The Girl in the Tank: Galactic Consortium, Season 1

Episode One: Attack! Part 3

Captain Sherman Lannister came to lying on his left side on the bridge of his ship. The ship lurched with the waves and appeared to be listing slightly. The familiar hum of the engines was absent and he could only guess that the EMP from a blast that size had fried even the best shielded electronics on board.

From his vantage point on the floor he could see a pair of boots across the bridge, some ensign out cold. Closer at hand, his second in command, Walsh, was struggling to his feet.

The right half of Lannister's face burned and itched, like a sunburn, only ten times worse. The left half was numb, except for a dull ache. He pushed himself up to sitting and reached for it.

Walsh's hand caught his halfway there. "Don't, sir," he croaked out. "It will only make it worse."

Worse is all we got. It was nothing short of a miracle that they were alive now. If they were still alive in another ten minutes, that would be a bona fide miracle. "How bad is it?" he asked, realizing suddenly he couldn't see out of that eye.

Walsh held up his other hand. It was black to the elbow, the nastiest burn Lannister had ever seen. "About like this," Walsh said. "Trust me, you don't want to touch it. Let me see if I can find the first aid kit, sir."

What's the point? There is no second aid coming. Then, we're going to die, but we don't have to die on the floor. He slowly levered himself up, using the nearest chair as a support.

Pain shot threw him as he moved. He felt dizzy and nearly passed out, but gritted his teeth and kept going. Once he'd pulled himself up to the console, he sank into the chair. Looking out the front window at his ship, he started in surprise. "What the hell is that thing?" he said aloud.

In front of his ship was what looked like a long white airplane hanging in space. It was hovering a mere couple of yards over the foredeck. A wide hatch had opened in the front of the vessel and a long ramp was descending towards the deck. Already men in white suits and masks were running down the ramp, leaping the last few feet to the deck.

A light flashed in front of his eyes and a holograph of a blond head appeared in front of him. "Captain Lannister of the Cambridge?" the woman asked. "This is Captain Dowlings of the medi-evac Corelean. We are here to evacuate you and your crew."

"A captain goes down with his ship," Lannister croaked, his voice harsh.

A new voice and new face appeared, General Balzitan, the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces. Lannister saluted quickly. "Not a chance, Captain," the general barked. "It's a noble sentiment but your orders are to get all surviving crew members onto that ship and then yourself. The Cambridge is officially decommissioned as of this moment."

There was the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs to the bridge.

"Sir, what's to become of my ship?" Lannister asked.

"The others are sending a salvage vessel to pick her up. I hate to say it, but your ship is hot, too much radiation. They are going to haul her out into space. It's the only safe thing. Don't worry, we will build a new Cambridge, I promise."

The first rescuers had reached the bridge. A woman in white bent over the fallen ensign and another man made for Lannister and Walsh.

"See to my men first," Lannister growled.

The man gave the fist to chest salute but spoke, the translator collar providing English, "Yes, we will, but let me stabilize your burns first, sir." He pulled out what appeared to be a aerosol can and sprayed the side of Lannister's face with a whitish foam. At first, the foam stung like hell, then his face began to tingle and pain lessened. Relief flooded him and he nearly gave in to it, collapsing into unconsciousness. With an angry snort he forced himself to stay awake. He still had his men to save.