Rescue
We’d just arrived in the Proxima system, in response to an urgent distress call. We weren’t the only ones: our sensors showed over two dozen ships of roughly our size, although most of them were proper search-and-rescue support vessels, rather than our Frankenship salvage-cum-rescue amalgamation. A research station in orbit around Proxima IV had apparently experienced a major power plant failure, sending the station into a decaying orbit, causing it to break up in the planet’s upper atmosphere. The crew had gotten distress signals off before popping out in their escape pods, and any ship within distance had been quickly contracted to locate the survivors before their air supplies ran out.
“Medic is aboard,” I said. “We’re in a stable orbit, so I’ll go meet him.”
“I’ll go with you,” First Officer Smith said. We’d worked with this medic before, and I recalled he and Smith getting along fairly well.
“I guess I have the bridge,” Captain Ryan said.
“Yeah, we’re going down anyway,” Smith replied. She and I ducked into the lift at the rear of the bridge, and clambered into the spacious salvage bay. Starfleet had already provided us with a modular medical unit, which we’d anchored into our salvage bay. It could accommodate up to a dozen survivors, making us a valuable medical base. A couple of full-size Starfleet medical ships were en route, but we’d provide an important first responder base.
“Actually, Captain,” I said over our intercom, “you might as well prep the skiff. The Troll can keep herself in place on autopilot, and they’ll probably have a sector assignment for you pretty soon.”
“Ah, right! Some action!” he replied. “I’ll head right down.” The skiff bolted onto the bottom of the Troll, which we did not ever call Little Troll within the Captain’s hearing, was a fully equipped search and rescue vehicle. It even had better life-sign detectors than the main ship, something which occasionally caused me to grind my molars.
Smith and I pushed over to the medical unit. The salvage bay itself didn’t have artificial gravity engaged, and instead used pressor/tractor beam arrays to hold the medical unit steady. The medical unit had its own gravity, so we could at least look somewhat dignified–and upright–when we met the medic. He was already outfitted in a blue Icelandic Troll coverall, since he was technically under contract to us for the mission.
“Adam!” Smith said, walking over with her arms spread. She gave him a big hug, and then somehow flipped him onto the deck.
“That never gets old,” he muttered, standing back up. “Good to see you as well,” he added, somehow throwing her onto the deck. They’d done this last time, too; I found it immensely confusing and has probably repressed the memory.
“Good to see you’re still practicing,” Smith said.
“You too,” he said, grinning. Whatever.
“We’ve been asked to expect survivors within the hour,” I said. “Starbase 18 is prepared for us to bring them in once you’ve stabilized them, assuming we fill up before the Pasteur arrives.”
“I’ve got an assignment!” Ryan’s voice came across the intercom. “Detaching and en route.” We heard the clunk of Little Troll releasing its docking clamps from the hull.
“Buzz will make it a contest to bring back as many as he can,” Smith said.
“Well, I suppose I’ll finish getting ready,” Adam said.
“I’ll give you a hand. Don, you should probably head back up to the bridge and coordinate incoming traffic.”
“Okeydokey,” I said. Those two weren’t exactly googly-eyed, but if you knew what to look for in Smith’s face, she was certainly interested. I wondered if there’d be more judo throws. I left the medical unit, pushed off into zero-gee, and made my way back up to the bridge. I took my seat at the main console, keyed up The Mummy (not any of the good ones; the Tom Cruise one), and toggled the intercom to Little Troll. “How’s it going down there?”
“This atmosphere is like the inside of a toilet bowl after a long night of drinking,” Ryan said.
“Ew,” I offered.
“Yeah. I’m homing in on a beacon right now. Stats look okay, but grappling this thing up is going to be a bitch.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know when you’re incoming.”
“Wilco.”
I watched the movie for a bit, and then decided even I wasn’t that dedicated. I pulled up War of the Worlds instead. After maybe ten minutes of that, Ryan checked back in. “Hey, I was able to grab two pods,” he said. “So I’m at full capacity and en route. How’s the medic?”
“He’s fine,” I said. “Shandra’s down there helping him out.”
“I think he’s hot on him,” Ryan said.
“No,” I said, quite sarcastically.
“Well, let them know I’m on my way.”
“Will do. Hey, keep an eye open–it looks like we’ve got two other S&R ships inbound with pods as well. You may have to wait in line.”
“I’ve already got three more beacons assigned to me,” he said. “Can’t you let me in first?”
I thought about it. “Everybody is probably in a hurry to get back,” I said. “What if you drop the pods just ahead of the salvage bay? The med-unit can lock down atmosphere, I can pop the bay, and drag the pods in with the tractors. That lets everybody just dump and run.”
“Works for me,” Ryan said.
“Medical unit,” I said, toggling the intercom. “We’ve got four to six pods inbound. Communications indicates that none are critical.” I told them the rest of the plan.
