Jeopardy Chap 4

“Any answer to our hails?” Jackson asked, arriving on the bridge still in daily working wardrobe. The chronometer showed 19:08.

“Nothing yet, Captain, but they are close enough now we can get a visual,” Watson said.

“Do it.”

The officer called up a three-dimensional image on the flat monitor. The four bridge officers turned to see what their telescopic camera had captured one hundred thousand kilometers aft. A smooth, golden, cuboid vessel, maybe 200 meters long and 70 meters wide. At one end, a conical projection glowed enough to define it as the engine exhaust port; the ship wasn’t disabled as far as propulsion.

“That’s a beautiful craft,” Jackson said. “Anyone see any external damage?” Watson magnified the picture.

“No, Captain, no external scorching, missing hull sections, broken viewports…it’s uncompromised.”

“But no response to hails?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you confirmed our com system is operating properly? Pings, systems, routine signals?”

“Aye, sir!”

“So, they’re unable or unwilling. If they sent a distress call I’m going with unable,” Jackson said.

“Twelve minutes, sir,” Lee offered.

“Very well. Mr. Lee, slow to ISS speed. They want to have a look at us, we’ll let them. Mr. Watson, take as many sensor readings as you’re able and let’s be gone in 90 seconds. Not a second more, then take us full ahead as fast as safely possible, Mr. Lee.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Jackson kept his eyes glued to the monitor. As the ship fired braking rockets, he minded the gold cube as it closed intimately on their stern.

“Mr. Lee, mark. Ninety seconds.”

The cube slowed and stopped one kilometers from the Maria Mitchell.

“We’re being scanned, Captain,” Mr. Rougeau announced.

“We have them right where they want us. Let them look.”

“Sir?”

“Time from my mark?

“Forty-eight seconds.”

“Steady, Mr. Lee. Stand by.”

“Aye, Captain, standing by.”

But for the normal hum of the bridge, the chirps, beeps, and blips of the computers announcing their status’, the silence made Jackson’s skin shiver, from his skull to his coccyx. He licked his dry lips and moved towards his center chair.

“Eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven, eighty-eight,” Rougeau counted.

FWHAAAM! The Maria Mitchell lurched forward, hit from behind, knocking Jackson back into the nadir and the other crew into their dashboards.

“What the hell was that?!” Jackson shouted.

“The alien ship, Captain! It’s a tow line. They’ve got us!”

“Mr. Lee, get us out of here.”

“I can’t, sir, they’re reversing their thrust, and they’re stronger than we are.”

“Dammit, I don’t have time for this kind of stonewalling!

“Alien vessel,” a primitive, robotic voice rang through the communication system on the bridge.

“All stop, Mr. Lee. Watson?”

“The com channel is hot.”

“Who is this? What right do you have to hold my ship?” Jackson snarled.

“We signaled distress and need help.”

“I’m on an emergency, urgent mission. I do not have time to stop and assist. Now release my ship!”

“We need medicine supplies.”

“You won’t get it holding us hostage. Release my ship and we’ll talk.” Jackson spit the words at the unidentified captors. He stood before his chair, a goat on the side of a mountain cliff, surefooted, determined, and unyielding.

“We can trade for medicine supplies?”

“Release my ship!”

A pregnant pause was followed by a lurch of Maria Mitchell, and she was free of the tow line.

“Damage reports, all stations,” he directed at the com station.

“Your vessel is free. What can we trade for medicine supplies? Deuterium, tritium, hydrogen, iridium, textiles, oxynitride? We ample supplies.” The robotic voice rubbed Jackson the wrong way, like scratching fingernails on a slate board.

“Who am I speaking with?” he asked.

“I have Commander Gugnichacrik.”

“I am Captain Thomas Jackson. What medical provisions do you require?”

“What materials will you need?”

“We don’t need any goods. You stopped us. What do you need?”

“You need come on our ship.”

“Damage reports, Captain,” Watson interrupted, handing him a small data pad.

Hull Damage, ventral stern

Propulsion Damage, fusion chamber discharged

“Stand by, Gugnichacrik,” Jackson said calmly, his adrenaline rush subsiding, from a freight train to an old fashioned electric streetcar. With one hand he sliced at his neck in Watson’s line of sight, and the man shut the ship to ship com.

