Chapter Three

Aran woke in small degrees. Consciousness came back to him in gradually growing waves, until finally he was able to surface and stay there. Consciousness did not bring him understanding, though, but only confusion. He finally figured out where he was, strapped into the lifepod, but he could not remember how he had gotten there. His head hurt; he had a blindingly painful headache. In fact, everything hurt. His body was a vivid throb of pain.

There was no one in the lifepod with him. Although he was reluctant to move, the fact that it appeared he was alone, that no one else had made it into the lifepod with him, after some kind of unremembered accident, gave him enough fear to get him moving. He struggled to unfasten himself and to get himself extracted. False gravity was gone, and he floated free.

First thing he had to do was establish environment. So far signs were good – he was breathing, there was air pressure, the temperature was within normal range. He felt maybe a bit chilled, but still well within livable temperatures. Even the lights were on, though dimmed, and he was thankful. If he had to deal with all of this in the dark, he felt he could just kiss his sanity goodbye. The air smelled stale, and was filled with particles and debris. There was blood in the air. Aran wiped his face; his nose was bleeding freely. He pinched his nose, trying to control the blood, in his confusion more concerned about getting the air dirty than the fact that he was bleeding so much.

If the air was stale then ventilation might be down. He’d have to check that. A quick glance around confirmed that yes, there was no one in the lifepod with him. And yes, the lifepod looked like it had sustained only a little damage. But the lifepod had not been ejected; the door to the bridge was open. How could so much damage have occurred, and left him, alone, in the lifepod, which was still attached to the ship? He shook his head, bewildered, and the slight motion gave rise to a burst of intense nausea. Aran vomited before he could stop himself, and as he tried to bring himself under control, he was alternately appalled at what he was doing to the airspace, embarrassed at his lack of control, and frightened at how sick he felt. All those emotions faded quickly as he heaved, until he didn’t give a damn, and all he wanted was to either stop, or die.

It took time. As the convulsions of vomiting lessened, he pulled out one of the lifepods sweepers, and waved it in large arcs through the air, allowing it to gather as much of his mess as it could. After he got as much as he could, he found a face respirator in the pod’s supplies and strapped it on, hoping he could pull it off quickly enough if he got sick again.

He felt dizzy. Everything felt like it was spinning. Maybe the air was worse than he thought. He checked the sensors, which still had a read-out, but oxygen seemed all right. The ventilation system was down, though, and he powered up the system than ran straight from the lifepod. That might make it livable in the pod, but he wasn’t sure about the rest of the ship. He’d better check to see what was going on out there. No one had come into the pod to check on him, there had been no communication directed at the pod at all; he had a very bad feeling about what he would find out there. He steeled himself, vaguely acknowledging his fear, and the hollow feeling of dread in his heart, and pulled himself carefully through the door to the bridge.

Even with his fear that the rest of the crew was dead or injured, Aran was unprepared for what he saw.

Oh my god, he breathed. Oh my god, oh my god. For a few moments he was paralyzed by the disaster he saw before him, and then his ingrained training took over. Four crew… he had a vague memory of being in the bridge then. They had reached Gabriel, they had called Calla. He glanced around at the crew strewn before him, trying to make sense of it. Clouds of blood obscured some of what he saw, but as he watched he started to understand. Cap at the comm, Thompson beside him. Both were motionless. The other comm chair was at a bizarre angle, and dangling from it… that was Wu. Then… the body in the other chair, the chair that lay half crushed against the bulkhead, that must be Shaw.

Shaw was unrecognizable. He’d obviously taken most of the impact headfirst. Aran looked away, shaken, There was nothing he could do for Shaw. Aran pulled himself over to Wu.

