First Battle Part 1

	Lt. Karen Rhodes, M.D. bit back a sigh of boredom. She had a feeling
the rest of the bridge crew wouldn't appreciate the watch officer
demonstrating anything less than a stiff upper lip. Unfortunately, Karen's
first watch on the bridge of the Exo-frigate Normandy was proceeding without
any incident whatsoever. She shifted in her seat, glancing at her
chronometer. Only two hours until Lt. Barrett relieved her. The wait seemed
interminable.

	It was just her luck to get posted to the one frigate in the Fleet
whose captain believed in all officers getting command experience. Everybody
with the rank of lieutenant and higher took their shift as watch officer on
the bridge. Karen would have been much happier back in her sick bay,
surrounded by the soothing smells of antiseptic and the cool air of the
surgical suite. In sick bay she wasn't expected to acknowledge every minute
course correction, or sign off and process transmissions from Earth that
probably meant more to the ensign at Comm than to her.

	"Transmission received from the Resolute, Ma'am," the ensign saluted
her smartly. She saluted back. If he doesn't unbend just a little over the
next two hours, she thought to herself, I'm going to have to go searching for
that rod up his rectum. It seemed as though the main requirement for bridge
personnel was a lack of personality. She stifled another sigh and scanned the
transmission.

	"Change course heading to three-one-five mark two-one-two," she
ordered, reading the coordinates off the transmission. "It looks like
Command thinks the pirates are hiding out in the asteroid belt." The ensign
shot her a look that she imagined was a reprimand for editorializing. He
couldn't have been more than eighteen.

	Karen occupied herself by mentally reviewing the anatomy of the
Neosapien cardiovascular system, and when that grew tiresome she began musing
on the design of the jumpsuits of the bridge crew. She had yet to get used to
the profusion of bright colors and sculpted hairstyles that seemed to be
these people's only means of self-expression. Karen herself favored a more
muted look, choosing a yellow and blue jumpsuit. She also eschewed the
current fashion of shaving designs on her head, satisfied with keeping her
curly brown hair chin-length and tidy.

	Her glance dropped to the medical glove encasing her left hand and
forearm. I may not be Exofleet in my heart of hearts, Karen thought, but I
will always be grateful for this. The glove had become almost a second skin
for her. She ran her hand idly over her thigh, feeling the heightened
sensations in her fingertips as the sensor pads scanned her leg. Visual data
appeared on the small screen, giving her vital signs and scan readouts. The
fine lasers and micro-tools remained quiescent, awaiting activation via the
microfilaments that brought electrical impulses down her sleeve from the
neural interface. The cyberjack at the base of her skull had been surgically
implanted when she underwent officer training and represented the main reason
why she hadn't quit after the first week of boot camp.

	"Lieutenant Rhodes," the hail jolted her from her thoughts.
"Unidentified contact bearing one-five-eight."

	She felt a frission of adrenaline skitter along her nerves. "Report,"
she ordered. "Let's get an ID. We don't want to be chasing off after some
miner that's gone astray."

	The young woman hunched over her console, fingers flying as she ran
the specs and resonance against all known registered vessels.

	"It's not one of ours, Lieutenant," she concluded. "Could be a pirate
vessel."

	"Lieutenant, another transmission coming in from the Resolute," the
ensign handed her the transmission.

	"Captain Marcus has ordered the Fleet to pursue," Karen informed
them. Her heart pounded and she hoped nobody else noticed her discretely rub
her hands on her thighs to dry them. "Set heading to follow."

	"Shall I inform the captain?" the ensign asked. Karen thought
furiously. The Normandy was on the far side of the Fleet from the contact,
and the chances of it actually being a pirate vessel were slim. Far more
likely it was a miner illegally harvesting ore from the asteroid belt. She
didn't think the captain would be pleased to be disturbed if this turned out
to be a wild goose chase. Her father had never had much patience for officers
who didn't think for themselves.

