Space Scout

by S A Pavli

  “Manera Ka Hatekan, Captain Constantine, you are both alive,” he exclaimed.

  “Not for very long,” shouted Manera, “We are trapped in an external corridor of the Semtrik Lode. Tell those Garsan forsaken ill begotten Tenrak scum who make up the Prime Idiocy Council to get us out of here one way or the other.” Her voice rose to a screech as she completed her sentence and I was suitably impressed with both her language and her temper. This was a side of Manera I had not seen before. .

  “I am communicating with Guardian Kemato now,” he said quickly, his fingers flying over an invisible keyboard. “She instructed that any communication from you or the Captain should be put straight through to her.”

  “Why was that robot on the Emergency Service band not aware of that?” she scowled.

  “We did not expect any communication that way,” he replied, “Our mistake, sorry,” he looked very contrite and crestfallen and Manera did not have the heart to berate him any further.

  “You are through,” he said and the screen blanked, and then the familiar face of Kemato appeared.

  “Manera , Paul, you are both alive,” she exclaimed. “It appears everyone is very surprised by this,” Manera said through gritted teeth. “We are very sorry to cause such surprise and consternation. If you all wait for a while, we shall both almost certainly be dead.” She glared at the bug eyed and clearly overjoyed Kemato. “Very soon now,” she finished vehemently. Kemato looked confused by Manera’s vehemence, but she replied quickly.

  “We are informing the Council’s warship’s that you are still alive. They have the only ships close enough to the Semtrik Lode to mount a rescue. Stay on line and I will keep you informed.”

  “Paul, did you have anything else to do?” she asked me with excessive politeness.

  “Um...nothing that can’t wait,” I replied casually.

  “We’ll just wait here then shall we?” she continued, with hugely feigned indifference.

  “Okey Dokey,” I agreed. Kemato did a double take and sighed in exasperation without bothering to reply. I pulled Manera to me and gave her a long warm hug. The tension melted out of her and she gave a long sigh.

  “When I get to see those idiots on the Prime bloody Council I shall have some words for them,” she exclaimed.

  “Mmm,” I agreed “Their actions seem, let’s say, somewhat extreme.”

  “Paul, how irresponsible can they be?” It was a combination question and exclamation. “Just to attack like that, with guns and missiles blazing, destroying everything, including the very thing we have been trying to protect.”

  “What, my sorry arse you mean?” I asked.

  “Yes, that sorry arse,” she agreed with a little affectionate smile .

  “It does show a degree of ruthlessness that surprises me,” I mused, “Although I am not as surprised as our dissident friends must have been.”

  “Oh Paul, it’s terrible,” she whispered, “Don’t joke about it.”

  “I know, sorry,” I said, feeling like an insensitive clod. “They were not bad people.” We huddled quietly against each other for a while, our bodies jerking back and forth as the ship wheeled around like an erratic roller coaster. I expected to hear the whisper of atmosphere against the hull any minute, which would signal our end for sure. The screen hissed and Kematos face appeared again.

  “Can you stand by a window so that you can be seen?” she asked.

  “You stay here to operate the com and I’ll stand by the window,” I said. Manera nodded and , judging the lurching of the ship, launched myself to the window. The view was the same, wheeling stars and the odd view of the planet, which seemed to have got significantly larger I noticed, to my growing alarm. Then, after an anxious minute or two, which seemed like ten, the sleek triangular shape of an aircraft wheeled by. I waved quickly before it disappeared, almost sure they must have seen me. I wondered how they would stabilise the ship. Surely it would be impossible for them to dock with the ship while it was tumbling so erratically. Manera’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

  “Paul, they have spotted you,” she paused, apparently listening to what Kemato had to say. I heard her curse in Hianja and expected the worst. “They cannot stabilise our ship or dock with it. The tumbling is too severe.” I gaped at her in disbelief and was about to ask if that was the best that they could do when she continued.

  “There is what looks like an undamaged lifeboat on the next level down. They think we may be able to get to it.”

