The SFS Arizona lay crumpled on the surface of the asteroid Hygeia. The hull was ruptured in several places, and gasses slowly leaked out of chambers that had once held life sustaining air. Bodies lay next to some sections of the ship, killed by the impact, or killed by the lack of atmosphere on the asteroid.
On the bridge of the Arizona, Captain John Lee slowly came to with alarm claxons and red lights flashing all over the bridge. For the moment, he couldn’t hear the sound of air escaping, but how could he be expected to hear anything over the noise of the claxons and the moans and screams of his wounded bridge crew? His hand slowly found its way to his aching head. Pulling it away from his scalp, he wasn’t surprised to find his hand covered in blood.
“That explains the warmth,” he said quietly. “Status,” he tried to call out, but only managed a feeble croak. He cleared his throat several times, and then managed, “Jenkins, status?”
A quiet feminine voice said through what was obvious pain. “We have no communications, internal or external. Sensors are showing that more than half of the ship has been vented. The bridge is intact, and I think most of us are alive, but I’ve got a broken leg.”
“Understood,” the Captain said. “Keep trying to get status reports from the sectors that haven’t been vented, and keep me updated.”
“Understood,” his first officer said. He couldn’t see Commander Jenkins, and for the moment, he figured it was best for him not to try to move because his head wouldn’t stop spinning, and his eyesight was very blurry. There were also pains in his chest and abdomen that didn’t seem like any pain he’d ever had before. That probably wasn’t good, but he didn’t have time to worry about that right now. His ship was dying, and his crew with it.
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