by James Evans
“Worst-case scenario,” said Mueller, “would be a weapon system capable of delivering a cutting beam at near light speed to targets ships or stations across multiple light seconds of space. An unavoidable attack of devastating power.”
“We need to notify HQ,” said Cohen. “If there’s even the slightest chance that the Deathless might obtain a weapon like this, we have to plan to handle it.”
“How big would it be, Mueller?” asked Mantle, her engineer’s mind running through issues of heat dissipation and power consumption.
“Big, certainly,” said Mueller, “with similarly vast power requirements. I can’t imagine Ascendant being large enough to house one, or the generators. It would need a very large craft indeed, but definitely within the capability of the Navy’s current ship-building facilities.”
“Right,” said Cohen decisively, “I’ve heard enough. How long till Ascendant is able to return home?”
“Another two weeks at least, after the last round of damage,” said Mantle, “and ideally six to eight to give time for full engine tests and bedding-in of new systems.”
“Too long,” said Cohen, shaking his head. “What about the wormhole communicator? Anything we can do there?”
There was a long silence as Mantle looked at her slate.
“No,” she said finally, although her tone was strange.
“No?” asked Cohen, frowning. “Or is that code for ‘yes, but I don’t want to do it’?”
“It’s not repaired yet, but we have restored the power supplies and control systems. We still need to rework the primary ring generator, and we don’t have enough of the right materials. Without them…” she shrugged. Without them, they all knew the wormhole communicator would never make a connection.
“But why don’t you just force one open using the hyperspace engines?” asked Mueller, frowning at the engineer. “Hyperspace engines are fundamentally similar to wormhole communicators, they just work on a different scale. The fusion generators are fully operational, so if we reconfigure the hyperspace engine and push in enough power, it would be perfectly possible to create a wormhole that was stable enough to send whatever message you wanted.” Mueller beamed at his audience as if he had just completed a trick of astounding complexity.
Mantle shook her head. “In the first place, that’s hugely risky. If it went wrong, it would cause a cascade failure that might rupture the hyperspace engine, destroy the fusion generators and shred the engines, which would create an explosion that would obliterate Ascendant and kill everything in Child of Starlight, regardless of the level of shielding they have in place.
“And second, even if it worked and we didn’t suffer a catastrophic failure, it risks burning out the hyperspace engine and stranding us here. So no, it’s not an option.”
Mueller’s shoulders slumped, and he frowned down at his slate. “Then I guess you’ll just have to ask the Valkyr for the materials you need to fix the WC.”
“Absolutely not,” said Cohen, shaking his head. “Even if they agreed, we’d have to explain our reasons and I don’t trust the Valkyr, not even a little bit. They’re too close to the Deathless, whatever they claim. Next?”
Mantle shook her head. “That’s it, I have no other suggestions.”
“Then we go with Mueller’s idea,” said Cohen firmly. “No, I don’t want to hear it,” he said as Mantle opened her mouth to object. “The risk is worth taking if it allows us to pass the information to HQ and notify them of a new player in the game.” He stood up to make it clear that the meeting was over. “Lieutenant White will pull together a package of information to transmit, and I want you two to solve the problems and make this work, understood?”
“I don’t like this,” complained Mantle for the tenth time in an hour. She and Mueller were checking everything – again – before they reported back to Commander Cohen that their work was complete.
“We’ve allowed for every variable, and we’ve planned for every contingency,” said Mueller confidently. “Even if something were to go wrong, we can shut it all down before anything catastrophic happens.”
Mantle grunted. They had argued about this for hours as they made the preparations, she pointing out the impossibility of planning for every eventuality, he reminding her that science was predictable and that they had taken a logical approach.
“Like that’s supposed to make me feel better,” Mantle had murmured. Logic was great, but her gut was telling her that they’d missed something, and she feared the consequences would be dire.
“But if you can’t tell me what we’ve missed or provide evidence to support your fears, why should we take any notice of them?” Mueller had asked.
Then they had moved on to the next set of problems and continued to work their way down the long checklist they’d pulled together after the idea had first been suggested.
And now they were at the end of that checklist, again.
“That’s it,” said Mueller, “everything checks out. The controls are in place and tested, the reconfiguration work on the hyperspace engine is solid, the fusion reactors are ready to feed us all the power we need. There’s nothing more to do.”
But it turned out, when they briefed Command Cohen, that there was at least one more thing to do.
“Evacuate?” asked Mueller, frowning. “Well, yes, I suppose it would be a sensible precaution, but I’m sure it’s not necessary.”
“I’ll put myself at risk, and I’ll mandate risk for the ship, but that doesn’t mean I want to jeopardise the entire crew,” Cohen said. “So we’ll put everyone who isn’t required for the operation on Palmerston and move them far enough away that they’ll be safe, just in case.”
That had taken an hour, but now Mueller, Mantle and Cohen were alone on the huge ship. Walking down the long corridors was strangely eerie when there was nobody else on board, and they congregated in the engineering team’s command room to be close to the control systems.
“Are you sure about this, sir?” asked Mantle, one last time.
