Alien Seas (A Subnautica Inspired Story)
The Crash
“Alert!” “Alert!” “All crew members advised to initiate emergency evacuation procedures!”
Alarm signals blare dully in comparison to the audible fury of pressurized wind and collapsing metal, which echoes throughout the confines of the vessel without restraint.
Red and orange lights flash repeatedly. Their continuous rhythm signalling to all fifty members of the crew that critical damage has been detected.
The hull has been penetrated by a powerful, and unexpected blast. One whose impact had been so clearly felt by the inhabitants of the ship that those who had been standing had been effortlessly knocked off of their feet.
Given the horrific sounds that can be heard coming from around the blast sight, it can be safely assumed that the damage proved so severe that the ship has literally begun to be ripped apart by the power of the now uninhibited wind.
Wind which has been prevented from sucking the inhabitants of the crew out through the gaping, rapidly expanding wound in the hull, only thanks to the activation of an emergency airlock.
The sound of the ship being ripped apart can be heard even through those tightly sealed doors.
Doors which will inevitably fail the instant that surrounding metal and electrical mechanisms are peeled away.
“Alert!” “Alert!” “All crew members advised to initiate emergency evacuation procedures!”
AI systems continue to relay their scripted message. All the while the members of the crew must make their rushed, but effectively controlled evacuation.
Fifty crew members. Seventy-five life pods. A total of five evacuation sections, ordered alphabetically from A to E.
There should be more than enough life pods to assure total crew evacuation.
No one should be left behind.
“This is Alpha C1. Checking in. All category C crew members, please respond.” A stern, masculine voice blares almost painfully loudly in the ears of all specified crew members.
Including one notably short, but also notably high ranking woman. Who, like all other members of the crew, is in the midst of making a beeline towards her designated evacuation area.
“Alpha C2. Responding.” The woman responds.
“I am en route. Please begin evacuation immediately.” She calls. All the while she listens as all crew members, placed under her care, as well as the care of their partner, quickly sound off.
“Beta C1, responding. I am en route.”
“Beta C2, responding. I have reached the evacuation area. Waiting for assistance.”
“Beta C3, responding. I am en route.”
“Beta C4, responding. I am en route. Accompanying my partner.”
“Omega C1, responding. I have reached the evacuation area. Preparing to evacuate.”
“Omega C2, responding. I have reached the evacuation area. Now assisting Alpha C1 to assure my partners safe evacuation.
“Omega C3, responding. Assisting fellow crewmate, Beta D1. I will be on route shortly.”
“Omega C4, responding. I have reached the evacuation area, and am waiting for assistance.”
Good. All eight parties have been confirmed active, and uninjured.
“Confirmed.” A-C1 responds.
“Confirmed.” A-C2 repeats. All the while she very intentionally walks past the entrance to her evacuation area.
“En route to evacuation area D. I will assist Omega C3.” She states.
“Confirmed.” A-C1 replies.
“Confirmed.” O-C3 repeats.
“Confirming that crewmate has been delivered to Alpha D2. En route to evacuation site C-”
The sudden violent jostling of the ship knocks the woman off of her feet, and presumably does the same with all non-evacuated personnel.
“Secondary impact!”
The AI confirms what was immediately assumed.
A second blast has struck the ship.
The emergency alert continues to blare, needlessly reminding the crew that they must evacuate immediately.
“Ayala-” A-C1’s voice sounds over the comms once more.
“I’m fine.” A-C2, Ayala, responds almost immediately upon hearing her name.
“Is anyone injured?” She then quickly asks, electing to focus on the task at hand.
There is no time to fixate on her own lack of injury, when there are at least eight other people; excluding herself; who are in need of assisted evacuation.
All but one of the crewmembers under her authority confirm lack of serious injury. One confirms a bleeding lip; the injury is noted.
The only crew member who fails to respond is Omega C3.
“Omega C3, please respond.” She orders as she continues to make her way towards evacuation point D. Where she quickly discovers the specified crew member standing just outside the now completely sealed doors.
