The First Casualty

The disdain had long since ceased to register.

At first, she had welcomed the looks of contempt, for they had granted her the invisibility she so desperately craved. Later on, although she still appreciated the obscurity her job afforded, she also found secret diversion in watching the activities of the little minds around her.

They were oblivious to her, and she could observe them at her leisure. What she saw only made her long for her past all the more.

She was an Untouchable. They called it by a different name, of course, but it meant the same thing. In her more pensive moments it amused her to realize that even as humans moved out among the stars, they carried with them their petty bigotries and feuds.

Mostly, though, she just appreciated the isolation her status provided.

The original Untouchables had long since ceased to exist back on Earth; the Indian subcontinent wholeheartedly embraced the Council’s charter. No, this newest caste was determined not by birth, but rather by profession.

Even when the ships of the Planetary Defense Force were first under construction, concerns had been raised about the amount of internal maintenance they would require.

The tasks were just complicated enough that programming a robot to carry them out would be difficult, but the average human would quickly find them mind-numbingly dull. They were absolutely essential for the proper functioning of the vessel, however, and therefore unavoidable.

Although the PDF crews were accustomed to putting up with trivial chores, this duty was infinitely worse than the others, and it quickly became the most despised aspect of shipboard life.

Morale in the ranks began to plummet, and the Admiralty, desperately seeking a solution, found one in an unexpected place. The Space Agency had long employed contractors to carry out some of their unpleasant or dangerous tests, and the Admiralty realized that the same principle could apply in this case; regular crewmembers were relieved of the maintenance duty, and special “contractors” were installed on each ship.

The regular crew, far from appreciating these people, loathed them. They were the new charwomen, bottle washers, menial laborers; they were beneath contempt, unfit for normal shipboard society.

And so, the new Untouchables were born.

They were an unprepossessing lot, defeated by life and quietly resigned to skulking around the bowels of the PDF ships.

Most of them had never adjusted to life in normal society and found this peripheral existence more comfortable. There were people with mild emotional or mental disabilities and those who had just, for whatever reasons, never “fit in.”

Among that company, no one noticed one more silent figure. Most of the regular crew stayed as far away from the “scutpups” as they could, and the other contractors were too dispirited to report any oddities they may have observed in their newest colleague.

Even if they had, no one would have paid any attention. Scutpups were, by definition, strange.

“Tophet!” The section supervisor stabbed a finger upward. One of the pipes which ran along the ceiling was in need of cleaning. “You incompetent moron! You were supposed to get that done yesterday!”

“Calm down, Horvath,” the female technician said mildly. “You know that yesterday you insisted that she clean out the microprocessor instead. You said it was collecting too much dust and grit.”

The heavyset supervisor glared at her from beneath an oily mop of black hair. “Shut up, Atkins. Nobody’s talking to you.”

She ignored him, brushing the fair hair out of her eyes with a tired hand. “There’s no need to scream at her. You know she gets things done as soon as you ask her. Don’t hurt her feelings.”

“Feelings?” Horvath snorted. He looked disdainfully at the silent woman now climbing to the pipe. “She’s too thick to have feelings. Even for a scutpup, that one’s dumb.”

“Stop it.” Atkins glanced worriedly at the contractor. “She’s not deaf.”

“How the hell do you know? You ever heard her talk? She does her work like a machine and spends her off-duty time sitting in the observation lounge staring out at the stars. She’s barely got enough brains to be a scutpup. What a waste of air.”

Atkins flushed, her own temper rising. “She does her job, and she does it well. I don’t imagine that’s something you can understand.”

“Watch your mouth, or I’ll have you up on insubordination,” he warned. “And even a bleeding heart like you isn’t about to risk your record for something like that.”

He jerked a finger at the thin figure. Her task completed, Tophet was descending with a catlike grace.

Atkins subsided rebelliously. “She’s a person, Horvath, just like you or me. Maybe she was in an accident or something. You know, brain damage. Any of us could end up like that.”

