Chapter 9: Nowhere

Darkness. Darkness and pain. Pain, and the salt, sweet taste of blood in his mouth. Blood, and the smell of death. Darkness!

For eons, there was nothing else. His heart beat once, beat again. Stopped... and beat. Stopped, and beat, and beat... Pain, searing through his chest. He coughed weakly, tasting blood.

Darkness, inside his head. Were his eyes open? He couldn't tell. His heart fluttered, and beat... , and beat twice again. Paused, and beat, stronger now. He had to open his eyes! Rand! He was Rand! Remember... Remember.

The jump. Skryben jumped. Distortion... The instruments, and the mind of Skryben, seeing distortion, but too late to stop the jump. Black hole? In a black hole? Was that why it was dark, inside his head and out?

Was it dark, outside as well as in? He must open his eyes. Yes, that's the way. Dark! Darkness outside his head, matching the darkness within.

'... Skryben. Lights... '

Nothing... No lights. No Skryben. Drifting? No, he could feel the floor, under him. He wasn't dead, then. He lay crumpled, sprawled out on the floor. He moved his hand, and felt something solid. The base of a console! The movement lifted him, slid him along the floor. There was no more than a trace of gravity.

'... Skryben! Skryben?... '

'... (pain)... '

'... Skryben! Need light. Bridge lights on... '

From somewhere, a faint glow. It faded, came again. Rand blinked. Yes, it was real. He raised his head, pushed himself up from the floor. His whole body floated upward, and he grasped at his console. He only weighed a few pounds. The drives must be almost dead. Inertial drive, that was what gave him weight inside Skryben. He reached out for Skryben's mind, found only more darkness. No instruments, no sensors. No response. Nothing!

'... SKRYBEN... '

'... (pain)... '

'... Skryben, report!... '

'... (pain)... Officer Korsun... Acting Captain Rand Korsun... '

For long moments, there was no other response. Rand pushed feebly at the keys of his console, but it was dead, too. Dead, like the screens, and the drives. Inside his mind, the link with Skryben strengthened, broke down, strengthened again. He forced his blurry thoughts to scan all of her systems.

Fusion engines. Those were his first concern. If those great cryogenic engines were dead, it was the end for all of them. Sooner, not later. In darkness; no heat, no air. Engine #1, no power. He could barely tell that it was there. Engine #2, the same. Engines one and two, both dead. Engine #3? Was that a trace of power, trickling out along its supercooled conduits?

'... Fusion engine #3. Report status... '

'... power minimal. Damage to power cables. Power not reaching capacitors... '

'... emergency circuits. Can you draw power for emergency circuits?... '

The answer in his mind was affirmative. He could feel relays clicking over, and the lights on the bridge brightened. No wonder Skryben's mind was in such terrible shape. Her battery backups must have been nearly drained. How long had they been drifting? He tried to read the time from Skryben...

'... time, Skryben?... '

Nothing...

'... damage control... Berniss?... ' He sought for her mind, any mind. Nothing! No trace of anyone, anyone at all. Was he the only one left alive? '... Skryben. Self repair circuits? Can you get us power?... '

'... self repair... Activating self repair. Main power conduits... Repairing. Internal vision systems... Repairing. External sensors... No response. Inertial drive... Repairing. Ion drive engines... No response... '

The list went on and on. Some functions responded, some did not. Rand tried to take a deeper breath of the musty air, and coughed. Pain wracked his chest, and he spat blood. His heart missed a beat, then caught and beat more strongly.

"Captain?" He peered around the bridge with its blank screens, blinking against bright spots that danced in front of his eyes. "Captain Jeryth?"

That huddled body, over by the far wall? No, that was First Officer Tshegh. He seemed to be breathing. Pilot Tasca's slender body lay curled tightly on the floor by her console. She stirred, whimpering, then lay still. No sign of Captain Jeryth. The lights on the bridge flickered, dying, then brightened once more. Almost back to normal, Rand thought.