	"No, not yet," she decided. The ensigns exchanged swift glances
before getting back to the task at hand. She felt a moment's indecision
before resolving not to second-guess herself.

	"The vessel is headed into the asteroid belt, Lieutenant Rhodes."

	Karen felt a stab of uncertainty. The belt would greatly hamper the
Fleet's maneuverability, making it more difficult to evade attack and to
bring the massive weapons batteries to bear on the enemy. Merely a frigate,
the Normandy was small enough to maintain some advantage, but the huge
Exo-carriers would be at a disadvantage. On the other hand, they were dealing
with just one small vessel.

	"The Resolute?" she asked.

	"Entering the asteroid belt."

	"Follow," she ordered. "Yellow alert. And somebody get me the
captain."

	She felt the tension on the bridge increase as they slid into the
belt along with the rest of the Exo-fleet. The thought passed through her
mind that it might have been wise for somebody to leave some ships at the
perimeter of the field just in case, but suddenly she had more pressing
concerns.

	"Lieutenant, three asteroids headed on a collision course!"

	"Evasive maneuvers," she snapped, and sincerely hoped that the
crewman at the helm was a good pilot. The last thing Karen wanted was to
present the captain with a hull breech.

	"Aye, Lieutenant," came the reply.

	She didn't feel the ship's movement, but could imagine the starboard
thrusters firing to move them out of the path of the oncoming threats.

	"Lieutenant!" Karen's stomach clenched in dread at the fear and
disbelief in the ensign's voice. "The asteroids have changed heading. They're
still on a collision course!"

	That was ridiculous. Asteroids were controlled by the laws of
physics, and certainly did not change course to collide with an Exo-frigate.

	"Bring main batteries on-line. Target the asteroids and fire at
will."

	Voices chittered excitedly in the background as the gunners called up
for coordinates and began to target the incoming asteroids. Karen felt the
reverberation of the main guns as they fired in sequence.

	"Targets destroyed, Lieutenant."

	Karen breathed a sigh of relief, not caring who saw her slump back in
the command chair.

	"Lieutenant! More asteroids incoming!"

	"Target and fire!" she shot back.

	Proximity alerts began to wail as several of the rocky missiles
slipped through the gunfire. Multiple thuds rocked the ship and indicators
showed several scanner arrays damaged but no hull breach. Klaxon began to
wail and damage reports flooded in from all over the ship. Karen dampened out
the sounds, focusing on helping the gunners locate and target further
threats.

	The hatch to the bridge whooshed open and Captain Henry strode in,
fastening the closures of his jumpsuit as he stalked to the command chair.
His hair stood in tufts around his head, but somehow Karen did not find his
dishabille amusing.

	"What the bloody hell have you done with my ship?" he demanded.
"Where are we?" His angry gaze pinned Karen like an insect before she jumped
to her feet. She was aware that the tall dark presence of the First Officer,
Commander Xanatos, had joined the bridge crew. Karen swallowed hard.

	"Sir!" she saluted. "We came across an unidentified contact, possibly
a pirate vessel. The Fleet was ordered to pursue and we have followed the
ship into the asteroid belt. We have been attacked by several asteroids that
somehow change course when we attempt to evade, and we have sustained minor
damage to the hull."

	"It's an ambush," he said angrily, "and you took my ship right into
it!"

	"Captain," the ensign called out, "pirate ships decloaking all around
us!"

	"Evasive maneuvers," Henry ordered. "All guns fire at will."

	Xanatos spared her a brief glance. "You're relieved," he told her,
"Get to sick bay."

	Karen actually managed a couple of steps toward the hatch before the
pirates' first volley hit the Normandy, throwing her back across the bridge.
She hit the Comm console, crying out in pain as her shoulder protested the
abuse. She rolled onto her back to get her bearings just as the next volley
hit. The console behind her overloaded and blew, spewing sparks and debris as
Karen threw her arms over her head to protect herself.

	"Orders from the Resolute, Captain," she heard. "Target the pirate
vessels using main guns only. Do not launch E-frames."

