Reality: The Struggle for Sternessence

by Daniel A. Liut

Lieutenant Baboorez’s virtual console flickered on with distortion. “Still working on it, Captain. We have a very dense traffic of data coming from all sections.”

  “I need a rough estimate.”

  “Captain!” Lupain cut in. His virtual console remained intact and bright in the twilight of the bridge. “We’re falling off from orbit. I have neither drive nor rudder control.”

  O’sihn raised his eyes. “Time for reentry?”

  “Forty-three minutes, captain.”

  O’sihn nodded. “Damage control.” Baboorez’s console was a blurry noisy screen, totally disconnected from its source.

  “Damage control/conn?” O’sihn insisted, using an intercom channel.

  “Damage control, Capt—” a voice came through with distortion.

  “I reach you, DC. Give me whatever you’ve got.”

  After a short pause, Baboorez proceeded. “Captain, we have at least ten pressure failures;162 main life support system virtually inoperative; auxiliary life support system operative at sixty-five percent; sixty percent hull and structure permanent deformations; main power system, eight percent operational—”

  “I’ve got the picture,” O’sihn interrupted. “Transfer all the information you have to my console. I’ll come back to you as soon as I can.”

  “Acknowledged, Captain.”

  “Tactical situation?” O’sihn asked, turning to the virtual console of the officer of the watch.

  “I don’t detect anything unusual, sir,” Leepardian answered.

  “How about an attack from the surface?”

  “I don’t know, Captain.”

  “I suggest checking with the C.I.C.,” Tygrum interjected.

  O’sihn nodded and turned back to his console. “C.I.C./conn.”

  “Lieutenant Deehra speaking, Captain.” No VC (or virtual console) came on, only audio. “It seems we ran over a micro-mine g-cluster. Tango163 is recreating a virtual scenario of over three thousand gravitational singularities whose effects seem to match the damage pattern we’ve suffered.”

  “Keep working on it, but check for other hostiles in the area, including—especially—from the planet.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain.”

  “Conn/damage control.”

  “Yes, damage control.”

  “Sir,” Baboorez continued, “the main gravitational system is out of line, and all life support systems have collapsed. I’ve already activated the photosynthetic chemical recycler.”

  “How long are repairs gonna take on the life support system?”

  “Frankly, I’m not sure we can repair it. The photosynthetic recycler will keep us alive, but not for long.”

  “Try whatever’s necessary to get any of the support subsystems operational. It doesn’t matter how partially you get them to work.”

  “We’re on it right now, Captain, but I don’t think there is much we can do.”

  At that point, the engine-room virtual console went blank. Lin Beaver’s voice came immediately through O’sihn’s intercom. “Engine room, conn.”

  “Chief.”

  “Preliminary prop status report, sir: main engine energy singularizer164 is seriously damaged—we may be able to get it operational at minimum efficiency in about two hours, but only for a limited time. Main power system has collapsed—time for repairs still undetermined. Auxiliary system is showing clear signs of severe stress—likely overall power failure, though we’re working to prevent this. These are the critical items, sir.”

  “Concise, Chief. Keep me posted.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Status on the emergency rockets, Lupain.”

  “They were automatically jettisoned by the damage control supervisor, sir. They exploded in space.”

  “How about trying an atmospheric bounce?”

  “At our incidence angle?”

  O’sihn raised his eyebrows.

  “Impossible, sir.”

  “So it is, Lieutenant?” O’sihn’s inflection was growing sharp and rigid.

  “Our terminal incidence angle is close to forty-five degrees—and the ship has a 0.89 RPM residual spin, sir.”

  O’sihn rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Engine room/conn.”

  “Chief Beaver, Captain.”

  “Lin, in about half an hour we’re gonna hit the atmosphere with an incidence of forty-five, at a 0.89 RPM spin.”

  “We have no control at all, Captain,” Beaver said hurriedly, anticipating any instruction from the captain.

