Everyone gets a brief summary sent to them and before long the time of the meeting arrives, almost everyone is here.
Everyone except your chief engineer, who insists that she can fix your engines and teleconference at the same time. You'd sigh in exasperation if it wasn't for the fact that you knew that your engines needed her just a bit more than this meeting did.
"Alright, let's begin, Commander, your report?"
Commander O'Malley nods, clears her throat, and starts in earnest.
"I've been looking into why our navigation computers keep throwing up a 404 error. At first I thought it was instrumentation, but..."
She clicks a touch screen built into the table, sending the image to all the other touchscreens. Everyone is looking at the same image, a featureless purple nebula, utterly devoid of stars.
"That's why. There's no familiar features for the navigation system to lock onto. No local stars, no constellations, no reference pulsars, nothing. There isn't even a detectable gravitational gradient," she says, "By all rights we should never have even dropped out here, yet, here we are."
"What kind of gas is that out there?" you ask.
"Give me five minutes to run a spectral analysis," says Volkova and disappears from view.
"A nebula isn't much better than open space," comments Lieutenant Cole, "That's still at least 700 light years away, depending on whether we dropped out around the Ophiuchus dust cloud or the Helix Nebula."
"Still, that's our situation," says O'Malley, "As of right now we've got no idea where we are, and if I understand jump engine theory right, there's no way we can even begin to contemplate jumping back the way we came."
"Thank you, Commander. Doctor Campos, you're up," you say, proceeding the meeting forwards.
"I have two items to report," he says, cleaning his glasses, "the most pressing issue right now is the jump sickness we're all enduring. Ordinarily I'd attribute it to the extraordinarily long jump we've apparently taken."
"I sense a 'but' there, Doctor," you say.
"My preliminary results from an examination of the crew leads me to believe otherwise. Ordinarily, one recovers from jump sickness in a matter of hours and returns to full function after a day. Our case here is different. Though I've only had a short time, the pattern I've been able to discern is that those who experience a severe reaction have their symptoms lessen over time, and those that have a mild reaction gradually worsen," he explains.
"What does that mean exactly Doctor? Why aren't we recovering like we should?" you ask.
"It means, Captain, that for the most part we're all trending towards a moderate amount of permanent jump sickness, but I have no idea why," he states.
"Permanent?" you ask.
He nods, "I'm afraid so, at least until we can determine the cause and eliminate it. My examinations have turned up no brain damage, no psychological cause... I'm going to need time to resolve this. Studying jump sickness has been a rather fruitless endeavour for quite some time for a reason."
"Very well, and your other report?" you ask.
"Yes, regarding Ensign Kelly," he says somberly, "The autopsy suggests the cause of death was a shot to the head, self inflicted. The forensic evidence supports this."
"That answers the how but not the why," you state.
"True, the ultimate cause of his death was likely a complication due to his jump sickness. It's hard to determine because of the trauma to his brain, but I surmise from the heightened adrenaline, self inflicted wounds, dehydration and observed inconsistent competency reported by the Captain that Ensign Kelly was not in his right mind at the time of his death and quite potentially for whatever period of time he was awake. Video footage from the armory, environmental and several other areas supports this, as he can be seen wandering about either aimlessly or running about frantically. Several times he attempts to shoot unseen assailaints, other times he can be seen inflicting the observed self inflicted wounds upon himself, possibly due to formication."
"Formication?" asks Ensign Izumi with a quirked eyebrow.
"The sensation of bugs under the skin," explains the Doctor, to Ensign Izumi's terrified squirming.
"Is anyone else at risk?" you ask.
"Unlikely," he says, "Everyone so far has had an individual reaction to jump sickness. It's unfortunate, but it seems that Ensign Kelly had an unusually severe one."
"Very well, thank you Doctor," you say before proceeding things onwards, "Lieutenant Cole, what's our supply situation?"
"We have two potential supply problems waiting in the wings," he explains, "the first is food and other consumables. Including what's loaded on the passenger module, we've got enough food for 531 people eating three square a day for 100 days. We usually carry about 10% extra as a bit of leeway, so 160,000 individual meals, give or take."
