by AJ Reissig
Chapter Four
“Colonel on the bridge!”
Everyone jumped from their seats and stood at attention. Nash took a few steps forward; the characteristic mechanical hum of the closing conveyor doors echoed through the bridge. He looked around at the bridge crew. Haggard faces were the rule of the day; it was apparent that the stress of the past few days was taking its toll on everyone.
“As you were,” Nash said.
As the crew returned to their seats, Nash walked toward his command chair. Standing beside the chair, he looked to the main viewscreen, which displayed a view of Aria Prime. Blue oceans, green land, brown mountains, swirling white cloud formations… save for the shape of the continents, the planet looked identical to earth.
“Report, Mr. Davenport.”
“Sir, at present speed, we are minutes from the planet. Sensors confirm our data on the planet. Earth-like atmosphere and climate.”
Nash crossed his arms as he stared at the viewscreen. “Settlements?”
“Small and scattered,” Davenport replied. “The area with the most settlements is in the northern hemisphere, near a chain of mountains that runs through the center of the largest continent.”
“Excellent. Send those coordinates to the pilot. Mr. Freely, plot a descent course that will bring us down in that general vicinity, but at least a dozen kilometers from any of the settlements. Don’t want to get too close; no telling how the natives will react to our arrival.”
“Yes, sir. Course plotted in.”
Nash turned and keyed the console on the command chair armrest. “Chief, are those probes ready?”
The intercom buzzed with the voice of Chief Jordan. “Yessir. Ready for release at your command.”
“Launch the probes.”
“They’re outta here, sir.”
“Good work. Engine room ready for the landing?”
“All set on my end. Colonel, we need to get movin’ ASAP before we run out of fuel ... unless you want to make this a crash landin’.”
“I’d rather not.” Nash leaned over the intercom and spoke in a near whisper. “Can the ship handle the stress of the landing?”
There was a long pause before the engineer’s response. “Ask me on the surface.”
“Understood,” Nash replied. He keyed his console again, this time opening ship-wide communications. “This is Colonel Nash. We are about to descend to the planet surface. I want to thank everyone for their hard work over the past few days. Crew of the Trident, your performance in repairing this ship is to be commended. To the members of the colonist party, your assistance with repairs and surface preparations will not be forgotten. I wish the circumstances were different. I wish I could tell you that we would be rescued by a Coalition vessel in a week. I wish I could tell you that survival on Aria Prime will be a cake walk. But I can’t make those promises. We can only play the cards we have been dealt. But one thing is for certain; we will not succeed if we do not work together. Fortunately, from what I have seen over the past week, that will not be a problem for us. God Bless.”
Nash closed communications, then looked around at his bridge crew. A realization hit him like an iron beam across his skull. This was the last ride of the Trident, and possibly the last time he would ever sit in a command chair. There was a twitch at his cheek and tightness in his chest. Were they too badly damaged to reach the surface? Would they ever be rescued? Could he have prevented this from happening?
“Colonel.”
McBride’s voice brought Nash back to reality. He turned to look at the Executive Officer’s station where McBride sat. She looked him in the eyes and then squinted as she stared.
“Colonel, we’re losing precious time.”
Nash nodded. “Quite right, Major. Sound general quarters.”
“Sound general quarters,” McBride repeated in a booming voice.
Sirens blared as Nash took his seat in the command chair and strapped on his safety harness. The clicking of buckles revealed others doing the same. He looked to the pilot’s station, once again occupied by Lieutenant Freely. McBride had wanted to replace him with a more experienced officer, but Nash had been impressed with the lieutenant’s performance thus far and had refused the change.
“Well Mr. Freely, can I expect another excellent piloting performance today?”
The lieutenant swiveled his chair to face the command chair. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and there was a slight twitch to his face. He swallowed hard and exhaled a deep breath. “Absolutely, Colonel,” he said with a weak smile.
Nash returned the gesture and nodded.
“Colonel,” McBride interjected. “All stations report ready.”
“Excellent. Pilot, take us in.”
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant replied loudly.
The sound of the ship’s engines echoed through the bridge. Aria Prime grew on the main screen, and soon the round ball morphed into a curved horizon on the screen. The horizon grew into a breathtaking view of vivid colors as the layers of the atmosphere became visible. Deep blue, milky white, pale pink, and then finally orange and yellow closest to the surface.
Nash felt small vibrations in the deck plating. He scanned the bridge crew. Everyone was hard at work at their stations—except McBride. Pale faced and gloomy eyes fixed on the main screen, she clutched the silver cross normally worn around her neck.
“Is gairid ar gcairt ár an saol seo,” she whispered in Gaelic. She noticed the colonel staring at her and swallowed hard.
Nash took a deep breath and turned his gaze to the main screen.
