The ship spiralled out of control, her speed increasing as she broke through the thin atmosphere of the planet. The Wainwright was shaped somewhat like a blunted arrowhead, though the shape was broken by a multitude of sensor arrays, communication relays and other equipment, much of which was shearing off as the craft entered the upper atmosphere of the as-yet unnamed planet.
The bridge of the Wainwright was ordinarily a place of organised activity, productive chatter, and the hum of advanced electronics. On this occasion, however, the large semi-circular room was in chaos as the crew struggled to maintain what little control they had of themselves, their ship and the situation. Captain Kate Malory was fastened into the command chair which was on a raised dais at the flat-backed rear of the bridge, from which she could observe the activity of the five other crew members, their stations arranged in a semi-circle in front and below her. The entire curved forward wall was formed of high-density heat and impact resistant glass, certain areas of which had holographic screens fitted, displaying various aspects of the ship’s status, as well as external views provided by the hull cameras. Such was the damage inflicted thus far that the majority of the screens were not displaying any useful information, and only the lower-hull camera was transmitting, showing a dizzying view of the upper atmosphere.
Malory held on to the arms of the command chair tightly, knuckles whitening and her forearm muscles visibly tensing beneath the tight blue uniform top. “Status report!”
In well-practiced fashion the crew reported in turn from their stations.
Lt Damien Stark. “Helm remains unresponsive ma’am, navigation array damaged but we are heading for a large body of water.” That last, at least, was good news.
Engineering Officer Teri DeMain. “Captain, the shielding is gone, some heat damage to the outer hull, but thankfully the inner heat shielding has held up remarkably well. We should manage planetfall without too much trouble.” Malory couldn’t help but smile. DeMain’s father was the engineer responsible for designing and implementing the double-shielding technology for the Taipan class exploratory vessels.
Science Officer Brian Crowley. “The planetary surface does appear to be capable of supporting life, with a fairly similar water/land ratio to that of the Earth. Signs of some small indigenous life but no obvious indications of organised society. Unable to ascertain anything further as the sensor arrays are quite badly damaged.”
Security Officer Simeon Waite. “Hand-held weaponry available and fully charged Captain. Ship’s weapons array gone, though we are still capable of initiating manual targeting systems. Torpedo bays gone.” Typically terse and to the point. Malory didn’t care for Waite but couldn’t deny his efficiency and capability.
Unfortunately.
Medical Officer Fred Faraday. “We are still alive Captain, which is a bonus. Medical and food supplies should see us through for several months, minimal damage to med-bay, food stores and water reclamation.” Malory had been trying not to think about the prospect of surviving on the planet for an extended period, needing to focus on the immediate situation. The rest of the crew had clearly been doing the same and they all glanced nervously in the doctor’s direction as he spoke.
In the handful of minutes it had taken the crew to yell their reports, the Wainwright had broken cloud cover and the body of water that would be their landing strip was suddenly revealed.
“Stark, attempt to initiate reverse thrust. Full power if we have it. Teri, give him a hand please.” She had felt it hadn’t been worth attempting while in the upper atmosphere and now it seemed barely possible but she had to try, had to achieve some kind of controlled landing.
With a stereo “Aye Captain”, the two officers got to work, neither of them needing to leave their seats which both appreciated as the ship was still lurching treacherously.
The lake loomed large in the window and all but the two frantically working crewmen gripped their chairs, grimly accepting whatever fate the next few minutes or so would bring them. With a whoop of surprised relief, Stark swept his left hand over a touch panel and the Wainwright began to stabilise, the blunted nose lifting slightly, the lake now occupying marginally less of the screen. Teri’s thin, long-fingered pianist’s hands flew over her touch panel as the sound of the thrusters suddenly joined the noises of chaos in the bridge and their descent regained a semblance of control just moments too late. The water of the lake became violently disturbed as the Wainwright neared its surface.
“BRACE FOR IMPACT!”
And all was black…
The Log of the Wainwright, Taipan Class planetary exploration vessel PE-1608-ISD, location as recorded.
Planetfall zero. Captain Kate Malory recording.
Remarkably, all crew have survived the emergency landing on planetary body 4 in sector JB05017539. Having successfully achieved a relatively safe water landing it is now time to assess our chances of survival and potential rescue. As expected, long range sensor arrays are fried. This means, of course, that we are unable to remotely assess beyond our immediate surroundings or scan for rescue vessels.
Fortunately, we are able to transmit via the long range transmitter module utilising cannibalised parts from the damaged sensor arrays.
Officer DeMain is investigating possible causes for our sudden loss of control and I fear that I may have to consider the possibility of sabotage - that one of my crew is responsible for our current predicament. I don’t know who to trust.
Night is falling. I hope I manage to sleep better here than in recent days.
This log is being transmitted under encryption code EM01.