Wu was barely held in place by his safety straps. Aran could see no obvious injuries on him, although Wu did have some blood around his mouth and nose. Aran tried to control the shaking of his hand and felt for a jugular pulse. Wu’s skin felt cold, and his body felt stiff, not limp. Aran repositioned his fingers several times, but felt nothing. He checked his own pulse, to make sure he was doing it right, and his own pulse was rapid and strong. He checked Wu again; nothing. Wu was dead. Aran couldn’t tell why. With Shaw it was obvious, but Wu seemed untouched. Aran could not know that at the impact, and with the second impact of Shaw’s chair against his, the large vessels of Wu’s heart had torn. Wu had bled to death in moments. His eyes were wide open. Disturbed by this, Aran tried to brush the lids closed, but they wouldn’t stay.

Aran gave up on Wu and moved on to the Captain. Bennett was strapped into his chair, but his head lolled forward. Cap was bleeding from his nose and mouth too. Aran felt for his pulse, and gave a shuddering sigh of relief when he found it. It wasn’t strong or steady, though. Aran bent an ear to his face, trying to listen for breath, but heard nothing. He placed a hand on his chest and felt it rise and fall with the captain’s breaths. There was a rasp, a rattle, that he felt with his hand, but at least Cap was breathing. “Cap,” he said, shaking him a little by the shoulder. “Cap!” His own voice sounded dulled, and he realized that his hearing was damaged, probably from the noise of the impact, of which he had no memory. He shouted, although it felt wrong to shout with Wu and Shaw dead right there. “Captain! Captain Bennett!” No response. Well. He’d done what he could for now. Airway, breathing, cardiac. ABC, one two three. Or was C for consciousness and B for bleeding? No, he thought he had it right. Anyway, he’d done what he could. He nearly shook his head, to try and shake some sense back in it, but remembered in time what had happened the last time he tried that. He held a hand to his head, for the first time wondering how badly he himself was hurt. He was not thinking straight at all. He felt his head, no bumps or sore spots, so he hadn’t been hit. All the same, his thinking was slow and disorganized, and his thoughts had a way of wandering off track. He tried to focus. He willed his headache to go away. ABC, he thought, one two three. DEF, I guess that’s me. The thought startled a short, bark of a half-laugh, half-sob out of him. The sound, even dulled, frightened him. He didn’t like the fear bordering on panic that he heard there.

He’d checked on Cap. Now for Thompson. He’d check on him and then decide who to help first. Of the four of them, Thompson looked like he had been the best secured at the time of impact. His head had been secured and was not loose like Bennett’s. He was motionless too though, and his eyes were half-lidded. Like the others he had blood around his mouth and nose. Aran felt for his pulse and found it readily. Steady and strong. Aran listened for breath, again found it only when he felt. Aran shook Thompson’s shoulder. “Tommy – hey, Tommy, wake up.” Nothing. He shook him again, shouted. “Thompson! Tommy, wake up!” Not even a blink.

Cap would need attention first, of the men in he bridge. Aran gave the comm a quick once over, and tried to establish communications with Calla station. Nothing was working right. The comm was active, and it looked like he might be able to get it up and running if he spent some time with it, but for now there were no communications. Aran checked to make sure their emergency beacon was on, and as best he could tell, it was, or at least it said it was.

Aran made his way to the back of the bridge. The hatch was closed. Aran tapped the open button, and nothing happened. “Come on,” he whispered, and jabbed it. “Dammit.” He had to see if the others were alive, hurt, trapped. He pulled himself closer to the control pad by the door and tried to troubleshoot what was wrong. It didn’t look damaged, as far as he could tell. Finally he figured it out. The control panel indicated the air pressure was inadequate on the other side. A little more investigation, all the while fighting the the muddled feeling in his mind, revealed it was pretty much a vacuum over there, temperature nearing open space temperature. He couldn’t tell any more than that. He went back to the comm and tried all the in-ship communications, but couldn’t get anything. None of the sensors that ran to the back seemed to be working. As far as he could tell, he was completely cut off from the back of the ship. It did not occur to Aran that the back half of the ship might be gone. At worst, he thought, the mid-section was damaged and open to space, but surely the stern would be all right. Maybe they were about as well of as they were in the bridge, maybe not as bad. With the alarm, maybe everyone had had time to get to a lifepod. Probably not, they’d gotten so accustomed to the alerts they didn’t obey them as quickly as they could, but he could hope. He could always hope.

