Chapter 17
"Commander," the out-of-breath ensign said. "I'm sorry, sir. I can't find Lieutenant Kinson anywhere, sir."
Connor grunted and moved to the nearest computer console and typed in a command that would instruct the computer to locate Cheryl. The computer should have been able to easily locate the last known location for the lieutenant. But it read that her present location was simply: UNKNOWN.
That, in itself, was alarming. Similar queries showed the exact present location of all other senior officers. Rather than upset the captain for what was likely to be a simple goose chase, he opted to go and find her himself. He decided to start with the brig. If she was there, he was going to tie her to the nearest wall and verbally paint her with a flamethrower. He valued her loyalty and ingenuity, but not disobedience to his direct orders.
Captain Cantrell walked over to Connor.
"Commander, please commence an electrical fire drill on Deck Eight, in the water delivery pump room, please. Instruct the men that the pumps have been disabled and that there is standing water."
The captain wore a small chronometer affixed above his right breast pocket, which he gently tapped to begin timing the drill. Connor knew he should report Cheryl's absence, but he also knew that he should be the one to discipline her. If the captain discovered that she had disobeyed his express orders, he would take it out on them both. He had worked too hard to keep his reputation as a valuable XO to let anything tarnish it. Connor wrenched his attention back to the present.
"Aye, sir," he said and issued the necessary orders. The captain walked around the compartment as he monitored the progress of the drill.
Somewhere down on Deck Eight, men were scurrying about to report and then attempt to contain the electrical fire. Electrical fires were tricky business because they couldn't be combated effectively using the normal fire suppression systems. The source had to first be neutralized. And standing water made the exercise much more fearsome, so the damage control team had to exercise caution.
Connor found the ensign manning the bridge engineering console.
"Ensign, call up the pump room schematics," he said calmly. He stole a glance at Cantrell, who was pacing and monitoring his timepiece.
"Got it, sir," Ensign Carter reported, her face intent on finding the proper circuit.
"Bridge, DAM-CON Four," came the voice from the communication bay. "We show the pump room is powered from Circuit Fourteen Alpha. Can you confirm?"
Ensign Carter confirmed the proper circuit and relayed the information to the damage control party. Moments later, they cut power to the water pumps that supplied fresh water to all parts forward of amidships on the port side. Moments later, the damage control officer reported the fire contained.
"Fire under control on Deck Eight, captain," Leary responded.
Cantrell looked at his chrono and raised his eyes to give Leary a look of disapproval. "Entirely too slow," he said.
The captain reset his chrono and walked to the helm station, where he spoke quietly to the helmsman. He then said calmly, "Commander Leary, initiate a direct torpedo hit on Deck Eight, near the storage compartments. Please simulate loss of hull integrity and evacuate Decks Seven and Eight."
Connor moved to comply as the captain returned to his command chair and quietly ordered the ship put into a hard port spin. Without the normal warning of the command being given and acknowledged, the rest of the bridge team was busy initiating the drill. The gravitational compensators surged momentarily as the ship pivoted hard on its axis. The bridge lighting flickered for a brief moment, and Connor and the other bridge personnel, not expecting the maneuver, fell to the deck as the ship's artificial gravity struggled to catch up with the sharp change in acceleration.
Everyone reached for something to hold onto as the ship's gravitation normalized. Connor cursed himself silently for not expecting the move and reached up to wipe a smear of blood from his cheek, where he had hit the console too hard during the ship's turn.
"Everyone alright?" Connor called, getting to his feet. Bridge personnel confirmed that they were shaken but not seriously injured.
"Come on, people, move it!" he shouted as they scrambled to their feet and put a livelier step into their work. After confirming that medical services were not immediately necessary, he began barking orders, adding his own irritation to emphasize that they needed to move faster. Cantrell casually sat in his command chair as he studied his bridge team.
"Damage report," Cantrell said calmly.
Connor read the list of simulated damage to the captain and began to send teams to the affected area for atmosphere containment and personnel evacuation.
