Chapter 8
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After two hours of breathing fresh air, Frig was back to normal. With our new course entered and the time we had lost, we were set to be nine hours late. Our precious cargo would be worthless. We passed ideas back and forth, but came up with only one possible effort. Frig would have to attempt to decode the cube.
“Sir, there are a number of problems with our endeavor. First, we do not know how many layers of encryption there might be—that is, if we are able to analyze the outer layer at all. Second, if it is a smart encryption, which I highly suspect is true, if it detects an intrusion it will wipe the data, leaving only the encrypted shells. I will have to proceed with extreme caution.”
I turned my chair back toward the console screen. “Seeing that I don't know a thing about encryption, I'll get out of your hair. I'm sure you'll do your best, because as of right now, that's all we have.”
With that, Frig began his analysis. With nothing left for me to do, I turned my time toward a game of Bollox. I had thirty-eight hours to kill. I was sure Frig would work continuously on his effort. Gambits could go days without sleep.
Four hours into the journey, I grew bored with my game. I turned toward Frig to check on his progress. “Cracked it yet? First layer? Third?”
Frig continued with his focus for several more seconds before responding. “The outer shell is like none I've encountered, sir. The odds of my making it through that first layer are extremely low at this time. Might I suggest you spend your time looking for alternate solutions?”
He was right. I had blown four hours on gaming when I should have been working on a way out of our predicament. I rose from my chair and began to pace the hold deck as I ran scenarios through my head.
The first idea I had that made any sense had me rushing back to my chair. “Frig, I may have a solution. If we can notify the admiral, he can meet us on the way in his ship, cutting down the travel time needed.”
Frig briefly looked up from his efforts. “Sir, how would you propose we notify the admiral? We are currently traveling faster than any of the broadcast channels. I'm afraid our signal would arrive after we would. It was a good effort, sir. Please continue.”
I banged my forehead against the palm of my hand several times. Frig was, of course, right. My genius of a plan was scuttled. I again rose from my chair and returned to my pacing. I'd never understood why, but the minor activity had a way of helping me to focus. I had solved many of my issues aboard the Swift with just such a walk. Half an hour later I had another brainstorm.
“Frig; you said that inhibitor field worked by stopping the flow of ions, right? And the Fasture nebula has extreme waves of negative ions that can cause a similar effect? Would it be possible... possible to cut through the nebula with our engines once again reversed? You know, back through her or something?”
Frig looked up from his screen. “Are you suggesting that reversing the ion flow of our engines might allow us to travel through the nebula? If so, that is a brilliant thought on your part, sir. There is, however, one problem. The time gained by that shortcut does not equal the time we need.”
I growled in frustration as I turned back toward my pacing. Then another thought hit me. “Wait! If the negative ions retard the normal ion engine, would that same negative ion charge boost a reversed ion engine? Would it add to the potential speed?”
Frig spun his head quickly around. “Are you now suggesting that we not only reverse the flow, but also reverse the charge of the feeds?”
I looked at the ceiling for several seconds. “Well... sure, if you say it will work, that's exactly what I am suggesting.”
Frig returned to his console and began to type feverishly on his keys.
Three minutes later he turned toward me with a smile. “I believe we can do exactly as you suggest, sir. Reversing the flow of the feeds and the polarity of the charge should yield a negative ion engine. If we were to encounter enough of the highly charged waves of negative ions, we could possibly make up our time deficit.”
Frig continued, “We would be at risk of failure from other reasons, but it would give us a chance to make up the time we need. I suggest we alter course for the nebula immediately... sir.”
Frig had a wide grin on his face. It was almost creepy to look at, given his razor-sharp teeth. I punched in the new waypoints, and the Swift gently turned toward the nebula. My pacing had once again come through.
Frig said. “Sir, I've crunched the numbers, and there is one potential problem... overload. If we are running at full throttle and one of those supercharged waves hits us, there is a good possibility the drive chamber will become oversaturated and rupture, the result being the Swift, and all aboard her, would be instantly vaporized.”
