Malevolent Arc

Dead Drift

He glanced back to what he could see of the ships that had been circled. Malevolence's cannons were cutting them to shreds even as the big ship was moving to target the medical station. The crackling blue ring passed the window and the helmet darkened in response to that blinding light.

"Jester?" he called into his helmet. But there was only silence and darkness.

Several long heartbeats later, the darkness cleared and Chopper could see that blue serpent sliding away, ringing to catch other unwary prey. More importantly Chopper could still feel the vibration of the engine beneath his feet, there was a dim yellow emergency light and the console board had small lights scattered on its surface.

"It missed us," he said in a surprised voice as he inspected the data in his helmet and saw the hands of the pilot in the light of the cockpit over the pilot's console of blinking jewels.

"Good flying." The pilot muttered as he flicked some switches. "Some proximity damage to hull electronics."

Chopper turned to private channel. "Jester?" There was still no answer. Chopper ran through his helmet logistics for a within-range scan. According to the scan there was no one other than one trooper in the cargo hold with active armor. Chopper thought for a moment looking out the window of the cockpit. To his right were other ships; dead in space, drifting without power. Jester was on one even though his transponder was dead. He'd said there was a female pilot – that wouldn't be GAR.

Chopper spared a glance back toward the station then to the GAR transports. He switched to thermal and hissed. The GAR freighters were beyond dead; cut to ribbons, steel sieves rapidly leaking heat into the vacuum of space. Already one of them was dimming from red to yellow. Soon it would flicker to blue then match the emply, lifeless blackness of space. Those men were dead or beyond hope. He looked, once again to the right. Those ships were further, also drifting but untouched by laser, full of men and dead life support. But they weren't leaking; they would slowly run out of air and heat. Those men would suffocate or freeze in time, but they were alive now. He flicked off the thermals.

He tapped the pilot for attention and pointed out the window at a smaller Naboo ship. "Can you get close enough for ship to ship transfer? We'll take on survivors."

The pilot gestured toward the GAR freighters. "Why not the bigger ships? Closer? Easier to set up transfer."

"No," said Chopper. "The bigger ships are too close to the battle zone, they've been cut to ribbons already – I doubt if there's anyone still alive. It would take too much time to search for the living and not enough room in your ship." He lied to the pilot. He knew there were live brothers in those frigates. But with the ships leaking air and heat, they'd be dead before they could be reached. "We aim for the smaller ones."

The pilot, knowing the lie, nodded his head glumly, turned the vessel toward one of the smaller ships caught by the ion cannon, matching velocity, spin and yaw.

Chopper switched on the loudspeaker. "We're going to make a detour; there are other civilian ships dead in space. We're going to attempt ship to ship transfer. It will be crowded, but the first ship looks to carry maybe twenty-five people."

The pilot narrowed his eyes and glanced at several dials. "Maybe we take two ships. Crowded." He nudged some dials and the freighter started turning toward a dead ship tumbling in space. Chopper moved to the door of the cockpit to return to the cargo hold but the pilot stopped him with a word. "Announce to others first. Let them know I must turn down heat and other systems to conserve air for all."

By the time Chopper reached an escape hatch, he realized the pilot had cut out 90% of the gravity systems as well as the heat. Only the emergency lights were on. He had passed the cargo hold and asked for assistance. Gus had looked at Chopper with a sorrowed expression then shook his head, his arms around his ribs. The other armored man, like Chopper healed and released from medical, was already securing men in the cargo hold. "Go to suit life-support," Chopper said and the other trooper nodded, sealing his suit. Every little bit of air saved was another fractional unknown unit of time they could all survive.

The legless man, a wry grin on his face, was already in the escape hatch hold; a spanner wrench the length of his arm in one fist. Apparently he wasn't as injured as so many of the other men in spite of his lack of legs.

"Knaps," he introduced himself as he finished a knot on the webbing holding his near-weightlessness near the ceiling of the small area. "They'll be coming from null-G and won't know down from up."

Chopper grunted with a nod. He was an extra hand without the bulk of another trooper at his side. "Chopper."

