As on a Darkling Plain

by Ben Bova

  “But a completely natural one,” Ling says, sounding tired, subdued. “They apparently have no artifacts.”

  “The captain must’ve been jolted when their electric arcs hit the ship. Doubt that he got an electric shock—systems are protected against that. But having several bolts slam into the ship and overpower all the controls and sensors must’ve been enough to send him into... what do you call it, Speer?”

  “Physiological shock.”

  “Yes. That help you? Can you treat him better now?”

  “Not really.” He sounds sullen. Outside view shows the baby whale and its three leeches drifting just below us now.

  “Why’d you have to let them get the little one?” Speer asks.

  I flick a look at him; he’s practically in tears.

  Bromley’s livid. Hard to tell what Ludongo’s expression means. Ling’s impassive, but very quiet now. Sheer emotionalism. The whale was panicked and running blind. It wasn’t heading for us deliberately. It couldn’t know that we might have helped it.

  Ling speaks up. “It seems there is a considerable amount of Jovian tissue nearby. Will it be possible to sample it?”

  Looking out again, I see that the sharks have detached from the baby whale. It’s still close to us, but starting to sink faster. The sharks have gone; there are no living creatures left nearby.

  Nose ship down. Plot fastest intercept course.

  WORKING. SYSTEMS CHECK SHOWS ALL SYSTEMS OPERATING WITHIN TOLERABLE LIMITS EXCEPT STABILIZER WHICH IS STILL BEING OVERRIDEN AT FIVE-MINUTE INTERVALS. PRESSURE IN NOSE SECTION MAY BECOME CRITICAL IF DEEP DIVE IS NECESSARY.

  How deep?

  INSUFFICIENT DATA.

  Display any changes in nose pressure immediately.

  UNDERSTOOD.

  Ling uses the high-powered laser to vaporize some of the whale’s flesh. Studies the light on spectrophotometer. Ludongo helps by probing the animal with high-frequency sonar to get some idea of density. Bromley tries neutron beam probe, but returns are too weak to be intelligible. Either not much solid structure inside the baby or Bromley’s still too upset to work his instruments.

  “Speer, how’s the captain?”

  He looks up from sick bay couch. “Worse. His breathing rate is slower. I think the higher pressure down at this depth is bothering him.”

  Check internal monitor. “But the internal pressure’s only increased one point one percent.”

  “I don’t care what the numbers are,” he says angrily. “His gill rate is getting critical. It’s getting hard for me to breathe, too. My gill rate’s slowed down; I’ve checked it.”

  Pressure shouldn’t bother them. Check performance ratings for gill systems. Curve shows pressure versus oxygen production. Now superimpose ship’s current internal pressure readings. Pressure is approaching critical point, but not there yet.

  Whale’s still sinking.

  “Dr. Ling, we will exceed safety margins if we go deeper.”

  “Do you have all the data you need?” Ludongo asks.

  Ling smiles into the camera. “It would take several generations to get all the data that we need. But I have accomplished far more than I expected to. I can stop now, if you wish.”

  Good. Set course for surface and execute.

  STABILIZER DOES NOT RESPOND.

  Clarify that.

  STABILIZER DOES NOT RESPOND TO CONTROL INPUT OR TO OVERRIDE. LOCKED IN ONE DEGREE NOSE-DOWN POSITION. SUGGEST YOU ATTEMPT MANUAL OVERRIDE.

  Useless. Track down the malfunction. Fast.

  WORKING.

  Possible causes of stabilizer failure: electrical, hydraulic, mechanical. If electrical, can use alternate circuit. If hydraulic, back-up system should work. But if external pressure has overloaded the system... and ship’s nosing still deeper...

  Flick on intercom. “Gentlemen, the stabilizer system is temporarily inoperative.”

  Explaining it to them, watch their faces. Each man in his own compartment. Each one showing fear.

  “Isn’t there anything you can do?” Bromley asks.

  “Computer is working on the problem.”

  “You could use the engine thrust to push us up out of this depth,” Ludongo says. “Perhaps at lighter pressures the stabilizer will work again.” He’s running his hands along the edge of the couch as he speaks.

  “That might be tried if nothing else works.”

  “Why not now?” Speer asks.

  “It would take an excessive amount of propulsion power to lift the ship while the stabilizer is pointing nose-down. There might not be enough power left to lift out of the atmosphere and return to orbit.”

  “There is nothing for us to do but wait?” asks Ling.

  “That is right.”

