Commander Sarah Brighton felt her insides twist as she clutched the delta-winged shuttle's control yoke amid the smoky cabin, watching the partially obscured vista of stars in front of her view port lurch in a corkscrew display.

Over the hiss of escaping atmosphere, the soft hoot of a collision alarm filled the space around her crew. While Brighton struggled against the forces tugging at her body, in spite of the straps keeping her pressure-suit encased body in her seat, her Assistant Engineer struggled to affix the edges of the pressure patch over the shot-through armor-glass panel in the port view port.

"Tom!" the fair-haired pilot barked without looking, "Get that locked down and run the air-scrubbers...I can't see the readouts with all this smoke."

Tom Capson clung to the tether keeping him from bouncing around the cockpit, scrabbling beside himself against the engineering console to flip the desired toggle. In seconds the venting pumps vacuumed out the misty smoke, replacing it with clear, clean air. At exactly the same moment that the pressure patch finally closed the breach, Capson thumbed the pumps off.

"Done, Commander!" Capson scuttled back across the cabin, his lanky form partially hindered by his pressure suit and the swaying tethers he had to cling to. He also had to avoid the limp legs belonging to the former co-pilot of the ship, whose body was being seen to by the civilian ship's flight attendant. Shuddering a bit as he started thumbing buttons and controls, Capson slipped into his chair and strapped himself down, his eyes catching one of the readouts scrolled back out of a reddish glow into a friendlier apple green. "Internal Cabin Pressure restored, Captain!"

"Thanks," Brighton breathed, blinking her bright-blue eyes as the last of the smoke fell away from her view. The gesture was more of a reflex since her helmet was sealed, and having clear vision didn't ease her mind or the readings on her command board.

Brighton "Good, now give me a damage report!" She paused to glance at the younger woman who was staring with a pale face at the body on the command deck floor. "Rebecca, get… Bill out of here and go see to the passengers! This ride isn't over yet," she stated grimly.

"Aye, Ma'am!" Rebecca Rolland replied meekly, swallowing thickly before she reached out to drag the fresh corpse back towards the exit hatch. For such a small woman, she easily got the bulky form of her ex-crewmate through the portal and out of sight quickly, then she herself followed down behind it.

"This isn't good," Capson said as the hatch sealed tight. "We've got two more 'hits'... on or about amidships, underneath the main cabin and the other just behind in Section Eight."

Brighton blanched. "That's too close to vital systems. Horst! What's the status of the mains?"

Frederic Horst, the heavy-set Systems Technician, grunted from his chair abaft. "Not good," he reported, his gloveless, bronze-colored hands working to coax the crippled craft back onto her optimum settings. "We have little power registering through the Main Circuits, though the generators are still showing normal output."

Capson's brush-head brows knotted, his boyish features pinching into a rather uncomfortable arrangement. "That strike must have severed the main bus!" He paused, checking another display. "I'm showing a pressure loss in Section Eight...and some power flux readings as well."

Horst bobbed his shaven head, nearly cracking his forehead against the front dome of his helmet. "Ya, I can confirm that...Devil take it! A strike in there would have made a real mess of things!"

Capson winced, "No kidding...it's got to be deuced up good. Are the controls responding at all, Commander?"

Brighton's breath whistled through clenched teeth. Looking up, Brighton could see the sudden, spinning view of the globe as it panned into view with deceptive slowness. Uttering a mental expletive, she tried once more to wrestle the ship back into a more stable setting. "No good! Negative response," she grunted. This routine jaunt was turning into a nightmare; loss of power and control were two things no space-farer ever wanted to face - civilian or otherwise!

"I'm not showing any mechanical failure," Horst responded slowly, his eyes watching the readouts on his leader board.

"Can we run a bypass, Horst? We need power to get full control back. I'm not having much luck with this lead pig as it is!"

Horst muttered something under his breath as he turned to manipulate his controls. A moment later, he replied, "Damn it all, Captain, I can't bypass the Mains! The strike must have fused our Secondary circuit as well."

Capson grunted, "Great, now what!? Without control, we're gonna be history!"

Horst's quickly turned and snapped at the younger man, "Don't you think I don't know that !?"

"Well, fix it!" Capson groused, waving his hand towards the husky Swede as if that was the final solution.

"Gentlemen-!" Brighton tried to intervene, but the two men drowned her out with their panic-borne bickering.

"I can't fix the problem just like that, not without knowing what's broke! I'm not all-knowing, you know," Horst sniped.

"Geez," Capson's voice dripped with anxiety-laced sarcasm. "I though all sy-techs were one step removed from God!" Capson bristled.

"Cappy! Horst!!" Brighton warned, trying to stop the argument from growing worse.

"How was I supposed to know we'd be hit by three micro-meteors, all at once!!? I can't foresee the future," Horst growled, ignoring Brighton.

"You're the one that said this bucket could fly, not matter what happened to it!" Capson snarled, rising from his seat as he snapped a finger out to point at Horst's face. "I'm just telling you we need this fixed. Can you understand that, dumb-ass?" Horst shot out of his seat and went nose-to-nose with Capson in a flash. A few choice words of color fell from the big Swede's mouth, followed by some in a similar vein from Capson.

At that point, Brighton slapped the control yoke away from her and whirled around in her chair. "That's ENOUGH!!! Enough! We've got enough problems without you two going at it all hammer and tongs!"

Capson and Horst fell silent in an instant, turning to face the female officer with wide eyes. Mollified, they pulled apart from each other and returned to their seats. "But... what can we do? Without power to the controls, we're all dead ducks" Capson stated.

Brighton heaved a heavy sigh as she struggled to get her temper under control. "First, we stop panicking! All of us!" When she saw that her point had taken affect, she continued, "Then, we make sure we have the necessities: air, heat and power. Once we have those, then we work on getting this ship back on an even course. Agreed?" She locked stares with each man, her features going hard as steel, giving no quarter to either one.

"Ya."

"Right, Commander."

"Then give me what we need, gentlemen," Brighton prompted. "I'll see if I can gain some control back with the reaction jets…"

Several minutes later, the two crewmen had good and bad news to relay. "Our air supply is holding for now," Capson reported. "One strike hit the compartment where the oxygen is stored... Thank God it didn't hit any of the supply lines or the main tanks, but it came close!"

"How much breathable air is left, Cappy?" Brighton asked.

"Enough for seventy-two hours, split between the bridge and the passenger compartment. And that's if we monitor it closely, and run the scrubbers economically." he replied. "Otherwise, we're looking at much less."

"How much 'less' do you mean?"

Capson checked a tabulator pad strapped to his thigh, frowning. "About half that, at best."

"It's a start for now," Brighton offered. "Horst?"

"We still have plenty power to run Environmental Control," Horst added. "I put the bridge on our number-two auxiliary generator, so there's no problem getting heat for the moment."

"What about the rest of the ship?"

Horst jerked a hammer-handle of a thumb towards aft. "The main cabin has it's own independent generator, so our passengers are all cozy."

Brighton nodded, "Good. Now, what can we do to get power to the controls?"

Horst puffed out his cheeks in exasperation. "We don't have a drone to go down and fix this. I may have to try to repair the damage manually. A temporary patch might do the trick, but it won't restore full power all at once." He shrugged in apology. "You may have to make do with partial power to regain control."

