reminded me of the moving-lift feeling I got just at pull out. I did not have time to think, because the ship went dark and silent. I felt myself floating with the momentum of my last solid step on the deck.
Dark and silent are two things you never want on a ship. Dark means the power’s out. Silent means no air. Without power, air was going to be an issue. I was shocked into immobility. I froze right there, drifting awkwardly in the passage and trying to remember if I was supposed to do something. It was reflex to pull out the tablet, but there was no signal and a blinking LED on the side told me the network was gone. I flicked it on anyway and the back-lit screen gave me enough light to see up and down the passageway.
Altogether it only lasted maybe five heartbeats, but it seemed much, much longer. I had just about enough time to think about Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon, which would have made my mother proud.
The emergency power came online and with it the emergency lights, the klaxon alarm, and gravity. I was grateful for the light, could have passed on the klaxon, and the gravity, while useful, reintroduced me abruptly to the deck. I lay there for a few moments to gather my wits and make sure I hadn’t done any damage. Then I scrambled to my feet and headed for environmental as fast as I could. I passed several people on the way who all shared the same dazed expression. We did not stop to talk. If we lived, we could talk later. I made it through the hatch just as the klaxon cut off.
“All hands to General Quarters. All hands to General Quarters. Section leaders report via radio to the bridge.”
Brill and Diane stumbled in behind me and Frances was in the chair running diagnostics on the console. Brill began barking, “What’ve we got, Francis?”
“Complete power loss for five seconds: emergency power online, operational status unknown, ShipNet offline, data feeds to all systems not available. Blowers are on, but whether they’re moving anything useful. I can’t tell.”
“Diane, Ish, grab portable sniffers and make sure nothing nasty is in here. Then stick one into the main air intake and see what we’re sucking in. Watch the O2 and CO2 levels. We can add oxygen but if the CO2 starts to build, getting rid of it will be a challenge.”
She went to her office, pulled out a rack of radio communicators, and started passing them out while calling the bridge and giving her status report.
Three tics later we gathered at the largely useless console.
“Report,” she said.
“Nothing in the sniffers. Air mixture is good for now,” Diane said. “Scrubbers look okay. Nothing in a power fluctuation should damage them.”
“Same here on the sniffer. Nothing unusual coming in the main intake stream. I left mine taped up with the audible on. If it picks up something out of range, we should hear it,” I said.
“Console seems operational,” Francis added. “But without the ShipNet, there’s nothing it can do. I can’t tell if the sensors are even alive.”
“Immediate danger?” Brill asked.
We all shook our heads.
She got on the radio to talk to the bridge while we settled down to wait. Diane stuck her head in every scrubber cabinet again looking for problems. Francis and I took another inspection tour around the section but found nothing amiss.
At 19:15 the overhead speakers piped on. “This is the captain speaking. Here’s what we have people. We ran through the residue of an unreported coronal mass ejection with an associated EMP. The high speed mass took off some paint but the EMP toasted our sail generators and knocked down the ShipNet. We’ve notified Betrus Orbital. We are in no immediate danger. We’re just going to be a bit delayed getting into port. We’re on a ballistic trajectory inbound, but going too fast for the tugs to snag so we’re going to have to do a fly by and come back on the other side. Repeat. We are in no immediate danger. If the condition changes, I’ll let
Dark and silent are two things you never want on a ship. Dark means the power’s out. Silent means no air. Without power, air was going to be an issue. I was shocked into immobility. I froze right there, drifting awkwardly in the passage and trying to remember if I was supposed to do something. It was reflex to pull out the tablet, but there was no signal and a blinking LED on the side told me the network was gone. I flicked it on anyway and the back-lit screen gave me enough light to see up and down the passageway.
Altogether it only lasted maybe five heartbeats, but it seemed much, much longer. I had just about enough time to think about Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon, which would have made my mother proud.
The emergency power came online and with it the emergency lights, the klaxon alarm, and gravity. I was grateful for the light, could have passed on the klaxon, and the gravity, while useful, reintroduced me abruptly to the deck. I lay there for a few moments to gather my wits and make sure I hadn’t done any damage. Then I scrambled to my feet and headed for environmental as fast as I could. I passed several people on the way who all shared the same dazed expression. We did not stop to talk. If we lived, we could talk later. I made it through the hatch just as the klaxon cut off.
“All hands to General Quarters. All hands to General Quarters. Section leaders report via radio to the bridge.”
Brill and Diane stumbled in behind me and Frances was in the chair running diagnostics on the console. Brill began barking, “What’ve we got, Francis?”
“Complete power loss for five seconds: emergency power online, operational status unknown, ShipNet offline, data feeds to all systems not available. Blowers are on, but whether they’re moving anything useful. I can’t tell.”
“Diane, Ish, grab portable sniffers and make sure nothing nasty is in here. Then stick one into the main air intake and see what we’re sucking in. Watch the O2 and CO2 levels. We can add oxygen but if the CO2 starts to build, getting rid of it will be a challenge.”
She went to her office, pulled out a rack of radio communicators, and started passing them out while calling the bridge and giving her status report.
Three tics later we gathered at the largely useless console.
“Report,” she said.
“Nothing in the sniffers. Air mixture is good for now,” Diane said. “Scrubbers look okay. Nothing in a power fluctuation should damage them.”
“Same here on the sniffer. Nothing unusual coming in the main intake stream. I left mine taped up with the audible on. If it picks up something out of range, we should hear it,” I said.
“Console seems operational,” Francis added. “But without the ShipNet, there’s nothing it can do. I can’t tell if the sensors are even alive.”
“Immediate danger?” Brill asked.
We all shook our heads.
She got on the radio to talk to the bridge while we settled down to wait. Diane stuck her head in every scrubber cabinet again looking for problems. Francis and I took another inspection tour around the section but found nothing amiss.
At 19:15 the overhead speakers piped on. “This is the captain speaking. Here’s what we have people. We ran through the residue of an unreported coronal mass ejection with an associated EMP. The high speed mass took off some paint but the EMP toasted our sail generators and knocked down the ShipNet. We’ve notified Betrus Orbital. We are in no immediate danger. We’re just going to be a bit delayed getting into port. We’re on a ballistic trajectory inbound, but going too fast for the tugs to snag so we’re going to have to do a fly by and come back on the other side. Repeat. We are in no immediate danger. If the condition changes, I’ll let
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