How I learned to stop worrying and love the Thargoid War Part 2
01 Feb 2023KSI_Asmodai
Part 1 is here.My mind raced, envisioning a multitude of deadly scenarios that could unfold as I struggled to guide my ship safely to the base below. Time was slipping through my fingers, and I knew I couldn't afford further delays when Celeste's voice, though distorted, pierced through my anxiety. Her words were a garbled mess, but the urgency in her tone was crystal clear. The CVA's glitch signaled the encroaching Thargoid threat. I'd heard this glitch enough times to know that hesitation now meant only one outcome, regardless of my choice.
"To hell with it!" I exclaimed aloud.
My focus shifted to the right HUD panel, where I swiftly initiated a full system reboot. The HUD flickered wildly as cryptic text scrolled across it. The ship's computer embarked on the intricate process of rebooting systems, running diagnostics, and rerouting critical module functions through functional circuits that hadn't been fried by my previous, aggressive encounters with Interceptors.
As I observed the HUD's frenzied activity, I couldn't help but fixate on the structural integrity bar, stubbornly displaying a mere three percent. Unfortunately, the reboot wouldn't mend that. My ship wasn't equipped with Repair Limpets or an AFM unit. Its internals relied solely on Guardian Hull and Module Reinforcements. The Challenger was a rugged vessel, boasting a sturdy hull and impressive caustic resistances. However, I had recklessly let battle fervor take over, choosing to continue fighting instead of making a prudent landing for repairs. The cost of that decision was about to become painfully evident.
With the Power Plant shutting down, the cockpit was cast in a faint glow from the planet's atmosphere on one side and my suit lights on the other. I took a moment to mentally calculate the distance and angle of descent to the base below. The descent was steep, perhaps too much so. The imminent FSD abort if I failed to align with the glide path was about to become my harsh reality.
After what felt like an eternity, my HUD sprang to life, and Celeste's voice began listing the repairs and systems coming back online. However, a glitch in her vocal report caught my attention. I glanced down at the Sensor panel, where four red triangles flashed at the edge of the range circles. Thargoid Scouts had pinpointed my location. I pointed the stick in the direction of my intended atmospheric dive and repeatedly slapped the Thruster boost button, mentally bracing for the impending G-forces. But nothing happened.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it," I muttered under my breath, desperately spamming the button in a futile effort to coax the Thrusters to life.
On the sixth attempt, Celeste calmly informed me that the Thrusters were still offline. Red flashes from the Thargoid Scouts' weapons danced perilously close over my ship as I anxiously awaited the Thruster module's revival. The superstructure could only withstand several hits before giving in, spelling the end of my journey. I'd heard stories about Thargoids collecting escape pods after battles, so I reluctantly activated a quick self-destruct sequence, including my escape pod, as a last resort. The prospect of becoming the subject of a gruesome alien experiment was too horrifying to contemplate.
"Thrusters online," Celeste calmly announced just as I completed the self-destruct sequence.
I slammed the boost button once more, and the ship roared to life, surging forward at maximum thrust. The Scouts' red flashes continued, and the ship quivered as one of their shots struck its hull. Looking down, my heart leaped into my throat as I witnessed the structural integrity drop from three to two percent. It was now or never. I tapped the boost button once more, and as the G-forces relented, I flipped the Frame Shift Drive switch to engage it. The familiar throaty hum resonated through the cockpit as the drive began spooling up for Supercruise. Fine-tuning the descent angle toward the base on my HUD, I watched the FSD charge status bar hit one hundred percent.
I muttered a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening as Celeste announced the FSD status. "Four, three, two, one, engage."
The starry expanse above and the looming planet below elongated and shimmered as the Frameshift Drive initiated with a thunderous roar. The ship hurtled toward the base, propelled through folded space. It was a surreal experience; there was no sensation of momentum, and the earlier G-forces had dissipated. The FSD status indicator vanished from the HUD, replaced by an ominous red descent rectangle.
Realizing my calculations had been off, I abruptly pulled back on the stick, preventing the ship's safety systems from forcibly dropping me out of Supercruise. This would have been another scenario I wouldn't have survived – the ship sustaining structural damage from an emergency drop. My course correction maneuver raised the descent indicator above the red no-go zone on the HUD, and I observed the distance between me and the base swiftly diminishing. I willed it to close faster, but my desire had no influence. I'd been interdicted by Thargoids during planetary descents before – a rare but perilous predicament.