	"That's suicide!" Henry retorted. "Get Captain Marcus on the horn and
get those E-frames ready to fly."

	"All hands, battle stations," she heard the First Officer order over
the ship-wide comm.

	Karen opened her eyes and saw the young ensign from Comm lying next
to her, unconscious. She dragged herself to her feet and looked around.
Everybody was gamely hanging onto their stations despite the frequent
thundering and explosions. Electrical fires had broken out across the bridge
and the smoke stung her eyes. She felt heat at her back, and turned to see
the ruins of the Comm, still sparking and hissing angrily. The ensign's legs
were trapped beneath, and his fire-retardant jumpsuit was beginning to smoke.

	Karen grabbed his limp body around the chest and struggled to pull
him from beneath the twisted remains of the smoldering console. The sharp
tang of ozone filled the air. The floor shuddered again beneath her, and she
ruthlessly squelched the almost overwhelming urge to flee. Where would she
run? If the frigate blew, it wouldn't matter if she were on the bridge or
cowering beneath her bunk. Besides, doing her job might help keep her mind
off of just how little metal there was between her and the vacuum of space.

	"Come on, buddy," she grunted, "did you really need that last helping
at breakfast this morning?" The crewman's unconscious face bobbed beneath her
as she shifted her grip. Blood continued to trickle down his forehead from an
ugly laceration above his eyebrow, matting in his hair. "I hope we still have
a working dermal stimulator, or your pretty face is going to look a lot
different the next time you see a mirror," she warned him. She shunted aside
thoughts of intracranial swelling, internal hemorrhage, and the fact that his
jumpsuit was now burning. Her muscles screamed in protest as she continued to
try and pull his deadweight out from under the red hot metal trapping his
lower extremities. "Come on!" she cried out.

	Suddenly she felt a lurch in her stomach and the world turned upside
down. She grasped the unconscious crewman under his arms, hugging him close.
The bridge swirled around her as she felt her feet leave the floor. I'm
dying, she thought, holding her inert burden more closely. So this is what
it's like. She saw the demolished console lift up magically from his legs as
she struggled to put her feet on the ground. Each time her toes touched, she
seemed to drift further from the floor, carrying the young man with her.

	"Gravity control has been hit, Captain," she heard somebody cry out.
"Oh, really?" came the captain's disgusted reply. "I hadn't noticed, ensign.
Everybody keep to your posts!"

	Oh God, Karen thought. I'm not dying. This is much, much worse. As if
on cue, her stomach rebelled and she swallowed convulsively attempting to
keep everything down where it was supposed to be. She watched the floor drift
further and further away, realizing that she was going to helplessly float
across the bridge and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. She
felt her face go ashen as sweat broke out across her brow. The body in her
arms groaned and stirred, the movement causing them to begin rotating slowly
along their trajectory. I hate space!

	"Shhhh," she admonished, "you've been hurt." She secured his arms
against his sides and turned him toward her. It took a moment not to allow
herself to vomit in his face. She checked beneath his eyelids, noting the
unequal pupils and disconjugate gaze, then ran her medical glove across his
head, scanning for fractures or bleeding. His eyes fluttered open but
remained unfocused. He groaned again and twisted in her arms, struggling
weakly in pain.

	"My legs," he moaned, "my head..." his voice drifted away as she
injected him with an analgesic. She kept close watch on his vital signs as
she scanned his cervical spine for fractures. Anything to keep her mind off
her heaving stomach. Explosions continued to echo around them masking the
voices calling out orders and delivering litanies of damages and injuries.
The hiss and static of the e-frame comm traffic spread the sounds of battle
throughout the bridge.

	She used the small laser in her glove to cauterize the ensign's head
wound, concentrating on her work and not her mutinous stomach. The smell of
burnt flesh made her nostrils twitch and turned her stomach, made worse by
the sensation that the bridge was spinning around her. I hate space.

