Polaris, page 9
"Skipper, this one is still alive!" the last man in line exclaimed.
"Can't be, Fedar," Trout replied. He stopped and waved the others to pass. Then he moved back to where Fedar Mohand, his Vendran muscles easily handling the 7 massive weight of the energy cutters strapped to his back, knelt beside one of Moscow's crew.
"Peter, I swear I saw her move!" Mohand continued vehemently.
"OK. We can't take any chances," Trout decided. "Captain, we've got a possible survivor that wasn't expected. We'll be sending her immediately. You'd better send another ship. We'll-be sending Providence back now."
"Check. Dawnstar will be there in moments. You need any more help?"
"Not at the moment, sir," Trout replied. "But have them standing by in case." Trout turned and motioned to one of the waiting men. "O'Hanrahan you take her to the bubble. Jorgenson will hook in the pressure tube and you can take this young lady to the ship."
O'Hanrahan lifted the woman and started back the way they had come.
"The Z-grav belts will give you enough neutralization to lift both of you through the opening. And tell Jorgenson that she's to get you back as quick as possible. Hear that, Carol Ann?"
"Peter, have I ever let you down?" a soft voice purred through the squad commander's speakers. "Get your man up here."
O'Hanrahan moved out of view as one of the men forward gave a shout.
"Got it, skipper!" René Millerand cried. He motioned Trout to an opening on the left side of the corridor. "It looks clear."
"This is the one," Trout agreed. "Down." He began climbing down the ladder.
The third rescue team was having more problems. After securing their equipment cylinder, they had run into difficulty setting up the dome. Once that problem was solved, they began cutting, only to cut through a wire not listed on Noverensky's wiring reference program. The energy flash knocked Lieutenant Michael Todd senseless for several minutes. He recovered without any other effects than a bruise on the back of his head when he flipped backwards.
Because of delays and accidents, Noverensky was dropping into the corridor below while the other teams were involved with the actual rescue of Moscow personnel. Noverensky surveyed the corridor he had dropped into, flashing his light back and forth across the expanse.
"Problems again," he sighed disgustedly. "Both directions blocked."
"Not passable at all?" Traynor's voice questioned. "It would take several hours to clear either direction," replied Noverensky.
"Mik, this is Trout," came a voice in Noverensky's ear.
"What, Peter?"
"We're on 'B' deck. It's fairly clear, what we've been through. Of course, we're aft quite a ways from where you are, but we didn't have any great difficulty. Just loose junk and some bodies in the corridors immediately around the sick bay."
"Roger. We'll cut through to 'B' deck. Captain we'll need the wiring programs for this section, between 'A' and 'B' decks," Noverensky requested.
"Just a second," Traynor responded. To someone on the bridge: "Ready to send?" Apparently he received an affirmative, for he next spoke to Noverensky. "Ready to receive, Lieutenant?"
Noverensky removed the miniature self-contained computer terminal hanging at his waist.
"Ready, sir," he replied. The terminal in his hand lit up. Quickly he scanned the tiny viewscreen, then motioned where his crew was to cut.
On the hangar deck of Polaris, things were beginning to happen. Providence was barely away after delivering the injured girl from Moscow, when Discovery arrived with a load of injured survivors.
Six operating tables had been sent up to one of the huge rooms. Medical technicians had set up and were monitoring the most sophisticated medical equipment available. The doctors awaited the casualties aboard Discovery-all the doctors save De Gaulle, who was busy with the first arrival.
As the injured were carefully lifted from the rescue ship, Marge Upshaw, the head nurse, categorized each I into urgent, serious, and non-serious. The urgent cases were taken to the waiting doctors. The serious were looked after by the nurses not involved in assisting the doctors. Medical technicians aided the non-serious, applying antiseptic and bandages. Once she had ascertained that the wounded from Discovery's first run had been taken care of, Major Upshaw wandered over to Marc De Gaulle's table. Major Hildy Bennett was assisting him on the young woman Providence had brought in.
"How's it coming, Marc?"
