Too Far

“Do you hear me, Captain? You did good. Hang on—we’re coming.” I had the presence of mind to let off the transmit button, but I couldn’t manage to cradle the handheld. The image that formed of Allison bleeding out in the corridor wouldn’t subside, either.

Stratford had moved closer, expecting a whispered report. I knew he and Allison had history, but she and I did, too. She’d cut her teeth under my command – I’d watched her from the start as she learned what it was to be an officer.

“Sir?” Stratford asked after his patience elapsed.

“ETA to Ticonderoga, Mr. Slidel?” I asked finally.

“23 minutes.” The helm officer’s answer came quickly enough to make it obvious he’d anticipated the question.

“You’re at max thrust?”

“72 percent, sir.”

“Is that all you can get out of your panel?”

“Yes sir. The engines are safetied.” Slidel said.

I picked the handheld back up and pushed the toggle for engineering. The second long wait felt like an hour.

“Engineering.”

“This is Admiral West. Take the locks off of the mains.”

“That’s not recommended,” the voice I couldn’t place predictably reported.

“Neither is countermanding an admiral, son. Throw the switches, now.”

“Yes sir.” The engineer’s voice didn’t exude the confidence I was looking for as I cradled the handheld again. 

I looked forward, as if I should be able to see a ship a few thousand miles away. “Watch your panel, Slidel. Put your foot in it as soon as she has more to give.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Captain?” Stratford asked gently.

“It sounds like Allison’s been shot,” I said bluntly. “There’s no one left to patch her up.”

“Helm now answers 109 percent thrust, sir,” Slidel interrupted.

“Very well, helm.”  I looked at Stratford. “Draft a security force and clear that ship, Stratford. I’ll get us linked up.”

“Aye sir,” Stratford’s eyes burned with a predatory fire I’d seldom encountered.

“ETA to Ticonderoga, helm?”

“Thirteen minutes, Captain.”

I took what I hoped would be a calming breath. “My friend’s bleeding out on the floor over there, Slidel. I need you to nail this rendezvous. Seconds count.”

“You’ll have my best, Captain.”

Any attempt I might have made to reassure him was interrupted by Stratford and his squad of operators passing through to assemble at the docking port on top of the con structure

“Where do you think she is, Admiral?” Stratford asked.

I knew that he’d take off after her if I told him I figured she was on the hab deck, between command and medical. “Your job is to secure the ship, Mr. Stratford. Start on the hab deck and fan out from there. I’ll see to Allison.”

The predator behind his eyes growled. “Yes sir.”

“On your way.” I said, turning to the handheld again. I keyed the 1MC. “This is Admiral West. I need a trauma team to the dorsal airlock in five minutes. Rig for a gunshot wound.”

The minutes ticked by slowly enough to allow me time to go through everything I was aware of that had contributed to our present circumstance. I’d walked on the edge a time or two, but nothing in my career or wildest dreams would have led me to believe I’d one day find myself aboard a spaceship hurtling toward another trying to save a life.

“Captain?”

“Yes, Mr. Slidel?”

“I’ve been in the simulator since this jumped off. I can shave 23 seconds off if you’ll authorize aggressive maneuvering.”

“How aggressive?”

“Anything not tied down’s going for a ride.”

I shook my head. “It’s not worth banging people up for that time, but I appreciate your diligence. Standard approach only, Mr. Slidel.”

“Yes sir.”

“Trauma team one, reporting as ordered,” the first of three medics said from the back of the con. All three had backpacks, while one carried a folding stretcher and a red plastic case labeled basic life support.

“Once you get onboard the ship, there will be a stairwell very near the docking latch. Go up one level to the habitation deck. Your patient is female and will likely be in the central corridor, I believe more or less forward. Probable gunshot wound.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“I’ll be behind you as soon as docking is complete. The operators have orders to sweep the ship for hostiles. They’ll stay out of your way.”

“Yes sir.” The man acknowledged his team. “Let’s go.”

I ran through the glitch list as I watched the medics move off to stage for the entry and realized I needed to man the mag grapple controls. The interface was simple, as the system only needed to be pre-charged, and then activated once the targeting reticle lined up. From there, a system of enormously powerful electromagnets pulled the ships together in the proper alignment for final docking.

“Call it out, Mr. Slidel,” I said as the reticle visibly zoomed out, looking for its target. An orange square appeared around the crosshairs that were always present on the display, indicating the system had found the target and confirmed we were closing on it, but still at extreme range. Had I started the system sooner, it might have been red. Eventually, I should see it turn yellow and then green as we closed.

“Thirty seconds, Captain.”

As if on cue, the block did, in fact, turn yellow. I stabbed at the com panel and triggered the 1MC. “All hands, brace for contact.”

“Fifteen seconds,” Slidel updated.

A bit disturbing to watch, my display twisted and zoomed as it continued to refine its focus on Ticonderoga’s mag grapple receiver. The square around the crosshair started blinking alternatively in yellow and green.

“Ten seconds,” Slidel announced. Under his breath, he added, “I got this.”

I counted down the last five seconds in my head as the square and crosshair turned bright green. The switch made a satisfying click as I engaged the system. “Mag grapple has it from here. Slidel, you have the bridge.”