Fuck.

“All right,” I said, floating toward the ceiling, “we’ve trained for this.”

“I haven’t!” an alarmed Commander Kereama said.

I didn’t have time to be puzzled by that; Jameson was already making his way to his 2IC. Instead, I reached out and grasped Camille’s waiting hand, and let her propel me with a sharp tug toward the door.

While she gracefully rebounded off the far bulkhead, I gently placed my wrist comm on the access panel. The door swished open, almost propelling me backwards, but Camille carefully pushed me between the shoulder blades and counteracted the force.

We pulled ourselves out of my ready room and pushed off towards the bridge together.

Brecht was already secured in the command chair. Johnson was attempting to get back to the communications console, but the rest of the flight deck were either in the process of securing themselves to their station chairs or already in them.

My 2IC started to undo his clasps. “Captain on the bridge!” he declared.

“As you were, Brecht,” I instructed, pushing off towards the bridge armoury. “Status!”

“The explosion was at the docking hatch, sir,” Brecht announced. “Half of Deck B is gone.”

I tried not to think of the loss of life. Instead, I reached into my locker and pulled out my LSU. The Life Support Unit clipped into place over our standard uniform and provided plasma and ballistic protection, as well as the capability to operate in environmentally compromised locations. I left the helmet and gloves where they were, but the door open. I could grab them if needed.

I noticed Camille was slipping into her LSU as well, and that Jameson and Kereama had made it onto the bridge now.

“What parts of Deck B have we lost?” I asked, picking up a plasma gun and fitting it to my thigh. “Medbay still intact?”

There was a weighted silence for a brief moment; long enough, though, for my heart to sink.

“We’ve lost the medical bay, sir,” Brecht advised. “The gym and one launch bay, as well as the officers’ mess kitchen, but not the mess hall. Senior officers’ quarters are intact and sealed behind an emergency bulkhead.”

I barely heard his words. All I could think of, all I could see, was Jerry.

“Any medical staff off duty report to secondary stations,” I said, my voice hollow.

“Captain,” Jameson said from behind me. “Commander Kereama is a trained army medic. Can I offer her services if required?”

“Thank you,” I said, turning to look at him. “But you might need her onboard your own ship.”

He looked devastated at having been reminded.

“For now, though, there is a mobile medkit over there.” I pointed to a corner unit. “She’s welcome to take it.” Kereama immediately began an ungainly attempt to reach the corner.

I blinked, but said nothing, returning my attention to the flight deck.

“Give me updates, please,” I said, levelly.

“Engineering is at full capacity. No damage reported,” Camille replied.

“Communications are online; I have hails from all ships in the fleet, awaiting replies,” Johnson said.

“Security is en route to Deck B,” Hammersmith offered. “I already had a contingency outside the medbay.” Damn. “And at the Deck B central hub. They report casualties, but can’t give an estimate of…those lost behind the bulkhead.”

“We have helm and navigation,” Georgiou supplied.

“We’ve separated from Pavo,” Graves offered. “They’ve activated their secondary thrusters and are navigating their vessel farther away from the debris field and us.”

“We should do the same,” I said. “Lieutenant Georgiou, if you would. One kilometre, for now, should do it.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

I turned and looked at Jameson. He’d commandeered a spare console and was communicating with Pavo through it. Non-verbally, so as not to disturb my flight deck. I appreciated the consideration and also resented the fact he’d helped himself to a direct conduit to my ship. I thought I could trust him. But, damn it! Someone had just blown up part of my ship.

And part of his, I thought darkly.

“Vela,” I called. “Come on, big guy, don’t fail us now. What’s your take on all of this?”

Silence.

My eyes connected with Camille’s.

“Conclusions?” I asked her.

“It’s the saboteur,” she said with conviction.

“Saboteur?” Jameson asked, pointedly. “You have a known saboteur onboard, and you didn’t tell me?”

Damn and blast. I nodded my head.

“Some of our malfunctions have not been entirely Vela’s fault,” I admitted, meeting his glare stoically.

He looked ready to pummel something. Possibly me.

“We docked with you, Vaughan,” he said quietly. His “quietly” held the impact of a sledgehammer. “I’ve lost 30% of Deck B, and Pavo reports fourteen dead.” Fuck. “We could have used a shuttle.”

Not, I noticed, chosen to do this all over the comm. He would have still visited. Still tried to help us. He just wouldn’t have placed his vessel in harm’s way.

For a second, I was consumed with guilt and regret and self-castigation. But there was no time for that now. I could beat myself up about it later. Now, we had a deck to salvage and a saboteur to capture and a captain and his 2IC to return to their vessel.

I met Jameson’s eyes with a look I hoped conveyed my remorse and then turned to Commander Brecht.

“Which launch bay is the most suitable for an evac?”

“Evacuation, sir?” He looked stunned. “We can’t abandon the ship.”

I huffed out an unamused breath. “For them, Commander,” I said, indicating Jameson and Kereama. “I want them off my ship.”

And that sounded a little defensive. I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath.

“Captain Jameson needs to be onboard Pavo at a time like this,” I corrected.

“Yes, I do,” Jameson said. “But I’m leaving Commander Kereama with you. And Pavo is already sending a shuttle to your Launch Bay Alpha. I believe it’s the most suitable and farthest from the damage.”

There was so much to object to in all of that.

I chose to go with the most lasting. “You’re leaving your commander behind?”

“My doctor survived,” he said. Fuck. Jerry. “And in addition to medical training, Ana is your best chance of getting Vela to function correctly.”

“How?” I demanded.

Kereama pushed off from the bulkhead she’d been gripping, overshot her mark, and wheeled her arms dramatically. I think Brecht might have snorted. But he covered it well.

“Bloody hell,” Kereama snapped. “How do you space jocks do this?”

I arched my brow and stared at Jameson for an explanation.

“Field commission,” he simply said and then shrugged as if that was perfectly normal.

“For your 2IC position?” I pressed.

Jameson’s shoulders slumped. “We, too, had a few malfunctions that weren’t our AI’s fault.”

An understanding look was shot my way, and then Jameson wiped the empathic expression from his face. The captain of the Sector Two lead vessel Pavo floated in zero-g before me again.

“All right, then,” I said. “And how do you plan to get Vela functioning, Commander Kereama?”

She’d managed to catch hold of Johnson’s chair. The lieutenant was giving her a wide berth, practically leaning over his console to avoid any potential flailing arms.

Kereama shot him a disgruntled look. He cowered.

“I plan, Captain,” she said, “to talk.”

To talk. God help us, then. A woman who planned to talk.

Camille shot me a glare, no doubt reading that very un-PC thought right out of my head.

I offered a grimace and attempted to emulate Jameson. And then Graves said, “Shuttle approaching, sir.”

Right before it was shot to hell by one of our energy cannons.

There wasn’t much captaining going on after that. But there was a hell of a lot of “talk”.