Seven Minutes

Shuttle Pod Down

            “Shuttle pod to Discovery!” Jamison all but shouted at the NX-05 to answer his call. The pod shook with another hit from the phase cannons on the planet as they tried to lift off.

            “Port thruster is down,” Osborne reported. Not accustomed to the normal workings of a shuttle pod from the helm, he stumbled on the controls.

            “Ignore it,” Mitchell shouted. “Compensate and go!” The pod shuddered again, faltering as it recovered from another cannon blast and rising from the dry grass into the sky a few meters, then a few more. They’d reached half a kilometer before the last crippling blast catapulted the pod stern over bow. Osborne managed to level the pod but had no idea how he managed it with only one thruster.

            “Go to impulse!” Mitchell yelled. “Hell with the damn thrusters!” The captain reached for Archer, trying to keep him from breaking a bone or hitting his skull on the bulkhead in the roll. “Keep this thing level and the gravity online!”

            “I’ve got it, Captain,” Osborne shouted. A small fire broke out with another rumbling explosion, less intense than the first few only because of the small amount of distance they’d gained from the landing site. Jamison ripped an extinguisher from the bracket above his head and pitched it in the general direction of the captain and the admiral. Mitchell wasted no time in suppressing the flames.

            Jamison took over from Osborne and managed to fly the pod high enough to avoid all but one last blast of cannon fire. A colossal explosion shot sparks and flames from one side of the pod to the other across the stern. Archer and Mitchell were knocked from starboard to port amidst black smoke and searing heat.

            “EPS!” Mitchell shouted at the con end of the pod. “Damn, hold this ship still so I can get the admiral secured, Jamison!”

            “Yes, sir!” he shouted. Osborne called Discovery while Jamison took the entire con. Mitchell grabbed belts attached to the walls and pushed Archer onto the bench, buckling the straps down, restraining him to the body of the shuttle to keep him from any more random injuries.

            “Discovery to shuttle pod, what’s your status?”

            “Admiral’s hit, unconscious; we’re down and taking fire but on our way, ETA seven minutes, stand by with medical team and the bay doors open,” Osborne said.

            “Acknowledged!” came French’s anxious reply.

            “Full impulse, Jamie!” Mitchell shouted above the explosions. “Go!”

            The longest seven minutes ever eventually passed without further damage or incident, and landed safely in the shuttle bay, although somewhat less gently than an experienced pilot would have managed. As soon as the doors shut the compartment pressurized and medical personnel sprinted in with med kits and a stretcher. The first one in the bay was Riaan.

            Mitchell climbed out of the pod first, opening both the upper and lower hatches. Two medics pushed the gurney as close as possible, jumped in and picked up the admiral together, placing him as quickly and gently as possible.

            “What happened?” Riaan demanded.

            “I’ll tell you about it on the way,” Mitchell told her. She felt a wave of panic when she saw Jonathan on the gurney. His jacket was stained with fresh blood; one of the officers had taken Archer’s necktie and used it around his head to slow the bleeding. His body was limp, nearly lifeless except for slow shallow breathing. Riaan felt for a carotid pulse, finding it weak and rapid. The color seemed to be fading from his face.

            “He’s going into shock!” she shouted, tearing off her lab coat and covering him with it. The medics did the same, putting as many covers on him as they could while en route to sick bay.

            “Tell me what happened!” she snapped at the captain.

            “The military and government are fighting over resources. We were taken hostage but when we were getting away he was hit with a phase rifle and fell off a ledge near the camp. Jamison and I carried him to the shuttle while Osborne tried to cover us. We were hit and we all went bass-ackwards; then when the EPS blew in the shuttle—“ 

            “Okay, I get it, never mind. Get him on the scanner, and be careful!” she told the nurse and the medic. “I want two liters Synthaemo B negative, point oh nine saline drip, heat a bio bed to 30 – I said be careful, there could be broken bones or internal hemorrhage!” she shouted as her crew lifted the admiral from the gurney to the imaging scanner.