  “Tell me,” Bromley says, his voice calm except for a slight tremor. “How long can we remain in this nose-down attitude before we reach a depth that will crush the ship?”

  “Insufficient data.”

  They lapse into silence. Ludongo turns back to his workbench. Bromley leans back on his couch. Ling is rerunning data tapes. Speer fidgets around the captain.

  Computer: Make a straight-line extrapolation of pressure gradient recorded so far, compare it to hull structural integrity, and display an estimated time to hull rupture. Private display circuit for flight deck only.

  WORKING. AT PRESENT DESCENT RATE HULL RUPTURE WILL OCCUR IN TWO HOURS PLUS OR MINUS TWENTY PERCENT.

  What about malfunction check on stabilizer?

  NO MALFUNCTION ESTABLISHED. CIRCUITS OPERATING NORMALLY. SERVOS FUNCTIONAL. EXTERIOR PRESSURE MEASURED AT FIFTEEN PERCENT BELOW NOMINAL DESIGN STRENGTH OF SYSTEM. NO MALFUNCTION ESTABLISHED.

  Run through history of stabilizer performance.

  Minute by minute record, off the tapes. Identify when nose-down began and check all circuits, components, and total system status at that moment.

  WORKING.

  Ludongo calls, “O’Banion, why don’t you use the engine’s thrust to take us up just a little? There’s no sense staying at this depth....”

  “Not necessary at this time. May be possible to identify malfunction and correct it before critical depth is reached.”

  Bromley asks, “Is that O’Banion talking or the computer?”

  “I... I can’t tell,” Ludongo says, sounding shocked.

  Speer gets up from his couch and heads for Bromley’s compartment. No, not Bromley’s; Ling’s.

  “Could I speak with you, Dr. Ling? In private?”

  Ling’s been running tapes of our encounter with the sharks, when they slaughtered the whale family. He blinks once at Speer, then reaches out and turns off his intercom connection. Blank now.

  Where’s that stabilizer history?

  WORKING. SCANNING TAPES FOR COMPLETE DATA. AS INSTRUCTED.

  “O’Banion, this is Ludongo again. I don’t want to sound panicky, but it’s getting damned uncomfortable in here. Can’t you take us up at least a little way?”

  Bromley, “I thought it was only me. It is becoming bad in here. My head aches terribly, and I’m beginning to get pains in my chest and abdomen.”

  Check internal pressure. Rising. Nearing max allowable. Check life-support systems. All functioning normal, but curves starting to approach red lines.

  “Internal environment and life-support system performance are both within tolerable limits. Emotional factors may be adding to your discomfort. No one is in immediate physical danger. Suggest you ask Dr. Speer for tranquilizers.”

  “He’s talking like the ruddy computer!” Bromley insists.

  The intercom in Speer’s compartment flicks back on. Speer leaves, returns to the sick bay.

  “This pressure is hurting the captain,” he says, squinting at the monitor board above Voronov’s head. “His breathing rate is going down steadily.”

  “Check for gill malfunction.” Why does someone have to spell out everything for him?

  “For God’s sake!” Bromley shouts. “Take us up! Can’t you see that we’re starting t
o die in here? It’s too deep, we can’t stand it in here for much longer!”

  “All systems are within tolerable limits.”

  “But the people aren’t!” Bromley screams. “Damn the machines! The people are dying! Damn you military heroes; you’re driving us to death. It was a mistake to trust our lives to you.”

  “Life-support systems indicate your reaction is purely emotional, possibly close to hysteria. Dr. Speer, please—”

  “May I interrupt?” Ling’s voice slides in smoothly. “Although all systems appear to be operating within tolerable limits, as you say, I suggest that there is one system that may be working at less than nominal values.”

  “Which one?”

  “The pilot.”

  He means the human pilot. Operating at less than nominal value. No way to check that.

  Ling goes on, “You have been at the controls steadily now for more than twelve hours. If nothing else, fatigue may be clouding your judgment. Perhaps you should check the computer for operating procedures specified for situations such as this. I believe that they call for computer control of the ship while the pilot rests.”

  “Computer control unfeasible during emergency situation.” He should know that!

  “Then perhaps you could use the engine thrust to lift us to a safer pressure level and afterward take your rest.”

  “Suggestion unfeasible.”

  Speer, “He’s withdrawing more and more.”

  “He’s becoming part of the computer,” Bromley says. He’s talking nonsense, but his voice sounds strangely hushed, no longer raving.

  “What can we do about it?” asks Ludongo.

