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30

We did our best to get up to speed while en route, but facts were in scarce supply and it didn’t help that comms are almost useless when the gravity drive is going full tilt. Bjorn did his best with the information they had aboard, which was considerable. Such were the perks of being an Emissary. For myself, I was fighting the nausea and mental fog that hit me every time they fired up the drive.

He had a map of the system up on one of their holoscreens, with an image of the planet on the other. “This is the most recent imagery of Tanaan from the Reticuli Prime outpost, downloaded right before our departure.” The picture was fuzzy, but it was enough to see the dull brown world was crisscrossed with jagged cherry-red gashes. “Those features are not normal. The planet is geologically inactive, which makes it favorable for synthesizing stable isotopes of element 115. Tanaan is one of our primary refinement facilities.”

“Jarra said they do research there too. What kind?”

“Materials science and propulsion technologies. The Reticulans are constantly searching for greater efficiencies.”

“So we’re probably looking at an industrial accident.”

“That would be my thought as well, though it would be nice to have some reports from on scene.”

We’d had specialized training for mass casualty events and industrial accidents, but nothing on this scale. It felt like we were winging it. “What kind of special considerations are there? Hazards we should be aware of?”

“Ionizing radiation is certain to be a danger. Recall that unrefined 115 is an exceptionally unstable heavy element. I suspect we will find a number of burn victims and cases of radiation poisoning. Anyone working outside of the ship will have to wear protective garments at all times. We should also perform dosimeter checks on each other at regular intervals.”

The decon routine after this run promised to be unpleasant, but I was still concerned with getting my head around the situation. “If the complex is that big, I don’t understand why we didn’t get any distress codes from them. Everything we saw came from individuals. It’s like no one had any time to react.”

“That may well have been the case. If there was, say, a reactor containment failure, the cascade would have occurred so quickly that destruction was instantaneous. The facility may not exist.”

By “facility” he meant the entire planet.

“Very bad,” Chonk said. He looked around the inside of our makeshift ambulance. “May need more help.”

Bjorn studied the image. “We shall see.”


The wavelike ripples in space began to subside, taking my queasiness with them, and soon we emerged in a distant orbit around Tanaan. The grainy image we’d studied on our way didn’t come close to conveying the extent of destruction.

The planet was tearing itself apart. The reddish zigzag we’d seen earlier turned out to be a widening crevasse that stretched most of the way between poles, branching off crazily around its equator. Mountain-sized shards of rock had separated from the surface, flung free by the planet’s rotation once they were no longer rooted in place. They moved lazily about in their new orbits, slowly disintegrating as tidal forces sheared them apart.

Fountains of molten lava erupted from the cracks, spewing radioactive globules that arced high above the surface before raining back down. It was a horrific sight, and I wondered how many Grays down there could have survived such a disaster. It was hard to see how this could be an industrial accident. “That can’t be from a malfunctioning machine.”

“Can be if machine covers planet,” Chonk said from beside me.

“Recall what I told you about 115,” Bjorn said grimly.

I still couldn’t comprehend the kind of destructive power that had been unleashed here. It was like something from an end-times fever dream, as if Hell had decided it’d had enough of being confined underground.

A cluster of ships orbited at a safe distance, staying clear of the slowly disintegrating world. They weren’t only EMS, a flotilla of every vessel imaginable had come. “Those can’t all be Med Corps.”

“Are not,” Chonk said. Intermixed with the local ambulances were freighters, tankers, and brightly lit passenger transports. Their shapes and configurations varied by race: spheres, cylinders, and diamonds in addition to the cigars, teardrops and saucers I’d become familiar with. “Ships in transit nearby must answer general distress signals. Were many such calls.”

One ship stood out which I’d never seen before. It was enormous, all sharp edges and angles, covered in mottled shades of gray and black. Like camouflage. “Is that a warship?”

“Is,” Chonk said proudly. “Th’u’ban Ta’loa-class heavy cruiser. Much room.”

“What kind of medical resources do they have aboard?”

“Sick bay. Surgery center. But keeps supplies mostly for our kind, not many others.”

Right. The very thing he’d gotten into trouble for kicking up a fuss about. We’d have to improvise the supply situation, but right now we needed to get everyone off the surface and into a safe place. “What kind of bed space?”

“Not enough,” Chonk said. “But much hangar space.”

The bulky Thuban cruiser began to move itself in between the makeshift rescue fleet and the planet. The space ahead of it began to shimmer, extending into an oblong shield to protect the others from the decaying world below. It sparkled in random spots, wherever tumbling shards impacted it. An occasional random sliver would make it past the edge of their shield, only to be vaporized by a blast from the ship’s energy weapons.

They were protecting the civilians, but all those fireworks were going to make it harder to do anything. We didn’t dare get between that cruiser and any stray chunks of planet.

Now that we were in light-wave range, Bjorn pulled up a comm screen on an open monitor. It exploded with text as soon as he did. “Distress signals, from multiple locations. Some are from above the planet.”

