Failure to Compute

Posted on Wed 2nd Aug, 2017 @ 11:03am by Colonel Horatio Drake & Commander Zachary Hunt

534 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: For The Uniform
Location: USS Bretagne: Deck 7, Main Engineering
Timeline: MD-01: 2100 Hours

"Right, that's environmental controls coming back online in three... two... one" Drake could feel the pull of the artificial gravity as his body, already lying on the floor, got sucked downwards.

"Environmentals?" He asked.

"20.5% Oxygen, 79% Nitrogen. Pretty similar to normal air, should be alright. Unless it's wrong again," Hunt said, raising a half smile.

Cautiously Drake released the magnetic locks on the side of his helmet and pulled it off quickly - if there was no breathable air and the tricorder had been lying, a slow removal of the helmet would make no difference whatsoever. The air was breathable, albeit rather stale smelling... like the smell of something metal, in a museum. He nodded towards Hunt.

Hunt waited for a few seconds before taking his own helmet off. Drake was still alive and well, which meant the tricorder was telling the truth. He took a breath of the fresh air and turned towards Drake.

"I've managed to get some power to the main computer library so we should be able to access logs. I've also got partial sensors, both external and internal and partial inertial dampeners, up and running. For the time being, that's it. Although, dare I say, I can probably get the targetting scanners back online... but weapons are a different story." Drake sniggered to himself, knowing it would be an inside joke. On these older ships targetting scanners were a completely different system from weapons and not a sub-system. The thought process behind it was that they could operate independently from the power systems that weapons use. The rationale was flawed though - as having another primary system to fund meant that other systems got less in critical situations. It also meant that, routinely, after weapons were knocked out a ship would still be able to target... something utterly pointless and rectified during the first refit of the Miranda Class.

"How did you do with the engines?"

"I've got secondary power to the sub-systems but I think I've been locked out from the Bridge. We will probably have to go there to sort it," Hunt said quickly.

"The Bridge?" A shiver run down his spine. The face of the crewman, slouched in the corridor, flashed vividly into his mind. His face, drained of all blood, stared at him like some sort of warning... a beacon... as if placed by the docking port to warn off others from going further.

Suddenly the ship lurched, Drake could feel the deck slipping from under his feet and tried to hold his balance but he knew the gesture was futile. Instinctively he let go of his helmet and rifle and tried to get his hands to his left, in an effort to cushion the blow. It was to no avail, he could feel his body lifting up as the inertial dampeners failed to compensate for the sudden and extreme force they were being subjected to. For a split second he could see the console and knew it was going to make contact to his head. There was no pain as he body fell to the floor, just darkness swarming his vision and a sense of dread filling his stomach. His world went black.

 

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