From Afar - Chapter 10

Chapter X

Tag turned. There was no one next to him. He’d become used to sleeping between Rast and Bist. After the first time when Bist had hauled him from his bunk, he had not been allowed to return. Shamefully he now wasn’t sure he wanted to return to sleeping alone. His roommates at university and shipboard had frequently slept with a companion, but Tag had been strictly celibate, and he’d never considered sleeping together for companionship alone. Now he expected that companionship and settled nightly between the Saptans. He should be more independent.

The room was still dark. It must be the middle of the ship’s night. Tag looked up again at the ceiling; the light panels were black. The only glow was from the emergency lighting. Tag threw off the blanket. The emergency lighting only came on in the event of a major system’s failure. Lights and environmental controls had one or two built in back up systems. Only engine or full blown electrical failure kicked them into failsafe mode with strident blinking. By the cargo bay door, the emergency lights flashed yellow, and the the environmental monitor glowed an eerie blue. Something was wrong, very wrong.

Rast and Bist were by the door, studying a small handheld sensor. They were standing close, Rast’s hand resting easily on Bist’s thigh in a human that stance would signify relaxation, but Tag had been among the Saptans long enough to realize they were anxious. Their spines were stiff, and the faintest of furrows were visible on Rast’s usually smooth face. The physical contact was for reassurance.

The flashing lights over the door indicated a major systems failure, and the blue glow of the oxygen monitor warned of a pending environmental failure. It would turn red when the oxygen dropped to dangerous levels.

Tag peered over Rast’s shoulders at the handheld monitor. The carbon dioxide levels were several percentage points above normal, and the trace chemicals and radiation levels in the air suggested a potential explosion in the reactor core. “It looks like an explosion or accident with the engines,” Tag said.

Rast reached out and touched Tag’s cheek. “I know you were a mission specialist, but what can you tell me about the engines, and the protected spaces of this ship in case of accident?”

“I know nothing of the engines, but in general the upper crew quarters and the command module are the most protected area. The command module will have redundant systems capable of maintaining the environmental controls within that area for weeks to months depending on the vessel. The cargo bays are in the contaminated area and sealed behind fireproof doors.” Tag was surprised his voice was calm and clear.  His heart pounded in his chest, millions of years of hardwired response to panic, but his brain was still quietly processing. This was a dangerous and potentially lethal situation, but Tag felt reassured by Rast and Bist’s professionalism.

“Have they dropped those doors?” Bist asked calmly. No uninformed observer would ever guess that Bist was actually asking if they had been sealed off and condemned to die.

“I can’t tell without access to the computer system or the main control board. My password has been locked out.”

“There has been a systems failure,” Bist said, pointing to the emergency lighting. “Does that affect either the locks on these door or the computer access.”

“I don’t know,” Tag said.

“What were you trained to do during an emergency?”

Panic. Pray there was never an emergency. “As nonessential personnel, we were trained to move either to the evacuation areas or the upper crew areas, depending on the scope of the emergency.”

“Doors in this vessel are computer controlled, right?” Bist asked.

“Yes.”

“What was the override procedure if the door failed?”

Tag tried to dredge up memories of jumbled lectures with overly excitable young engineers. If the power was switched to emergency auxiliary only, there was a procedure for manually overriding the doors. “There’s a hand crank inside a door access panel. It should be under the emergency lighting.”

“Good.” Bist pulled the panel from the wall to find a thicket of wires and circuits. 

“It’s there,” Tag said, pointing to a small, orange handle.

Bist broke the locking mechanism with his fist shielded in his shirt and turned the wheel. The door inched open, and a cacophony of alarms sounded.

“I hope we’re not greeted by a horde of angry cavalry,” Kip said, collecting medical supplies and directing the others to take essential foodstuffs, blankets, and the minimal handheld respirators that had been stocked to satisfy some government type that emergency preparations had been made for the Saptan passengers. Tag marveled at the efficiency of the seven; they all knew what the others were doing without asking. Tag had participated in multiple emergency drills; they had never gone this smoothly. Organized chaos was the best they could ever seem to achieve, with the specialists like him assigned to what seemed like worthless busy work rather than assisting in correcting the problem or organizing an orderly evacuations. Anthropologists were not practical members of an emergency team.

Tag could now see the orange shimmer of the emergency lights in the corridors and the glow of the corridor track lighting on the walls and floor: green to the escape pods, blue to the command module, and orange to the crew area.

“Follow the blue lights.”

“Would wounded be in the crew compartment?” Rast asked.

“Yes.”

“Lak is with me,” Kip said, slithering through the partially open door.

“The Orosians will be hostile,” Tag called to her disappearing back.

“Their need for assistance will negate their hostility. If the accident is as severe as Bist and Rast are surmising, their only hope of survival lies with us.”

Tag thought Kip was being overly optimistic. The Orosians had displayed close to irrational hostility toward the Saptans and an absolutely rigid policy of pretending that Tag didn’t exist for months. The captain, who had sat across the table from Tag when the mission had been proposed, turned her head away if Tag tried to converse with her through the small transparent partition.

“Tag, you’re with us,” Rast said. “Which way to the command module?” 

“Follow the blue lights.”

