Seventeen Centimeters

Seventeen centimeters.
By Charlie Beavers

The port airlock on the Krakatau was one of the complicated old sorts. Two chambers and three seals to allow pressurization and decontamination areas. These were two small rooms maybe two and a half, or three meters by the same, separated by a heavy sealed door. During an engagement a stray railgun slug had scored a direct, if non threatening, hit slicing directly through the exterior and secondary sealed doors, blasting a jagged hole in both.

The Krakatau survived the shot, obviously, and went on to win the engagement. During refit, new decon procedures and technology made the double lock model of airlock obsolete, with the second chamber considered redundant. Repairs were made to the outer doors, but the second set was never repaired, leaving a jagged semi-circular hole roughly seventeen centimeters across. The captain jokingly kept the old, now redundant and damaged but still working, doors in place, partly to show off how tough his boat was and partly to scare the new recruits that came onboard and had to stare through a railgun blast hole while they waited on a pressurization sequence.

The Krakatau was an older model ship, and no longer in production, now relegated to patrol and survey missions. Her captain, our captain, was a grizzled and white haired veteran. Captain Kikizima had refused reassignment to a new and sleeker vessel of war, and had remained on board the Krakatau in her new series of mission assignments. Survey of asteroid belts and planetary moons for valuable minerals, courier detail to fringe outposts, maintenance of remote survey and communications relays, and the like. To a proud man like Kikizima the work was degrading, but he refused to either abandon his ship, or enter retirement, and so he persevered with honor.

It was not until three tours later that this hole or those doors took on any significance beyond a minor curiosity. This changed eight months into a long range patrol in the deep fringes of the system NM-0FL. A longing for the glory days of old that brought us to break regulations on that fateful day.

During a routine refueling cycle of a long range gravimetric scanning array we found it dead and barely active, stripped of much redundant gear, as well as the stockpile of replacement parts and fittings. The fuel was likewise depleted far beyond the point it should have been. A triple layer scan of the onboard database turned up deleted entries and security footage of the array being forcefully plundered by pirates. The erasure of records and the still operational status of the array led the captain to believe it was the plan of these criminals to wait until the array was refueled and maintained to carry out their procedure again.

Against regulations, the captain broke from our ordained route and using the array's sensitive sensors plotted a course in the direction the pirates most likely had gone.

This led us on a path around the fringe of the system, and eventually to a second array, plundered and with shoddy file erasures, just like the first, and then to a second, and a third. Records obtained showed the pirate vessel to be the Flenser. A small ship comparable to our own, but more lightly shielded and more heavily armed. Faced with the prospect of such an even fight, our captain refused to simply return to the communications relay and make a report. He took it upon himself as caretaker of these arrays to end their abuse.

For the next three weeks we moved from array to array finding the same story again and again, sometimes only days after our quarry had fled. Then we lost their trail just beyond a dull and worthless moon of the ninth planet. Our captain had become consumed with his hunt, however, and refused to return to our normal flight path, and took us out of range of the system's primary communications relay and out into the kuiper belt, where we spent the next three months spectra-analyzing exhaust emissions, and monitoring the sparse communications of the outlaws that clung to some of these far flung frozen planetoids.

Through all of this we remained loyal to our captain. We humored his fancies; we went about our duties with due diligence, and the officers even pretended to be as excited about the chase as he was. This ended after we found our prey. Or more specifically, after it had found us.

Long range scans had shown us the location of what appeared to be a dumping ground of discarded containers and junk. Analysis showed undeniable proof it was our state issue cargo containers, and one transponder was still even functional, seemingly not destroyed like all the others. So great was our captain's eagerness that he never paused to consider this to be the cleverly baited trap that it was.

As we approached the debris field, our shields raised but not reinforced, suddenly from nowhere the Flenser was upon us with its plasma cannons roaring a battlecry. Within moments our fore shields had fallen and we had taken sizable hull damage. A flurry of countermeasures and a few clumsy self targeting missiles were our rejoinder, and with that we promptly fled the scene, the jarring of the warp engines coming to life so quickly threw many to their feet, as if in abject supplication to some divine entity we prayed would save us from our sure fate.

