primary reactor, the fox pointed out. “If the survivors are on back up, they’ll be shunting power to life support, not artificial gravity. We can get the wounded back fairly easy without having the AG grid up. That and to be truthful, the debris around the dock and primary airlock poses an extreme hazard to the ship and crew.” Elias turned to look at the tigress. “I’ll get the ship there if you tell me to, but the transit hub’s a smarter choice from my perspective. The Vanguard’s only a frigate, but that’s still a lot of ship to wedge in to that tight space.”

  Valencia thought about it and finally nodded. “Get us to the transit hub, Mister Tivnan. Mister Ranson, get with engineering and begin to establish sweep and rescue teams. We’ll run on six hour shifts and rotate the crew through one shift in the facility, one off to assist casualties, one sleep. We’ll repeat this until we account for every individual on the station.” 

*** 

  Elias double checked the seal of the vac-suit’s gauntlets and was just about to settle his helmet on when the hatch from the airlock attached to the mining and refinery’s transit hub cycled open and the team of eight SPOs came through, other crew members moving to help their comrades de-suit. The fox was part of the third shift to go in, and he looked at the figure of Alistair Gordon as a ringtail SPO helped the human get his helmet off.

  “Tough goin,” the man said with a tired shake of his head. “Th’ blast peppered th’ bleedin’ transit tubes wi’ enough shrapnel tae build another ship wi’. Had tae stop near e’ery three meters an’ patch the holes so we can be keepin’ at least a wee bit o’ air in it.”

  “How far did you get?” Elias asked as his pack with oxygen and other consumable stores was double checked by a senior technical officer.

  “We made it to th’ end o’ tube, but only had ‘bout five minutes o’ our outtin’ left,” the Scot answered tiredly, and rightly so as the information imparted meant that Alistair and his team had just patched almost three hundred yards of the transit tube.

  “Any survivors yet?” the fox asked.

  No sooner had Alistair let his head fall forward in exhaustion and disappointment than the rest of his team brought in two dark green body bags.

  “Oh,” Elias added. “Hey, it’s not your fault, Alistair. With the destruction we’re seeing, we knew that it might be bad.”

  “Mebbe,” the man all but whispered. “Don’ mind me, Elias. I’m just bein a wee bit tired an’ frustrated. Do me a favor, though, Toddy-boy. Fin’ someone to save an’ bring ‘em back, ye know?”

  “Sure thing,” the white fox replied with a weak smile and gauntleted paw on his friend’s shoulder.

  “Are you about ready, Mister Tivnan?” Valencia asked from behind the young Warrant Officer, automatically inspecting the fox’s suit as soon as he turned around.

  “Raring to go, Ma’am,”

  The tigress nodded as she examined the seals and began speaking in a low volume that wouldn’t carry past the pair. “No heroics, Mister Tivnan. Get in, get the job done. Help’s on the way, but it still four days out. We need to find any survivors as quickly as possible, but not so that any lives are put in any more danger than what they are.”

  Before he could reply, Elias was spun around and Valencia continued her inspection, working from the connectors for his air, water and nutrient lines at the neck juncture and worked down, pausing to make sure that the seal for the bag-like attachment that held the fox’s tail was set. His ears grew hot as her almost dainty paws were placed momentarily on his rump, though there was nothing lewd or inappropriate in the handling of his tail and backside. She then inspected the knee couplings. Unlike many civilian environment suits, the ones normally employed by the SPF had rigid forearms and lower legs with the elbows and knees using armorplast covers where tears and punctures were the most likely to occur. The armored suits were even more thoroughly protected.

  “You’ll be the highest ranking officer on your team, but you have some non-coms that are veterans at this sort of thing. Use them, their knowledge. Asking for help or an opinion doesn’t make you a bad officer. It makes you a smart one,” Valencia continued. “A bad officer is the one that thinks he or she knows everything and believes rank is the deciding factor of intelligence. That’s the kind that gets teammates killed. You’re smarter than that, and I’m expecting you to prove me right.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Elias said with a nod.

  “Good. I knew I could count on you. I know this was technically your ‘prentice cruise, but you’ve already shown me you got the brass for this. As far as I’m concerned, you’re in. Don’t make me regret that choice, okay?” She smiled when the fox nodded again. “Good. And just so you know, we get in and get the survivors out, we’ll be getting a break as I’ll be authorizing two weeks on Fyn when we get the rescues home. I want to see you back safe so you can enjoy that leave.”

“Roger that, Ma’am.”

Valencia nodded and gave the fox a small smile before moving to the rest of the team that would be going in to the refinery, inspecting their suits as well. The tech helped Elias get his helmet on, the fox forcing a yawn to clear his ears as the pressure changed and increased with the inflow of his own contained atmosphere. He looked at the others on the team as they also had their helmets on, all of them lit from within by the integral Heads-Up-Display.

  “Team Blue, radio checks,” Elias instructed, getting varying replies from the group while their suits showed up as green icons along the bottom of his faceplate. With a quick tap of his chin, Elias could bring up the vitals of each member, their telemetry transmitted to the radio network from the sensors in the form hugging body-gloves they all wore underneath that would also help regulate temperature. “I have good reception. Begin cycling into the transit tube.”

  The different members of the rescue party moved to the airlock, and the fox turned one last time to look at Alistair who gave him a thumbs-up and smile as he was helped out of the rest of his suit. As the first four SPOs waited for pressure to equalize, the tunnel filled with some atmosphere from the frigate’s stores, Elias toggled the comm unit of his suit to a private channel.

“Hey, Vanna. You’re with me, okay? Stick close.” Elias watched as the mouse turned slightly and gave the fox a grateful smile, the order causing some of the pinched nervousness around her eyes to vanish.