  Nothing. They can’t control the ship. They can’t get to the flight deck because the hatch is being closed and dogged down. There. They need the ship. But the ship doesn’t need them. Turn off the intercom and stop their faces and voices from interfering with the ship’s performance.

  SYSTEMS CHECK.

  Displays parading now; graphs and charts, pretty yellow curves on black backgrounds; multicolored bars creeping across white grid lines; all of them edging toward red lines, danger zones. Life-support systems, electrical power demand, navigation, control, propulsion reserve, sensors. All getting weaker, sinking deeper.

  Medical monitor shows Voronov completely stable. Heart rate, breathing rate, metabolic rate, alpha rhythm: all zero.

  OPERATIONAL HISTORY OF STABILIZER COMPLETED.

  Display it.

  NO MALFUNCTIONS IDENTIFIED. NO SYSTEM OR COMPONENT FAILURES IDENTIFIED. STABILIZER SYSTEM OPERATING WITHIN NOMINAL VALUES. ORIGIN OF PERSISTENT NOSE-DOWN ATTITUDE UNIDENTIFIED.

  Insert stabilizer history in ship’s log under prime priority. Important to make them realize what happened, for the mission analysis.

  ONE HOUR FORTY MINUTES TO PREDICTED HULL FAILURE.

  Generate a plot showing how much height would be gained by using engine thrust to counteract stabilizer failure.

  WORKING. COMPLETED.

  Useless. Curve doesn’t even reach ocean surface. Burn out engines without getting above surface and the stabilizer will nose ship back down. Check recorder, is it ready for separation?

  RECORDER SYSTEM FUNCTIONING AT NOMINAL VALUE. SEPARATION CHARGES READY FOR ARMING. WILL ARM AUTOMATICALLY ON RED ALERT, WILL FIRE AUTOMATICALLY ON MAJOR SYSTEM FAILURE.

  And the rest of the recorder system?

  RECORDER PROPULSION SUBSYSTEM IN STANDBY MODE. GUIDANCE SUBSYSTEM FUNCTIONAL. BEACON SUBSYSTEM FUNCTIONAL.

  All major mission objectives are met if the recorder gets back to the orbiting ships.

  AFFIRMATIVE. ALL MAJOR MISSION OBJECTIVES MET ALSO IF RECORDER SYSTEM SUCCESSFULLY TRANSMITS STORED DATA AND SHIP’S LOG TO RECEIVERS ABOARD ORBITAL SHIPS.

  Good. Mission objectives will be met despite stabilizer malfunction and hull failure.

  NO STABILIZER MALFUNCTION IDENTIFIED.

  Correct.

  CREW CHECK.

  Crew incapacitated. Cannot be contacted.

  PILOT REST PERIOD DUE IN FIVE MINUTES.

  No rest period. Captain incapacitated. No other pilot available.

  EMERGENCY PROCEDURE CALLS FOR PILOT TO RECEIVE NUTRIENTS AND DISCONNECT FROM ACTIVE SHIP CONTROL WHILE MAINTAINING NEURAL CONNECTION WITH COMPUTER AND SENSORS.

  Guess it won’t hurt anything. Tired.... How much time to hull failure?

  ONE HOUR THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES.

  Disconnecting from active ship control. Will reconnect in one hour. If no reconnection is initiated in one hour, sound yellow alert.

  UNDERSTOOD.

  Get nutrient tube. Last meal. Check sensors... completely empty out there, nothing around us. Maybe we’re too deep for the whales now.... Sleepy. What difference will a dream make now?

  Have I been asleep?

  ALPHA RHYTHMS INDICATED SLEEP PATTERN.

  How long?

  FIFTY MINUTES ELAPSED SINCE CONTROL DISCONNECTION.

  Reconnection with controls now. How much time to hull failure?

  FIFTY-FIVE MINUTES.

  Wait, that’s wrong.

  PREDICTED HULL FAILURE WILL OCCUR IN FIFTY-FIVE MINUTES.

  But before I went to sleep it was one hour thirty-five. Been asleep fifty minutes, so we should have only forty-five minutes to failure, not fifty-five.

  DESCENT RATE SLOWED DURING PILOT REST PERIOD.

  Show me! Damn, it did level off a bit. But now it’s getting as steep as ever. Why in hell...

  SUBCONSCIOUS ACTIVITIES REPORT IS REQUIRED.

  Not now, I’m thinking.

