A: Captain the ship is being drag into the ocean!
B: How deep we’re in now?
A: 4,500... 4,800... 5,000...
B: Dear lord, that’s over 150 atmospheres of pressure!
A: How much can the ship take?
B: well it’s a spaceship, so anywhere between 0 and 1 -- Anon Guest
The good news was that the superstructure was holding up. The bad news was that it wasn't going to continue doing that for long. They were sinking fast and air balloons weren't going to work to refloat them. This required some very quick jiggery-pokery.
"Rerout the feed to the floater envelopes from the synthesisers and pump them full of simple hydrocarbons. Get everyone into their battle livesuits." Captain Bae was already buckling on their greaves. Everyone had theirs ready by their stations, and a spare by their sleep niche. Bae sounded all alert with the same instructions.
Engineers were scrambling, one team per floater envelope. Bae could only get in their way and stress them out even further. When it came to doing a good job to survive, Bae considered the best motivation to be 'tomorrow'. As in, living to see it with everyone else.
Final latch of their livesuit secure, Bae checked to see all their crew similarly outfitted. Even the engineers working on their solution. Every breath was a victory, and every person who took it a tally in Bae's favour. Five hundred souls. All accounted for. One by one, the envelope teams reported ready. When all were done, there was only one thing to do.
"Deploy! Maximum possible pressure!"
The depth counter slowed. Halted. Reversed. They could hear the crew breathing a collective sigh of relief.
"Not yet," said Bae. "Watch the pressure in those envelopes and start depressurising them when they get close to tolerances. I want to keep them fivw siwu per diwu under factory limit at all times."
"Aye aye!"
Bae didn't have to order them to reclaim the hydrocarbons. They were a smart crew. They knew that conservation of resources was going to be key.
The ship floated ever upwards. Three thousand. Two five hundred. Two thousand. One five hundred. One thousand. Five hundred. Light became visible on the viewscreens. They surfaced.
"Scanners! What else is out there?" Liquid water meant a warm core, which meant a magnetosphere. Whether or not there was land to anchor on was a different question. One they could only hope had a positive answer.
Step one: survive the crash. That bit was done. The next steps were going to be the tricky part.
Captain Bae had faith in their crew. They'd get back to the stars as soon as possible.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / Sublimage]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends!
Send me a prompt [53 remaining prompts!]