"I think she's going to make it, by God!" De Gaulle exclaimed. "I'm finished for now. Stretcher!" Two young lieutenants, a man and a girl, rushed up with a Z-grav stretcher. Carefully, the two, with De Gaulle and Bennett helping, lifted the young woman onto the platform. De Gaulle gave instructions for her care and sent them on their way to sick bay.
"What's next?" De Gaulle asked.
"A boy that caught a falling landing craft with his chest," Marge replied disgustedly.
"Let's do it." Marge nodded' and stretcher bearers placed the injured boy on the table.
"Have someone check the proximity sterilizer," De Gaulle ordered, turning to the boy on the table.
"Marge!" A nurse screamed. "I've got a full arrest!''
"Marge!" A second voice sounded. "This girl is bleeding internally!"
"Get her on a table!" Marge called back. "Bridget, hook in the electro-cardio stimulator! On max!" She rushed to where Mercy Thompson and Liz Beaumont were lifting a young girl on to a free table.
"What happened?" Marge asked.
"She was fine, ma'am," Thompson explained. "You told me to patch up her small cuts and scrapes. I was doing that when she began choking."
"She called me Marge," Commander Beaumont took up the story. "I started to examine her when she began spitting up blood. That's when I called you."
The head nurse had been carefully watching the instruments hooked into the girl as she listened to the story.
"OK," she said. "Doctor!" All answered that they were busy. Staring at the instruments, Marge realized that the girl might not live until a doctor could get at her.
"We'll do it ourselves," she decided. Quickly she began issuing orders. "Get an intra-trachea tube in her! Keep her breathing! Keep her lungs clear!"
"Aye, ma'am," the young technician responded, racing for the instruments, which were across the room.
"Have you ever performed X-ray surgery?" Liz Beaumont asked.
"No," Marge replied, lifting a surgical kit to a Z-grav platform top beside the operating table. "That's why I'm going to have to open her up."
"I haven't assisted in open surgery since my first year in school, over eight years ago," Liz informed her superior.
"Don't worry," the Collierite replied. "It's just like riding a jet cycle. Once you learn, you never forget."
Thompson returned with the proper instruments, and proceeded to insert the airway. Suction kept the lungs clear.
"All set, Major," the youngster said, shakily.
Slowly, using an electro-knife, Marge cut into the chest of the injured girl. The electro-knife, its blade a beam of energy, cauterized the incision as it was made. Once through the skin, she checked the ribs. Four fractures on the left side, two on the right. A fifth rib on the left side had broken and become lodged in the lung.
"How's she doing?"
"OK as can be expected," Beaumont replied. "Can you stop the bleeding?"
"I think so. Forceps." Liz handed her the tool.
Marge tuned the knife for a fine cut. Gingerly, she gripped the rib with the forceps, close to where it entered the lung. Carefully, Marge cut through the rib at a point just above the forceps. The rib came apart cleanly. Marge set the electro-knife down.
"Internal electro-seal," she said. The instrument was instantly in her hand. She clicked it on and held it close to the lung, through an opening in the rib cage. Her finger sat softly on the activator, not releasing the healing power of the tool. Slowly she drew the piece of rib from the lung, activating the electro-seal immediately upon withdrawal of the bone fragment.
Major Francis Jenkins came hurrying up.
"What's going on?" he demanded.
"Close her up, Jenkins, and don't open your mouth!" Marge growled, stepping away from the girl.
"She'll live for now. It's not critical anymore." Slowly, Major Marge Upshaw stepped over to the doctor's tables. Liz Beaumont followed her when Jenkins had finished with the injured girl.
"That was fantastic, Marge!" Liz cried. Marge breathed a deep sigh.
"What was fantastic?" Marc De Gaulle asked, coming over from his table. He was taking a break while his nurse and technician prepped the next case.
"Marge just opened up a girl who was bleeding inside. She was great!" Liz explained. "The girl's going to be OK. I hadn't assisted on an open surgery for over eight years, but she said it was just like riding a jet cycle. She was right. I haven't forgotten. Just haven't done it in a while."
"Excellent, m'lady!" De Gaulle exclaimed. He stepped up and planted a kiss on Marge's lips before she could react, then hurried back to his table. Marge Upshaw, caught off guard, blushed a brilliant red. Liz Beaumont discreetly turned her head until her superior had recovered.
