Polaris, page 10
"We're doing pretty good," De Gaulle said.
"Yeah, we are," Traynor agreed. "How's the Moscow crew doing?"
"So far, not so bad. Sixty-five transported. Lost two in transport, one on the table. Twenty-five criticals, twenty-one serious, the rest just had superficial injuries. We were under the gun for awhile, but on Dawnstar's first return trip, two of Moscow's surgeons came over. I put them to work immediately, even though they're about to drop."
"How's that girl Trout found in the corridor?"
"She's going to make it. By God, I did a good job on her. Another two or three minutes and she wouldn't be here, though."
Both men became silent, each with his own thoughts. The strain of putting the broken human bodies from Moscow had taken a telling effect on De Gaulle. He looked tired, though he'd only been on duty four and a half hours.
The worry over Noverensky's condition was evident on Traynor's face. The captain's normally bright and pleasant disposition was absent, replaced by a much more solemn expression. It was plain to all around that Traynor was interested only in the injured man coming in on the next LC.
Marge Upshaw joined the two. She saluted the captain, then spoke to De Gaulle.
"Marchetti says Carson's pretty bad, but if there are no complications, he should recover completely. Louise, ah, Doctor Malvin, checked Peterson and didn't bother with surgery. It seems Peterson just got conked on the head, then pinned under the wall. Maybe a fractured rib or so." The captain winced in sympathy, knowing how painful rib injuries could be. "But nothing serious. To tell the truth," Marge continued, lowering her voice. "Louise was about to have a fit about wasting her time, until she noticed he was a Polaris crewman." De Gaulle roared with laughter. Even Traynor, worried as he was, had to smile.
"I can picture that plainly," De Gaulle laughed to Traynor. "You have to see something like that to get the full effect. Louise Malvin is the most fun to watch when she's upset of anyone I've ever known."
"Tell the young lady that her sentiments are commendable," Traynor told the head nurse. As he spoke to Marge Upshaw, the captain took the opportunity to observe firsthand the person who had captured De Gaulle's attention so quickly.
She was a tall woman, easily ten centimeters taller than the captain. Blonde hair was cut short, yet stylish, trimmed to reveal her ears. She had an open face, with a bright, intelligent, efficient air about her. Her figure was flawless in the classic statuesqueness of the ancient Greek stone carvings. Marge wore the traditional woman's uniform of the Space Service: a sleeveless tunic from neck to just below the waist, worn with either slacks or a skirt. Marge wore the skirt, accentuating her long and shapely legs. As with the others on duty, she wore work blues.
"Dawnstar arriving with casualties," a medical technician called, rushing to where the landing craft was being raised from its docking bay. Several others also hurried to the newly arrived aircraft.
"Unless there's a super critical, keep my table clear," De Gaulle requested, as Marge made to leave.
"For Noverensky?" she asked. He nodded. She hurried off, and quickly made her presence known among the youngsters unloading the injured.
"Darkstar, Captain," Myra Shanesey's voice sounded.
Traynor glanced around to see the small ship rising ~n its docking platform. He rushed over and leaped to the platform before it had reached deck level. He was standing below the hatch when it opened and the auto-ladder engaged. When the ladder was in place, Traynor rushed up and looked in. Trovonski was lifting Noverensky's broken body.
"Is he alive?"
"Barely," Trovonski replied. "Been floating in and out of consciousness since we took him out." Between the two, they were able to carry the injured man down the ladder.
"Marc!" yelled Traynor. "Over here!"
"Get him here, Alex!" De Gaulle yelled back. "Marge, assist!"
Slowly, careful not to move the man any more than necessary, Traynor and Trovonski crossed the hangar to where Marc De Gaulle, Marge Upshaw, and Hildy Bennett were waiting beside the operating table. The two laid the man on the table. De Gaulle took charge instantly.
"Hildy, cut him out of that suit! Marge, the electro-cardio stimulator! Also, an intra-trachea tube! Looks like we'll have to open him up. Alex, get out of here! I'll let you know! Someone check the proxsterilizer!"