Aside from a few broken bones and two rather serious plasma burns there were no major casualties, and repairs began on our hull, with our precious tubes of nanites hungrily devouring redundant bulkheads and charred slag to rebuild the forward hull. The officers were synchronous in their advice for us to retreat back to the communications relay for repairs, and to relay a report to command, and for the third time the captain chose against logic, chose against procedure, and sealed the fate of his ship.

Thirty hours later with most of our repair grade nanites consumed, as well as 90% of our replacement parts, we were again underway and in pursuit of our prey. Intensive scans of the debris field showed our target had fled, and we recovered one of our homing warheads, with analysis showing the other had apparently impacted our target, with ionized fuel traces leading us to believe we had damaged an engine after having sheared through its shields. Working with the assumption we had wounded them as badly as they had us, we immediately followed their exhaust trail, weaving through a fragmentary ice cloud, and discovering a water distributing mechanism on the underside of a potable ice planetoid. Sparing no time to replenish our stores we continued dead on their heels, and for once luck was with us.

We detected the Flenser again as it sat in another debris field, surrounded by the shattered remnants of a much larger cruiser class vessel. Apparently we had damaged her more than we first suspected, because as we watched, her repair nanites were consuming a portion of the larger vessel as it rebuilt starboard engine housing, while three crewmen in exo-suits were making repairs on the engine it would soon house.

Once again eager, our captain assumed we had the element of surprise, which we did, and ordered an attack. Our forward batteries he ordered to be armed all with antimatter charges, and the mid range seeking missiles to be replaced with heavier and slower short range ordinance. We would use our superior sensors and emitters to jam theirs for as long as possible, creep upon them, and fall swiftly upon them for a nearly instantaneous kill.

It was a good plan, but one our targets had foreseen. As we dove towards them, engines into the red and shields reinforced to the fore, we hit the first mine. Followed swiftly after by the second and third. Our shields held but were sorely depleted with the beginning weak spots that would soon be holes appearing in them. Bound and determined our captain shouted orders our descent continued, however we then began to take heavy fire from our target.

Its spastic display of marksmanship threw many stray bolts in a variety of directions, but the few that hit us directly were telling blows. Our shields crumpled and for the second time our forward hull felt the searing caress of focused plasma. However, we made it into our range. Our own batteries opened up, screaming as they hurled their deadly packages of non-existence at our foe, with our single missile tube blaring its own song of destruction. The effects were devastating to say the least, and the Flenser was rocked by secondary explosions as it flew into warp speed, dragging its tethered crewmen to their doom as she fled.

After a spasm of cheering, our navigator had calculated their trajectory and charge and we were preparing to follow the short jump they had made. This is when we found the last of the gifts from our foe. The stealth mines looked like so much floating trash, and would normally have been shunted aside by our shielding effortlessly, in its weakened state they were at the least pushed aside. However, upon feeling our nearness they positioned themselves to touch, ever so delicately, our hull. By the time our screaming alarms had told us they were boring into our hull it was too late, and the bottom two decks were rocked by shattering explosions.

Six dead, a quarter of our crew, the main engine, our missile tube, and any confidence we had were our casualties for this fight. Damage control teams went to work, and the last of our repair nanites wove and spun the available metals into a new outer hull on our underbelly. More than four days later, our secondary engines were coaxed back to full power and our hull was again spaceworthy. The captain had pushed us to the limits of human endurance and beyond during these days, and I think this was when the others and first truly hated the man.

We hated him for the death of our fellow crewmen, for the deaths we envisioned for ourselves, and for his seeming total lack of fear or regret. With every extended duty shift, with every early awakening, and with each half ration of water (for our tanks had been damaged as well, most of our water supply was no longer potable) and every barked order, our hatred of the man who had been our captain for so many years grew.

