The silver fleet the com.., p.141
The Silver Fleet: The Complete Series, page 141
And, besides that, what had started out as an almost indiscernible vibration had slowly grown to an all-pervading droning sound as the size of the projectiles increased and Faulkner found himself looking to Lieutenant McNeill as he attempted to manage the immediate threat.
Faulkner had expected him to activate their point capabilities sooner, but the young lieutenant clearly had other ideas.
Eventually, Faulkner could put it off no longer.
“What’s happening with the lasers?” he snapped.
“We’re holding off on them for the time being,” Whaites said, looking pointedly at McNeill. “All we need is the go ahead.”
Schwartz didn’t say anything, her attention fixed on the state of the shields.
“We’ve got a long road ahead of us,” McNeill reflected. “We should start as we mean to go on.”
In fact, they were fifteen minutes in before Renheim was rocked by a major impact. Faulkner’s eyes went straight to the shield read-out which was hovering between fifty-four- and fifty-six percent efficiency.
“Is there any way we can boost these things,” he said, feeling suddenly exposed.
He’d never liked the idea of shields in the first place. Give him solid plate steel any day.
“We could,” Schwartz said. “But it wouldn’t do us much good.”
“How do you reckon that?”
“Once they’re down to thirty percent they’re going to be offering us only minimal protection and once we get closer to the point of impact, the projectiles are only going to get bigger. We’ve still got a long way to go, sir.”
As if to illustrate her point, they were subjected to a succession of much larger impacts. Then, all across the board, they were getting notification of minor hull breaches.
“We’re going to have to do something,” Faulkner said.
“Lieutenant,” Schwartz was looking directly at McNeill now. “I know we’re ahead of schedule but we’re taking significant damage here.”
McNeill held up a hand for calm, his eyes still fixed on his screens. “I may have something for you in a few moments, ma’am.”
Faulkner and Schwartz exchanged glances. They were no doubt thinking the same thing.
They’d over played their hand.
A series of three massive detonations rippled through the ship but McNeill feigned not to hear. Then, after a few more data entries, he looked up, surprised to see that they were all looking at him.
“Sorry,” he said. “But I think I’ve worked it out now. Could we please give the notification for rapid acceleration.”
The siren began sounding all over the ship and Faulkner watched as the crew moved to their crash chairs and started fiddling with their restraints. This kind of evasion strategy was new to him and he couldn’t say that he enjoyed surrendering direct control of the ship. But what alternative did he have? He couldn’t begin to understand the practicalities of programming trajectories and the physics of fast curves, the very things which would allow them to anticipate and avoid impacts immediately before they occurred.
Faulkner went back to the command chair and started strapping himself in.
“Okay, we have three major targets incoming,” comms announced.
“How long?”
“Less than forty seconds.”
“Can we avoid them?”
“Not at such short notice,” McNeill said. “Though we may not need to.”
Faulkner arched his eyebrows. “Come again?”
“Hopefully, if we can attain enough forward thrust, I hope to be able to fly between them.”
Faulkner paused in checking his chest harness.
Fly between them?
“Yep,” McNeill was saying. “I’m just going to have to wing it.”
The whole ship surged as the two massive reactors threw them forward and for a second everything went black. When Faulkner’s head did eventually clear he was aware of a vast weight pinning him to his seat, making it difficult to breathe.
Then, just as he was getting used to this, the whole ship heaved to one side, throwing him against his restraints. This was followed by a succession of omni-directional manuevers which saw him pitched first one way and then the other. Though, mercifully, as quickly as his ordeal had begun, the thrust began to ease off and he was able to breathe normally once more.
Still, he felt out of sorts, the beginnings of a furious headache starting to take hold.
This was one of the main reasons he hadn’t tested out to be a fighter pilot.
“Well, I hope that’s the end of that,” he said loudly, trying to sit up.
He didn’t mind them laughing at him so long as it lightened the atmosphere on the bridge.
“For the moment, sir,” McNeill said. “But I would advise you not to remove your restraints.”
Faulkner nodded resignedly before sinking back into his chair.
He took a few moments to gather himself before opening a private channel to McNeill.
