We All Died at Breakaway Station (14 page)

At least they died quickly, he told himself as he reached them, stopped and peered down at them; they had been roasted alive almost instantly. They probably hadn’t felt a thing.

He saw no clothing and wondered if it had all been burned away, but then, he thought, the parts of their bodies that were turned away from the blast‌—‌that woman’s back‌—‌was virtually unburnt, yet there was no sign of cloth or even fragments there. They must have all been naked then, he thought, slightly puzzled, and then remembered that it was the custom of Tribalists to meditate in the nude, and they must have all come from the meditation hall.

It was then that he noticed the couple, locked in sexual embrace, and somehow he found something very poetic and something very horrible in their having died that way, and then he found that he could look at them no longer, and he turned back toward the ship.

As he walked through the dust back toward the patrol ship, moving slowly under the growing weight of the spacesuit, he wondered again why he had come to see the bodies, and he wondered if he had seen what he wanted to see, and he still didn’t know. Perhaps he never would.

It was little more than a standard day later that Absolom Bracer stood on the starship’s bridge with his first officer and Weapons Control Officer Akin Darbi, a whole-looking young man whose stomach and intestines had been replaced by plastic tubes and metallic pumps, whose guts had been burned away by a Jillie energy rifle during the bloody Carstairs Skirmish.

“Drone released,” a voice said from the loudspeaker of the weapons supervision board. “Random sub-light flight.”

“Very good,” Darbi acknowledged.

Bracer watched the tiny blip that moved across one of the weapons screens, the screen that indicated the view from energy cannon turret four. The bright point of light moved against the great backdrop of blackness and stars, the whole depths of a universe immense beyond perceiving, yet what showed up to the eyes and minds of all the men was that tiny blip. Now it was just a self-propelled target. What might it be tomorrow?

Looking away from the moving blip, Bracer saw the stars again, and incongruously thought, a lot of men, not just Mr. Cumberland, the chaplain, but a lot of others, talked about seeing God out there. He himself had been thinking about God lately, if you could put as neat a label as that on whatever he was thinking about.
God
was as good a name as any, he supposed, though whatever it was, it wasn’t something he had found in the stars, and he never expected that he would. Bracer couldn’t really understand why it was that men seemed to think that
God
lived out there any more than
He
lived, well, on Earth or Adrianopolis or anywhere else. He supposed that it was the incomprehensible vastness of space that gave them that feeling, for you
could
take in the Grand Canyon of the Colorado on Earth or the Trailor Falls of Nortlan on Adrianopolis with your eyes; you can’t the universe. But when he thought about it, when he really stopped and considered this thing he had come to call God, he knew that men never found it outside of themselves, as much as they might like to think they did. If there did exist in this universe peace‌—‌for that was what Bracer equated with
God
‌—‌it was only inside yourself that you could find it Not by looking out and away.

Maybe that isn’t much of a philosophy, he told himself, but it’s better than nothing. And peace within himself is perhaps the most valuable thing a man can have. Absolom Bracer desperately needed that peace now.

“Turret four, report!” Akin Darbi was saying, pushing a button on the weapons board.

“Turret four reporting, sir,” came a puzzled voice.

“Simulated combat drill,” Darbi snapped to the weapons crewman who must have been surprised at the sudden interruption. “Enemy in your sector. Take him!”

The target drone picked up speed, began a wavering course. A yellow line appeared on the screen, indicating that the energy cannon of turret four had been fired. It missed the target drone by a good kilometer according to the screen’s changing grids. A light flashed from the drone: simulated return fire, aimed directly at the turret.

“Turret four,” Darbi said angrily, “you missed. The Jillies have just…”

“Captain Bracer!”

He turned and looked at the communications man who had called his name. “Breakaway Station says that there’s a message coming in for you from Earth, sir.”

“Put it on my console.”

“It’s a ’gram, sir,” the comm man said. “It’s on the printout now.”

Bracer activated the power treads of his body cylinder, rolled across the bridge toward the communications position, indicating that First Officer Maxel follow him.

Now what? he wondered. The official orders assigning the ships to temporary duty at Breakaway Station had already come in. What more did Earth have to say to him that had to come in
printed?
When it was on paper, in God-alone-knew-how-many copies, then it was really official.