  “How do they know we can get to it?” I yelled.

  “This whole side of the ship is intact. We should be able to use the emergency stairs to get to the next level.”

  “Well let’s go then,” I yelled, “Do they know how much time we have?” She put the question to Kemato who answered immediately.

  “Only a few minutes before the ship hits the atmosphere.”

  “Which direction?” I yelled, but Manera had already launched herself down the corridor towards the visible door. I followed and the door obligingly hissed open as we approached. I had no time to congratulate the door, Manera was hurtling down the passage like a rocket. Around the bend of the corridor we arrived at an entrance to a spiral staircase. These were clearly the emergency stairs and we headed down at great speed. The stairs were difficult to negotiate against the ships tumbling and we both suffered innumerable bruises and collisions. The next level seemed secure, we still had air to breath. Manera paused to get her bearings, and then turned to the right down the corridor. We came upon another door, and confident that it would open we continued our flight, only to stop with a resounding and painful bump against the recalcitrant door.

  “Oh shit,” exclaimed Manera. Having exhausted her Hianja swearwords she was now swearing in English. I simply grunted with pain, having banged my shoulder badly. She leapt across to the manual control and banged it impatiently. The door remained shut.

  “There must be vacuum on the other side,” I said.

  “They told me this section looked undamaged,” she replied.

  “They will not be able to see internal damage,” I pointed out. So near yet so far. Just a few metres away on the other side of this door was the lifeboat that could carry us to safety. She shook her head.

  “This whole section is undamaged, for fifteen levels.”

  “Are there any lifeboats on other levels?” I asked.

  “Yes, there are lifeboats every two levels. We were at the topmost level so they are all beneath us,” she said.

  “We just have to check the other levels,” I said.

  “Cherzak!! We do not have time,” she exclaimed.

  “Cherzak, we have no choice,” I said. “Come on.” I said urgently, and we both took off back to the stairs. Another two levels down and more bruises, and another stubborn door that refused to open. For the first time I began to feel that my time had come. Manera was distressed and almost crying with frustration.

  “Paul, we are going to die,” she sobbed.

  “Come on baby, we are not dead yet.” I manhandled her towards the hated stairs and we struggled down, our bruised bodies crashing this way and that against the metal stairs.

  “I shall hate stairs for the rest of my life,” I groaned.

  “Doesn’t look like that’s going to be very long,” groaned Manera fatalistically. We hurtled towards the next door, this time taking some care to slow down before we got there to spare our battered bodies. To our elation, the door hissed open obligingly.

  “Nice door, lovely door,” I shouted as we hurtled through and Manera screamed with relieved laughter. The relief was huge, but it was cut short as we detected a new noise from the stricken ship. The whisper of atmosphere against its broken surfaces was like the knell of doom.

  “Oh Jesus Christ, where is that lifeboat?” I asked panting.

  “There, there,” gasped Manera, pointing to an alcove along the corridor. Sure enough, through the window I could see the lifeboat attached like a leech to the side of the ship.
It was much larger than I expected, but then this was a big ship capable of carrying hundreds. We arrived at the airlock doors which provided entry to the lifeboat, and they were closed. There was a control panel to the right of the doors and Manera made for it immediately. I stood behind her breathlessly, both of us hanging on to a wall grip and trying to stabilise ourselves against the tumbling. There was a different feel about the ships motion, it had slowed and flattened out a little due to the effects of the thin upper atmosphere. The air would kill the ships tumbling in a few seconds and then the ship would start to heat up dramatically before breaking up and burning up in the atmosphere. We had literally seconds to get off before that happened, and Manera’s efforts with the control panel were not yielding results. The doors to the lifeboat stayed stubbornly closed. She groaned in frustration.

  “There is a central lock from the Bridge which must be operated to enable all the lifeboats,” she said.

  “There must be a way to override it,” I screamed against the rising noise from the ship.

  “Yes, but I need the security code,” she said.

  “Unbelievable,” I screamed, my mind racing furiously. I had a sudden thought.