Brighton nodded in reply. "Partial or not, we need control back ASAP, Horst! We're losing our orbit gradient, and without power--." Just then, the rear hatch opened, interrupting Brighton before she could finish her thought. Rebecca's pretty, freckle-face emerged from beyond; her black hair floating free since her helmet hung at her side, clipped to a work harness on her double-layer pressure suit. She floated into the command deck without a word, turning slightly to use both hands to dog the hatch down tight.

"Miss Roland?" Horst grunted, moving aside a bit so the slim girl could squeeze by into the cabin.

"What's the status of our passengers, Becky?" Brighton shifted to look at the young Attendant. "Any of them wanting their money back?"

"Oh, nothing of that sort, Commander," Rebecca replied, her voice laced with stress but she managed held it in quite well. "Everyone's a little shaken up, but no major casualties. Just a few bumps and upset stomachs."

Brighton nodded. "And Bill?" she added somberly.

A sad look swept over the attendant's thin face. "I... put him in the forward stowage. None of the other passengers... saw him."

"Good. Fine work, Becky." Brighton felt slightly relieved. It was bad enough for a girl Becky's age to have to see someone killed like that. Of course, seeing the perforated body of William Tess, the shuttle's co-pilot, even made an old space-jockey like Horst go sick.

"Damn bad way to go," Horst muttered.

"Right, that's enough of that," Brighton said forcefully. They didn't need to dwell on death right now. "Becky, we've been going over the situation at hand, so here's how we're going to kick this pig." All three faces looked on, listening intently. "We're all going to have to work together on this, so first...Horst, I want you down in Section Eight and get that Main either fixed or routed around."

"Ya, I can do that," the older man replied, shooting an arched look at Capson. "That's the least this old Engineer can do."

"Just do your best, Horst," Brighton admonished. "Cappy? I want you to try to work around the rest of the damage from those micro-meteors. Especially the strike damage near the tanks."

"Can do, Commander!"

Brighton nodded at the younger woman. "Take Becky down there with you to help."

Capson blinked, staring at the young attendant incredulously. "Okay, sure, but why her?" At that, Rebecca suddenly turned a bit pink.

Brighton grinned at her modesty. "Becky's rated to handle deep space emergency gear. Plus, she's also got an extra pair of hands that might come in handy with some of the heavier gear." She saw both men turn to look at the young woman in surprise. "Don't count her out, gentlemen, just because she rides herd on the passengers."

Rebecca quickly asked, "What about help from outside, Captain?"

"We're still repeating our distress call. Libertine Station is sure to hear us... Provided the comm-array is still functioning?"

Capson's head whipped around then returned slowly to position. "It's okay. The UDB is still flashing." Indeed, the Universal Distress Beacon's activation light was winking on and off, just behind Capson's shoulder.

"But, Commander," Rebecca pressed, "What about a rescue ship?"

Horst nodded, hitting the front of his faceplate with a thunk! "Ya-ouch!" He growled. "Surely one of those Space Rescue Team ships heard our signal by now!"

Brighton reached out, clapping one gloved hand on Horst's shoulder. "Despite the fact that the United Earth Space Commission is willing to employ them...personally, I don't trust them to be much help to us, Horst."

"B-but they're supposed to help us!" Rebecca yelped, a slight touch of new panic coming into her voice.

The older woman shook her head and explained, "An untested organization like them can't be everywhere at once and…Well, as much as I'd like to think they would save us, Becky, I'm more inclined to hope that a commercial or military ship will save us." She fixed each one of her crew people with a frank stare. "Besides, ships have always had to rely on their own resources during mishaps in space since the beginning of manned-flights."

Tom and Horst nodded affirmatively, while Rebecca looked pensive.

"We'll get through this," Brighton said with slight emphasis. "Now, get on with your work. I'll stay here and keep an eye on our orbit, We're holding on track for now - in spite of all this spinning - but, unless we can get control back I have a feeling we're going to decay soon enough..."

# # #

Aboard UESS Starbat

Geo-Synchronous Orbit Over Iceland

16 Minutes Later...

Behind the command couch aboard the Navy gray, manta-winged rescue ship, Second Petty Officer Albert Piccoli glanced down at the repetitive blip on his communications board. For a moment his idle mind couldn't focus on the importance of the tiny amber light. "Sir?"

>From where he sat forward, Lieutenant Commander Eric Bruebaker idly flipped the toggle for the ready-beam lights on and off. "What's the scoop, Piccoli?" the young brown-haired officer asked softly.

"Got something coming across… Alert-One status," Piccoli replied, frowning as he shifted to a more ready position in his seat.

>From another console behind, Chief Petty Officer Carl Duffy - the team's Extra-Vehicular Action specialist - grumbled before shifting his feet on a restraint bar. "Ignore it, Al.", the burly non-com muttered, his rock-jaw the only thing visible from underneath the edge of his tilted peaked cap. "Must be another routine station-check! Seems to be all we get these days-!"

"No. I don't think so," Piccoli replied. "The last status check happened just fifteen minutes ago, and those almost always come on the main channel in the clear." Replacing the radioman's headset over his ears, he jabbed a finger over the master console switch. At once the blip tuned out, replaced by an active info-screen that Piccoli set his long fingers to, rapidly tapping a series of commands.

>From her console across from Duffy's seat in the compact cabin, a slim redhead with an Ensign's flash on her collar blinked as she looked up from a battered Engineer's Manual. "What's up?" Janine Rogers asked, looking towards Bruebaker.

"I was about to ask myself," he muttered, looking up into the rear-viewer that allowed him to see the rest of the compartment behind him. "Piccoli!?"

Piccoli started to say something, when a PING from his board forced him to concentrate on a sudden wash of information flowing over his screen. Tweaking a few more controls, he quickly piped up, "I've got something on the UDB-band!" He quickly repositioned the curved boom-mike around his roman jaw and activated the transmit key on his headset. "This is SRT-22, receiving you Lima-Charlie. Go ahead..."

At that, the others sat up to stare at their radioman. Idleness forgotten, they all listened as Piccoli continued listening to the speaker over the comm-circuit. "Understood...will relay and respond shortly. SRT-22 out!"

"For the love of Mike, what's going on?" Duffy asked, trying not to sound too annoyed, especially since he should have been more attentive himself.

Piccoli rubbed a hand over the back of his close-cropped haircut, speaking to Bruebaker, "Just got the lowdown from the SRT Observation Post on Libertine Station, Sir. A Civilian Services Shuttle, the Washington, started broadcasting a distress signal at 0420 hours. Libertine Post also reports receiving a short transmission burst by the Washington, declaring an emergency before she crossed behind the planet."

The UES officer felt his insides tense. "Cause for the distress?"

"Cause unknown, sir." The non-com tapped a few more keys on his board. "I have her last position fix at thirty-two-mark-zero-five/Sierra by twenty-two-mark-twenty-two/Echo; Grid Kilo-Foxtrot." Piccoli paused. "She's drifting at an altitude of three-thousand kilometers, with a downward deflection angle."

