To the Lifeboat
by Marco Etheridge
In the vast emptiness between Neptune and the Kuiper Belt, the FSS Philippa materializes out of hyper-pulse. Captain Judith Unger fights down the familiar wave of nausea that marks the transition from hyperdrive to conventional propulsion. “Helm half-ahead. Monitors up.”
“Aye, Captain.”
A shudder runs through the space transport as the engines push the Philippa out of her entry glide. Wide screen monitors illuminate the forward section of the bridge.
The swirled blue of Neptune; in the second quadrant, the distant beige rings of Saturn; the sun a distant pinprick of light at the center of Sol System. It’s good to be home.
Captain Unger’s relief lasts three seconds. A klaxon shatters the calm. Neptune disappears behind a tumbling black mass.
“Proximity alert! Repeat—”
Then, the impact. A deafening crash that obliterates all other sounds. The universe spins out of control. Sudden G-forces wrench the captain’s body against her restraints, hands flying with the spin. She pulls in her arms, blinks away the blackness filling her peripheral vision, barks a command into the chaos: “Helm, all port stabilizers.”
Nothing.
“Helm, stabilizers, now!”
“Trying, Captain. No response.”
You are still alive. The crew depends on you. You will deal with this situation. “Port docking jets, all of them, full thrust.”
A hissing roar from outside the stricken hull. The sickening sound of rending metal. A wounded ship tearing itself apart. The G-forces begin to ease.
“Port docking jets to half.”
“Aye, Captain. Capacity twenty percent and falling.”
Your ship is dead, Judith. You know this. The docking jets are all you’ve got.
“Ten percent, Cap.”
Captain Unger scans the monitors. The blue ball of Neptune spins past in a slow orbit.
“Docking jets full stop.”
A long pause, the space for a scream, a curse, or nervous laughter. The captain fills the void with the voice of command.
“I need damage reports, all sectors. What hit us, what works, what doesn’t, and casualties. Everything to the XO. Do it.”
Judith unclips her X-bracing, stands, moves to her executive officer. Benjamin Harris hunches over his computer console. The monitor shows the ship section by section, with status data scrolling on a sidebar. She leans in close, speaks in a taut whisper. “How bad is it?”
“It’s bad, Cap. Big rock caught us amidships, port side.”
“A rogue asteroid outside normal orbit? What are the odds of that?”
“Long, Cap, but not impossible. A collision, a ricochet, who knows?”
“Right. Doesn’t matter now. What’s the status on propulsion?”
“Zero. Engineering is gone. Impact sheered away the entire port side aft of the shield bulkhead.”
“Engineering team?”
“They’re dead, Cap. All of them. Carried away with the rock.”
Judith exhales long and slow. Ten dead in an instant. She grabs Ben’s shoulder and gives him a squeeze.
“We’ll mourn in the proper time, Ben. For now, we focus on the living. Can we move the ship?”
The XO shakes his head, eyes glued to the screen.
“We’ve got the forward docking jets. Maybe the aft starboard jets, but we won’t know until we try. We can maneuver, but we’re not going anywhere.”
“Damn. I need oxygen levels and escape pod status.”
“I’m on it, Cap. Two minutes, maybe three.”
“Passengers?”
Fingertips tap the keyboard. Another section view appears.
“Passenger compartment stable.”
Judith pushes herself upright. “I’m going to talk with the Shun-Tai. They need to know what’s happened.”
“Aye, Cap.”
She turns to address the bridge. “Captain leaving the bridge. XO has the con.”
Captain Judith Unger marches to the aft bulkhead, presses a button, and steps through a sliding hatch. The hatch closes, and she is gone.
* * *
Judith stands alone in an empty corridor. She places one palm against the alloy wall, feeling the pulse of her stricken ship. The Philippa is her baby, her pride, and her home. And now this. The chatter of fear and loss clamor against command and responsibility. This mission was supposed to be a milk run, transporting alien dignitaries on their first-ever diplomatic visit.