"Helmsman, begin evasive maneuvers. Pattern Beta Four," the captain said. As the helmsman complied, the ship once again went into an erratic series of turns to simulate the motion during battle.
"Battle stations," Connor called out. As the alarms began to sound across the ship, at least he knew everyone would be at their action stations and better prepared for the wild ride they were experiencing. The communications officer began to announce over the "all-hands" channel that this was a battle stations drill.
Although there was a certain amount of confusion, the crew had drilled this way before. During battle stations, every member of the crew would be prepared for the worst and would be working directly with their department heads. Those officers tuned into the bridge, and order quickly resumed as each section reported readiness.
As the section heads reported in, the science section was conspicuous in that its senior officer had not mustered.
"Captain, Lieutenant Kinson has not reported in."
Cantrell picked up a copy of the roster and quietly studied it.
"List her as missing and have search and rescue dispatched."
Connor acknowledged the order and passed on the command to the SAR teams already working on evacuating decks seven and eight. It was highly unusual for an officer to fail to report when at general action quarters, and Connor began to become concerned.
"Captain, should we terminate the drill to find Kinson?" He tried to keep his voice level so as not to betray his concern. It was possible that she could have been more severely injured during the ship's unexpected maneuvering. Connor looked at the damage control monitor to verify that there was no actual damage. All of the damage systems on the monitor showed that they were simulated damage only.
"No, Commander. She should find it convenient to be at her station or face the consequences."
Cantrell raised a hand to forestall the rebuttal of this executive officer.
"But in the event she is actually injured or missing, it is an excellent opportunity to allow the rescue teams to drill for missing crew," Cantrell said, not looking up from the roster. Anticipating Connor's objection, he looked up and added, "I want them to look just as hard as if this were an actual emergency. They'll section off the damaged area and begin their sweep. If she's not located there, they will expand their search until she's found."
Connor felt as if his head would explode. He wanted to scream at the captain, but he dared not. He understood what the captain was saying, but it didn't add up that Cheryl should not have reported in. Something felt wrong, and he knew the simulated damage in the hallways would slow down the search team.
As part of the torpedo damage simulation he and the engineering team had devised, half of the damage control teams were tasked with setting up smoke generators and "debris" to give the repair and search teams a more realistic "damage" environment. Lights were turned off in various compartments that were supposed to be vented into space, and crates and certain other debris were "stacked" obtrusively in the hallways and near hatches. But Connor knew that these efforts would also slow the teams looking for actual missing personnel.
"Sir, I understand that, but I feel that the simulated environments will slow the crews--"
"That's no excuse, Commander. The crews need to learn to find personnel under a variety of conditions. Continue the drill."
* * *
Cheryl woke to a very uncomfortable feeling, her arms pulled tightly behind her back, and she couldn't feel her hands. She squirmed, trying to move to get a better position to free herself, but found that she was cramped into a fetal position in a small, dark space. The air was stale and smelled of machine oil. She grunted with the effort to free her hands but realized she didn't know if she was upside down or right side up. Zero-gravity disorientation added to her anxiety, especially in such a confined space. She called out for Tracy, but received no answer.
Immediately, Cheryl's anxiety began to escalate. Despite her physical fitness and combat training, she struggled with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), which often manifested in a need for strict order and routine. While her military lifestyle provided some structure, it also created challenges and distance in her personal relationships. The murder aboard the starship and her inability to investigate it intensified her OCD symptoms, making it difficult for her to stay focused in chaotic and unpredictable situations. She had to regain control of her thoughts.
Taking deep breaths, Cheryl tried to recall her recent whereabouts. She had been in the brig, then fusion bay one with Trevor working on the plasma jacket. But Trevor never showed up, and now she was trapped in this crate. She tapped the corners of the crate with her foot, confirming her surroundings. Her hands were tightly bound, indicating her captor knew she would struggle to escape. Remaining calm was crucial to conserve her oxygen supply, but her mind fought against her.