“And to engineering?”

Tag thought this was an Orion class space vehicle. “Engineering should be below decks and starboard.”

“You don’t sound very positive,” Bist said.

“It’s a restricted area. I’ve only ever been in engineering on a guided tour.”

Bist looked up and muttered something; Tag thought it was “idiots,” but his expression remained calm. “I’ll take Tag with me since he best knows the layout of this ship. After I’ve assessed the damage, I’ll send him to find you. There are no radiation suits here, so we may not be able to approach. Come, Tag. Lead the way.”

Tag slid through the partially open doors of the cargo bay and turned left in the corridor. He remembered reading somewhere that the layout of the Orion class was similar to the far larger Titan class where Tag had been stationed. He hoped he was correct. The narrow corridor was empty except for the shadows cast by the wildly flashing warning lights. Fortunately the radiation warnings remained in the the cautionary zone and not the dangerous zone. Down two flights of stairs, they entered the engineering control area. An Orosian, partially dressed in a radiation hazard suit, punched frantically on the control panel with one hand while staunching a profusely bleeding facial wound with the other. He turned rapidly, almost losing his balance when he realized they’d entered the room.

Bist dropped to one knee and held his hands out in a obvious gesture that he’d come unarmed and without hostile intent. “I’m an engineer. How can I help?”

The Orosian stared at Bist. “He’s not the enemy,” Tag said softly. “We’re all stuck out here in this crippled ship, and the Saptans have far more experience with interstellar travel than we have. Plus I don’t think blood mixes well with engine parts.” Tag was surprised he was trying to make a joke; he had no experience in real emergencies, but this was a kid with only a one year service stripe on his uniform. Tag had thought only older Orosians were sent on this mission, not young idealists with their future in front of them. Tag smiled reassuringly and reached out and touched the the Orosian’s sleeve. “Where’s the officer in charge?”

“Dead.” The young Orosian pointed to the engine area below them. “She was blown off the catwalk in the explosion. I was hit by broken glass.”

“Have you been able to initiate a shut down in the damaged reactor?” Bist asked. He had risen to his feet while Tag had been trying to reassure the Orosian and was now studying the computer screen. 

“The computers are refusing to take the code, and the commander has the keys for the manual bypass.”

“Is it safe to go down there?”

“The radiation levels will remain tolerable for the next few hours, but steam is escaping.”

“Are the keys around her neck?”

The kid gulped and looked green despite his orange skin. “Yes, but I couldn’t do it. Her head...It’s blown off.” The Orosian turned and vomited. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

Bist had moved forward and in a very Saptan gesture wrapped his hand around the kid’s neck and raked his fingers through the short hair. “Head injury--it can cause vomiting.” Bist stripped his shirt off and wiped the kid’s face and the computer console. “Electronics don’t like liquid. I need a radiation suit.”

The kid pointed at a storage locker, his eyes never leaving Bist’s molted torso.

“They all have that strange coloring. The brightly colored lines are tattoos; the dark pigment is natural melanin. It took me weeks to ask,” Tag said.

Bist’s finger touched Tag’s cheek in an obvious sign of approval as he squeezed by to reach the storage locker. “If I’m reading the display correctly, one engine is still working. I can shut down the damaged engine, and we’ll be fine. I’m good at this. Can you hang in there to help me?”

The young Orosian looked relieved to have someone in charge. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

“Tag, get a bandage on our young friend’s wound, and then the both of you get the computers as far into the restart as you can without the key.” Bist tossed a first aid box to Tag.

The key wasn’t a physical, old-fashioned key like they used on the doors in the homes of Pastoral, or the biometric coding used for most doors, but an actual computer chip that was inserted into the side of the computer. Within range of New Terra communications, it would transfer the computers and all shipboard operations back to mission control. Tag wasn’t sure of its exact function when out of range, but he thought it restarted everything back to the original installation.

“What will the keys do?” Tag asked, wiping the Orosian’s wound with a sterile cleansing agent and applying a makeshift bandage. He didn’t have Kip’s skill in this, and he had to mentally berate himself to keep from shaking. He’d never been in a genuine emergency, but he could read the computer graphics well enough to realize the core temperature in the damaged reactor would reach critical in less than an hour. 

The young Orosian touched his fingertips to the bandage. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. What happened, and what will the keys do? Bist is the engineer; I’m only the passenger.”

“Is Bist their leader?”

“No, Rast. He went to try to access the command module. Have you been in contact with your captain?”

“No, all computer and electrical systems are down. It started as a cascading computer failure. Will...”

“Will Bist be able to fix it?” Tag finished. “I hope so, or we’re all screwed. My impression is that the Saptans are very good at this whole space flight thing.” Tag squeezed the young Orosian’s shoulder. Six months ago he would never have touched the young, frightened engineer. After living confined with the Saptans, it seemed natural. Tag had modulated his language to sound relaxed, almost casual, the way he’d heard the crew joke around on his assignments. Tag hadn’t even been aware he was doing it, but he could see the Orosian’s breathing slowing, and his eyes were starting to focus on the screens in front of him instead of darting around the room in a panic. “What’s your name?”

“Jim--Jim Getz.”

