“. . . I can emergency stop the engines, but then they can’t start up again. Please advise!”
The message from Lily Brogan ended for the third time, and Ham Sulp’s face was grim as he looked at Cutter and Kai. Y had joined them remotely, observing even as he tended to the first rescuees brought in.
“Definitely sounds like there’s transmission problems,” Sulp said. “I don’t like it.”
“I agree,” Kai replied. “I can tell a damaged radio when I hear one, though I cannot tell you what the problem is.”
“I concur, there is alteration of the signal that is far beyond the bounds I’d expect from basic damage,” Y commented.
“What could have done it?” Kai asked. “Debris?”
“Most likely incidental heat of fusion reactor plasma release,” Cutter said “Photon radiation damage alone, at such intensities, more than enough. Location is consistent with pod escaping as confinement field deteriorated and escaped vessel.”
“Honestly lucky that the whole pod didn’t just get ‘vaporated,” Sulp said starkly.
“Time is of essence,” Cutter said. “I suspect damage to port side of pod is severe. Structural integrity is likely intact, but micro-leaks cannot be ruled out.”
“Even if it’s losing air, we have a good amount of time,” Kai said. “Those pods have enough air to last for weeks.”
“It is not oxygen I am concerned about,” Cutter replied gravely. He turned to the computer screen. “Show schematic.”
The image of the pod came up, highlighting the potentially damaged side.
“Location of radio on pod design is also near engine coolant lines,” Cutter said. “Damage to that side of pod could have distorted thruster shape – causing skew. System unaware – thinks it is sending the pod to the correct angle but cannot see that it is off because of disabled sensors. Also reason it cannot communicate with us. Blinded.”
Kai took that all in. “Are you worried of thruster overheat?”
“Has not happened already, therefore of low concern. Am worried of leak – into cabin.”
Kai took a deep breath.
Engine coolant was a dangerous, dangerous compound – and difficult to detect.
“If this is the case,” Y said, “then Ms. Brogan and Officer Pedraza are in serious danger. Engine coolant has severe neurological effects.”
“It is known defect in pod design to have coolant lines positioned so,” Cutter hissed, sounding angrier than she’d ever known him to sound. “Should not have been placed so close to interior air lines. Should not have remained in service once flaw was discovered. But old ship! Carrying old parts.” He clicked his mandibles rapidly in something approaching disgust. “We must find out. We must be sure.”
“If that’s the danger then we have to cut the engine right away,” Sulp said. “It’ll lessen the pressure on the cooling system – potentially slow or even stop a leak. As well as keep it from getting any further from us.”
“An emergency cutoff ends all chances of using the engine to lower the pod’s velocity, though,” Kai said. “At her current rate I don’t think we could get a rescue ship next to her and do an extraction. It’s just going too fast.”
“Already a moot point,” Sulp grunted. “They’re not designed to be steered as a security precaution. Even if we can get the pod to turn, the internal gyros will sense it and try to steer it back onto what it thinks is the right course – cuz it’s clear it does think it’s travelling properly. Convincing it otherwise is a crapshoot, and to override it she’d have to gut the navigational computer. At that point she’d be flying totally blind.”
“Surely the pod is designed to accept commands to change course!” Cenz said.
“Nope,” Sulp replied. “That pod’s old, like Cutter says, made after the conflict with the Aeena. After what they did to our prisoners, we made our pods harder to control – remotely or even from inside. Theory was that it’d be better to trust an AI to steer the pod safe since it can parse data better. If she just tells it to alter course, it may well trigger the security protocols and go into silent mode for forty-eight hours.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“That was a terrible idea when it was first implemented,” Kai said. “I can’t believe any remained in service.”
“Yep,” Sulp said, shaking his head in disgust. “Should never take the living element outta the equation. Or else why are we even out here? But th’ Union hadn’t faced anyone as cruel and genocidal as the Aeena before. It led to some stupid decisions. Hell, there was talk for awhile of giving pods a self-destruct so people could avoid being taken prisoner – they were that scared.”
“That issue is beyond current scope,” Cutter said. “Other options may be possible to slow pod. We must order engine cut. We must prevent potentially lethal problem. If all else is stable, the pod can support life for weeks.”