Those were survivors, stranded in place on continent-sized fragments of Tanaan. They had to be in environment suits or pressurized structures. “Can we tag their locations? Track them?”

“As long as their calls remain open, we will know where they are. Everyone will.”

That raised the question of who was in charge up here. We couldn’t have every ship running off willy-nilly, that could leave some groups stranded while others might have too many vessels converging on them. And that many ships zipping about at random would create collision risks. I watched the unending stream of distress signals scroll past. “How are those calls being prioritized?”

“I cannot tell. Some are being answered, most are not.”

I pointed to the mass of ships outside. “Which one of those is the command post? We need to get patched in to the on-scene commander.”

Bjorn scanned the registry of ships, focusing on the Med Corps vessels. His face was a mask of confusion. “I don’t see one. All of our EMS ships are awaiting further instructions.”

I spat in frustration. This was rapidly devolving into a shit show, and the Med Corps couldn’t expect to run everything from the capital with nothing but entanglement comms. “What about our mass casualty procedures?” I’d been digging through them, and the Union apparently had nothing to say about a planet-wide emergency that didn’t get bogged down in cultural differences between species. In class, the exercises had been confined to things like transport accidents.

“There is no protocol to address a calamity of this scale,” Bjorn said. “It is as if everyone is afraid to make a decision.”

Right there were the limitations of an overly polite and well-behaved society, laid bare. Everything worked just fine until the defecation hit the oscillation. I turned to Chonk. His tribe undoubtedly knew a thing or two about managing chaos. “Can we contact your people out there?”

“Yes. Common emergency channel.”

“Great. You do the talking.” I pointed at the Thuban warship. “That’s going to be our command post. Let them know we’re coming, and for God’s sake don’t shoot.”

***

Sven followed the Thuban instructions precisely, navigating us into a cavernous hangar. This one wasn’t protected by anything as exotic as force fields; instead, a pair of massive doors slid open to admit us. I suppose a warship had to keep things simple, and considering the situation outside I was glad for it. There was a rush of air as the doors closed up behind us and the bay repressurized.

We climbed down into their hangar. The technology might have been wildly beyond ours, but the hangar itself appeared not all that different from what I imagined an aircraft carrier on Earth might look like. I was drawn to a row of wedge-shaped vehicles with stubby wings, neatly lined up along the far end of the hangar.

“What are those?” I asked Chonk.

“Drop ships. For planetary entry.”

“I take it they’re sturdy?”

He nodded. “Combat vehicles. Armored. Very tough.”

Good. They might come in handy.

An imposing Thuban approached us, flanked by what had to be either aides or guards. Maybe both.

He wore a blood red tunic with golden piping. A black sash filled with incomprehensible badges and geegaws was draped across his torso. Chonk placed a fist on his chest in what I gathered was a salute, then turned and introduced us to the ship’s commander. His name was the typical barely pronounceable string of consonants, which I shortened to “Grunk.” Fortunately their rank structures translated more easily, so I could address him as Commodore without potentially insulting him.

The commodore eyed me guardedly; it was obvious I was his first human, and a scrawny one at that. “You . . . scene commander?”

Hadn’t thought of myself that way, but somebody had to get things under control or we were going to lose a lot more people down there. “Yes sir, I suppose I am. Thank you for having us aboard.”

He studied Chonk with suspicion. They exchanged some rapid-fire hisses, of which my translator only caught about half. It amounted to the lady knows her stuff, and I trust her.

Commodore Grunk clasped his claws behind his back. “Very well. Agree must have organization. Many hurt. Many more dead. What needed?”

I crossed my arms and studied the hangar. “Bed space, for starters. Whatever you have that can be cleared to accommodate stretchers, and any gel cushions or mattresses you can spare.”

“Not here. This flight hangar. If Med Corps vessels come, need room for ship movement. Will use maintenance hangar. Can put worst injured in sick bay.”

Good thinking. It would’ve been my next question if he hadn’t thought of it himself. I pointed to the row of drop ships. “What about those? Can we use them to evacuate victims from the surface?”

He followed my gaze. “Yes. Will alert pilots. Also have medics.”

“We’ll want to keep some of them here, in your sick bay. They’ll know your equipment better than anyone. How are they with treating Reticulans?”

“Some trained,” he said, glancing at Chonk. “Would prefer use other Reticulans.”

I really wished Xeelix were here right now. “We’ll have to see who’s available from the other ships. We might get lucky.” That brought up the next question. “We’ll need to set up a communications center. I assume you already have something suitable?”

The commodore’s golden eyes blinked, as if he was mildly insulted. This was a warship, after all. “Yes! Very good one.” He spun about and began walking away briskly. Chonk gave me a gentle nudge to follow.