“OK, Jim, My computer and engineering skills are very basic. Show me what to do?”

Jim was young, but by the rapid fire of his instructions and the blur of his fingers across the screens, he was more than capable. Tag cajoled and encouraged him, and they were quickly at the point where they needed the keys.

“Will Bist be able to get the keys? I couldn’t go down there.” Jim shuddered as he mentioned “down there.” 

The picture was grainy and spattered, as if gore had struck the monitoring camera lens, but it was obvious that a blast had struck the commander full force. Only the specially designed bulkhead walls had prevented the blast from being felt throughout the ship.

“He’s experienced and capable,” Tag said reassuringly. “He’s tough, and I don’t think there’s much he hasn’t seen.” Tough maybe wasn’t the correct word for it. Tag had thought Bist was detached, hostile at first, but the opposite would be a more accurate description. Bist was the one who had kept his hand reassuringly on Tag’s shoulder all the way down the corridor as they’d hurried to the engine room. Bist followed a simple mantra; he took care of his fellow ki. It wasn’t that Rast didn’t watch over everyone like any male primate surveying his pack or troop, but he could get tangled in philosophical arguments of his own making that left Tag baffled. With Bist life was simple; Tag followed his directions, or he made Tag aware of the consequences. It wasn’t that Bist had whipped him. No one had touched him with a whip since his one and only incident with Rast, but Tag knew it was a possibility. Brin and Tisp had turned a smoldering low level argument into a fistfight, and Bist had laid six across each of their backs. 

“I don’t want to die.” A whispered confession that Tag was almost sure he wasn’t supposed to hear.

“No one’s going to die today.” Tag couldn’t promise that, but it sounded reassuring. This kid was too young to die, but didn’t he know that the Orosians weren’t returning from this mission? He was going to die out here. “How did you end up on this mission?” Tag needed to talk of something besides dying before Jim fell back into his panicked, catatonic state. When there was work to do he had performed well, but now in idleness Jim’s mind had to be imagining the worst scenarios. Tag did the same thing, he thought wryly, but the Saptans hustled him through mental and physical gymnastics to keep him grounded.

“I wasn’t originally assigned. The engineering mate was injured in a scooter accident the day before this ship was scheduled to leave New Terra’s orbit. I was the only Orosian with the proper qualifications available. I never thought I’d be this far out. I’ve never been outside of the Alliance before. We must be the farthest an Alliance vessel has ever traveled. It’s been amazing. I can’t wait to tell my buddies stuck on freighters and transports that I got to serve on an exploratory vessel.”

Tag cursed silently in every language he knew. This kid hadn’t been told he was going on a suicide mission and in his naiveté hadn’t calculated the time equations. He talked of bragging to his buddies about his travels. His buddies would be nothing but dust and ashes, and if Jim were very lucky, someone would remember him from the history books or juvenile biographies of space heroes. Tag had been misled, but at least he had some experience in life, and he was somewhat equipped for the consequences. This was probably not the Alliance space service’s doing, but Rast’s insistence that Tag was the only suitable candidate. From the official documents, Rast had chosen a human who could integrate among the Saptans. 

“How many serve on this ship?” Tag needed to change the topic. He couldn’t tell Jim that he was never going to see his friends again. With the Orosian shorter lifespan, his friends were all dead already. 

“Its usual complement would be twelve to fifteen, but we only have six, five now,” Jim said, his voice breaking. “Is anyone else hurt?”

“I don’t know. Look, he has the keys.” Bist was holding the keys in front of a camera clearly cognizant that Jim and Tag would be able to see him. “Are we ready up here?” Tag asked with more optimism than he felt.

“Will this work?” Jim asked, not tearing his eyes away from the screen. The haunted look was back in his eyes, and he was starting to shake. He looked green again, like more vomiting was imminent.

Tag tipped the first aid box, dumping supplies all over the metal floor. “Be sick in this.” He shoved it into Jim’s hands. Tag wished he knew if Jim’s vomiting was fear or a result of a concussion. The wound had looked shallow to Tag, but he was no expert.

“I’m fine.” Jim said. His Adam’s apple jiggled in his thin neck as he swallowed vigorously, trying to keep his stomach contents where they belonged.

Tag moved closer and placed both his hands on Jim’s shoulders, feeling the young Orosian shudder under his contact. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of; head wounds, even minor ones, can cause vomiting.” Tag tried to project calmness and reassurance. He’d been speaking only the Saptan language for the last several months, and Tag consciously forced his voice an octave lower for the Orosian. All the Saptans had done this more than once for him, drawn him in and collectively reassured him. They touched; they spoke softly. He could do this for Jim. Orosians were a subspecies of humans; they would react to touch the same way he did, the same way all primates did.

“Bist will take care of it,” Tag said. “He’s a good engineer, but he’ll need your help.” Tag actually had no firsthand knowledge of Bist’s engineering skills, but he hoped he sounded reassuring. When Tag had last been assigned to a spacecraft, the few Orosians had always been fiercely on task and socialized among themselves, packs of aggressive warriors; he didn’t know how to handle a distraught Orosian. The Saptans would touch, would reassure, and if that didn’t work, they would insist. Well, at least that was the way it worked with Tag, but he was ki. Could an Orosian even be ki?

