Spaceship Struggles

by Ingo Potsch

  The Nenad skipper confirmed emphatically.

  "Aesuron fight like predators," he declared. “Ships destroyed everywhere.”

  This was the first intimation that the Mandana's crew received of Grand Admiral Jollyheart's failure to combine annihilation of the enemy fleet with total victory over the Aesuron Empire. Victory perhaps rested in getting out alive again. Just as planned by the Admiralty, the Human Nation’s Grand Fleet had succeeded in getting between the enemy and his bases on the outside of the Inter-Arm Void. The strategy had been to cut off the Aesuron fleet from their strongholds where scored of smaller vessels were stationed to provide proximity defence. Then, the Human Nation’s Grand Fleet was to make short work of the Aesuron. Grand Admiral Jollyheart and Admiral Bartholomew-Caffrey had done everything that human courage and science could devise. That’s at least what was proclaimed later. Unfortunately for them, the Aesuron had inflicted far greater losses on the Human Nation than the latter did upon the alien enemy. And, what was more, the Human Nation’s fleet still had to retreat, hunted by vengeful alien warriors, while the boastful Aesuron, crowding into their nearby bases and secure space ports, spent their time in spreading glorifying reports of their colossal victory over the attacking Human Nation. Those reports were of course regarded with great interest among the neutral nations, of which there were many in the Galaxy.

  "You don’t look surprise at the news," continued the master of the Nenad mining craft. "I think you would cheer like mad for surviving."

  "Of course, we're glad," replied Astley, "but it is not quite what we expected, you know. We came here to win, not merely to survive. We are sorry that the enemy got away."

  "Me, too," agreed the Dane. "Aesuron Empire treat little Nenad Kingdom badly. She bullies us; and we cannot do anything. Shall we all descend from hyperspace and then we run alongside and take you and your crew off?"

  Astley gave a glance to windward. It seemed as if the hyperspace waves were moderating. His reluctance to abandon ship increased. The Mandana had played her part, and it seemed base ingratitude to leave her to founder.

  "I don't think she's settling down any further, sir," replied one of the engineer's crew in answer to the junior lieutenant's question. "Bulkheads are holding well."

  "Then we will carry on," declared the junior lieutenant, and, warmly thanking the Nenad for his humanity, he courteously declined the offer of assistance.

  "Good luck, then!" replied the skipper of the mining craft as he thrust the wheel hard over and ordered easy ahead. Yet not for another hour did he part company. Keeping at a discreet distance from the labouring destroyer, he remained until, the hyperspace waves having moderated, and the Mandana showing no further signs of distress, he came to the conclusion that the battered Human Nation’s craft stood a fair chance of making port.

  For the next couple of hours the Mandana was continually passing areas where soft reverberations of recent hyperspace events hinted to violent events. She was doing a bare lightyears per hour now; while, able to use only a fraction of her remaining hyperspace drive’s designed capacity, she was hard on her helm, which meant that steering was taking place by using the dampers and the rotation of the force field mainly to determine her way. In normal space, lots of wreckage, scorched and shattered hulls and odd clouds of dusts testified to the devastating effect of modern thermos-nuclear weapons. The destroyer was passing over the scene of one of the many isolated engagements that composed the memorable battle of a certain Human Nation’s battle with the Aesuron in the Inter-Arm Void, near the enemy’s territory.

  "A boat or a raft of sorts, sir," reported an astronaut, pointing to a floating object a couple of light minutes, and slightly on the Mandana's starboard bow, which had shown up on his instruments. “She’s hardly making way but stays in hyperspace.”

  Astley got the Mandana closer and the brought the best remaining telescope to bear upon the objects indicated by the in-charge of hyperspace surveillance. A large raft was visible. It had the shape of an exaggerated lifebuoy, with an intermediate platform so arranged that in the event of the appliance being completely full with people on the "main deck" more space would still be available for several more shipwrecked to hold out. This kind of rescue raft had undoubtedly proved its value in the ongoing war between the Human Nation and the Aesuron Empire. Practically indestructible, not easily punctured by shells, and with an almost inexhaustible reserve of sturdiness, the raft was capable of supporting twenty astronauts with ease.

