The
deputy knew what to do when the ship’s alert status changed to that color code
and was already doing it. Aaen trusted as much. Aaen had gotten a head-start on
his part of what was to happen as far
as preparing for what was tactically possible, although unlikely. He looked
around the mess hall, not anticipating to find anything unusual. The doors,
cabinets, and hatches were closed and secured, as they should be under these circumstances.
The flooring wasn’t disturbed, the ship’s chief medical officer (CMO) was in
the sickbay adjacent to the mess hall. He was busy preparing emergency medical
teams in case Aaen’s gut feeling proved to be correct, and all of the bunks looked pristinely made on their
quarter-inch steel frames.
So far,
so good.
He
ducked and entered the sickbay and took a look around. As he expected: nothing
unusual. The CMO was too focused to notice Aaen’s security check. Aaen left
sickbay and then immediately proceeded around the corner left to
decontamination (rifle firmly in front of him). The rumors of the Orions and
how they treat those who get near their
space and don’t have their guard up. . .
He
anxiously, cautiously, snapped around the corner. There was only a long
corridor angled at the top, the walls were lined with twin dim blue ribbon
lights, and a dark circular transporter.
So far,
so good.
There
was another sensor alert, and then someone announced something to the command
crew, and the rest of the bridge and the announcer sounded alarmed. Aaen walked
back down the metal textured staircase and then walked fast back up the spiral staircase
back to his duty station. The bridge was abuzz with crew activity. Something was up. Aaen felt less-than-optimistic.
His heart rate jumped as he sat at his station.
“What’s
going on?” Aaen asked the deputy. The deputy had been deploying security
personnel to the upper decks, and then to the lower decks. The orders he gave
to each of the security teams were a little more than the rulebook required. They were armed with a lot more than heavy
particle rifles—they were all equipped with enough gear to pass off as
demolitions experts out to take out a few walls and onboard a few prisoners.
“Long-range
sensors detected more activity than was initially realized along some areas of
the Triangle, including where we’re heading. The activity wasn’t heading for
us, so they’re thinking we haven’t been detected.”
Yet, Aaen
mused. The deputy shared his skepticism.
Another
sensor alert. “Captain! We’re approaching the bottleneck!—Gravity readings are a lot higher than we thought!”
“The black hole is TWICE the expected size!
WE’RE BEING PULLED OFF-COURSE! The rendezvous point is ahead!”
“HULL STRESS INCREASING, RAPIDLY!” the
engineer shouted.
Another
sharper alert started the bridge as the lights turned red and then a second,
blood-curdling alert shook the crew.
“HELM: slow to impulse!” the captain
commanded at the top of his lungs. The Translight engines powered down with a
thundering boom. A tactical animation
showed the Voyager and the rest of
the formation, represented by small white delta shapes, approaching a nebula.
The nebula’s radiation readings were already climbing to nearly-lethal levels
according to the tall on-screen meter on the right-hand side of the screen. Even
at such a great distance, the entire starboard side of the ship was already
being exposed to enough radiation that the starboard side of the ship might as
well have been standing on the edge of the minimum safe distance of an atomic
bomb detonation. The spike in radiation exposure caused another alarm to sound
with red alert.
“The main computer’s malfunctioning due to
elevated radiation levels!” the bridge engineer declared. “We’re going to start losing primary system
functions in less than ten seconds if we don’t keep our distance from the
nebula!”
“HARD TO PORT!” the first officer commanded.
“SHIELDS UP!” the captain commanded.
The
thrusters fired and the hull groaned as the gravity levels started climbing
sharply. Metallic rumbling filled the bridge as reverberating metallic
crackling reverberated throughout every deck of the ship. The sound caused the
entire crew to feel an abrupt, cold chill in their bones. The lights started flickering erratically as bridge computer
screens started flashing. The helmsman fired the port thrusters. The
delta-shaped icons alternated position up and down the main viewscreen—then the
one representing the Freedom appeared
to be struggling to stay in the formation.
“REPORT!” the first officer ordered from
the sensor officer and short-range communications.
The
sensors officer snapped, “FREEDOM IS
SLOWING DOWN AND MANEUVERING OUT OF FORMATION AND REVERSING COURSE!”
“WHAT?” the captain barked. “GET ME A
STATUS REPORT FROM FREEDOM AS FAST AS
POSSIBLE!”
“AYE!” the short-range communications
officer acknowledged, yelling over sudden shaking of the bridge.
The
metallic groaning and crackling were getting louder, “HULL INTEGRITY AT EIGHTY PERCENT, AND FALLING!” the bridge engineer
declared.
“WHERE ARE WE, SENSORS?” the first
officer asked.
“NEARLY THROUGH THIS! ABOUT TEN MORE SECONDS! THE OTHER SHIP’S STILL WITH US!”
That’s
reassuring, Aaen
silently quipped, watching as the two remaining delta shapes were riding the
last of the circular black hole’s event horizon, and the nebula’s jagged edges.
“WE’RE LOSING MAIN POWER!” the bridge
engineer declared.
“—AND SPEED!” the helmsman declared. “I-NEED-MORE-SPEED IF I’M GOING TO GET US
THROUGH THIS!”
“EMERGENCY POWER TO IMPULSE ENGINES!” the
captain commanded.
The
left-wing power officer carried out the order quickly. The two remaining delta
shapes accelerated almost in perfect sync, slightly off-course, and then the
gravity levels gradually began to decline. . . The metallic groaning and
crackling gradually stopped.
“We’re
clear!”
The
bridge crew enjoyed a few seconds of celebration and celebratory hand gestures.
Aaen held his right fist in front of him and smiled.
“All-stop!” the captain commanded.
The
first officer ordered a damage report, and then the tactical display on the
main viewscreen changed. This one made
the nerves in Aaen’s neck and back tingle sharply.
*****
Steve H. told Jordan Foutin, "You are the next Tom Clancy. You really are a gifted writer."
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