“The keys.” Bist’s voice wasn’t the singsong he usually used with Tag, but sharper and crisper, closer to a human commanding officer’s voice in times of crisis. “Walk me through the restart process.”

Jim reacted to Bist’s tone. He sat in front of the terminal and inserted the key. “Insert the key at your terminal, sir, and follow the prompts. Lieutenant Tag has experience with Alliance computer systems.”

Engineering control was quiet except for Jim’s calmly provided directions and the occasional question from Tag. It was Tag who restarted the second terminal since he was familiar with the computer’s interface. Bist stood behind Tag, his hand splayed through Tag’s hair, offering quiet support. The emergency lights flickered, dimmed, and then came back on in full brightness along with the regular lighting. Tag heard the quiet whir of computer fans.”

“We’re back up,” Jim burst out.

“Only in here if I understand this correctly,” Bist said, peering at the screen.

“The others have to be brought up from the command module or mission control override,” Jim said, the smile fading from his face.

“We need to shut down engine number two and transfer all power to engine number one. Have you ever done this before?”

“Only in simulation, and the commander led. I only followed her orders.”

“You have studied this?”

Jim looked like a frightened boy as he stared into Bist’s blue eyes. Bist had set aside Saptan custom and was gazing directly at Jim. Jim looked down at the computer and scrabbled in a shallow drawer full of single use data clipboards. “There’s a checklist,” he said, pushing it toward Bist.

“Read it to us.” Bist suddenly lost his rigid imitation of a human martinet and clasped one of Jim’s wrist in his own hand, his voice back to the singsong lilt of a Saptan. “I was flying before you were born. We will do fine. The technology is antiquated, but I’ve seen similar before.”

Tag knew that Bist’s hold on Jim’s wrist had to be bordering on painful; he’d seen Jim’s futile attempt to pull away. The pressure could be uncomfortable, but Tag knew that Jim must also feel the reassurance of Bist’s steady contact and simple orders.

Jim’s voice quivered as he began to read, gaining steadiness as he watched Tag’s fingers sail across the screen. Bist brushed his knuckles across Jim’s cheek, a very Saptan gesture, as he took a seat at the second terminal. 

“I’ll start the shutdown procedures on the reactor. Come guide me through this process, Lieutenant,” Bist said, motioning to Jim.

Jim shifted his weight from foot to foot, but remained behind the dividing half wall. 

“Look,” Bist said, his voice as harsh as Tag had ever heard it, his blue eyes locked on Jim. “Either you’ve never done it before, you’re terrified of me, or both. I’m not human; I’m not Orosian. I don’t know how they handle a crisis situation, but we expect obedience, and I expect it now.” 

Tag watched, both horrified and fascinated as Bist in one quick motion grasped Jim’s wrist in one hand, tugged him close, and landed a controlled slap across his cheek before moving that hand to tangle in Jim’s hair.

“Stroke you or hit you again, which will it be?”

Tag had always thought of the Orosians as silent and tough, but he had no experience with one this young and alone. Jim jerked against Bist’s restraining hand. Bist effortlessly pulled him closer, shaking him hard. He struck the orange cheeks rapidly and hard. On any other complexion, there would have been visible marks. Bist took the same hand that had slapped and rubbed the back of Jim’s neck.

“Your choice. I’d rather do it this way, but I’m more than capable of hurting you if that’s what it takes to get you focused. I need to drop the cooling rods. Do you know the heat tolerances of the reactors?”

Jim muttered something that was incomprehensible to Tag, but Bist must have understood it, as he made rapid entries across the screen. They started to toss equations back and forth in which Tag knew only half the variables.

“Tag, bring up the gauges on your screen, we need you to read off numbers as we work.” 

Tag could do that. He felt woefully ignorant between the two of them, but he could do data entry and read numbers. Jim, for all his initial hesitation, appeared knowledgeable but panicked when Bist asked a question or tried to solicit an opinion. Bist had dropped his hand behind Jim’s neck in the familiar hold he used with Tag, reassuring unless he royally fouled up and then moderately painful depending on the strength Bist pushed his fingers into the junction between neck and shoulder.

Suddenly the readouts on reactor one dropped to zero. “I’ve lost my readings for the first reactor,” Tag said, trying to hide the panic in his voice.

“Good. We’ve been successful. Are all readings green for reactor two?”

“Yes, but all are on the high end.”

“It’s doing the work of both. That is to be expected.”

“Jim,” Bist said. He must have asked the young lieutenant’s name sometime during the shut off procedure. “I need you to remain here to monitor. You are the only one with the needed expertise.” 

Jim swallowed, wiped his clammy hands on his soiled uniform pants, and visibly straightened his shoulders. “Yes, sir.”

“Good man.” The expression was very human, but Bist ran his hand down Jim’s face, something that Tag had never seen a human commander do, obviously reassuring with touch as well as words. “You’ve made your shipmates proud today. Come, Tag,” Bist said, touching Jim’s forehead one more time before dropping his hand on Tag’s back and nearly pushing the human into the corridor.