  Slowly the Mandana approached the life-saving rescue raft.

  "What are they - strafed alien bastards or some of our fellows?" enquired an enlisted astronauts of the lowest rank of his; for, although the raft was now clearly visible, the almost total absence of remaining paint or cladding made it impossible to determine the objects’ nationality, as he Aesuron had copied that human design and used it as well on some of their light vessels.

  "Don’t know, mate," replied his chum. "'Aesuron, perhaps; as they don't seem in no hurry to greet us."

  "'Aesuron or no Aesuron," responded the first speaker, "skipper is going to pull them out and bring them over, and if it's only to show them that we are not like these damn cruiser pirates."

  "Strikes me they're pretty well done in," chimed in another. "There's not one of them as has the strength of even replying to our calls."

  Their questions were answered soon when the rescue raft had been brought into the remains of the Mandana’s hangar. While the hangar itself was basically destroyed, it offered at least some little shelter from involuntarily drifting away, and a functional air-lock. To this air-lock the air lock of the rescue raft could be attached. And so it happened. Astronauts in mecha suits made it happen. On the last meters, they pulled in the rescue raft on ropes and then pusher her just right into place to connect the air locks.

  Huddled on the raft’s main deck were fifteen almost naked human beings. Some were roughly bandaged. All were blackened by smoke and scorched by exposure to heat. Their ship must have burned on all ends. Another half-dozen were in the upper deck, supporting themselves by one hand grasping the ribs of the raft supporting structure, so that they didn’t float around, for the thing had no artificial gravity.

  By the time they had observed the Mandana's approach they had been content that they had been seen, but the exhausted men engaged in no demonstration of welcome. They sat listlessly, with their dark-rimmed eyes fixed upon their rescuers. Dehydration must have taken its toll, and perhaps also the low level of oxygen in the air inside the rescue raft.

  To avoid hurting the frail shipwrecked during their extraction from the rescue raft, and their on-ward transport to the sick bay, the Mandana’s crew worked very carefully. To cope with the physical demands of the job, they still wore mecha-suits, though. That was also to mitigate the risk of the Mandana developing another leakage. Nothing of these risks became reality, though, and as the rescue raft was secured well when brought into the remnant of the destroyer’s hangar, and the work of transferring the survivors commenced with great attention, it was then also completed well. Without assistance the majority of the shipwrecked astronauts from the rescue raft would never have been able to gain the Mandana's deck, so pitiful was their condition owing to the long exposure to the cold, for the heating system had failed. At the same time, there had been no water in the raft and the chaps had suffered a lot because of that.

  They were of course Human Nation’s astronauts, but Astley forbore to question them until they had received attention from the hard-worked Doctor Randolphfield, and been supplied with food and drink from the already sadly-depleted stores.

  When the astronauts had recovered sufficiently to relate their adventures, they told a typical story of Human Nation’s daring and military heroism. They were part of the crew of the destroyer Otanes, and had taken part in the earliest attack upon the squadron of the Aesuron admiral known as “Duke Reaper” to the astronauts of the Human Nation.

  In the midst of the mêlée a hos
tile light cruiser, tearing down at twenty eight lights years per hour, suddenly appeared near the Otanes out of a bank of white noise, and firing from all barrels was cutting her completely in twain just abaft the after generator-compartment bulkhead. Swallowed up in the darkness, the stern portion of the destroyer floated in hyperspace for nearly ten minutes before it disintegrated further and finally dropped from the superposed dimension. Of what happened to the remaining and larger part of the vessel the survivors had no definite knowledge, although some were under the impression that it was towed away under fire by another destroyer.

  Left with sufficient time to get away a rescue raft, the remnant of the Velocity's crew found themselves adrift, with the still engaging vessels of their squadron rushing farther and farther away.