"Marge!" a voice rang out.
"Well, back to the grind," the woman sighed. "Confidentially, Liz, I never could ride a jet cycle." She grinned and hurried to answer the summons.
"We're finally through to 'B' heck," Noverensky radioed the captain. "Preparing to drop down."
"Go careful, Lieutenant," Traynor cautioned over the radio.
"Peterson, then Carson, after me in that order. The others wait until we check it out down there," Noverensky ordered. He rechecked the area immediately under the opening and, cautioning the others to keep a light on the deck below, dropped easily down. Fred Peterson and Jack Carson, two Lunarites in the crew, dropped in quick succession.
"What's it look like Mik?" Kevin Johnson asked. "Not too bad," came the reply. "I'm moving
down the corridor, and it seems pretty clear. Carson and, Peterson are with me. Carson, check the other direction. So far it's clear. Prepare to drop. . . AIEEEE!"l
Alex Traynor sat up quickly. He had been monitoring Noverensky's frequency and had heard the scream An anxious look came over his face.
"Lieutenant Noverensky," he said. "Noverensky,1~ come in. Come in!" He paused, but received no reply. "Noverensky, come in! Mikhail!" Still no response
"Johnson here, sir," came a voice.
"What happened to Noverensky?" Traynor demanded.
"Don't know, sir," Johnson replied. "Can't see him, Peterson or Carson. They were together on 'B' deck. Can't raise any of them."
"Listen carefully, Johnson," Traynor said, still edgy. "One man, I repeat, one man, drop down to deck. Do not move from directly under the hole. Look around and see if you can find out what happened"
The bridge crew had stopped what they were doing and were listening intently. Traynor motioned to Lieutenant Stuart.
"Contact the hangar deck. Tell Dralen to get his crew aboard an LC and get over to Moscow. I'll give him his orders depending on what happens with the Friendship crew."
"Captain," Johnson called to Polaris. "I'm down. Beginning to sweep the corridor with my light and there's one of them! A wall fell on him!"
"OK, Johnson, good. Don't panic." Traynor had noticed the slight change in Johnson's voice, possibly preluding a loss of control. "Don't go to them yet Check the walls and ceiling. Is there a chance they'll fall on you?"
"Aye, sir, I'm checking." Johnson was calming down. ''Right wall, ceiling and floor seams still intact to the gap where it fell on him. Section is about five meters long. Left wall, ceiling and floor seams intact for about ten meters past fallen section."
"Anything else?" Traynor asked.
"Not evident, sir," replied Johnson.
"Darkstar away, Captain," reported Stuart.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," acknowledged Traynor. "Johnson, bring your crew down. Carefully! Watch yourselves. Moving slowly and carefully, make your way down to 'the injured man. Try to lift the wall off them. Use caution! You may have to use a Z-grav lifter if the wall's too heavy."
"Aye, sir," Johnson replied. "They're coming down now." Traynor listened intently as the members of the depleted Friendship squad called off as they dropped deeper into Moscow. Todd, Davis, McDaniels, and Trovonski. Each was screened for traces of panic. Only Johnson showed any traces of panic, but that was natural, having had command of the squad thrust upon him so suddenly.
"We're moving down the corridor. It's not far. About three meters more. Todd is there already. Which one?"
"It's Carson," was the answer.
"Can you see Fred or Mik?"
From Todd: "I see a helmet on the other side of this wall segment."
Johnson: "Can you reach it?"
"Possibly. The section didn't cross the entire corridor."
Johnson: "OK, we're here. Move along the wall and get to the other side. Davis, follow him." A moment passed.
Todd: "I'm here. It's Fred."
Johnson: "Where's Mik? Scan the passage. Trovo, up the other way!"
"Nothing." "Zero."
Johnson: "I don't get it."
McDaniels spoke up. "We'd better get this wall off these two. Jack's barely breathing."
Johnson: "Right. Trovo, move along that wall until you're about midway of the fallen hunk. Davis, at the far corner. Mac, this corner. You three try to lift. We'll help if we can."
