The Hyacinth Disaster E1P1
The Hyacinth Disaster By David Carlson EPISODE 1 1
CONTROL: *receptor alert* *Door slides open* [CON opens channel to all crew] All hands, this is Captain Hynes. Be advised I'm back on the bridge. Sorry for the break. GRIMM: Look at that! The ship's still intact. CONTROL: For the most part. Argus? ARGUS: Aye? CONTROL: I've just got your latest receptor connection. That makes...12 between you and Grimm. Keep it up. Ember and her crew don't have much time left. ARGUS: Yup. GRIMM: Working on it. CONTROL: [closes channel to crew, opens record interface, and plays TEMPLE's transmission] TRANSMISSION (recorded) This is Eric Temple, commander of the Lykaon frigate Tesseract, to the Station commander at Halaesus Mining Company. The date is August 13, the time is 0113 zulu. I'm transmitting this from just off the asteroid 32339-Algenor, near Jovian L5: in other words, indisputably the property and territory of Lykaon Minerals 2
Corporation. You might recognize it as the rock you ordered your contract ship MRS Corvus to mine. Now, I'm sure you counted on the vastness of space and the near-limitless number of asteroids to keep your incursions hidden, but it didn't work. We now have the Corvus in our custody. Along with its captain--Ember Roth--and its crew of 52 people, we are holding the vessel pending monetary compensation for the several loads of mineral wealth it delivered from the asteroid to you before we caught them...you'll have to pay for it, is what I'm saying. For the price, and minor details like proof that your people are still alive, refer to the file I've attached to this transmission. You will contact me with appropriate payment, and I will release them. You have 48 hours to comply if you want your ship and people back. Intact. CONTROL: [turns off recording] *sighs* BLUE: [opens channel to CON} Uh...Con? CONTROL: [activates channel] Go ahead, Blue. BLUE: Ship is telling me there's a fire in comms. Right next to me, in fact. CONTROL: *sighs* Yeah. It does that. Nothing to worry about. BLUE: Are you sure? 3 CONTROL: Unless you're actually on fire, you're fine. Trust me. That sensor's been acting up for months. BLUE: Maintenance has broken down since I left, huh? CONTROL: Corporate's been ignoring old ships recently, don't blame me. BLUE: Whoa. I'm kidding. ...You ok? CONTROL: I'm worried. We can't afford any suspicion from station at all. Temple's deadline ends in a few hours, and I don't know if this rock-- BLUE: Were you listening to that transmission again? CONTROL: Transmission? What makes you say that? BLUE: It's not helping. CONTROL: Sorry. I'm waiting on the guys to finish setting up. I don't know what else to do. BLUE: We're already doing everything we can, which is a lot more than Corporate. Or anyone else, for that matter. CONTROL: 4
That's really not saying much. BLUE: Stop making it harder on yourself! We need a captain. Not a self-flagellatory bowl of runny jello! CONTROL: Uh...point taken? BLUE: Good! CONTROL: Alright. Is there anything on long comms I should know about? BLUE: Well, the Grissom got herself fouled up; so that's keeping Station busy. CONTROL: How's the crew? What happened?! BLUE: Navigation thrusters malfunctioned. Ship couldn't stop rolling for a minute and the tether wrapped around her. Crew's fine: they hadn't deployed their surface teams. CONTROL: And the tether's auto-release didn't kick in because...? BLUE: Not sure, but I talked to Norse just last week and he said-- CONTROL: ‘Norse'? BLUE: 5
Comms guy on the Grissom. Great hair. And beard. The sorta guy you'd never want mad at you, unless you were twice as big or twice as fast...And preferably both, but good luck being either. CONTROL: Uh huh. BLUE: Yeah, he mentioned they had to put in for repairs at Station after the tether took damage last month. Maintenance gave them a clean bill. CONTROL: Ah. Well that explains that. BLUE: You know it. CONTROL: Which rock are they fouled at? BLUE: 7 dash 3305. CONTROL: 7-class? Good for them! I mean, not that they'll see much of the profit, but it's more than I've ever got. Is that the rock Sivver found last-- *raucous alarm sounds* GAAAH! What the…? [CON turns alarm off] Oh no! BLUE: What? CONTROL: 6