“Here you are, sir,” the communications duty man said, handing Bracer the sheet of paper that rolled out of the obsolete printout unit.

After quickly scanning the date, code numbers and official salutation, Bracer found these words: “Pursuant to the directive of the Colonial Defense Coordination Headquarters, Geneva, Earth, under the authority of the General Staff of the Armed Forces of the Galean League, dated 12/7/84 std., assigning the League starships
Iwo Jima,
TU-819, heavy battle cruiser,
Pharsalus
, TU-1005, heavy battle cruiser, and
Rudoph Cragstone,
RG-32, first-class hospital ship, to temporary duty in the Breakaway Station Sector…” etc. And a little farther down: “…the following promotions: Captain Absolom G. W. Bracer, GAM 0193851847, promoted to Rear Admiral, placed in command of temporary Breakaway Station Defense Force, consisting of the above mentioned… Commander Daniel F. Maxel, Jr., GAM 0229039127, currently First Officer, LSS
Iwo Jima
, promoted to Captain, placed in command of LSS
Iwo Jima
…” “…Lieutenant Commander Cling R. Reddick, GAM 0229719021, currently Second Officer, LSS
Iwo Jima,
promoted to Commander, assigned as First Officer…”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Bracer said despite himself.

“Congratulations,
admiral,”
Maxel said, a broad grin breaking across his face.

“Congratulations, yourself,
captain
.”

“No, that ain’t the right thing to do either,” the young man was saying loudly, though what he was referring to was unclear to Sheila Brandt. She hadn’t been paying much attention.

Today she had a few hours longer than usual off duty, and had already slept all that she could. Len was on duty somewhere on the surface, and she hadn’t been able to find Dea, so she had come to the canteen alone, ordered a beer, and seated herself off in a quiet booth against the wall farthest from the door, and she sat there, just sat there doing nothing, thinking about nothing. Still, despite her sleep, she was exhausted.

Twice she had brushed off men who had asked to sit down with her, but now she found herself wishing that she’d let one of them. She needed someone to talk to.

Then the young man had started yelling and she decided that she’d listen to him. That was better than nothing.

The speaker had risen to his feet now, glowering down at the others who sat at the table with him. “No, that ain’t the right thing to do at all.”

“Why not?” someone sitting at the table asked.

“A lot of reasons,” the young man said, pulling at his beer mug and then continuing. “But the main one is that they can’t fight.”

“Why not,” the man at the table asked again.

“Don’t tell me you ain’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

The young man smiled a twisted smile. “The crews of those ships, they’re all basket cases. Everyone of ’em’s shot up so bad they’re bein’ sent back to Earthside hospitals. That’s where they was goin’ when they stopped here.”

“I don’t believe it,” said the man seated at the table. “Buck,” the standing speaker yelled across to another table, “ain’t that so about them starships?”

“Yeah,” the one called Buck yelled back, “I heard Fuzzy Lasin telling the doc.”

“See!” the young man said in triumph. “Anyhow, that’s what I was gonna say. What they ought to do is pick
us
all up and take us back to Earth. We can’t do no good out here. There ain’t nothin’ gonna stop the Jillies if they decide to come back‌—‌and you know they will.”

Sheila found that she didn’t like what the young man was saying, and turned her attention back to her beer before her, lifting it to her lips, and discovering that she didn’t like the taste of the beer very much either.

She was just about to get up and go back to her sleeping quarters when she saw Dea Thayer elbowing her way across the canteen, followed by a man that Sheila didn’t recognize.

“Sheila,” Dea called. “Stay where you are.”

Sighing, and hoping that she’d find that company was what she really wanted, Sheila sat back down and waited for Dea and the man to reach the booth.

“Hi, She,” Dea said, slipping into the booth. “This is Tommy Decker; Sheila Brandt.”

“Hi, Sheila,” Decker said, setting two mugs of beer on the table and then sitting down, offering his hand to Sheila. She accepted it and shook it briefly. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, hoping that her words sounded more sincere than she felt.

“You got nice friends, Dee,” Decker said.