A moment passed for the bridge crew of the Polaris. Then Johnson came back on.
"Ready?"
Four answers came quickly.
''OK, lift!''
The straining of the three men was quite vocal. For seconds that seemed like hours, nothing issued from the radio except the strained breathing of the five security men. Then a small shout of triumph.
"Got him!" Johnson cried.
"Fred too!" Todd sounded. Then urgently. "Don't drop that wall! Mik's under there!"
"What?!"
Todd: "I saw a reflection from my light when I was pulling Fred's legs out!"
Johnson: "Well, we can't get him out. Let it down easy. Captain, I don't think a lifter would help."
"Johnson, get those injured out! Leave someone to watch and move out. Dralen has a crew waiting in Darkstar."
"Aye sir. Let's move! Trovo, stay." Traynor spun to the communications console. "Tell Dralen to take over Friendship's responsibility. Also, inform him of Noverensky's accident. Then let De Gaulle know about the injured coming in."
Young Stuart's hands fairly flew across her board.
"Acknowledged, sir," she said after a moment. "Also, Lieutenant Nater reporting."
"Put him through."
"Captain, we've loaded the last of the group from the hangar deck. Also, I have two men with cutters about ten meters from the engineering section."
"Good work. Any problems?"
"None so far. Sir, is Mik in trouble?" Nater asked.
"He had an accident. A wall fell on him and part of his crew. Johnson got the others out, but Noverensky's under it completely. Dralen and his Vendrans are on their way. If anyone can get him out, they can. Just don't know if he's alive."
"Alex, is there anything I can do?" Nater asked softly. If the bridge crew noticed the use of the captain's proper name by Nater, they reacted as if nothing was out of place.
"Hal, you can't get there any faster than Dralen," Traynor replied in the same low tone. "We just have to wait. I don't like it either."
And wait the captain did, as Friendship arrived with its cargo. He waited as Trout radioed that he was bringing out the last load from Moscow's sickbay and "B" deck lab. Traynor waited patiently, hardly hearing Nater's report that his men were through to the engineering section.
At last Dralen reported that his men were in position to lift the wall off Noverensky.
"Preparing to lift," Dralen reported. "Trovonski, grab him when we lift. Everyone, LIFT!"
The captain could picture in his mind's eye the eight Vendrans lifting, their massively muscled, compact bodies straining for every ounce of power they could provide. It might be tough, even for them, lifting it completely off the injured officer.
Trovonski: "I'm under the wall. About another ten centimeters and I've got him! ... I'm pulling him out! ... He's coming loose! ... He's out!"
"Is he alive?" Traynor interrupted instantly.
"Aye, sir!" Trovonski radioed excitedly. Then his voice sobered. "Though just barely."
"Get him over here!" Traynor commanded quick-
"Coming, sir!"
"Get moving! You too, Dralen!"
"Aye, sir," Dralen answered.
Traynor spun the chair and jumped out, heading for the exit.
"I'm on the hangar deck. Goldman, you have the con. If anything serious comes up, call me! Keep Nater and Dralen moving! Constant three-sixty by three-sixty at full sensor range!"
"Aye, sir," Goldman answered, stunned at the quick departure of the captain. When Traynor had left, he turned to navigator McMasters.
"Wonder what that's about?"
"Didn't you read it?" she asked. Telepathically, she continued. He blames himself for Noverensky's accident, Maria informed Goldman.
Why? Goldman asked her mentally. He couldn't have known the wall would fall. Of course there was an element of risk, but each person expects some danger when joining the Space Service. Especially security men.
A good captain absorbs the responsibility for every action by his crew, was the telepathic reply. The captain feels he should have pulled that crew out and let another crew handle it. They did have a lot of problems just getting to "B" deck.
Why down to the hangar?
He's subconsciously trying to absolve the guilt he feels for Noverensky's accident. Being there might help.
Traynor hustled into the hangar deck and pushed his way to the operating tables. He inspected the wounded that had been treated; looked over the Moscow personnel that had remained unscathed. De Gaulle moved over to stand beside the captain.
