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29

The dull ache in the back of my head was a reminder that no matter how acclimated I might be, ka’vaa’ma’loi still packed a wallop. I was near the end of my shift and had been pounding down the water and electrolyte juice all day. I looked forward to heading back to my suite for something that went down nice and easy. A simple peanut butter sandwich sounded awesome right now, and I wondered if the food synth could pull it off.

I’d been moved to one of the larger consoles with the big wraparound holoscreen, covering a sector of Union space that had been mostly quiet. There was a single outpost in my sector, with a few ships moving to and from. It was far enough away for light-wave transmissions to be impossible, so I was dependent on the entanglement comms. The outpost had its own EMS station, so there was little to do but wait for calls from ships in the sector that might need help. We were kind of a third wheel, keeping track of what the local Med Corps teams were doing. We could send units if they got shorthanded, but it would be a long haul for any reinforcements to get on scene.

The quantum entanglement comm might be based on exotic science, but it was easy to use. I’d started my shift with a routine check-in, sending a five-character coded signal that in essence said, “I’m here.” After a few seconds the outpost sent back another signal that essentially said, “Yeah, we know.”

That’s pretty much how my day started. Occasional updates from the outpost, notices of ships transiting my sector, all in five-character messages I’d decode using a list of predetermined phrases that hovered in one corner of the screen. It felt like being an old-fashioned telephone operator.

KSJHI: Ship transiting sector. No assistance required.

LCHZS: EMS team dispatched.

BHSIG: EMS team returned. Patient admitted.

And so on. Not exactly the most fascinating job I’d ever had.

Occasionally rollover calls would appear from other sectors, which was mildly interesting. Considering how sparsely populated each sector was, it was rare that one would get overtaxed to the point where the call would be pushed to somewhere else. Jarra had told me it typically happened along the boundaries between sectors.

It became a lot more interesting when nearly every sector in our quadrant started lighting up. Codes began appearing from nowhere, on everybody’s screens. What took things from interesting to alarming was that they were all generic distress codes. No details, no personal identification, it was like calling 911 and leaving the line open. They were appearing on comm screens all over our quadrant, by the hundreds.

“I don’t understand. Is this some kind of glitch?”

Jarra moved about between consoles, looking over everyone’s shoulders and trying to understand the problem. “A system error would seem reasonable. It also seems unlikely.” She pointed at the newest burst of codes on my screen. “These are discrete, from individuals. Thousands of them, all in a short time.”

“I don’t understand. There’s no location identifiers. Where do we even send response teams?” And how many, for that matter.

Jarra closed her eyes and stood motionless, as if something was drawing her attention away. “I believe I may know. Excuse me.” She edged in next to me and called up a visual feed from an outpost near Zeta Reticuli. It was a starfield, taken from an observation station. At its far edge was a grayish-brown smudge. “This is Tanaan, a minor planet at the edge of our home system. It has long been used as a research facility. It is also where we maintain particle accelerators for synthesizing element 115.”

“You think that’s where these calls are originating from?”

“It appears so.” She studied me for a moment. “Tell me, do you sense anything strange?”

I’d been too focused on where all these calls might be coming from to notice anything. “Do you mean telepathically? I don’t have that ability.”

“You have had such bonds in the past with your mentor Xeelix, correct? Once those bonds have been established, they may be suppressed. But they do not wane.”

I closed my eyes to clear my head, and felt a tickle at the edge of my mind. Fear. Pain. “There’s too much. It’s all a jumble, like I’m trying to pick out voices from the edge of a crowd.”

“Then you sense much more than you know.”

I stared at the growing roster of incoming codes. “What do you think is going on?”

She pointed at my holoscreen. “I suspect we may find out shortly. That planet is two light-hours from the nearest system outpost. They would have recorded the same distress calls over the entanglement net, but will be unable to directly observe anything yet. In the meantime, we must prepare.”

I understood. “Mass casualty event.”

“I believe you are correct. If it is as I suspect, we are about to need considerably more resources.” She tapped out a series of commands into her crystal. “For the time being, we will send our heavy rescue unit to assist. I am also alerting neighboring sector outposts, and advising the Zeta Reticuli outpost to prepare for a surge.”

“How far is that from here?”

“Thirteen point four light-years.” She looked away from the screen, her black eyes narrowing as she studied my leg. “Xeelix speaks highly of you. What is your physical condition?”

I sat up straight. “I’m ambulatory. That’s good enough.”

“You are hereby released from dispatch duty. If my suspicions are correct, we will require as many resources as can be spared. Get to the hangar and help any way you can.”


