The Iris (Gravity, Space, and Time: Book 1) by Patkós Csaba - HTML preview

Chapter 22 - Not so Fast

Date: May 27, 2856

Captain’s Log Entry no. 92 - Full Throttle

Date: May 27, 2856

Location: The Starship Iris (almost 67 light years from home)

Ten percent per hour? Turns out that was a damn sight more optimistic than reality allowed. Ten percent per day is closer to the mark, and barely that. Those fusion reactors ... they've proven a prickly lot, not quite matching up to the manuals. The engines themselves decided to play a game of cat and mouse, responding in ways the schematics simply didn't predict. The one thing working in our favor seems to be the gravity plating – at least that part behaves itself.

Engineering crews have had their work cut out for them. Double shifts, triple shifts, the hours blurring together. They did eventually manage to get the engines stabilized at 0.9G of acceleration. There were also some… adjustments made to the reactors to convince them we'd rather not be reduced to a cloud of glowing debris.

According to the manuals, those reactors are entirely failsafe, incapable of a full meltdown under even the most ludicrous conditions. They'll simply shut down, which sounds perfectly lovely on paper. But the surge preceding that shutdown? That'll fry every electrical system and likely start more than a few fires.

Needless to say, we've decided avoidance would be the better part of valor here.

Today should - emphasis on should - be the day we finally see the engines at full capacity. A steady, comfortable 1G. And an end to our 'strap in for a bumpy ride'

routine.

End Log.

---

Commander Collins turned to Peterson. "All hands report strapped in, Captain."

A quiet sigh escaped Peterson's lips. "Let's hope this is the last time we'll need those couches for a good while."

"Increasing power to engines for final acceleration to 1G," Potaski's steady voice came from the helm. The ship responded with a barely perceptible thrum, barely any different than the normal hum of life support.

"All clear on sensors," Anita Jouvier added.

"Course unchanged," Dr. Jovier confirmed. Peterson wondered, as he often did lately, if there was some distant kinship between the two officers despite the single-letter discrepancy in their names.

"0.91G," Potaski reported, his touch on the control panel feather-light, even though the ship was primarily computer-flown at this point.

How long at this speed? Peterson's mind drifted. Two generations to get home? We'll never break lightspeed…

"0.92G," came the next measured announcement.

At least we're going the right way for now, his internal monologue continued. Get out of here, in case they come looking. After that, we can adjust course… Dr. Jovier estimates a potential three systems within 20 years if we make significant course changes in the next two months. But what will we find there? Empty space, more threats… ?

Potaski's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. The pitch was slightly higher than usual. "Full 1G acceleration, engines operating at 100%. All systems report stable."

"Reactors show no signs of stress," Chief Ratiu's voice chimed in over the bridge speakers.

A wave of relief rippled around the room, breaking into an impromptu cheer. Gravity had stabilized as the thrust took over entirely. The artificial plating powered down altogether.

"Handing flight control to the computer. Full autopilot engaged," Potaski announced with a hint of relief as he finally unstrapped himself, rising from the helm and taking a few tentative steps to test the now-familiar feel of full gravity. His crewmates followed suit, the tension of the past weeks easing slightly.

Then… nothing. Darkness consumed the bridge, swallowed the hum of life support and the comforting feel of gravity itself.

"Oh shit…" Ensign Turmal's voice cut through the oppressive silence, low and ragged. He trailed off as if terrified of finishing the thought.

"We're on batteries. What in blazes happened?" Ratiu's distorted voice crackled over the speakers, sounding distant and faint amidst the static.

"Indeed, what DID happen, Ensign Turmal?" Peterson pressed, his voice tight as he oriented himself towards the source of Turmal's exclamation.

A single data pad flared to life, the dim screen barely cutting through the darkness.

Everyone's eyes locked onto Turmal, their silhouettes faintly visible against the weak glow. In the eerie half-light, a chaotic dance unfolded as the crew scrambled to grab handholds before phantom gravity returned with a vengeance.

Turmal's voice, normally cocky and flippant, was subdued. "Don't bother. Gravity's not coming back." The certainty in his tone was chilling. "Tertiary systems should kick in momentarily. It'll be basic, life support, and not much else."

Across the bridge, small panels popped open, revealing primitive digital displays with simple keyboards – relics of a bygone era.

"We're back to digital computers," Turmal announced, his eyes flicking over the primitive interfaces. "Anyone here actually know how to use these things?"

"What the hell am I supposed to do with these... toys?" Ratiu's voice, thick with frustration, crackled over the speakers again, a little louder this time.

Commander Collins, usually a beacon of composure, moved first. "Turmal, full analysis, figure out what the hell caused this. Chief, take stock of what you have, see what you can manage with this antiquated tech. Report back ASAP. Anita, rig up those old-school telescopes in the observation decks. We need eyes, I assume everything else is dead?"

Anita, furiously typing at her workstation, hadn't even registered the commotion.

Finally, the silence drew her attention.

"Yes? " she responded, a puzzled frown creasing her brow.

Collins repeated his question. "Yes, the sensors are offline?"

"Oh... no," she replied, confusion creeping into her voice. "This terminal is connected to four external hull cameras. Low-res, wide-angle, designed for emergencies like this. I can't view the images yet, but I see data flowing in…"

A collective gasp cut through the bridge. Turmal shot her a startled look. "You can operate… a digital computer?"

Anita feigned nonchalance. "What? Didn't everyone play around with these things as kids?" She knew perfectly well how rare these machines had become after centuries of advanced quantum computing and gravitational computing. Digital computers were relics from a bygone era, museum pieces displayed on dusty shelves or tucked away in forgotten corners of private collections. Her fascination with them, a childhood eccentricity fueled by countless hours spent tinkering with her grandfather's antique collection, now felt like a stroke of peculiar luck. In this strange turn of events, her childhood curiosity might just be the key to their survival.

Finally, with a groan of ancient machinery straining to awaken from its slumber, emergency lighting flickered to life. The bridge was bathed in a dim, flickering glow, casting long, distorted shadows that danced on the walls. The harsh, utilitarian light revealed the grim expressions on the crew's faces, etched with a mixture of fear and determination. Even the soft hum of the emergency lights seemed to throb with an urgency that mirrored the pounding hearts of the bridge crew.

"Let there be light," Ratiu quipped through the speakers, the strain in her voice now tinged with a measure of bleak humor. "But don't expect much more."