Cohen nodded. “Yes.” Then he grinned. “And if it all goes wrong, we just pull the emergency cut-out, right?”
“Yes, sir,” nodded Mantle wearily. It had been a very long day.
“Anything else from your side, Mueller?”
“No, sir,” said the science officer, “although now we are at this point, I must admit to feeling a little anxious. It’s not as if anyone has ever done this before.”
“Wait, what?” snapped Cohen, turning to glare at the science officer. “I thought it was risky, not cutting-edge risky.”
Mueller shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything. And as you said, it’s not like we have an alternative.”
Cohen swore under his breath and turned back to the command console. White’s package of information – everything they had seen, gathered and deduced since leaving New Bristol – sat tidily in the communicator’s queue, waiting for a connection to be made. It would be sent automatically, they just needed to create the pathway home.
“Right, let’s do this,” he said before he had a chance to change his mind.
Mantle took a deep breath then triggered the script that would step through the process and ensure everything happened at the right time. She peered at the main display, which now showed the script’s progress. Her hand hovered above the abort button.
“Spinning up the fusion reactors,” she said, eyes darting around as she tried to monitor every system’s readout. “Power chains looking good.” The display went green as another step of the process ended. “First stage preparation of the hyperspace engine, thirty seconds to go.”
Mantle provided a running commentary as the script executed the process’s steps. Mueller sat on the edge of his seat, practically bouncing up and down as he flicked his attention between his slate and the main display.
“Second stage hyperspace engine prep complete.” She blew out a long breath to try to calm her nerves.
Cohen had a sudden vision of an ex
ploding starship, the remnant of a long-forgotten lecture on interstellar travel engineering. Had that been a cascading failure in an engine? His mouth was dry. He couldn’t remember.
“Firing now, get ready,” said Mantle. She hit the final confirmation button and peered at the hyperspace engine dashboard. “Green, holding steady,” she murmured. “Looks like everything is okay.”
“Hmm,” said Mueller, frowning. “It’s running a bit hot.”
“What?” snapped Mantle, her calm vanishing.
“Very hot,” said Mueller. A warning klaxon sounded in the depths of the ship. “Oh, that’s not good. Looks like a cooling line in the lower engine bay has come free.” He switched to a feed showing the bay, where a line could be seen spraying coolant all over the floor.
Mantle switched to the same feed and zoomed in, peering closely. “That’s got to be a secondary failure, those lines don’t just come loose. Something else must have gone wrong.”
Mueller looked up, fear spreading across his face. “But that could only mean…” His hands flashed as he searched for a feed in the right part of the engine bay. “Look.”
“Shit,” said Mantle, “there shouldn’t be liquid there; the drive containment system is leaking. Must have dripped on the hose and burned it free.”
“But how is that possible?” said Mueller, his voice rising in fear and anger. “You checked that system – it passed its tests.”
“Barely,” said Mantle through gritted teeth, “and this is hardly a situation within the system’s design parameters.” She shook her head. “No good. I’m pulling the plug.”
“Wait!” shouted Cohen. “The wormhole hasn’t formed yet. We’re not done.”
“It’s too late,” snapped Mantle. “If the engine overheats, the containment system will fail completely, and we’ll have a catastrophic cascade that’ll destroy the ship and everyone on Child of Starlight, just like we warned.”
“Another few seconds, then we’re done.”
“We’re done now,” said Mantle, slamming her hand on the emergency kill button.
Cohen looked ready to scream with frustration, but Mantle just stared at the dashboard, then punched the kill button again. And again.
“What’s wrong?” asked Cohen.
“It’s not powering down the system, something must have failed.” Mantle looked at Cohen, fear in her eyes. “We can’t turn it off.”
“So what do we do?” yelled Cohen, his calm washed away by the screaming terror of the disaster unfolding before his eyes. “Tell me what to do!”
“Quiet,” said Mantle, gripping her head with her hands. “Let me think.” She stood for six interminable seconds, then her hands flew across the console as she pulled up the feed from the engine bay again. “There, the secondary cutoff. A physical switch in the engine bay.”
“How long?” asked Cohen, gauging the distance.
“Maybe a couple of minutes,” said Mantle.
“I’ll go. You two get to the escape pods.”
“I’m coming with you, you’ll never find it without me,” shouted Mantle, “and he’s staying here to power down all the other systems, right?”
Mueller nodded dumbly.
“Well bloody well get on with it,” Mantle yelled. Then she grabbed Cohen’s arm and set off down the corridor. “It’s this way.”
They sprinted through a ship transformed from a quiet sanctuary to a strobing hell of noise of klaxons screeching continuously in every room and corridor.
“Down here,” shouted Mantle, pulling up a half-hidden hatch at the side of a corridor. Cohen had run straight past it. “It’s a shortcut but – argh, fuck!” She reeled away from the hatch as noxious fumes poured out.
Cohen appeared at her side and pulled her upright. “You okay?” he shouted. She nodded, but she was obviously not okay. “We’ll find another way through.”
“There isn’t one, it has to be this way.”
Cohen peered towards the hatch. The stream of gas had lessened but it was still venting into the corridor. “I’ll go,” he said, pushing her away from the hatch and reaching for an emergency hood from a nearby rack. “Which way?”