"In position, seals good," called out the pilot. "Let them in." The pilot diverted some energy to the doors and Chopper pressed the button for non-emergency open. The hatch opened to another oblong circle of metal; the other ship's emergency hatch. Knaps hit the door twice with the heavy spanner. Dimly they heard answering pounding. Slowly, the other door was opened, incrementally by fingers and hands. There was no catch on the smooth metal of the outer skin of the ship for Chopper or Knaps, though Knaps inserted the spanner when the door was only a knuckle's width open then twisted as more hands, strong clone trooper fingers, pulled at the doorway held by its heavy weight. As the doorway became wide enough, Knaps flipped the spanner to its full length, bracing the door open. Chopper's fingers tingled as he reached into the other ship to help pull men into the functioning frigate. It was an electro-magnetic shield, small and low-grade, keeping the air in the frigate.

The pilot was the last man out, pulling two tanks with him. "Everyone is out."

Chopper nodded, Knaps pulled out the spanner and tapped the button to close seals while Chopper pulled the two tanks to the side of the emergency hatch. "Oxygen, good call." He told the pilot. The men were moving into the cargo hold, everyone helping each other, everyone making room.

Chopper had miscalculated the extent to which people had wanted to help. The small ship carried forty wounded troopers as well as the pilot.

"Picking up another ship," came the pilot's voice and the frigate rolled gently into a curve. Chopper leaned against the webbed wall of the hatch area. Knaps pulled himself back into the webbing.

"Is that comfortable?" asked Chopper.

Knaps shrugged. "Gravity's at ten percent. It's a lot easier for me to get around."

"Why weren't you sent back to Kamino for reconditioning?"

"Rude question." Knaps snapped angrily, avoiding Chopper's helmet face. "Wouldn't think you'd need to know."

Chopper was silent for a moment then stood to check out the cargo hold. It was crowded, but they were doing the best they could. He saw two pale-faced men, too soon out of bacta, side by side on Knaps' lift with someone, probably a wounded medic, tending to them. The armored trooper stood by the doors of the escape hatch hold, waiting for more men, his suit sealed. Chopper returned to the hatch door, running his fingers along the seam ensuring there was no leak and taking the time to think.

"I do need to know." His voice was softer than usual. "The last two times I was on Kamino they discussed reconditioning me. A clean wipe. I won't let myself go back. But I didn't realize there might be options other than dying."

In position," interrupted the pilot. "Seal's good. You can let them in."

Without answering Chopper but with a glance in his direction, Knaps tapped the emergency hatch door open and tapped the hull of the other ship with the big spanner. Again desperate fingers manually opened the door with Knaps inserting the spanner as needed. Troopers quickly and efficiently moving into the larger freighter helped by Chopper and Knaps. The men in the hold were pulling them in, making room where there was so little of it. The small ship, which Chopper had estimated – generously – to take fifteen, had thirty two troopers. Chopper shrugged. He was overloading the frigate, pushing more wounded into limited space.

The pilot and a clone in armor were the last off the ship. The pilot was a female and the clone was Jester. Jester pulled his helmet off and grinned at Chopper but continued moving forward, his arm around but not touching her; making room for the female pilot. As though every trooper in the cargo hold wouldn't give her plenty of room. Chopper shook his head. "Jester," he called and Jester turned the upper part of his body back. "Gus is on board; near the rear cargo hatch. And we're running suits sealed."

Jester, his eyebrows high in surprise, smiled widely then turned back to the pilot and guided her towards where Chopper had left Gus even as he pulled on his helmet then jerked it off again. "Suit's dead, Chopper."

Chopper nodded. He should have realized that.

"No more," called the pilot's voice over the intercom. "We're beyond maximum capacity."

Chopper hit the intercom with a fist. "How many more ships out there?" For a moment there was silence.

"Two." The pilot's voice sounded tired. "Maybe thirty in the larger, ten in the nearer."

Chopper had decided to stop estimating and knew they'd be almost twice as many as estimated. He took his fist off the intercom switch and mumbled, "They won't fit," and was rewarded by the legless man looking at him with a smile.

"We'll make them fit." He looked at Chopper with interest. "Have the pilot make it null gravity here in the cargo bay. It will make transfer easier then when we head towards Naboo, he can incrementally increase it. That will minimize the crowding until we're ready to land."

Chopper nodded and gestured toward the intercom. "Good idea. You tell him. Sounds like you and he talk the same language."