Heavens! It seems the bridge is venting to space. BLUE: ...You're on the bridge. CONTROL: Oh, the horror. Can't...breathe! [CON pretends to suffocate and die] BLUE: ...Another bad sensor, huh? CONTROL: Yup. Happens a couple times a week, now. BLUE: That can't be healthy. CONTROL: On the contrary, there's nothing to put a sparkle in your eye and a spring in your step like catastrophic pulmonary shock! *sighs* 53 lives are at stake, and my ship is falling apart. BLUE: I hope this rock is worth it. CONTROL: Now who's worried? BLUE: I'm just saying! Finch says Dreadnought is good at what he does, but there's no guarantee this rock is worth any risk at all! CONTROL: A minute ago you were trying to convince me this is a great idea! 7 BLUE: I said we're doing everything we can. I didn't say this was definitely going to work. CONTROL: Ok...ok. Great. I wasn't stressed out enough before. Not about running a 400,000-ton ship with just 6 people; not about sneaking said ship to a potentially worthless asteroid; not even about risking my own crew's freedom! Now, my old 1st Officer is having second thoughts! BLUE: “Second”? My brain's playing hardcore tennis with my opinion of all this, so…fifty or sixtieth thoughts by now, but whatever: we're here. Nothing we can do but wait for the guys to finish. CONTROL: *console gives error* Klere! We'll see if they ever do! BLUE: What's up? CONTROL: Grimm's receptors are having trouble connecting. He's probably about to start shouting at me. GRIMM: [opens channel to CON] Con! CONTROL: Here we go… [closes BLUE's channel, opens GRIMM's channel] Control here. 8 GRIMM: What's wrong with the network!? CONTROL: I'm not sure. I'm working on it; try a reset. GRIMM: I did! What are you doing? CONTROL: I am trying to keep the Hyacinth from falling apart! *alarm sounds* Which is becoming increasingly more difficult to do! Are you kidding me? GRIMM: What? CONTROL: Uh, I'm gonna task Blue on this. She's better at computering. [closes GRIMM's channel, opens BLUE's channel] Blue! BLUE: Blue here. CONTROL: Please take Grimm's channel and help him out. I've got another problem. BLUEL: At this point, the ship could literally blow up, and I'd assume it was a false alarm. CONTROL: It's actually not the ship. Exo 7's leg is acting up...again. BLUE: 9
I thought Finch repaired it… CONTROL: Finch has a lot on her plate. BLUE: ...Yeah. CONTROL: *alarm sounds again* Agh! Just handle Grimm, dankjewel! [closes BLUE's channel, opens ARGUS' channel] Control to Exo 7. Argus, copy? ARGUS: Aye, con. Go ahead. CONTROL: I'm getting alerts on your suit. That joint coming apart again? ARGUS: Negative, Control. I don't...wait. Yep, my leg's going rickets on me. CONTROL: *sighs* Copy. Need to come in? ARGUS: You kidding? We won't have a chance like this again! CONTROL: Sure, but if the joint breaks, it could puncture your vacsuit. And I'd prefer you not die. ARGUS: We're not quitting: Ember and her crew ain't gonna ransom themselves. 10
CONTROL: Nobody said anything about quitting, Argus. Can you patch it? ARGUS: My exo doesn't have a welder. CONTROL: Really? ARGUS: At least not one that works. Exo 7, remember? CONTROL: Kanker... Copy. [close ARGUS' channel, opens GRIMM's channel] Control to Exo 4. Grimm, copy? GRIMM: Grimm here. Shoot. CONTROL: Argus' leg servo is shot again. He needs a bandaid. GRIMM: Ask Dreadnought. CONTROL: Dreadnought's busy. GRIMM: Oh, right. And I'm just sitting on my ass. CONTROL: 11
Just do it, Grimm! We have less than four hours to finish up here, and Dreadnought's job can't pause. Yours can. Copy? GRIMM: Well, there goes my day. CONTROL: Copy?? GRIMM: Copy! Rescue Argus. ETA 4 mikes. CONTROL: Thank yo-- GRIMM: [closes channel] CONTROL: ...Ok. [opens ARGUS' channel] Control to Exo 7. Argus, Grimm is heading your way. 4 minutes. ARGUS: Thanks, Con. This gonna hold us up? Or does Dreadnought still have a ways to go? CONTROL: I guess I can check now. [closes ARGUS' channel, opens DREADNOUGHT's channel] Control to exo 2. Dreadnought, copy? DREADNOUGHT: Dreadnought copy. What's gotcha? CONTROL: 12
