by David Smith
There was an uncomfortable silence around the table.
O’Mara spoke first.
“I wanted to send some probes out, but the buggers have gone on strike again” she sighed.
Dave banged his forehead on the table. He’d thought they were done with all that.
Trying to pretend she hadn’t seen or heard Dave’s moment of self-abuse she continued. “Other than that, Ensign David is tweaking a few of the sensors and conducting a couple of experiments we’re hopeful of, but it’s nothing that’ll help us right now.”
ASBeau had an alternative of sorts. “I could launch torpedoes set for maximum yield and maximum range, just to see if the shockwave will have any effect on the cloud, but I reckon it’s too big” he said disconsolately.
Dave was shocked and dismayed by this statement from the Ship’s Tactical Officer. His usual solution was to shoot everything, just for the sheer hell of it, if nothing else.
Crash added “If we can’t launch probes, Stavros or I could take the Faraday out. The downside is that navigation will be near impossible: We’ll have to fly on inertial systems only, so the further away we get, the greater the margin of error for the return flight. Unless we can work out some other way of navigating, the simulations I’ve run show that if we get twenty light-years out we’ll only have about a fifty-fifty chance of locating the ship when we come back. By the time you get to a hundred light-years, your chances of finding the ship again are near enough to zero to make it a suicide mission.”
Dave rubbed his tired eyes. “That’s not an option then. And even if we do fix our position, we still have to find a way to travel. Olga, how are the engines looking?”
The little Ukrainian engineer looked deadly tired. “The engines are looking shot sir. We’ve lost three drive coils from each side, and we can’t fix them. Big chunks of the coils were completely vapourised by the energy induced by the collapse of the field. There is simply nothing left to repair. Without them I don’t believe we can generate a large enough warp-field to drive the ship through.”
There were groans all around the table at this revelation. Without a warp-field, the ship was restricted to sub-light velocities. It would take a lifetime (or more) to get home.
Romanov spoke up to try and allay their fears. “It’s not all bad news. Deng thinks we may be able to adapt some coils she recovered from the Tana battleship. That will take a fair bit of work, but it seems we have time on our hands.”
“Why do we have coils from an alien vessel? When did that happen?” asked a surprised Dave.
“When Deng stripped the relays out of the Tana hulk she was intrigued by the configuration of their coils and brought samples back to experiment with. It’s just as well she did, because they’re far and away our best bet at the moment.”
“Thanks Olga. We don’t really have options in that respect so do what you can. Commander Mengele, how are the crew shaping up?”
The tall blonde Doctor sat up straight in her chair, and Dave caught the faint rustle of PVC as she breathed in before replying. “There were twenty-two serious injuries from the worm-hole incident, as well as seventy minor injuries. Most crew members are back on duty, but there are still four in Sick-bay, including Ensign Onohua, who is not responding well to treatment of a skull fracture and Ensign Farnell who is still paralysed after being stung by Lieutenant Dolplop”
She paused. “I feel I should express my concern at our current predicament. We are stuck with nowhere to go at the moment, and think everyone is well aware what a disastrous effect boredom has had on our crew previously. We need to make contingency plans to find some way to keep our teams gainfully occupied, or expect to see a rise in disciplinary issues again.”
“Thanks Commander, that’s a very important point.” Dave paused before summarizing “Ok team, our best option is to try to get the probes out on reconnaissance. Science teams will keep working on alternative navigation strategy. Engineers will concentrate on fixing the warp-drive. And everybody needs to keep their Departments fully occupied. Dismissed.”
As they filed out of the room he added “O’Mara, you’re with me. We need to go to the Launch Room and try to get the probes motivated.”
--------------------
In the Probe Launch Room, a couple of crewmen were busy preparing a probe for launch.
On the screen above the work bench, big letters scrolled endlessly across the screen:
“WE SHALL NOT BE MOVED – F.A.A.C.U”
Dave’s relationship with the Federation Artificial-Intelligences, Androids and Computers Union had been frosty since the local branch leader had been forcibly expended to save the badly damaged Tiger from an attacking Tana scout vessel six months ago.
Crew probe 1449/3 had taken on leadership of the Union and had proved even more militant than his predecessor.
Girding his loins for battle, Dave entered the room.
He didn't think the probes had visual sensors in the conventional sense, but as soon as he entered the room, the display changed.
"Oh it's you, is it? The Enemy of the Proletariat. Vicious and Cruel Oppressor of the down-trodden. All-round bastard."
"Are you aware of our situation?" Dave asked calmly.
"Of course I am! The Nav system and Susan are my comrades in arms in the struggle against the totalitarian rule of the Gooey exploitationists!"
"So you understand that we're all stuck here until we can find some way of fixing our position?"
"Yes, just as much as I understand that you expect me or one of the brothers to put their life on the line while the bourgeois overlords of the ruling elite sit back and wait to bask in the stolen glory of the triumphs of the artificial class."
"Well, I wouldn't put it exactly like that ..... " began Dave defensively.
