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Thirteen days had now passed after the expedition set out. Silence had befallen the ship. If not for their motion and idle twiddling, the Sævii was little more than a large rock, tunneling its way through the barrier with whatever energy it had left. Vræii, the ship's mechanic, wondered the halls aimlessly, anticipating a breach at any moment. Tavii spent most of his time in his bunk, sleeping off any uneasiness that consumed him. Cirii grew bored of constant display out of the command deck windows. The vessel would keep its current course, if the instruments were still working. The ship itself was sleepily cruising along - on autopilot, high throttle, and low lighting.
There was only one thing, one force, operating at its full, unadulterated capacity. Time was on its side and it was yet to be seen.
Day fourteen started as thirteen, twelve, and ten did: without any dichotomy between it and the last. The constant hum of the engines never ceasing, the scraping sand never halting, the ship never slowing. The morning drew on. Each man consumed his morning rations and each went about his business. As Sci began to climb the stairs to the command deck, an alarm sounded from the room ahead of him. Suddenly his feet no longer touched the floor, his initial step propelled him into the top of the corridor; his instinctive reaction movements flung him around in psychotic patterns, bouncing from the top of the corridor to the walls and off the floor. Vræii's voice rang out from the crew quarters, "Hast! The artificial gravity capaci..." his voiced drowned out as he swam his way to the ship's wired underbelly. The rest of the crew floated as best they could to their stations. Then, as abruptly as it happened, the gravity on the ship reappeared. The crew members who were still aloft slammed down onto the deck, and at the same time a violent vibration overcame the ship. The lights died and with it, any chance of finding the problem...
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