“If I’m honest with you, Mr McNeill, I’m not entirely sure what just happened. All I can say is this: that was one hell of a bold move you pulled off there, son. One hell of a bold move.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lieutenant Commander Schwartz finished her briefing and turned to face Faulkner. That last maneuver didn’t seem to have agreed with her and it took her significantly longer to reach his chair than it normally did.
The bridge had switched to emergency lighting mode as vital power was re-routed to the shields and the whole place smelled of charred electrical circuits. Exhausted by the wail of the damage alarms, Faulkner had asked for them to be switched off. Similarly, he had avoided updating his casualty ratings. It was enough to know that men and women had died, he didn’t need to burden himself with the details. Not yet anyway. That would come later.
“Okay, Katherine. Let’s have it.”
“I’m afraid it’s not good news, captain.”
“Don’t worry. A few hours ago, I’d have pitched our chances of survival at less than twenty percent. As far as I’m concerned, we’re still ahead of the game.”
“Okay. Well, let’s start with our point defence capabilities. We’ve lost the three batteries on our starboard side which is going to leave us vulnerable on the other side.”
“Can’t we fix them?”
“One of them looks promising. It seems to have over-heated but the others … well, they’re just gone. We’ve also received damage to our forward missile tubes but we won’t know how badly they’ve been damaged until we have a chance for a test firing. Other than that, let me see,” she swiped through her tablet. “Three of our forward compartments took major hits and two of those had personnel inside. Also, part of our forward missile transport system has been badly damaged.”
“That needs to be our main priority.”
“Already on it, sir, although before the repair teams can do anything, they’re going to have to repressurise the main compartment and that’s proving to be tricky. Seems that our forward magazine took a direct hit, though in the circumstances it could have been a lot worse.”
A series of explosive concussions hammered against the side of the ship, startling both of them.
“Okay. Thanks for that. Let me know if anything changes,” Faulkner got up from his chair and went to stand next to her. “And, how are you? Bearing up, I hope?”
“I’m fine. A little overwhelmed with everything that’s going on but I’ll be okay once we’re on the other side,” she shook her head. “I think it’s the noise that’s getting to me most.”
“I’d like to say that you’ll get used to it, but you never do. I’m sorry, would you excuse me for a moment?” and so saying, he strode over towards the communication desk with Schwartz tagging behind.
*
McNeill was at his station eating a banana. When he saw Faulkner, he stuffed the last of it in his mouth and quickly disposed of the skin.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Faulkner said. “We were just wondering if you’ve had any luck?”
McNeill shook his head. “Not so far, I’m afraid. It looks like Loki cut her engines after executing her final boost maneuver.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“We were able to pick up elements of her engine signature which tallied with the last bearing we had of her before we entered the debris cloud.”
“So, what’s happening now?” Schwartz said.
McNeill indicated the number of communication officers in front of him.
“As one of my instructors at the academy was fond of saying: space is a very big place. And to be truthful, if Tyr really did want to hide from us there’s lots of places for her to go. However, since we’re fairly certain that she’s going to want to maintain her heading for the gate, that leaves us with a number of possible flight plans.”
“Anything concrete?” Faulkner said.
“No. And I’m afraid there won’t be until she decides to make her next maneuver at which point we’ll hopefully be able to detect her. The issue we have is that we’re going to have to maintain our current speed if we’re serious about closing that gap.”
“But what if we head off in the wrong direction?” Schwartz said. “We could find ourselves so far off their vector that it’d be almost impossible to find them.”
They both looked at Faulkner who gripped the side of the console as though considering whether to tear it out of the ground.
“You’re right of course, Katherine. But what else can we do? There’s no point cutting our speed at this point but, at the same time, if we’re only slightly off in our calculations …”
“We could end up on the other side of the system and never spot them,” McNeill said.
Faulkner stared levelly at him. “Though, of course, that’s not going to happen. Is it?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I wish I had more for you but currently we’re working on best guess scenarios. In order to get the most out of our scans we’re having to focus on cones of possibility and hope we get lucky.”
“And how long is that going to take?”
“That I can’t tell you. Could be five minutes, but it could also be five weeks. What we need right now is a bit of luck.”
“Like the Loki occluding a major star,” Schwartz said. “Something like that?”
“Yes!” McNeill clapped his hands together. “That would be ideal. Unfortunately, that’s unlikely to happen. Chances are, they know exactly where we are and so can plot to avoid giving themselves away.”
