“Kurt?” Nadya called out.
Jack ignored her as sky grew red around them, partially obscuring their view.
“The antimatter cloud is collapsing around the ship,” the computer announced. “The outer hull is beginning to sustain damage.”
A brilliant purple flash overwhelmed him as he was knocked backwards. When the glow faded enough, Jack looked up. The stars spun wildly and the view directly behind him was gone, replaced by a large, pitch black square. The spinning quickly ceased, and the stars started shifting back and forth in an unreal rocking motion. Before the ship could finish stabilizing itself, it dove again, avoiding incoming fire. “I think we’ve been hit,” Jack said. “Computer, damage report.”
“Aft sensors were destroyed,” the computer answered.
“Kurt?” he called out.
There was no reply. A moment later, Palmer’s voice broke the silence, “Jack, the main part of the fleet pursing Kurt is nearly at KB53.”
“Understood.” He strained his eyes, looking toward the region where Kurt’s ship should be. It was of course, much too far to see, but he had to try. “Kurt, respond please,” he said.
Again, there was only silence.
“Captain,” Palmer said, “he should be passing KB53 now. If you want to do this, we need to blow the mines now.”
“I know,” he answered softly.
“Kurt!” Nadya shouted. When there was no answer, she pleaded, “Jack, you can’t. If they’ve taken damage, he’ll be destroyed too. You need to give him more time.”
He didn’t need Nadya telling him what he already knew. But there was more than Kurt’s life at risk here. Besides the overall plan, the rest of the crew in the IPV would be sitting ducks if these ships got through; there was no choice.
“Jack did you hear me?” Nadya said.
The simple cold math of the situation helped him force her pleas and his own feelings from his mind. “Palmer, detonate them now,” he said with a calmness that surprised himself. He cringed in response even before Nadya shrieked, “No!”
Jack barely heard her. The red haze intensified as he stared at the stars, looking for his pursuers as well as the result of his order. The sudden calm was unsettling.
The computer’s voice cut through the silence: “Warning...”
He cut the machine off, saying, “We need to maintain course. Can anything be done to minimize damage?”
There was a barely perceptible pause before the machine responded, “I can ionize the antimatter in front of us and generate a strong magnetic field to shield the ship. The protection will be incomplete.”
“Proceed,” Jack replied.
A distant, bright violet pinpoint cut through the haze, signifying the demise of KB53. The shockwave swept outward and was accompanied by two more distant explosions as Kurt’s other mines detonated. An expanding, shimmering band of glowing debris grew from the destroyed planetoids. Jack ignored its surreally beauty, though, as he continued staring at the evolving scene. Though only a few seconds passed, it felt like hours. His patience was finally rewarded: several small bursts of orange light flashed into and out of existence. The pursuing fleet was being ripped apart by the spreading debris field. Over a dozen white pinpoints appeared as the surviving ships ran their engines hard to avoid the fast-moving rubble. There were only a couple more flashes of orange from the stragglers that couldn’t escape. A moment later it became clear that the surviving ships were heading straight for him. Jack felt no fear though: it meant they saw him and with any luck, would soon join his pursuers and fly straight into the antimatter cloud.
His ship lurched again, to avoid incoming fire. As soon as it steadied itself, the computer said, “Warning, you must...”
Jack cut the machine off again and said, “Maintain course.” He needed to draw them in; any deviation in trajectory would alert them to the danger. He hoped Kurt’s idea had paid off and given him some time to escape. He wanted to call to his friend, but was afraid of what any lack of response would likely mean. His impatience won out, though, and he called, “Kurt?”
Seconds passed with only an occasional burst of static.
“I’m sure he’s OK,” he finally said, as much to Nadya as to himself.
Her lack of response ate at him as much as Kurt’s. “Computer,” he called, “Display aft view.”
“Unable to comply. Aft sensors are down.”
