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“Kate, Sam, can you hear me?!”
I tried my best not to sound desperate, painfully aware that every pair of eyes on the bridge was looking my way. The whole place was quieter than I had ever heard it, with only the distant hum of the ship’s reactor-heart and the crackle of dead static from the radio filling the air. That, and the muffled shriek of high-v gas shredding the outer hull.
It had been a one-in-a-million accident; a stray rock or some other debris hit one of the upper vanes mid-cycle, leaving us screaming along at three-quarters c, unable to dump velocity. In theory Kate was out there trying to fix the damage, and Sam with her. But it was going-on ten minutes since we’d last heard from either, longer than a hardsuit could hold against the hail of gas, and hope was running thin.
I’d already primed the vanes to pulse again, against the slim chance they’d actually done it. My hand hesitated over the control lever; there were more souls than just our engineers’ at risk, and as captain my duty was to save the most of them. If I was sure Kate and the kid weren’t coming back, then the only thing left to do was throw the switch and pray to whoever was listening that they’d managed to patch the vane before the hailstorm outside claimed them.
“That’s ten minutes,” Kristoph, my old first officer, called out. “There ain’t no chance they’re still out there.” As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I shook my head.
“Power up.” It wasn’t an easy order to give. The others slowly turned back to their stations, tearing their gazes from the comms readout. My hand closed on the power lever.
Before I could throw it a hideous screech of tortured metal sounded somewhere below, and for a moment I was sure I had waited too long, and the hull had given up. But then there was another, more familiar sound, one I’d learned over the years to hear even through two decks: the hiss and clunk of the aft lock slamming open. And then for a moment it was all quiet again.
“Damn it all!” The radio burst to life. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to hear Kate’s voice as I was then.
“What’s happening down there?” I demanded, half-forgetting myself in relief.
“The boy’s hurt bad,” Kate’s voice came back strong, no longer drowned in static now she was back out of the storm. “I need medical down here, now. But we got the bastard; the number three bar’s back up.”
“Understood,” was all I could think to say. I turned back to the power controls, throwing out an order for Heather to get down and help, and shoved the main lever home.
The entire command console lit up with warnings; the gauges and monitors flickered, power surging under the sudden strain. The whole ship shook, hull creaking in protest as the vanes cycled and we started bleeding velocity fast.
I watched the dial as it dipped, hands still on the lever, until finally the old ship came to a stop. It was over.
After all that, Kate and Sam both looked like hell, their hardsuits damn-near shredded. I ended up having the crew trash them both. It was a miracle those things had held pressure long enough for them to get back inside.
Kate was right about Sam; he’d dislocated an arm holding on and gotten a nasty concussion when he’d stumbled during the scramble back inside. But it wasn’t anything Heather and her team couldn’t handle, not nearly as bad as Kate made it out to be when she first got in.
I had Kate confined to the medbay for a few days as well, despite how much she swore she was needed in engineering. She was in no shape to work after that, and without the kid watching her I couldn’t trust her eyesight anymore.
So instead I scratched together a relief crew; every Merchanter knows the basics of maintaining their ship, and us Meachums are no exception. So we made do with what we had and limped on to Pell. Another jump on that battered vane was nerve-wracking, but we didn’t really have a choice.
It was after we’d all woken up from tranq, and I’d set the alterday crew to docking us, that Kate spoke to me again. She came up to my quarters unannounced, with the same fire as always. The moment I saw her standing in the doorway I expected another earful about how she would be taking back her place as engineer, her half-blindness be damned.
“We need to talk about that boy, captain,” she told me instead, frowning.
“What do you mean?” I couldn’t help asking. She sighed, shaking her head.
“You were right about him.” Now that gave me pause; I think, even to this day, that’s the closest Kate Meachum has ever come to admitting she was wrong about something. “I thought he was a fool,” she went on, “some good-for-nothing stationer kid who’d never make it as a spacer. But we both know he proved he’s a damn fine engineer.”
I couldn’t help teasing her. “So, you’re finally accepting him as your junior?”
“More ‘n that,” she grumbled, looking down. “That boy’s got the makings of a Meachum, I reckon. If he’s going to be sticking around, he should be part of the family.”
Now that gave me pause; for a moment I wasn’t sure what to say. I knew Sam had no family left to speak of, that ‘Jones’ definitely wasn’t his father’s name, and probably wasn’t his mother’s either. And I knew everyone else on my ship was part of my family, the Meachums, the best damn merchanters this side of Mariner.
So I decided there and then that Kate was right; the kid had more than earned the name and family. He had done more than I ever could have asked of him, that day, without being ordered, and it was only thanks to him that any of us were still here. I told Kate as much, and she just gave me a worn smile.
“Want me to break the news to ‘im, captain?”
“No.” I shook my head. “That’s my job. I want you back in engineering, effective immediately.” Her face lit up at that. “But no heavy work until Sam gets cleared for duties again, you hear me? We can’t afford to take any risks right now.” She grumbled as she left, but I could tell she was glad to get back to it.