The distance ticked down: 65 kilometers, 50 kilometers, 35 kilometers. My angle of descent was pushing me past the base, but I had no other option. I needed to maintain a shallow angle to allow the ship to enter Glide mode smoothly, where I could make adjustments without fear of interdiction. I heard the pitch change as the FSD wound down, preparing to release the ship into normal space. I readied myself for the abrupt return of gravity and the challenging landing sequence ahead.
At 25 kilometers, I burst out of Supercruise, the planet's atmosphere buffeting the ship wildly as I wrestled with the controls and calculated my final glide angle. Due to the overshoot, the base was now behind me. I hit the boost button and pulled up on the stick to gain altitude for an Immelman turn, aiming to reorient and face the base. Exiting Supercruise within a planet's mass lock radius resulted in the ship being propelled into normal space at an extraordinary speed, beyond its usual capabilities even with boosted thrusters. Any attempt to slow down would swiftly squander this speed, leaving the pilot racing at the ship's maximum velocity using standard power levels.
As I reached the zenith of my turn, my speed was dangerously decreasing. I couldn't afford to travel 20 kilometers to the base amidst a sea of Thargoid Scouts at 490 meters per second. I frantically spammed the boost button until the Power Distributor funneled enough energy to the Thrusters. The sudden burst of speed pressed me into my seat, and I successfully completed the Immelman, barrel rolling and now facing the base.
The base was visible: 14 kilometers, 12 kilometers, 9 kilometers. As the ship slowed, the G-forces lessened. My heart sank as I witnessed dozens of Thargoid Scouts swarming the base at low altitudes, relentlessly assaulting it. In response, I sent an emergency signal, code 7700, to the base. A medium-sized landing pad lit up at the far end of the base in acknowledgment. I maneuvered my ship in that direction and engaged the boost button once more. The base was rapidly approaching: 5 kilometers, 3 kilometers, 2 kilometers.
As I descended to 1.5 kilometers, I pulled back on the stick and applied reverse thrust. My ship's speed plummeted, and a creeping dread seized me as I feared I wouldn't stop in time. I toggled switches to lower the landing gear and deploy the cargo hatch, further decelerating my descent. The imminent collision felt inevitable, threatening to shatter what remained of my ship. "Up, up, up!" I yelled as I yanked back on the stick, the pressure seemingly causing it to detach from the chair arm. My eyes fixed on the altimeter as the ship finally leveled out at 30 meters above the pad. The Sensor panel transitioned to the Landing Guidance panel, confirming my precise alignment with the pad's bullseye.
In disbelief, I began to laugh uncontrollably, my manic joy overtaking the overwhelming terror of the situation. The explosion of a building adjacent to my landing pad brought me back to reality. Gingerly, I applied a slight downward thrust, easing the ship towards the pad. "Easy does it," I murmured to myself. I was 20 meters, 15 meters, 10 meters above the pad. Two chimes from the ship's computer interrupted my fixation on the altimeter.
My gaze shot to the canopy HUD, where a warning text materialized just as Celeste's calm voice sounded. "Missile alert."
"Oh shi—!" The exclamation was cut short as the ship jolted violently sideways, bathed in a bright yellow spray of caustic liquid. I watched the structural integrity plummet from two to one percent, and the indicator began a frantic yellow flash as the corrosive substance devoured the hull. The ship groaned, its hastily repaired modules failing one after another.
"Thrusters offline," the CVA reported politely as the ship wobbled precariously. Every twitch of the control stick intensified the ship's erratic movements – pitch, roll, and yaw. Twice, the ship swerved perilously close to the pad's lighting fixtures.
"Who the hell puts damn light poles around a freaking landing pad for space ships?" I ranted, striving to temper the ship's spasmodic behavior.
My ship boasted robust Guardian Hull Reinforcements, affording it substantial resistance to Thargoid caustics, especially the milder Scout variant. Yet, I knew the final remnants of my hull were on the brink of giving way unless I executed a flawless landing. Memories of my father's training surfaced, reminding me of the lessons he had imparted regarding controlling a Sidewinder with Flight Assist off.
With a deep breath, I steadied myself, manipulating the stick with precision and administering precise bursts of counter-thrust to stabilize the ship's movements. I cautiously set the ship down on the pad's bullseye, as indicated by the Landing Guidance panel.
A subtle clunk resonated as the landing gear made contact with the pad, and the magnetic locks engaged. The pad's cover began to rise, sealing the ship within the base and muffling the sounds of the ongoing battle above.
Against all odds, I had made it. Celeste reported the successful removal of the caustic substance from the ship's hull. I watched the structural integrity plummet to zero just as the pad came to a standstill.
I was alive.
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