'... inertial drive repaired. Power conduits to inertial drive repaired. Increase internal gravity?... '

'... gradually, please. Bring acceleration up to 0.20 standard... '

'... 0.200 standard gravities.' Skryben confirmed the order. '200 centimeters per second, per second. Exterior sensors still inoperative. No information on ship's surroundings... '

'... do not radiate energy. Repair visual systems, if possible, before using radar scan. What is location of Captain Jeryth?... '

'... Captain's quarters... No data from internal scan... '

'... location of Medic Morss?... '

'... shielded cubicle. No scan possible... Correction, compartment opening... '

'... Berniss? Are you all right?... ' He reached out through Skryben, searching for the taste of her thoughts.

'... Rand?... ' The contact was faint, but it was there, emerging gradually from the background clutter.'... what happened?... '

'... jumped out from too close to a center of mass. May have been a black hole in orbit around the star. Extensive damage. Skryben's in bad shape. Self repair activated. May be casualties. Are you all right?... '

'... will live. Give me a little time. Seven of us, in shielded compartment. Two dead, so far. Will check on crew members... '

'... repairs must be your first priority. Crew members will have to come second. Acting Captain Korsun, my orders... '

He caught a flare of rebellion, then it died with her cold realization that he was right. If Skryben died, they all died with her. He staggered erect, gliding across the bridge in the light gravity to bend over Tshegh. The First Officer was breathing, his chest heaving as he drew at the air in harsh gasps; that was good enough for right now. He already knew that Tasca was alive; he'd seen her move.

'... call me if there's anything urgent, ' he commanded Skryben. 'Or if any of the external visual scanners are repaired. I'll check on Captain Jeryth... '

It was hard for his feet to find a purchase on the smooth floor, but Rand managed to push open the massive door to the bridge. He turned to the right, toward Captain's quarters. The corridor lights were bright, back to normal, but the smell of death still seemed to hang in the air. He felt a trickle of sweat on his face, cooling as the ventilation system came up to speed. The door to Captain Jeryth's room was ajar.

"Captain? Captain Jeryth? Permission to enter?"

There was no answer, so Rand pushed the door open. The room was dark. '... lights on... '

"Captain Jeryth!" The attenuated golden body was sprawled untidily, halfway across the room. Rand guessed that he'd fallen, trying to reach the bed slab. The body was cold and rigid when he tried to turn it on its back. Dead?

No! One hand moved, the fingers slowly flexing. '... Skryben!... '

'... (place him on the... (bed)... Attach sensors)... '

The metallo organic body was a heavy load, even in the reduced gravity, but Rand managed. He placed the furry seeming ends of the sensor cables in the appropriate places; wrist, ankle, throat, watching them pulse as they fastened into place. Captain Jeryth's body gradually relaxed, the contorted limbs straightening.

'... (leave him... nothing more you can do... regeneration will take place)... '

'... how long?... '

'... (?)... visual scanners being repaired. Number seventy three operational... '

Rand abruptly turned away from the bed, his feet skidding on the smooth floor. He didn't even want to look at the body of the Captain. Would Skryben be able to revive it? It looked so dead! '... display visual input... '

Exterior scanner seventy three was located one third of the way back from Skryben's bow, covering about a ninety degree arc at right angles to her long axis. It showed nothing nearby, only the faint dustings of star clusters fading off into emptiness.

'... rotate clockwise, once per minute, one complete turn... '

The clusters streamed slowly past, right to left, painting themselves on the bridge's screens. The great wheel of Mother Galaxy edged into view, looking no different than it ever had. It passed on by, and he was once again looking at the emptiness between the star clusters. Where was the Imperial Cluster? The Vortigen Drift?

'... pitch the bow down ninety degrees, and repeat rotation. Record all input for study... ' These maneuvering commands were ones that he would normally give to the pilot on duty, but Skryben could carry them out herself in an emergency. Well, this was certainly an emergency. Once again, the star fields wheeled past.

'... displaying full globe... '

As he studied the display, Rand was aware of Skryben coming to life around him. Once more, he knew what time it was. Or did he? How long had it been since their jump? He was shocked to find that he couldn't tell! According to his perceptions, this was minute one, hour one, day one, of year one. All right, then, so be it. He would find out what the correct time was when they managed to return to a Fleet base. Now, where were they? Where was the Imperial Cluster?

Even as the question formed in his mind, a blinking light drew his attention to a distant cluster. That far away? Then, where was the Vortigen Drift?

Another blinking light, a full thirty degrees to Rimward. This was insane!