  “I am aware of the situation. Now, what if we rigged some chemical device—even explosives—to help us gain some momentum, reduce the incidence angle, and perhaps eliminate some of the spin?”

  “I . . . I don’t know, sir; I’d need a detailed report from damage control. The structure has suffered compromising damage and—”

  “The time for reports is up, Chief.”

  There was a brief hush, partially filled in with the background voices from the congested open channel.

  “I’d be working in the dark, Captain. We would most likely worsen our present situation rather than helping it.”

  “We have no choice. Put all hands on this, Lin. Do whatever you can, and call me back when—”

  “Sir, with all this lack of information, it will be a shot in the dark that could likely leave us with a pronounced angular momentum, which we may not be able to compensate at all.”

  “Your experience and expedience are our last hope, Chief. We still have a little over thirty-five minutes.”

  A gentle touch on one of his ankles made O’sihn look down.

  “It’s useless.” Laida coughed, staring at her husband. “It’s useless, O.”

  O’sihn shook his head and stepped back.

  “Abandon ship while you still can,” Laida continued. “She is dying, but her crew is still alive.”

  Leaning back on his seat, O’sihn stared at the planet surface peacefully displayed on the main TD. Laida’s words had sapped his energy and strength, dragging him down to almost depression levels. The X.O. was right; there was no way out of the situation. After half a minute of silence, he finally activated the console intercom. “Engine room/conn.”

  “Chief Beaver speaking, Captain.”

  “Last directive canceled. Start making preparations to abandon ship.”

  There was a delay in Lin Beaver’s reply. “Sir, we can still try a bounce on the atmosphere using gravitational flaps. Some of them are still operational. They may give us up to thirty extra minutes to work on something else, including reducing incidence angle and spin.”

  “Negative, use gravitational flaps to tweak the ship’s trajectory to effect reentry close to Veridiawa.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Beaver muttered as the captain closed the channel.

  O’sihn leaned back in his seat. The atmosphere of the planet, speckled with clouds, appeared serene and gentle on the main tactical display.

  “O’sihn?” Tygrum said, turning to the captain.

  As if disconnected, his friend was focused on the planet, deep in silence.

  96.

  “To all personnel of cruiser Intrepid, this is the captain.”

  With all intercom channels open, O’sihn’s voice reached every corner of the cruiser. “As a result of the last attack, the ship is starting to sink into the atmosphere of Althea 8. We have half an hour left—perhaps a few more minutes.” Distorted, the captain’s image now materialized on several virtual displays in all departments. “Our ship has been our post and our home for the last four years. But this last day’s run of hers is not the last of our team. We will overcome this crisis, and soon we will be back serving the Realdom again, with the best of who we are, to the last drop of who we are. We will meet back down on the planet’s surface.”

  The captain paused and met the gazes of his officers on the virtual consoles. “You can close all channels, Cilia.”

  With an awkward movement of her hands, Cilia complied. All virtual consoles, including hers, went down.


  “All personnel implement plan two of emergency abandonment procedure. All personnel implement plan two of emergency abandonment procedure . . . ”

  O’sihn opened a new channel, but nobody responded. “Lieutenant Commander Clara to the bridge,” he said, using 1-MC. “Lieutenant Commander Clara to the bridge.”

  “Conn/sickbay, Doctor Raikun reporting.”

  “Yes, Rai.”

  “Sixteen people dead or missing, Captain; five seriously wounded; forty-seven injured. I’m still receiving updates on the medical situation.”

  “Can those who are impaired be taken to jettison stations?”

  “We’re working on that at the moment, sir.”

  “This is our first priority now.”

  “Certainly, Captain.”

  O’sihn nodded and turned back. Clara was already waiting at the entrance to the bridge. “Keep me posted, Rai.”

  “Aye.”

  “Come on in, Clara.”

  “Sir.”

  “You are currently assigned to raft two, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “The X.O. is the senior-most officer of your raft.” O’sihn glanced down. His wife was still lying on the deck, semi-unconscious.