“Rotate ship one-hundred-eighty degrees, but maintain course.” The ship spun around as ordered, giving him a clear view behind him. It was deceptively peaceful; the computer generated image of the surrounding antimatter reminded him of the distant, growing cumulous clouds one might find on a hot summer day. The only interruptions to the tranquil scene were occasional flashes of red haze as the ship clipped the edges of the cloud. “Where are you?” he said as he strained his eyes looking for the pursuing fighters. It seemed logical that they might hang back, waiting for reinforcements.
“Palmer, do you read me?”
Two sharp bursts of static were his only response. He quickly called out, “Computer, check communications status.”
“Communications are down. There is too much interference.”
“Damn,” was all that he could manage. They plowed deeper into the eddy within the cloud, making it feel as if he were gazing up at the stars from deep within some cavern. His attention, though, remained fixed on the distant white pinpoints of the approaching ships: they were closing formation now and coming straight at him.
Without warning, he was slammed into the back of his seat, as the computer announced, “Collision with antimatter imminent; reversing course.”
“Computer, explain,” he demanded.
“The eddy is collapsing.”
He saw it more clearly as the ship accelerated back toward the approaching enemy. Wisps from the surrounding cloud began falling toward them, like a curtain closing off their route of escape. The ship nimbly danced around the collapsing walls of their gaseous cavern, each time identifying a new path before he could see it. The problem was, they were closing in on the enemy ships fast, and dodging back and forth wouldn’t save them from incoming fire.
“I need weapons,” he said aloud.
“Jack,” Nadya said calmly. “Tell the ship to vent any spare atmosphere we have in a jet in front of us. It’ll annihilate on contact with the antimatter, and create a pretty serious blast.”
“Got it!” he answered without hiding his excitement. “But it won’t be very accurate.”
“That won’t matter,” she quickly replied. “Just position us so that part of the cloud is between us and them.”
“Understood,” Jack replied. “Computer, how much atmospheric reserve do we have on board?”
“Five kilograms.”
“It won’t be a compressed, efficient explosion,” Nadya said. “But, it should yield about five megatons. We’ll just use its blast to spray part of the antimatter cloud into them – that’s what’ll take them out.”
“Perfect, Nadya,” Jack replied. He scanned the rapidly evolving clouds and saw what he needed: another large eddy lay ahead. If they jettisoned the atmosphere into the center of that gap, it would penetrate deep into the cloud above, collapsing it on top of the enemy fighters. The problem was, they only had a few seconds left to pull it off.
Two plasma bolts flew at them. At this distance, though, their ship still easily dodged the incoming shots. “Computer,” he said as he pointed toward the eddy, “adjust trajectory to here. Release three kilograms of reserve atmosphere in front of us on my mark.”
“Understood,” the machine replied.
“We’ll keep two kilos in reserve in case we need to clear an escape path for ourselves.”
“Understood,” the machine repeated.
They climbed quickly and skimmed along the cloud’s upper edge. The rapidly changing swirls and vortices flew by as he forced himself to have patience; they needed to be close for this to work. Barely a second in front of him,
the cloud billowed downward. That was their target. The enemy ships saw his quick move up and adjusted course to intercept, unknowingly heading straight for the trap. “Jettison atmosphere now! Pull back now!”
A blinding white flare spread out before them, following the path of their jet of air. It penetrated deep into the cloud, spawning a glowing shockwave that swept ahead of them. The fighters immediately saw the danger and adjusted course, but they weren’t fast enough. The nearest three were enveloped by the wave and instantly destroyed. The others scattered; but unaware of the hazard, dove into the surrounding antimatter cloud, lighting up the sky with a dozen brilliant orange explosions. Jack marveled at the morbid beauty unfolding in front of him. A web of glowing streaks surrounded them. Each fiery trail split into smaller and smaller, jagged rays, giving it the feel of iridescent broken glass. They still had to escape the collapsing cloud themselves, though, and his ship dove into the seething chaos. Orange and yellow sparks leapt past as they dodged the burning fragments with unreal speed. Disturbed by the explosions, the vortices of the antimatter cloud changed rapidly, spinning out their tendrils in all directions. The ship danced around them faster than he could register. It all became a blur. Their tunnel widened – they were almost out. A split second later, a flash to his left made him cringe, and he was slammed back into his seat.