I pondered the thought for only a moment. “Well, nothing is accomplished without risk. If we don't get this cube to the admiral in time, it will be a huge loss to our cause. Give your best odds of an overload.”
Frig turned back to his console.
After several seconds of typing, he answered. “Our odds are 26.4 percent, sir.”
I replied, “So, essentially one in four. I'll take those odds. Is there anything we can do to lower them?”
Frig turned back toward me. “I'm afraid you misunderstood, sir. It’s a 26.4 percent chance of not having an overload condition. I have done a rough estimate, and each 5 percent reduction in throttle will result in a 10.2 percent reduction in the possibility of an overload, but it is at the cost of time.”
I again stood and began to pace. “Have you run the numbers on the different throttle levels to see where our breakeven is on time? It sounds like if we can reduce throttle by 20 percent, we can increase our chance to 66.4 percent.”
Frig returned to his console. “I'm afraid it is not that dramatic of an effect, sir. Five percent reduction on 26.4 percent is 1.32 percent. The next 5 percent reduction in throttle will yield 27.72 percent, and the next, 29.01 percent. A 20 percent reduction in throttle will push our odds up to 32.1 percent, sir. It is really all a moot point. We cannot determine a time because we do not know how many of those waves we will encounter, or the strength of each wave.”
Frig continued: “If we continue at full throttle and do not encounter any significant waves, I estimate our arrival to be two hours short of what is required for delivery. We will have to make use of the charge from every wave we can encounter, sir. It is a risk we will have to assume if we wish to make delivery.”
I stopped my pacing and crossed my arms. “Well, I guess the odds are against us, then. We're just going to have to live with them—or die with them, whichever the case may be. I guess if we gotta go, there are much worse things than instant incineration. Let's just focus our efforts on making this crossing happen. Everyone has to go sometime. Let's just hope this time is not our time.”
Frig continued work at his console as I laid out the tools needed for an ion reversal of our engines. I removed the deck plate and practiced mock changeovers for when the time came. With luck, we would have the least amount of time offline. Every minute would count.
Several hours later we began to encounter the edge of the nebula. The building negative ion charge slowly impacted our speed. Frig gave the go-ahead and the engines were shut down.
I dove down into the hole and began the changeover, taking as much care as I could to follow the routine I had developed. After four minutes and thirty-eight seconds, I emerged. “Let's give her a try, shall we, time's a-wasting.”
Frig punched in the numbers and pushed the throttle to full. The ion engine rumbled as the previous charge was eliminated. It then sprang to life and our rapid acceleration began.
As our speed hit 100 percent of rated, it continued to climb. The negative ion charge of the nebula was boosting our energy throughput, and therefore our speed. We quickly moved to 107 percent and stabilized.
Frig began to give statuses. “All channels are showing clear, sir. I have seen a few minor f
luctuations in the chamber charge. I have begun the process required to alleviate those fluctuations, as a single one of those could lead to an overload if we allow it to grow out of control. Perhaps I can increase our odds a bit with a learning algorithm, following my manual adjustments. It should yield a faster adjustment time and therefore better control of the excess charge.”
Frig had been at my side for nearly ten years, yet I continued to be amazed at his abilities. He had repeatedly been able to take a bad situation and change the odds of a turnaround in our favor. I could not imagine having a better first mate on the Swift during a crisis. Time and again he had proved his worth over the years.
Our journey through the nebula would take nine hours. An hour into the flight, we encountered the first wave of many.
“Sir, we have a wave coming in five... four... three... two... one...”
The Swift accelerated as the negative ion charge of the wave pushed more particles through the alignment channels. Our speed indicator shot up to 452 SOL. It far exceeded the fastest known speed of any ship in the galaxy.
The first wave lasted for seven minutes, cutting our time deficit to one hour, forty-two minutes.
Frig reported on his fluctuation control program. “We saw fourteen events during the wave, and all fourteen were controlled within a 5 percent tolerance. That particular wave was a four on a scale of ten—a comparative scale done from past studies of the nebula, with ten being the highest recorded wave. I have confidence in the control program up to a level-seven encounter. There are too many variables that come into play at that level, placing the control algorithms at risk of overcompensating. That first wave was only a ripple, sir.”