They hurried up two flights of stairs before Bist stopped and placed both his hands on Tag’s shoulders, halting the human also. “My apologies, Tag. I know I was unfair with Jim. He is only a child. He deserved to be led, not kicked.”

Tag stood tongue tied. This was not what he expected.

“Tag, you usually are not reluctant to voice your opinion on the use of force.”

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Tag said, choosing his words carefully. “You didn’t hurt him, and you were effusive with praise.”

“I hit a frightened child.” Bist brushed the hair back from Tag’s face with his thumb, contact that Tag thought was more for Bist than for himself. Tag felt calm, surprisingly calm. He’d just seen Bist pull the proverbial rabbit out of a hat. They had power again; no slow death from asphyxiation or radiation poisoning awaited. “We will talk of this later, but for now we have work to do.”

Tag wanted to touch, to offer his reassurances, but Bist removed his hands and sprinted up the corridor fast enough that all Tag could do was follow and shout directions as he pointed at the wall track lights.

The command module was a cacophony of noise, fear, and adrenaline. The Saptans were crowded in a corner, all down on their knees with their hands open and crossed in front of them, a posture that Tag recognized as an attempt to negate the threat created by their presence. An Orosian with the epaulettes of a commander and first officer clutched a laser rifle, his body twitching with poorly controlled emotions as he paced in front of them. His eyes roved in his unshaven face from the kneeling Saptans to the captain and another Orosian frantically working on the computers. A fourth Orosian was under a console with wires spewed around her. The Orosian guarding the Saptans swung his rifle toward Bist and Tag as they crossed from the corridor into the command module. Bist grabbed Tag’s wrist and jerked him to the floor.

“Stay limp and look non threatening.”

“Commander,” Tag said, his cheek pressed against the steel decking, “we have shut down the malfunctioning reactor in engine number one and switched all functions to engine number two. Your lieutenant is monitoring them now. “

“Where is our chief engineer?” the Orosian asked in a tone as close to the snarl of a cornered predator as Tag had ever heard.

“Unfortunately she died in the accident. Her remains are in the engine room.” Bist made the soft humming tone that Saptans used to express grief and offer sympathy.

“You killed her!” The rifle wavered in the Orosian’s hand.

“She was killed in the explosion,” Tag said, trying to keep his voice calm. This Orosian was unstable and caught in the throes of both panic and unrestrained grief. “She was your wife?” Tag asked in a moment of sudden clarity. 

“Yes.”

Most Orosian rituals were similar to New Terra’s. “My deepest sympathy,” Tag said, unable to find words more appropriate than an inadequate and generic phrase. “Please let us help,” Tag pleaded, watching the gun in the Orosian’s hand. “The main systems are going to need to be rebooted with a key. We didn’t cause the accident. We were locked in the cargo bay. Remember?” Tag was babbling now. Why wasn’t the captain ordering this crazed guy with the gun to cease and desist? She knew Tag; she had to know he wasn’t a threat.

“How did you get out of the cargo bay?” the Orosian asked, his voice loud with half suppressed panic.

“The power was out; we used the manual override. The air wasn’t good. Under emergency power, there is no environmental control in the cargo bay.” Tag hoped they’d see the logic and let them get up off the floor. None of them would live unless they worked together. Bist had convinced or intimidated the kid into believing it, but Jim hadn’t thought to grab a weapon.

“We are not a violent people,” Rast said in a lilting, singsong voice. “We want to help. You need our help. You may chain our hands if it reassures you, but please don’t fire the weapon. The target area is full of delicate electronics.” Rast interlaced his fingers over his head and stood. He kept his eyes down and his knees slightly bent, effectively masking his speed and strength.

“I’m still a member of the Alliance space service,” Tag said, rising to his knees and copying Rast’s hand position. “I’m not a traitor.”

Captain Fath stared at Tag, her golden eyes boring into his skin. “Lieutenant Tag, are you familiar with the procedures to seal off the lower decks? On only one engine, we will not be able to maintain environmental control throughout the ship. Commander Shar,” she said to the officer standing next to her, “Take the Saptans and confine them in the upper crew area.”

“They’re not the enemy,” Tag burst out. “I won’t help if you’re going to lock them up like animals.”

“K’Tag, follow the captain’s orders,” Rast said. “We must build trust.”

“We don’t have time,” Tag said.

“Bist, is the immediate crisis over?” Rast asked.

“Yes, K’Rast, but the young engineer is alone. He has performed most admirably, but I would prefer to return to his side We need several hours to stabilize the engine.”

“Several hours to sabotage it,” the Orosian with the rifle said.

“We’d be dead if Bist hadn’t rescued us,” Tag said, not hiding his anger. 

“We only have your word for it,” the gun-toting Orosian retorted.

“That’s ridiculous!” Tag leaped to his feet and moved toward the Orosian first officer, his anger overriding his common sense and fear of the laser rifle.

“Tag, here now.” Bist’s voice was very quiet, a very different tone than he had used with Jim. It was the tone he used with the other ki. Somehow it carried the demand for obedience along with acknowledgment that he was one with them.

Tag dropped back to his knees, his hands again interlaced on top of his head.

Slowly, clearly being cautious not to further arouse the Orosians, Bist placed his hand on Tag’s shoulder, squeezing too hard to be comfortable. “You do not have our permission to get yourself killed. You are one of the seven.”