There is a split second in which she freezes. Following which she presses onwards to take the male firmly by the wrist, so as to pull him away.
He responds with a quick jolt. Then quickly turns and mirrors her gait so that she can escort him to their evacuation point.
“Alert!” “Alert!” “All crew members advised to initiate emergency evacuation procedures!”
“Logan” Ayala calls, specifically addressing her partner by their civilian name. “Evacuation point D has been airlocked.” She states.
Momentary silence. Tense and uncomfortable.
“There’s nothing we can do.” Logan replies.
“Continue towards the evacuation point as directed.” He instructs.
“Affirmitive.” She responds, her tone unchanged. Stern and uncomfortably calm, despite the mutual realization of what the discovery meant.
There are more words to be said. Or at least, there is the desire to say them. Questions to which there may be uncomfortable answers. Fears that want to be expressed. Condolences that seek to be given.
Hopes that wish to exist, even in these most dire of circumstances.
These words, however, all go unsaid.
There is no benefit to them. Not right now. Not when the focus needs to be on the here, and now. The emergency that is in effect and the lives that need to be evacuated before any additional casualties might transpire.
Omega C3 is escorted directly to evacuation point C. Where Ayala quickly sets out to assist her partner in the task at hand.
As alert systems continue to scream in their ears, and the ship continues to fall apart all around them, they quickly usher the remaining members of their team into their life pods and see to it that they safely eject.
People are strapped down into heavily padded seats. Their bodies are secured in such a way that the force of the expected impact force will, at the very least, prove to be non-lethal. There is minimal room for movement. Minimal room for user error.
Life support systems are confirmed to be active and functional. The AI fragments are confirmed to be secure and operational.
Every pod is a chance of salvation. Equipped with high-tech medical capabilities, limited rations of food and water, and all of the equipment needed to allow basic planetary explanation as anticipated for this world.
Nothing is guaranteed. There is always room for failure. But through the power of anticipation and precaution, casualties can at least be mitigated.
Hopefully.
Beta crewmates 1 and 2 are safely ejected.
Beta crewmates 3 and 4 are safely ejected.
A third blast strikes the ship as Omega 2 is preparing to evacuate, with Omega 1 having already been safely ejected.
Logan, Ayala, and the remaining members of their team are all knocked off their feet once more. Omega 2, unfortunately, also falls while attempting to climb into their escape; which leaves them with a broken nose and a split lip.
Both injuries, while messy, are non-lethal and must be ignored for the sake of evacuation. Which means that the poor woman must be strapped into her seat and all of her survival systems confirmed, even as her injuries breed profusely.
She will not be able to receive medical care until after the pod has made impact. Following which the AI will scan for injuries and employ emergency medical care, as needed.
Omega 2 has no option other than to endure the pain.
Her pod is closed.
She is ejected.
The evacuation process carries out all the same with the two remaining crewmates. Omega’s 3 and 4. Both of whom are safely ejected.
Whether or not any of them will survive the journey from the atmosphere is up in the air. There are many factors at play that could lead to casualties. Especially in circumstances like this, when their ejection is part of an emergency situation.
Everyone is being ejected from the ship on the chance that some of them might survive, as opposed to remaining onboard the ship; where death will be guaranteed.
What remains now is for the two high-ranking officers to secure their own evacuation.
Ayala is quickly ushered into her own pod by Logan, who will see to it that she is strapped in and that all is well with her pod.
He will be on his own when it comes time for him to eject. Which means that his room for error will be far, far smaller than it has been with anyone else.
“Alert!” “Alert!” “All crew members advised to initiate emergency evacuation procedures!”
Still, the alert blares. But the screaming of the ship as it is ripped apart by the power of the wind practically drowns out the sound.
Ayala settles down into her seat and assists Logan as he goes about the process of applying her restraints.
Heavy straps are wrapped around her chest and torso to prevent her from being thrown.
Her legs are tied down to prevent them from being flung about.
She willingly inserts her arms into loops on the armrest. Which will allow her to eventually remove her own restraints after she has landed, while also assuring that her limbs are secure.