'... repeat identification!... '

The lights blinked out, came on again. A magnified view of that sector expanded on the screen. There was no doubt about it; he could recognize them easily. Skryben was correct in her identification.

'... approximate distances?... '

'... distance to Imperial Cluster, one hundred and thirty light years, plus or minus five light years. Distance to Vortigen Drift, twenty four light years, plus or minus two light years. Residual velocity, one fourth the speed of light, directly away from Vortigen Drift... '

Too far! Much too far, and where had they picked up all of that velocity? They dared not return to the Drift, not in their crippled condition, but they must find a star system where they could harvest the materials they needed to repair themselves.

'... nearest star cluster? Direction and distance?... '

Off to one side, roughly opposite the Imperial cluster, another blinking light appeared over a minor star cluster.

'... this one. About twenty light years... '

'... details?... '

Statistics marched in ordered array through his mind, and he shook his head in disgust. The cluster was small, and old. It had few dust clouds, and almost none of its suns were above K5. Small, red, and dim. Main sequence stars, but old, old! Only a slim chance for inhabited planets there.

'... next nearest cluster?... '

Another blinking light. Another minor cluster. North and Hubward.

'... about ninety seven light years. Plus or minus fifteen light years... '

'... forget about that one. All right, how long to reach the first one?... '

'... accelerating half way, then decelerating, at present acceleration of 0.200 standard gravities; twenty years, one hundred and sixty two days, ship time. At two standard gravities; six years, one hundred and ninety three days, ship time... '

'... no, on jump drive... '

'... no data. Drive not repaired. Capacitors not repaired. Power conduits not repaired... '

'... estimated time to reach full capacity?... '

'... with present crew, ' Rand became aware that Skryben's roster showed somewhat more than one third of the crew active. Berniss and her fellow medics had been reporting in as they worked on Skryben's repairs. 'Full capacity cannot be reached. Two fusion engines are dead, and must be replaced when we reach a Fleet shipyard. Also, two capacitors are unusable, damaged beyond onboard ability to repair. The third capacitor bank is also badly damaged, and may only be charged to one eightieth capacity. Fusion engine number three is essentially undamaged, but the power conduits from it to capacitor bank three will be able to carry only one percent of full generating capacity... '

More of Skryben's exterior scanners came on line, and his view of the star fields brightened. Rand gazed at the screens, unseeing, then roused himself to consider other aspects of their plight.

'... jump engines?... '

'... not known. Probability 97% that they are undamaged, but they must be tested... '

That made sense. Jump engines were simple machines. There was little that could go wrong with them, as long as they sustained no physical damage.

'... maximum jump capacity, assuming best repair probabilities?... '

'... eight one thousandths of a light year, jumping every thirty seven and one half minutes... '

About three light days, and that was the maximum estimate! Not even an estimate, really. More like a bad guess. They'd be lucky if they could make two thirds of that at twice the interval, at least at first.

"Third Shift Pilot Homr An Inpi reporting, sir."

While he'd been lost in thought, Tshegh had been carried out, and Pilot Tasca helped from the bridge. Rand tried to smile a welcome.

"Take the pilot's console, Homr, and check out its circuits. You look better than I would have expected. As you have probably guessed, we're in deep trouble."

"I sure must look better than I feel, but that isn't saying much. When haven't we been in trouble, this trip? Where are we, and what's the situation? Just what did happen, back there?"

"Well, we don't have to worry about the Vortigen ships following us, that's for sure. The best I can figure, we must have brushed close to a black hole, just as we jumped. It's never been done before, or if it has, nobody's ever lived through it. We did live to tell about it, so far anyway, but the slingshot effect, or whatever you want to call it, threw us about twenty five or thirty light years, all in one jump. In the wrong direction, at that."

"The wrong way?..."

"Almost exactly the wrong way. If it had sent us the other way, we'd be halfway home. There's another star cluster, on out beyond us, but it's twenty two light years off. Unless we can jump, it'd take us about six and a half years to get there at two standard gravities, ship time. About twenty six years, real time. Time dilation factor about six point seven five, at turnover. Far too late for us to do anyone any good, with the information they sent us out after."

"The jump drive's not working." Homr's words were a statement, not a question.