Traynor moved away, sliding over to the far wall to stand by himself and watch the crew of the Polaris handle their duties. They moved with amazing cool and control, going about their duties like a veteran crew, instead of the rookies most were. The captain was proud of his crew, even if certain members were royal pains in the neck. The crew obeyed orders and pulled together.
However, Traynor thought uncomfortably, the members of the crew most likely to cause problems weren't in the hangar. Except Jenkins, of course, but he was too busy to cause problems.
A young man, wearing the uniform of the Moscow, with Major's stripes and the science insignia, crossed over to where Traynor stood.
"Sir," he began, saluting. "I'm Major Keloff Tronston, science officer of Moscow. I've been doing some checking, and of the survivors not in critical condition, I seem to be senior."
"Yes, Major?" Traynor questioned.
"I'd like to thank you for rescuing what's left of the crew."
"You can thank me by telling me what happened." Traynor replied quickly, a bite in his voice. He relented quickly, seeing the strain the man was under already. Not much more than a kid, Traynor thought. Oberonite, he decided. Well, they mature young.
Taken aback by the tone of the captain to his conciliatory remarks, Tronston paused to regain his composure. Traynor smiled encouragingly, allowing the young man to sigh with relief.
"Well, sir, we were on a routine patrol. Sensors on half-range, constant three-sixty three-sixty." The man paused to carefully consider what he was saying. "We were at sub-light. There was a minor malfunction in the neutronium drive. Nothing serious, but the chief engineer wanted to fix it.
"All of a sudden, an enemy ship flashed onto the sensor plates. We got our screens up, but it came in and blasted away. We went at it for over six hours!"
"Why didn't you radio for help?"
"We didn't think we'd need it. And we couldn't run because the chief engineer had broken down then neutronium-drive components and wasn't able to get them together during the battle."
"The enemy ship could have called for help," Traynor pointed out.
"Colonel Kilter reasoned that if they were alone, they would stay alone. He is, was, a student of the enemy's battle tactics. From reports of previous battles he has, ah, had, formed a theory concerning their tactics. The enemy does not seem to reinforce its battle fleets. Nowhere in any of the reports has there ever been evidence of enemy reinforcements arriving on the scene of a battle. Apparently the enemy sends ships to do a job, and if they can't, they run."
"An interesting theory," Traynor said thoughtfully. There could be something to this theory. He would have to check out the computer records. However, thought Traynor, Kilter might not have called because of the foolish pride that is part of an Oberonite's breeding. The USR's only natural soldiers were these descendants of the military survivors of Earth's World War III. Perhaps the theory Kilter had developed about the enemy could be applied with equal success when referring to Kilter's own people.
"At approximately the same time, both our and the enemy's shields overloaded. We were hit primarily with disruptors. Some laser fire. We hit them with everything we had. Disruptors and lasers, all banks. I really think they got the worst of it."
"If you got the better of that exchange, then that ship must be completely gutted," Traynor decided. "Thank you, Major. We'll do our best for your crew. Shouldn't be long before we get underway for OS 28."
"Thank you, sir," Tronston answered, saluting.
For another twenty minutes Traynor remained on the hangar deck. He spent the time wandering from the medical area to Myra Shanesey's launch controls. Commander Shanesey ran him away from the control area when he began questioning her launch and docking procedure. Traynor did not argue, or use his authority as captain, realizing that she was the expert on the hangar deck. Also, Traynor had learned through the ship's grapevine that arguing with Myra Shanesey was like arguing with a wall. She was known to have challenged the authority of admirals when she had reason. And she was renowned for winning more than she lost.
The captain was leaving the hangar deck when Discovery returned for the last time. By the time Traynor had made his way slowly to the bridge, Friendship was preparing to dock with Polaris. He took the command chair quietly and gazed at the screen, which was dominated by the image of Moscow.
"Friendship aboard, sir," Lieutenant Stuart ~ reported.
"Sensor scan of Moscow," Traynor commanded.
"Begging your pardon, sir." Danart N'goto, who had returned to his position as duty science officer spoke up. "But we scanned the ship and found all life forms when we arrived in this sector."