She seemed on the verge of carrying on, but then she sat back down on the floor, dazed and confused by the fumes.
“Mantle, which way?” he repeated in desperation.
“Down to bottom, left through crawl space, hundred metres,” she managed, then she passed out and flowed onto the floor.
“Shit,” said Cohen, pulling her away from the hatch and the worst of the gas. “Mueller, you there? Mantle’s unconscious. I’m going on, but you’ll need to give me directions.”
“I don’t know the way, Commander,” whined Mueller over the HUD as Cohen struggled into the emergency hood.
“Then fucking well find it,” snapped Cohen, settling the hood and easing back to the hatch. “You’ve got thirty seconds to figure it out.”
Then he clambered through the hatchway, pulling the hatch closed behind him. The gas made things difficult, even with the emergency hood and the toughened Deathless Rupert clone. He struggled down the ladder, moving as quickly as he could to escape the effects of the gas, until he reached the bottom. At least the air was free of toxic gas down here. He pulled off the emergency hood and dropped it on the floor, then checked his HUD was securely in place.
“Left, left, left,” he muttered to himself, turning around and trying to work out which way was left. There were three passages leading from the ladder. Had Mantle meant left as he faced the ladder, or left from where she had been sitting on the floor of the corridor?
“Fuck,” said Cohen quietly. “It’s got to be this way,” he muttered, bending down to push himself into one of the crawl spaces. It was dark down here – those spaces weren’t lit unless they were being worked in, and hadn’t been lit at all since the ambush – but the lamp on his HUD was bright enough to give him a glimpse of his destination.
“Are you there, Commander?” came Mueller’s voice over the HUD.
“Of course,” snapped Cohen, gritting his teeth.
“I have you on the plan. Mantle’s right – this route is faster than going through the main corridors, but you must hurry.”
“Just give me the next direction,” Cohen breathed as he pushed his way forwards, his hands and knees scuffing at the grating that formed the floor of the crawl space. The tunnel closed in around him, as if threatening to squeeze the air from his lungs.
“Another fifty metres, then right.”
Cohen muttered and cursed his way through the next fifty metres then turned right into an even narrower space.
“It’s pretty bloody tight down here,” said Cohen.
“Ten metres, then through a hatch on the left. That’ll put you in the engine bay. The secondary cutoff will be fifteen metres ahead on the right.”
Cohen forced himself down the narrow space, trying desperately to ignore the voices that warned what would happen if he got stuck.
“I’m at the hatch,” he reported, “opening it now.” He pushed it open and looked out into the engine bay. “Fuck,” he said in shock, “the floor’s ten metres down. How am I supposed to do this, eh?” He edged across the threshold and peered around at the neat, smooth walls on either side of the hatch.
“Hurry, Commander, we have only moments left.”
“Fuck it,” hissed Cohen, heaving himself out of the hatch until he dangled by his fingertips. He took a deep breath and let go, clutching hopelessly at the wall as it flashed past him, then bending his knees in a vain attempt to absorb the shock of impact.
“Argh,” he said as he rolled across the floor. He lay, stunned, for a moment, alive but barely conscious. Then the pain flowed in and he snapped awake as Mueller yelled at him to close the lever. He glanced down at his legs, afraid to look, then heaved himself cautiously upright. Nothing broken, it seemed, and he staggered across the huge bay towards the secondary cutoff lever.
“We’re almost out of time, Commander,
” said Mueller, seemingly resigned to his fate. “I guess we’ll catch up after the next deployment.”
Cohen forced himself forwards, ignoring the terrible pain in his legs, eyes focussed only on the lever. He caught his foot on something and fell, yelling as his knees protested, but he dragged himself on, stretching out his hand until it closed on the lever.
He pulled it down and it slid easily, breaking the power line to the hyperspace engine. Then he passed out and collapsed on the floor.
16
“How much longer will the repairs to the ship take, Captain Cohen?”
The captain glanced off screen, perhaps checking his notes.
“We’re still looking at several weeks, I’m afraid, Prime Minister.”
“Captain Cohen, please, I have told you that the Valkyr do not use formal titles except where strictly necessary to identify people. You may call me Haukland, or Miriam in a social setting,” Haukland replied.
“My apologies, er, Haukland. I will try to remember, but years of protocol training from the Navy are hard to overcome. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”
“No, the duration of your stay is the most pressing issue. I think we have covered everything else for the time being, Captain Cohen. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Prime Minister,” Cohen said.
Haukland ended the call, shaking her head. It seemed that Cohen was remarkably uncomfortable addressing her by her name, and she didn’t understand why that should be. How strange the people of Sol were. From her studies of the materials they had supplied, it seemed the societal structure on Sol had remained remarkably static since her own forebearers had left in the Ark ship Koschei.
Then again, the Children of Freyja – the Valkyr – had diverged from Koschite society many centuries before to pursue their own vision of the future. They, too, had developed their own social mores and societal structure, and there were significant differences between them and the bulk of Koschite society. Haukland recognised her own bias in thinking about her people, and she strove to understand, rather than to judge.