The Anonymous Patient

The Naval Fleet Battle Cruiser ‘Keppler’ slid out of fold space not expecting to see anything this far out from the Orion Arm on a routine patrol.

“Unidentified metal just under half AU range,” the Petty Officer on Sensor Duty sang out.

“Making way, Sensors?” Rear Admiral Lindauer enquired.

“Aye, sir. Making 0.55C and accelerating smartly.”

“Launch two Scouts, No.1. Quick as you like.”

“Aye, Sir.” Lt. Commander Jeffries took the microphone from its holder and barked orders.

“Are we hailing, Comms?” Lindauer addressed Rodrigues on the Communications panel. He turned to sensors, “Length of target vessel?”

“All frequencies, aye, Sir,” Rodrigues responded quickly, “No response.”

“Short, Sir. No more than half a Klik,” Sensors spoke quickly then volunteered, “No identification yet, Sir.”

“Send position and sensor readings to Admiralty, please, Comms.”

“Aye, Sir.”

“Where are the Scouts, No.1?”

A soft bell tone sounded on the bridge speakers, “Sub-lieutenant Parkinson here. KS14. Evacuating port sponson dock.”

“Lieutenant Von der Pippe. KS 08. Clearing starboard sponson now.”

“08 out. Clear.”

A brief pause.

“14 out. Clear.”

Lindauer turned to Lieutenant Commander Chaponda, his No.1, “Short vessel so far out, No.1. Thoughts?”

“Such a vessel can enter fold much slower than most warships and freighters. I estimate that he will go into fold around 0.6C where we need nearly 0.8C. He will be limited for fuel load unless he is carrying small high value items. This suggests a smuggler. Possibly drugs for the mining colonies?

“The puzzle for me is that it is such a short vessel, we are a long way out. Where did it come from and where is it going? There is nothing here for...” he glanced at the screens, “several... seven... light years. This must be the extreme edge of its range.

Lindauer was about to say something but was interrupted by the speakers.

“Keppler, 08. Approaching target vessel now. Preparing for latch on hull. No recognisable features to identify target.”

“08, Keppler. Target vessel approaching 0.6C. Do not latch if there is a risk of going into fold. The additional mass and shift of centre of gravity will rip you both apart.”

“Aye, Keppler. We are...”

“Holy shit! Target jettisoned live person. Intercepting now. 14 out.”

No.1 hit the transmit button marginally before Lindauer, “14, Keppler. Person ejected is alive? Confirm?”

“Keppler, 14. Person is moving. We are aligning starboard dock now. AB Morgan is ready to close outer door and pressurise lock.”

“14, Keppler. Pressurise slowly. We are preparing Sick Bay for casualty,” Chaponda nodded to Comms who indicated that the line to Sick Bay was open.

“Sick Bay. Bridge, No.1 here. Prepare to receive decompressed individual. We are timing how long the patient has been decompressed.”

“Thank you, No.1. We shall be ready.”

“Keppler, 14. Pressurising now.”

“14, Keppler actual. Port sponson dock is open. Come straight in. Transport awaits casualty,” Lindauer keyed off.

“Aye, Sir. On approach now.”

“Keppler, 08. We are hard latched to Target vessel hull. They are giving no indication that they are aware of our pres...”

“Sensors? What happened?” Lindauer demanded.

“Gone, Sir. Went into foldspace.”

“Track them?”

“No, sir. Fold has gone.”

“Debris?”

“None detectable, Sir.”

“No.1?” Lindauer turned to Lt. Commander Chaponda.

Chaponda thought for a moment, “Either they have been reduced to the molecular level by the tumble into fold or they have successfully transited to the next fold point. We have no way of knowing where that will be. They could have gone a few light years or thirty,” he looked down at Sensors, “Do you have their course?”

“Aye, Sir. I do.”

“It is likely they have set course for their destination in the most fuel efficient route. Given that they are a small ship they will not have fuel for much in the way of diversion or sight-seeing,” Chaponda strolled over to the Navigation console, “Do you have the last known route of the target vessel from the sensor array?”

“I do, Sir,” Chief Petty Officer Rose Givens smiled up at him. Everyone except the Lieutenant Commander knew he was the most handsome man on the ship.

Chaponda was so immersed in his work and duties he was impervious to the thoughts of others, “What is the next stop on that route?” he put his hand on her shoulder to peer at her main screen.

Rose smiled some more, “Another star system indicated in eighty four light years, Sir. There is a magnetic anomaly sixty light years distant according to the latest charts. It is marked as navigationally insignificant but that was two years ago. Might be worth some caution, Sir.”

“Agreed,” he was about to say more but the speakers gave their soft bell tone, “Keppler, 14. We are docked. Transport has taken casualty to Sick Bay. AB Morgan applied CPR and patient is breathing but is distressed.”

“14, Keppler actual. Congratulations on an efficient pick up and well done to Morgan. You shall both be added to reports. Thank you. Actual out,” Lindauer keyed off then muttered to Chaponda, “One of us should go to Sick Bay. I believe the Chief Surgeon would like to see you more than I should care to see a recently decompressed individual?”

Chaponda chuckled, “Aye, Sir. Unless the victim, if I may make so bold as to use the term, tried to hold their breath they should be fine. Decompression was only for just over one minute courtesy of 14’s speedy recovery,” he turned and left the bridge.

Lindauer spoke to Rodrigues, “Sick Bay, please, Comms.”

“Aye, Sir. Go ahead.

“Caroline, Lindauer here. Any identification on the victim, as Chaponda calls him?”

“No, Sir,” the Chief Surgeon laughed, “Her. It’s a ‘her’. She’ll be fine. Nothing on her except a flimsy nightshift. All vitals now stable; she is weak but recovering.”