The commodore led us through a maze of corridors, all at zigzag angles and regularly interrupted by heavy pressure doors. Chonk explained that the ship was designed this way so if a compartment was exposed to space, it could be sealed off in a hurry. Exposed pipes ran the length of each corridor, their purpose a mystery to me. Lockers with vacuum suits and damage-control gear were all over the place. Everything was spartan and functional, with none of the graceful aesthetics of the Union stations. It marked the difference between mundane civilian life and the no-nonsense warrior class who protected it.

The ship’s climate control was optimized for Thubans, which made it uncomfortably hot for me and Bjorn. I pulled my hair back and unzipped my coveralls, stripping them down and tying the sleeves around my waist. Bjorn quirked an eyebrow, but if the Thubans had any interest in checking out a human female in a sports bra, they didn’t show it.

We ended up in a large octagonal chamber filled with holoscreens depicting everything happening in space around us. More Thubans worked at consoles while one stalked the room, looking over their shoulders and occasionally giving directions. Chonk told me this was the watch officer in charge of running the ship in the commodore’s absence.

The watch officer snapped to attention when we entered, and was waved down by the commodore. They proceeded to converse in private. The watch officer initially seemed as perplexed as his commander had been at seeing me, occasionally looking over his boss’s shoulder to size me up.

The commodore returned to our small group. “Will provide all you need here. Tactical action center at your disposal.”

“Thank you, sir.” I rubbed my hands together while getting a feel for the room. Every display was of course in Thuban, so I slipped on my visor and let the translation routine get to work. The indecipherable characters soon began to resolve into something approximating English.

The watch officer kept eyeballing me, so I decided to break the ice. “My name is Melanie. I’m a human, part of the Medical Corps emergency service. Thank you for your help.”

“T’Ch’uum-yu-K’Gaar. Tactical officer. You . . . welcome?”

Close enough. “Full names are difficult for me. May I call you Chummy?”

“That is . . . acceptable.”

It’d have to be. I made a sweeping motion at the holoscreens which encircled the room. “Can you explain to me what we’re looking at here, Chummy?”

“Planet disintegrating. Reason unknown. Civilian fleet holding in stationary orbit, waiting direction. You provide?”

Somebody had to. “Yes, for now. How many beds does your ship hold?”

“Have five hundred twelve crew. Thirty beds in sick bay. Can use crew bunks.”

“Keep the hospital beds in sick bay, we’ll need them. Bring whatever bedding you can spare to the maintenance hangar. And let the other ships know we’re setting up the command post here.” I paced the room, trying to collect my thoughts. How could a civilization this advanced not have a planetwide disaster plan in place? Was it truly that inconceivable?

The local Union outpost had sent everything they could. Half a dozen Class III’’s and a single heavy rescue ship waited behind the Thuban cruiser and its protective field. More Med Corps ships were arriving as we spoke, including our own heavy rig, and joined the crowd waiting in orbit. They were simply following protocol: No one goes on scene until it’s secure.

Watching the catastrophe unfold on Tanaan, it was impossible to see how it could ever be secure enough. Fountains of lava continued to erupt from its surface, and with each explosion more distress signals disappeared. We were losing lives down there at an alarming rate. I waved at a nearby screen, where each vehicle in orbit was marked with a discrete code. “Are you in contact with all of these ships?”

“Affirmative. All standing by for instructions.”

Just like everybody else. I could understand the civilians, though. It was encouraging to see so many out there, but they had to be scared half to death. “This is where I’ll need a lot of help, because I’m not familiar enough with them.” I pointed to the biggest transport, one of those massive horseshoe-crab ships. “That’s a passenger liner, isn’t it?”

“Correct.”

“Great. Please tell them to start preparing space. Same thing you’re doing here: Every available bed needs to be opened up, preferably in a common area. Tell them to be ready to receive our response teams.”

Chummy gestured to a pair of Thubans at a nearby console and hissed instructions at them. “Is being done.”

“Great. Thank you.” I pointed at a nearby trio of Med Corps Class III’s. “Next, contact those ambulance ships, tell them to dock with the biggest transport. Have the crews unload all of their gear and stand by to receive patients.”

That’d be six medics, nine at the outside, with their only equipment being whatever they’d had aboard. I was counting on a passenger liner having some kind of medical provisions; if they carried a ship’s doctor then he/she/it ought to have been well ahead of me.

We still had the immediate problem of transporting victims off the surface. Overshadowing that was the fact that we didn’t yet know what had caused this, which is the first thing to determine in a mass casualty event. Without that knowledge, we couldn’t anticipate what else might be about to literally blow up in our faces. It would put first responders in even worse danger, and we needed everyone we could find.

I crossed my arms and tapped my feet impatiently, studying the situation unfolding below. The surface fault lines appeared worst toward the equator, where the planet’s rotation was shearing it apart. Tanaan was tearing itself to pieces, as if the glue holding it together had evaporated.

What was the glue that held planets together? Gravity. I might be able to manage the logistics from up here, but understanding that was way out of my depth.

I turned to Bjorn. “What the hell happened down there?”


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Framed