“You, maybe, not me. Although, now that you mention it, I suppose there’s one other thing she might be good at,” he added contemplatively. “She’s not bad looking.”

Atkins head jerked up in horror. “Horvath! You wouldn’t!”

“She’s in zombie land—you think she’d object?” he snarled. “If she even realized what was going on.”

“She’s quiet, but I don’t think she’s out of it,” Atkins disagreed. “And there’s something about her… It scares me.”

Horvath hooted derisively. “That squash-brained scutpup scares you? What could possibly—?” He turned, still laughing, toward the dark woman. To his shock, she was looking straight at him.

Her cool stare unnerved him, and his grin faded. “I—you—” he blustered for a moment, then stepped forward, determined not to be humiliated in front of Atkins.

Tophet never moved, but as his hands reached for her, they stopped. Something in her gaze held him back, and a shiver of fear suddenly ran up his spine.

“Horvath, if you touch her, I’ll report it,” Atkins said swiftly, seeing his hesitation. “I swear I will.”

With an effort, he dragged his eyes away from the strange woman’s. “All right,” he muttered, wiping away the sudden sweat from his forehead and heading for the door. “Just get back to work.”

Horvath’s hasty exit left the two women alone in the small room. Atkins moved over to the other woman’s side. “Don’t worry,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

Tophet regarded her for a moment.

Atkins smiled reassuringly, but to her surprise, the dark eyes held neither gratitude nor fear, but rather amusement. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the gleam was gone, and Tophet dropped her gaze.

Picking up her bucket, she turned away and began to polish one of the other pipes.

Atkins stared after her in perplexity, biting her lip. What was that all about? Ever since Tophet had joined the ship several months ago, there had been speculation about her.

Most shared Horvath’s view that she was a mindless idiot, but a few had voiced doubts. Like Atkins, they had nothing solid to go on, just a deep-seated belief that Tophet wasn’t as simple as she appeared.

She never spoke or attempted any sort of communication with anyone. She never attended any of the sporting events or other diversions but spent her free time staring out the observation lounge windows.

Atkins had once offered her a book on astronomy, thinking Tophet might enjoy the pictures, but a blank stare had been the only response. From all appearances, Horvath’s appraisal of Tophet’s mental state was accurate, but somehow Atkins’s doubts remained.

Atkins’s musings were interrupted by a cheery voice from the doorway, and she turned to find the ship’s executive officer smiling at her.

“Commander Pilar!” Atkins’s mouth formed an o of surprise. It was very unusual for senior officers to venture this deeply into the bowels of the ship.

“Hello, Jenna,” Pilar said easily.

The first officer was a trim woman in her midthirties, blonde, good-natured, and a highly respected strategist. She had served with Captain Tyrose for years and was the only person onboard who publicly addressed him by his first name.

The ship’s grapevine held that the two of them were madly in love and had been having a clandestine affair ever since they completed their training together. Atkins had no idea whether the rumor was true, but it was undeniable that the two were close friends.

“What are you doing down here?” She blushed, realizing she had phrased the question badly, but Pilar didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s that cursed air leak again. We can’t seem to seal it properly.”

Pilar’s popularity among the crew was due in large part to her habit of making every job a team effort. Rather than assigning blame, she pitched in to find a solution.

“It’s still there?” Atkins asked in dismay. “I thought for sure we’d gotten it that last time.”

Pilar smiled and shrugged. “I had too, but then the tank turned up light. The captain wants the leak tracked down, and I don’t blame him. I thought that if we sent some pressurized gas through the piping, it might be easier to spot the leak. I met Horvath in the other room, and he said that—”

Tophet turned her attention away from the pair. Typical little minds. It took them a year and a day to accomplish even the most trivial of tasks. Pressurized gas should have been the first thing tried. When she had been onboard the— No.

She cut off the thought firmly. It was too painful to bring up the past. Even the most innocuous memories could trigger the nightmares.

