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

Chapter 24 - Contact

Date: June 01, 2856

The Iris, once an elegant leviathan, now resembled a gigantic coin tossed carelessly by some cosmic giant. It spun slowly in the void, clockwise, trailing debris in its wake.

On the right side, where a fusion engine should have been, a gaping wound marred the ship's silhouette. A single, massive lump of twisted metal drifted ahead, a stark reminder of the raw power unleashed in the attack. Smaller fragments, unrecognizable as the meticulously engineered components they once were, followed in close succession. The force had been so immense, it not only vaporized an engine but sent the Iris into this maddeningly slow pirouette.

Inside, chaos reigned. "Everyone to the bridge!" Peterson's voice boomed in the ready room. Seven meters, that's all he had to cover to reach the bridge. But it was seven meters too far. He watched in horror as the emergency hatches hissed into place, severing the passage back to the heart of his wounded ship.

A symphony of destruction played out around them. Smaller impacts, like the blows of a relentless hammer, battered the Iris from starboard to port. Each thud was accompanied by a sickening lurch, another twist to their already disorienting spin.

Even seasoned veterans like Peterson and Collins struggled to keep their bearings.

One moment they slammed against the ceiling, weightlessness forgotten, replaced by the crushing force of the initial blow. Then, as if flung by an angry child, they were adrift once more, flailing and tumbling in the dim confines of the ready room.

"Captain! Helm! Respond, damn it!" Grigorescu's amplified voice cut through the chaos coming from the bridge. But the reply, when it came, wasn't the one she'd hoped for.

From the darkened ready room, a cacophony of voices rose in terror. Crash couches, designed as last-ditch survival aids, had dropped from hidden hatches in the ceiling, a grim ballet triggered by the ship's damage control systems. Everyone rushed to them, fumbling with the unfamiliar restraints as the room transformed into a slow-motion freefall. Anita Jouvier was the first to secure herself. Her couch whirred to life, an array of emergency lights and unfamiliar control panels blinking urgently.

"Anita to the bridge! Do you copy?" Her voice cracked with rising panic as the dull thuds outside the ship grew louder, more insistent. Silence answered her. She repeated the transmission, desperation edging into her normally measured tone. Still nothing.

Grigorescu's frantic voice echoed once more, a mix of desperation and the cool professionalism drilled into her since her first day at the Academy. "I need a pilot!

Any pilot able to reach the bridge – we've got to get out of here! They're picking off the external sensor clusters… it's only a matter of time before they hit an engine on the left!"

From his couch, Peterson keyed the comm unit, his reply interrupted by another jarring impact. "This is Peterson, we're trapped in the ready room!" Only static greeted him. "Do you copy?" He repeated, his voice strained. He knew, even as the words left his lips, that it was useless. As the others in the room tried in turn, the horrifying reality sunk in. They were cut off, isolated from the bridge and the ship's sole point of control.

"Bridge to Engineering…" Grigorescu's fingers danced across the digital keyboard, her voice tight with the strain of command in the face of overwhelming odds.

A crackly, unfamiliar voice answered. "This is Engineering," followed by a confused pause. Clearly, none of the senior staff were at this station.

Grigorescu wasted no words. "Any way to get the ship moving from there?"

"Uh… maybe?" The hesitant reply only fueled her growing sense of dread.

"Direct all available energy to one remaining engine. Doesn't matter which…

advisory, Engine Three is gone!" She barked out the updates, images of the slowly spinning Iris seared in her mind.

"G-give us a minute, Lieutenant… no seniors here, and all the hatches are down."

"We don't HAVE a minute!" Grigorescu snapped. "They're shooting at us, systematically crippling the ship. Do it, now!"

Outside, the destruction continued. The attackers clearly weren't interested in obliterating the Iris – yet. Instead, they methodically disabled the ship's eyes, the array of optical sensor assemblies. Unbeknownst to them, those systems were already long dead. Yet, their focus was now shifting, the line of fire ominously close to another of the vital fusion engines.

Suddenly, a raw blast of energy tore through the void. Engine Four, the one nearest the incoming fire, roared to life, uncalibrated and undirected. The Iris lurched violently, no longer a gracefully drifting hulk but a wounded beast thrashing blindly.

The sudden acceleration threw the aliens' aim off, just barely.

Inside the ship, the jarring motion was followed by blessed silence.

From the depths of the ready room, Ratiu's voice cut through the quiet confusion. "It worked. I've got a line to Engineering. Emergency comms and the couches seem to be on separate systems. They're working on patching us through to Lieutenant Grigorescu."