"Colonel N'goto, scan the Moscow," Traynor again ordered, through clenched teeth, his gaze fixed on the USR ship. The others on the bridge were silent
"But, sir . . ." N'goto began. Stuart gasped. To question a direct order from a Fleet captain was not even in her realm of thought:
Slowly Traynor turned to the science station. His eyes flashed fire as his gaze bore into the black. Quickly N'goto spun and began working the controls at his station. He looked into the small computer visiscreen for the results, then turned back to the captain. Traynor was still staring at him with blazing eyes. N'goto knew the captain was not to be trifled with at this moment.
"Sensor report negative, sir," N'goto quickly recited the results. "No life forms aboard Moscow."
"Thank you, Mr. N'goto," Traynor said, turning forward. "Mr. Torval, put a tractor on Moscow. Also, put one on that other ship. Miss McMasters, plot a course to Station Twenty-Eight. Mr. Goldman, when Torval and Miss McMasters are ready, implement at cruise speed. Mr. N'goto, constant three-sixty by three-sixty. Once under way, Lieutenant Stuart, you may bring the ship off red alert, but remain on yellow alert."
"Aye, sir," came a chorus of replies.
"Tractors on," Lieutenant Torval called.
"Course prepared," Maria McMasters sung out.
"Implementing," came from Goldman.
'Sensors operational, full range," N'goto added softly.
And over their voices, Traynor could hear Lieutenant Stuart, shipwide, calling off the red alert, but keeping Polaris on yellow alert.
Polaris's return to Kappa Barnard was uneventful. The trip took over two and a half hours, arriving within sensor range of the "Rock" almost seven hours after departing to answer Moscow's distress signal.
Captain Traynor went off duty at 2000 hours RST (Republic Standard Time), leaving the job of transferring the rescued crew of Moscow from Polaris to OS 28, to his relief officer, Commander Robert Parker.
Commanders Goldman and McMasters were relieved at 2000 hours also. They joined the captain in the elevator, headed for the "C" deck lounge to celebrate Polaris' successful mission. They invited the captain to join them.
"No," Traynor replied as they moved swiftly through the ship in the elevator. "1 don't feel much like celebrating right now."
Goldman started to speak, but Maria McMasters gripped his arm tightly, silencing him instantly.
"We understand, Captain," she said.
"Do you?" Traynor asked. He then remembered the heritage of the woman to whom he was speaking. "Perhaps you do," he acknowledged.
They separated on "C" deck, the two lapetans heading for the lounge while Traynor continued to his cabin. The young couple stepped through the automatic doors of the lounge and were instantly assailed by the deafening roar of a huge party going on. It seemed as if every off-duty crew member was there, celebrating.
From a corner to their left came a loud yell with an Ioan accent.
"Bring yourselves over this way!" Shawn O'Leery sang out. McMasters and Goldman pushed their way through the crowded room to join O'Leery and his party. Their addition made the number seventeen seated at the two long tables, which had been pulled together for the occasion.
"What'll ye be drinkin', folks?" O'Leery continued loudly.
"Shawn O'Leery, must you be so loud?" Major" Marge Upshaw reprimanded the engineer. "No one can. hold a decent conversation with you around."
"That's what I've been telling him for quite a while' now," Myra Shanesey told the group. "Does he listen to me?"
"Come now, me darlin's, this is a time for celebratin'," O'Leery countered. "And meself, I've never been to a celebration where there wasn't noise. Am I right?" A chorus of "ayes" drowned him out.
Everyone began talking at once, laughing and carrying on, as the drinks flowed liberally. Besides the two Iapetans, Shanesey, O'Leery, and Upshaw, crowded at the tables were Mark Carter, Hal Nater, and Peter Trout of security, Kran 'and Vlres from communications, and Erica LeMay from engineering. Marc De Gaulle had finished up with Noverensky, successfully, and tagged along. Jay Farnsworth and David Emerson had accompanied Angela Martin and Emily Dawson, an Europan who piloted Dawnstar. Carol Ann Jorgenson, pilot of Providence, sat next to Peter Trout, engaged in a highly animated discussion.
"Where's the Captain?" De Gaulle asked Goldman when he could finally work his way over to engage the young pilot.
"His cabin, I guess," Goldman replied. "Maria knows more. We asked him to join us, but he said he didn't feel like it."
