The bridge of the UIC Tabitha was alive with movement. The crew had trained for situations like these, and the bridge personnel all knew what was expected of them.
The breathing emergency lights had transitioned from the critical red to a less threatening amber.
Commander Lochem Ahaffa stood at the centre of the movement, his voice cutting through the frantic reports and commands.
"I want everyone pulling their weight," Lochem commanded. His eyes were red from the smoke that refused to clear. "And someone reroute the life-support to bypass whatever is causing this–
"–On it, commander. One of the scrubbers–"
He didn't wait for the crewman to finish. "We need to repair as much damage as possible, as quickly as possible. And I want to know exactly what happened to the Christopher IV."
One of the sensor officers raised her hand and spoke. "Sir, I've analysed the debris pattern. It seems the Christopher IV was hit by an energy weapon from behind while in motion, disintegrating the ship and accelerating the debris like old-earth shotgun shrapnel."
Lochem felt the weight knot in his stomach. The Tabitha had been prepping to receive nearly five thousand refugee colonists. All dead, and some of them smeared across the outer– He clenched his jaw. There wasn't time for this.
Lochem addressed the bridge, "Status on all systems. Prioritise repairs." He turned to his own display. "Tabitha, report damage."
A minute later, Tabitha responded directly to Lochem. "I took severe damage from the impact, Commander. We're extremely lucky to have survived at all."
Captain Raymon stepped forward, resting his hand on the command railing. "If we didn't have all that extra armour fitted– If we had been a civilian ship..." Raymond's voice trailed off into silence.
"I've analysed the damage reports, and while the engineering crew can start field repairs, the majority of the damage cannot be repaired in a vacuum. We'll need a drydock."
"MedSec is filled beyond capacity, Sir." It was one of the younger members of the bridge crew who notified him.
"Casualties?" Lochem asked quietly.
Tabitha fielded the question. Her response was like a dagger to the heart. "27 reported casualties so far, with many more not expected to last the night."
"Dr Amaya? Is she still with us?"
"Vitals confirm she is experiencing severe stress without any bodily harm."
"And..." He wanted to ask about his sister, but it would be unprofessional to show favouritism. She was his sister, but as acting Captain, she was just like any other crew member.
"Mayvheen is fine. She is experiencing elevated anxiety levels, which are in line with current crew averages."
"Thank you, Tabitha."
He felt immensely grateful towards her intuition. "Tabitha, liaise with Dr Amaya. We'll convert the space reserved for the Christopher's passengers into a triage zone. MedSec beds are for critical patients only."
"Yes, Commander. It seems Dr Amaya has already made a similar request, so I've gone ahead and approved it."
The technical reports continued to stream in, a litany of injuries, damages sustained and sections destroyed or sealed off. Thanks to the manoeuvres from earlier, the cores were intact but strained, and the main engines were functional. They were alive, but the ship's combat effectiveness was in shambles.
Another report came in. "Sir, regarding the repairs, the power grid is strained. We won't have enough juice to bring both the dynamic armour and our railgun systems back online. We have to choose which one to prioritise."
Lochem looked at the Captain, then at the flickering displays. This was a defining moment in his career, and a choice that could determine if the Tabitha makes it back to Sol or not.
"... Our defensive systems are critical," Lochem decided, his voice gaining strength with each word. "We're going to play it safe. Restore power to our remaining armour. If we do end up in a fight, weapons won't mean anything if we aren't alive to use them."
"Yes, Commander. I'll relay to the repair crews."
Lochem took a seat. He was feeling tired. "Tabitha, compile a list of the deceased. I'd like to notify the next of kin myself."
Tabitha stared at him for a moment, unresponsive. "Done. I've sent the report to your personal datapad."
Raymond stepped forward, and his eyes narrowed. "How could this have happened? Why didn't our sensors pick up the shrapnel earlier?"
"Radiation from the nebula, Sir. It interferes with the scanners. We were lucky to have had any warning at all.
Lochem squared his shoulders. "Once critical repairs are underway, I want us out of here. Set course for the Christopher IV's last known location. We need to find out who did this."
"Sir? The Tabitha won't survive another attack. We should dock at the nearest UIC base first."
"No!" Lochem snapped. "Sorry, no. We have a very small window to identify who did this. Send a distress signal stating we require immediate emergency assistance, but set the meetup for the Christopher's last coordinates. We're finishing this."
"Sir."
---
The repairs were a gruelling, ugly affair.
In the dark light of the nebula, the repair crew crawled through the ruptured hull, running kilometres of insulated cabling across jagged metal to bypass destroyed circuits. They were clearing impaled debris from the bow and patching smaller atmospheric leaks. It was slow, dangerous work.
After hours of agonising labour, the all clear came through. The Tabitha's systems were as stable as they were going to get without a drydock.
The cruiser shook as the main thrust engine sputtered back to life. The sound of the damaged hull creaking under the stress of acceleration was enough to make even the veteran crew flinch. It was a low, groaning protest of metal under duress, but the Tabitha accelerated. She was crippld, scarred and mourning her dead, but she continued onwards towards the forever empty, unmarked mass grave of the Christoper IV.