There was blackness all around him, save for a small square of visibility directly ahead. The outside world spun wildly. He tried to focus on the blur of stars and explosions, but a biting pain shot through the side of his head.
“Nadya!” he called out.
There was no answer. Jack turned to look for her, but saw nothing. The ship’s virtual interface still controlled everything he saw. Frustrated, he wanted to get up from his unseen seat, but it seemed impossible.
“Computer!” he shouted.
“Stand by,” it answered abruptly.
The stars ceased their spinning as the ship stabilized its orientation.
“Computer!” he shouted again.
The machine repeated, “Stand by,” in an unnervingly calm voice.
Jack stared out of his lone virtual window, trying to decipher their situation. However, his field of view was too narrow – like what one might see from the window on a passenger jet. A simple field of stars lay in front of him. Gone were the explosions, enemy fighters and even the synthetic blue view of the antimatter cloud. All he could imagine was that they had managed to escape the cloud; but nothing more beyond that.
“Palmer, do you read me?”
As expected, there was no response.
“Nadya,” he called again. Her continued silence tore at him more.
“Computer, respond!” he demanded.
The machine answered, “Stand by.”
“Goddammit!” Jack shouted. He tried to pound his fists into the wall, but his arms struck nothing. There was no sign of anything that was actually around him; only the virtual reality to which he was connected. As far as he could tell, he was floating in a sea of blackness with a single square ‘window’ drifting in front of him. There were no instruments, gauges or anything he could analyze.
“Computer answer me now!” he shouted.
“Stand by.”
Jack took a deep breath and said in a calmer tone, “You must have some functionality since you can understand and answer me. At least tell me if Nadya’s OK.”
“Stand by,” was its reply.
“Damn you!” He swung is fists wildly again, but they hit nothing. He wondered if he was actually swinging his arms, or if his perceived movements were nothing more than part of the ship’s interface. It was probably the latter which meant he was trapped in the machine’s synthetic world and couldn’t even move his actual body. His only connection to it was the pain from his unseen injuries.
A prisoner in a piece of alien technology, all Jack could do was gaze out the window at the unmoving field of stars. They told him nothing, but he continued staring as there was little else he could do. Time passed, but there was no way to tell how much. Periodic calls to Nadya went unanswered. He finally rationalized that her lack of response didn’t mean she was in bad shape, or even injured. It seemed logical that they were each locked into their own separate interface with the ship, but without a means to communicate with each other.
Demands for information from the computer now went unanswered. Only silence and darkness surrounded him. Jack took to replaying the battle in his mind, trying to understand what had happened; maybe even glean some hint of whether they’d succeeded. It was easiest to assume they had achieved some measure of victory as he was still alive. Of course, that didn’t answer the question of why he was drifting helplessly in a disabled ship. His mind ran through different scenarios, but he just didn’t have enough information to determine what was real.
Time dragged on and his analyses began drawing from his own hopes. He imagined Kurt escaping after luring the enemy fighters into his trap. With any luck, he’d met up with the IPV and the alien sphere. It was better than any alternative.
Fatigue pulled at him, making it tougher to focus. At least he hoped it was fatigue, and not the result of his injuries. A quick mental inventory told him the pain had subsided to a dull ache. But was he simply blocking out something serious? As with everything else, there was no way to tell. Frustration crept back into his consciousness. He forced it out though, by allowing his mind to dabble again in the fantasies of his rescue.
Jack jumped in his seat – the type of startled movement that usually happens when one is about to doze off. He wondered if he’d actually been unconscious or fallen asleep. Again, there was no way to know. The smothering quiet and blackness still surrounded him; the stars outside his window remained unchanged and told him nothing. It felt as if he were simply adrift in this surreal sea.
