AUTHOR'S NOTE: One of the terrific things about writing fantasy or science fiction stories is that the laws of physics can be bent, stretched to the limit, or even broken. I'm not a physicist. I'm just me. Once again, I'd like to give special credit to those who helped me figure out certain phraseology. Thank you SO much for the comments and feedback, but PLEASE wait more than two days before asking when the next chapter is coming out. *giggle*
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The PINK MIST was still tumbling, although much slower as the torpedoes continued firing their engines in short spurts, when the crew had all regained consciousness. Several commented that the experience was worse than any drug trip they'd ever had. Exterior cameras had been turned completely off and viewports closed to prevent the nauseating view outside from causing anymore dizziness. The ship's artificial gravity and internal balance compensators could at least keep up now, allowing normal internal operations to resume. With the fusion reactor down for the count, folding space was out of the question.
Quillan and her senior crew sat in the secretive war room speaking to Charleen and her senior staff on a coded frequency; Charleen laying out in great detail the plan of hiding from the Mongan deathships, which would arrive in little over an hour and half.
One of the powered armor suits sacrificed its tiny fusion reactor which was tied in to the life support systems and a low power transmitter. Already taxed to the limits, if anyone were to turn on a light, the reactor would shut down.
"My turn," Quillan said, taking a sip of ginger ale to help settle her still-churning stomach. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"
"Quillan," Charleen spoke seriously, "Salli's run it through her simulations over one hundred thousand times and determined that there's an eighty eight percent chance that the tactic will work. I did simulations of practically the same thing when I tested for my captaincy."
"Eighty eight point four four four seven six two percent is a much better chance than point zero zero zero zero zero zero zero three," chimed in Salli. "That's the BEST percentage of survival if we try to run for it. We'd be toast."
"Thank you, Salli," said Charleen.
"Dogmeat."
Thank you, Salli..." Charleen repeated, a little more tersely.
"Vapored clouds on a Sunday aft..."
"THANK YOU, SALLI!" yelled Charleen.
"...ernoon..."
Charleen sighed.
Quillan glanced around the room at the faces present, settling on Alice.
"Well, Commander Nine? It IS your body we're talking about. You have the final say in the matter."
Alice's "glow" was gone. While still a marvelous woman to behold, it was evident that there was something wrong with her, her complexion wan and waxen, her usually cheerful demeanor was greatly subdued. Even her voice had taken on an odd undertone. Most terrifying, to Quillan anyway, was Alice's lack of smile. She appeared beaten.
"Captain Quillan," she asked, her usual purring voice almost one of desperation, "may I disconnect this transmission and confer with Salli for a moment? I have some questions to ask her."
Quillan cast a questioning eye at the translucent vision of Charleen which hovered over the table. Charleen shrugged and nodded.
"You may, Commander," replied Quillan. "Charleen, if you don't hear from us in five minutes..." She took a deep breath. "...assume that we are no longer able to make contact due to our power problem and carry out your plan. Before we go, how'd you do on your test simulations of this type of scenario?"
"Killed the crew, but the ship survived."
The connection was cut.
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Alice's network avatar, a multicolored fluorescent ball with feet, scampered into the systems of the EXETER. There waited Salli, her avatar that of a small, light brown Welsh Corgi dog. The pair greeted each other and passed into the simulator program, the dog running along to each of the individual parameters which had been input. The parameters had been altered slightly to allow for velocity, angle of descent, gravity, angle of impact, lack of maneuverability, and over a thousand other variables. Alice input and combined her own sets of variables with those of Salli's and ran one hundred thousand test simulations; the Alliance norm for computers to correlate the proper data.
With the outcome complete, they said their goodbyes and Alice traveled the short distance back to her cyborg body on the PINK MIST.
Four thousand, six hundred, seventy two milliseconds had elapsed. Just over four and a half seconds.
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