During our brief respites from his dogged persistence, some of the other crewmen and I spoke. We spoke of many things pertinent to our situation, but they always came back to one singular theme: if we carried on and fought one more battle, we would all die. The captain was blind, we thought, he could not see the simple facts. We estimated he had passed beyond the point of reason. In our mutinous talks we told one another that he was the criminal here, acting against procedure, against protocol, and against orders.

It was this theme that won us one of the officers to our cause, and with his help, our plans began to take physical shape. We numbered seven, our little circle of mutiny, and would split up the rest of the crew into different groups. There were the loyalists that would follow the captain to their dooms, there was the neutral ones we were sure would not resist the change of power, and then there were ourselves. We outnumbered the loyalists seven to five; we outnumbered the neutrals too, seven to six. This meant in our fear addled minds that we easily held the majority, all we had to do was subdue to captain and his loyal followers, and we had handily won the day.

Our officer had given us the codes to the arms lockers, and we had spent some time formulating our plan. It was simple and cunning. We would delay completion of repairs to our port secondary engine as long as possible, and as it neared completion, report delays, and when the captain came in person, as he always did, to bark and growl at us and our delays, we would spring upon him with most of our number, and subdue any of his loyal cronies there at his side. At the same time in another portion of the ship, two of our number would stage an accident to tie up as much of the rest of the crew as possible. We would do our part, they would do theirs, and our main group would take the bridge before most of the others knew what was happening, at which time the neutrals would side with us the winners, and any remaining loyalists could be locked in their quarters.

It was the perfect plan; it seemed so unable to fail. That should have tipped us off.  I guess some would have called it irony that one of our circle of mutineers would betray us. Our plan went to work on the morning of the fourth day after our last engagement.  We sent up a call to the captain that the engine would take longer than we thought, at least another day.  Predictably he was livid, not responding over the comms, and coming down to scream at us directly.  Our men were in place on the upper decks, or so we thought, and as soon as the captain came in through the engine room doors, we grinned broadly inside, sprung into action. 

We were going to spring directly at the captain, and subdue him, and move into the hallway behind with pistols drawn, however this was not to be.  Almost instantaneously as we sprang towards him there was a bright and blinding flash, and when I came to my senses I was tied hands to feet lying in the floor of my quarters with a ringing headache. 

Over the next few hours I found out it was that fresh faced, clean shaven little ensign that had been our undoing.  He had told the captain all of our plans, and we had been incapacitated with stun pistols and grenades.  The captain had waited through, until the very last moment to move against us, wanting to be sure we truly had intentions to betray him, I suppose.  Regardless, there I sat, lay rather, on the cold floor of my quarters, and it was eventually my turn and I was dragged from my quarters and into the presence of the captain.  Expecting to be screamed at, to have my honor questioned, to be threatened with court marshal, I was surprised at the first question he asked me.

“What is the frequency you use to communicate with the pirate vessel?”

I was confused, dumbstruck even.  His questions continued, and so did my wall of silence and confusion.  Apparently there had been communications outgoing from the ship for weeks that the captain had finally been made aware of, the news of our mutiny had finally made our plans completely apparent to him, or so he thought.  He thought we were in league with the pirates! 

How does one convince another that your treachery goes only so far?  Of course I intended to betray you, but for my own reasons, not to anyone else.  He would not hear a word of it and continued to badger me with questions.  Finally he grew tired and I was dragged back to my quarters and left for several hours. 

When finally I was summoned, dragged, back before the captain, his eyes were cold and tired.  He asked me the questions again, and again I professed my innocence. 

“Very well,” he had said “then you will have thirty minutes to think over that final answer and then you will be executed for mutiny and treason.”

Then two of the other crewmen picked me up by my arms, and I was being dragged again.  Not to my quarters this time, but up the hall.  I begged then, I’m not ashamed to say.  I screamed and I pleaded, and I called them all by name and begged like a dog for them to not kill me, and they averted their eyes from me. 