  HULL FAILURE PREDICTED IN FIFTY-FOUR MINUTES WILL INITIATE RECORDER SEPARATION. FINAL SUBCONSCIOUS ACTIVITIES REPORT IS REQUIRED FOR COMPLETION OF MISSION OBJECTIVE FOURTEEN.

  Damn mission objective fourteen! Oh... okay, I’ll think while I talk.

  I... it was the same dream. I saw Marlene die again. Only this time I recognized where it happened.

  I was in my tank, watching her booster launch on the videoscreen in my compartment. I had asked to go out to the launch, but they wouldn’t risk letting any of us out of the water, even in special pressure suits. Marlene was lifting off for rendezvous with the starship. He was already aboard, waiting in orbit for her, waiting to go with her to Sirius. Her booster must have malfunctioned. It exploded on the pad, I guess.

  And then... somehow I was standing there at the pad, naked. I could feel the heat from the flames on my skin. The smoke from the explosion was swirling all around. You could hear alarm sirens and people shouting. Somebody... it was Bromley! He was dressed in the admiral’s uniform and shouting at me, above all the noise:

  “It’s your fault! You killed her!”

  It’s cold.... God, I feel cold. I tried to tell him it wasn’t true, I had nothing to do with it, but it all changed, shifted. I was back in that stupid office with that fat civilian telling me I had been turned down for the star missions....

  “I’m sorry, there are just so many berths on the starships, and we had to take the absolute cream of the crop. But there will be other missions...”

  “I’ll be too old for the next round of star flights. Too old, too old.”

  “No, you’re still young.”

  “But Speer’s younger than I am!” I blurted. Which was crazy, because I hadn’t even met Speer yet.

  INTERCOM ALARM FLASHING.

  I don’t want to talk to them. They’re afraid to die. Everybody dies, but they don’t want to face it. Voronov died and Marlene died and I’m going to die soon. Maybe it is my fault.

  ESTIMATED TIME TO HULL FAILURE FORTY-FIVE MINUTES.

  Still sinking. But dammit, she leveled off while I was asleep and disconnected. Now she’s nose-down again. Give me the record of the stabilizer control settings for the past hour and a half. Manual settings and automatic.

  WORKING. INTERCOM ALARM STILL FLASHING.

  Okay, I’ll answer it. Speer’s face. He must be right on top of the camera. Sick bay couch behind him. Empty now.

  “What is it?” I ask h
im.

  He looks surprised that I answered him. “Uh... we’ve been trying to get through to you.”

  “You’re talking to me now. What is it?”

  “The captain...”

  “I know about the captain.”

  “We’re all in bad shape. Ling’s unconscious. It’s very hard to breathe... hard even to move around. A lot of pain... bad shape.”

  STABILIZER CONTROL SETTING RECORD AVAILABLE.

  “Hold it, I’ll get back to you,” I tell Speer.

  Look at the automatic control settings. There’s the one-degree nose-down pattern, with the automatics trying to correct. But the only time they did any good... was while I was asleep.

  What’d Ling say: There is one system that may be working at less than nominal values.

  The pilot. Me.

  Check the manual stabilizer settings. Holy Christ, it has been me! Manual controls depressed one degree all this time. It’s been me! I’ve been trying to kill us!

  Damned stupid computer! Why didn’t you tell me I had the manual controls set nose-down?

  DATA ON MANUAL SETTING WAS DISPLAYED WHEN REQUESTED, PREVIOUS INSTRUCTIONS DEALT ONLY WITH MALFUNCTION SEARCHES.

  “Speer, get up here fast!” I shout.

  Disconnecting from the ship controls. Let the automatics take over. I’ve been the weak link in the system. No wonder the computer couldn’t find a malfunction. The system was working perfectly; the pilot was malfunctioning.

  “I can’t get the hatch open,” Speer says.

  Undog it. Okay, here he is, floating in and hovering alongside Voronov’s couch, his face lined, eyes sunken.

  STABILIZER HAS RETURNED TO LEVEL ATTITUDE. ESTIMATED TIME TO HULL FAILURE HOLDING STEADY AT THIRTY-NINE MINUTES.

  “Get into the captain’s couch,” I tell Speer. “Stay with me. Don’t leave me alone. I think we can get out of this, but I can’t risk being alone up here.”

  He looks scared, but he does it.

  Set stabilizer and all controls to return trajectory. Follow minimum energy course.

  UNDERSTOOD.

  Okay, execute, and show me all systems performance.

  EXECUTING.

  It looks okay. Power, propulsion, hull pressure... we’re rising!

  “We’re pulling out of it,” I tell Speer. “We’re going to be all right.”