Judith calms herself: Get a grip on the situation. This milk run is now a life-and-death disaster. You are responsible for the surviving crew and twelve Shun-Tai passengers. You’ve trained for this your entire life. One step at a time, Judith. Inform the Shun-Tai, get back to the bridge, take whatever actions are possible. Move.
She drops her hand, squares her shoulders, and sets her thoughts in order. Reviews all she knows about the Shun-Tai.
They are inhabitants of a Goldilocks planet orbiting Wolf 1061 — a red dwarf star — fourteen light-years from the Sol System. Shun-Tai is a phonetic rendering of their name for themselves. Their individual names all begin with Tai. Onboard the Philippa, Tai Zhran is their leader.
The Shun-Tai are roughly humanoid, slightly smaller than humans but stockier. Their skin is dark and leathery. They are hairless. In ship slang, they are known as “Leatherheads.”
The Shun-Tai are natural empaths. The trait seems to be evolutionary. Their society is based on empathetic cohesion. Like humans, the Shun-Tai survive in an oxygen-based atmosphere. They communicate verbally. Their language is a series of words, sibilant sounds, and clicks. Judith has learned a few phrases. Tai Zhran speaks Common English with a remarkable aptitude.
Judith pauses outside another hatchway, takes a deep breath, and palms the access panel. The hatch slides open. A dozen pairs of violet eyes stare at her. The Shun-Tai are silent, strapped into their seats. Their leathery faces display no hint of panic or fear.
From the front row, one of the Shun-Tai nods to the captain, a single, formal bow of its head. “Greetings, Captain Unger.”
“Greetings, Tai Zhran. We have a situation. The Philippa has been struck by an asteroid. My team is assessing the damage. I hope to have more information shortly.”
A pause, another cultural trait of the Shun-Tai. They will not respond until they are sure the other speaker has finished.
“I understand. Thank you for thinking of us-sss. Please do not let your concern keep you from your duties to your ship. And allow me to express-sss our compassion for you and your fellow humans.”
“Thank you, Tai Zhran. We may have to abandon ship. I will keep you informed. Now, I must return to the bridge.”
Tai Zhran acknowledges the captain with another bow of its head.
* * *
Back on the bridge, Judith huddles with her XO. None of the news is good. “Give me a timeline, Ben. How soon can we expect help?”
“Our distress signal will reach Space Port Relay in approximately two hours. A minimum of one hour to launch. Eight to nine hours travel time at full conventional, depending on what type of bird is available. I make it twelve hours before we could see any cavalry. Probably longer.”
“More time than we have. The blast bulkhead is the only thing keeping us alive. How long before we run out of breathable atmosphere?”
“The forward compartments weren’t breached, but the bulkhead is compromised. I don’t know where the fissures are, but the ship is losing oxygen at a steady rate.”
“How long, Ben?”
“It’s a wild card, Cap. Assuming the bulkhead holds, I’m guessing two hours at best. Maybe less.”
“Even if you’re off by a factor of three, any rescue will be too late. That means we abandon ship. I know we lost the escape pods on the port side. Tell me we’ve got something intact on the starboard.”
Ben Harris lifts his eyes from the monitor and turns to face the captain. The look in her XO’s eyes telegraphs the news.
“Two pods, Captain. One appears functional. The second is a death trap.”
Judith suppresses her reaction and begins running the mental timelines. The FSS Philippa is dead in space, and any rescue is too far away to be a viable option. Twenty-two crew members, less ten dead. Twelve Shun-Tai passengers. One functional escape pod with a maximum capacity of eight. Assume six more survivors crammed in on top of the others. A severe strain on the pod’s oxygen supply, but rescue should arrive before it becomes critical. Fourteen chances of survival. Which leaves a dozen poor souls trapped on the doomed ship. Plus the captain.
And who casts the die of fate, Judith? That’s right. You do. The captain goes down with the ship. Very honorable, but what about the others?
“Captain?”
Judith places her grim conclusions to one side. First decisions first. “Prep the pod for immediate launch. You’re the pilot. Choose your copilot. Two Philippa crew and our Shun-Tai passengers.”
“Captain, I...”