She’d awoken too often, drenched with sweat and surrounded by staring crewmembers. Next came the inevitable questions, the psych consult…

It was only three months since she’d transferred aboard, and she wasn’t ready to move on again. It was too hard to face all the new people, to have to live through all the curious looks and whispered speculation until finally she ceased to be a puzzle and became just one more familiar object on the ship, to be ignored like all the others.

She continued with her work, noting dial readings and performing routine maintenance.

Eventually, she felt Pilar’s eyes upon her and, looking up, found the commander smiling at her.

“Hello. You must be our new contractor, Zimm’s replacement. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

She stared at the woman expressionlessly, and after a moment, Atkins spoke up, embarrassed. “That’s Tophet, Commander. She doesn’t talk.”

Pilar’s eyebrows rose. “Ever?”

“No’m. She, uh, she just keeps to herself.”

“Can you understand us, Tophet?” Pilar inquired gently.

“She can, ma’am. She takes orders very well, and we’ve never had any trouble with her. She’s very conscientious and—”

Tophet felt a twinge of amusement at Atkins’s clumsy praise.

She probably feels I need reassurance after that incident with Horvath, she thought to herself dryly. ~I wonder what she would think if she knew the truth. If she ever realized that her interference saved him, not me.~

Then she took herself firmly in hand and quashed her emotions. Really, she scolded herself, ~what’s happened to your control? You’re actually feeling fond of Atkins. Since when have you taken an interest in little minds?~

“I’m sure Tophet is an excellent addition to the crew,” Pilar said kindly. Then the commander did an extraordinary thing: she laid a friendly hand on Tophet’s shoulder.

Tophet was adept at avoiding casual contact, but Pilar’s took her so by surprise that she had no time to withdraw.

“If you ever need help, or you feel like”—she smiled—“talking, my door is always open. Atkins can tell you that.”

Tophet stared at Pilar, shocked out of her normal imperturbability. It was one thing for a lowly technician like Atkins to take an interest in the welfare of a scutpup, but quite another for a senior officer to do so.

For a staff officer actually to speak to a contractor was unheard of, let alone make a sincere gesture of support.

Pilar apparently mistook Tophet’s shocked expression for one of confusion.

“Oh, I understand. You can hardly call me for an appointment, and waiting outside my room isn’t feasible either. Officers’ decks are off limits for you, aren’t they?”

She frowned, thinking. “I know!” she exclaimed. “I’ll authorize the computer to admit you to my quarters. That way, even if I’m not there, you can go in and wait for me? All right?”

Even Atkins was taken aback by Pilar’s offer. “That’s awfully generous of you, ma’am.”

“Every member of this crew is important,” Pilar said strongly. “Every one.”

Tophet didn’t know how to respond. This woman was unlike any other little mind she had met. She flaunted general opinion in support of unpopular causes, yet somehow that only made her more beloved.

With a sense of awe, Tophet realized that this was a little mind worthy of respect.

“Commander!” Atkins called over, tapping keys on her console. “Horvath and the other sections report ready for the pressurized gas test.”

“All right,” Pilar nodded, turning away from Tophet after one last encouraging pat. “We’re the last station along the leaky line, so we’ll have to monitor the test parameters. Let’s start by—”

“What about 420B?” Atkins interrupted, indicating the doorway to the right. “The pipes actually end in there.”

Pilar nodded patiently. “True, but there’s no control console in the room.”

Atkins looked chagrined. “Of course! How stupid of me. It’s an external area.”

Unnoticed, Tophet rolled her eyes at Atkins’s error. 420B lay directly against the skin of the vessel, only a few centimeters of metal away from the icy vacuum of space.

Although technically within the ship’s hull, it also served as an auxiliary airlock, which meant that no duty stations could be housed there. It was too dangerous.

If the airlock were accidentally cycled, emergency bulkheads would seal off the room, protecting the rest of the ship, but if any crewmembers were in there at the time, they would be lost.

Accidental cyclings were rare, almost to the point of nonexistence, but stationing people in the room would be a needless risk.

“Pilar to Comm Center.” The commander tapped one of the ubiquitous communication panels. “Esau, we’re ready to begin down here.”