Puffing an errant strand of summer-brown hair out of his eyes, Bruebaker frowned. "This sounds bad...Janine? Confirm this and run a Stabilization Check on that orbit."

"I'm on it, sir," Rogers replied, dropping the book as she turned to start using her own computers. Her thin face framed with copper-red locks and a pair of Navy Issue BC's, her lips twisted into a grimace as she quickly coaxed the information out of her command board.

Duffy swung his feet around to place them on the deck. "Are you sure this isn't a drill, Al?" he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief.

Bruebaker spoke up, "Like he said, drills don't come on Alert-One channels, Duffy...plus, they would have told us back at the post if we were having drills today!"

"Lieutenant!"

"Talk to me, Rogers!"

"Sir, if the Washington continues on this tract, her orbit decay will place her in the red in less than three hours!"

Frowning, the tall officer in the command seat glanced at the readouts for his own ship. Nobody that ever worked in space ever wanted to hear that a ship's orbit numbers read in digits that always meant disaster. "Can you cross-confirm with PolSAT?"

"Cross-checking now, sir." Rogers keyed in the orbital data, sending it to one of the two huge Polar Stationary Accuracy Transponders. A moment passed, during which the three men in the cabin sat with barely a breath moving between them. "Confirmed, sir! My initial numbers were off by two marks... PolSAT shows orbit decay within two-point-three-five hours, if left unchecked!"

Bruebaker thought to himself, So this was it…their first 'live' one! Even though his training had drilled in him to take every possible precaution against 'falsies' and other mishaps, there was no denying it; all the data pointed to a ship in actual distress. "Can we raise any other SRT's, Piccoli?"

Piccoli shook his head. "I just made contact with the Polaris and the Cirrus...no go. They've been corralled into helping a civilian tug move a larger cargo transport near Libertine Point!"

Duffy looked pointedly at Bruebaker in the mirror. "Bloody civilians think we're obliged to turn to as a tug service!"

Bruebaker nodded. "They feel that we're out here to render aid to ships in distress, so why not?" he quipped. "General attitudes towards the SRT's hasn't been favorable from the start. Most gov-types consider us a "pork-belly" on the annual Military Buget roster!"

Carl snorted, "They never do like to spend money that's better suited lining their pockets!"

"Sir, do we respond? I've got a fix on two civilian ships that are closer to the Washington..." Piccoli stated; reminding them all about the 'tradition' of civilian ships giving aid to fellow ships with those words.

In the brief silence that followed, Bruebaker came to a decision. Looking up at each member of his crew, he began issuing orders: "Rogers, plot intercept to Washington and feed it to NAVACOM. Piccoli, send to UES Command aboard Libertine Station that Starbat is responding to a confirmed distress call from the Washington. Send it now!"

"Aye, sir," Piccoli replied, poking the boom-mike closer to his smiling lips as he tuned the SRT-ship's array to Libertine Station's frequency.

Bruebaker glanced at the last man seated in the compartment and smiled. "Duffy! Ready your team. Make fast to action stations. I think it's time we reminded the civil public just why the Space Rescue Teams were formed!"

The dark-haired Chief Petty Officer grinned and levered himself out of his seat. "Aye-Aye, Sir!" With that, he turned and shouldered open the access hatch at the rear of the cockpit and squirmed through, headed for the EVA bay and the rest of the Starbats' crew waiting there.

In the next few moments, Bruebaker finished pre-checking the ship for flight. He could feel the lethargy that had settled over them these past few months lifting away. Now was the time for action. Now, they were finally 'on-call'!

>From her seat, Rogers said crisply, "Course fed in and locked, sir."

"Message sent, sir!" Chief Piccoli replied, grinning up into the rear-view mirror. "Commodore Lent sends, 'Godspeed, and Good hunting.' sir!"

"Okay, get your helmets on, crew! We're burning daylight," Bruebaker grinned. With that, he gripped the Hands-Only-Stick and Thrust control, snapping several toggles on the flight panel. Behind them, the ship's two Arc-Royal engines clawed their way up from idle to full power.

Toggling his mike, the UES officer synched into the EVA-bay's comm-link. "Is your team ready, Duffy?"

The intercom filled with the voice of Petty Officer Duffy: "Let's go, boys! Get those suits zipped up and that gear ready!" Barking orders into the audio pickups in Bruebaker's helmet, it was clear Duffy was more than ready to get some action. "All hands secure for action!"

With a tight smile, Bruebaker gave a small nod. "Very well. All hands... hold tight!" With that, he forced the HOST forward, and the ship boosted up to full power as it moved into a higher orbit...

# # #

Aboard the Washington

Several Minutes Later...

A moment before, Rebecca had been doing what she had been trained to do; working to calm the thirty-odd passengers under her care, and see that they remained comfortable. While seeing to their needs and providing everyone with all the answers she felt they needed to hear - 'Yes, they did strike something, but the ship is fine.' and 'There's no cause for alarm. A few repairs are needed, and then they'd all be on their way to Europa Base at Io in no time.' - she silently hoped that her words were truthful.

"Becky! I...need...help!!"

However, when she heard those words she felt a sudden coldness in her middle made her realize that she might be lying after all. "Tom!? What's wrong?

"Becky! Leave the...the passengers...get the medkit from midhatch!" Capson's voice gasped, filled with pain. "We need it...Section Eight...fast!"

Moving as calmly as she dared, Rebecca left the passenger compartment of the shuttle, entering the space between it and the main cargo bay; the midhatch. Taking a moment to rise in the ships half-gravity, she pulled herself upward until she found the storage pod marked with the bright red cross-mark. "Hold on, Tom! I'm coming!" She jerked the panel open and wrestled out the slim silver case inside, then shoving against the overhead hull she quickly dropped back down to the floor and started aft once more.

"Becky, this is Brighton!" The commander's words crackled over the internal communicator inside the young woman's helmet. "What's happening back there?"

"Not... sure, Commander," the young attendant replied, clawing her way towards the secondary hatch that lead down to the engineering spaces. "Tom sounds like there's trouble, but I'm not sure yet!" Reaching the hatch, she tugged at the sealing handle to release the locking arms and pulled it to. Using her shoulder to prop the hatch back, she grunted, "I'm...at Section Eight now! Will check in and report in a moment!"

"Fine, just be careful Becky," Brighton said at length. "I'm not reading much from the boards, but I'm seeing more red and amber lights here than green. Tom and Horst could be in trouble, so watch out for them."

Emerging through the hatch, the tiny steward moved down the crawlway, towing a slim, silver case behind her on a tether. "Yes, ma'am!" she replied, taking notice that the emergency lighting in this section of the shuttle was activated. Finding grips and other handholds, she made her way to the level where Tom's call had come from.

"Becky...wh-wha--?" Capson called again, with agony coloring every word.

"I'm almost there, Tom," Rebecca offered soothingly, just before struggling for a moment with the tightly dogged hatchway that closed off the engineering 'hub'.

She started to enter it, when an encapsulated pressure suit suddenly thrust itself out into the crawlway. With a high-pitched gasp, Becky jerked herself backward as the body flopped forward.

It was Capson! "H-help...me..."