Grigorescu's eyes strained against the inky backdrop of space, a frown creasing her brow. "There!" she exclaimed to herself. It wasn't the sleek hulls of the enemy ships that became visible, but their shadows. Stars blinked out as the alien craft moved in tandem, their precise spacing and distance still impossible to determine. They could be small, fast fighters, or behemoths lurking farther back. What was undeniable was their proximity.

Inside the ready room, Ratiu's report was cut short by a thunderous detonation. "One minute to bridge comms and –" The Iris was thrown into a violent spin, far faster than before. Their single powered on engine had been ripped away, a chunk of the hull along with it. The ship was a helpless puppet, tumbling through the void.

"Whoa!" Grigorescu's exclamation was tinged with both awe and a flicker of terror.

Outside, the attackers had shed their protective darkness. Each ship blazed with light; stark white beams against the backdrop of space, accented by red and blue strobes that chased across their surfaces.

The Iris, adrift and helpless in the cosmic ballet, was held captive in those beams.

Their opponents were far smaller, a mere hundred meters each, perhaps. Their designs were utterly alien – a brutalist hodgepodge of rectangles and spheres,

punctuated by arrays of sensors, antennas, and what could only be weaponry. No graceful engines marred the surfaces, leading Grigorescu to speculate on the form of propulsion used by these mysterious enemies. Yet, the most striking feature were the enormous tubes running along the length of their hulls, front to back. Gun barrels of impossibly large caliber? Unfamiliar engines?

"Ugly as sin…" she breathed, the words lost in the deafening silence of the bridge.

A blinding flash, a shower of sparks, then darkness consumed the Iris. Grigorescu's digital displays went dead, the room plunged into an oppressive silence broken only by the insistent blink of a single light on her chair's armrest. "Comms" the display read.

Stabbing at the button, she spoke into the abyss. "Anyone?"

A jumble of static and distorted voices erupted in response. She tried again, her voice straining, "...anyone?"

In the ready room, Ratiu's booming voice cut through the crackle, her tone shifting urgently from despair to determination. "Engineering! Forget the bridge patch, give me a full assessment. What the hell just happened?!"

More static, a long, ominous pause, then a voice tinged with panic. Young, barely in control. "The patch… we were halfway, but when the ship went dark… everything's fried, Chief! Backup power, life support – down! We're doomed!" The engineer's voice spiraled upwards, each word laced with rising hysteria.

Ratiu's response was sharp, a mental slap designed to refocus the young man. "Tell me what we do have! Forget what's gone, for now."

The panicked breaths continued for a few agonizing seconds. Then, his voice returned, stronger, laced with a hint of impossible hope. "We have power. In the portable units scattered everywhere… in the emergency couches… and–" He

paused, the weight of an idea taking hold. "Chief! I know how to get us out of here!"

His voice was nearly a shout, fueled by the desperate spark of a potential solution.

Chapter 25 - The Only Way is Down

Date: June 01, 2856

"What do you have for me?" Ratiu pressed across the comm line. There was a desperation to her voice, but not the mindless panic that had threatened to consume the young engineer just moments before.

His response faltered slightly at first, but gained momentum. "Gravity. Remember, you cut the power to the engines? To the whole plating?"

"Indeed…" Ratiu replied, her mind racing as she made the connection.

"The systems are down…" the engineer continued, a series of sharp thuds and a sickening lurch punctuating his words as the alien ships resumed their destructive work.

A flicker of comprehension crossed Ratiu's face. "Yes…" she murmured, piecing together the engineer's line of thought.

"The capacitors," he pressed on, " they're still full! The energy they stored when you cut the systems..."

Another tremor shook the Iris, a grim reminder of their rapidly diminishing time.

Ratiu's voice was decisive. "We could ride that energy down the gravity well, uncontrolled, yes. But the energy wouldn't last forever…"

"Exactly!" the engineer burst out, his enthusiasm overriding some of the lingering fear. "We can't safely restart the gravity computers. But… what if we dump everything into a burst? Take that ride at speeds well past 4Gs?"

"We'd disappear from their sensors," Ratiu finished, the daring plan crystallizing in her mind. "Then, when the capacitors drain, we pop back into normal space…"

"Far away from here!" the engineer almost yelled in triumph. "Might not know where, but anywhere's better than here!"

From a shadowed corner of the ready room, Peterson's voice cut in, barely audible over the continuing impacts."How long?" he asked.

Ratiu relayed the question back to Engineering. "How long until you can initiate this?"

"Two minutes… maybe five?" came the hesitant reply.