  Without food and insufficient of clothing, for they would not all fit into the only available rescue raft wearing mecha-suits or even the armoured combat fatigue for that matter, their position was a precarious one. The increasing hyperspace waves gave their over-crowded raft a good amount of trouble, for the rudimentary drive was hardly coping with them, while the bitterly cold temperatures caused by the failing heating numbed their limbs. Yet, with the characteristic light-heartedness of the Human Nation’s astronauts, the shipwrecked passed the time in singing rousing choruses, even the wounded joining in; for some time at least.

  Half a day into the business of surviving under these conditions, they were pretty well exhausted. No other vessel was in sight. They were without food and water, and unable to take any steps to propel their unwieldy, heavily-laden raft in any direction, as the hyperspace drive just kept it in the superposed dimension but refused to move it anywhere.

  Suddenly a large Aesuron battlecruiser loomed through the cloud of white noise. The spaceship came so close to the rescue raft that it became visible with bare eye. The Aesuron must have had a bad attack of nerves, for, contrary to all the customs of galactic warfare, they didn’t even attempt to rescue the shipwrecked. Despite the mortal hostility, rescuing castaway astronauts from the other side of the grand divide had become established practice. But in this case, the huge Aesuron battlecruiser only sniffed around for some while and then, to the surprise of the remnant of the Otanes' crew, the Aesuron ship suddenly heaved her bows into the direction from where the brane waves came and disappeared in a great cloud of foamy white noise, leaving myriads of micro-distortions in her wake.

  Despite not being rescued by the Aesuron, a rousing cheer - it was wonderful how much sound humans can give vent to even when almost dead through exhaustion - hailed this unexpected deliverance from perils of becoming prisoners of war, and the astronauts settled themselves to resume their prolonged discomforts, buoyed up by the unshaken hope that a Human Nation’s vessel would bear down to their assistance. It had been this expectation which had ignited a few of the rescue raft’s inmates to start cheering upon the disappearance of the Aesuron battlecruiser; with the remaining fellows joining in for the sake of unity with their comrades. There had been a handful of them who had silently hoped for having it all behind; the inconvenience of being shipwrecked, the claustrophobic environment of the rescue raft, the prospect of being sent right back into war on a new vessel just upon deliverance from their present calamity…

  But then, there were the others, too. Just like the human race had always consisted of the cautious and the exuberant, the shy and the bolt, the daring and the fearsome, the crew of astronauts was made up of an equal range of characters, only that the brave were in the majority. It was indeed remarkable how quickly most of the Otanes' astronauts regained their spirits after being received on board the Mandana.

  One particular survivor stuck gamely to a plastic box. His messmates knew the secret, but kept mum. Only when questioned by the Mandana's men, the fellow cautiously opened the lid, displaying a couple of white mice. Before going into action, the astronaut, having doubts as to the safety of his pets in the forward compartment where the cabins for the enlisted astronauts were, had stealthily removed the mice aft, placing the box in the officers' pantry. When the Velocity had been shot apart he did not forget his dumb friends. At the risk of his life, he went below and secured the box, only telling about them to his chums when his turn came to leave the failing Otanes and lighten the already overcrowded emergency raft. Throughout the long hours on the rescue raft he kept the little animals warm and alive.

  The rest of the day passed almost without incident in the Mandana. Food was running short, for, in spite of the sadly depleted number of the Mandana's crew, there was barely another day's provisions left on board that had not been spoiled by fire or wasted by radiation or had been destroyed during the prolonged spaceship struggles. In addition, the augmentation of the ship's company by the rescued crew made the shortage still more acute.

  Just as the next shift was coming on, a petty officer approached Astley and saluted.

  "Forward bulkhead is giving, sir," he reported, as coolly as if he were announcing a most trivial occurrence. "There's hardly any atmospheric pressure in the forward storage."

  The safety of the Mandana and her crew depended upon that transverse wall of steel. Once this bulkhead yielded to the pushing pressure of the internal atmosphere, no human ingenuity and resource could save the battered destroyer from plunging out of hyperspace into the great emptiness of the Inter-Arm Void. Under ordinary circumstances, the bulkhead was able to easily withstand hundredfold the standard atmospheric pressure. But damaged by the impacts, burdened by welding, embrittled by radiation and cold, the formerly solid and robust steel bulkhead had turned into a mere sheet of metal with the strength of a thin foil only.