When the inner doors of the airlock opened, I was not paying attention, still pleading, still bargaining.  I think I was midway through threatening them that the captain would get them all killed when the door shut, and I was perplexed for the first time.  Soundproof, I knew they could no longer hear me, and so I sat there for a short while, wondering why they would put me here of all places. 

I then heard the echoing boom of the captain’s voice over the speakers. 

“In exactly thirty minutes I will press a button,” he said solemnly and with no compassion in his voice, “and the outer airlock door will open, and you will be blown out into space.”

I looked back now, seeing the middle doors closed, and first began to panic. 
“The center doors will remain closed,” he continued “any time before that you can end this by just telling me what I want to know, the frequency you used to communicate with the pirate vessel.  You may also activate the decompression process that opens both doors simultaneously.”

I looked back now, and saw the hole, that seventeen centimeter jagged hole in the middle airlock doors.  I saw also for the first time that it was glistening red, and I smelled the coppery tang of blood in the air.  God, no. 
In thirty minutes I would be blown through that tiny, tiny hole.  All the force of decompression would contort my body through it, and shred me as I went, who knows how long I would be conscious for.  Or I could tell him what he wanted to know, which I had no idea of.  Or I could kill myself, and flush myself cleanly into vacuum, still an agonizing death but far less so than the other option before me. 

And so, here, at the end of my life I, a grown man, sat down and cried.  I wept like a child.  I begged, I pleaded, I screamed, I threatened.  I did this for well over twenty minutes, two thirds of the rest of my life consumed by such useless futility, leaving me just ten minutes now.  I think, anyway, there is no timepiece in the airlock, and my arms are behind my back.  I can’t press the button that cycles the airlock.  I just can’t end my own life, probably because I’m a coward.

I’m not sure what I will do with the last ten minutes of my life, but I don’t think I will spend it begging either.  I think for the first time I might have found tranquility, calmness, right here at the very end.  I’m at peace. 

Engineer’s Mate Ukino Tamika spent the next to the last ten minutes of his life very quietly; he spent the final three minutes and forty-three seconds of his life screaming.  As the outer airlock doors opened, he flew backwards towards the jagged hole in the inner doors.  He hit it just right, one in a thousand, really, and his back and hands hit the hole square on.  The stout fabric of his suit which doubled as a soft exo suit was able to hold some of the pressure, and he felt himself hanging as his bare hands felt the full force of vacuum.  Blood boiled, and then it froze.  Skin ruptured, and then it was nearly torn away as he writhed against the jagged hole in the metal.  He “lay” there suspended for several minutes, screaming in agony before the captain finally opened the middle airlock doors and his body was flushed wholly into space.  Only when there was no more air did the screaming stop, and then only because of no medium in which sound could travel.  As the last gasp of air in his lungs was forcefully expelled, his eyes did not close in quiet death, but froze, open and bugging strongly from his head, and he tumbled slowly into space as the doors began to close and pressurize once more. 

The captain never got his answer, none of the mutineers he executed told him the frequency codes he wanted to know, all stuck to the same dogged story.  Once the repairs were completed, he went in search of his quarry one final time, and at a crucial moment in the battle two things occurred.  One, the shielding and Countermeasure failed simultaneously, and a single escape pod carrying bright faced ensign Kamina ejected. 

Unfortunately for Kamina, the captain won his final battle with the pirate ship Flenser with a masterful stroke of luck in a single shot that ruptured her hold full of munitions.  Luckily for Kamina, the captain decided not to pursue his escape pod, and instead to limp back to the communications relay in system. 
However, fate never forgets, and she always gets paid her due.  The water stockpile the onboard the pod was drawn from the contaminated tanks, the repairs and rerouting were never made, and Kamina spent the next two weeks or so slowly dying of heavy metal poisoning. 

It was the last tour of duty for the captain, and he retired, hailed as a hero and waved around all of the media channels as a bloody flag by the politicians, his executions and deviations from orders forgotten as election times approached.  The Krakatau was decommissioned, and scuttled on site in the NM-0FL