Page 61 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone
He paused, his black eyes meeting Carmen’s.
“The most probable outcome is gradual systems failure leading to catastrophic environmental collapse. Timeframe: weeks to months. Suffocation or freezing would be the terminal events.”
A fresh wave of despair threatened to swamp Carmen. Weeks. Months. Trapped in this dying tin can, watching the lights flicker, the air grow thin, the cold seep in. Listening to each other go mad. Sark made another small, wounded noise.
“So that’s it?” Letitia demanded, stopping her pacing to glare at Norvik. “We just sit here and wait to die? You’re just gonna lay out the fucking autopsy report?”
“I am presenting the available data, Letitia,” Norvik replied calmly. “Emotional outbursts do not alter the parameters of our situation.”
“Emotional outbursts?” Letitia’s voice rose. “You cold-blooded bastard! We’re talking about dying! Slowly! Horribly!”
“Yes,” he said. “The process will be unpleasant.”
Carmen slammed her good hand down on the table. The sharp thud silenced the brewing argument.
“Shut it! Both of you!” She took a deep breath. “We need data. Zed, damage assessment. Specifically, the jump-drive. Is ittotalscrap? Or is there anything left we can salvage? Any chance of a local-space jump? Even a short hop? Anything?”
Zed’s damaged arm sparked again. His voice, when it came, was its usual flat monotone, but the flickering lights on his chassis suggested strain.
“Analysis of the jump-drive core indicates catastrophic cascade failure. Primary initiator matrix survived the incident but sustained cracks over 63.07% of its surface. Secondary containment coils are fused beyond repair. The theta-wave emitter assembly is fractured. Probability of restoring FTLcapability with available resources and current shipboard facilities: 0.0007%.”
Carmen closed her eyes for a second, the finality hitting her with the force of a plasma cannon. No escape. No running. Just the slow, inevitable drift into darkness.
“However,” Zed continued, “sub-light propulsion remains operational. While the hyperspace transition was forcibly terminated, the sub-light engines themselves sustained only secondary damage from the energy backwash. Initial diagnostics suggest repairable faults in the primary plasma conduits and the navigational thrusters’ control relays to restore reliability.”
“Zed,” Letitia said, her voice barely controlled, “the sub-light thrusters don’t mean shit. We’re a thousand lightyears fromanywhere. Even if we get moving again, we’ll all be dead for centuries beforeAntillesgets some place. Even you can’t live long that long.”
“Affirmative,” he replied. “I was providing the data Captain Díaz requested. Your assessment of our demise long before reaching any destination at sub-light speeds is accurate.”
Carmen swallowed hard. She needed to give her people some sense of hope, something to keep them all from melting down like the jump-drive had into useless slag.
“How long to repair if we had the parts?” she asked.
“Repair timeframe is contingent on resource availability and workforce allocation,” Zed stated. “Estimated minimum repair duration for FTL capability restoration to 30% nominal efficiency: 117.3 standard hours. Required components include high-temp superconducting cabling, redundant plasma-flow regulators, and sealant for the cracks across the primary initiator matrix and the theta-wave emitter.”
“We should have those spares,” Carmen said.
“Negative,” Zed said. “Present inventory of plasma-flow regulators is only sufficient to replace 75% of the damaged ones.Available cabling is incompatible with the jump-drive. It would require specialized wiring that can withstand temperatures 154ºC higher than available spares.”
“Mierda!”
The curse ripped from Carmen, harsh and raw. She shot up from her seat like she’d been launched. She paced away, running her good hand through her hair, the kinks tangling around her fingers.
No spares. No way to fix the jump-drive. Back to waiting for the air to run out.
“So … we can’t fix it for sure, then,” Sark whispered.
“Not without parts we don’t have,” Letitia confirmed.
Carmen leaned heavily against the bulkhead. The cold metal seeped through her thin shirt. She felt drained. Hollow. The weight of their doom pressed down, crushing. She looked at Norvik, a last, desperate gambit.
“Collective databases?” she prodded. “Any chance there’s an uncharted rock, a rogue planetoid,anythingwithin sub-light range we could limp towards? Even if it takes years?”
Norvik didn’t need to consult his pad. He shook his head, a minute movement.
“Collective long-range survey data for this specific vector is absent. Probability of encountering a resource-bearing celestial body within feasible sub-light travel time, even assuming engines remain operational is less than point-oh-one percent.”
The final nail. Carmen closed her eyes. The silence returned, heavier than before, thick with the taste of despair.