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Avalon, Part Two; Chapter Seven: The Descent
Posted By: Triad<m.eelkema@student.tudelft.nl>
Date: 12 October 2005, 9:58 am
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Avalon; Part Two: Qua Patet Universum
Chapter seven: The descent
0945 hours, September 22 2502 (military calendar), frigate The Flying Dutchman, edge of the Delta Cygni system
In merely two days the avid engineering- and repair-crews had given the Flying Dutchman a total make-over. In several lengthy EVA's a new layer of heat resistant coating was applied over the entire fuselage. The engineers also removed most of the missile-pods to further streamline the hull. In the meantime everything inside the ship was strapped down and secured to prevent the proverbial loose cannon on the deck.
Steven planned to enter the strange nebula at ten-hundred hours, which was just fifteen minutes away. He had just made his final round across his beloved frigate to make sure everything was perfectly squared away and performing one hundred percent. The oppressive atmosphere on the bridge was laden with tension, and the environmental control systems had a hard time preventing the air from reeking of sweat. Everyone realised it was going to be a bumpy ride, and no one knew what they could expect after the ride was over.
The Commander checked his systems on his view-screen and addressed Lieutenant Trucker: "Alvin, have you worked out a flight plan?"
"Yes, I have, Commander. The optimal approach vector is angled ninety degrees in respect to the plane tangent to the nebula; it's simply a course straight into the cloud. The nose will have to be pitched upward by thirty degrees to keep the bridge out of the heat."
"Very well. Move the ship away from Avalon and put some distance between us and the point of entry. We will need a large run to gather as much speed as we can."
The Flying Dutchman veered away from the nebula and halted on a spot twenty thousand kilometres from the edge of the cloud. It was at this point where the ship released a small distress buoy, programmed to emit a slipspace-signal after ten days of waiting in the coldness of space.
Steven pulled the straps tight which were holding him to his chair. "Alright people, let's get this show on the road. Miss Smith, stop the spinning compartments, fire up the reactor, and bring her up to one hundred and five percent. Mister Trucker, you may commence your run."
"Aye, Commander."
Every crewmember felt the acceleration by being pressed into their seats as the Flying Dutchman firmly increased her speed. The cameras on the hull that were looking backwards recorded two silver-white exhaust flames, both of them roughly half a boat's length long. The jets were so bright it wasn't possible to look at them for too long without suffering damage to the retina. With this unprecedented acceleration it didn't take long before the ship overtook her highest velocity ever recorded, and hurtled towards the nebula like an honour-crazed kamikaze.
Suddenly Pellerin appeared on his pedestal. "Commander, I must inform you, at the present acceleration we might not make it through! I strongly advice to increase our delta-v if possible or abort," the AI said calmly but seriously.
"Miss Smith, go to one hundred twenty on the reactor, now!" Steven ordered. "Reroute power from all nonessential systems to the cooling-system and the engines!"
Nerve-racking minutes passed, in which the Flying Dutchman gained even more momentum. Steven clenched his fists around the armrests of his chair. The ship was rapidly approaching the point of no return. If he would ever decide to abort the run, it would have to be now. "Is this enough, Pellerin?" the Commander anxiously inquired.
"Affirmative, Commander. It is also recommendable again to take the reactor back to one hundred percent."
Steven smiled. "You heard the man. Make it so, Christine."
"Sir, we're entering the outer layers in five," Trucker announced.
As the frigate passed through the outermost reaches of the nebula the crew registered small bumps, which reminded some of driving on the old dirt roads on their home planets. The shocks quickly grew in both intensity and frequency, making the Dutchman start to shake and buck like a thing possessed. To Steven it felt as if his ship had gotten stuck in a paint mixer. "How's she holding up, Smith?"
"Shaken, not stirred, Commander," the XO yelled.
The entire hull of the ship started to glow and became a six hundred meter long shining filament. On the bridge the crew could see chunks of abraded coating flying by. Some of the lumps from the nose were turned into plasma by the intense heat and glowed like bright blue sprites as they shot passed the bridge. The aft-cameras showed a hundred mile long indigo-coloured wake of ionized gas, as if the Dutchman ripped open the nebula's pink skin to leave a trail of royal blue blood.
Suddenly a loud bang shocked the crew. "Sir, we've lost some armour-plating from our port flank, section eight!" Smith shouted.
"Is the hull still intact?"
"Yes, Commander. I'm sealing off the section as a precaution."
Two more bangs followed in rapid succession. Christine was quick to report the damage: "We've lost two more pieces of plating, Commander! And the temperature of the heat shield is approaching critical levels!"
"Ventral thrusters are not responding! I'm having difficulty keeping her levelled, sir," Lieutenant Trucker intervened loudly.
Steven remained cool and in command. "Pellerin, assist mister Trucker. Miss Smith, shut all emergency doors and run all the reactor-coolant through the ventral heat-exchangers."
Another five harrowing minutes passed. As the frigate plunged through this seventh circle of hell the shaking and bucking grew ever more violent. The ship wasn't just dropping into a nebula, it was dropping into a potato peeler running at full speed. The Flying Dutchman turned into a burning snake, slowly but surely sloughing its skin. More and more plating got ripped of the hull, and the underlying fuselage glowed red hot, ready to cave in like a chocolate Easter bunny left standing in the sun.
Steven knew just as well as anyone else that a hull failure would be catastrophic in these incredible torrents. The heated gas wouldn't take long to burn through the bulkheads behind a breach, and the loss of aerodynamic smoothness would send them spinning out of control. If that would happen, the shear and bending stresses would tear the ship to shreds.
A horrifying moaning began to accompany the deafening din created by the shaking. The low-pitched groan sounded like a whale being kept in the cargo hold which was now screaming in agony. "Sir, the Titanium-A struts between the central nexus and the keel are starting to buckle. We can't take much more of this," the XO established resigned, but with despair seeping into her voice.
"We can't go back. Just a little while longer," the Commander yelled, trying not to be drowned out by the noise of the mangled ship.
Christine was losing her nerve. "A little while longer and we loose the ship! We are approaching our abort-limits, Commander!"
"The last available point to abort was fifty thousand miles back, Lieutenant. Now suck it up! She is a strong ship, she will hold on!" the Commander screamed, trying to put heart not just into his XO, but also himself. Steven wasn't a religious man, but in these circumstances he was very flexible. He closed his eyes and started to mumble: "Hail Mary, full of grace…"
Suddenly and without warning the gaseous wall in front of the bridge disappeared in an instant. The jolting stopped immediately, and the serene bridge bathed in eerie calmness and silence.
What Steven saw looking out the front window made him forget how to breathe, and all he could hear around him were jaws dropping in astonishment.
In the middle of the hollow spherical nebula shone a small but bright star. Around it revolved a single brown-red gas giant. In its turn a blue tinted moon circled around the planet. The peculiar solar system was an awesome sight, but it wasn't that what astounded Steven and his crew. No, it was the gigantic ring hovering gracefully between the planet and its natural satellite.
To be continued
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