How's the drilling going? DREADNOUGHT: *radio static* CONTROL: Say again? DREADNOUGHT: *static* CONTROL: Exo 2, do you copy? DREADNOUGHT: I copy! How about you? CONTROL: I copy now. Sorry. Your radio is worse than I remember. DREADNOUGHT: I'd rather have a bad radio on a good Exo than a good radio on a bad Exo. Like what, number 7 that you guys have? That thing was falling apart! CONTROL: Yeah… DREADNOUGHT: You miner types not care about safety? How long has it been since you overhauled these things, man? CONTROL: Not since Corporate monopolized everything. Old parts are impossible to get, if you hadn't noticed. They barely even care to fix our damn ships! DREADNOUGHT: 13
Yeah, I noticed. Still, their stuff is pretty shiny. CONTROL: Sure. They also track everything. So make it work. DREADNOUGHT: Speaking of tracking, Station figured we're out here, yet? CONTROL: Do you expect them to? DREADNOUGHT: Do you not?? CONTROL: Blue said they're focused on other things, and even if they weren't, she disabled our locator. DREADNOUGHT: She what? You are asking for trouble, Hynes! CONTROL: We can't afford a random check telling them we're a billion miles from where we're supposed to be. Besides, you're used to flying alone: we have a great team: if something goes wrong, we'll handle it. DREADNOUGHT: You'd better hope so, dude. CONTROL: What's your depth? DREADNOUGHT: 14
128 meters, but the squealer's gonna have a hard time scanning through all this stuff. Very dense. Tough going. I'm telling you, I got a feeling about this one. It's rich, alright. A real goldierock. CONTROL: There's a lot of lives hanging on the accuracy of your gut, Dreadnought. DREADNOUGHT: I told you, man, I couldn't make any guarantees. Survey scans can tell you if a rock is definitely worthless. If one doesn't register worthless, it could be full of anything from iron to-- CONTROL: There had better be more than iron here! DREADNOUGHT: We're here because I think there is, dude. There are certain data points any surveyor can see that often mean more valuable materials. CONTROL: Uh huh--wait. Won't Corporate notice those numbers? DREADNOUGHT: My report headline was dismal: Saniss 130991, class 1. I doubt if anyone in the office even bothers to check the file, dude. Just, don't mention me by name until after you negotiate the price. CONTROL: When are you setting off the first scan burst? DREADNOUGHT: Should be deep enough for the squealer soon...wait, what're Grimm and Argus doing? CONTROL: You can see them? 15
DREADNOUGHT: No, that's the problem: I haven't seen any receptors link up in a couple minutes. CONTROL: Argus needs a bandaid on his exo, Grimm's patching him up. What's your depth, now? DREADNOUGHT: Let me guess: he took number 7? Damn. We shoulda picked up a rig for him at least. Or a better drill. CONTROL: There're too many eyes on that, Dreadnought. Trust me. DREADNOUGHT: Yeah? I'm not usually on this side of things. Still… CONTROL: Depth, Dreadnought. DREADNOUGHT: 146 meters. I take it you want me to mind my own business? CONTROL: Neither of us wants you screwing this up. DREADNOUGHT: Yeah. *pause* Speaking of screwing, how's things with Finch? CONTROL: Haha, NOPE! [opens GRIMM's channel] 16
Control to Exo 4! DREADNOUGHT: Aww, man, come on! Give me someth-- CONTROL: [closes DREADNOUGHT's channel] Control to Exo 4, Grimm? GRIMM: Shoot. CONTROL: How's it coming with Argus? GRIMM: I'm almost there. OK, Helpless, what'd you break now? ARGUS: Ask Finch! She said it was safe! CONTROL: [opens ARGUS' channel] She said “probably.” We didn't have much choice here. And since Dreadnought's the new guy, he got the best exo. 7 was your only option. ARGUS: Except for 4. GRIMM: Hey!