Tag tipped his head to the left. He would yield. Bist and Rast had trained him well, and worse, they were right. “Captain, I am at your disposal.”

“Lieutenant, we will need to do a system wide check before shutting down nonessential services,” the captain said. “You may begin with the checklists as soon as I bring the computers back to full function from emergency standby. Commander, please escort our guests to the upper crew quarters. On your return bring a uniform for Lieutenant Tag and some boots.” Captain Fath looked down at Tag’s bare toes as if they were somehow offensive.

Tag could feel his face redden, despite his vow to remain impassive. The Alliance and their lackeys the Orosians had controlled Tag’s wardrobe. How could the captain expect him to have his legs covered?

“Captain, I beg you to send someone to assist the young lieutenant. Your engine is not stable.” Bist’s voice jarred Tag’s ear. This burly Saptan didn’t beg; he wasn’t a fawning lackey.

“Take them away,” Captain Fath ordered, ignoring Bist.

Bist reached out and touched Tag’s hair, his fingers separating an uncombed tangle. “They must learn to trust us. Help them.”

Tag knew he should remain quiet. Maybe it was the pent up adrenaline from this morning combined with the frustration of watching that stupid oaf of an Orosian push a compliant Bist in front of him, but Tag exploded, spewing anger that would have had the most lenient commanding officer considering a court martial and summary dismissal from the service. Tag’s rant froze the Orosians in place; they had surely been told that Tag was mild mannered and harmless, not prone to sudden fits of lunacy. 

“Tag San K’Rast.” Rast hadn’t spoken loudly, he never did, but the quiet formality froze Tag. “Tag, you are ours, and you do not behave this way. Will you condemn us all by your show of temper?”

“No, K’Rast.” Tag dropped his head, trying to hide the crimson rising in his face. Rast had effectively claimed Tag as his and asserted his authority despite his quiet obedience to the Orosian orders. “I yield, K’Rast,” Tag said.

“Thank you. We are depending on you.” Rast’s green eyes met Tag’s for a second before looking away.

The Orosian under the console gestured. Tag didn’t know this one’s name, but he’d seen her several times at the cargo bay. Tag followed the sweeping hand signal and sat at the computer station.

“The command module requires a coordinated restart,” Captain Fath said, pulling a necklace of computer chips out from under her jacket and lifting them over her head.

As a researcher, Tag had been fully trained on the computer system, and he easily fell back into the routine as he went through the endless checklist. He watched with satisfaction as the screens returned to the brightly colored graphics instead of the endless scroll of yellow lettered text in failsafe mode. 

From the worried comments around him and the readings on the screen, Tag could tell they had sustained substantial damage. They weren’t in any immediate danger, but a single engine would not provide sufficient power for both full shipboard functions and the necessary propulsion for the needed leaps into the extra dimensions of space which would make their arrival at the rendezvous point possible. They were adrift in space.

“Lieutenant Tag.” Tag startled at his rank title. It had been six months since someone had called him that on any regular basis. He’d now heard it several times today. It felt as odd as the full length pants, high collared jacket, and stiff uniform boots. “Shut down the environmental systems on deck C and D section 26 to 54.” These were the sections where they’d lived. Where were they going to go? “The Saptans will need to remain in the upper crew quarters,” the captain continued. “Commander, please organize a rotating crew roster to guard them.” The first officer next to the captain nodded.

“We are not the enemy.” Tag didn’t analyze his choice of pronouns, but he was well aware that he’d chosen we and not they. He rotated his shoulders inside the tight jacket. Bist or Rast would have been standing close, touching him if they sensed Tag was having difficulty  or feeling unsure. The Orosians stayed locked at their computer terminals; only their eyes shifted toward him in a hostile direct gaze. “The Saptans have experience in deep space. They might have the expertise to salvage the mission.”

“Our primary mission was to remove a threat from the Alliance territory. We are deep enough in unknown territory that we have succeeded.”

“You were to assist in returning the Saptans to their home world.”

“Only if it could be performed without putting Alliance security at risk,” the captain said simply. 

Tag swallowed his protest. Complaining they were going to die adrift in space would be useless. The Orosians were already slated to die. Tag’s fingers moved across the computer screen, starting to bleed the power from the lower decks. “Your young engineer is unaware this is a suicide mission. How many others in your crew are unaware of this mission’s ramifications?”

“He is the only one. He was regrettably added at the last minute. He is Orosian. He will do his duty.”

“I’m sure he will,” Tag muttered to himself and started to pull the Alliance epaulettes from his jacket.  

“Lieutenant.” Captain Fath’s voice bit through Tag’s angry fog. “You can finish defacing your uniform on your own time.”

“The shut downs and rerouting of power are proceeding as planned, ma’am,” Tag said, trying to find the voice of detached military efficiency.

“Lieutenant, carry on.”

“It’s Tag, ma’am.”