He checked on Thompson and Bennett again. Cap was looking pretty grim. His breath had gotten a little more ragged, and his color was starting to look a little gray. Aran debated whether to try and contact Calla station, or try and do something for Cap. After taking another look at the communications and deciding he had no idea how to start to fix them, Aran set to work on seeing what he could do for the captain.

The best thing to do would probably be to get him and Tommy to the life pod. He could strap them in more securely there, there were more medical supplies in there, and if they had another impact, they’d be more likely to survive in the pod. In a pinch they could detach, if the pod wasn’t too badly damaged.

The best medical supplies were back in the infirmary, which was one of the many off-rooms between the mid-section and the quarters. Aran wasn’t sure if that would make much of a difference or not, not being able to access them. Although Aran, like all the crew, had been trained in first aid, the use of the ship’s supplies, and basic medical care in emergencies, he had also been about ninth or tenth in line to be medic if the need arose. Certainly not first choice, certainly never meant to be the only person the captain could depend on for his life.

Just get on with it, he told himself. He examined the captain again. His head had been unrestrained, that much was clear. Could have a broken neck, maybe spinal damage. How could he tell? Couldn’t very well ask Cap to wiggle his damned toes, now, could he? All he knew was that if a spinal injury was suspected, you kept your hands off until the med team got there. Don’t touch, unless you had to spell out the ABCs for them. Didn’t want to do more damage, by moving them.

Well it looked like he was the med team. Now what?

Even if Calla Station had gotten their distress signal right away, even if they all jumped in a rescue ship – which Aran didn’t even know if they had – and zipped out across Gabriel to them as fast as they could, it would still be at least a couple days before they got help. That’s how long it was going to take for the Martelle to get there, before the collision, in ideal conditions, so that was the minimum. At least two days. And then? How much could the people at Calla Station help? Even if… Aran couldn’t remember the name of the family there. Even if what’s their names could come rescue them, it was not likely they had much more medical training than he did. Maybe more, since they were so isolated, but Aran doubted they would be able to deal effectively with a high spinal injury.

Aran gingerly felt the captain’s neck, while trying to not move it. He didn’t find anything alarming, which was a good first step, he supposed. Now to stabilize him. He rummaged around in the life pod’s supplies until he found a couple meter long boards. For splinting arms and legs, the boards could be trimmed down to size. Maybe a bit thin for what he needed, but it looked like the best he was going to get. The edges of the boards had regular gaps, for straps to tie the patient down. Good enough. Aran grabbed some rolls of bandages and went back out into the bridge with one of the boards. He loosened but didn’t remove Bennett’s straps, and slipped the board behind him, between his back and the seat. He threaded the ties through, and then paused, considering his next step.

Cap was looking pale. Could he be bleeding inside? Aran glanced at Wu. Was that what happened to Wu? There was some stuff in the med supplies that could stop bleeding, but he’d need to get an IV line set up first. Better get Cap in the pod and then worry about that.

Aran looped the highest tie around Cap’s forehead. Steadying his head with one hand, he gently and slowly pulled the bandage tight, bringing his head back to the board. To his relief, Cap started to breathe more easily almost immediately, with his neck and throat straightened out. Aran tied another bandage holding Bennett’s chin, and then rolled two small towels and stuffed them next to Cap’s head, beneath the ties. He unfastened the chair straps and lifted Cap out of the chair. Thank god that false gravity had been lost. Aran pulled Bennett across the bridge and through the hatch to the lifepod, and took him all the way to the rear, where the med slot was. Same as the others, but had most of the med supplies snext to it, and had a few things set in the wall next to it that would help Aran: blood pressure monitors, a shelf to hold an arm that had an IV in it, a place to hang IV fluid bags, a spot light for better lighting. He turned him up and around so he was vertical – well, not that it mattered which was was up anymore, but Aran would still think of the rooms in terms of up and down. Aran left Cap strapped to the board and secured him in place.