"Tom?!?" Rebecca quickly swallowed against the sudden rise of bile in her mouth, staring at the limp form of the young man for a moment. Capson's left shoulder and one entire side of his pressure suit lay scorched, clear to the under layer beneath. She could hear his breath wheezing over her comm-set, while the redhead kicked feebly in the half-gravity as he tried to force himself through the hatch and into the crawlspace.

"Becky!?" Brighton spoke over the comm once again. "What is it???"

Her training kicked in and the small woman grabbed Capson by the remaining strap on his work harness to pull him into the clear. "One moment, Commander! Oh, jays! Tom!? What happened? Where's Horst??" She moved to lay the engineer against the wall of the crawlspace, dragging the medikit around so she could fumble with its catches.

"H-H-...Horst?"

Rebecca wrenched the kit open forcefully. "Yes, where is he!?"

Capson raised his good arm slowly, pointing through the open hatch. "T-th-there..."

"Becky, answer me," Brighton's voice snapped over the comm-line. "What the devil is happening down there!?"

"I-I'm down here with Tom, Commander...down in Section Eight! We've got a problem," Rebecca replied. "Tom's hurt, and I think Horst is too!"

Brighton's reply came back ten seconds later. "Are they alive?"

"Tom's barely breathing," Rebecca reported, suddenly realizing that she'd have to go inside the 'hub' to find Horst. "I...I haven't seen how bad Horst is yet..."

Brighton's voice came back through a slight cloud of static. "Becky...I need to know what Horst's condition is. Can you get to him?"

Swallowing thickly, Rebecca hunched her shoulders and nodded reflexively. "I...I think so, Commander. I'll, report in one moment." With a quick check of Capson - who was lolling against the wall deliriously - she turned and started to make her way into the hatch...

# # #

Brighton looked down at where she and Rebecca had made a small triage in the cargo bay for Capson and Horst. Crouching on one knee, she looked into the young man's eyes and asked softly, "Can you tell me what happened? Don't rush! Just, take it one thing at a time."

With his head bandaged, Capson tried to keep his wits while speaking. "We...we were checking the status of...the patchwork Horst had started," he explained. "Becky...had to, ah...go check on the passengers, so I...I started to head down...down to Section-Nine. I had to...to double check the breech-patches there."

Brighton nodded silently, watching him for signs of deeper trauma as he continued.

"Horst had...he, ah, had started to make some...con-connections...to bridge the, um...bridge the Mains to the patch..." Capson frowned over the memories in his head. "I...I don't remember what...what, really happened but I, ah...think, we've had a blowout in the Mains, and...Horst got snagged by a backlash." There was a pause. "God...Is he all right?"

"Well, he's unconscious," Brighton replied gently, moving just her eyes to look over at where the young attendant knelt next to Horst; his burly body covered with a thermal blanket, only his heavily bandaged head could be seen. "Becky's no doctor, but she thinks he's got some internal damage, being so close to the blast point." Sighing, Brighton commented, "The main thing is we're still in one piece, and that neither of you two were killed."

Capson slowly shook his head, fighting off the effects of his injuries. "Sarah... we've got a bigger problem...bigger than the one at hand!"

"What do you mean?" Brighton stared hard at him.

"It's...er, the blowout! I didn't...well, take a close look, but...I'm certain it, well, fused the Main Circuit and the work-around patch Horst was trying. I can't tell...with all that mess in there...now! But, I'm not sure that we can restore full control!"

Brighton clenched her slim-fingered hands into fists, her mind reeling slightly from the engineer's words. "Are you sure, Cappy?"

"Can't be...not like this," Capson replied, hissing through clenched teeth as a wave of pain raced through his body. "But...I tried to, pull Horst away...from the worst of it..." He shook his head angrily. "It's no good! Even if we could repair...them, it would take nearly four hours...to complete a different workaround!"

Brighton's thoughts flashed back to the last time she looked at command board, as she beheld the numbers there. "Tom, we don't have that much time!" She reached out to steady him, trying to get him to focus on her words.

"S-Sorry, Cap'n," Capson slurred, his voice going mushy, "I...don' think I...can...help...it..." With that, his eyes turned back in their sockets and he slumped in Brighton's grasp.

Brighton gasped, slowly lowering his body to the deck. "Becky!"

Rebecca left Horst and turned to kneel at Brighton's side. Reaching out, she placed her fingers at Capson's throat, feeling for a pulse. Quickly consulting her wristwatch, she let out a sigh. "It's alright, Ma'am...he's unconscious, but alive."

Brighton heaved a much-relieved sigh herself, falling back onto her heels as she crouched there. "Thank God," she breathed, pausing for a moment before she glanced at the younger woman. "What's Horst's condition? Is he as bad as we thought?"

Rebecca shook her head. "I with I knew! I have some basic first aid training...but, it never went into anything like this before! He's alive for now, but he needs critical medical attention," she reported. "Unless the work we did could stabilize the ship--!"

"It can't," Brighton cut her off. "I had the computer run over figures...and if our chances were bleak before, they're worse now." She paused to fix Becky with a pointed, cold stare. "We've got about more than an hour at the least...after that, we're in the red!" She pounded one fist against the armored part of the left leg of her pressure suit several times in frustration. "And the only ones that can fix this damn lead pig are either wounded or nearly dead!"

Blanching slightly, Rebecca tried to speak calmly. "Commander, can't we do something...anything, to help?"

Brighton quickly got a hammerlock on her emotions. "Becky...look, I don't know what we can do," she said frankly. "The engineering space was...is Horst's domain."

"We've got to do something!" Rebecca stated firmly. "The passengers are asking all sorts of questions!"

"I know, I know!" Brighton shoved herself upright, rising to her feet while grabbing onto a nearby handhold. "Look, for the time being there's little we can do. The best think you can do is look after Horst and the others. I'll get back to the cockpit and try to raise some help."

"I'll...get right on it," the attendant's words sounded leaden to Brighton's ears, as the younger woman turned towards her unconscious charges. "Commander?"

Brighton looked down. "Yes?"

She could see Becky shoring herself up. "What other options do we have?"

Brighton's own words sounded dead as she turned away, speaking over her shoulder in reply. "We may have to use the Jefferson System."

She could almost see sour frown forming on Rebecca's face. "B-But that would almost kill everyone, even if it worked!"

"I know, I know! Most cases of a ship having to use that for emergency re-entry have a thirty percent chance of survival," Brighton groaned. Using that method would save the passengers from the crippled ship, but they'd have no guidance to take them free of the planet's gravity. And considering how often large masses never survived a direct plunge towards the Earth...

"But, it may be our only option to save the passengers. We're up against the wall here! Anything, everything that we can do to save the lives under our charge is needed!"

There was silence for a moment. "I'll...I'll make sure Horst and Tom are comfortable, before I see to the passengers, Commander."

"Just do the best you can, Rebecca. Keep me informed." Brighton slid through the exit hatch and disappeared forward, heading for the cockpit once more...

Aboard UESS Starbat On Spinward Approach, Later

"Break-break, this is the ECS Washington...declaring an emergency situation. Our power is gone, and we're in a decaying orbit over Grid Kilo-Foxtrot. To any transport within range of this sector, please respond. We need assistance!"