Faulkner held up his hand to still McNeill. “What did you just say?”
McNeill looked confused. “That they can plot to avoid giving themselves away?”
“No. The other bit.”
“That they know where we are?”
“That’s right,” he turned to Schwartz. “Doesn’t seem right does it, Number One? That they can see us but we can’t see them.”
“Nothing to do with fairness, sir” she said pragmatically. “They have us at a disadvantage. They know that we have to pursue them or end the chase. It’s that simple.”
“Of course it is. But I wonder if there isn’t some way we can turn that to our favor?”
*
Webster dug for two hours using his belt buckle. He wasn’t thinking, just working on pure adrenalin.
After the wallflowers had taken Dalbiri, they had come for him, girding him in a rough circle. He had remained stock still, waiting for the first one to make its move, but that had never happened. After a while, they had appeared to grow tired of the stand-off and started to drift away.
It was only when he was completely alone that he had risked going back to the spot where Dalbiri had disappeared. Sinking down to his knees, he’d started scrabbling at the earth, tearing up bright clods of grass and then throwing them to one side but, once he’d cleared the main area, that was when it had started to get difficult. The earth was denser, more tightly compressed and resisted his best efforts, breaking up into tiny pieces if he tried to dig down.
Taking off his belt, he’d used the belt buckle to excavate a long, thin scar of earth. Then he repeated the operation until he had the four sides of a square. Then it was just a matter of breaking up the soil in the centre and dragging it to one side.
It was only after ten minutes of digging that he allowed himself to step back and review his handiwork that he realised how little earth he’d actually removed. It was frustrating but he was eager not to let it defeat him. He tried to think what Dalbiri might do in his position.
Perhaps a large rock might be more useful as a digging implement? Might provide him with more purchase.
He searched the ground looking for a rock large enough but when he couldn’t find one, he went over to the olive grove and started looking there, but with little success. All he came back with was a handful of small pebbles which he ended up throwing away in frustration.
He tried to concentrate, to come at the problem logically. He realised he was wasting his time with the belt buckle but he couldn’t see anything else. All the while he was having to push aside the thought that Dalbiri might already be dead.
He worked tirelessly for a good twenty minutes and at the end of it he’d managed to dig a trench six inches wide and roughly eighteen inches deep. He needed something to break up the compacted earth. His fingernails kept breaking.
Then he remembered that Dalbiri had a spoon which he’d brought with him. He’d been eating with it when the wallflowers had first appeared but then he couldn’t remember seeing Dalbiri with it after that. Surely, he would have tried to use it in some way to try and fend them off.
He went back to their little campfire and stomped around, hoping to locate the spoon with his feet but he had no luck. Then he spotted a bottle of water sitting beside the fire.
It was nearly half full and the sight of it reminded him of how thirsty he was. He sat down, unclipped the cap and started to drink. He’d managed to drink almost all of it when he spotted something glinting down in the grass. It was so close that all he had to do was stretch out and grab it. It was Dalbiri’s spoon.
It was a decent size with a wide head. He remembered how infantrymen had a habit of visiting one another while they were cooking and how it was acceptable to ‘sample’ one another’s food. You were only ever allowed one ‘sample’ though, which was why infantrymen and women were constantly on the look-out for a good-sized spoon. And this one was no different.
Pausing only to finish the water, Webster re-traced his steps back to where Dalbiri had disappeared. The simple sight of the hole he’d dug depressed him greatly and he looked up to scrutinise the sky. The sun was just starting to appear, staining the sky a soft purplish tone.
Which was ridiculous. They were on a spaceship, after all. None of this was real.
And yet it felt real.
Getting down on his knees, he drove the spoon into the tightly packed earth and began dragging it backwards, using his other hand to shovel up what was produced.
The ground felt real enough, although it didn’t explain how Dalbiri had managed to disappear so completely. It had all seemed so plausible but, on reflection, it now seemed ridiculous. How could he disappear like that? And if he had been pulled down into the earth, where was he? There was absolutely no sign of him.
As he continued to dig, he reasoned that there had to be a point where the soil stopped and the spaceship started. All he had to do was to dig deeply enough. Only that was taking too long and the thought of finding his friend dead, his mouth full of soil from where he’d been fighting for breath, filled him with dread.