He still looked bad. Aran felt his pulse again and was not happy with it. After checking to make sure Thompson was still stable, he fumbled around until he found all the things he’d need to get an intravenous fluid line going for the captain. He pulled out the little shelf next to him, stretched the captain’s arm out, and tied off his arm with a tournequet. Now… he’d done this in training, but never on a real person. He tapped around on the back of Bennett’s hand until he imagined a vein. He flipped the spotlight on to help him look for it, but it didn’t help much. All he had to do was thread this catheter into the vein, then pull this stylet thing out, tape it in, then hook him up.

Aran was on the second hand and wondering which vein he could go to if he screwed up this one too. He finally got it, when he was about ready to scream in frustration, or cry. He hooked up some fluids, wrapped the bag in a pressure cuff, and after consulting the little cheat sheet of instructions written on the pressure cuff, set the drip rate. He found the coagulant, and carefully calculated a dose for that and injected it into the fluid bag. There you go, Cap, he thought. Don’t stroke out on on it. He tried to pull up medical emergency information on the pod’s comm, but could only get basic functions out of it, no medical info. The pod comm was just as screwed up as the main. He rummaged through the medications he had available, checking each to see if it might be of any use witih Cap’s condition. He added two more, for shock and for brain injury, and then decided he had done as much as he could for the moment.

Thompson’s turn. Aran decided to strap him down to the second board, mostly because it made it easier to get him across the bridge. He hooked him up to fluids as well, gave him the same medications. There was only one set of equipment for monitoring, so Aran hooked Cap up.

His face itched. He rubbed it absently, and felt dried blood flake off. That’s right, oh yeah. He’d been hurt too. Not nearly as bad, but still… His head still throbbed, and once in a while his vision had doubled or gotten spotty. If he moved too fast, he had been tending to get dizzy or faint. He couldn’t be that bad off, though. No broken bones, just bruises. Just shook up a bit, that’s all. That horrible nausea hadn’t come back, that was something, right? He’d be okay, he had kept telling himself, whenever the thought came up. But now that he had finished caring for Cap and Tommy, he stopped to take inventory on himself, and he didn’t much like what he found. Pulse rate much higher than earlier, even after he’d been resting for a few minutes. Dizziness wasn’t going away this time. That relentless headache. What were those torture devices they used to use? Lined with spikes? Iron maiden, that was it. His skull felt like it had turned into a particularly viscious iron maiden – and someone kept trying to bang the damned thing closed, in a constant sharp throb.

He didn’t want to bother with himself. Maybe a little rest, and he’d be okay. But Cap and Tommy were depending on him, so he’d better make sure that piece of equipment called “Aran’ wasn’t shutting down. He ran the same tests that he’d run on the other two. Blood pressure, low normal. He let the nanolab take a sample of blood from a finger, but didn’t know how to interpret the stream of data that came back. This was low, that was high. None of it looked as bad as Cap or Tommy, but still… About the only thing he pulled out of it was that he had gotten pretty anemic. He prodded his abdomen, wondering if he was bleeding inside, wondering how he’d ever be able to tell. Nothing was sharply painful, just achy. Well, maybe he’d better do something about it before he fell on his face. Okay, he wouldn’t fall on his face, no grav, right? Maybe he’d just float off and smash his damned head in like Shaw.

Aran dimly realized he was losing control of his thoughts. He tried to focus. Okay, Doc, what are you going to do for this patient? Internal bleeding, maybe a bit shocky, and had his bell rung pretty good? Why, get the man on some fluids, nurse, pronto, shove some of that oxywhatever in there, and a little Stroke-Out, along with a little peyote, coyote.