“Engineering, this is the Jackson.”

“Yes, sir, we’ve got our hands full right now.” He recognized Kym Byrd’s voice.

“What’s the repair time for our propulsion and that hull damage?”

“Well, sir, we’ll have to manufacture some slip coating for the hull and seal a few breaches. Quixote is setting up the fusion chamber to start a new reaction. Maybe 12 hours?”

That was 12 hours they didn’t have to spare.

“What do we have to get moving?”

“Thrusters only, Captain.”

“Double down on personnel, we have to get out of here as soon as humanly possible.”

“Aye, sir, I’ll pass the word.”

Jackson’s brain fizzed up a solution. They were dead in the water anyway. He gestured for Watson to reopen the com.

“Commander Gugnichacrik, if you can articulate your requirements we can bring a supply to your ship.” It was several seconds before a reply returned.

“You must come aboard to make inventory and request trade.” Jackson glanced at the bridge crew in turns.

“You can’t go over there, Captain. It’s crazy,” Lee said.

“I’m not letting them come over here. Can you get a fix on their environment at all? Life support?” Rougeau shifted to the far end of his console and looked directly at a display to activate the data. Most controls were click buttons to ensure a tactile confirmation of an order, but less critical systems still operated with sight signals.

“It appears to be humid, nitrogen and oxygen, minimal gravity, probably point five, or six.”

“Captain Thomas Jackson what your response?”

“My doctor and I will come shortly to help assess your needs.” Jackson turned to Mr. Watson. “Ask Adams and Quixote to join me in the shuttle bay.”

“One doc and one engineer, we’re in business,” Jackson said, walking into the shuttle bay where his small boarding party had gathered. “Ready?”

“Can you ever be ready for this?” Adams said, stepping into an environmental suit one leg after the other. Jackson stopped in his tracks and focused on the two point three meter reptile in front of him.

“Quixote, would you like to be excused from the landing squad?” Jackson pasted an apology on his face when the reptile held up its ungainly protective suit. It appeared to Jackson that Quixote was contemplating the best approach to climbing into the quadratic-limbed garment.

“Sir?”

“I forget about this situation for you,” he said, waving his hand at Quixote’s EVS tangled on the deck.

“You forget, Captain?”

“I don’t think of you as a dinosaur, just a member of the crew. I can have Wagner or Bowen take your place.”

“I believe I should be insulted, but I’m happy to stay aboard, Captain.” Jackson looked hard at the orange eyes under olive, scaled brows.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking. Report back to engineering. Get those fusion chambers roaring and put someone on EVA to repair the hull.” Quixote dragged his suit to the cabinet and stashed it before leaving the humans alone in the shuttle bay.

“He is your XO, Jack,” the doctor reminded him. "He should be on board anyway."

“I was thinking that having a non-human with the party would be helpful in breaching any gaps, but you’re right.”

“Jack, you spend too much energy trying to be textbook.”

“I’d agree with you, except I just called Qee down, then dismissed xe for being a saurian and not a human.”

“Really? I just thought you forgot you promoted him to XO,” Adams said, hefting the body cover onto his shoulder before pulling the front up where it could be fastened to a helmet. “Xe’s always been a reptilian but only been an XO for a couple days. If you really want an alien along, why don’t you ask Rianya?”

Jackson looked up sharply. Take his wife to an alien ship and a likely dangerous situation? Adams’ eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief, accusation, and reality. Adams was right. Jackson needed to look at himself a little with perhaps a little less judgement. 

“She’s not un-human enough,” he muttered, punching the intercom. “Sergeant Wagner, report to the launch bay,” he said. "Wonder what kind of medical supplies they’re talking about? Bandages or narcotics?”

“Who knows what kind of life forms are on that ship. They could be aquatic, microscopic, mastodons, telepaths…”

“Intelligent life forms that are space faring,” Jackson said. He checked the rear panel connections of Adam’s suit.

“Any clue at all?” Adams asked.

“Sentient, corporeal, intelligent, and dangerous.”

Sergeant Wagner rushed in.

“Reporting as ordered, sir.”

