The Space Drain

By Chris Ridgeon

This is a sequel to the novel MK121 and is a tale of a small group of space faring individuals who, having survived a major space conflagration, fiind themselves involved with a phenomenon which had been ony a theory but which now is very real.  Trapped in an area of space that nobody has ever returned from before, there only hope of salvat

• Language: English
• Publisher: Upfront
• Release date: Oct 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781784569440

Book preview

Chapter 1

HOME OR AWAY

Four hours became six hours, became eight hours, became unremitting boredom as the remaining crew of the twisted remains of the space cruiser MK121 waited to be rescued. Even eating a microwaved meal had become a highlight; not than anyone was really hungry but it was something to do. Each of the three surviving crew members had had plenty of time to nurse their thoughts and emotions for there was little else to occupy them. The mangled and mauled vessel hung on to its essential framework even though only decks six, seven and eight were anywhere near habitable and then on emergency power only. The only way between the decks was via the stairwells and airlocks. In the irradiated remains of the engine room the two engines clung to the vessel by the flimsy threads of their connecting conduits and the one remaining antimatter nest was but a hair’s breadth of becoming detached and sending the ship and its occupants to an eternal destination. On the Lander deck, shuttlebug 2 lay on its side, heavily scored by falling roof beams and trapped beneath a deck strut, but essentially still intact. The bodies of the Lander controller and one of his technicians still lay trapped by the girder structure that had prevented them being sucked out into space. Save for the legend MK121 still visible on the stern, there was little left to identify the ship; powerless, rudderless, and on emergency life support only.

Although survival was the name of the game, acting Captain Commander Rachenda Lindberg felt trapped by her surroundings and by the feeling that a large part of her world had been cruelly ripped away from her and all that was left was a shell of her former being which mirrored the condition of her surroundings. It was true that a degree of good fortune had permitted her and her two fellow crew members to exist beyond what could have been reasonably expected, given the state of the MK121, but without her Captain and soul mate, Drake Featherstone, that very existence seemed almost meaningless. As she looked around her through darkened, tensioned eyes, she felt guilty for harbouring internal wishes that she too had perished with a large proportion of the crew. Yet a tiny part of her refused to believe that Featherstone was dead even though her logical self kept telling her so. A smell of antiseptic spray fused with stale oxygen and the lingering odour of the chicken tikka that she had just eaten permeated the bridge. To her left Gideon Bearman was sipping an energy drink held in one hand and idly fiddling with his computer touch panel with the other. As usual, he said very little. Behind her Teri Soniba was attempting to clean the surface of the charred and lifeless communications console with one hand whilst keeping the other one on her lap.

Teri, said Lindberg, why don’t you leave that and come and sit at the second officer’s station? You’re wasting your time cleaning that.

OK, but we seem to have time to waste and it is something to do. My wrist is getting painful again. I think I will put another paradeine patch on, she said.

Yes, good idea, said Lindberg. We really need to get that wrist seen to as soon as possible although I doubt the Archimedes has much in the way of medical facilities. I hope she will be with us tomorrow - this waiting around and listening for every crunch or rumble is driving me mad. Anyway, why are we doing this now?

Doing what? asked Bearman.

Staying on board. Now the Captain has gone we could get into a lifepod and be rescued the same as the others who got away.

It is a valid point, Commander, but it is not an option for me. Being cooped up in a space about 4 metres by 3 metres, barely able to stand up, nowhere to lie down, no privacy and just sitting and waiting, would be purgatory to me. I am claustrophobic. You go if you want to but I will take my chances on the ship.

Bearman made the lifepod prospect so unappealing that Lindberg realised that she too would rather stay on board the MK121 even if any moment might be their last. The thought that there would be no privacy even for basic bodily functions yet alone an opportunity to lie down to sleep, disturbed her. It would have been different if Drake were with me, she thought.

What would you like to do, Teri? she said to Soniba.

I don’t really mind but whatever it is I am not doing it alone, she said.

In that case, we will stay. I think I will freshen up and then try and get some sleep. I will be in my cabin. Please come and get me if anything changes.

OK, Commander, said Bearman.

Uhmm, maybe I will do the same if that’s alright with you, Mister Bearman? said Soniba, cradling her broken wrist.

You OK to hold the fort, Bear? said Lindberg.

Of course, said Bearman. He was tempted to say that his ancestors were more used to attacking forts than holding them but considered that wit would be inappropriate. In any case, he was quite happy with his own company and with his own thoughts.