I waited until she’d left, then made my own way to the elevators down below. With a couple of hours until we made it into port, and the alterday crew more than capable of bringing us in, I figured now was as good a time as any. So I headed down to the main crew quarters, one level below, and made my way to the cramped little bunk at the back we’d given the kid.
The door slid open with a hiss, revealing the spartan room. Unlike just about every other quarters, this one lacked the random personal clutter that spacers tended to acquire; either the kid hadn’t got round to decorating it, or, more likely looking back, he hadn’t realised he could.
He was sitting up on his bunk, his arm still in a sling and his gaze on the ceiling. There was something restless about him, I couldn’t help thinking, in the brief moment before he heard the door actuate and turned to see me standing there.
He didn’t say anything at the sight, just giving me a nod and the smallest of smiles. That was about the most I could ever expect from him, I’d learned; Sam always seemed averse to talking more than he had to.
“How are you holding up, kid?” I asked, trying to elicit a reaction.
“I’m fine, ma’am,” was all he replied. I stepped into the room, heading over to where he sat. He shifted a little as I approached, clearly uncertain. I guess he thought I was just there to press him back into service.
“It was a hell of a thing you did,” I told him, watching as he tensed up in surprise. “You went out in that storm without being ordered and saved all our skins. We all appreciate that.”
“I was just doing my duties, ma’am.” Of course, was ever the humble one.
“Pulling that thing at high-v was well outside your duty, kid,” I said. “I couldn’t have asked that of you, but you proved I wasn’t making a mistake taking you aboard. You’ve more than earned this berth, which is why I want to make you an offer.”
“Yes, ma’am?” He tried to hide the uncertain hope in his voice, but it was still obvious.
“You’ve no family left, right kid?” I softened my tone. He shook his head, gaze turning to the floor. “Well, how would you like to be part of ours?”
He still didn’t say anything, but I saw tears glistening in his eyes as he raised his gaze again. He rubbed at them in vain, even as water started running down his face, his expression somewhere between gratitude and disbelief. It was like I’d told him he could come aboard all over again, and in that moment I knew I’d made the right decision.
“Can you do that?” he asked quietly, forgetting himself. I couldn’t help smiling at that; I guess there was still some part of him used to the stationers’ way of doing these things.
“Course I can, kid,” I reassured him. “I’m captain; ain’t no law on these decks but the law I’ve made. All I need to do is say the word and you’re a Meachum.”
Out of everything, I wasn’t expecting him to hug me with his one good arm. But there it suddenly was, scrawny and thin around his captain’s back. He was near-sobbing, unable to keep all that emotion pent-up any longer. It reminded me just how young he really was, scarce fifteen, still a child at least by stationer standards. I couldn’t help reaching down to ruffle his hair a little.
“Hey, kid, save your thanks,” I ended up telling him gently. “This was old Kate’s idea.” You should’ve seen the look on his face at that.
In the end, we held a little ceremony at Pell. I suppose it would’ve been more appropriate to wait until our next stop at Viking, but that would have meant waiting until after all the hull repairs were done and I don’t think Kate or Sam could keep it secret from the rest of the crew that long. Hell, I nearly slipped up to Kristoph a couple of times.
So one evening I called back all the crew from shore leave and we all piled into a small spacers’ bar in the red zone, overlooking the ship at dock. As captain I took the head of the table, of course, but I made sure Sam was next to me and old Kate on his other side so he could read the menu for her. There was nobody else she would let do it, that I was sure of.
I waited until Kristoph and Duane came back from the bar with the first round of drinks. That was one of the advantages of Pell; Downbelow grain means fresh-brewed beer. Once all the glasses were set, I raised mine, and a hush fell over the table, all eyes turning to the captain.
“You all are the finest crew a Merchanter could ask for,” I began, getting a small round of cheers. “We’ve been through hell and back together, but I don’t think we’ve ever had it as dire as that one bad jump. We’re only sitting here now thanks to the actions of two of you, a pair who did far more than I could ever have asked, did a damn fine job of it, and nearly paid the price for it.”
There was another round of cheers. “I want to make mention of our junior engineer, in particular,” I went on, the crew hushing again at my words, “I know some of you had your misgivings about Sam when I brought him on at Viking. But he’s proven, through diligent work under Kate’s watchful eyes and heroism in our time of need, that he’s a hell of an engineer and as good a spacer as any of us.
“That’s a rare thing among born stationers; space is wide, and good friends like him are far too few. So today I want to announce that Sam isn’t just a member of the crew; in recognition of everything he’s done, he’s family too.”
There was a moment of silence; every crewmate’s eyes were either on me or the kid, and for a moment I worried I’d have to knock some sense into the more stubborn of them. But then Kristoph raised his glass, and bellowed out:
“Three cheers for Kate and Sam Meachum!” Not one of us hesitated to agree.