“Issue two side arms, get your EV suit and join us on the Osprey, Sergeant.”

Jackson always enjoyed an opportunity to pilot the shuttle crafts. Those little rocket engines could fly at Mach 20 for several hours or survey an average planet in just 90 minutes. The computer did most of the work, but Jackson coveted the cool, metallic controls quivering under his own hands. Within Earth’s atmosphere, he rarely got to fly any faster than Mach 3, which was, well, never damn fast enough.

Ahead one kilometer, a gold-plated prism hung in space, ostensibly by skyhooks, growing larger as they approached. The exhaust port glowed orange, and the distress signal continued to broadcast despite their advance.

“That’s one big box,” Wagner uttered. “What’s illuminating it?”

“That F star; it might be 10 AU's from here but it’s so much bigger and brighter than Sol.”

The long, gold-plated cuboid soon was just a flat golden plane in the window as they closed in. It reminded Jackson of a skyscraper that fell over and floated away like a Mylar balloon.

“Is that a docking port?” Jackson wondered aloud. They crept in at just 100 kph, slowing, maneuvering to get a complete picture of the mystery. “Where’s the bridge?”

“There, Captain, at the opposite end from the engine?” Wagner pointed out a small square projection about the size of a large house. It didn’t have any windows, but nothing else looked promising. A few other assorted projections, all square or rectangular but for the single black cone on the aft end, dotted the surface area.

“No grace,” Adams said.

“No need in a vacuum,” Jackson said. They each jockeyed for a better view through the small window of the Osprey. Without being belted against the seats Adams and Wagner, braced against the bulkheads, bobbed gently on each side of the captain.

“It’ll be nice when we can get those grav-mags to work while the engines are running.”

“That’s no fun,” Adams said. “It looks more like a big probe, or a telescope.”

“Why do you say that?”

“No windows, no hatches, just energy cells all over and an engine.”

Jackson glanced to his other side where Wagner hovered.

“It looks like an unmanned vehicle, like maybe it was launched from one of the planets and floated away, like the JPL Voyagers in the early 21^st century.”

“It’s awfully large to be just a probe.”

“Large is relative, Jack. To a microbe, humans are large.” The captain gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes, regretting his neglect to use precise words in Adams’ presence; the doc loved to point out Jackson’s imprecision whenever possible.

“You got me there. Look, that’s an access hatch!” Jackson altered their trajectory and drifted toward an oval bump the way a computerized cargo container would approach a space station in orbit: constantly changing coordinates of two moving objects in a vacuum. “This is a helluva lot harder than putting a plane on a ship.”

“Your target is much larger, sir,” Wagner said.

“More like refueling at Mach 2,” Jackson muttered, his eyes fixated on the hatch, his hands on the thrusters, his fingers knowing exactly what to touch and when, the way a pianist reads the music without ever watching her hands fly over the keys.

“Mr. Wagner, stand by on that switch,” he ordered, pointing to a red toggle. “On my mark, reverse thrust…Mark,” he said calmly. The craft slowed to a snail pace of five kph. Jackson could clearly see the access hatch. He gently snuggled the Osprey up against the portal and engaged the electromagnets to hold her in place. He toggled a few more switches.

“Excellent flying, Captain,” Wagner said. Jackson pretended not to hear the compliment, powered down, and unbuckled his harness. As the energy priority switched from propulsion to minimal gravity, the other two found themselves slowly sinking to the floor.

“I like to keep in touch with the dashboard now and then,” he finally explained. “Airlock is sealed.”

“Do we just knock on the door?”

“That’s the general idea, Doc.” Jackson looked around and spotted a toolbox. Inside, a heavy wrench was the object of choice. He banged on the hatch a couple of times and set it down. “Lasers at ready.”

Wagner and Jackson placed their hands on their respective side arms and waited. Jackson wasn’t sure if his body was excited or terrified the way it quavered, involuntarily, down deep, where the others couldn’t see. A small bead of sweat trickled from his forehead and almost into his ear.

“I don’t hear anything,” Wagner said.

“Neither do I,” the doctor added. Jackson reached for the tool when metallic clicks and clacks of bolts and magnetic grips echoed from the other side of the door.