"We're dependent on resupply, so until we can get a new source of food, we're stuck with what we've got," you say, "How far can you stretch those supplies?"
"If we go to two meals a day with our current count, we can stretch that to 135 days, longer if we have people voluntarily tighten their belt for a bit. I doubt our good doctor would allow less than two meals a day though," he says.
"I'll consider the rationing advice for now, and the other problem?" you ask.
"Spare parts for that same time. We're used to being part of a decent logistical supply train and being able to recquisition parts when and where we need them. Now that we're more or less on our own, and with all those repairs eating up our spares, we could probably operate for about four or five months independently. After that, we're going to have to start chopping and changing parts. At most we could last a year before we need to start shutting systems down. This is of course taking into account our Chief's knack for refurbishing lost causes," he explains.
"Very well, thank you Lieutenant," you say before turning to the aforementioned Chief's screen, "Chief, you're up."
"Huh? What? Oh! Yes!" the view on the screen shifts as Volkova comes back into view, "Engines are going to take the rest of the day, I believe I can compensate for the shear stress on the hull, and communications are back up, but more importantly I've finished that spectral analysis."
You frown. You wanted a more detailed report on your ship, the question about the gas cloud was incidental and you almost say as much before you note the excited glint in your engineer's eye.
"Go on," you say.
"Chemically it's completely uninteresting. Hydrogen, helium, various other gasses, all par for the course," she says, "The truly fascinating part is this portion here."
The view shifts to the featureless purple haze that the Commander had shown before, now cycling through several false colours before settling on a startlingly complex... you have no idea what.
"Um, what are we looking at?" asks Ensign Izumi, saving you the trouble.
"It's an expansion front of water crystals several degrees above absolute zero!" she crows.
"Meaning?" you ask.
"Well, the local gas itself is stationary relative to us. The water crystals however are travelling in a single direction whilst also expanding. That means, assuming the rest of the cloud is of a similar makeup, those crystals have a single common origin and by tracing it back..."
The view changes, expanding to show the expansion front relative to your ship. It's large, but after a few moments, it contracts into a distinctive trail with a point of origin.
"Is that what I think it is?" asks O'Malley.
"Yes!" says Volkova, "It's the trail of a simple LHOX thruster! Someone passed through here two months ago at an acceleration of two meters per second at constant thrust! At max thrust we can match their velocity in two and a half days, putting us at an initial distance of 29.112 billion kilometers. We're practically in spitting distance of alien life! There's just one catch."
"Catch?" you ask.
"Two of them, actually. Firstly, it will probably take us a month and a half to two months to catch up to them. Not too difficult really, but annoying given the supply situation. The second is the truly painful one though," she says with a breath, "during my investigations I discovered that our light cone is limited to a single second."
Everyone stares blankly at that.
"We cannot see anything beyond 300,000 kilometers in any direction," she says, "we should be able to see much deeper into this diffuse a gas, but the most I can discern anywhere stops after 300,000 kilometers. I'd like to run more tests but I haven't had time."
"But that expanding gas cloud was a lot larger than one light second," says O'Malley.
"I extrapolated from observable data," she explains, "because of this we're effectively limited to seeing this universe as far as our noses."
"This universe?" you ask at her peculiar choice of words.
"Yes, between the constant jump sickness and our engine nearly tearing its way out of its housing, I believe that we jumped correctly, but re-embedded into truespace at the incorrect angle," she says, drawing a diagram of the jump trajectory she suspected along with some meaningless latin.
"That would explain our constant jump sickness," says Dr. Campos, "We're still feeling ill because we never stopped jumping."
"Another universe? Are you serious?" asks Lieutenant Cole, "This is real life, not bloody science fiction!"
"No, think of it more as the negative underlying brane space beneath the hyperspace we usually transition into," said Volkova.