Alone on the bridge, Bearman checked and double-checked their status as best he could with the limited computer routines still operational. The emergency life support package was providing them with artificial gravity, oxygen, heat, light and power and all the level indicators showed normal readings. There was enough life support for a further 29 days on current usage which was more than enough to last them until they were rescued. The course of the MK121 that they had advised Admiral Kerov of a few hours earlier was still the same but as he checked the speed he thought he detected a slight increase and he initiated an alert indicator on his computer for one hour’s time to check again. As he thought about their impending rescue by the cargo ship Archimedes and all that that would entail without the ability to dock with her, there was an increasing judder which made his hands shake as he held the arms of his chair. The judder became a definite shake and the whole ship trembled. Space turbulence, he thought to himself, and hoped it would not get any worse. In their current fragile condition any undue vibration was not good news. The remaining antimatter nest was reported to be hanging on by its safety valves only and the engines were barely secure. Any movement that put a strain on either of the connections could drag them off their mountings and release antimatter which would end their tenuous existence. The space turbulence subsided after a minute or so and Bearman eased back into his chair. Staring ahead at the main viewer screen he saw a pin point of light curving away from the ship. As he watched it disappear into the blackness he was sure that he could see not one but two lights. He instructed the computer to replay the image he had just witnessed and paused it at various stages of its 10 second appearance. It’s a lifepod, he thought to himself and they are its marker lights. Surely Lindberg and Soniba had not decided to abandon the ship now without telling him, he thought. But even as he thought it, he was certain that they would not have done so. He contemplated going to Lindberg’s cabin just to be sure but thought better of it, fearing that she might think him weak. It would not be good for his warrior image. The vibration dropped away completely but it had been violent enough to disturb Lindberg’s fretful sleep and minutes later she appeared at the doorway of the bridge having changed into a clean uniform and adjusted her hair and make-up. Cleanliness and personal hygiene were paramount in Lindberg’s rationale, almost to the point of being obsessional. Already she missed the fact that emergency life support did not include water for showers or enough power avenues to operate the laundry closet in her cabin. The uniform she was now wearing would have to last her until they were rescued.

What was it, Bear? she asked.

Space turbulence, I believe, said Bearman, but there is something that you should know, Commander.

And that is? she questioned.

A lifepod has just been launched or launched itself from us. I can show you on the replay. He proceeded to instruct his computer accordingly.

Drake? yelled Lindberg, as she watched the replay. It must be!

I know we all want that to be the case but I must caution you before you get too excited. It is possible that the vibration shook the pod loose. Perhaps the mountings around it were shot away or at least severely weakened and the pod came adrift. There may be nobody in it. And, in any event, if the Captain were able to take refuge in a lifepod whilst we tackled the torpedo, why did he not get out again afterwards or, at the very least, contact you or me on our communicators.

But how come the marker lights on the lifepod are on if it was not launched by somebody? said Lindberg, already feeling her initial euphoria waning slightly as she considered the wisdom of Bearman’s words. The shaking had been quite intense for a few seconds.

They are automatic, Commander. Once the pod leaves its berth, all on-board systems are activated.

Did it come from the port or starboard side? Can you tell?

Definitely the port side, said Bearman.

Lindberg shook her head. During her search of the ship, she had not examined all the remaining lifepods to see if any were occupied and she now bitterly regretted not doing so.

Can we contact it? she said, though even as the words left her lips she knew that without their communications system that was going to be unlikely.

We were fortunate that the PCU was able to get through to Admiral Kerov, said Bearman, but it will not be able to contact a lifepod whose communication is restricted to the emergency frequencies at the far end of the cyspace spectrum. Only a full range communications console would be able to detect distress transmissions and we no longer have that. A PCU is what it is – a personal communications unit.

Uhmm, I think I should report it to Admiral Kerov straight away, she said.

That would be a wise thing to do but possibly not at this moment. It is 0130hrs in Houston and I suspect that he will be asleep. There is not a lot he can do about it this minute.

He could get on to the tracking people and they could try to contact it and let us know, she said, anxious to know if her glimmer of hope was misplaced.

Very well, Commander. As you see fit, said Bearman.

She waited 20 minutes but the time passed so slowly that Lindberg finally decided to try and contact the Admiral whom, she was sure, would not mind being woken up with the news. Her hands were trembling as she waited for the call to go through. A bleary eyed and dishevelled face appeared on her PCU screen.

Commander Lindberg, said Kerov. What’s up? Has your situation deteriorated?