“Sounds fine,” Adam replied. “I’ve got the unit locked down for vacuum, and we’ve got light EVA suits in here if we need them.”
“Shouldn’t,” I said. I was tapping out instructions to the incoming ships, who quickly acknowledged. One was already off our bow and was dropping his escape pod cargo. “Pulling atmosphere now.” The Troll stored its salvage bay atmosphere in compression containers, and it only took a few seconds to pull all the air out of the bay. “Opening salvage bay doors.”
Clunk.
“Um.”
Clunk.
“Hey, Shan,” I said, “the doors are stuck again.”
“You’re shitting me,” she replied.
“I am not. Last time I had to shut down the tractor net to get them to work, but the med unit is going to drift if I do that now,” I said.
“Can you fix it?”
“No, you guys never showed me how all those stupid interlocks work, and we don’t have an engineer on board right now, in case you’d forgotten. And you guys are stuck in there.”
“One second,” Adam’s voice came. I could hear Smith and he muttering. “I think I can probably fix it. Can you re-pressurize the bay?”
“First, no, because the door sequence is initiated. It won’t let me flood the bay,” I said. “Second, aren’t you a medic?”
“I studied engineering before medicine,” he said. “But I won’t have time to get a red jumpsuit. Is that okay?”
Smartass. I’d been the one to insist he wear Troll livery while aboard, and I’d had to really scrounge to find a set of blue coveralls. I ignored the jibe. “Use the upper aft hatch,” I said instead, “that’ll take you right into the engineering area.”
“Roger. Getting into an EVA suit now. Hey, Shan, can you give me a hand? These things are–” his voice cut off as he struggled into the EVA suit.
“Hey, you’ve got like eight pods out here, plus my two,” Ryan’s voice came across the intercom. “What’s with the plan?”
“Thank you for visiting,” I said in a monotone voice. “Please deposit your cargo and continue with your day. We appreciate your business.”
“Everything okay?”
“We got it. Go rescue more pod people.”
Clunk. The bay doors started to swing open. Finally. “Thanks, Adam,” I said. “I’ll bring these pods in and depressurize so you guys can work in more comfort.” I’m a master at the tractor beams; it took less than five minutes to rope the ten pods into the bay, another minute to close the doors, and another couple of minutes to repressurize. “You’re good to go, guys.”
“On it,” Smith’s voice came. The bay cameras showed them floating over to each pod, checking its readouts, and opening them. Of the ten people, only one was unconscious, and Adam and Smith worked together to float her into the medical unit. Once they’d sealed off the unit, I depressurized the bay, opened the door, and grabbed the last two pods Buzz had brought in. I moved the empties to the side of the bay for later disposition. Within a couple of hours, Buzz had re-docked Little Troll and joined me on the bridge.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You guys need to let me rewire that stupid bay door system so that I understand it,” I grumbled.
“Guys, I’m heading back up,” Smith’s voice came over the intercom. “Adam thinks he’s got everyone stabilized. Is the Pasteur in-system, yet?”
I checked my console. “No, and she’s still a couple hours ETA. Does he want us to head to Starbase 18 instead?”
“Yeah,” she said. The intercom dropped as she entered the bridge. “He’s got a couple that are pretty serious.” She plopped down next to me at the main console.
“Okay,” I said, turning to look at her. “Do you want to plot the–” I stopped, staring at her chest.
“What?” she said.
“Why does your name patch say ‘Stevenson?’” I asked.
“That’s Adam’s last name,” she answered.
“Why are you wearing Adam’s coveralls?” Ryan asked.
“I’m not, these are mine. His are blue, and wouldn’t fit me,” she said. “You want me to plot the course?” she asked, turning to her controls.
“Why do your coveralls say ‘Stevenson?’” I asked.
“We got married while you were maneuvering the pods into the bay,” she answered.
The bridge was quiet.
“Course laid in. Ready to engage at warp 3,” she said.
Crickets. Only, you know, with no actual crickets. So, quiet.
“Ready to eng–”
“Yes, engage,” Ryan said. “That usually comes before marriage. You’re married?”
“We’d been discussing it for a while,” she shrugged. “Seemed like as good a time as any. And since he knows a lot of the engineering stuff, he can help out even if we’re not on a medical mission. Although he wants a red jumpsuit, too. Plus, as much as you get us into trouble, having a medic aboard wouldn’t hurt.”
“Wait, you hired him, too?” Ryan said in a high-pitched voice.
“Seemed faster,” she replied. I was still staring at her in shock. She turned and met my eyes. “What?”
“I can’t believe you didn’t let me help plan the reception,” I said. I turned back to my console, hit “play” on War of the Worlds, engaged our warp drive, and pointedly ignored everyone.