  CHAPTER XV – Safely Back Home

  Throughout the long-drawn hours the survivors of the Mandana's crew battled bravely against increasing difficulties in their efforts to save the destroyer from falling appart. The faulty bulkhead, shored and barricaded with tightly-packed hammocks and other canvas gear, required constant watching. The maintenance teams were working continuously, relay of astronauts undertaking the arduous task in the high-spirited manner that dominates the Human Nation’s Space Fleet, especially when confronted with danger and peril.

  Not once during the hours of deep danger did Astley quit the remnants of the bridge. Without the aid of most modern-age navigating instruments, save the inadequate dimensional compass salvages from one of the rafts, the destroyer's course could not be maintained with the customary precision. Variation and deviation - factors carefully guarded against in ordinary circumstances - were affecting the boat's rudimentary dimensional compass, but to what extent Astley knew not. With a vague idea that he would fetch the Bodotria Tunnel, the junior lieutenant held on, the grinding humming of the remaining hyperspace drive dinning into his ears the conviction that the old Mandana was momentarily, but slowly, approaching regions of the Grand Inter-Arm Void which were occasionally patrolled by Human Nation’s vessel. Therefore, the chances of getting picked up were increasing. Given the breadth of the Grand Inter-Arm Void and the slow speed of the Mandana, the realistic duration of travelling on her own back home surmounted by far the number of days till the astronauts on board were to succumb to thirst, hunger, and lack of oxygen: in that order. But that was only true of the spaceship’s generator didn’t fail, if her oxygen recovery installations maintained their service properly, and so on. – Many conditions and many more caveats. – The water processing plant had already been lost earlier, due to the shelling which the Mandana had received. The same fate had haunted the spare parts for this piece of equipment.

  A cup of un-fragrant tea, sweetened with condensed milk, and a biscuit which was strongly scented with a peculiarly acrid smell, were gratefully accepted by the well-nigh exhausted junior lieutenant. The man who brought the refreshments to the bridge had not thought it necessary to explain that he had scraped the sodden tea from the floor of the shell-wrecked officers'-pantry, or from where and by what means he had obtained the biscuits and toasted them.

  Once mor
e the hyperspace brane waves had subsided, and an almost flat calm prevailed. All around, the indications a few stars shone dimly through the very lights haze, as indicated on the makeshift main screen, which consisted of canvas and a beamer projecting the image. Not one indication of another spaceship was detectable; all around, apart from the stars, the velvet dark dominated, depressing the mood with its ill-defined murk.

  At the end of the regular shift the helmsman was relieved according to schedule. He was the seventh consecutive astronaut whom Astley had seen taking his trick at the wheel, but still the junior lieutenant stuck gamely at his post. He would have given almost anything to throw himself at full length upon the dewy deck and sleep like a log, even for a couple of hours, but such a privilege was denied him. His wounds, too, although slight, were beginning to feel painfully stiff. The salty sweat, accumulating in the liner of his ragged combat fatigue, irritated the abrasions almost beyond endurance. He yearned in vain for a hot shower and a change of clothing.

  "How goes it now?" enquired a tired voice, hardly recognizable as that of Doctor Randolphfield. "Where are we?"

  "Somewhere in the Inter-Arm Void, old friend," replied Astley, with a forced laugh. "Do you happen to have a prescription for an eyelid prop, Coroner? My optics seem on the point of becoming bunged up."

  "Tell it not to Astharoth," quoted the surgeon. "I have just made a discovery - worth at the present moment more than untold gold. Cocaine, man, real cocaine, and the only one supply to be found on board. The rest went over-board with the locked medical vault in the lower storage compartment."

  “The stuff is poison”, protested Astley.

  “It’s a strong stimulant”, declared Coroner. “It has a few potential mental side effects may include loss of contact with reality, an intense feeling of happiness, or agitation. Physical symptoms may include a fast heart rate, sweating, and large pupils. Effects begin within seconds to minutes of use and last between five and ninety minutes. It has number of accepted medical uses such as numbing; and in our case stimulation.”