"Let's move down and talk with Maria," De Gaulle suggested. They spotted Maria and Major Kran at the head of the table, deeply involved in a conversation with Erica LeMay. The two men pushed their way toward the women.
"You know, he was on top of everything at once," Peter Trout was saying as De Gaulle and Goldman pushed past. "I could hear him giving instructions to the other crews, you know, busy with what they were doing. All of a sudden he jumps in and tells me one of my guys has a problem, or is about to lose it. I had a couple of youngsters with me, and they got a little shaky seeing that mess on the Moscow. But just about the time one's losing it, the captain alerts me and I cool 'im down."
"Captain Hawkins wouldn't have been as alert," Mark Carter spoke up. "And you know Nelson couldn't have handled it." He added disgustedly.
Goldman stopped to speak.
"You should have heard him handle Johnson when Noverensky lost contact. I thought that kid was going to go over the edge. I think I would have, and I've been around awhile. It's the kids first action. But Captain Traynor just told him exactly what to do. Cool and calm."
"It's a way he's got about him," Hal Nater noted. "You're calm because he's calm. He knows you can do the job, and that gives you the confidence to do it."
"Really, Hal, philosophy from you?" Trout laugh ed.
"I have been known to spout a few words of wisdom in my times," Nater replied, feigning indignation.
"Robert, let's move on up," De Gaulle suggested again. He was looking at the threesome of LeMay, McMasters, and Kran, talking quietly together. The two men finally reached the head of the table as Erica jumped up and made a quick exit from the lounge.
"Where's she headed?" De Gaulle asked.
"Really, Major De Gaulle," Kran replied indignantly. "Must everyone on board this ship account to the ship's doctor at every moment of the day?"
"No, uh, that is, I didn't mean to pry," De Gaulle sputtered. So flustered was he that he did not see the slight wink Maria McMasters gave Goldman, nor the knowing smile that crept to his lips.
Hal Nater rose to his feet, his two-meter-plus frame striking an imposing figure. He raised his glass.
"May I have your attention?" he asked loudly.
"Knock it off!" Mark Carter boomed. The group came to an abrupt silence.
"Thank you," Nater smiled. "And thank you, Commander Carter."
"My pleasure," Carter replied sarcastically.
"A toast, ladies and gentlemen, to Alex Traynor." He paused. "The Captain."
"The Captain!" the others echoed, lifting their glasses.
In another part of the ship, another meeting was also in progress. In Carl Nelson's quarters, eight officers were deep in discussion. None of these crew members would have echoed Nater's sentiments.
Nelson was still highly disturbed over the incident on the bridge of the Polaris, as were Victoria Spencer and Danart N'goto. Ben Peters sat with his perpetual hangdog expression, awaiting the outcome of the meeting. Corensky sat boredly listening to the conversation. His views were already known to those gathered. Corensky favored an immediate takeover by the loyal Earthers on Polaris. Francis Jenkins backed Corensky. The remaining two, Commander Reg Dickson, a scientist and the first to feel the long arm of Traynor's presence when relieved of the main computer overhaul, and Millie Makem, a pilot, were listening intently to Nelson.
"No man makes a fool of me!" Nelson stormed. "And especially not in front of outworlders! He humiliated me in front of those 'people'!" He used the word in a highly derogatory tone. "Relieving me of duty. Me! There's no way I'm going to let up on him now."
"1 still say declare him unfit for command and take over. We have enough people to carry it out," Corensky insisted loudly.
"We can't Vlad," N'goto spoke up. All eyes turned to him. "Not according to regulations, at least," he added quickly.
"Th-that's right," Peters stuttered. "Regulation four-seven-one."
"Which says?" Corensky demanded.
"Which says, Vlad, as you well know, that along with the Exec, the science officer, and the chief engineer, on a Centurion-class ship, the chief surgeon and the communications officer must be in on the decision. And it must be a unanimous decision," Nelson explained bitterly. "You don't think the doctor or Pronethan would agree, now do you?"
"We could make them agree," Corensky said slowly.
"And be imprisoned and tried for mutiny. Spencer finished for him. "I, for one, don't want to up in a penal settlement."
