The Flight
04 Oct 2020Kodeyne
Tristan stared at Ophelia's ashen face, his mind racing and warding off the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. Rose was distraught, tears pouring from her real eye and sobbing her daughter's name quietly.It wasn't supposed to be like this, he thought bitterly. You were supposed to have a long and prosperous life as a pilot, whilst I looked on with something like paternal pride. Shit, you even called me Dad a couple of weeks back. I can't father children, so that meant more than you can know. You shouldn't be passing away in some grubby storeroom, in a pool of your own blood...
Blood...
Blood!
He had seen a few of her medical details when he signed up to the distance mentoring scheme. If he remembered right...
Trying to stay calm, he tapped at the medipack's screen. What's your blood type, Ophelia?
As the answer came up, he clenched a fist and muttered, "Yes!"
Rose looked up sharply. "Tris?"
He took a deep breath. "We've got a chance. She's the same blood type as me..."
"A transfusion?"
"Sort of. Rose, for the next few minutes, please do what I ask and don't start objecting." She stared at him, and nodded. Tristan worked quickly, opening panels on the medipack.
Every RemLok had sockets on the forearm, by the inner elbow, to allow the administration of drugs, or as now, to allow emergency blood transfer. He connected a clear tube from his arm to Ophelia's suit - then did the same for the other arm. Tapped at the screen and then held his finger down as it bleeped in objection.
"Override, dammit!" he growled.
Red fluid began to flow from him to her...and from her to him. Rose watched as he gasped and went very pale. Grunted as he carefully got his feet under him and slowly lifted Ophelia in his arms. "Grab that, would you?" Nodding at the dropped fighting knife. Rose picked it up and shoved it into her flight suit.
"We...need to get her to a hospital... " he rasped, "but a specific one..." He half-staggered out of the door, with Rose trying her best to support them both.
"Where?"
"Dvorsi...Fowler... "
They progressed back to the docking ring as best they could. Before they had gone a few hundred yards, half-a-dozen Federal Security Service officers came pounding down the corridor towards them. For a moment, they were surrounded but Rose spoke, putting her most authoritative voice on.
"Two attackers down, back that way. Another is still at large, armed. We have to get to our ship!"
As the majority of the police headed for the crime scene, one remained to escort them. "Shouldn't you get her to the infirmary?" he queried, in between shouting at the increasing crowds to get out of the way.
"She has to go somewhere specific. Don't ask me why because I don't know!"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw people in the crowd pointing and aiming phone and datapad cameras at them. Fucking ghouls, she thought. If they weren't in a hurry, she might have taken a little time to chastise them.
Finally, they were on the boarding ramp of Razor's Edge, with the escorting policeman still there, looking uncertain. “Commander, I can’t really let you just run off like this! A crime has been committed…”
“No shit!” she shouted back as the ramp lift hauled the three pilots up into the ship, “that’s my daughter and she is going to die if we don’t get a move on, and you will get toasted by the downblast when we lift, so get off the fucking pad! We’re going to Dvorsi. I’m sure one of you can find us there…”
The officer gaped, but but recovered his wits. Nodded at her and then made a beeline for the hanger exit. Once aboard, Rose manoeuvred the interlinked Tristan and Ophelia to one of the co-pilot seats on the bridge and used the emergency harness to secure them both. She checked the medipack; there was no obvious change on the readout, but that was better than it getting worse. Tristan’s head lolled. Ophelia was still limp but her breathing was regular now.
“Will you tell me exactly what the hell is going on at some point, Tris?” she said, scowling at him. He opened his eyes and managed a weak smile. “Later...but it’s not just the blood, it’s what’s in my blood….”
The policeman who had escorted them had not been idle. As soon as she requested launch permission, it was granted, with all other traffic halted. Despite the situation, she grinned as she gunned the Krait out of the docking bay, engines roaring, and brought it round in a tight arc to line up for the jump.
“I see why you like this ship!” she called over her shoulder. Tristan winked at her. Razor’s Edge vibrated as the FSD charged; Rose slammed the throttle to max and witch-space swallowed them.
Fowler Orbital, Dvorsi, was not too far into the system, mercifully. She hurtled towards the station, then brought the ship to a halt, reaching for the comms panel. “Rose.” Tristan’s voice was getting fainter. “When you ask...to dock...tell them…” he coughed and spoke a little louder. “Medical emergency, code CC/TRX-320E…” She nodded and opened comms.