"Commander!" Piccoli literally pounced on the controls of his leader board. "I've got a real-time transmission from the Washington!"

At the same time, Rogers blinked when she saw the blip on her readout. "I've got her on the scanner as well, dead ahead!"

Lt. Commander Bruebaker glanced up at his rear viewer. "Pass me the info-fix, Rogers."

The slim copper-haired female tapped a few keys. "Info-fix uploaded, sir. According to these readings, she's got less than one hour before she red-lines!"

Bruebaker nodded in understanding, feeling tiny beads of sweat on his brow that hadn't been there an hour ago. "Let's get ready people. Chief, open comm to the Washington, and patch the line in to my 'set. Let's let them know we're here."

"Aye, sir." Piccoli replied as he worked his board. "Line open, sir."

"Attention Washington, this is the UES Starbat. We are responding to your distress call, and are approaching your current position," Bruebaker said crisply. "Do you read me, over?"

At once, a relieved voice responded, "We read you, Starbat! This is Commander Brighton...I have you on our scope now. I hope you can help us!"

"We will do all we can, Commander," Bruebaker replied. "Can you give us a status update?"

"We've lost my co-pilot...both my systems-tech and engineer are injured badly!" Brighton stated quickly. "Our Main power bus is gone, so we have no controls in spite of our trying to bypass. We've still got atmosphere and heat, but the way this lead pig's been acting--!"

"Understood, Commander. Stand by." Bruebaker ran that through all of the information he'd absorbed through his training, formulating a proper plan of action. "Commander, we're going to move ahead of you in a few clicks. Have your crew stand ready to receive a boarding party." Moving his HOST forward slightly, the UES officer goosed the Starbat towards the crippled shuttle. Clenching his jaw to trigger the intra-ship-comm, Bruebaker piped down to the ship's interior bay. "Duffy, is your team ready?"

The reply was to the point, "Ready as Freddy, sir! What's our call?"

"Standard procedure, Duffy," Bruebaker replied, hoping that things went as standard! "Once we're clamped onto the shuttle, use access cables and get to her main hatch to get on board," Bruebaker ordered. "Have Nickerson use a patch to run power around their Main circuit so we can get control, and see if there was any damage to the ship's core. We'll use the Starbat's thrusters to stabilize her and pull her into a higher orbit. Also tell Benson to see to the Washington's crew and passengers. We've got one dead and two seriously injured among the crew."

"Will do, Commander!"

"Coming alongside now." Rogers reported. "Move to match speed at two-two-five kilometers per second."

"Adjusting," Bruebaker replied, shifting the ship controls slightly as he turned to watch the Washington, as she seemed to drift past the cockpit canopy slowly. Aside from the slow tumble she was in, the Civil Services Shuttle showed hardly any sign of outside damage.

Piccoli nodded towards the rearward section of the shuttle. "Right there, sir! Near the port engine block...that definitely looks like a micro-meteor impact!"

Bruebaker nodded, moving the HOST to keep the Starbat within a good distance from the Washington. "The damage from just one strike would even cripple a big commercial job," he muttered, jerking their ship away when the shuttle veered too close. "It must have hit her gyro as well...she's really rolling along here!"

Soon, the shuttle vanished aft, out of view of the cockpit.

"She's nearly past us," Rogers commented, watching the readouts of the proximity sensors. "Steady...now at one-hundred meters, sir."

"Commencing turn," Bruebaker stated. With a burst of power from the Starbat's reaction jets, they began a graceful about-face.

"Recommend we try to use the nose cupola," Rogers suggested, "then secure us to her using the grapplers."

"Good. Piccoli, man the swing arms...I'm going to try to match the Washington's rotation factor." As the shuttle appeared dead ahead of them, Bruebaker began to manipulate the HOST to align their ship with the Washington's nose cone.

Piccoli reached for a pair of control sticks on another panel at his station. Slapping a pair of release switches and power relays, he curled his hands into the form-fit grips and slowly moved them. "Deploying grapple arm systems."

Outside the Starbat, a pair of thin looking, yet powerful robotic arms emerged from underneath her manta wings; one on each side of the ship. Tipped with a quad of flexible grippers each, the arms bent towards the stricken shuttle. Fully deployed, they made the rescue ship look like some alien insect about to grab onto the Washington.

Inside, Bruebaker tapped the HOST a few times, finally getting the two ships to line up head on. "We're ready to bump noses here," he reported. "Set nose collar for docking seal, and ready all hands for impact!"

"Grapplers on stand-by," Piccoli replied.

Rogers glanced at her screens once more. "We'll match her rotation for only twenty seconds more, sir!"

"Then, hang on back there," Bruebaker ordered, clenching his jaw. "Washington, this is Starbat. Brace yourselves, we're about to make contact!" With that, he nudged the HOST forward for two seconds, sending the rescue ship soaring towards the crippled shuttle.

With deceptive slowness, the recessed nose of the Starbat slipped over the cone-tip of the shuttle. As soon as the two made contact, Bruebaker pumped the aft thrusters for a brief instant to make them stick together. At the same time, the two robot arms darted forward, their claw-fingers finding the special hard points along the shuttle's skin, locking the UES ship into place.

"Touchdown!" Bruebaker stated with a grunt. "Duffy, deploy your team, fast!"

"We are rolling, Sir!"

# # #

Rebecca watched through the tiny service port as the EVA-suited men drifted along on thin tether lines towards the shuttle. Brighton had told her to wait by the main hatch, since one of them would have to tell the UES men where to go to deal with the damaged power systems. Double-checking the seal on her helmet absently by touch, she never once let her eyes drift away from the four-man team, now moving along the hull towards the hatch.

"Commander! The rescue team's almost here!"

Brighton's voice crackled over Rebecca's helmet speakers, "Good! As soon as they cycle through the 'lock, direct them to the engineering space."

"Will do! Do you think they have someone with medical skills aboard?" the young attendant asked.

A sigh came through from Brighton. "If they do…bring them to the cargo bay. I'll need to speak to their leading officer, so we can coordinate getting this pig back into a stable orbit."

Just then, several clunks resounded through the bulkhead; sounds of the EVA team touching down on the skin of the shuttle. A few scrapes heralded the release of the outer hatch, followed by the muffled sounds of bodies filing into the between-space of the airlock. As Rebecca slid over to man the controls, a hiss-crackle announced the link-in of one of the deep-space suited men inside the 'lock.

"This is Chief Duffy," a voice said crispy, "Space Rescue Team-22! Permission to come aboard!"

She pressed the thickly padded thumb of her left hand on the cycle-activator, replying, "We welcome you aboard, sir! Beginning cycle process…now!"

Duffy's chuckle sounded like warm thunder. "Don't call me 'sir', honey! I work for a living! Standing by," he replied. A span of moments later, the amber light over the inner hatch shifted to green, and Rebecca slapped the release to allow the door to slide open then fall away on its over-sized hinge.

"Cycle complete!" She reported, standing clear as the four-man team filed in. The man in the lead moved to her side, allowing the two figures in the middle to shift a pair of metallic cases into the receiving space, while the last one brought up the rear.

Pausing, the lead man looked at her and raised the reflective faceplate of his helmet. "Okay, where is the main access to your engineering space?"

