Deck B was a mess. But we had to see if there was any evidence that would point us in the direction of the saboteur. Vela had confirmed there were no survivors on the other side of the emergency bulkhead. We’d lost eleven. Including Jerry. Jameson’s vessel had come off slightly worse. But any loss of life was unforgivable.

I’d like to think that Vela knew the shuttle had been empty of life before he’d fired on it. That he knew it had been piloted by Pavo remotely. But I wasn’t sure. Our AI would do anything to protect us. Even after having signed an employment contract, it was possible he still wasn’t opposed to killing to keep the many safe.

I sighed as I looked at the bulkhead keeping atmosphere in this part of Deck B. We were down by the officers’ mess. The kitchen had been sealed off, all that was left were the tables and chairs and one food synthesiser. Not nearly enough for the number of officers onboard ship. The repair bots would get to work with Vela’s help, but this was a hard hit we’d sustained.

“Anyone been here that shouldn’t have been?” I asked Lieutenant Hammersmith who floated beside me.

“Blackwell,” she called out to one of her crewmen. “Have you got that list I asked for?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the crewman said in reply, handing over a datapad.

Hammersmith glanced down at the names displayed and shook her head. “Only my team, a few officers who were off duty and had been in their quarters, and someone from sanitation who was on shift and supposed to be here at that time.”

I reached up to scrub my face, but my gloved hand came in contact with my helmet’s visor. I hated these things. And as there was viable life support in this segment of the deck, I technically didn’t need it. But I wasn’t going to stay in this part of the deck.

“Very well,” I said to Hammersmith. “Have all personnel pull back to Launch Bay Alpha. I’m sealing this section off for decompression.”

“Yes, Captain,” Hammersmith said, giving out orders in her curt German accent behind me.

“I’ll take my leave of you here, then, Noah,” Jameson said, floating up to my side. He held out a hand for me to shake. He wasn’t wearing an LSU and I thought perhaps it was a sign of machoism. But then he said, “I’m ready when you are, Vela,” and I realised it was a show of faith instead.

“Your shuttle awaits, Captain Jameson,” Vela announced. “Pavo has taken control of the vessel.”

I smiled. And Vela was trying to show his faith in him. It was tenuous, this accord between them. But Jameson was a strong leader, and he was leading by example. I just hoped like hell that he wouldn’t live to regret it. That we all wouldn’t.

Jameson floated off down the hallway towards Launch Bay Alpha, leaving me alone with Camille and Commander Kereama. Kereama had a medkit attached to her AU uniform. She hadn’t donned an LSU either, but then she wasn’t coming with us to the other side of the bulkhead; there was no one alive to receive medical care over there.

“Commander,” I said. “Lieutenant Hammersmith will assign you security while you make your rounds. I appreciate you offering to help us out like this.”

“This is what I trained for, Captain,” Kereama said. “This is what I do best.” She didn’t seem happy about it.

“One day I hope you’ll tell me how you switched from army medic to second-in-command of an Anderson Universal vessel. I’m sure it’s an interesting story.”

She offered me a small smile. “Not as interesting as you’d think, sir.”

I nodded. Survival never was as interesting as you’d think. But it was necessary.

“Well, we’re all in this together now,” I offered.

“Yes, sir,” she said, saluting me and then making her haphazard way back toward Hammersmith and the Launch Bay to say her farewells to Jameson no doubt.

“I wonder how that parting will go,” I mused aloud.

“I’m sure Vela will record it all for you to watch later,” Camille offered.

I waggled my eyebrows at her and said, “You bring the popcorn, Chief. I’ll bring the wine.”

She shook her head and looked back down the corridor.

“We’re ready, Vela,” she said.

“Emergency bulkhead lowering,” the AI announced.

“Once we’re both on this side,” Camille pointed out, “it’ll take long minutes for us to get back to the others should something go amiss.”

“Vela will keep us advised.” I hoped.

The bulkhead sealed with a clank and a hiss.

“Decompression beginning.”

I reached out and rechecked Camille’s LSU fastenings. I’d already done it twice.

“Stop fussing,” she said, exasperated. “I know how to seal an LSU correctly.”

“You know a lot of things, Chief,” I said, “but that’s still not going to stop me from fussing.”

“You’re like an old woman,” she groused.

“And you’re very important to me.”

She stopped trying to prevent me from checking her fastenings and looked up into my face. Light glinted off her visor and probably did the same to mine.