  “She’ll be all right, Captain,” Clara knelt to help Laida up. The X.O. did not respond.

  “Let me help you, Sub Commander,” said Tygrum. Together, he and Clara were able to carry Laida off the bridge.

  “Sickbay/conn.”

  “Raikun, Captain.”

  “Once the evacuation of the wounded is completed, you and all your personnel will abandon ship.”

  The doctor delayed his acknowledgment. “Sir, request permission to stay on board along with the M.P.S.”165

  “Request denied. Everybody—including all search parties—is to abandon this vessel immediately.”

  “Captain—”

  “You have your orders, Doc.”

  “Sir.”

  “T.O.,” O’sihn added, addressing Tygrum, who had returned to the bridge. “You will take charge of raft number one. But first, make sure we launch the pod166 with the material we need to execute our mission down on the planet.”

  “By the time the captain gets to the raft, everything will be ready,” Tygrum said.

  “Negative,” O’sihn replied. “As soon as you have everything ready, you will jettison your capsule at once.”

  Tygrum remained silent.

  “Standard procedure, T.O. I’ll be searching for survivors until the last minute, and then I’ll jettison myself in an escape pod.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I think there is nothing left to be done here. And I’d rather have the captain as the commanding officer of raft number one.”

  O’sihn nodded. “You will be in charge of raft number one today.” Tygrum knew that arguing with his old friend would be useless. He limited himself to the salute of protocol. “I hope everything goes well with you, Captain.”

  O’sihn did not respond. He was holding onto a picture of Aleia, his eldest daughter. She had given her life, not long ago, to save the same ship that, today, he could not save.

  Strands and stripes of smoke furrowed the air of the bridge. Intercom traffic was rapidly dwindling. The background noise of a few still-operating instruments was becoming the dominant sound remaining in the commanding room.

  “Damage control/conn,” O’sihn said, turning to his console. “Damage control/conn?” He switched over to another station. “Engine room/conn. Come in, engine room.”

  O’sihn kept trying all departments, no one replying in each case. “Attention, all decks,” he finally said through 1-MC. “This is the captain. Whoever may still be onboard must contact the bridge immediately. I repeat, whoever may still be onboard must contact the bridge at once.”

  “There is no one left onboard, Captain.”

  O’sihn turned back. Duncan was standing at the entrance to the bridge. He was wearing the space suit required for abandoning procedures. Folded over one arm, he was holding another.

  “I stopped by your quarters and I brought you this.”

  “You should be onboard raft number one, Lieutenant.”

  “Raft number one is still waiting for her captain.”

  O’sihn glanced at Duncan; he looked determined to get him out of the ship. Not in a mood for confrontation, the captain merely got up from his seat and moved towards the X.O.’s console.

  “You must proceed to your raft immediately, Dahncion.” O’sihn started typing some instructions on a luminous virtual panel. “And that’s an order, Lieutenant,” he added sharply, turning around.

  O’sihn completed some computations, after which he stepped towards the exit of the bridge.

  “Where are you going?” Duncan inquired.

  “There could be survivors trapped in—”

  But at that point, O’sihn fell to the floor. The metallic cup of an E.C.F.E.167 had blown off, hitting the back of O’sihn’s head.

  The sound of the captain’s massive body hitting the deck did not pass unnoticed by the T.O., who was still waiting at the entrance of the bridge.

  “I guess you need some help,” said Tygrum, standing at the doorway.

  “You bet.”

  97.

  While struggling to lift the captain up, Duncan and Tygrum stumbled and fell slowly to the deck.

  “What was that?” Tygrum said, coughing heavily from the effect of the E.C.F.E. gases.

  The weight they had been trying to lift had suddenly lightened. A major gravitational system failure was propagating throughout the ship. Duncan and Tygrum discovered they were now able to carry the captain’s massive body with no major difficulty. However, they had to adjust their movements to the new low-gravity environment, a situation for which they were well trained.

  Soon they reached a major corridor. The raft pier was not far away.