Rebecca pointed aft with one gloved hand. "Back there! Do you have a medic with you?"

Duffy jerked his head at the last man. "Benson!"

"Boss," The last man shifted a smaller case with a large red cross on it from his side to in front of him.

"Come with us," Duffy nodded towards Rebecca. "Nick. Get down to the Mains and get crackin' on that workaround! We need power back ASAP!" He shifted back as the others tromped down the length of the receiving bay towards the tail of the ship. "Okay, honey, let's see to your injured and let me check with your captain."

"Right this way," she prompted, moving herself towards the front of the compartment, while the two UES-men trailed behind her. "I hope it's not too late!"

"Well do what we can," Duffy grunted, trying to sound reassuring.

Benson got the young woman's attention. "What's the condition of your people?"

"Our flight engineer's unconscious, and I think Horst is in worse shape," Rebecca briefed, stepping up to a narrow ladder. "This way! It's the quickest way to the cargo bay!"

As she let the medic mount the rungs, Duffy paused beside her. "Is there another way to the cockpit? I need to coordinate things with my boss."

"Go through the main hatch, and take the left-side crawlspace," Rebecca advised. "Should I come with you?"

"No," Duffy stated. "I need you to stick with Benson to tell him what happened to your people. Then, you'll need to keep tabs on your passengers while we get this ship into the clear." He gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. "We're on the case, so don't worry, okay?"

"Yessir," she replied thankfully.

# # #

"…And with the damage caused by the blowback, it's making it hell to get the patch in place, or so Nickerson tells me," Duffy reported to Bruebaker. "It might not be in our best interests to restore power, but to try to shift the Washington with our own power?"

Bruebaker sighed, shifting slightly in his command chair. "Without help from another SRT ship, that won't be easy, Duffy. Nickerson's got to get that patch in place. With partial power, we could augment the Washington's thrust and boost her out of the red zone." He paused to pinch the bridge of his nose, rubbing briefly to ease the tension there. "We don't have much time, but we have to use it to try. It's our best option."

"Understood, Commander." Duffy replied, sitting back against the co-pilot's seat in the Washington's cockpit. "We'll give it our best shot."

"What's the status of the wounded?" Bruebaker asked.

At that, it was Duffy's turn to sigh. "Half good, half bad sir. Benson was able to treat the old Systems Tech for some broken ribs and a slight concussion…turns out the blast that hit him and the Engineer was partially deflected by a sub-system assembly in the engineering space." Duffy fell quiet.

"And the Engineer?"

"Sir, he had some major trauma, internally," Duffy reported huskily. "He died just as Benson was cutting open his suit to assess his injury."

Bruebaker coughed, clearing his throat. "Damn. Has Commander Brighton-?"

Duffy stated softly, "She…took it a bit hard. She's one tough lady, but after all she's been through…"

"Indeed," Bruebaker nodded. "Well, I've contacted SRT-21 and 18 for some help. If we can't get the Washington's power restored, they'll be here in six minutes. Together we should be able to-."

Suddenly, a loud rumble vibrated the space-frames of both ships, sending tremors that rattled even the sealed armor-glass canopy of the shuttle.

"Crimminy!" Duffy jerked from the jolt, watching as the vista of space behind the Starbat pitched into a faster spin.

"For the love of Mike?!? Duffy! Report!"

"Standby, sir!" Duffy tried to quell the slight touch of panic in his voice. "Nickerson? Come in! What's going on back there?"

Suddenly, the hatch leading to the rest of the ship slammed open. "We've got major trouble!" Brighton's voice preceded her entrance, as she scrambled inside the cockpit. "Something exploded in the engineering bay!"

Duffy groaned, "Blast it! Sir, did you hear that!?"

"I heard!" Bruebaker had both hands clamped onto the HOST, nearly wringing it to try to correct the sudden movement of the two ships. All the while, the sudden movement put pressure on the grapple arms, making the vibrations of straining metal and joints heard all the way up into the cockpit. "Investigate the situation at once!"

"Aye, sir!"

"Rogers!" Bruebaker grunted. "Can your sensors tell us what's happened out there?"

"I'm registering the aftermath of a massive explosion…occurring near the aft section of the shuttle. Cause unknown," She reported.

Quickly, Duffy's voice came back over the channel. "No mystery there! We found the cause! Looks like Nickerson tried to restore the secondary power feed, and it surged back and caused another blowback!" Someone shouting in the background came over, threading though his words. "Nick's okay, but Dutch is down and out!"

Bruebaker growled, trying to keep his ship locked onto the nose of the Washington. "Understood! Can we still repair the ship?"

"Negative! The blowout took out nearly half the engineering space with it!"

Snarling, Bruebaker queried, "Rogers, what's our orbital status?"

On the ball, the redhead reported grimly. "We lost another ten degrees on deflection, sir! Unless we can pull out, we'll hit interface in three minutes!"

Duffy barked, "She's dead in the water, sir! What do we do about the passengers!?"

Bruebaker tried to collect his racing thoughts while his body wrestled with the forces threatening to sever their attachment with the shuttle. "We can't shove the Washington back into orbit! Can we use emergency EVA pods to evacuate the civilians?"

"Those flimsy plastic bubbles are only good for quick shuffles between ships, Lieutenant!" Duffy shouted back. "And forget the EVA Room, it won't even hold half of the number of passengers here!"

Bruebaker grimaced. It didn't seem like he had a solution…

"Commander!?" Duffy asked urgently.

"Two-minutes, forty-five seconds to interface," Rogers relayed.

Suddenly, Bruebaker felt the beginnings of an idea come to him. "Duffy! What's the status of the main cabin? Has it suffered any damage?"

Duffy's voice became absent for a moment. "It's intact, sir! None of the strikes came close!"

"Then get the surviving crew in with the civilians and get them strapped down tight! We're disengaging now!""

"WHAT!?"

"Just do it, Chief! We're going to try to save the passengers, but we might only have one shot at it," Bruebaker explained. "Piccoli!" he shot back towards the radioman, "Release the grapples, but keep them deployed, understand?"

Piccoli blinked, but moved to obey. "Aye-aye, sir!" He strapped himself down into his seat, reaching for the mecha-arm controls once more.

"Get everyone inside the passenger compartment!?" Brighton looked sharply at Duffy. "What for!? We've got to get off this ship!"

"No time to discuss this, Commander," Duffy said, his voice firm as he listened to the sounds of the Starbat's grapples letting go of the shuttle. "The Commander's got a plan. I hope!"

Brighton gave the petty officer one last look, before she snapped her commlink on. "Becky, get Horst and Tom's body moved into the passenger cabin. Tell that medic to help you!"

"Understood," came the reply.

Brighton then glanced at the hatchway herself. "I suppose that means me, too?"

Duffy looked up from where he'd been listening to his CO while the shuttle commander had been distracted. "Not yet. I need you to tell me how to operate something…"

"I've passed the order along to Commander Brighton, sir," Duffy replied. "Everyone's inside the main cabin, and the aft hatch is sealed. I'll seal the forward one when I'm inside!"

Bruebaker said briskly, "Have everyone get strapped in, and prepare in case something unexpected happens. Then stand by to execute."