“deLacy Tango Romeo India, you are cleared to dock but the emergency code you gave is not valid at this facility...”
“WHAT?” Rose shrieked into the mic, “I’ve got people fucking dying in here!”
The traffic controller sounded startled by her outburst, but continued. “The code is associated with the Dvorsi Empire Assembly, who are no longer in charge of Fowler Orbital. Head to Chernykh Ring, Commander.” Rose recovered her wits. “Thank you, Control. And if you’ve got any decency, you’ll forward that code to them right away. Please!”
“We will do so, Commander. Good luck.”
It wasn’t that great a distance, relatively speaking, between the worlds of Dvorsi A2 and A3, but the tedious haul out of one gravity well seemed to stretch out forever. Rose was almost sick with tension; she kept talking to Tristan, but he no longer responded. Then the wait was over and they dropped out with a bang at Chernykh Ring. Faced with an identical Coriolis station to one they had just left, Rose had a horrible vision of being turned away again…
“Tango Romeo India, emergency docking procedure has been initiated. Once landed, please enter the hangar immediately; a medical team is en route.”
The next few minutes were a blur as Imperial medics in their grey-blue uniforms, hurried aboard and carefully got Ophelia and Tristan onto a double gurney, rode the ramp lift down and vanished from the hangar. Rose found herself at the foot of the ramp, alone and disorientated.
“What about me!” she yelled to the chilly air.
“Er...Commander…” She spun to find one of the medics still there, a young man with tawny skin and black hair under his uniform cap. His voice had the Imperial accent, but was gentle and concerned. “...are you, um, associated with the causalities?” Rose fought down the urge to scream at him and got herself under control.
“Yes. My daughter. My partner.” He nodded, and politely took her arm.
“I’ll take you to where they are.”
Through corridors and lift rides, finally to an unremarkable-looking building a little way from the main business district of the station. Inside, it was undoubtedly a hospital, but there was something odd about it that she couldn’t put her finger on. The kindly medic escorted her to an otherwise deserted waiting room. A basic settee with cushions, some chairs, a low table with a jug of water and a beaker. “Please, make yourself at home. Well, you know what I mean. I will let you know the situation as soon as is possible.” Rose thanked him, gulped a glassful of water and laid down on the couch. Exhausted from the stress, she was asleep a few minutes.
Just over a hundred light years away, aboard Adelman Station, Cubeo system…
At the local branch of the Aisling Duval Humane Shelter, a place for anyone who needed sanctuary from anything for a while, a woman with thick, raven-black curly locks slowly sat down in the break room, her shift nearly over. There was no fixed pattern for the staff here; they turned up and could be cleaning, cooking or counselling.
Alison Keenan sipped from a mug of tea and turned on the wallscreen, idly flicking through the various news channels. Gossip, political scandal, war….the usual. She ended up on the BrightStar station, which tended to be a bit too sensationalist for her liking, but she valued it because they reported from across the bubble without any local prejudice. She sighed as she selected their Federation news feed. It felt so long since she had arrived here: although she had settled into a routine, there was still that little niggling bit of homesickness.
Her ears pricked up as the next news item came on.
“Police baffled over attack on woman on Mars High, Sol system! The victim, not yet identified, appeared to have been badly beaten and shot. Rather than being taken to the station hospital, two pilots insisted on taking her off-station...there follows amateur footage. Some viewers may find it disturbing.”
Alison stared at the screen. Over the heads of a crowd, a man in Federal Security Service uniform was clearing a path for -
A tall woman, copper-haired, who looked more than a little upset. She was supporting a man, wearing a flight suit like her, crewcut hair and greying beard. He staggered as they moved, under his burden of a slender female figure in a black RemLok, head bobbing -
The mug of tea clattered to the floor as Alison pawed at the screen controls. Winding the footage back, zooming in on the face of the person being carried. The quality was not good, a little blurred with distance and movement, but it was enough to show the dark blonde hair swinging loosely, a pale face with skinprinted patterns…
Several of her colleagues came rushing in, alarmed, as Alison slammed her fists against the display and let out a horrified scream.
“OPHELIA!”