  “Thanks, Chief,” her soft words came back, the relief evident despite the flat tones of the radio. 

*** 

  The transit tunnel from the central hub had sparkled with the strangely colored plastic that had been used to seal the punctures to the tube, the purple with a scintillating sheen showing in stark contrast to the dull grey of the construction panels that comprised the cylindrical construct. On the other side of each patch stars were clearly visible in the black of space. The primary module on the other end of the tube was a little worse for wear, but it was built into the rock of the asteroid and the only thing that Elias could see that caused any concern was a slight build up of fine dirt in the corners.

  “This isn’t looking too bad,” the fox commented more to himself than anyone else. “SPO Perrins, connect to the terminal there and see if you can get anything out of it. I’d really like a layout. That’ll make a sweep for survivors a lot easier.”

  The mouse nodded curtly inside her helmet. “I’m on it, Sir,” she responded crisply, slipping into the same efficient mode that she always showed while on duty. The young mouse might be having personal issues, but that didn’t stop her from doing her job as best she could.

  Elias looked around and waited for something while two other team members began to test the power leads to the pressure hatch that led further into the main habitation section while the senior sergeant for the team, Sergeant First Class Tanaric ‘Tan’ Strader swept the wand for a portable multi-scan that included chemical analyzer and Geiger counter around as he slowly walked the chamber.

  “We’re nominal on rads, Chief,” the liger said in his deep, rumbling voice. “Sensors also indicate breathable atmosphere, though it might not be recommended as there’s some really fine particulate matter in the air. ‘Puter says it’s a mix of tungsten and platinum. Might do some pretty bad things without respirators and goggles, but teams can work without full E-suits.”

  “Good to know, Sergeant,” Elias said. “We’ll pass that on for the other shifts, but until we’re totally positive that we aren’t going to accidentally open a chamber that’s been exposed to hard vacuum we’ll keep our suits sealed.”

  The liger nodded. “I’d have to agree, Chief. It’s a bit cold, though. Unless the others coming across have some thick fur it might be advised to use insulated uniforms as well.”

  “Send that recommendation along as well,” the fox directed as he stepped up to the terminal that Vanna was working on that had a cracked screen but still functioned. Elias swore under his breath as the mouse pointed out the data that she could access.

  “There’s no connection from this terminal to any others in the station, but I can get a layout of sorts.” Vanna tapped furiously at the keys in an attempt to glean as much information as possible. “Well, it’s not much, but I can do…this,” she said with a final typed out command.

  A blank wall fared to life, revealing itself to be a simple display screen normally used for keeping track of what workers were headed to where in the mine and a time table. Vanna was able to bring up a simple wire frame map of the facility and colored the chamber the team was in with a dull green shade. Some of the other SPOs smiled in appreciation of having a point of reference and the mouse’s ingenuity.

  “Not bad, Vanna,” Elias said with a wide grin.

  “I can also set up a remote link with the core on the Vanguard so we can make sure other teams aren’t hitting the same areas,” she said with a frown of concentration as she typed in more commands. “It looks like the two levels beneath us were used for mining equipment storage and maintenance. This section here was where the raw ore was sent by conveyor to the refinery section.

  “That crater outside dock perimeter was definitely the automated refinery. Looks like there were some really volatile materials stored near it as well. Anyway, after the lower two levels there’s stores for consumables, refrigeration and the water supply. The four levels after that are operations offices and living quarters with a really big recreation chamber.”

  “Makes sense,” Strader commented. “I don’t know about Al-Myr, but a lot of these asteroid mining operations have a year-long contract tour. That’s why the miners can bring their families if they have ‘em. Cuts down on fighting and the like. The really serious groups will even have pleasure houses as part of the contracted staff.”

  Vanna looked up with a stunned expression. “They…they have br-brothels?!? That’s disgusting.”

  Tanaric shrugged. “The folk out this far can get pretty worked up, Perrins. They need the things that they can get on the civilized worlds, including companionship, otherwise there’s a better than even chance they’ll go a little crazy and do some bad things. Look at what happened here. Accidents are bad enough, but you get some miner or something that’s starting to get a little stir crazy he, or she, can kill everyone real quick.”

  “Yeah…but…” the mouse started, her voice trailing off. “I…I guess you’re right, Sergeant. Sorry for my outburst.”

  The liger smiled with a snort of amusement. “It’s no big, Perrins. Just remember, we don’t make the rules, but we have to uphold and respect them. Besides, my sister’s a miner. Rock-jock out in the Mainor-Dennier belt and she says that the males and females in the pleasure houses make as much as she does in a year, which means about three times what my yearly pay rate equals.”

  “Oh.”

  Elias shook his head. “We can discuss the morality of mining and professional entertainers later. Vanna? What’s the status of the elevators?”

  “Um…I can’t tell from this unit. It’s been disconnected from the rest of the station’s network. Sorry, Sir.” The mouse shrugged down a little, an impressive thing with her being in an environment suit.

  “Hey, it’s not your fault. You’ve already done wonders,” Elias told the female, a little nervous at the way she perked and brightened at the praise he gave and the way she looked at him with her dark eyes. “Alright, Sergeant. Let’s make our way down to the next level. If we move quick we can get maintenance out of the way and the next team can get to the habitat area.” The fox adjusted the hand lamp he carried and made sure the basic tool kit that could be used to open hatches was strapped to his left thigh. “Sergeant, break the team up into pairs. Vanna, you’re with me.”

  The mouse nodded and transferred a simple map to the rest of the team before following Elias.

— NEXT CHAPTER —

Unless otherwise noted, all material © Ted R. Blasingame. All rights reserved.