Captain Malory stretched, thankful for the fact that at least some of the home comforts had survived the crash. She made for the shower cubicle in the corner of her quarters, stripping the night clothes from her tall muscular body, but not quite succeeding in stripping herself of the sense of dread she had been left with by unremembered dreams. She massaged shampoo into her long auburn hair and considered the fact that such luxury could no longer be taken for granted. Toiletry and other supplies had been provided for a fixed-length mission, allowing some extra for unexpected delays but also taking into account use of stasis tubes during travel. Dare she authorise stasis in order to prolong supplies? There were surely too many variables to make this a viable option at present.
A touch of a panel changed the shower cubicle into a full-body drier, warm air pulsing around her, bringing memories of warm summer afternoons with her husband back on Earth. These once welcome images were now tempered by melancholy. Would any of them see their loved ones again?
Malory had ordered a briefing in the bridge at 0700 ship-time. She made her way down the short corridor from her quarters fifteen minutes early, a cup of hot coffee in one hand, her ever-present touchpad in the other. Faraday and DeMain had apparently decided that the situation no longer warranted their usual discretion and had arrived together. They sat in the briefing lounge to the side of the command area, arms wrapped around each other in a tender half-embrace that, in the circumstances, Malory found almost heart-breaking. Faraday was a handsome man, in a classic 20th Century Hollywood way - chiselled jaw, piercing blue eyes and messy brown hair that probably took a lot of time to get to just the right degree of dishevelled. By contrast, Teri DeMain was small, slightly heavier than her height warranted and somewhat plain. Her personality and love of life made up for these perceived shortcomings and Malory considered them an odd but somehow suited couple. Their relationship was by no means a secret, and had begun back on Earth, but their sense of duty and decorum had previously meant that they kept any outward show of affection private. Protocol demanded they be assigned separate quarters for the mission, but Captain Malory had long held this to be an outdated rule and turned a blind eye to the fact that they had an unused cabin on board the ship.
Stark and Waite were also at the briefing table, each cradling their own favoured early morning wake-up drink. Stark was a stocky older man; at fifty-two one of the oldest serving mission-ready crew members in the service. His short-cropped hair had once been red in colour, belying his Scottish origins, but was now leaning more heavily toward grey. Pale blue irises cut through the two black eyes he had received courtesy of his console in the crash landing.
Waite sat straight-backed and immaculately groomed as always. If artificial intelligence had ever got further than science fiction she would have sworn the tall, dark and thoroughly arrogant security officer was an android. As Crowley entered the room just behind the captain, Waite cast a glance first at him, then Malory, then around the rest of his colleagues. His brow furrowed momentarily and Malory barely registered it – had her Security Officer arrived at the same conclusion as her regarding sabotage? She would not have been surprised. If he had, however, and was, like her, attempting to decide who among them would be capable of such an act, then that would make her least favourite crew member the only one she could trust.
Crowley threw himself down on a chair between Waite and DeMain, muttering apologies, despite the fact that the time was not yet seven. Crowley was a typical Science Officer, often found at his computer. Constant reading had led to his requiring corrective lens insertion, his eyes gaining a strange yellowish glow around the pupils due to the relatively new adaptive focus technology. He was a fairly shy man, somewhat overweight and balding, despite only being in his thirties. He hated attention and Malory knew he would be mortified to be the last member of the crew to arrive.
Leaning against the dais that supported the command chair and formed one wall of the briefing lounge, Captain Malory smiled at her crew, in what she had intended to be an encouraging gesture. Tired, bruised, and battered, they each attempted to return the smile. Only Teri succeeded in anything other than a vague twitching of the lips. Bless you Teri, she thought, hoping against hope that it wasn’t the engineer who had potentially doomed them to a lifetime in exile. “Thanks guys,” she began, choosing an informal approach – they were all in this together after all. “I’ll start by welcoming you all to
JB05017539-04. If anyone comes up with a more apt name, please let me know - Shithole, Arse-end of the Universe or Hell will not be considered.” A murmur of gentle laughter greeted her attempt at humour. “We are, as I’m sure you are all well aware, anchored in a large body of water, with rocky outcroppings fore and what looks to be grassland aft. I propose that today’s goals should include an attempt to get the Wainwright and/or ourselves to the shore. Luckily, we are not too far from either landmass. The main priority, though, needs to be a survey of the immediate area, which should include this lake initially, as we don’t want to be messing around trying to guide the Wainwright to shore if we don’t know what’s in there with us and what environmental risks might be present – I’m thinking reefs, sandbanks or whatever.” She paused to gulp a mouthful of bitter coffee. “Any thoughts?”
Stark was the first to speak. “We have, according to initial diagnostic sweeps, still got working manoeuvring thrusters. With a delicate touch we should be able to get to land relatively painlessly.”
DeMain chimed in at that point. “The hull is largely intact and should survive the short trip, even if we were to run aground or hit some outcrops.”
Malory nodded. “I appreciate that Teri, but would still prefer to check out the lakebed before attempting any manoeuvring, delicate or otherwise.” She raised her cup in Crowley’s direction. “Anything on indigenous water life?”