Her AI is confirmed to be active. The medical apparatuses are established to be functional. The construction-printer is functional. All of the supplies that she will need are present.
A week’s worth of food and water, which can be rationed out to last as long as two weeks. An advanced oxygen mask for diving. A full body wetsuit. Flippers. A backpack, which is designated functional for both terrestrial and underwater use.
Everything that she will need in order to secure a limited period of survival. Anything past that will be entirely reliant upon her own survival capabilities and the capabilities of the surviving crew, once they can reunite.
They will remain stranded on this alien world until emergency alert signals can reach the mothership and a rescue team can be sent. Which will take a period of months.
“Alert!” “Alert!” “All crew members advised to initiate emergency evacuation procedures!”
As the final preparations to eject are made, things somehow seem to go so quiet. At least during the brief moment where the pair lock their eyes.
The screaming of the ship and the blaring of the alert system seem so distant. So unimportant. Just for a moment.
Just long enough for a frivolous and ill-placed urge to bubble to the near surface, only to be quickly struck down by another sudden jolt of the ship. Something which immediately snaps the pair out of their momentary trance and reminds them of the urgency of the moment.
“Be safe.” The woman requests as she watches her partner shift to reach up and pull down the hatch, so that he can seal her in.
“I’ll meet you there.” The man responds, the smallest of smiles being forced onto his face as he shifts to slam the hatch closed.
The locks initiate and ejection is initiated.
Logan rushes off to the side so that he can get himself strapped into a pod.
Meanwhile, Ayala’s pod is dropped.
Reality begins to spin.
Her stomach seems to rise into the back of her throat. Or at least that is the sensation that proves most prominent as her pod falls for hundreds of thousands of miles, directly towards the open ocean.
Blood struggles to flow accordingly as the gravitational force increases with the speed of the fall.
Her eyes water.
The pressure in her head builds as blood begins to be forced upwards into it.
It gets hard to breathe.
Focusing becomes difficult.
The pod continues to spin. The metal surrounding her begins to pick up heat. That heat is carefully monitored by a range of carefully established systems, meant to assure the activation of emergency measures at a given point.
A special adhesive bubbles and melts away, sending thin layers of metal flying off once they are no longer being secured into place.
Then suddenly the pod jolts violently as parachutes eject, slowing the fall abruptly and causing all of its contents to shift.
Suddenly the pressure in her head fades as blood resumes its proper flow.
She sucks in a breath that has been trapped in her throat for an uncomfortably long amount of time. All the while she clenches her eyes tightly shut to better alleviate the pressure, and she wraps her fingers tightly around the end of her armrest to brace herself for what is to come.
Had she not been so thoroughly strapped into place, her body would have been thrown against the nearest wall. The impact alone probably would have killed her. And if it did not, the secondary impact probably would. Which would be experienced when the now greatly slowed but still fast falling pod finally makes contact with the water.
At high enough speed, landing on water is no different than landing on water. Even if only for a split second. The surface tension proves just strong enough that it temporarily acts the same, when enough force is applied.
The pod jolts again. This time harder than before.
Even while strapped into place, her body is rattled to the point that something gives.
Bones fracture.
Her brain shakes around violently. Just violently enough that damage is guaranteed, but not so violently that she is killed. Which is the only thing that assures her recovery.
A faint hiss sounds from all around her as the floatation device is triggered. A ring of air is inflated and the ship begins to slowly rise back towards the surface of the water.
Very briefly, her eyes open. And through the front of the glass, she takes in the limitless expanse of blue that is the alien ocean.
Her eyes close again just as her vision begins to grow spotty.
The AI activates inside of the pod and a medical scan is initiated.
She succumbs to her injuries as the AI sets out to apply emergency medical aid.
She will survive. All internal damage will be recovered from. The power of their medical advancements guarantees that she will bounce back from this event.
She will live to face tomorrow. But tonight? Tonight she sleeps. Alone in an alien ocean, as the wreckage of her ship careens into the waters all around her. All the while a hidden death toll rises. Unknown, but unfortunately guaranteed.