"Aye, sir! Standing by!"

"Give me time to interface! Ready to let go on grapples and moorings?" Bruebaker asked Piccoli.

Piccoli nodded, "Ready, sir!"

Rogers stated, "Two-minutes, ten seconds to interface. Though I have to state for the record this plan has a high improbability factor to succeed-."

"It's the best chance we've got to save those people." Bruebaker turned his head to rub his forehead against the soft cladding that padded in inside of his helmet, leaving a film of nervous sweat behind. "Okay, we're going to get through this, but only if we do it all by the numbers, just like I explained. There's not a lot of time before we can't act any longer." Looking up at his rear-viewer, he fixed his gaze pointedly at Rogers and Piccoli. "We get one shot, so let's make it count. Ready back there?"

There was no further argument. "Aye, sir!"

Taking a deep breath, Bruebaker stared at the spinning image of the shuttle before him. "Duffy," he prompted, "This is Starbat, detaching now!" With a loud THUMP, the manta-winged ship let go of the shuttle's nose, slipping away on a burst of backwards thrust.

Rogers reported, "We're away! One minute, fifty-five seconds to interface…"

"We've also lost the main com-line," Piccoli added. "Switching to ship-to-ship transceivers!"

There was a pause, then Duffy's voice broke in over the com-line: "Duffy to Starbat! Activating Jefferson System…She's ready!"

"Do it, Chief!"

"Jefferson System," Duffy barked, "FIRING!"

A ripple of explosive bolts ran down the length of the Washington, while a muffled charge from the emergency device severed the last main ties that connected the passenger cabin to the crippled shuttle. Another pair of compression blasts surged underneath the newly separated cabin section, sending it sailing slowly away from the rest of the ship.

"The compartment's free, Sir," Rogers reported.

"Stand by! I'm going to maneuver the ship below the cabin!" Nursing the ship along, Bruebaker guided the Starbat around until her back was facing the free-floating cabin. Looming close, Bruebaker tried to align the ship so that it's shadow covered the surface of the target above them.

"One minute, twenty seconds…"

"Piccoli, get those arms up! Lock on to the cabin's mid-point," Bruebaker ordered. "That will give us the most stability if we maneuver!"

Dexterously moving the controls, Piccoli kept one eye on his readouts while guiding the twin mecha-arms by eyesight. "Steady…I've got her lined up…" A slight rumble could be heard as some unseen force began to buffet the Seabat, making one of the arms skitter aside. Growling, the young operator goosed the arm back into its track. "Hold her for a few seconds, Sir!"

"Can't guarantee anything but a couple, Piccoli," Bruebaker hissed. "Don't miss!" A heartbeat later… and two heavy thumps transmitted down the length of the ship.

"Contact! We have the cabin, sir!"

"Pull us in close, Piccoli," Bruebaker prompted. "Rogers, you have those computations ready?"

Rogers had her attention focused on her control board, but she managed to reply briefly, "The computer's done the bulk of the computations…but the fine tuning will have to be done manually. You'll need to have the ship positioned exactly, or whatever we do won't matter when we hit interface!"

"Right! Time?"

"Nearly one minute," Rogers grimaced. "Cutting it close…I'm feeding the computations to your station, now!"

Bruebaker glanced down at the readouts on his console; seeing the projection of the Starbat's vector, speed and position. A slightly red after-image lay superimposed over it, indicating the proper direction. "Commencing maneuver! Hold tight!" Shifting the HOST, he felt the ships guide-thrusters begin to pull the ship and the cabin pod into position.

Outside the view of the Earth panned away, leaving only a view of stars ahead.

"Fourty seconds to interface," Rogers reported tensely. "You're off by four degrees!"

"Adjusting!" Feeling the tension in his knuckles, Bruebaker held on to the controls with one hand briefly so he could snap off three toggles. "Overdrive primers set!"

"You're still off target! Adjust roll-guides by two-point-four!"

"Grapples are locked down!" Piccoli reported, taking the time then to strap himself in tighter. "Wherever we go, the cabin goes with us!"

"Let's hope it's out into space," Rogers prayed softly, raising her voice when a PING emitted from her computer. "You have it, sir! Optimum trajectory for slingshot!"

"Time to interface!?" Bruebaker asked sharply.

"Twenty-five seconds!"

"No time like the present!" He set his hand over a three-split lever beside his controls. "Here goes nothing…Engines to Military Power!" With that, he jammed the lever roughly until it hit the forward fullstop.

Two spears of incandescent flame vomited from the Arc-Royal engines, filling the space behind the Starbat with violent light and motion. With a shudder, the ship and its hastily mated cargo began to resist the pull of gravity against it.

"Fifteen seconds! Trajectory holding!" Rogers and Piccoli held on to their stations, as the vibrations got worse. Outside, the cabin pod rocked against the Starbat's grapplers as the force of gravity pounded away at it.

Bruebaker glared at the display as it trembled under the encroaching gravity stress. "Coming up…c'mon! Just keep it up…"

"Now ten seconds…nine…"

Bruebaker slapped the emergency thrust levers with the heel of his hand, as if to coax more power to the engines. "Just little bit…more…there! MAX POWER!!!"

"Eight…seven…" Rogers' eyes widened at the numbers now scrolling over her readout. "Sir, it's working! We're holding at six seconds, relative position to interface!"

Outside, the view of the receding stars had come to a halt, while still shaking from the stress of the engines fighting the planet's pull. Then, slowly, the paired ship and pod began to move forward, away from the Earth behind them.

"Now at eight seconds, relative…ten…twelve…fifteen," Rogers reported, relief coloring her words. "We're holding course and moving back into space!"

"Continuing Max-Power," Bruebaker said, bracing himself so that the controls didn't shift off the mark by a micron. "Tell me the moment we've breached the gravity limit!" Even as he said this, the vibrations that had seized the ship were lessening in intensity with every passing moment. Eternity crawled through the tunnel of a minute…

Finally, Rogers reported, sighing as the vibrations slacked off into a muted background rumble, "Gravity Limit reached, Lieutenant! We're back in free space again!"

Unclenching, Bruebaker quickly yanked the emergency thruster levers back to idle. The howl of the twin Arc-Royals spooled down into near-silence, leaving the ship to coast forward under her increased momentum. "Status?"

"Moving beyond the Gravity Limit at course three-five-one-mark-two," Rogers reported gustily. "The cabin pod scans as intact!"

"Engaging arresting thrusters!" Pulling back on the HOST, he let out a long breath himself as he heard the cough-hiss of the forward ring of thrusters along the Starbat's nose come to life. With the slightest reduction in speed, the ship slowed to more-controlled pace, still moving away from the planet.

...and from certain destruction…

# # #

Aboard Libertine Station

High Geo-synchronous Orbit Over Geneva

One Hour Later

Stepping away from the air dock, Commander Brighton paused amid the sudden flare of flaring lights, shielding her eyes as a cluster of world-net reporters crowded in close. Amid this whiteout, she could barely make out the shapes of a few recorder devices and wand mikes being shoved at her face.

"Commander?! What was it like being the captain of the first successful rescued ship in space???"