She cuts him off with a raised hand and a look. “There’s no time, Ben. Choose a copilot and prep the pod. That’s an order. Draw straws, pick numbers out of a hat, whatever you feel is fair.”
The decision made, and the die cast. Ben’s eyes on hers. The man’s sharp nod of acknowledgment. They both know the captain has just pronounced a death sentence.
“Aye, Captain. It will be done.”
“Thank you, Ben. I’m sorry. Bad luck.”
The XO nods, his voice a whisper. “Bad luck, Judith.”
Judith pushes herself upright. “I’ll go and get the Shun-Tai prepared.”
“Aye, Cap.”
As she leaves the bridge, Judith hears Ben’s voice. “Listen up, people...”
* * *
The Shun-Tai stand in a tight semicircle. Captain Unger speaks to their leader, Tai Zhran. “The escape pod will be ready shortly. Two of my crew will pilot the pod. There is room aboard for all the Shun-Tai, but I must warn you that space will be cramped. We estimate rescue craft arrives at twelve hours soonest.”
Tai Zhran acknowledges her words with a nod, then turns to translate to the other Shun-Tai. There follows a rapid-fire series of clicks, hisses, and guttural phrases. The exchange is too quick for her to pick out any meaning. Then all eyes turn to the captain.
“My companions-sss wish to know if you will pilot the second escape craft. The craft carrying yourself and the others-sss.”
Judith feels the weight of command pressing her down. The clock is ticking while these creatures probe her mind.
Duty requires a sacrifice but damned if I’ll lie about it. “No, Tai Zhran. Only one escape pod survived the impact. My crew will remain aboard the Philippa, as will I. The safety of our passengers comes before all else. This is our protocol.”
Another pause followed by Tai Zhran’s formal nod. The Shun-Tai speak amongst themselves. Judith notes that they all speak at once, but each seems to understand the others. There is no sense of urgency or discord. Then the Shun-Tai fall silent.
“I believe we understand, Captain Unger. You would trade your lives for ours. A noble action. But such action would cause the Shun-Tai much shame. Shame to ourselves and shame to our home. My companions-sss and I would never be allowed to return to our planet.”
Judith feels anger rising in her guts. This is still her ship, her command, and these creatures her responsibility. She forces her mind to settle before she speaks.
“I mean no disrespect, Tai Zhran, but if we delay, there is a strong chance that everyone will die. The ship may break apart at any moment.”
Tai Zhran’s violet eyes do not blink. Judith feels as if she is staring into twin portals into another world. Then the creature speaks, and the spell is broken. “Captain, we cannot allow one life to be traded for another. I beg you to understand. For the Shun-Tai, this-sss is a crime.”
“But if I rescue my crew while leaving my passengers to die, I also commit a crime.”
Tai Zhran does not translate to the others.
This creature is their leader. It carries the burden of command just as I do.
“We find ourselves in opposition, Captain. Yet, this-sss is a conflict of honor. We must untie the knot. There are twelve Shun-Tai. How many are your crew?”
“Twelve as well, not counting myself.”
“And two will pilot the vessel?”
“Correct, leaving room for twelve passengers.”
“And you, Captain?”
“I will remain with the ship, Tai Zhran. It is my duty to do so.”
“As will I, Captain Unger, for the same reasons. Already, we untie a strand of the knot.”
“Then, with all due respect, we must solve the rest quickly. Time is short. The rest of the Shun-Tai will have a place aboard the pod with one more of my crew to assist.”
“I must respectfully refuse, Captain. We save one member of your crew, but at a cost of great shame to the Shun-Tai.”
Judith resists the urge to curse. Each passing moment is critical. “I am the captain of this vessel. I could order the Shun-Tai to comply.”
“Yes-sss, Captain, you could. However, the Shun-Tai would not obey. And then what? Resorting to force seems futile given our circumstances-sss.”
“No more futile than everyone dying while you and I debate. There is a second option. We split the escape pod capacity. Five Shun-Tai and five of my crew.”
“This is an option, Captain, but one that leaves the Shun-Tai bearing the same dishonor. Whether five or ten commit the crime does not alter the fact that the crime has been committed. We cannot pay for our lives with the death of others-sss.”
