21
It was three hours before it was secure enough for the Takagahara’s engineer team to cross over and start working on the ship. Another passed before Captain Chokra declared the ship secure. Thirty-nine pirates had been killed, thirteen captured. Rev and PFC Minnie Rasta had been the only two wounded.
Even for an elite unit, that was an amazing accomplishment, something that was going to be used by the Congress of Humanity to trumpet cooperation and unity. Rev had to admit that they’d done well, but this crew of pirates had hardly been at the top of the pirate pyramid. Despite being doped up by his nanos, Rev picked out a hundred things he’d have done differently in their situation, starting with trying to stop Fox Company as they breached the hull and all the way down to taking advantage of pinning down SFC Gamay and her team and eliminating them instead of sitting there until Fox reinforcements arrived.
Not that he was complaining. Better to face incompetence and everyone make it home.
Rev and Rasta were medivaced back to the Takagahara on the same sled that brought over the engineers, so he wasn’t onboard eight hours later when the engineers finally brought life support back online. Two-thirds of the ship had been depressurized, and half of that was left that way. But temporary patches had been emplaced, and life support brought online.
That was a big hurdle. With life support working, the passengers and crew could stay aboard until they were taken to the nearest port—and under the Nightingale’s Song’s own power, not a tug’s, which made things much easier.
Back in sickbay, Rasta was stabilized first. She’d taken a shot to the belly and was in serious condition, but one of the corpsmen assured Rev that she’d be fine. Then it was Rev’s turn. They cut off his Oscar—and now Filmore was going to have to either repair this one or modify another—and the surgeon examined his shoulder.
“Nice crease there. It’s already sealing up nicely, but I can go in and clean it out if you want.”
“Do you need to do that, sir?” Rev said, sneaking a peek for the first time. He now understood what the surgeon had meant by “crease.” This wasn’t really a through and through wound. The round had gouged out a seven centimeter long trail at the top of his shoulder, never fully penetrating. Another centimeter or two down, and it might have destroyed his clavicle.
Or another centimeter higher, and it would have missed me completely.
“No, I don’t need to. I can put a mesh over it, and you’ll be good to go in a week. But that’ll leave a bigger scar.”
Rev laughed and held up Pashu. “Really, sir?”
The surgeon joined him in laughter. “OK, I see your point. No, I think we can leave it like that. I’ll stick on a mesh. That will help with infections, although your nanos seem to have that in hand. It’ll also help with discomfort.”
Five minutes later, given a clean bill of health, Rev was released, and he made his way to Filmore’s shop where a relieved tech opened the hatch and welcomed Rev inside.
“Where’s Randigold and S-O-R?”
“Not back yet. You’re the first. Are they OK? Are you?” he asked, spotting the mesh patch on his shoulder.
“You don’t know what’s been going on?”
“I’ve just been waiting here, worrying myself sick.”
Rev frowned. It shouldn’t be that hard to keep Filmore in the loop so he could be ready for any situation.
“I’m fine. This is just a nick. But my Oscar’s ruined. You’re going to have to check with sickbay to see if it can be salvaged. Randigold and S-O-R never made it to the ship. It got underway before they could breach.”
“They didn’t make it in? They’re out there, lost in space right now?” he asked, his voice rising.
“Out there, yeah,” Rev said, feeling a little guilty for not thinking of them. “Not lost, though. Everyone’s got transponders. They’ll get swept up.”
Filmore didn’t seem convinced, and he muttered as he removed Pashu. Rev left his IBHU in the tech’s hands and made his way back to berthing. There was no one else there, and it felt weird to be alone. He showered and changed, and it was still half an hour before the first of those who never made it to the ship returned.
Lieutenant Veang was steaming mad when he got back, and when he found out that Rev was there, he immediately rushed over for a debrief. At least he wasn’t angry at Rev but more at the capriciousness of the gods of war. Rev could see that the man wanted to redeem himself for the accident back on Enceladus, but as Rev gave him an account of what he knew, the lieutenant was getting more upset, as if he considered the successful operation an affront that it happened without him.
The lieutenant was followed by more troopers, all wanting a firsthand account. Rev’s nanos were making him a little sleepy, but he dutifully filled everyone in. Some of them had been floating around space for seven hours before they were gathered up.
Rev wasn’t particularly claustrophobic, but alone in an Oscar in deep space for that long couldn’t have been fun. And at least he had Punch, so he could have immersed himself in holovids or music. At least half of the troopers had no such AI or database.
It was another five hours before the troopers who made it into the ship started coming back to the Takagahara. Ting-a-ling was one of the last, and he sat down on his rack, anxious to hear what Rev had done—and Rev wanted to know what Ting-a-ling had done.
The Takagahara was still going to hang around until a Freedom Confederation Navy ship arrived to escort the Nightingale’s Song to port, but only eleven hours after getting the warning order, and only three days after leaving the home system, Fox Company and the MCS Takagahara had successfully completed their first contingency operation.
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