But then, if the people on board had wanted him dead, why go to such extreme lengths? They’d have done as well simply by cutting off the oxygen supply. Though, by doing that, they’d be effectively sentencing them both to death. So, was that what they wanted? To keep only one of them alive?
It made sense that they were interested in Dalbiri. Hadn’t it been his subconscious mind they’d trawled through to come up with this take on rural Tuscany, after all?
Whatever their plan might be, Webster resolved that he wouldn’t rest until he’d found Dalbiri, alive or dead.
And if he was serious about doing that, he’d best have a plan.
Excavating this whole area was clearly out of the question – even with the right tools, it would be a mammoth task. So, he decided to compromise. He jumped down into the trench he’d dug and measured it against his leg.
It was slightly deeper than the top of his knee.
Right. He’d keep digging until the top of the hole came level with his waist, at which point he’d re-evaluate.
But first, he’d have to widen the trench so that he could kneel down. So, taking the spoon in both hands, he began to dig.
*
Webster had been working on his hole for six hours when he was forced to stop.
He’d managed to dig out a section which, when he stood up in it, came to about the top of his thigh. He should have been pleased with his work but instead, he was deeply frustrated. His knuckles and wrists had been rubbed raw from all the digging and his neck and back were begging him to stop. But what was really getting to him was his thirst. He’d been sweating profusely from his exertions and had at first tried to ignore his dry throat but now he was starting to realise that he was quickly becoming dehydrated. His head was pounding and, if he stood up too quickly, he became lightheaded.
So, while he wanted to press on – he was convinced that the ground couldn’t go down much further – he had to be realistic. He couldn’t go on forever. He needed to locate some water before the lack of hydration really started to impact on his abilities. And, while he had no clear idea where he might find some, he did at least know where a bottle could be found. Back at the campfire.
Before he clambered out, he stamped his foot down on the bottom of the hole hoping to hear something encouraging. But he was to be disappointed. The ground sounded as solid as it ever had. There was nothing down there to give him any hope whatsoever.
He dropped the spoon back into the hole and then, bracing his hands on either side, he managed to get a knee onto the side and from there he was able to climb out. It was a beautiful morning and the view down into the valley was so stunning that he instantly resolved to take his bottle down there to see if he could find a stream or something.
Faulkner had expected him to activate their point capabilities sooner, but the young lieutenant clearly had other ideas.
Eventually, Faulkner could put it off no longer.
“What’s happening with the lasers?” he snapped.
“We’re holding off on them for the time being,” Whaites said, looking pointedly at McNeill. “All we need is the go ahead.”
Schwartz didn’t say anything, her attention fixed on the state of the shields.
“We’ve got a long road ahead of us,” McNeill reflected. “We should start as we mean to go on.”
In fact, they were fifteen minutes in before Renheim was rocked by a major impact. Faulkner’s eyes went straight to the shield read-out which was hovering between fifty-four- and fifty-six percent efficiency.
“Is there any way we can boost these things,” he said, feeling suddenly exposed.
He’d never liked the idea of shields in the first place. Give him solid plate steel any day.
“We could,” Schwartz said. “But it wouldn’t do us much good.”
“How do you reckon that?”
“Once they’re down to thirty percent they’re going to be offering us only minimal protection and once we get closer to the point of impact, the projectiles are only going to get bigger. We’ve still got a long way to go, sir.”
As if to illustrate her point, they were subjected to a succession of much larger impacts. Then, all across the board, they were getting notification of minor hull breaches.
“We’re going to have to do something,” Faulkner said.
“Lieutenant,” Schwartz was looking directly at McNeill now. “I know we’re ahead of schedule but we’re taking significant damage here.”
McNeill held up a hand for calm, his eyes still fixed on his screens. “I may have something for you in a few moments, ma’am.”
Faulkner and Schwartz exchanged glances. They were no doubt thinking the same thing.
They’d over played their hand.
A series of three massive detonations rippled through the ship but McNeill feigned not to hear. Then, after a few more data entries, he looked up, surprised to see that they were all looking at him.
“Sorry,” he said. “But I think I’ve worked it out now. Could we please give the notification for rapid acceleration.”
