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Bryce jogged down corridor B3 toward the bridge. He was almost there. At his age, a jog was not particularly sustainable, but he pushed himself forward with determination, carrying the chemical analyzer. Although there had been few words spoken, they had been enough, and besides, Bryce had seen the urgency on Tynor’s face. He was nearing the final corner before the bridge. It was one of those six-way intersections so prevalent on the ship. He, more than most, appreciated the simple beauty of the hexagonally based structure of these mid-era “Fleetcruuz” class ships. They were hardy; sturdily designed and expertly built. Many crewmen saw only the drawbacks to the design. Yes, there were a lot of blind corners.
“Oof!” The blind corner drawback quickly evidenced itself once again as Bryce was knocked from the side and thrown against the wall.
Two junior crewmen scrambled to brace the gurney which they had been pushing very quickly down the corridor. Too quickly, obviously.
“Oh gosh - I’m so sorry chief!” sputtered one of them, still bracing the gurney from the impact, while the other man immediately began a quick inspection of the gurney’s occupant. Bryce attempted to recall the man’s name. He recognized both of them, had seen them many times, but their names were foggy. Perhaps Kent. ‘Yes Kent, that’s it,’ he thought to himself - ‘and the other man is... Peter? - no... maybe Spencer’. Bryce was a people person alright. He felt it was important to know the names of all the crew members, and on a ship this size, it was only slightly onerous, but certainly worth the effort. His attention then turned to the occupant of the gurney. The man was not moving. He had an emergency oxygen mask obscuring half his face, yet Bryce could easily recognize one of his own staff. Colin Stiphons, one of his best men. He was smart as a whip, and a diligent worker; never one to scrimp on quality and always willing to stay late to finish a task. Bryce choked back a sudden burst of mixed emotions. On some subconscious level, he thought of Colin almost like the son he never had, even though they were not really close on a personal level. He had always felt it his duty as a supervisor, to provide not only pragmatic direction to his staff, but also, to provide leadership in some more ethereal regard. He thought of himself as a role model for his men, someone for them to look up to, much the same way that he himself looked up to his own boss, the Director of Engineering, Dick Bradley, and of course, Captain Stentrop himself. And now, looking down at the unmoving man, he felt a certain amount of doubt and disappointment in himself. Had he truly been all he could be to this man? Had he ever really showed his staff his pride in their accomplishments, their hard work, their work ethic? Was it too late?
“Chief?”
Bryce’s attention snapped back into focus. His eyes instinctively snapped up to engage the speaker.
“You OK?” Kent questioned.
“Yes of course,” he answered, “it’s just...” He interrupted himself and, turning toward the bridge, took control of the situation. There, a dozen meters down the corridor, was the ship’s Medical Officer, the robot doctor, Brother Anderson. Thank God! His man would be in good hands!
“DOCTOR!” Bryce shouted, “We have a wounded man here!”
The doctor responded immediately, flying into action faster than any human could, and took only seconds to traverse the corridor. He quickly inspected Colin, instantly noting an absence of burn marks, abrasions, or obvious disfigurement.
“What happened?” he asked the two men holding the gurney.
Spencer replied, “There was a fire and an explosion. Looked like he was thrown clear by the blast - but he took a nasty blow to the head; possible concussion. We were careful to move him in case of spinal damage too.”
“Good, good. Get him down to medbay and I’ll be right behind you”
Spencer and Kent started off down the corridor pushing the gurney toward medbay.
“Actually, wait a sec,” interrupted Brother Anderson. “I don’t have a full report, but there’s clearly more to this than a simple fire. We may have more casualties. You two better patrol the fore-deck sections and see what help we can provide. I’ll take him to medbay and prep it for further recourse.”
Then, turning to Bryce he continued, “I wanted to run a chemical scan in the bridge. We may have a foreign oxidizing agent on our hands.”
“I’ll take care of it,” answered Bryce.
Brother Anderson and his gurney were already halfway down the corridor as he said it.