“Nadya,” he called again. When there was no answer, he called for the computer. Again there was only silence. He knew it was futile but decided a while ago he should try calling every five minutes. Without any sort of clock, however, it was becoming difficult to even gauge when five minutes had elapsed.
His mind waded back into a sea of morbid thoughts. He first tried to take inventory of his condition. Aside from the fatigue, and a now very distant headache, there were no other feelings of discomfort: no thirst, or hunger or anything else. He wondered if the ship would be capable of taking care of his bodily needs. There seemed to be enough air, but dehydration might become a real problem. Then again, he had jettisoned most of the ship’s atmospheric reserves; how much actually remained? Was his growing drowsiness a sign of oxygen deprivation?
The stars became blurry. He was definitely starting to drift off again. The fear of ‘why,’ though, jolted him back to awareness. Sleep would be acceptable; but if this was due to an injury, he definitely needed to stay awake. He tried the age-old techniques of stretching, trying to move himself, and taking deep breaths. However, nothing made a difference. He was sure now that none of his actions were real in the physical sense. They were just part of his mind’s interface with the ship; his body probably lay unmoving in its reclining chair. The blurriness returned. The fear of the unknown was becoming too routine and failed to push him back to consciousness. The stars faded.
Jack jumped awake again. He was sure he heard a bang; the deep resonating kind one hears when metal strikes metal. “Computer,” he called. But there was no answer. “Nadya?” he said. Still there was only silence. Something seemed different; had the stars changed? He gazed more intently at the scene, but the star field remained fixed in place. His mind worked at memorizing their patterns – something he realized he should have done before. After what felt like several minutes, the stars began to grow fuzzy again. The urge to sleep became more tempting each time.
A second metallic bang confirmed that the first was real. The rush of adrenaline made him want to get up, but he knew he couldn’t actually move. “Hello!” he shouted. There was no answer. But that didn’t bother him this time
since the stars outside his window were steadily moving. Something was turning his ship. The IPV came into view – its shuttle bay doors wide open. Excitement drove him to reach toward the window, but the ship’s malfunctioning interface kept him locked in place. He simply watched as the IPV appeared to move closer. A moment later the shuttle bay filled his field of view and he heard a deep mechanical noise – the bay doors closing.
The window disappeared from view, but the blackness surrounding him now was different. He could feel the chair beneath him. Jack quickly reached up and banged his hand against the interior of his small pod; the machine had finally released him from its grip. There was a short hiss followed by bright light as the top of the pod slid aside. He squinted, but his eyes adjusted surprisingly quickly as he found himself staring at Don.
“Thank God, Jack,” Don said with a shocking amount of relief. “We weren’t sure what we’d find when we opened this thing up.”
“What about Nadya?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
Palmer answered from behind him, “She’s right here and seems OK too.”
“Jack?” Nadya called.
“I’m here,” he answered. Looking back at Palmer, he continued, “What in the world happened? How long were we gone?”
“Your ship was damaged in the battle. It took us nearly fifteen hours to find you.”
“What about Kurt and Janet?”
“We’re still searching for them,” Palmer replied.
“What do you mean?” he nearly shouted as he struggled to climb out of the pod. A sharp pain in his hip slowed but didn’t stop him. He stepped away from the ship, and subconsciously felt around the side of his head. There was dried blood caked on his cheek and temple, but no pain. “Explain what’s going on,” he said tersely.
Don spoke this time. “Your plan started out Ok. The mines and antimatter destroyed almost all of the incoming ships, but they held two full waves back in reserve. We didn’t even know they were there at first. Alpha’s ship had joined us in our search for you and Kurt when we spotted them. Our best guess is that they just watched the whole battle and then swept in. There was nothing to stop them…”
Prelude to Extinction Page 41