"Commander Brighton! May we ask what your thoughts are over the skills and abilities of the Space Rescue Team that assisted you???"

Before Brighton could respond, a wall of Station Security regulars moved in between her and the reporters, holding them at bay like a dark-gray wall.

"All right, settle down people!" one of the men said almost soothingly. "The Commander will give you a statement…after she sees her superiors. Now, back off and give her some room to breathe!"

Appearing at her side all most at once, a short man with a weasel face, dressed in the drab colors of the Earth Civil Services gently latched onto the elbow of Brighton's pressure suit and guided her away from the paparazzi. "Commander…this way, please?" With quick steps, he pulled her along until the mob of questions and cameras was left behind.

"I do apologize for not being here so quickly when your cabin was finally opened, but the lead office here didn't have time to assemble a…formal unit to keep the press at bay in time."

Brighton nodded numbly. "I…understand, sir." She turned her head slightly, looking back over her shoulder at where she came from.

The entire docking bay was filled with the gray, manta shapes of three SRT ships, which loomed over the now anchored cabin pod all that remained of the Washington. The cabin pod itself had both aft and forward hatches open, and it was only now that the last of the ambulatory-capable passengers were disembarking into the hands of several station medical teams, who guided them into a hastily-erected triage area near the mouth of the bay.

The ECS officer nodded, following her gaze. "It's good no further deaths occurred during this crisis. Some of the passengers had been knocked around when the Jefferson System blew the cabin clear from your ship." He shrugged. "Very fortunate, I'd say."

Brighton frowned at that remark. "One death alone isn't something to be considered 'fortunate', sir."

Clearing his throat, the short man replied, "It is regrettable that Officers Capson and Tess were killed…we're going to make a full retribution to their families after we process the paperwork, of course."

"Of course," Brighton agreed blithely. Just then, she caught sight of two figures at the edge of the triage. "Excuse me, sir…there's something I need to tend to."

The man started to object, but he released her arm and nodded. "We still must debrief you, afterwards, Commander," he stated in a no-nonsense tone.

Nodding, Brighton didn't look back once as she crossed the cold metal floor towards the triage.

Erected screens separated the area, forming small cubicles where the medics and doctors looked after the victims, who rested on cots and raised gurneys. Amid the hubbub of medics and the gaggle of passengers, she wove her way to where a medic and another person knelt beside a stretcher. The lone figure laying on it was hooked up to two monitors and an IV-machine…

And he looked mad as a wet cat, in spite of the drugs hazing his pain.

"Dammit, you get this off me and let m'go!" Horst muttered crossly, glaring at the medic who was checking his vitals and the dressings on his exposed arm and chest.

"Horst, calm down! We're only doing this to save your life," Rebecca said soothingly, blinking back a new set of tears that threatened to join the tracks on her cheeks.

Turning his bald head towards the young attendant, the engineer fumbled his free hand to absently pat the one Becky had left on his undamaged shoulder. "I'm gonna be fine, kiddo…you just wait, you'll see."

"Considering what you went through," Brighton commented as she reached their side, "I'd be surprised if you finally made yourself a liar, Horst."

The burly man looked up at his commanding officer and cracked a half-smile. "I haven't been 'round this long to go out like that, Captain!" He suddenly frowned mightily, shaking his head. "Devil take it…it's not how I'd thought Tom to go…"

Rebecca gave his shoulder a squeeze. "It's okay, Horst…we understand." She looked up at Brighton briefly. "So far, everyone else is okay. No one got more than a few bumps and bruises."

"Damn lucky! That's what we were," Horst intoned roughly.

Becky nodded, "Lucky for us, those Space Rescue people were around!" "Indeed," Brighton agreed, recalling what she'd said before about the recently formed organization. "Speaking of which-?" She was cut off when another body joined them at Horst's stretcher.

Horst looked up and blinked, surprise filling his features. "Janie!? What the Devil are you doing here???"

At that, the titan-haired engineer, Janine Rogers fell to her knees at his side, a scowl glittering in her eyes behind her glasses. "Saving your hide, grandpa! What else would I be doing?!" She grabbed his free hand with both of hers, scolding, "You look like hell!"

"I thought you were still assigned to Libertine Station, girl!"

"I was," Rogers huffed. "Until they activated the rescue ship division two months ago! I thought I sent you a letter telling you about that!"

Rebecca stared at the two arguing, then glanced at Brighton. "She's his granddaughter?"

"Indeed!" Brighton just grinned. "His daughter's one of the primary heads for ECS Corp, but this is the first I've heard of her daughter being on the SRTs?"

By now, Horst was trying to calm Rogers down, speaking in a less gruff tone; "Sweetness, if I'd known what was going to happen-!"

"Shh, you old reprobate," Rogers hushed him huskily, emotion overcoming her for the first time since the whole event started. "You're not one-step removed from God, you know!"

Horst groaned, "Won-der-full! I suppose you're going to tell your mother about this now? She'll really rake me over for getting myself hurt like this!"

Rogers shook her head. "She'll know but I'll be there to help you recover She's always said you're getting too old to be playing space jockey," she replied with a hint of a smile.

"Good! You're mother's got one Devil of a temper!"

Brighton chuckled, "Easy to see where she gets it from."

At that, Rogers and Horst looked up at the other two. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to, well…intrude on your debriefing!"

Brighton shook her head. "This wasn't a debriefing, Officer Rogers, though I'm sure that will come later!" She reached down to offer her hand to the slim redhead. "Allow me to thank you and your team for coming to our aid! Without you…well, I'd hate to think…"

"Believe me, Captain," Rogers nodded, gripping the older woman's hand firmly, "I know what you mean. And no thanks are necessary. I and the rest of the team did all we could to save your people and your passengers."

"That reminds me," Horst grumbled, trying to sit up on his pallet. "Where is the rest of your crew, Janie? Got to thank them for saving my worthless hide, too!"

"I think they're over there," Rebecca offered, turning to point with her head in the direction of the nearest SRT ship.

Brighton and the others turned at that. Facing towards the manta ships with a searching eye, she caught sight of them in the shadow of the one with the sigil "SRT-22" on the side. A small cluster of uniformed men and women spoke to the crew of the rescue ship; all of them still garbed in their deep space and EVA suits. They had a tired aura around them, but the still stood up straight and proud in front of their superiors.

"They're good fellows, Captain," Rogers stated softly. "Every last one…"

Before Brighton could comment on what her crewman had said, she caught sight of a brown-haired officer being bracketed by two men in very-fancy dress uniforms. He had the air of a ship-leader, and was trying to gamely stay erect on his feet before the two men in their soup-and-fish.

At one point, the man turned a haggard face away from the two officers…that's when his eyes met Brighton's. The blonde-haired pilot shared a sudden flash of connection with the young UES officer. For a brief instant, Sarah Brighton and Eric Bruebaker recognized each other. Without speaking, Brighton mouthed the words 'thank you' across the distance between them. With a nod, Bruebaker returned her thanks with a soft smile. Then, clearly being addressed by one of the officers, he straightened up and turned back to his superior, speaking with a bit more animation than before.

"Yes," Brighton smiled. "They're all good people…and thank god we have them."

THE END

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SRT-22

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