“All else is not stable, however,” Y said. “Lily Brogan stated that she was injured and that Officer Pedraza was badly burned. The medical drone with him will have little ability to stabilize his condition and we are unsure how serious her condition is. I fear we may lose him at the very least if we do not recover the pod within the next few hours.”
“We need to get a team out there,” Kai said.
“I have run the math,” Y said. “It will be a dangerously high-g maneuver even at this current time. Cutting the engines will buy us some leeway as then it will at least no longer be acclerating away from us.”
“I’m going to assemble the team right away,” Kai said.
“I shall message Ms. Brogan,” Cutter said. “Guide her through steps of checking coolant lines safely.”
“I’ve got an idea to look into,” Sulp said. “Contact me once we know more.”
----------------------------------------
It felt stuffy, Lily thought.
It didn’t really make sense; the air recirculators were functioning, but some time ago she noticed she was sweating.
“What’s the temperature in the pod?” she asked again.
The readout appeared in her HUD; 25.8 celsius. It was warmer than it should be.
“What is relative humidity?”
It only showed 30%.
Letting out a frustrated growl, she walked across the pod to peer in at Davyyd.
He was still breathing, his chest moving in an alarmingly fast and shallow way.
She knew that was not good; it could be from pain or a sign that he was dying. She was not sure.
The medical drone was charging, but she went over and connected to it.
“Why is he breathing hard?” she asked it softly.
“Cheyne-Stokes breathing,” it replied. She’d never even heard of that, and as soon as she saw the definition she regretted it.
“An abnormal breathing pattern of progressive faster and shallow breathing followed by an apnea.
“Frequently associated with heart failure, brain damage, or inhalation of certain toxic chemicals. Noted as occurring shortly before natural death in some individuals.”
Her head swam and she stepped back.
Davyyd was dying and she couldn’t do anyting about it.
A message came in and she jumped.
“Ms. Brogan,” it began. She recognized the clipped translated voice of a Bicet immediately. “Require that you check certain aspects of pod health. Instructions have been sent along with message – follow instructions and report results immediately.”
She saw the appended file. It was a simple text file – and there were ten copies. She wasn’t sure why until she attempted to open the first one and got a corrupt data error.
Six of the ten had the issue, and she realized that the data streams must be dropping packets. It was a common issue for drones, and she kicked herself for not realizing it earlier.
Playing back the message, she noted that the audio had a static to them that suggested the dropped data.
It made sense why they were having her check, then. If her radio went out, they’d have a hell of a time rescuing her.
She sent back a confirmation.
“I’ll check right away,” she said. “Please come help soon – we’re not doing great. Davyyd, he . . .”
She looked to the man, wondering how aware he might be. She had best not say too much.
“. . . he’s in a lot of pain. Please. Come soon.”
Sending it off, she looked at the text file.
Getting the pod’s toolkit, she found the panel indicated and opened it. There were several brackets and pipes she had to adjust to reach through.
It was clearly not well thought-out for this sort of servicing she thought as she skinned her knuckles trying to reach in for the releases.
This was drone work, she mused in annoyance. Ironic.
As she took out more and more, she noticed a strange white build-up on some of the pipes. It had no odor, but it was not a kind of build-up she’d seen before.
Getting the part cleared, she popped loose the panel, pulling it back – and gasped in terror.
She could see space.
There was no rush of escaping air, and she realized that it was not just an open port to space, but an optical panel; there to allow workmen to see parts beyond without having to actually expose the inside of the cabin to the vacuum.
Stepping closer, she peered out.
The stars beyond were white dots, solid and unchanging without a planetary atmosphere to make them twinkle.
There should have been outer hull between this panel and space. She should not be seeing these stars.
Whatever damage had distorted the thruster port must have also stripped off at least part of the outer hull . . .
Another message came in.
“Your plight is known to us, Ms. Brogan. I promise – we are seeking the best option to aid you. Please hang on. Your pod is rapidly moving away – if your search into cabin condition finds damage to outer hull, we recommend immediate termination of engines. This will aid recovery. Cutter out.”
Staring out into the stars for just a moment longer, she then hurried towards the main control panel.
The system was ready to kill the engines. Once she did it, though, she would no longer be able to restart them.
Taking a deep breath, she pressed the button to kill them.