“Lieutenant, this is not the time for personal drama. I do not accept your resignation or rejection of space service norms. Carry on with your duties.” The captain ran her hand over her neatly pinned hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. She gave Tag a wan smile, as if a show of friendliness or sympathy would change his position. “We do not have a counselor on board, and I have been forced to take this role against my better judgment.” Captain Fath smiled gently again. “I am aware of the phenomenon known as Stockholm syndrome after a study of multiple kidnap victims. After living with the Saptans, you of course sympathize with their positions even if they are misguided.”

Tag nodded and pretended to be busy on the computer. The Orosians were condemning them all to death, and the captain considered the Saptans misguided.

“We saw what they did to you,” the first officer added.

Tag ground his teeth together. The Orosian was trying to be kind in a demented and misguided way. “They have not hurt me.”

The first officer gave Tag a look of pity and sympathy that most people reserved for the chronically ill or helpless.

“I am not suffering from some type of nebulous psychiatric illness which causes me to become inappropriately attached to the torturer. I was under orders to integrate within the Saptan society. I have become a part of their se--group.” Tag stopped himself from saying the seven. He didn’t want to try to explain something to these hostile Orosians that he hardly understood himself. “I’m not crazy, suffering from battle fatigue, or awash with misguided affection for my captors. The fact is, it’s yours and my people who are the captors, not the Saptans.” 

The Orosians glanced at each other, silently communicating. The captain moved from beside the first officer to stand over Tag. “I met you at that first fateful meeting in New Washington. You are an honest and responsible officer in the fleet. Look deep inside yourself and find that loyal and patriotic lieutenant. I was under orders not to interfere with the Saptans. I am sorry,” she said and tentatively touched his shoulder.

“I was never loyal and patriotic in the way you describe. I was born on Pastoral.” Tag flipped to the next checklist. He could only survive by narrowing his mind to the work in front of him. “I have discontinued the breathable environment to the requested decks and have begun the lock down process. Do you wish to prepare the command module for separation?”

Tag was intellectually aware of the process for preparing the command module for separation. No officer in the fleet was entirely unfamiliar with the emergency procedures, just as theoretically Tag could fly an escape shuttle. He had never done either and had rarely practiced either even in simulation. He was always assigned to organize and assist the other mission specialists or any civilians aboard. He actually hadn’t been inside a command module since his original training.

“It is not necessary at this stage,” the captain said, “but run through the checklist for preparation. If engine two fails, we will have to evacuate to the command module.”

Tag concentrated on the screens in front of him. Warnings were popping up all over the place, but the Orosians ordered him to dismiss them as nonessential. Tag could feel the tension ease in the room as they cleared the boards back to green with yellow flags instead of flashing red warnings.

“Captain, I have completed the checklists and recorded all abnormal readings. Has communication been restored to the engine room?”

“No,” the Orosian who’d been working under the console said. “The initial problem was electrical, and we have numerous damaged circuits. We will need to switch to handheld communication until we can bypass the damaged circuitry.”

“Commander Brag, will you dispense communication devices to all crew members and escort Lieutenant Tag back to his quarters.”

Tag started to protest that he wanted to stay with the Saptans, but he swallowed his protest. He needed the Orosians to trust him. The upper crew quarters were tight. Most likely he would be able to talk with the Saptans.

“Lieutenant.” First Officer Brag inclined his head. 

Tag stood and followed him from the command module. Tag almost flinched from the noise of his boots on the steel deck. He’d become used to the near silent padding of bare feet across the carpet of their cargo bay prison cell. 

The upper crew area was only a single room with bunks on all wall surfaces. Commander Shar, a laser rifle across his shoulder, stood in the doorway.

“Any problems, Rob?”

“No, They’ve been quiet.” Rob shot the first officer a broad grin. “I don’t think they’re crazy enough to mess with Big Betsy.” The Orosian waved the weapon in the air.  “I was regaling them with my marksmanship. I learned to hunt with my daddy long before I could walk.”

“I see our little accident hasn’t lessened your fine tall tales.”

“Tall tales. Have I ever told you about the three day hunt for the bear?”

“Many times, my friend. Don’t incite them to riot with your whoppers,” the first officer laughed. “Have you fed them?”

“No.” 

“We only have access to the upper storage. Make them comfortable.”

“Commander,” Rast asked the first officer softly from where he sat folded into a relaxed sprawl with the other Saptans, “may we assume the immediate crisis is over?”

“Yes,” the first officer said with obvious wariness, as if that information might somehow give the Saptans an advantage.

“Will we be able to continue on our planned course?”

“You are not privy to that information,” the first officer snapped.

“May we see our navigational plot?”

“Why?” Hostility dripped from Commander Brag’s voice.

“We provided your command with the most common and safest routes. There is a more direct route to a major space lane if we are located in the appropriate quadrant.”

“I will have to ask the captain,” Commander Brag said stiffly.

“Your people, like ours, believe in duty. It is your duty to deliver us home. Otherwise your lives will be forfeited in vain,” Rast said, not moving from his sitting position. 

“I will consult with the captain,” Brag said, even though his body language suggested he’d already rejected all Saptan ideas.

“Tag, don’t say anything,” Rast warned. 

How did Rast know? Tag thought. He always knew what Tag was thinking, sometimes before Tag even knew himself. Tag had wanted to tell the commander that ignoring Rast was flipping suicide.

“Tag, come here,” Rast said.