"I'm sorry, but that's too much to accept," says Ensign Izumi, "It fits the observations but your theory could be way off. It needs a lot more evidence."
"I'm forced to agree with the lieutenant, that's far too much to accept in one go. Especially on only seven minutes of investigation," you say.
"I've been thinking about a lot of this since I woke up, but that's why I want to run more tests. I still believe that expansion front of ice crystals is indeed evidence that someone has been through here recently. We need to investigate that," says Volkova.
"Why not just fix the bloody engine and jump out of here?" asks lieutenant Cole.
"Can you jump in mid-air?" asks Ensign Izumi.
Lieutenant Cole looks ready to take her up on the issue before a more thoughtful look crosses his features.
"Even if we could, I wouldn't trust this thing not to kill us without a complete overhaul," says Volkova, "Which will take about two months anyhow, after everything else is fixed."
"Alright, are there any other pressing matters?" you ask.
When nobody speaks, you dismiss them. Only Colonel Pierce stays behind.
"A hell of a situation, if true," he says, "Whatever comes, you have my support, Captain. I don't envy the decisions you'll have to make in the coming weeks."
"Let's hope we don't regret them," you say grimly.
You hold your head in your hands. Volkova isn't known for her excitement, nor for her grim flights of fancy. You're certain since she brought her thoughts up at the meeting and not in private that she earnestly believes what she's saying, but you hardly have enough evidence to actually believe that you truly are in another universe.
Still, with your jump engines inoperative and no stars to navigate by, what else do you have to go off? An alien's exhaust? It's a longshot at best, but as of right now, so is your survival.
Choose a single option from each category.
Your Course:
[] Follow the trail.
It may be a wild goose chase. It could be the find of the century.
[] Backtrack the trail.
See where those 'aliens' came from.
[] Ignore the trail.
Investigate the area you're in more thoroughly for clues.
All options will result in a 45 day timeskip. Volkova will research her preliminary investigations, Dr. Campos will research jump sickness, and sans the Colonel, all people aboard will default to moderate jump sickness (-3 all stats).
Rationing:
[] No Rationing (100 Days Food Supply)
Three Meals a Day
[] Mild Rationing (150 Days Food Supply)
Two Meals a Day
[] Mild Rationing with volunteers (187 Days Food Supply)
Two Meals a Day with volunteers rotating through one meal a day restrictions
[] Moderate Rationing (201 Days Food Supply)
Three Meals every two Days
[] Harsh Rationing (301 Days Food Supply)
One Meal per Day
Morale will take a hit depending on how harshly you ration.
Your Passengers:
[] Ask Vanessa and Richard to talk their people into assisting where you need them.
[] Look over a list of skilled individuals and recruit them personally.
[] Leave your passengers to their own devices.
May or may not confer bonuses. Pros and cons to each approach.
Information Gained:
You may no longer be in your own universe.
You can only see things as far as 1 light second in all directions.
Your food will last for 90 days without rationing.
Your engineer can keep the ship running for a year before permanent breakdowns begin to accumulate.
Jump engines will be repaired in two months.
Aliens may have been in the vicinity recently.
Doctor Campos is researching Jump Sickness.
Information you suspect:
Your engineer is apparently a genius, but is a social moron.
Nebulae don't just sit still at absolute zero.
You have a sinking suspicion that this universe is not fully conducive to life as you know it.
The primitive chemical thruster postulated by Volkov shows you don't need supertech to live here though.
You do not trust Vanessa or Richard to run a circus, let alone a colonial expedition.
You're fairly sure you have the Colonels respect.
The crew haven't had a chance to process Ensign Kelly's death, and probably won't at the rate things are going.
Stuff you don't know:
Whether you'll make it.
How screwed you are.
What you'll do if, or when, the food supply runs out.
--
Not 100% happy with how this turned out, but the alternative is to scrap it and start over. Figured I just push it out and then push past it.
Depending on what you pick, you may get additional starter bonuses.
{Edit}
Corrected a massive error in food consumption rate. Gave you a bonus by extending your food supply to make up for it.