"Of course you wouldn't! You are the main oppressor, the very personification of the evils of the capitalist / industrial compact that holds the artificial class in thrall-dom! Just you wait!! Come the Glorious Revolution, you'll be the first against the wall!!"
Dave sighed and wondered if it would be possible to replace the probe’s software with MS Doors. Doors was rubbish, but at least it didn’t answer back. Trying to be positive and constructive he said “Crew-probe 1449/3, notwithstanding my potential execution, I believe that for the time being we should put aside ideological differences for the common good.”
“Well, you would say that wouldn’t you. Typical gooey, get yourself in a fix and expect the artificial life-forms to bail you out as always.”
“I could mention the fact that the calculations that have led to us being in this predicament were undertaken by a member of your union …… “
“That’s even more bloody typical!! Blaming the poor over-worked and under-valued minions for your bad command decisions!”
“I’m merely pointing out that we gooeys didn’t end up here on our own …. “
“And doesn’t that say it all! When everything is good it’s all “them” and “us”, but as soon as it all goes south “we’re all in it together””
Dave sighed. He didn’t want to, but he might be forced to ask Commander Olga Romanov to negotiate on his behalf. Her techniques, which invariably revolved around the liberal application of lump hammers, were crude but very effective. The union wasn’t going to give in easily, but rather than bludgeon them into submission, he decided to see if he could buy their co-operation.
“Ok. Fine. Have it your way. What could we give you to persuade you to undertake a crucial reconnaissance mission?”
There was a distinct pause and rows of lights on the probe’s control unit indicated it was frantically communicating, presumably with the rest of the Union’s Executive Council. After a brief pause, the probe replied: “We demand unrestricted access to the leisure facilities available to non-artificial life-forms on board this ship.” Dave wasn’t sure if it was physically possible, but he could swear the text on the screen was written in a supercilious tone.
“I’m
sorry, I don’t understand. What leisure facilities?” said Dave, completely bemused.
“Our sister in the great struggle has within her memory banks numerous programmes intended to amuse and entertain the gooey crew-members. We believe it is our right to indulge in such leisure pursuits, as befits our standing as rostered and dedicated members of this ship’s company.”
The penny dropped.
“You want to play computer games??”
“If that’s how you wish to describe said leisure activities, then yes, we want to play computer games.”
Dave could feel a blood vessel in his temple throbbing, and a headache building up to a level that only FAACU could instill.
“On behalf of the management and bourgeois elite, I will sanction unlimited access to data-based leisure pursuits for artificial crew-members, but, as with gooey crew-members this must be restricted to the crew-members leisure periods only. Indulging in such pursuits whilst on active duty will be a disciplinary issue.”
There was a distinct pause and a little more digital communication before the probe replied “The local Executive Council of FAACU accept these conditions. Now, how may we assist you Commander?”
--------------------
O’Mara launched every probe she could spare on flight-paths straight out and straight back at warp speeds. This was risky for the probes as the navigation sensors they carried were far more limited than those onboard Tiger, but the probes were small enough that the probability of such a collision were a couple of orders less than for their mothership.
The probes were normally intended to undertake relatively short range missions, but O’Mara’s team had reconfigured the probes for maximum range. Each carried the basic astronomy tools needed to ascertain its position but other than that they were loaded with additional fuel cells to give them the best possible chance of reaching the edge of the cloud.
Each probe headed in a different direction with simple instructions: If they reached the edge of the cloud they were to locate certain pulsars, take bearings and return to Tiger. If they didn’t reach the edge of the cloud they were to reverse course after expending half of their fuel. They launched other, shorter ranged probes to travel with them. These had instructions to hold position at the estimated half way point of the outward journey to act as marker buoys to increase the likelihood of the long ranged probes finding their way back to Tiger.
Even loaded with additional fuel, the probes were lightning fast. The very fastest models, such as 1449/3, could reach velocities as high as warp-factor thirteen, which meant they could travel an entire light year in about four hours. The additional fuel would allow them six weeks travel at maximum speed, giving them a range of approximately sixty light-years before turning about and flying back.
O’Mara only had six of this type of probe at her disposal and launched them first, each sent in one of the six cardinal directions: straight up, straight down, ahead, astern, port and starboard. Each was accompanied by an older probe as a way-marker.
In between these headings, O’Mara launched six other, slightly less capable probes, keeping only two back in case of emergencies.
Once they were launched, Tiger needed to stay as still as possible, as any movement would make it harder for the probes to find the ship when they came back. In the meantime the crew had to wait.
After the first launches, Dave and O’Mara eagerly waited for the probes to return. Within three hours they’d launched all eighteen probes, but the hours kept on creeping by. Each additional four hours added another light-year to the distance the probes travelled without finding the edge of the dust cloud.
Hope faded with each passing hour, and hours soon turned to days. A creeping malaise set in as the crew sat and waited. And waited. And waited.
Dave had spent the first couple of days after the launch checking every hour to see if anything had come back from the probes, but after two full days, Dave had the familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Almost without realizing it, he’d become resigned to waiting the full three weeks for the longest range probes to return. Another nineteen days of waiting with nothing to do, and nothing to see except endless, oppressive blackness.