No, not really, Admiral, and I am sorry to disturb you, but I thought you should know that a lifepod has jettisoned from the MK121 just under an hour ago. We cannot tell which deck it came from and there may not be anyone aboard. We had just been through a couple of minutes of some kind of space turbulence and that might have a bearing on the situation.

I see, said Kerov. Would I be right in thinking that you hope that it is Captain Featherstone in that lifepod?

It is a possibility, although, to use one of his many phrases, I am probably clutching at straws.

Uhmm, said Kerov, trying to galvanise his thoughts after being woken from his slumbers, Perhaps it would be wise not to jump to any conclusions. I would think the chances that he is on board that lifepod are slim given that he has not communicated with you and he has had well over twelve hours to launch it. Why would he wait so long?

Yes, I know, Sir, said Lindberg, but she could not quite let it go. Perhaps his communicator was inoperative and the launch mechanism was faulty.

"Well, speculation will not bring us to any definite conclusions, Commander. Leave it with me. I will contact the deep space tracking people and see if they can pick up the distress beacon and find out if anyone is on board. That may take a little time."

Understand, Sir. I’ll await your call, said Lindberg, and the ‘transmission ended’ sign appeared on her screen.

She settled into her seat, casting a longing glance in the direction of the Captain’s chair bereft of its rightful owner. She could not help but harbour an invigorated hope that he might not be lost after all. I will give up my career, I will marry him, I will care for him if he’s injured, I will have as many kids as he wants, I won’t stop him pursuing his space ambitions, I will do anything he wants if only he is still alive and comes back to me, she said silently to herself. Bearman turned to look at her but said nothing. He turned back to face the main viewing screen ahead of him. Lindberg too sat staring at the main screen watching the distant stars drifting across their field of vision. They were both so deep in thought that the sound of the bridge door opening startled them. It was Soniba.

I couldn’t really sleep, said Soniba, adrenalin or something, and we were shaking weren’t we? I didn’t dream that did I?

No, you didn’t dream it. Some kind of space turbulence we reckon, said Lindberg. There is something else you should know, though. A lifepod was launched or launched itself from our port side during the turbulence. Obviously we cannot contact it without your communications panel.

Do you think it’s the Captain? said Soniba.

Lindberg did not need to answer – her face said it all.

Have you advised Houston on the PCU? asked Soniba – communications were her forte.

Yes, I have told Admiral Kerov.

I don’t suppose he gave you any update on our rescue?

No, but he did promise me he would get on to the deep space tracking people to try and make contact with that lifepod. The much needed rescue had taken second place in Lindberg’s thinking; her greater need being to know if Drake were possibly still alive.

After a few minutes silence, Lindberg looked over to the battle controller’s station. Bearman was no longer idly fiddling with his touch panel – he was actively engaged in something.

Bear, what are you doing?

I am attempting, Commander, with the limited routines available on my console, to prove or disprove the idea that the lifepod shook itself loose.

How? she asked.

I am looking through the replay of when I first picked up the lights of the lifepod and by freeze-frame intervals trying to work out the speed and distance from us and to project that back to the point at which it left the ship. If it was launched in the normal way, there is a small explosive charge that propels it clear of the ship and gives it some velocity to try and ensure survival. If it shook loose then it would have a lot less momentum.

Bear, you are a genius, said Lindberg, enthusiastically.

My calculations may not confirm what you want to hear and they may not be conclusive since the turbulence may have had an effect on the trajectory and the speed, he said.

How long will it take before you can tell me something? asked Lindberg.

Minutes probably but there is something else which is troubling me, he said.

Oh, and what is that? asked Lindberg.

I am not sure how or why, but our speed is increasing.

How can that be when we have no engines?

It must be some kind of gravitational pull but I don’t know what from, he said.

The Amon system was the nearest to us and that is light years away now, said Lindberg.

Exactly, said Bearman, but, nevertheless, we are now travelling at 200K although our course has not altered. He was still manipulating his touch panel as he spoke.

I don’t like the sound of that! said Soniba.

No, but we are powerless to stop it, said Lindberg, and it should not affect the rescue as we are way below the space-time threshold so the Archimedes will still find us.

They may or may not, said Bearman. Whilst we have been talking we have gained another 100K and we are speeding up all the time.

Can we have a look at the last space chart, albeit not in live mode?

I have checked and double-checked it, Commander. There is nothing shown anywhere near us that could exert a gravity pull such as this.

Perhaps we should get into a lifepod after all, said Soniba.