The captain’s even tones answered her. “Go ahead.”

Pilar nodded to Atkins, and the technician tapped her console. “Beginning sequence.”

“Any deviation from normal readings?” Pilar asked over the open channel. Negative replies from the other stations echoed back.

Tophet shinnied up the ladder built into the left wall, then pulled herself onto one of the pipes.

“Increase pressure 20 percent.”

Straddling the pipe, she took out her grease rags and began to work.

“Commander…” The voice over the intercom held a hint of alarm. “I’m detecting some variations here in 322.”

Pilar looked over Atkins’s shoulder. “Yes, I see it too. Can you isolate—”

Tophet abruptly halted her work. Something was wrong. She tilted her head, listening with fierce concentration.

Something about that rumble was… Then realization hit her, just as the indicators on Atkins’s panel went wildly askew.

“My God!” Atkins gasped in panic. “It’s a hull breach! The leak must have been along the venting system, and the pressurized gas ruptured it! Now there’s a vacuum inside the pipe!”

Tophet slid off the pipe, not even blinking at the eight-foot drop to the deck.

The instant she regained her feet, she made for the console. There, she was pleased to see that, unlike Atkins, Pilar had wasted no time proclaiming the obvious but was trying with desperate speed to avert a ship-wide calamity.

The rumbling in the conduit grew louder as the wildly fluctuating pressures within it threatened its integrity.

So far, there was only a hairline fracture along the external hull, but the crack was widening. If the rupture grew much worse, the atmosphere within the pipe would be sucked out into space, the equivalent of opening an airlock.

The duct traversed nearly the entire length of the vessel, and when it split under the resultant strain, half the ship would experience explosive decompression.

Pilar was trying to bleed off the pressurized gas, to reduce the stress on the pipe terminus.

One glance at the console told Tophet that wouldn’t be enough. “Seal off the breach!” she called out, slamming her hand down on the emergency klaxon.

Atkins wheeled about, staring at her in astonishment, but Pilar blessedly recognized the order’s merit and started the protocol.

Tophet seized Atkins and hurled her out of the room just as the emergency bulkheads slid into place. Atkins would be safer on that side of the door—it placed one more compartment between her and the hull, and she had already proven her uselessness in a crisis.

“We’ve lost four hundred twenty,” Pilar reported, tight-lipped. “The entire end plate came off. The room’s pulling a vacuum.”

“Bulkheads were in place though,” Tophet replied, studying the readouts on their side of the door. “Hermetic seal is in effect.”

Pilar shook her head. “I’m still reading a leak. We’re losing atmosphere.”

“It’s the pipe.” Tophet elbowed her aside and took over the console. “Its internal seals must have been compromised. They need to be checked manually.”

“Right.” Pilar immediately leapt to the ladder.

“First take care of the proximal one,” Tophet instructed, studying the readouts. “A hermetic seal there will protect the rest of the ship from the hull breach. Then they can slowly bleed off whatever vacuum’s within that segment of pipe.”

“Done!” Pilar gasped, flinging the last bolt home.

“The leak proximal to this room has ceased,” Tophet told her. “I’m balancing out the pipe’s interior now.”

“Manually?” Pilar paused a moment. “How—?”

“The distal seal!” Tophet called sharply. “Quickly!”

The ominous groans from the pipe in their room were worsening. This part of the pipe was still exposed to vacuum at one end, and it was loudly protesting the unaccustomed strain.

If Pilar couldn’t engage the seal between their room and 420B, the pipe would soon deform, and the air in the compartment would rush out.

“The seal won’t lock into place,” Pilar panted, wrestling with the second release mechanism. “It must have been bent—”

Tophet started to her aid, but at that moment the pipe finally surrendered to the forces within it. With a hideous wrenching noise, the entire pipe torqued around, whipping across the room like the boom of a sailboat.

Tophet had no time to react as the heavy metal flashed toward her.

“At last,” she whispered. She experienced nothing but overwhelming relief as the darkness closed in.