Tour of Duty: Stories and Provocation by Michael Z. Williamson Read Free Book Online Page A

complicated arc due to the varying thrust and increasing mass alignment shift.”
    Stadter wasn’t going to ask what could happen next. He figured he’d find out.
    Vela muttered, “Goddess, the kindest thing might be for it to explode.”
    “Quiet, please,” he said politely but with some snap. She might be right, but they were not paid to hope for that.
    “Understood, sir.”
    Budd said, “It’s worse, sir.”
    As expected , he thought. “Tell me.”
    “Some of them have abandoned ship. I’m getting response on several lifeboats. However, I have fewer blips than I had launches, and two are already pinging as critical on oh two.”
    Stadter was Bahá’i. He wasn’t sure how many religions he offended when he said, “We thank thee, God, for this disaster, accepting that it is not the disaster we would choose, but that it is better than no disaster at all.” He drew in a deep breath after that.
    Vela looked at him across the control bubble.
    He said, “My phrasing was more diplomatic.”
    She shrugged, smirked, opened her channel and said, “Purser, what’s your name?”
    “Ben Doherty, ma’am.”
    “Mister Doherty, we’re scrambling everything we have, military and civilian. If you can keep any information coming, please do. I’ll need you to report when craft get close. If you need to don a suit, please do. Take care of your crew and yourself first, then respond to us as you can or need to. I will leave this channel open and will hear you at once.”
    He sounded perhaps five percent relieved.
    “Thank you, ma’am. I hope they hurry.”
    “We are. If you need to just talk for reassurance, do so. I’ll answer as I can. If I don’t answer, it means I’m sending ships.”
    “I suppose that’s a good thing. Yes, I’m terrified, dammit . . . ” She switched the signal so only she could hear it, and pulled a hush screen from her headset. A moment later she pulled it aside.
    She asked, “Sir, should we transfer command and control to the military side? Is this that bad?”
    He considered that for half a second. “Possibly. Make sure they’re copied on everything in case. However, we’re already in motion, which means shorter response, and we’ll have eyes on site. Budd, can you manage command and control while we try to do rescue as well?”
    The man shrugged with an accepting grin, visible through gaps between control screens now opaque with data and images. “I guess I have to.”
    Medical Sergeant Brandon Lowther took that moment to stick his head up from the bay underneath. That was a safety violation under boost, but he knew the boat well enough not to overload the inertial compensators, and he had work to do. Stadter didn’t mention it.
    Lowther said, “Sir, got my gear, and I’ve got spare oxy, if we can get aboard.”
    “What do you think, Garwell?” he called down to the engineer directly below him with a mesh deck between. When he first came aboard, it was odd to hear voices through both headset and live, but one got used to it and expected it. It did clarify things sometimes.
    “I suppose if we have to match, we do, but I’d rather shave my nads with a cheese grater.” Garwell had a very cultured voice. Comments like that clashed with it.
    “Budd, what do you have?”
    “Not much concrete, sir. Their engine controls are destroyed. Power is suboptimal, efficiency is under forty percent, leakage in all directions and it’s gammas and fuel. Some of the fuel is still fusing as it leaks. The plasma stinger’s half melted. I’d say someone planted a bomb, except we’ve got that report on lifeboats and parallel systems. It looks like complete neglect. I have no idea how it’s boosting that hard.”
    Garwell said, “The feeds on that model are capable of three G. It’s a converted LockGen cargo boat. They must be wide open, though they’re supposed to fail closed.”
    Stadter asked, “When was the last overhaul, and inspection?”
    Budd said, “According to this, last year,