The siren began sounding all over the ship and Faulkner watched as the crew moved to their crash chairs and started fiddling with their restraints. This kind of evasion strategy was new to him and he couldn’t say that he enjoyed surrendering direct control of the ship. But what alternative did he have? He couldn’t begin to understand the practicalities of programming trajectories and the physics of fast curves, the very things which would allow them to anticipate and avoid impacts immediately before they occurred.
Faulkner went back to the command chair and started strapping himself in.
“Okay, we have three major targets incoming,” comms announced.
“How long?”
“Less than forty seconds.”
“Can we avoid them?”
“Not at such short notice,” McNeill said. “Though we may not need to.”
Faulkner arched his eyebrows. “Come again?”
“Hopefully, if we can attain enough forward thrust, I hope to be able to fly between them.”
Faulkner paused in checking his chest harness.
Fly between them?
“Yep,” McNeill was saying. “I’m just going to have to wing it.”
The whole ship surged as the two massive reactors threw them forward and for a second everything went black. When Faulkner’s head did eventually clear he was aware of a vast weight pinning him to his seat, making it difficult to breathe.
Then, just as he was getting used to this, the whole ship heaved to one side, throwing him against his restraints. This was followed by a succession of omni-directional manuevers which saw him pitched first one way and then the other. Though, mercifully, as quickly as his ordeal had begun, the thrust began to ease off and he was able to breathe normally once more.
Still, he felt out of sorts, the beginnings of a furious headache starting to take hold.
This was one of the main reasons he hadn’t tested out to be a fighter pilot.
“Well, I hope that’s the end of that,” he said loudly, trying to sit up.
He didn’t mind them laughing at him so long as it lightened the atmosphere on the bridge.
“For the moment, sir,” McNeill said. “But I would advise you not to remove your restraints.”
Faulkner nodded resignedly before sinking back into his chair.
He took a few moments to gather himself before opening a private channel to McNeill.
“If I’m honest with you, Mr McNeill, I’m not entirely sure what just happened. All I can say is this: that was one hell of a bold move you pulled off there, son. One hell of a bold move.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lieutenant Commander Schwartz finished her briefing and turned to face Faulkner. That last maneuver didn’t seem to have agreed with her and it took her significantly longer to reach his chair than it normally did.
The bridge had switched to emergency lighting mode as vital power was re-routed to the shields and the whole place smelled of charred electrical circuits. Exhausted by the wail of the damage alarms, Faulkner had asked for them to be switched off. Similarly, he had avoided updating his casualty ratings. It was enough to know that men and women had died, he didn’t need to burden himself with the details. Not yet anyway. That would come later.
“Okay, Katherine. Let’s have it.”
“I’m afraid it’s not good news, captain.”
“Don’t worry. A few hours ago, I’d have pitched our chances of survival at less than twenty percent. As far as I’m concerned, we’re still ahead of the game.”
“Okay. Well, let’s start with our point defence capabilities. We’ve lost the three batteries on our starboard side which is going to leave us vulnerable on the other side.”
“Can’t we fix them?”
“One of them looks promising. It seems to have over-heated but the others … well, they’re just gone. We’ve also received damage to our forward missile tubes but we won’t know how badly they’ve been damaged until we have a chance for a test firing. Other than that, let me see,” she swiped through her tablet. “Three of our forward compartments took major hits and two of those had personnel inside. Also, part of our forward missile transport system has been badly damaged.”
“That needs to be our main priority.”
“Already on it, sir, although before the repair teams can do anything, they’re going to have to repressurise the main compartment and that’s proving to be tricky. Seems that our forward magazine took a direct hit, though in the circumstances it could have been a lot worse.”
A series of explosive concussions hammered against the side of the ship, startling both of them.
“Okay. Thanks for that. Let me know if anything changes,” Faulkner got up from his chair and went to stand next to her. “And, how are you? Bearing up, I hope?”
“I’m fine. A little overwhelmed with everything that’s going on but I’ll be okay once we’re on the other side,” she shook her head. “I think it’s the noise that’s getting to me most.”
“I’d like to say that you’ll get used to it, but you never do. I’m sorry, would you excuse me for a moment?” and so saying, he strode over towards the communication desk with Schwartz tagging behind.
*
McNeill was at his station eating a banana. When he saw Faulkner, he stuffed the last of it in his mouth and quickly disposed of the skin.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Faulkner said. “We were just wondering if you’ve had any luck?”
