Act Three
Adrift
Part IV
Solarin Station 183.
Captain Dyjar stood in the office of Commander Van Stadt of Station One Eight Three, though it was not the Commander she was waiting for. She held her hands stiffly behind her back, feeling a wave of trepidation come over her. When Van Stadt had told her that an Admiral had wanted to speak to her – though he hadn’t said which one – she had known that the Babel’s fate was more important than she had realised. Far more so.
It had taken the Legacy’s medical staff more than three weeks for them to finally figure out a course of radiation purging that had any effect on Uriel Locke’s poisoning, and by that time, their patient had gone from maddened babbles to catatonia. Which was only technically an improvement. By the time they had finally reached Station One Eighty-Three, the man’s complete catatonia had been slowly replaced by a blank, barely-aware stare. He would eat, drink, sleep, but his eyes simply stared at people, things, machines, without any hint of recognition.
Vydallik save us from that fate, Dyjar thought, closing her eyes. To have gone from being Captain of a starship to being… that. She had faced terrible things during her career, but none of them compared to the thought of being unresponsive, a vegetable that didn’t seem to even be truly alive anymore.
Dyjar’s thoughts were interrupted by the hiss of the door, and she turned. A woman with long dark hair tinged with grey was standing in the doorway, clad in a grey Admiral’s uniform, golden filigree decorating her shoulder epaulettes. Her top three jacket buttons were undone, as were the top two buttons of her undershirt. With the dark rings under her eyes, she looked as though she hadn’t slept in at least a week. The expression on her face was sombre, exhausted, and yet stern at the same time.
“Well?” she asked, her voice terse and cold, tinged with a broad mid-Imperial accent. “What in the hells happened?”
Dyjar frowned. No introduction, just straight to the point. She’s angry.
“Ma’am,” she said, speaking carefully, “I’m not sure I -”
“Captain Dyjar,” the Admiral cut her off testily, “perhaps you misheard me. I said, ‘what in the hells happened’.” Her nostrils were flaring. “That means that I expect you to explain the state that Captain Uriel Locke is in to me. Now.”
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Dyjar took a breath, calming herself. She’s upset, but she’s right to be.
“As stated in our reports, Admiral,” she began, putting her hands behind her back and trying to keep her voice measured. “He was recovered from an escape pod in a severely injured condition. We repaired most of the damage, but he has been in a state of catatonia for most of his recovery.”
“The Babel?” the Admiral asked, though the tone of her voice indicated that she already knew what the answer would be.
“No sign of her, and not enough debris to account for a ship of that size,” Dyjar replied stiffly. “Admiral… forgive me, I don’t -”
“Admiral Laughlin, Jayne Laughlin,” the Admiral interrupted. “I’m Captain Locke’s direct superior. Or I was, and Elena Diakos sure as the hells isn’t coming out here to own her fratting mess, so you’re stuck with me.” She took a deep breath, apparently steadying herself. “It’s my damn fault that he and the Babel were out there.”
Dyjar blinked, surprised by the candidness of that admission.
“Ma’am,” she said after a moment, “what were they doing out there?”
Laughlin looked up, her expression hardening. “That, Captain, is classified information.”
Dyjar nodded. “Apologies, ma’am.”
“No need,” Laughlin said, shaking her head and giving Dyjar a small smile. “We all get curious at times, Captain, but the nature of the Babel’s work was more… more sensitive than you’d think.”
“I… don’t think I’d want to know, really, ma’am,” Dyjar said quietly after a moment. “Given what’s happened to Captain Locke.”
“No, you probably wouldn’t,” Laughlin murmured, chuckling mirthlessly. “Suffice to say, it was dangerous stuff.”
“Permission to speak very candidly, ma’am?” Dyjar asked. When Laughlin nodded, the Captain sighed. “That much seems skekking obvious.”
Laughlin laughed. “Well, I agree.” She straightened. “Now, I want your ship to remain docked at One Eight Three for the next few weeks while we debrief the crew and speak to your medical staff.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Dyjar said quietly. She took a breath. “I don’t mind admitting, I’d quite like to see this one through.”
“I don’t blame you,” Laughlin nodded. She turned away for a moment. “This catatonic state… it’s disturbing to say the least.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Dyjar agreed.
“More so for me,” the Admiral continued. “I know Uriel – Captain Locke. He’s a friend.” She looked back at Dyjar. “And he got into this state on a mission I gave to him. That’s my load to carry, now. And whatever happens to him is on me.”
She must not get the chance to speak about these things very often, Dyjar thought, nodding at the Admiral’s words.
“I’m… sure he’ll recover,” she said, wincing internally at how empty her words sounded.
Laughlin only smiled, a mirthless thing that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Thank you, Captain,” she said. “That makes one of us.”
***