  “Manera, would the ship’s Computer still be on line?” she looked at me wide eyed, and without answering pushed buttons on the control panel, which was also a Comms console. The screen lit up and a blinking logo appeared, followed by some text.

  “Ship’s Computer,” said Manera loudly. The text was re-displayed. “It’s too bloody noisy,” she screamed at me , “The voice recognition can’t make sense of what I am saying,” she put her mouth next to the speaker grill and tried again. This time there was a response, and the logo changed to a diagram of the ship. We jumped when a voice came from the speaker.

  “Semtrik Lode ship’s Computer is on line. What is your request.” The Computer was facing its imminent destruction with total aplomb.

  “The ship is about to be destroyed. We must use the lifeboats to escape. Operate the lifeboat unlock,” Manera shouted into the microphone.

  “Are you the Captain or First Officer?” responded the Computer. Here we go again I thought wearily. The ship was plummeting to its death in the atmosphere, we are all about to die, and the bloody Computer was insisting on protocol.

  “The Captain and First Officer are both dead. Everyone is dead except us. We must get into the lifeboat immediately,” said Manera desperately. There was a delay which seemed to last forever.

  “Override accepted. Lifeboat doors on unlock . Lifeboat launch can be manually initiated. Do so as soon as possible, ship break-up predicted in less than one minute.” The doors to the lifeboat hissed open dramatically and we both shouted with relief.

  “Thank you Computer, may you go to Computer Heaven,” I shouted as we tumbled through the doors into the lifeboat. The Computer’s response, if any, was drowned by the hideous noise of the ship’s suffering. The air was starting to rip at the broken fabric of the ship as it hit the top of the atmosphere at 18000 miles an hour. The lifeboat airlock was situated in what would be the lifeboats ‘floor’, towards the front. We entered into a chamber that had two rows of five seats against the walls, with a small pilot and co-pilots bridge in the front nose of the ship. The lifeboat was about the size of a private jet aircraft, with seating and supplies for ten people. It was designed to allow ten people to survive in space for a couple of weeks until rescue arrived. It had no motive power.

  Manera scrambled for the pilot’s seat and I took the co-pilots. She operated controls feverishly before she was even strapped in and the airlock doors hissed shut. The noise of the ships suffering quietened down a little, but the ominous buffeting of the atmosphere grew louder. Through the front windows of the lifeboat we could see the curve of the huge ship against the background of the wheeling stars. Above our heads the huge curve of the planet lurched sickeningly. We were flying upside down and we could see that the nose of the Semtrik Lode had been blown off. There was nothing where the Hyperspace Drive should be. The ship started to shudder alarmingly and we could hear loud metallic groaning noises.

  “Get us out of here Manera before the ship breaks up and takes us with it,” I cried hastily.

  “I can’t find the manual release button!” she screamed desperately, her eyes scanning the array of controls in front of her. Like Human ships, Hianja ships tended to use ‘soft’ controls; that is displays on a touch screen which were under Computer control. But all the main controls were also manual, to allow for computer failure. The Lifeboat was not an aircraft or a ship as such, so its controls were simple and designed to be operated by non specialists. Nevertheless, there were quite a few unfamiliar displays and buttons in evidence and we had just a few seconds to find the right one. The screen lit up and the ships outline appeared.

  “You should operate manual release immediately,” came the voice from the speaker. Our ship’s computer was still on line.

  “Unable to find manual release,” shouted Manera desperately.

  “Release on automatic. Lifeboat Computer in Auto control. Good Luck,” came the response. There was a thump of locks releasing and we were free. The lifeboat suddenly veered sickeningly and the sky righted itself. We were looking down on the planets surface and flying on an even keel. To our right the stricken Semtrik Lode hurtled away from us, and we saw a large piece of the ship detach itself, and then another and another as the tumbling ship hit the thicker air.

  The Semtrik Lode’s Computer had saved our lives with its quick thinking. I saluted the stricken ship and it‘s passengers.

  “May you all rest in peace.” Manera looked at me peculiarly.