After counting and focusing on her breathing, Cheryl managed to regain clarity. The disorientation persisted, leaving her uncertain about her orientation. It could mean the ship's gravity field had failed or that she was outside the ship. The latter thought threatened to push her into panic. Being confined in a crate was one thing, but being adrift in space with her hands bound was an entirely different nightmare.
Her heart raced as she fought down her fear. She found solace in the fact that she could still breathe, indicating the crate had a good seal even after being opened. However, she couldn't see any light leaking in through gaps in the crate, suggesting she was using up her available oxygen.
Suddenly, the crate accelerated and collided with a hard surface, possibly a wall. The impact was so jarring that Cheryl nearly blacked out. For a brief moment, she thought she heard the ship's battle-stations klaxons sounding, adding another layer of urgency to her predicament.
* * *
The drill continued for another half hour, but Captain Cantrell decided it was marginally successful and ordered its termination. Connor made sure the damage control team prioritized the search for Cheryl and even initiated an extra-vehicular sweep in case she had ended up outside the ship. However, the level one search yielded no results, intensifying Connor's frustration. He wanted Cantrell to invest more effort into the search, but he knew the captain would wait for him to exhaust all options before taking control. Time was running out, and Connor could feel the pressure mounting.
While heading to the brig to investigate Tyrell's involvement, Connor crossed paths with damage control team six, led by Lieutenant Hanson. Trevor updated him on their progress, mentioning a possible seal issue in cargo bay one, which housed the Byrozium. Worried about losing the valuable cargo, Connor urged Trevor to be vigilant and informed him about Alpha platoon's presence in the bay. Despite the minor setback, Trevor assured him that the situation would be resolved within a few hours, as nothing in the bay required an air supply. Connor refocused his attention on finding Cheryl.
Curiosity consumed him as he wondered why Cheryl had disappeared. The brig duty officer mentioned she was last seen talking to Tyrell, so Connor decided to pay him a visit. As he entered the elevator, ready to descend to deck seven, the wall comm. unit chimed. Corporal Matthews informed him of Dr. Picoult's extreme agitation and her urgent request to speak with him. Sensing the urgency, Connor told Matthews to put her on the line.
Dr. Picoult was clearly distressed, claiming another murder was happening. Her fragmented description and panicked state raised concerns for Cheryl's safety. Without waiting for the elevator doors to open, Connor rushed to the nearest service ladder, descending rapidly to the next deck. He then hurried to deck five, where Dr. Picoult's stateroom was located.
Upon rounding the corner, Connor noticed the marine sergeant's discomfort from the conversation he had witnessed. He gestured for the sergeant to open the stateroom door. As the door swung open, Candice stood before him with a wild, frantic look in her eyes. She seemed to be in a state of shock, her appearance disheveled from crying.
Instructing the corporal to call for a medic, Connor guided Candice to the couch, attempting to soothe her. Tears stained her cheeks, and her hair and makeup were in disarray. He held her gently, trying to provide comfort in this distressing moment. Despite his typically less sensitive demeanor, he drew from Trevor's example in dealing with upset girlfriends. He wished Trevor were there with him.
Encouraging Candice to share what had happened, Connor listened attentively. She described witnessing a woman being hurt with a sharp object in a surreal scene, with floating bodies and blood. The mention of space-like floating and searchlights intrigued him, but it didn't narrow down the identity of the woman.
The marine returned with two doctors, taking over Candice's care and administering a sedative to calm her. As they tended to her, Corporal Matthews approached Connor, accompanied by Corporal Tagg. They informed him that Dr. Doval was missing from her stateroom. The cabin had been locked, but somehow, she had escaped without closing the door.
Now faced with two missing women, Connor feltthe pressure intensify. He instructed Matthews to alert the search and rescueteams to be on the lookout for Dr. Doval, who would stand out due to hercivilian attire. He also ordered an intruder alert and ensured Tyrell Sandersremained confined. Connor emphasized the importance of finding Dr. Doval and ensuringshe remained in her cabin this time, standing close to Corporal Tagg as hedelivered his directive.