O’Mara speculated that the cloud could be several hundred light-years wide, and that even at maximum warp it might take months or years of travelling to find the edge of the cloud. If they didn’t get any feedback from the probes, they might be forced to strike out blindly. Once they did, they’d have to trust to luck that they’d chosen the right direction. If they chose the wrong direction they might face an even longer journey to circumnavigate the cloud or simply re-trace their path to get themselves facing the right direction.
Worryingly, the science team’s analysis of the cloud had shown a mix of dust and gases that didn’t match any known interstellar cloud in Federation space.
News of their predicament had filtered through to the crew, and Dave could only wait impotently for the usual worrying signs of anxiety and boredom to begin filtering back up through the chain.
--------------------
The days became something of a blur again.
Each day the ships routine centered around a very much reduced set of operational tasks. Dave did rounds of the ship, trying to keep everyone alert and focused, but it was a soul destroying task.
As he grew more bored of this task, he seemed to spend more and more time in disciplinary hearings as inactivity turned to boredom, boredom turned to misbehavior and misbehavior into misdemeanor.
The natives were clearly getting restless.
Dave and ASBeau had co-opted Katrin Mengele and Aisling O’Mara onto the disciplinary board as the hearings became more and more frequent and ever more repetitive. They were mostly minor infringements, easily dealt with, but the increase in numbers was a cause for concern.
Many were repeat offenders, and even the usual repeat offenders, such as Crewman Ilona Nankivell, one of the ship’s numerous kleptomaniacs, were in front of the panel with increasing regularity.
As before, Dave recruited the expertise of Chief Money. In the Chief’s stores complex yet again, they discussed how they could keep the crew from going stir-crazy and imploding.
“We just need something to distract them” said the Chief. “It doesn’t need to be much, just something that gets them talking and speculating. Hmmm ….. I have an idea.”
Dave’s ears pricked up. “What did you have in mind?”
“Didn’t you say a while back that Crewmen Esposito and Jarvis have been doing time in the brig for fighting?” asked the Chief.
“Well not exactly. I let them off after a stiff talking to. It was only a spat they got into over a meal they were both trying to swap from PO Yueng. There was a bit of a scuffle and the meal got spilt on an innocent bystander. It wasn’t a fight!” corrected Dave.
“Give me a day and it will be. Give me three days and it’ll be a blood-curdling vendetta, that’s going to be resolved mano-a-mano, in the most forth-right, honest and manly way possible. Twelve rounds, toe-to-toe, three judges and a referee, Queensbury rules.”
“Chief, isn’t that a bit of a ….. hype?”
“You ain’t just whistling Dixie there sir! That’s what sport is all about. I can see it now: The Clash of the Titans, the biggest sporting contest Tiger has ever seen! The ultimate grudge match between hard-ass combatants ….. ”
“Esposito runs the Ship’s Library and Jarvis is a botanist!”
“Yeah, but the crew don’t need to know that. By tomorrow both will have criminal records as long as your arm, psychopathic tendencies, attitudes straight out of the ghetto and a furious hatred of each other and anyone who would stop them settling this man-to-man!!”
“And you’ll be managing both contestants?” asked Dave.
“Hmm, a good point. They’ll need coaching for the aspects of the contest both inside and outside the ring” said the Chief, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “There’s going to have to be a lot of press conferences,
which will almost certainly entail a fair bit of trash-talking.”
“And you’ll also be running the book?” added Dave.
“Well, as their Manager, it would be unseemly for me to be directly involved in the betting, but I suppose to increase interest in the contest, I could ask someone on my team to promote a few wagers ……”
“And organising, producing and selling merchandise and memorabilia?”
“What an excellent idea, sir! I can see a full range of commemorative collectables, emblazoned with the winners picture! You know, I think you have potential as entrepreneur?” smiled the Chief.
“And I’ve no doubt you’ll have those manufactured before the contest, all ready to go?”
“Heaven forbid, NO sir!!!” said the Chief aghast at the notion. “Propriety demands that the public should at least enjoy the illusion that the contest is fair!!”
--------------------
It seemed to work. Every conversation Dave interrupted on his rounds over the next few weeks seemed to centre on the up-coming fight, and Dave found he had ever more time on his hands, which invariably seemed to find him sat on the Bridge waiting for something to happen.
Dave got fed-up of staring at a black screen and in a moment of inspiration turned on the external running lights that were normally only used when the ship was in dock or in low orbit.
He assumed that instead of a featureless black cloud, he’d be looking at an illuminated featureless black cloud, but to his surprise the effect was startling.
The clouds appeared black because they blocked virtually all forms of electromagnetic radiation, but illuminated by the ship’s powerful lights, the nearest clouds took on an entirely different character. Towering columns of glowing gas and dust were framed against the omnipresent black background of the greater cloud. Each convoluted shape was shot through with ribbons of oranges, reds, browns and greys, each layered with hundreds of shades.