  “It’s only a Computer Paul, not even an AI,” she said.

  “It’s not just the Computer. There are people on board as well. It’s tradition,” I explained. She nodded grimly.

  “Humans are much closer to their spiritual side.”

  “And you Hianja are too pragmatic.”

  “We should make a good team then,” she replied. I reached out and took her hand and we watched the burning remains of the Semtrik Lode fall away from us.

  Our computer screen bleeped and a new outline appeared.

  “Lifeboat Computer on line,” said a metallic voice from the speaker. “We will be making a passive re-entry followed by a parachute landing. Fasten seat belts please, there may be turbulence.” I laughed in relief at this familiar mantra.

  “Fasten seatbelts, there may be turbulence,” I repeated and Manera exploded with laughter, giving vent to her pent up tension. As we watched, the tumbling remnants of the ship started to smoke and then burn red hot.

  “We have limited options for landing,” continued the lifeboat Computer, and a map appeared on the screen., with a highlighted area which was presumably the landing option. It was mostly sea, except for a small island towards one edge of the area.

  “Computer, can you land us here?” asked Manera, indicating the Island.

  “A sea landing would be safer, this vessel will float indefinitely. However, my Comms facilities have been damaged and I am unable to contact the Emergency Services.”

  “Ah, not good news,” mused Manera. “Anything else damaged? Anything that may affect your capacity to make a landing?” she asked carefully.

  “No, all other systems are fully functional.”

  “Is the island inhabited?” I asked.

  “I do not have information on that,” replied the computer.

  “Manera?” I looked questioningly at her.

  “I have no idea,” she replied.

  “It would be easier to spot the ship at sea,” I pointed out.

  “If they are looking for us,” she retorted. It was an idea I had not considered. The lifeboat had detached at the point when the ship was breaking up, maybe they had not spotted us. Because the lifeboat was not powered, it would look just like any other bit of the ship which had fallen off.

  “I rather fancy a desert island,” I mused, “Palm trees, golden beach
es. We could be Mr and Mrs Robinson Crusoe, start our own tribe...”

  “Who are Mr and Mrs Robinson Crusoe, and what is a tribe?” she asked.

  “It’s a long story,” I replied.

  “You must tell me it some day. In the meantime, if my Earthman wants a desert island, then a desert island it shall be,” she replied. “Computer, do your best to land us on the island, or as close to it as possible.”

  “Understood,” replied the Computer curtly.

  “So I am your Earthman?” I asked slyly.

  “Just a figure of speech,” she said nonchalantly, “Don’t let it go to your head,” she was making a great play of examining the ship’s controls. “Where is that damned Manual Release button anyway.”

  “Just above your head,” I grinned. She looked up and spotted the huge red lever above her.

  “Stupid place to put it!” she growled.

  While we were distracted, the front of our ship was starting to glow alarmingly and we were starting to feel the heat in the cabin.

  “Computer, is the ship on the correct flight path?” I asked

  “Yes, re-entry is proceeding normally,” came the reply.

  “Is the ship’s temperature nominal?”

  “Yes, temperature will rise over the next three minutes while we burn off our speed,” It replied. I was impressed because the lifeboat seemed to have no heat resistant layer or coating. Indeed, I was amazed that it had windows at the front.

  “What sort of glass is this Manera? How can it take such high temperatures?” I asked.

  “It is actually an ablative glass,” she replied. “More than half its thickness will burn off on re-entry. It is designed to be used only once of course.” To illustrate her words, the glass started to glow and then became opaque as its topmost layer started to burn off. The temperature continued to rise but never became unbearable. The noise became deafening and our small craft shuddered continuously, but maintained a firm straight line. Then slowly, the din lessened and the heat subsided. The view through the front was still obscured by the glowing glass, which took minutes to cool. The ship was now flying smoothly, a high speed glider, still doing many times the speed of sound but losing speed rapidly. Motors whined as the computer engaged the flight controls and we felt the ship bank and dip on to a new heading.