“Noah,” she said.

“Shhh,” I admonished. “You don’t have to say anything. I know we’ve got work to do and now’s not the right time.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she drawled. “We’re about to step into a blast zone on board a part of the ship open to the vacuum of space. If this isn’t the right time, I don’t know what is.”

I grinned at her. She arched her brow.

“Of course,” she added, “Vela is recording this and sending our voice and video feed to the bridge, so there is that.”

I closed my eyes and tried not to laugh. Camille patted me on the shoulder as if to console me.

“Decompression complete,” Vela advised. “Please secure yourselves.” Handles appeared on the gel walls. Camille and I took one each. “Bulkhead opening.”

The emergency bulkhead in front of us slowly lifted, revealing a horror scene. Blast marks were etched into the gel walls and floor and ceiling. There was no light pulsing within them. Scorch marks went off down the deck as far as the eye could see. Stars were visible down the far end of what was left of Deck B. Open space beckoning.

I sucked in a breath of compressed air and pushed myself forward, aware that Camille was doing the same behind me. The first body was in the hall itself. Midshipman Walsh. From Ireland. We found the chef in what was left of the kitchen. He was still clutching a ladle. Several more bodies were in the gym.

I stilled when I came abreast of the medbay. The blast had done severe damage here, close as it was to the docking hatch. My hand shook slightly as I held onto the gel wall at the door to the infirmary. My eyes blurred as I spotted a med tech and a civilian who had to have been a patient. And then I found Jerry.

“We’ll have their bodies brought to one of the launch bays,” Camille said softly from behind me. “We’ll give them a service worthy of the lives they led.”

I nodded my head. But I couldn’t look away from Jerry. He’d been a friend for five long years.

“Captain,” Camille said; keeping her tone formal in order to help me focus, I thought. “This is not where the blast was centred. We need to move on.”

“Yes,” I said, my voice hollow.

I made a move to turn myself around but stopped short of actually doing it. Reaching down, I touched Jerry’s still form instead, and said a silent goodbye. Then I made him a promise. We would find the person responsible, and we would lock them up and throw away the key. And we would make sure this vessel and this fleet made it to New Earth. I would see to it personally.

I pushed myself away from the chief medical officer and turned back toward the door to the medbay. Camille was already outside. I checked both directions of the hallway and then spotted her down by the blast hole in our hull. I floated through the debris and came to a stop at her side.

“Vela,” she was saying, “scan this for anything identifiable.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Whose body is that out there?” she asked. My stomach rebelled at the sight. “One of ours or Pavo’s?”

“Ours, Commander. A Midshipman Arron Smith.”

“Huh,” Camille said.

“That means something to you, Chief?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. But I did meet him once.”

“And that’s unusual? What department was he in?”

“Security,” both Camille and Vela said at the same time.

Camille scowled at the body floating in the void between Pavo and us. It had clearly suffered damage from the blast. I would hazard a guess it was the blast that killed him and not the loss of life support. He’d been close enough to be directly affected by the explosion, but not so close that he’d been completely blown apart.

“Anyone unaccounted for?” I asked. “Maybe in little pieces floating out there?”

Camille arched her brow at me.

Vela just said, “Negative, Captain. Midshipman Smith is the only body we have not retained onboard the Chariot.”

“Can we retrieve him?”

“I will try.”

“Thank you.”

Camille looked at me. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If it’s that I’d like to get out of this monkey suit and drown my sorrows in beer, then yes.”

She rolled her eyes. Nothing like a bit of ill-timed levity when you’re looking into the eyes of death.

“Isolate the channel,” Camille said.

“Channel isolated,” Vela supplied.

“If you’re going to tell me off, Chief,” I started.

“No. It’s not that. It’s just…Smith. I’m not sure that I like that he was the closest to the blast. The guy had a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas.”

“Texas?”

“American, sir.”

“That’s strange,” I said. We were a Sector One Fleet. Out of UK/Europe. The Americans were all in the Sector Four Fleet. The first fleet to have launched.

“I agree,” Camille said, opening her mouth to say more. What, I didn’t know.

Because the ship rocked around us and we lost our hold on the gel walls, and the void of space suddenly seemed a hell of a lot closer.

“Vela!” I shouted, arms flailing like Kereama.

“Red alert,” the AI replied, not helping to stop our inexorable exit through the hole in the side of the Chariot one little bit.