Aran grimly half-hummed, half sang to himself, softly, peyote, coyote, peyote, coyote, as he got supplies to hook himself up to fluids. His own vein stood up a bit better than the others had, and he got the catheter in, somehow, on the third try, all the while humming and singing in a whisper, but adding in a quiet curse as new lyrics, or even verses, every now and then. He clumsily taped the catheter in, one-handed, hooked up the fluids, and started the flow. “Cheers,” he muttered. Then, “Ah, a fine vintage… shit, couldn’t be bothered to warm that up, could you?” He methodically administered the medications he had given Cap and Tommy, though he lowered his dose.

He eased himself into one of the slots and leaned his head back. He closed his eyes. Just a little rest. Let the fluids soak in, get his O2 capacity back up a little, and hope that straightened out his mind. He knew now that he had taken care of the crew’s wounds, he needed to figure out the extent of the Martelle’s. Figure that out, make sure she wasn’t bleeding, make sure she had all her ABCs, one two threes. But he was so tired, and it felt so good to just stop moving…

Chapter Four


Aran cried when he woke up. His bruises, his battered body, had stiffened up as he slept, and he was in such miserable pain when he woke and first moved that he wept, hating himself for weakness, not caring in his pain. His fluid bag was done, and he capped his catheter off but left it taped in. For what? I don’t know, just in case. He managed to make his way over to Cap and Thompson. They were unchanged, and their fluids were gone too. He got them each set up with another bag, and then searched until he found some pain medication. He stared at the labels, trying to figure out his dose. What if Cap and Tommy woke up; they’d need some of this, surely? Should he not use it, save it for them? For the pills, there wasn’t that much; he suspected someone had been sneaking a few. There didn’t seem to be that much of the injectable either, though the vials that were there weren’t breached. He stared at his hand, at his catheter. Heck, why not. Why the hell not. He decided to go with a low dose. Maybe that would be enough to just take the edge off. He’d save the rest for the other two. Make sure it’s not too much, Aran, don’t want to get all dopey and stupid. “Yes, because I’ve just been the exact opposite of dopey and stupid, haven’t I?” he muttered. He injected the low dose, and was disappointed when it didn’t work instantly, though he had known it wouldn’t.

As he moved around, his muscles loosened up a little, and he realized he was overall doing better. Not as dizzy or faint, at least. After he assured himself again that Cap and Tommy were doing as well as could be expected, he went out into the bridge again, intending to start working on evaluating the status of the ship, maybe trying to get communications up and going.

Except Shaw and Wu were still there. Aran knew he’d better do something with them. Couldn’t really give them a ‘burial at space’, and disembark their bodies to the outside of the ship, since the nearest hatch to the exterior was halfway down the ship, behind the door that wouldn’t open. Technically he could seal them in the other life pod and then launch that pod, but he’d rather not lose that pod. He puzzled over it for a bit, then decided to place them in the other life pod, then seal the pod. First thing he’d have to do was get all the supplies out of that other pod that he might need.

It took a couple hours, moving all the supplies. There was plenty of water, at least; the pods were well stocked with that. Some food, some of that crappy packaged stuff that could last til the universe ended. He tried to eat, knowing he was famished, but could only force down a little. Over and over, he gave thanks that gravity had failed. He would not have had the strength or determination to move all the supplies without them all being weightless.

Some of the goods he stored in the first pod; most of it he fastened to the walls of the bridge, as out of the way as he could, restrained by nets and cords. At last he was done. He rested, considering what to do with the bodies. There were thermal blankets in the pod, plenty to go around. He’d wrap them in blankets before he moved them. He couldn’t bear the thought of having to look at Shaw.