McNeill shook his head. “Not so far, I’m afraid. It looks like Loki cut her engines after executing her final boost maneuver.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“We were able to pick up elements of her engine signature which tallied with the last bearing we had of her before we entered the debris cloud.”
“So, what’s happening now?” Schwartz said.
McNeill indicated the number of communication officers in front of him.
“As one of my instructors at the academy was fond of saying: space is a very big place. And to be truthful, if Tyr really did want to hide from us there’s lots of places for her to go. However, since we’re fairly certain that she’s going to want to maintain her heading for the gate, that leaves us with a number of possible flight plans.”
“Anything concrete?” Faulkner said.
“No. And I’m afraid there won’t be until she decides to make her next maneuver at which point we’ll hopefully be able to detect her. The issue we have is that we’re going to have to maintain our current speed if we’re serious about closing that gap.”
“But what if we head off in the wrong direction?” Schwartz said. “We could find ourselves so far off their vector that it’d be almost impossible to find them.”
They both looked at Faulkner who gripped the side of the console as though considering whether to tear it out of the ground.
“You’re right of course, Katherine. But what else can we do? There’s no point cutting our speed at this point but, at the same time, if we’re only slightly off in our calculations …”
“We could end up on the other side of the system and never spot them,” McNeill said.
Faulkner stared levelly at him. “Though, of course, that’s not going to happen. Is it?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I wish I had more for you but currently we’re working on best guess scenarios. In order to get the most out of our scans we’re having to focus on cones of possibility and hope we get lucky.”
“And how long is that going to take?”
“That I can’t tell you. Could be five minutes, but it could also be five weeks. What we need right now is a bit of luck.”
“Like the Loki occluding a major star,” Schwartz said. “Something like that?”
“Yes!” McNeill clapped his hands together. “That would be ideal. Unfortunately, that’s unlikely to happen. Chances are, they know exactly where we are and so can plot to avoid giving themselves away.”
Faulkner held up his hand to still McNeill. “What did you just say?”
McNeill looked confused. “That they can plot to avoid giving themselves away?”
“No. The other bit.”
“That they know where we are?”
“That’s right,” he turned to Schwartz. “Doesn’t seem right does it, Number One? That they can see us but we can’t see them.”
“Nothing to do with fairness, sir” she said pragmatically. “They have us at a disadvantage. They know that we have to pursue them or end the chase. It’s that simple.”
“Of course it is. But I wonder if there isn’t some way we can turn that to our favor?”
*
Webster dug for two hours using his belt buckle. He wasn’t thinking, just working on pure adrenalin.
After the wallflowers had taken Dalbiri, they had come for him, girding him in a rough circle. He had remained stock still, waiting for the first one to make its move, but that had never happened. After a while, they had appeared to grow tired of the stand-off and started to drift away.
It was only when he was completely alone that he had risked going back to the spot where Dalbiri had disappeared. Sinking down to his knees, he’d started scrabbling at the earth, tearing up bright clods of grass and then throwing them to one side but, once he’d cleared the main area, that was when it had started to get difficult. The earth was denser, more tightly compressed and resisted his best efforts, breaking up into tiny pieces if he tried to dig down.
Taking off his belt, he’d used the belt buckle to excavate a long, thin scar of earth. Then he repeated the operation until he had the four sides of a square. Then it was just a matter of breaking up the soil in the centre and dragging it to one side.
It was only after ten minutes of digging that he allowed himself to step back and review his handiwork that he realised how little earth he’d actually removed. It was frustrating but he was eager not to let it defeat him. He tried to think what Dalbiri might do in his position.
Perhaps a large rock might be more useful as a digging implement? Might provide him with more purchase.
He searched the ground looking for a rock large enough but when he couldn’t find one, he went over to the olive grove and started looking there, but with little success. All he came back with was a handful of small pebbles which he ended up throwing away in frustration.
He tried to concentrate, to come at the problem logically. He realised he was wasting his time with the belt buckle but he couldn’t see anything else. All the while he was having to push aside the thought that Dalbiri might already be dead.
He worked tirelessly for a good twenty minutes and at the end of it he’d managed to dig a trench six inches wide and roughly eighteen inches deep. He needed something to break up the compacted earth. His fingernails kept breaking.