The Trident broke into the atmosphere of Aria Prime, accelerating as she sliced through the thin air. As friction with the air intensified, the heat shields warmed and began to glow. Soon, the view on the main screen took on a ruddy cast.
“Report!”
“Heat shields at maximum, Colonel!” Davenport replied. “I’m seeing high stresses in the nacelles, but structural integrity is holding.”
The rising temperature on the bridge told Nash the heat shields were maxed out. The vibration in the deck had intensified as well; Nash was sure everyone on the bridge noticed. Now in the clouds, white, smoky formations whipped past the screen at breakneck speed.
With a sudden jolt, the ship veered toward starboard. A few of the bridge crew gasped, and Nash’s heart raced as he fought to stay seated in the command chair.
Trace Jordan’s voice crackled to life on the command chair intercom. “Sir, we just lost the starboard scillion drive thruster!”
Nash gulped hard. The loss of one thruster changed everything. The best that could be hoped for was a controlled crash. The Trident would have to come in like an old fashioned airplane… but they had no wheels to come to a rolling stop. He took a deep breath and wiped a sweaty palm on his pants.
“Pilot, we’re going to have to make a belly landing. Watch for an open area that will work as a landing strip.”
“Yes, sir,” Freely replied in a shaky voice. The boy’s face was the color of flour and beads of sweat ran down his cheek from small pools forming at his temples.
Hold it together just a bit more, son, Nash thought.
“Davenport, how are heat shields holding?”
“Shields are holding but are near point of failure, Colonel.”
“Understood. Mr. Freely, make a series of left and right maneuvers to pour off some speed.” Nash’s eyes locked onto the main screen.
“Yes, sir.”
Bulkheads groaned and stainless rivets popped as the ship torqued left and right. The clamor of the friction and the engines combined to produce the sound of a raging thunderstorm on the bridge.
“Colonel!” McBride howled as her head popped up from her console. “The hull may not take that strain!”
“She’ll hold!” Nash said with confidence, eyes still fixed on the screen.
The left and right maneuvers made it difficult for Nash to sit erect in the command chair. Beads of sweat slid down his forehead and
dripped from his nose. He shook his head to knock the sweat loose, unwilling to risk falling from his chair to wipe it away.
“Major fatigue in the starboard nacelle, Colonel! Nearing critical stress limits!” McBride shouted
“Understood, Major!”
The Trident skimmed fast over forested hills. Nash pointed to the main screen.
“There! Open plains just beyond the woodland! Bring us down there!”
“Yes, sir!”
Davenport spun his chair to face the colonel. “Both nacelles are breaking apart!”
“We’ll make it!” Nash shouted.
The ship soared only a few feet above the treetops. Nash pressed the ship-wide intercom.
“This is the Colonel. Brace for impact! I repeat, brace for impact!”
The impact of the Trident striking land was more powerful than anything Nash had experienced. Strain against the safety harness forced the air from his lungs, causing him to involuntarily gasp. There was a groaning of metal, and the main screen twisted, then shattered in a shower of shards. Freely screamed and covered his face as he was sprayed with plastic and metallic fragments.
With the sound of grinding metal, the ship’s forward momentum continued. There was a loud popping sound from the weapons station and a shower of sparks sprayed from the console. Every panel and light went out, leaving the bridge crew in total darkness, save for an intermittent flash from an electric spark.
The ship came to a sudden, jerky stop. Nash slumped back in the command chair; his chest and waist in agony over the safety harness slicing into his flesh. As he tried to bring his heart rate under control, he drew a deep breath. The acrid smell of burnt circuitry singed his nose and smoke burned his lungs. Silence reigned over the bridge, save for the occasional cough.
They were alive.
A small beam of light penetrated the darkness. It was Davenport, scanning the bridge with a flashlight. The light stream struggled to cut through the drifting smoke, while the falling particles of dust and debris sparkled in the white brilliance. The beam stopped when it reached Nash.
“Are you alright, Colonel?”
“Just fine,” Nash replied. He unbuckled his harness and stood. “Anyone hurt?”
“OK here, Colonel,” McBride called. The light beam shot to her duty station to reveal her standing. She was a mess. There was a large tear in the fabric of her uniform sleeve, and her long red hair had fallen out of its ponytail and covered her face. She pulled her hair back and tried keying the console in front of her.
“It’s dead,” McBride said. “Not even emergency lighting.”
A light appeared from the rear of the bridge. It was Preston, holding a pair of battery powered lanterns. She walked toward the Colonel and handed one to him.
Nash keyed the armrest console. “No response here either,” he announced. He pulled his jacket sleeve back to expose the comstrap wrapping his wrist. He pressed the metallic face of the strap and spoke.
“Major Trace Jordan.”
The strap’s tiny speaker buzzed to life. “Jordan here, Colonel.”
“Chief, bridge power is out.”