  “Are you sure she is okay?” Duncan asked Tygrum, the same question he had asked twice, at the raft launching station, prior to returning to the bridge to look for O’sihn.168

  “As I said before, raft number two lifted off with a cut and clean nothing to report.”

  Duncan winced with anxiety.

  “Will you stop worrying about Erina? She’s fine.”

  98.

  Already in space, Laida started recovering consciousness.

  “Jettison effected as programmed; nothing to report, Commander,” Clara said, levitating in the absence of any net acceleration. “We are about one kilometer from the Intrepid, now. Twenty minutes to reentry.”

  Laida moaned and nodded. On her ocher eyes, barely open, the shape of a woman was clearly drawn. “Is everybody all right?”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  The raft was similar to a piercing capsule, though wider and furnished with many instruments, along with water, provisions, and other survival items. Like a piercing capsule, its hull was made of a transparent metallic material.

  “Erina, where is Erina?” Laida inquired.

  Clara glanced back. She knew each of the crewmembers assigned to her raft, a basic item any officer first ascertained when assigned to a ship. “All personnel assigned to raft two are on board, Commander. Ensign Erina is assigned to raft four.”

  “Ensign Erina was assigned to raft four,” Laida corrected. “But Lieutenant Erina was reassigned to raft two upon promotion.”

  Clara’s eyes changed perceptibly.

  “It’s not your fault, Clara,” Laida stressed, noticing her alarm and sense of guilt. “O’sihn made the change late yesterday. You had no chance to check your daily instructions.” Clara had been on duty that morning. “Surely she is on another raft, most likely raft four.”

  As Laida talked, Clara tried to make contact with raft four, and other rafts, with no success. They were most likely going through their reentry phase. She also tried calling Erina on her personal communicator, but had no response.

  Laida showed Erina’s communicator to Clara. “She forgot it o
n the bridge last night.”

  “What if she is inside the ship? We may be able to reach her through—”

  “The ship’s network is out of line,”169 Laida interrupted.

  Clara shook her head with distress.

  “She is on raft four,” Laida asserted.

  “We can’t be certain,” Clara objected. “She was on duty last night.170 She may be unconscious or injured in her cabin.”

  “The Captain will never leave the Intrepid until he is certain that everybody still alive is off his ship,” Laida replied.

  “I was still on the virtual bridge when Captain O’sihn asked Doctor Raikun to check for all wounded personnel,” Lieutenant Cilia put in. “Check for all wounded and evacuate them in any available raft, were the captain’s words.”

  Clara stared at the Intrepid, gleaming in the distance, slightly disfigured. Occasional tongues of flames were bursting from its hull. “We’re still too close to the ship, Captain Clara. We must gain more altitude.”171

  “Request permission to check status on Lieutenant Er—”

  “Request absolutely denied,” Laida interrupted briskly. “You forget you are in charge here, Captain.”

  Clara evaded Laida’s gaze, her eyes drifting towards the Intrepid again. Laida started issuing some technical instructions to a young crewmember, who was staring back with a confused expression. Struggling with her pain, Laida strove to make her point more clear. In the meantime, Clara began drifting towards the control panel. Reaching the tactical display, she set on the raft opening sequence and blocked the command with a password to prevent anybody from interrupting the procedure.

  A synthesized voice was immediately heard on the raft. “Zero-atmosphere opening procedure in progress. Fifteen seconds to execute.” A countdown started flashing on several displays, seamlessly built in in the hull of the raft.

  At once, all space suits were automatically sealed and activated by the safety system. A luminous red band lit up along the path where the raft was about to open.

  “Seize Lieutenant Commander Clara!” Laida shouted through her speaker. In calling Clara Lieutenant Commander instead of Captain, Laida had expressly taken charge of the raft.

  The personnel onboard tried to get hold of her, but the Veritian Marine was too much for them. The weightless conditions on the raft were not helping either. In the meantime, Laida was struggling, in vain, to unlock the opening system. “Give me the damned password, Clara. Do it!”