	"Gravity control ready to come back on-line, sir," came the blessed
call. Karen felt like cheering, but kept it under her breath.

	"All hands, secure stations. Prepare for artificial gravity."
Everybody grabbed on to something, holding themselves close to the floor,
still carrying on the business of battle.

	"Belay that," the captain snapped. "Lieutenant, just what the hell do
you think you're doing up there?"

	Suddenly she noticed the captain's acerbic gaze planted firmly on
her, spinning lazily with her patient like lovers across the expanse of the
bridge. A blush seared her cheeks, and she gripped her insensible burden more
firmly. The bridge shuddered around them but she felt no movement. The
conflicting signals from eyes and inner ear made another wave of nausea crash
over her.

	"Nothing. Sir," she added belatedly. She struggled weakly in a vain
attempt to move someplace, anyplace else but from the spotlight of his
baleful glare, trying desperately not to embarrass herself by vomiting in
front of everybody. "I was just trying to get him out from under a console,
and then..."

	"Never mind," he said in disgust. "Commander Xanatos, please secure
the good doctor and her patient, if you would?"

	"Certainly, Captain," the First Officer said, and launched himself
neatly from the bulkhead toward her. She felt a stab of jealousy at the ease
with which he navigated in micro-g. Then she felt a hand on her collar, and
she felt air brushing past her body as she was pulled along. She closed her
eyes, concentrating on holding on to the unconscious crewman as the world
spun crazily around her.

	A voice in her ear muttered, "Don't you dare puke on me." She opened
her eyes long enough to see the warning in his face just before she felt the
contents of her stomach reach her throat. She watched in helpless horror as
the ugly wet blob collided with the commander's chest, instantly soaking into
his jumpsuit. He swore softly and his grip tightened painfully on her neck.

	"I hate space," she informed him weakly. He said nothing, but pressed
her down against the bulkhead and nodded curtly to the captain, "All secure,
sir."

	Karen collapsed against the floor as blessed gravity returned to her
body, weighing down her limbs and dampening the curdling sensation in her
belly. The ensign sagged limply against her and she eased him onto his back,
scanning him quickly. She noted with relief that the head wound had not
reopened and she thought the burns on his legs might not be too bad. As for
the concussion, well...

	"Are you quite through, Lieutenant?" Captain Henry asked. The world
snapped back into focus and she heard the sounds of voices calling out
coordinates and coordinating attacks in the background. She nodded mutely,
unable to look either the captain or the Xanatos in the eye. With relief she
saw a couple of medics rush into the room with a litter.

	"Then please remove yourself from my bridge," he commanded, turning
his attention back to the fight. She hurried to obey, helping the medics load
the unconscious man. She paused for a moment, wondering if she should
apologize and risk angering him further, when his gaze returned to her one
last time. "And Lieutenant? When this is through, please report to my
office."

	She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with
gravity. One week on this ship and I'm already getting sent back home, she
thought as she followed the stretcher down the smoky corridor. Periodic
reverberations made the footing unsteady, but she rather thought she could
handle that, just as long as they kept gravity. What will Papa say? Oh well,
I always knew I wasn't cut out for the military, anyway. She imagined the
look on her father's face when she returned and wished suddenly to be
anywhere else but on the decks of the Normandy, where her own inadequacies
had so glaringly been exposed. I hate space.

	They burst into sick bay and the cool familiar smells briefly soothed
her still rioting stomach. One of the nurses looked up at her entrance.
"Thank God you're here," he said. "Dr. Laurence was in the hanger when it was
hit, and Dr. Vela is already in surgery. We've got four unstable and about
eight other serious injuries here." Choked cries of pain were audible, but
for the most part the inhabitants of the ward were stoic in their silence.
She noted various burns, open fractures, and lacerations, as well as four
ominously limp bodies that seemed to be the focus of the staff's attention.
Karen felt icy calm descend. At least I'm good at something, she thought,
mentally rolling up her sleeves and wading in.

_______ continued ________