“Yessir. It’s gone through most of the ship. Lost a lot of systems in the crash.”
“Understood. Let’s blow the emergency hatches and get everyone out of the ship.”
“Yessir. Jordan out.”
Nash tapped the comstrap’s face and looked at Davenport. “Mr. Davenport, let’s see this new world that we’re going to be calling home for a while.”
“Yes, sir.”
Davenport turned his flashlight toward the rear of the bridge and walked toward a yellow door that read “Emergency exit.” To the door’s right was a long lever, painted with yellow and black stripes. Grasping his flashlight with his teeth, Davenport took hold of the lever with both hands and pulled. There was a loud explosion and the door flew outward, letting in a stream of orange tinted light. He released the lever and cocked his head toward the rest of the bridge crew.
“All ashore, mates,” he said with a grin.
The bridge crew filed toward the door and exit, leaving only Nash standing next to the command chair. He stood alone and in silence, eyes sweeping the shattered bridge. With a sigh, he ran his hand over the armrest of the command chair one last time.
“Well, old girl, you gave us one hell of a last run.”
The dual sensations of chilling breeze and warm sun greeted Nash as he stepped out the door. He stood still for a moment, allowing the sun to play on his face. Eyes closed and mouth open, he bowed back and took a deep breath. It had been far too long since his lungs had felt air not processed by atmospheric scrubbers.
“Air never tasted so sweet.”
After reaching the ground and joining the rest of the bridge crew, Nash looked around to survey the landscape. The sun was setting in the west, hanging low over a range of cragged mountains. The late afternoon light, a deep orange-red in color, bathed the green and brown meadow before him, causing the grasses, thistles, and brambles to shimmer as they wavered in the breeze.
Behind him lay the Trident. After impact, the vessel had continued to grind along the earth, plowing a deep furrow over two kilometers long. The ship was a mess. Various sections of the main hull had been stripped of the outer shell, much like a peeled orange. The starboard nacelle was completely severed and lay wrecked and mangled about a hundred meters from the rest of the vessel. From the emergency exits at various points along the hull came crew and colonist alike, who banded together in small groups.
Davenport scrutinized the wreckage, bit his lip, and then looked at the colonel.
“I’m glad they’re going to take that out of your pay and not mine.”
At first Nash said nothing; he simply stared at the dark-skinned Australian. Then the slightest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Nash’s mouth, which slowly expanded into a wide grin. His grin turned to laughter, soon joined by the rest of the bridge crew.
“I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor, Mr. Davenport,” Nash said between laughs. After he regained his composure, he cocked his head toward McBride. “Major, what was that you said in Irish during decent?”
“Oh.” She bit her lip and after a momentary pause continued. “Is gairid ar gcairt ár an saol seo. It means our lease on life is short. I… I didn’t expect us to make it, sir.”
Nash put his hands behind his back. “Well, what happens on the bridge stays on the bridge. Your secret is safe.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The Colonel looked briefly toward the setting sun, then back at McBride. “Major, find me the Chief and Myron Decker. We need to come up with a short term action plan to get us through to morning. By the look of the sun, we don’t have much light left and I want to minimize the use of electric lights until we have the solar panels up and running.”
“On my way, Colonel.”
It wasn’t until McBride walked away that Nash noticed Freely. He had a large gash in the center of his forehead, which was oozing blood down onto his nose.
Nash pointed to the lieutenant’s forehead. “Mr. Freely, go find Doc Talhoo and have him look at your forehead.”
Freely reached up and touched the gash, apparently unaware of the injury.
“Sir, I’m fine. I’ll just—”
“Now, Mister.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the young man walked away, Nash put his hands on his hips and called out. “Mr. Freely.”
He turned at looked at Nash. “Sir?”
“Good work today.”
A grin swept across the young man’s face. “Thank you, sir.”
After the lieutenant walked away, Nash once again looked toward the setting sun, hanging large and orange over the mountains. “Reminds me of the Rocky Mountains back in Montana.” He continued to stare at the view and said, “Mr. Davenport, is it just me or does this sun appear large on the horizon?”
“Sir, this star is both larger and closer than Earth’s. It is
cooler, though. That’s why there is an earth-like climate range.”
“I see. Just curious, how long is a day is on this planet? Or a year?”
“Luckily, a day is still twenty-four hours. However, the year is shorter; three hundred and five days.”
“I see. And do you know what time of the year it is now?”
“I calculated that just before descent, Colonel. It is early spring. Based on calculations I made, we should experience a climate similar to the New England area of North America, but that isn’t much more than a best guess because of my limited knowledge of this planet.”
“Understood.” Nash patted his science officer on the back and then added, “I’ll take your best guess any day.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t mention it.” Nash could see McBride approaching with the Chief and Decker in tow. “Here they come now. Come on, let’s get this sorted out or it’s going to be a long night.”