Judith gathers her thoughts with the little time left. The crew depends on you. The Shun-Tai are your passengers, your responsibility. And everyone will die very soon if you do not break this impasse.
“You and I must come to a decision, Tai Zhran, and we must do so now. A compromise is imperative.”
“I agree, Captain. There is a third option. If all your crew board the escape pod, two places remain. I propose to send two of the Shun-Tai. It will be a great burden on them, but their burden will have a purpose. They will serve as witnesses-sss to what happened here.”
Judith forces herself to wait until she is sure Tai Zhran has finished speaking.
“And if I allow this, what purpose does it serve?”
“Their testimony, Captain. Witnesses-sss to relate that you and I did our best in a terrible situation, that we acknowledged the needs and customs-sss of our two species-sss and acted in accordance with those needs. Their duty will be to explain your actions to the humans and explain mine to the Shun-tai.”
Judith considers this in silence: My crew lives. Most of the Shun-Tai die. An impasse broken by compromise, yet honor remains intact in some strange, skewed way. The nature of compromise. Both parties give up something important for a greater good. You are the captain. Take action. Decide.
“I accept, Tai Zhran, although I do not like this option. We have no more time for talk. I must return to the bridge while you choose the two who will board the pod. They must be ready in five minutes.”
“Agreed, Captain.”
“Very well. I will be back shortly.”
* * *
Judith steps onto the bridge and moves to stand beside her executive officer. Benjamin Harris is still at his computer console, tabulating the slow death of the FSS Philippa. He lifts his eyes from the monitor. “Orders, Captain?”
“Is the pod ready?”
“Aye, Cap. Nothing left to do but suit up and launch.”
“Good work, Ben. Orders are to abandon ship. All Philippa crew to suit up. We also need two of the smallest suits for the Shun-Tai.”
“Two?”
“Yes. There’s no time, Ben. I want the crew suited, the two Shun-Tai made ready, and the pod launched. Now.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Judith steps away, giving Ben space to do his job.
“All right, everyone heard the captain. Lock down your stations and suit up to abandon ship. Deke and Jones, prep two size-small suits for our Shun-Tai passengers. Move. Pod detach in five minutes.”
A sense of pride fills Judith as she watches her crew spring into action. Her XO is the last to leave his station. Before Ben can speak, Judith holds up her hand. “No time, Ben. When you get to Space Port Relay, make sure the board listens to the Shun-Tai. It is critical that their testimony be heard. And make sure they listen to you as well. You’re going to make one hell of a captain.”
Benjamin Harris snaps ramrod straight and gives a crisp salute. “Captain Unger, it has been my honor and privilege to serve under you.”
“The privilege was mine, Ben. Now get the hell out of here.”
* * *
“It is done, Captain.”
“Yes, Tai Zhran. Perhaps you would care to accompany me to the bridge? And the others, as well. The view is stunning, and we can monitor the progress of the escape pod.”
“Thank you, Captain. I’m sure that would be most welcome.”
Tai Zhran turns to translate her offer. A quick burst of clicks and hisses, then all eyes turn to the captain. The Shun-tai nod as one.
Judith Unger presses a button and steps forward. The hatch slides open. “This way, please.” The captain leads the ten Shun-Tai onto the bridge. Pausing beside her command console, she activates a control. The bridge monitors blaze into life, revealing the solar system in all its stark glory. She searches the screens, then raises a finger to point at the center monitor. “There.”
The escape pod hovers some distance away, a tiny craft framed against the swirling backdrop of Neptune.
“The Sol System. It is my deepest regret that I could not see you safely to our destination.”
“I believe the time for regrets-sss has passed, Captain.”
Judith turns to face this strange creature. Their eyes meet, and an understanding passes between them. “You speak with wisdom, Tai Zhran. Please, with the short time we have, tell me about your home.”
“Gladly, Captain. It would give me pleasure to speak of it and to learn of yours as well.”
The eleven survivors fall into an animated discussion. The escape pod drifts further into space, and the celestial clock ticks down.
Copyright © 2025 by Marco Etheridge