Tag crossed the deck floor and sat on the edge of the bunk. He shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his boots along the metal floor. 

Bist’s hand slid across Tag’s cheek. “You’re dressed like them, but you’re not them. You are us.”

Tag bent down, untied his laces, and kicked off the boots. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around his knees. Bist snaked his arm around Tag’s shoulders and jerked him back toward the other Saptans.

“Taga,” Bist said, “we have no doubt you are part of the seven, but you are also an Alliance officer. You have a duty to help the captain.”

“They’re afraid,” Rast said. “You remember our first meeting. We did not get off to an auspicious start. You tried to self destruct, and they will also if you push too hard.”

“And since when are you the expert on the Orosians?”

“Tag, the seven is under stress. Do not add to it,” Rast warned.

“They know I let you hit me. You don’t need to be shy. You can do it right in front of the damn guard.” Tag waved his hand at the Orosian who was pretending to lounge against the door jam. “Come closer so you can get a good view,” Tag jeered.

Bist tightened his arm around Tag’s chest.

“I’ll handle this,” Rast said to Bist. “Taga, I know you are feeling uncertain.”

“Are you going to also tell me I’m feeling worried, sad, or a myriad of other negative emotions?” Tag snapped back.

“Tag San K’Rast.” Rast’s tone had changed. The change was so slight that it was probably imperceptible to the prying Orosian, but in six months Tag had trained himself to read the subtle shifts. Saptans’ voices were more controlled and occupied a lesser range in both volume and octave than humans. Except for the few shouting matches instigated by Tag, they didn’t raise their voices, and those shouting matches had been distinctly Tag alone. Kip merely watched until Tag regained some modicum of control; Rast grabbed onto Tag and physically overwhelmed his rage, but Rast hadn’t used corporal punishment since that initial whipping. Bist was different. He was ki, and the one who had most suffered under corporal punishment, but he was the quickest to use it. He’d never used it in the dramatic fashion of that first whipping, but he’d clipped Tag across the ear several times and demanded their human, as he liked to call Tag, get himself under control before he did something more drastic. To Tag’s surprise, Bist had never seemed upset over the incidents. He’d run his hand down Tag’s cheek in that peculiar Saptan way and with a distant expression mutter something about Tag being too similar to him as a young man.

Tag never did see the similarities. He had to admit after their awful start that he liked Bist. There was something solid about the Saptan, and it wasn’t just his build. He didn’t smile much and his heavy brows were often knitted together in a thick, menacing line. Tag didn’t know or truly understand why it occurred, but it was Bist he sought out when he was in despair or feeling overwhelmed. Tag knew the other other ki adored and worshipped the burly Saptan. They calmed instantly in the taciturn Saptan’s presence, and Tag did the same. Tag was infinitely grateful that even when Rast had said he would handle Tag’s current crisis, Bist had not loosened his grip around Tag’s shoulders.

“Tag, do you really want to give that Orosian something to remember?” Bist pronounced the word Orosian as if it were something he’d dragged up from the sewer. “Rast is being very kind right now, kinder than I think he should be. You are ki, and he should remember that.”

“The fool Orosians are going to let us die out here. I’ve seen the damage report; we can’t complete the flight plan on one engine.”

“Taga, we are still here, and as long as we are still here, I do not give up hope. What has been the traditional role of the kwi for the last three millennia?” Rast asked.

To control the ki, Tag thought but remained silent.

“We are the buffer between our peoples. As a kwi, I carry the sacred burden of preventing war between the ki, si, and ti. Here it is my duty to try to forge a working relationship between us and the Orosians. For this, I will need your help. Behaving in a hostile manner toward them increases their suspicion of us and decreases the possibility that they will look to us for assistance.”

“Does it matter?” Tag interrupted. “We don’t have an engine.”

“Taga, we have many more generations in space than you. We do not give up so easily. Brin managed to get a glimpse at our current position; she believes an alternate flight plan could be devised that would allow us to rendezvous with a Saptan ship in the D’San space lanes. It has significantly more risks than the original flight plan, but I believe it could be done. We’d obviously need full access to their navigational data in order to study its feasibility.”

Tag realized Rast had raised his voice, guaranteeing this conversation was reaching the ears of the Orosian at the door.

“Can this ship make a shift into folded space?” Tag asked, using the lay term for entering the extras dimensions needed for faster than light travel.

“I wasn’t able to fully study the specs on the remaining engine,” Bist said, “but I believe this ship was designed with redundant engine capacity. My understanding is that this ship was built in modules, and we could separate from the cargo section, increasing our odds of having enough resources for the shift.”

“On most Alliance spacecraft the command module can be separated from the remaining sections to provide a self sustaining life raft,” Tag said. “I do not know about the other sections.”

“It can be done,” the Orosian said from the doorway, “but it requires at least two people skilled in gravity free space construction.

“I have that skill,” Bist said, “and I assume your young engineer would have received training in space construction.”

“He’s never been on a spacewalk,” the Orosian said with unshielded disgust. “Commander Brag initially trained as a space construction specialist. He would have the skill.”

And he’d never go on a spacewalk with Bist, Tag thought in despair. The man wouldn’t come near them without a rifle between him and the Saptans.