“Thank the man,” Dea said when Sheila remained silent. “That was supposed to be a compliment for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Sheila said hopelessly. “Thank you, Mr. Decker.”

“Tommy!” Decker said firmly.

“Tommy,” Sheila repeated.

“Tommy’s in missiles,” Dea said proudly. “Crew Captain of a battery.”

“Oh,” Sheila said, not really caring.

“Where’s Len?” Dea asked.

“Topside somewhere,” Sheila said. “His crew went up to see if they could recover any more conduit from Station Eight.”

“I doubt it,” Decker said. “Station Eight got a direct hit. Hot as hell up there still.”

“I know,” Sheila said sadly.

“Oh, sorry,” Decker said. “Don’t worry. His suit’ll keep him clean.”

“And fertile,” Dea said with a smile that was almost a leer.

Sheila half blushed, though she wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t ashamed of having sex and certainly wasn’t ashamed of having it with Len, but, well, she just didn’t like the way Dea talked about it sometimes. You know…

Tommy Decker seemed to like it though. He squeezed a little closer to Dea, put his arm around her shoulder, and then took a long drink of beer.

“Slow and easy,” Dea said, picking up her own beer.

“Slow and easy it is,” Decker said, smiling.

“Dea, is it true what they’re saying about those starships, the ones that got here title other day?”

“What’s that, She?”

“That they aren’t fit to fight. That they’re all hospital cases.”

“Yeah, it’s true,” Decker interjected. “One of them’s the old
Iwo,
got smashed up in the Salient, I think. They got her fixed up good enough to get to Earth, but not good enough to fight much.”

“How do you know?” Dea asked.

“Lieutenant told me,” Decker said. “Said they wouldn’t be much help if the Jillies came back. Why, their CO is Captain Bracer, the one that got shot up so bad a while back. He was dead, so the lieutenant says. Dead as a doornail and they brought him back to life to command these ships.”

“That’s not unusual,” Sheila said. “Revival, I mean.”

“The man’s mostly machine,” Decker said. “There wasn’t much of him left and they don’t have time for that sort of thing in the Paladine anymore. He’s too bad off to help anybody much, if you ask me.”

“Nobody asked you,” Dea said. Turning back to Sheila, she asked, “When’s Len get off? We could have a little party.”

“I‌—‌I don’t know,” Sheila said. “I don’t feel too well. I hope you’ll excuse me.” And without waiting for an answer, she rose and went back to her sleeping quarters. Perhaps it would help to cry, though for some reason she doubted it.

So they made me an admiral, Absolom Bracer said to himself as he rested in the darkness of his cabin, his back supported by the cylinder that maintained the biochemical processes of his life. I never figured I’d make it now. I thought that I’d go back to Earth, spend a year or so in a hospital, and then maybe be released, maybe go back to the war‌—‌but I never expected to make admiral. Not now.

You may never get back to Earth now,
admiral
, an unfriendly part of his mind said.

And I may, he told himself. It’s been well over three weeks since the Jillies initially attacked Breakaway. They
may not
come back. We may just sit here until the relief ships arrive from Earth, and then go on our way, none the worse for our stop‌—‌and as an admiral.

And the Jillies may come! There’s still a damned good chance of that,
admiral.

…roger… he thought.

…yes, cap‌—‌admiral…

…so you make mistakes sometimes too, roger?…

…yes sometimes, sir, i don’t claim to be perfect…

Bracer smiled to himself. …how do things look to you now, roger?…

…aboard ship, sir?…

…well, yes, that too…

…you want an honest answer, don’t you, sir?…

… yes, of course…

…i’m not pleased, sir…

…the performance of the men?…

…yes, they’re slow, terribly slow, they’re really in no condition to fight…

…i know that, roger, and i hope we don’t have to…

… what if we do, sir?…

…then we’ll do our best, that’s all. is there any way that you can help them?…

…some, yes, but neither i nor the mech computer are capable of watching everything, we aren’t capable of
fighting
this ship, that’s one of the reasons you have crewmen…

…i know that too…

…of course, sir, and please don’t misunderstand me. most of your crewmen are trying very hard, i believe that they’re doing their best, and perhaps, if we do have a showdown with the jillies, they will react even better…