"Do it." Ratiu's voice was steel, offering no room for argument. This was their only chance, their single, desperate roll of the dice. Time, they didn't have.

Inside Engineering, a flicker of urgency illuminated the dim space. The young engineer was no longer slumped in his chair, but a whirlwind of motion. He paused briefly, a look of dazed confusion crossing his face before snapping back into focus.

His eyes settled on a panel in the bulkhead; an emergency patch for the gravity lines, protected behind a transparent window.

Floating to the panel, he steadied himself with one hand as he curled his right hand into a fist. "This is going to hurt," he muttered to no one in particular, then delivered a bone-jarring punch to the protective casing. It was designed to shatter without causing injury, but that didn't make the impact any less painful. Cursing under his breath, he checked his fingers for damage. Satisfied that he could still manipulate the cable, he grabbed the spool of thick black wiring from inside the compartment.

Threads of phosphorescent yellow spiraled along its length, a ghostly glow in the dimness.

Slipping the spool over his left arm, he surveyed the space. Emergency lights provided a faint illumination, enough to work, but far from ideal. "What else do I need?" he thought aloud, then as if answering himself, "Light!"

"Anyone have a portable light?" he yelled into the room, his voice echoing in the silence. There was a flurry of hushed replies, equipment being jostled as whoever remained in Engineering checked their kits.

Then, a tiny beacon blinked in the distance. "Penlight. Not ideal, but it'll have to do."

The engineer propelled himself toward the light source, wasting no more words.

Time was not a luxury they possessed.

Armed with his makeshift light source and the cables, his focus narrowed. He scanned the exposed wires for the hastily applied sealant marking the spot where Ratiu had, with an ax, severed the main gravity line. It didn't take long. The danger signs and warnings seemed like grim taunts now, and he tore them away with barely a second thought.

He uncoiled the emergency cable. It felt pitifully slender compared to the hulking main power line, but size didn't matter now. Measuring the severed gap with practiced eyes, he added on a bit of extra length, a hedge against miscalculations under pressure. The cable had a built-in safety feature – it could only be cut by applying pressure from two opposing angles simultaneously. A quick, precise snap and he had a makeshift bundle of thick, insulated wire. "This'll have to do," he muttered again.

Carefully, he wedged the bundle into the gap like a rough splint, creating an S-shaped bridge between the severed ends. The left side connected easily, but as he moved to secure the remaining end, a vital detail hit him. He needed something to anchor himself, something to brace against. One good jolt when those capacitors surged, and he'd be thrown clear, losing the desperately needed contact. His eyes

darted around the room, searching for straps, handholds – anything. But the engineering bay was bare, stripped down to its essentials.

A muttered curse filled the air. There was nothing. The clock was ticking, and he had just one tool left: his own body. Taking a breath, he used his feet to press the final connection into place…

A sudden, eerie silence descended upon the Iris. The relentless hammering of alien weaponry ceased, leaving an unnatural void that hung heavy in the air. For a heart-stopping beat or two, there was nothing.

Then, a cacophony erupted from the ship's depths. Not just sound, but a visceral response – a tortured groan as the very fabric of the ship strained to withstand the impossible forces unleashed within. Uncontrolled, raw energy surged from the gravity capacitors, pushing the Iris to the absolute limit and far beyond.

The ship, designed for precise, controlled maneuvers, bucked against its bonds. It lurched violently from one extreme to another, each whiplash motion a gut-churning blow amplified by crushing waves of g-force.

Inside, it was an apocalyptic battleground. Loose items became deadly projectiles, slamming into anything – and anyone – with unforgiving force. Bulkheads and machinery shrieked in protest, giving way under the onslaught. The lucky ones lost consciousness within a few merciless seconds. For those unlucky enough to remain conscious, the relentless brutality was overwhelming – a monstrous rollercoaster ride through hell, tearing at bodies and minds with unimaginable power.

At four G's, the human body struggles. At twenty, it breaks. Bones snap, internal organs rupture. The sheer force of it was enough to alter trajectories violently, each shift a new random axis for the already catastrophic damage. In this whirlwind of chaos, the limits of survival were measured in mere seconds…

…six long, screaming seconds.

Then… nothing. Darkness. Silence. The only testament to life was the ragged, shallow breaths of the survivors.

In the dim confines of Engineering, a wisp of crimson drifted towards the center of the room. Behind it floated the lifeless form of the young engineer, the architect of this desperate plunge into the void. His once-focused eyes now stared blankly at nothing, his body a ragdoll testament to the terrible price of their improbable escape.

If someone managed to stay awake through the ordeal, they passed out now.