Then he remembered that Dalbiri had a spoon which he’d brought with him. He’d been eating with it when the wallflowers had first appeared but then he couldn’t remember seeing Dalbiri with it after that. Surely, he would have tried to use it in some way to try and fend them off.
He went back to their little campfire and stomped around, hoping to locate the spoon with his feet but he had no luck. Then he spotted a bottle of water sitting beside the fire.
It was nearly half full and the sight of it reminded him of how thirsty he was. He sat down, unclipped the cap and started to drink. He’d managed to drink almost all of it when he spotted something glinting down in the grass. It was so close that all he had to do was stretch out and grab it. It was Dalbiri’s spoon.
It was a decent size with a wide head. He remembered how infantrymen had a habit of visiting one another while they were cooking and how it was acceptable to ‘sample’ one another’s food. You were only ever allowed one ‘sample’ though, which was why infantrymen and women were constantly on the look-out for a good-sized spoon. And this one was no different.
Pausing only to finish the water, Webster re-traced his steps back to where Dalbiri had disappeared. The simple sight of the hole he’d dug depressed him greatly and he looked up to scrutinise the sky. The sun was just starting to appear, staining the sky a soft purplish tone.
Which was ridiculous. They were on a spaceship, after all. None of this was real.
And yet it felt real.
Getting down on his knees, he drove the spoon into the tightly packed earth and began dragging it backwards, using his other hand to shovel up what was produced.
The ground felt real enough, although it didn’t explain how Dalbiri had managed to disappear so completely. It had all seemed so plausible but, on reflection, it now seemed ridiculous. How could he disappear like that? And if he had been pulled down into the earth, where was he? There was absolutely no sign of him.
As he continued to dig, he reasoned that there had to be a point where the soil stopped and the spaceship started. All he had to do was to dig deeply enough. Only that was taking too long and the thought of finding his friend dead, his mouth full of soil from where he’d been fighting for breath, filled him with dread.
But then, if the people on board had wanted him dead, why go to such extreme lengths? They’d have done as well simply by cutting off the oxygen supply. Though, by doing that, they’d be effectively sentencing them both to death. So, was that what they wanted? To keep only one of them alive?
It made sense that they were interested in Dalbiri. Hadn’t it been his subconscious mind they’d trawled through to come up with this take on rural Tuscany, after all?
Whatever their plan might be, Webster resolved that he wouldn’t rest until he’d found Dalbiri, alive or dead.
And if he was serious about doing that, he’d best have a plan.
Excavating this whole area was clearly out of the question – even with the right tools, it would be a mammoth task. So, he decided to compromise. He jumped down into the trench he’d dug and measured it against his leg.
It was slightly deeper than the top of his knee.
Right. He’d keep digging until the top of the hole came level with his waist, at which point he’d re-evaluate.
But first, he’d have to widen the trench so that he could kneel down. So, taking the spoon in both hands, he began to dig.
*
Webster had been working on his hole for six hours when he was forced to stop.
He’d managed to dig out a section which, when he stood up in it, came to about the top of his thigh. He should have been pleased with his work but instead, he was deeply frustrated. His knuckles and wrists had been rubbed raw from all the digging and his neck and back were begging him to stop. But what was really getting to him was his thirst. He’d been sweating profusely from his exertions and had at first tried to ignore his dry throat but now he was starting to realise that he was quickly becoming dehydrated. His head was pounding and, if he stood up too quickly, he became lightheaded.
So, while he wanted to press on – he was convinced that the ground couldn’t go down much further – he had to be realistic. He couldn’t go on forever. He needed to locate some water before the lack of hydration really started to impact on his abilities. And, while he had no clear idea where he might find some, he did at least know where a bottle could be found. Back at the campfire.
Before he clambered out, he stamped his foot down on the bottom of the hole hoping to hear something encouraging. But he was to be disappointed. The ground sounded as solid as it ever had. There was nothing down there to give him any hope whatsoever.
He dropped the spoon back into the hole and then, bracing his hands on either side, he managed to get a knee onto the side and from there he was able to climb out. It was a beautiful morning and the view down into the valley was so stunning that he instantly resolved to take his bottle down there to see if he could find a stream or something.