The strength of the ion waves continued to build as we pushed further into the nebula. The palms of my hands began to sweat as we entered the first level-eight wave.
“Sir, we have exceeded the basis parameters of the control algorithm. If I detect a building charge, I will attempt to add manual adjustments as I can. If that charge reaches 18 percent, I may no longer be able to compensate. I am manually tuning and holding at 6 percent now.”
I felt helpless as we hurled deeper into the nebula. Frig had his control duties to keep his mind fully occupied. I was left with nothing to do but contemplate the madness of our situation. That madness only grew as we approached each new wave. My nerves were becoming frayed.
“Sir, this next wave is registering as an 8.9 and the one following it as a 9.7. We will know shortly how well I am able to control the fluctuations.”
I looked down at our destination clock. We had gained another forty-seven minutes, leaving us only fifty-five minutes short.
I replied, “We need the time boost from these waves. Just do the best you can. It's all we have.”
The 8.9 magnitude wave hit with a jolt. The Swift's engines pulsed and pushed the craft to a new high speed of 508 SOL. We were screaming along faster than any recorded flight known for an individual ship. Frig began banging on his keyboard in an effort to control the building negative charge. “We are at 15 percent and climbing. I am having difficulty compensating, sir. If this wave remains at this level for more than a minute, I don't think I can maintain control.”
I was sitting with my arms crossed. “Is there any way to bleed off that charge? Another coupling or something that I can bolt on?”
Frig continued with his efforts as he responded. “There is nothing that can physically be done, sir. We cannot tie into those feeds while we are at speed. It would be an encounter that you would not survive. Our bodies can handle a substantial ion field. If we, however, encountered a stream as produced by those feeds, our cells would be ripped apart. The charge is now at 17 percent, sir.”
Seven seconds later we exited the wave. The charge began to dissipate. We had survived another crisis, but a second wave was rushing our way.
“Man, I'm not sure I can take another one of those.”
Frig turned to comment as the sweat dripped from his forehead. “If you wish to be of help, sir, I am in need of hydration. I have been losing significant amounts of liquids through perspiration with each new wave. I am very thirsty, sir.”
I hurried back to the ship’s fridge and retrieved a bottle of water. It was gulped down just before the next large wave arrived. Frig was again frantically punching keys as his eyes scanned a half-dozen graphs on his monitor. The sweat once again began to flow. I soaked a towel with cool water and placed it around his shoulders.
He responded, “Thank you, sir.”
The 9.7 wave came in hard, just as the wave before it. The charge reading soared to 16 percent in only a few seconds.
Frig scrambled to compensate. “Sir, we will be hitting that threshold in about fifteen seconds. Once it is reached, I cannot predict the behavior of the engines. We could have a rapid meltdown of the feeds and a rupture of an alignment chamber. If you have anything else to offer, now is the time.”
I rose from my chair and began to pace, but the excitement of the situation and my growing anxiety were too much. I was soon standing over Frig's shoulder, watching as he attempted to prevent an ion overload. As the wave strength peaked at a magnitude of 9.7, I took a glance at our velocity meter. We were traveling at 628 SOL, again a new record. I glanced back at the charge reading and tensed up as I saw it was now at 21 percent. Frig continued to adjust and compensate for the charge fluctuations. Then, just as suddenly as the wave had begun, it dissipated, dropping the charge levels back to the norm. The destination clock now read as plus twenty-two minutes.
I retrieved another water for Frig and then plopped down in my chair for a rest. Frig had been awake for thirty-two hours straight, and I could see the stress of the situation was taking its toll. Our sensors showed a lull in the ion wave activity ahead of us. We had crossed through the densest portion of the nebula.
There was still the possibility of the errant wave, but that possibility was now far lower than before. I grabbed Frig by the shoulder and told him to get some sleep. If another wave popped up that required his assistance, I would wake him immediately. He reluctantly stood and walked slowly to the bunk room. Only seconds passed before he was out cold.