I ran out of the dispatch center, ignoring my ankle, and grabbed the first lift up to my suite. My heart pounded as I impatiently counted off the seconds waiting for the door to open. I ran into my room to snatch up my go bag, then hauled ass back to the lift. As it took me down to the hangar, I slipped on my boots and cinched up the one around my bad ankle as tight as I could stand. I was determined to get aboard that heavy unit before it took off.

When I got to the hangar deck, every bay was buzzing with activity. Medics and pilots of every race scurried back and forth between their transports and the gear lockers in anticipation. Those who weren’t had clustered in groups, no doubt trying to get a handle on what was happening out at Zeta Reticuli. I sensed the collective adrenaline rush among them.

I could also tell the rumor mill was already getting out of control from snippets of conversation as I ran past:

“. . . planet exploded . . .”

“. . . space-time rift . . .”

“. . . gravity lance weapon . . .”

When I made it to the heavy bay, it was a punch in the gut. The alert beacons were already flashing and the force fields were up. The ship was easily three times the size of our little Class III’s, a fat silver cylinder with outriggers bigger than our ambulances. And it was leaving without me.

The floor vibrated as the bay opened, jetting the big transport into space.

My ride was gone.


I coped with my dejection by helping the other crews load up their rigs with as many supplies as each could hold. Every squad had a full complement, with no room for extras. We were playing catch-up with transports that couldn’t possibly make it all the way to Reticuli without something much bigger to ferry them. Maybe I could hitch a ride on that. A hospital ship was supposed to be on its way, but that meant we’d be the cleanup crew, relieving the others who were first on scene.

Technically I was off duty, but when an event like this comes along no one willingly stays behind. I’d seen it before with industrial accidents back home, where medics and firefighters rolled up in their personal vehicles if they had to. It made me long for my own ship, but that would’ve been no more realistic than trying to pilot a LifeFlight chopper on my own.

Then again . . . 

I pulled out my crystal to see who was off duty, and left the hangar at a dead run.

***

Bjorn answered his door, half asleep. “Melanie?”

I shoved past him into his suite. “Good. You’re awake.”

“I am now.” He rubbed at his eyes. “You’re rather animated. Is something wrong?”

“Something’s happened in the Reticuli system, a place called Tanaan. Something bad. We started getting individual distress calls by the thousands over the entanglement net, but no details. The observation post was a few light-hours away and couldn’t see what was happening at the time.” By now, they surely could.

As I explained Jarra’s suspicions to him, Bjorn pulled out his data crystal to search for any updates. “There’s nothing on the newsfeed. I know of Tanaan, though.”

“We sent the heavy rescue unit. The other squads are on standby for a ferry, but—”

“It will take them too long to get there to be of any use.”

“Exactly. They’ll be the cleanup crew. You still have access to your ship?”

“I do. It’s still docked. What are you thinking?”

“Isn’t it obvious? We need to get our asses out there, pronto. I’ve already called Chonk, he’s on his way to the hangar. Can you contact Sven?”

Bjorn looked perplexed, then understood where I was leading. “Yes, I will contact him. And that is good thinking. This will be a very long run indeed. I could fly the ship, but it sounds as if my services will be required on scene.”

“You got it. Come on, time’s wasting.”


Chonk was waiting for us in the hangar with a pallet full of supplies. It was basic stuff, but enough to set up the Emissary ship as a makeshift ambulance. He’d thrown in a quartet of environment suits for good measure. We tossed our bags on the pallet and waited.

Soon the heavy bay’s warning lights pulsed and its shimmering curtain of force fields lit up. When the bay opened to space, a familiar sight pulled in. It was the Emissary’s ship, that big, beautiful cigar with the drive rings on either end. I’d never been so happy to see a fast mover.

The ship settled into place and the fields dropped. We ran alongside as Sven emerged from an open hatch, waving us aboard. “Come, come. I had to assure your dispatch center that we wouldn’t linger.”

He’d get no argument from me. We loaded our pallet of gear and jumped in.

“I have route clearance to the Tanaan outpost. Access has been restricted to Medical Corps and constabulary vehicles. They made an exception in our case.”

“Diplomatic privilege?”

“Let us say that I bent a few rules. There are already a number of vessels on scene. The distance involved is significant,” he cautioned me. “We will be traveling at our vessel’s maximum relativistic factor. You’ve been made aware of the time-dilation effects?”

“Not worried about that now. I’ll reset my watch later.”

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Framed