And perhaps not. Whatever is producing that pull out there will have the same effect on a lifepod, said Lindberg.

I agree, said Bearman and went on to say, we are now approaching 400K and increasing by about 100K per minute. Without a deflector shield, even a piece of rock a centimetre across could destroy us if we hit it. At the current rate of acceleration we will reach the space-time threshold in less than 2 hours; if we last that long. The tone of his voice never changed, be it good news, bad news or a simple courtesy remark.

If we cross the space-time threshold without the magnatomic envelope in place we risk a time warp, said Lindberg, anxiously.

Uhmm, said Bearman. He too looked slightly concerned but otherwise gave away little in the way of emotion. I think perhaps you should contact Kerov again to update him – whilst we still can.

Yes, I will do. Have you got anywhere with your calculations on the lifepod?

I have just finished, he said. I cannot be certain since the space turbulence may have had an acceleration effect on the pod and I have had to estimate some of the variable factors but it is my opinion that an explosive launch charge propelled it away from us, judging by its speed when I first saw it. However…

It is Drake! interrupted Lindberg.

"Again I would caution your optimism, Commander. I was about to say that a more pressing concern is our continued acceleration and the effect this gravitational pull may have on our cyspace communication ability.

As Lindberg fumbled for the PCU which she had discarded on the console next to her, hands trembling, Soniba almost yelled out:

The stars! They are all gone!

The normal view of pinpoints of light that denoted the rest of the galaxy had disappeared and there was now only a thick black space soup outside the vessel which no light was able to penetrate.

Oh my God, said Lindberg. What’s happening, Bear?

Not something I have experienced before, he said.

Are we being sucked into a black hole? said Lindberg, having keyed in the connect call routine for Admiral Kerov.

I do not believe so, Commander, he said. Everything I have read about black holes tells me that there would be an increase in pressure which builds and eventually crushes anything that enters it. Without our normal sensors I cannot tell what the external pressure is but, if it had increased, some of our damaged framework would already be collapsing and we would have heard it.

I am not getting a signal on the PCU, said Lindberg, a definite panic in her voice.

Somehow that does not surprise me, said Bearman.

If it is not a black hole then what else could it be, Mister Bearman? said Soniba.

Both Lindberg and Soniba relied on Bearman’s years of experience and breadth of knowledge in the space environment and had always looked to him to provide answers. He seldom disappointed.

There is a theory I have heard about; a possible phenomenon called a space drain which is a plane of existence where conventional space and time do not exist. The theory goes that if you get sucked into this drain, which has only one way in or out, you eventually reach a pool of some kind of non-space where known dimensions do not apply. The theory has been used to try and explain why some ships and probes have simply disappeared over the years but, like I said, it is totally unproven.

And presumably nothing has ever returned from this space drain? said Lindberg.

That’s why it is only a theory, was his answer.

Chapter 2

THE FOGGY POOL

The hapless and helpless MK121 careered on through the black, light consuming void at increasing speed as a gravitational force sucked it towards its ultimate unknown destination. Aboard, its three weary occupants watched and waited for whatever fate was to befall them.

Can you tell what our speed is now, Mister Bearman? said Lindberg, reverting to official protocol.

No, Commander, said Bearman, equally officially, as we no longer have any frame of reference. But the ship appears to be secure in that there has obviously not been any pressure increase to damage us and whatever speed we are doing is not having any adverse effect.

Are we going into this big pool that you mentioned, Mister Bearman? said Soniba.

Possibly, but it is only a theory and we might be way off the mark, he said.

But, if the theory is correct, we are all going to die in this pool as, without engines, there is no way out, she said, almost tearfully. Haven’t we been through enough?

Bearman ignored her last remark. The prospect of being trapped inside a space and time void waiting for their life support to run out was not appetising.

I have an idea! said Lindberg.

The other two turned to face her; any ideas were better than waiting for an unknown fate.

The shuttlebug, number two, appeared to be serviceable, even though it is on its side and is trapped by a big girder. If we could find some cutting equipment we could cut through the girder that is jamming it down, release it and use it to escape, she said.

Yes, said Soniba, excitedly, and we could use its comms console to contact Space Force and possibly that lifepod! Why didn’t we think of that before?

Uhmm, said Bearman, let me think about that one.

Ok, I know it will not be simple but it’s worth a try, said Lindberg, feeling almost irritated by the fear that the big Indian was about to dash her hopes. Her thoughts were focused on one thing: to get out of whatever area of space they were trapped in and to find Drake. She