Of course, he couldn’t wrap Shaw in the blanket without getting him unstrapped from his chair. Aran briefly considered leaving Shaw in the chair and putting the whole mess in the pod, but the chair was too big to fit through the door. Aran finally took the blanket and laid it over Shaw’s head, his hands shaking as he unstrapped him. He wrapped him more carefully, and then pulled him over to the pod and pushed him in. He didn’t need to cover Wu as he unstrapped him, but avoided looking at his face. It didn’t even look like Wu anymore, and those eyes were still open, but clouded now. He pushed Wu in the pod after Shaw.

He reached to close the door, seal the pod, but hesitated. Shouldn’t he say a word or two, or something? This was as close to a burial these guys were going to get, probably. He stared at the blanket wrapped shapes. Just meat, really. Not Wu and Shaw anymore. Inconvenient meat that was going to rot and stink up the place, make them all sick, unless he closed the door and forgot them.

Burials aren’t for the dead, he reminded himself. He could almost hear his aunt saying it, the time he had tried to refuse to go to the funeral of one of his father’s friends. Yes, Aran, we know you think the dead don’t care about it. Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. But funerals aren’t for the dead, Aran, they’re for the living, they’re for remembering, they’re for settling down your grief, or if you don’t have the decency to have any, then they’re for helping others to settle it down. “So get your ass out here and you’d better be looking sharp, mister,” he whispered.

“Okay then,” he said softly. “We’re uh… gathered here today to remember Peter Shaw and Wu Xiao.” He stopped, feeling awkward. This is stupid. I barely knew these guys. “Rest in peace, Peter and Wu.” Never called him Peter. Always called him Shaw. “You were good men, both of you, even if you talked too damn much, Shaw.” Aran paused. He was making this pointless; it didn’t have to be. He glanced over at the comm, remembering how much work he had ahead, how much he had to hold himself together. Had to hold it together for Cap and Thompson, for himself, even though their chances were all maybe pretty slim for getting out of this alive. That thought only brushed his mind; he shooed it off before it could land. Do something, idiot. Say something, just make it quick.

“Look, guys,” he continued, barely whispering, his eyes closed. “I’m sorry you died. I’ll miss you both, you were both good to me. Peter, at least you were still willing to try and talk to me long after everyone else gave up, and though a lot of times you bugged the shit out of me, sometimes it was good to have your company, and I’ll miss that. I wish I’d talked back more, even if it was just to tell you your damned Hornets didn’t stand a chance in the playoffs if they kept Kerkiski on as shooter. I nearly did, you know, but figured you’d find out on your own. I guess now you won’t.” Or maybe he’ll know, though Aran thought it seemed a bit silly to think someone would care about a sports team after they were dead. “Well, I hope you’re able to move on from madball, Shaw, and if not, well then I hope your Hornets win the Cup.”

Aran was silent, trying to think of what to say about Wu. “Wu, I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you better, though that was my own fault. I guess… when I first met you, you seemed so cool, kind of distant, like all the worlds were beneath you, not because you were arrogant or anything, but because you’d just moved beyond caring about it. Confidence, I guess, is what I saw, just a real comfortable confidence in everything you did. I always admired it, always wished I had a bit of that. And then at the same time you could whip off some comment that would make everyone laugh, catch us all off guard because you’d sound so serious. How did Cap put it? ‘Wu’s gone and smacked me upside my funny again, when I wasn’t looking…’ I’ll miss that.” Aran paused. “I’ll miss you. I’ll miss you both.” He sighed, and the sigh ended a bit on the shaky side. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes still closed. “I’m sorry I can’t give you a better burial, or funeral, guys, but you understand how it is, okay?” Aran struggled to find something else to say, or a better way to say it, but nothing came to him. He knew what he had said wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough to settle his grief, but then he’d better not admit that, or he’d collapse in a useless heap, get nothing done, and get the rest of them killed. He took a deep breath, let it go, and opened his eyes. Without looking at the blanket wrapped bodies of Wu and Shaw again, he closed the door to the life pod, and sealed it.

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