For the next hour I sat in boredom, watching the occasional 5 or 6 magnitude wave pass by. We were now at plus twenty-seven minutes on our destination clock. I stood from my chair and began to gather and place the tools I would need for the change back to the original configuration. As I placed a Bilson wrench next to the deck grate, an alarm went off on my console. I rushed back to see what it was.
A 10.4 magnitude rogue wave was heading straight for us. I turned to run to wake Frig and was stopped in my tracks when the proximity sensor changed its tone. The wave was already upon us. I watched as Frig's algorithm attempted to compensate for the building charge. The graph quickly displayed 15 percent, then 20 percent, and then 25 percent. The speed indicator read an amazing 677 SOL. I had no way of manually controlling the compensation, so in a panic I did the only other thing I could think of. I slapped the all-stop button and shut down the ion engines. I then jumped to my feet and ran quickly back to the bunk room. Frig was fast asleep.
I tried repeatedly to wake him, but he was dead to the world. I then raced back to the console just as we exited the wave. I gave the engine a restart and quickly had the throttle at full. Our destination clock now read plus four minutes. And more importantly, we were still alive.
I let Frig sleep as the strength of the waves that followed continued to diminish. We had driven through the heart of the nebula, reaching a top speed of 677 SOL. In a little over sixteen hours, our journey would be ending—unless some other unforeseen event arose. When we had cleanly exited the nebula, I again shut down the engines and reconfigured them for regular operation. I was able to cut a full minute from my prior time, giving us a plus-five-minute buffer on the destination clock. I began to believe that we might just make it.
The flight had been peaceful for hours before Frig returned to the cockpit, a rested look
on his face. “Should I assume that the remainder of the nebula was benign, sir?”
I turned toward him in my chair. “You could assume that. I didn't wake you, did I?”
Frig responded after looking at his console. “I see that our arrival time has dropped from plus twenty-seven minutes down to plus five. Is there something I am missing, sir?”
I replied, “Nope, everything was peachy. You got a rest that you deserved. I handled the rest of the nebula.”
As Frig began to type on his console, he responded, “You do realize that I will be spending the next few hours going over the logs of what just transpired, don't you? I will know exactly what happened, and when it happened… sir.”
I turned with a grin on my face. “Then I won't give you any spoilers. Wouldn't want to ruin your fun!”
An engine alert popped up on Frig's console. The right alignment chamber was losing ions. Our speed was dropping, if only slightly. An adjustment to the destination time showed a deficit of three minutes. We were not going to make the delivery on time.
After several minutes pacing, Frig turned to me with a solution. Our repair room had an isolation chamber that would allow items to be taken down to near absolute zero. In deep space, any item attached to the hull had to be able to take extreme temperature fluctuations and continue to function. The isolation chamber allowed us to test those items before they were deployed.
“Sir, I believe we can place the cube in the isolation chamber and run the temperature to AZ. It might just slow the rate of the timer enough to give us a few more minutes. I am a little angry with myself for not having considered this earlier. It might have saved us more than an hour during our journey.”
The cube was placed in the isolation chamber and the temperature set to its lowest possible setting, absolute zero. We returned to the cockpit to wait out the remainder of our ride.
I said, “We've been blasting through our fuel for the last week. I'll be asking the admiral if he can top off the tank for us. Might get him to throw in some foodstuffs for us, as our stock is looking a little thin too.”
Frig had no comment as he continued to scan the logs of the activity he had missed while sleeping.
We were soon decelerating from our top sustained speed. As we dropped through the speed at which a broadcast would travel, I blasted out a message to the admiral: We were coming in hot with his data and there were only a few minutes to spare. He should have a team ready to take and decrypt the data, data that could possibly save many lives when the Milgari once again returned.
We pulled into the spaceport and the cube was turned over to the admiral's men. They rushed off toward a lab as the temperature of the cube began to climb. Ten minutes later, we got word of the successful data download. The admiral would have his reaction charge dissipater technology. Our chances against the Milgari had just improved.
I slapped Frig on the shoulder. “Secret missions aboard a Durian warship. Never thought I'd be a spy. I might have to start walking with a swagger.”