“Mr. Henderson,” a man wearing computer goggles and a well-trimmed beard reacted. “They have reached safe distance.”
“I assume we are still in communications range.”
“Two second delay, sir, but still in range.”
“Good, I would like to address the crew.”
“Of course, sir.”
Henderson poked the air three times and—combined with mental impulses sent through his thinker chip—three more screens appeared. One broadcast on
SE 185’s
bridge, another the common room on the crew deck, and the last in the engineering section.
“Captain Charles, Commander Hawthorne, and rest of the crew of
SE 185
, I call to offer my best wishes for the voyage on which you are about to embark.”
Captain Charles listened, waited, and then replied, “Thank you, Mr. Henderson. We will depart in two minutes.”
“Good that gives me a chance to address the crew, if you do not mind.”
“By all means, sir.”
He straightened the lapel of his navy blue suit and spoke over the monitors to three audiences.
“I cannot overstate the importance of your mission…”
…Professor Coffman glanced away from the console and looked to the image of Director Henderson on a wall-mounted screen, then back at his controls.
This was a critical time; the generator neared optimal performance. In two minutes, they would release that power, feeding the Alcubierre—Haruto drive and beginning their journey.
He appreciated the director wishing them well, but any problems now would result in disaster.
Around the corner from Coffman, Andy Phipps oversaw construction of millions of nanobots to deploy into the conduits that funneled power to the bow array. Even man’s advanced alloys could not contain such energy without suffering damage. The nanobots would repair that damage as it occurred at speeds measured in femtoseconds.
Sheila Black stood nearby, smoking an e-cigarette and interfacing with her wrist computer. Like Coffman, she supervised the Rotating Field Power Generator.
The gravitational anomaly in the station’s cargo bay that had killed Martin Chambers came from one panel covering two square feet. If the RTFG spawned an anomaly, it would destroy the ship and possibly create a black hole.
Henderson’s speech bounced off the high ceiling in engineering and echoed around the generators and cisterns.
“Astronaut Ellison Onizuka of the space shuttle Challenger said that ‘every generation has the obligation to free men’s minds for a look at new worlds; to look out from a higher plateau than the last generation.’ That is what you are doing today. You stand on the shoulders of those who came before, pioneers such as Yuri Gagarin, the first human in space; and Arthur Banks, the first man to step on Mars…”
…Dr. King sipped from a plastic cup filled with coffee while sitting at the table in the common room on deck two. She found a chair between her assistant, Rafael Soto, and Lieutenant Thomas. Reagan Fisk sat further away, fidgeting nervously as they watched Henderson on a wall-mounted screen.
Ira King did not understand the engines driving the ship or the dangers, but she understood human nature. She saw the crew as a volatile concoction.
Hawthorne, the playboy with few cares lacked the determination to be the hero Kelly Thomas worshiped.
Captain Charles and Leo Wren were bullies, Professor Coffman was oblivious to anything other than his scientific pursuits and his assistants were no better. Carlson was timid and Fisk suddenly seemed afraid of his own shadow.
The crew lacked a moral center. They traveled into the unknown, and she worried the slightest challenge could turn the shipmates against one another.
Henderson’s broadcast continued.
“Those men came from different nations and different times, but when they journeyed to the heavens, they did so for their entire species, climbing a little higher than those who came before them. When you reach your destination, you will indeed look out from a higher plateau; a view from a new solar system…”
…Hawthorne sat at his console putting six weeks of training to use. He watched power levels across the ship including data from engineering and adjusted the communications array to improve the quality of Henderson’s transmission.
Across from him, Leanne Warner kept busy checking—for the tenth time—the bulkheads and hatches, as well as eyeing their airspace for any sign of intruders.
For the first time, Hawthorne noticed she wore a gold necklace from which dangled the design of three interlocking rings. He recognized it as a symbol of unity with the pro-labor, anti-corporation movement, particularly on Mars. She must have forgotten to tuck it inside her coveralls.
