Phillip Peterson - The Dark Ship

It was that surprise attack, in which his father had died, that had started the war. Until then, nobody had seriously expected the Cold War to turn into a hot one.

“I’m losing voltage in the Penning traps again,” Green said.

Jeff turned around and looked over at the flight engineer. There was enough antimatter on board to blow up the ship into a thousand smithereens if the traps ran out of power. In an emergency they could eject the cylinders, but it was a long way to their base on Sigma-7. They would need every bit of antimatter they had for their return flight.

“Get that under control,” Irons said.

“Request permission to leave the bridge,” Green responded.

Irons nodded. “Permission granted. Corporal Owens, take over the onboard systems.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Now Jeff and his shipmates had nothing left to do except wait. It was unlikely that enemy forces would suddenly appear. And even if they did, they didn’t stand a chance of intercepting the Charon until the entry point. Gradually, it dawned on Jeff that he had survived his first bomber mission. He went over the events of the past twenty minutes in his mind. They’d been lucky not to have hit any mines at the exit point. They’d been lucky the missiles had missed them , and they had been crazy lucky that the particle beam…

“Captain Austin!” Jeff started. “Are you asleep?”

“No, Major. I was just—”

“We’re still on combat alert. Please focus on our mission! We are in an enemy system.”

Jeff nodded, numbly. He looked at the location hologram with the navigation data. They were nearing the entry point into hyperspace. Three more minutes.

“Are we ready for hyperflight?” Jeff asked.

“Yup,” Joanne answered. “Course is programmed. We need about eight-and-a-half hours for the return flight to Sigma-7.”

“Assuming the hyperdrive wasn’t hit,” Finni added glumly.

Jeff waited for a comment from the Major, but he didn’t respond.

A yellow light glowed on the console in front of him. Jeff pressed it. “Green here,” the sonorous voice of the flight engineer echoed across the bridge.

“Speak!”

“We have a serious problem with Penning Trap Five.”

“How serious?” Major Irons asked.

“It’s been hit by a piece of shrapnel. The voltage is fluctuating and there’s nothing I can do to change it. We can only pray it doesn’t give up the ghost.”

“OK. Return to the bridge.”

“Sir! Another thing.”

“Yes?”

“Shorty is injured.”

Jeff turned around to look at him. Hopefully not badly. The tall mechanic Travis “Shorty” Short and the two other technicians weren’t in the cockpit during missions, but in the engine room.

“Private Short,” Irons corrected him. “How bad is it?”

“He’s unconscious. He was working on the Penning trap when we were hit by the particle beam. Corporal Fields says he was flung against the paneling of the Casimir Converter. Private Short may have a concussion, but he seems to be in a stable condition. We’ve put him on a gurney.”

“All right. Lieutenant Rutherford will take a look at him as soon as we’re in hyperspace. Come back to the bridge and order your men to buckle up until I lift the battle alert.”

“Understood.”

“What happens if the Penning trap kicks the bucket?” Joanne asked. Her voice sounded more curious than worried.

“Then we’ll expel it, according to protocol,” Irons replied coolly.

“That would mean we probably wouldn’t have enough power to maintain the horizon the whole way home,” the navigator pointed out.

“We’ll deal with any problems as they arise, Lieutenant Rutherford.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Jeff saw a movement from the corner of his eye—it was Green, returning to the bridge and taking his seat.

“We’ve reached the entry point,” Joanne said.

“Are we clear for hyperflight, Lieutenant Green?”

“Yes, Sir. Everything ready for entering hyperspace.”

“Then enter hyperflight, Lieutenant Rutherford,” Irons commanded.

“Yes, Sir.”

Within a few seconds, the stars disappeared from outside the cockpit windows. They were surrounded by the endless blackness of hyperspace. At least the hyperdrive seemed to be working.

“Maneuver completed.”

“I don’t like this,” Green said.

“Explain yourself, if you have something to say.” Irons’ voice was irritable.

“Yes, Sir. The horizon hasn’t stabilized. I can see big gradients here. I’m worried the hyperdrive might have been hit.”

“And what does that mean for us?”

The engineer didn’t answer for a long time. Jeff turned around in his seat and saw Green bent over his console.

“Lieutenant Green?”

Green sighed. “I can’t say. I can’t see where the problem is exactly. Maybe in the projector unit of the converter or in the control electronics. I don’t know. Maybe it’ll hold out, maybe not.”

“What about the other systems?” Irons asked.

“Unchanged.”

“Life support system?”

“The pressure is stable. Everything OK.”

“All right,” Irons said after a few seconds. “Lift combat alert.”

Jeff pressed a field on his console and the red light on the bridge changed to a reassuring, warm white. Then he unlocked his helmet. There was a hissing noise as the pressure between the cabin and his space suit equalized. Jeff pushed the visor up and breathed in the equally stale but cool cabin air. It smelled as if someone had been welding or had detonated some firecrackers. It was the typical smell of space as he knew it from exercises, and a clear indication that the hull of the spaceship had been hit. But the ship’s self-repair system and the three mechanics had done a good job.

Jeff turned around and his eyes met Joanne’s. The blond navigator smiled at him and nodded. Yes, they’d made it. At least for today. Somehow, they’d make it back home. Jeff turned back round to his console and changed the mode of his location holo. A long line stretched from the left edge of the hologram to the right, passing close to a few stars. It was their course. A small symbol indicated their current position. They hadn’t covered much of the fifty-six light years to Sigma-7 during the first few minutes of their hyperspace flight. It would be a long eight-and-a-half hours.

“Thank you, Captain!” Major Irons said as Jeff put a cup of steaming coffee on the console in front of him.

“Sure,” Jeff mumbled, and sat back down in his seat. With a push of a button, he let the onboard computer know that he was back at his station.

“OK,” Irons said. “Corporal Owens, you can take a break, too. But remain on standby. Lieutenant Rutherford, how are the crew?”

“Private Short regained consciousness, after I injected him with a stimulant. The other nine crew members are all fine.”

Irons nodded. “Good, then you can take a break, too.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Joanne said. A few seconds later, Jeff heard her footsteps receding behind him, and the bulkhead moved aside. After it had closed behind the two crew members, he was left alone with Major Irons on the bridge. Green had already left with Finni half an hour ago to look at the damaged hyper radio.

Jeff felt washed out. They had set off on their mission from the space base above Sigma-7 over twelve hours ago. The night before he’d been so agitated, he’d hardly slept at all. He was beyond tired, but adrenalin was still pumping through his body. He doubted the coffee would make things any better. His hands trembled as he reached for his cup.

“Still feeling nervous?”

Jeff turned to his superior. “Yup, you could say.”