“Let me know when she can talk. In the meantime send DNA and description to Admiralty. Maybe she’s on a database somewhere. Chaponda is convinced they were smugglers; he’s on his way down to you now.”

“Right, Sir. Lt. Commander Chaponda has just arrived. Four kilometres in a few minutes? Must be urgent or am I really that pretty?” she laughed again.

“We are going into fold. Long one. Lash everything down,” Lindauer laughed knowing that Caroline was always nervous about going into fold. Nobody ever felt anything but everyone fancied they felt nausea or weak when it happened. Sick Bay would be flooded with patients very soon.

Down in the Sick Bay Chaponda spoke with Caroline NyaMhoni about the patient, “How could she possibly survive being in space? Surely she would freeze over instantly.”

“Where would the heat go?” Caroline asked him, “Maybe get a bit of freeze drying on the tongue but as long as she kept her eyes shut and breathed out she would be OK for a while. It takes about twelve to fourteen seconds for blood to get from the lungs to the brain depending on heart rate—twelve would be closer given the panic, and then the brain begins to de-oxygenate and shuts down. She would have lost all her air in a few seconds so she had just over three quarters of a minute to de-oxygenate. Not enough to cause permanent brain damage. She’ll be fine,” she smiled at Chaponda. He felt his knees go weak.

Chaponda put his hand to his mouth, coughed, “Has she spoken?”

“Not yet. She is still unconscious. It will take a while to recover. She has had quite a traumatic shock to her systems. It’s not every day that you fall out of a space ship.”

“Fall? Or pushed, I wonder,” No.1 mused, “Nobody volunteers to go for walkies without a survival suit. I wonder...” he broke off, looked around guiltily and stammered, “I must get back to the bridge.

Chaponda turned on his heel and strode out purposefully leaving a bemused Chief Surgeon in his wake.

“Have we heard from Lieutenant Von der Pippe, Sir?” Chaponda asked Lindauer on returning to the bridge.

Lindauer half-turned his head towards his No.1, “08 was one of four Scouts with no long range communications. They were not designed to go much father than the ship’s short-range sensor perimeter. We will not hear until we get within an AU of them,” he focused his attention back to the screens.

“Just been to the Sick Bay to see the patient, Sir. Pretty girl; Caroline thinks she’s no more than late teens,” Chaponda was quiet, thoughtful.

“You have a point to make, No.1?”

“Just a consideration, Sir. What if she is evidence? What if they are here, in this remote place, to jettison her?”

Lindauer slowly swiveled on his rope-soled heel, “But they ejected her alive. Common sense says they should kill her first.”

“Killing someone leaves evidence. There is nothing on this girl except a flimsy wrap. Not even bruises so she must have been handled very carefully. Perhaps she didn’t know she was going outside for a walk; perhaps they told her she was getting treatment for something. We will know nothing until she comes to and, even then, she may know very little,” Chaponda grimaced.

He clearly found this whole episode disturbing and distasteful. No.1 was a man of action and decision. Crimes committed against young girls, whatever the reason, was not something that sat easy with him.

A horn sounded.

The ship’s computer sang out over the speakers, “Entering fold in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... Now.”

“Sick Bay will be getting full now,” Lindauer smiled.

Comms spun her chair around to face the Captain, “Signal from Admiralty, Sir. Rear Admiral’s ears only.”

Lindauer put the headphones on, he listened carefully, sneered, took them off then spoke quietly to Rodrigues, “Send, in plain, ‘Recovering my crew and Scout. Do not understand part two of order. Make instruction clear.’ Thank you, Rodrigues.”

Chaponda’s eyebrows raised. Lindauer grunted, “Highly confidential matter that I shall not repeat. I shall muse to myself the possibilities; clearly we cannot break off pursuit of our vessel and, equally clearly, we cannot put the anonymous patient out of an airlock where she will be on a direct trajectory to a star unless the Chief Surgeon indicates that there is threat to the ship should the patient be punctured or continues to live in this environment.”

“I think I need to speak to Caroline again, Sir. Admiralty were, no doubt, adamant?”

Lindauer’s steel blue eyes met Chaponda’s in an unwavering stare. No.1 nodded and left the bridge.

“Bridge, Sick Bay. Respond?” Rodrigues shook her head. Nothing.

Lindauer made a decision, “Engineering? Bridge here. Commander Bertram?”

Silence.

“No.1? Lindauer. Speak to me, No.1.”

Nothing. He walked over to the systems engineer, “Are you able to isolate the bridge ventilation and life support systems from the rest of the ship?”

“Not completely, Sir. If we shut everything off we will only have enough oxygen, even including emergency oxygen, for around seventy-two hours. That should be enough time for rescue to reach us wherever we are.”

Sensors called out, “Approaching star system now. There is a planet orbiting Primary, I am getting power signals.”

“Incoming from 08, Sir,” Rodrigues spoke sharply.

“On speakers, Rodrigues, thank you.”

“Keppler, 08. Dump the floater. The ship I was hooked onto kept going, it is heading into the star. I think there’s nobody on board—alive, anyway. We are heading towards you now, getting short of O2.”

“Shear away, 08. This is Rodri...”

“Hello? Keppler? Keppler, we need you to slow down to rejoin. Keppler?”

Von der Pippe watched helplessly as a dark, twelve kilometre long Battle Cruiser slid past at almost 0.6C towards the star.

Neither of the two crew on the Scout saw the missile that hit them amidships just abaft the starboard beam.

All they saw was the bright, diamond hard points of light that was the Universe lit up for them before they slid gently into the arms of death where there were no lights at all.