"We can manage more," called out the armored trooper at the opening of the cargo hold. "We'll just have to be very friendly."

"A good time to use the oxygen," offered another trooper, one of the wounded.

"Go get them," ordered Knaps, twisting downward to press the switch and speak with the pilot.

Chopper manually switched his baffles on. He didn't want to hear the pilot refuse. He didn't want to think of thirty or forty troopers shivering and fading into sleep-death, even if they weren't Jester or Coric or the captain.

Again Chopper leaned against the wall. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to alleviate the tingle in his hand from continuously reaching through the low-grade shielding which kept the air in their transport.

Knaps pulled himself back to the net of webbing and the pilot must have agreed because there was a small, half-smile on Knaps' lips. Chopper switched his helmet back to normal audio.

"Options." Knaps voice was quiet. He reached a hand to touch the stump of one leg, rubbing the end as if it itched. "I didn't know about options. I begged." He gestured at the space where his legs used to be. "Cannon blast took them off. I woke up on Kaliida in a bacta tank. I didn't know why I wasn't on the way to Kamino in stasis but found out the rule on Kaliida is everyone goes into bacta. Kaliida has autonomy for clone reconditioning and termination." He grimaced and looked away from Chopper. "I can't tell you anything more. Too many… " His voice trailed into nothing.

Chopper nodded. "Too many secrets that aren't yours? Options that aren't supposed to exist? Brothers that could get in trouble?" Chopper turned toward the emergency hatch as they heard the subtle bumping of the gaskets sealing for ship to ship transfer. Knaps gripped the spanner with one hand and, with the other, pulled himself closer to the opening.

Chopper touched the metal gently. Normally, ships vibrated with their engines and life support. This one was quiet, like a dead ship. Normally, ship-to-ship transfer was easy; both ships engaging electro-magnetic locks; the doors' servo-moters smoothly opening. Not without power. He couldn't tell them they'd be transferring through a partial vacuum, how crowded they'd be.

This time there was no answering tap, no one trying to open the door from the other side. Chopper turned toward the intercom when Knaps reached toward him.

"Hold up, Chopper. Let's open this hatch. Ask if the pilot can provide a limited magnetic field. Possibly that will set off locks. If they saw us through the cockpit windows, if they saw us pick up others, if they've been waiting for us, then their side of the locks will be ready to open at the power surge." Knaps gestured to Chopper. "Maybe there's a survivor in armor on life support."

"Lot of ifs," murmured Chopper, but he turned toward the intercom and asked. They were reasonable 'ifs'.

"Power? We're barely breathing and you want power?" hissed the pilot, but Chopper could hear the hum of the generator. "Last ship. I want to get home mostly alive." Chopper heard tears and sorrow in the pilot's voice.

The hatch clicked softly releasing the door catches only a crack. Knaps pushed at one side of the hatch with the crescent of the spanner. Chopper turned and dug the edge of his armor at the elbow into the crack trying to get sufficient grip to pull it open. Slowly they forced it open. Knaps slapped the spanner into place locking the hatch doors open. Chopper flipped back the intercom. "We're in. You can shut down the power."

Chopper switched on his helmet lights as he strode into the derelict ship pulling bodies into the emergency hatch. There was some movement of men, vague moans. Enough to know they were alive. Enough to know there would be no reason to go on to the next ship. Jester and the other armored man moved into the ship with him, quickly transporting the men into the freighter; Jester, unhelmeted, made sure to stay near the hatch and breathable air. In the null of space it was easy to haul two or three men, time was more important than gentleness. Knaps grabbed some men as they came into the ten percent field and guided them toward waiting hands in the cargo hold.

"Treat them for hypothermia, set them near the oxy-tanks," yelled Knaps back to the medics and wounded in the freighter hold. He'd been the only one without gloves; the only one to feel the cold skin of the rescued men. It was only a few seconds of advance warning, but sometimes a few seconds was enough.

Chopper was the last one back. "It's clean. That's it's," he told Knaps who closed the emergency hatch. Chopper tapped the intercom. "We're ready to go to Naboo."

As always, read and review and enjoy...

Might be up to a week before the next chapter...

You can always go visit some of my other stories. Maybe 'Going Home Again' for another take on medical.