As for Captain Charles, he sat in his chair, intently watching data streams as information flowed to his station. It was a mask, of course. Once the Alcubierre—Haruto drive engaged, they were riders on a runaway train with no control other than an emergency stop. Hawthorne wondered where the big red abort button was on this ship.
Stein was the most relaxed person on the bridge, probably because now that they had reached the launch point, he had nothing to do for two weeks.
Conversely, navigator Tommy Starr squirmed while his fingers tapped air and cycled through his charts repeatedly. The course Starr plotted was critical not only for the ship but for whoever might be waiting at their destination. The Alcubierre—Haruto drive would take them to Gliese 581g, but it would bring with it a devastating wave of energy that would bombard anything in front of the arriving craft.
Considering their target destination was light years away, computing the exact angle of approach posed a challenge despite advanced navigation computers. If an error caused the ship to arrive facing the planet, 581g would be blasted and irradiated beyond repair.
Henderson finished his speech: “Our sun and the planets in orbit around it will be but a speck of light to your eyes, lost in a sea of stars. Earth will be twenty-two light years away, so in a sense you will see into our past, even as you chart our future. And that is what you are doing; paving the way for tomorrow by daring to take the greatest step ever attempted in the history of human exploration. On behalf of our company, your country, and our children’s children, I wish you success.”
The transmission ended and a murmur of ‘thank god’ from Stein reflected the feelings of the bridge crew.
Charles pulled up a link to engineering.
“Professor, my board shows ready.”
“Yes, Captain, we have reached maximum power levels. On your word, we will transfer that power to the drive, and our journey will begin. Engineering is mission go.”
“Stand by, Professor.” Charles turned his chair and made eye contact with every station as he said, “Put up or shut up time, people. I need a go, no-go on mission. Commander?”
“Gravitational fields activated and stable, protection enabled. XO says mission, go.”
“Hatches show sealed and local space is clear. Flight says mission go.”
“Helm here, mission go.”
“Tommy? What do you say?”
“Captain, navigation is mission go.”
Charles looked to the screen and told Professor Coffman, “Mission is a go; activate the A-H drive.”
One moment
SE 185
hung in empty space, the only signs of the vast power generating inside its hull came from the concave slots at the bow glowing a soft green.
Starlight shining around the ship then bent and warped, twisted by an unseen force before finally righting again as
SE 185
vanished.
30. Captain’s Table
Leanne Warner sat at the flight operations station, one of three crewmen on watch despite having nothing to watch. So she sat, listening to the steady hum of equipment and spinning her artificial wrist round and round. In public, the sight of her hand rotating three-hundred-and-sixty degrees shocked onlookers, but Stein and Starr had seen the trick enough that they had run out of hand job jokes.
Stein sat in the pilot’s chair with his feet resting atop his console while he bounced a small ball off the hull and Tommy Starr played a game of Shogi on his navigation screen.
The thrill of interstellar travel had given way to the monotonous reality that once the A-H drive activated the crew were merely passengers along for the ride.
“This is boring,” Stein said for the fifth time in the last hour.
Leanne pointed at the closed bulkhead over the window in front of him and asked, “What do you suppose it looks like outside? The cameras are blank.”
“You would think there would be a pretty light show,” Stein said and bounced the ball again.
Without taking his eyes from his game, Tommy Starr told them, “Space is bending in front of us and straightening out behind, so there is nothing for your eyes to see.”
Stein asked Warner, “Say, did I ever show you the scar I got on Mars?”
Starr warned, “Do not fall for it; he is talking about the one he got from a lady friend in a bar at Valles Marineris.”
She ignored the question and said, “Three weeks of this.”
Stein bounced the ball again.
“This is boring.”
---
Kelly Thomas navigated the maze of shipping containers and stacked pallets filling the cargo bay, eventually stopping at a green metal box that stood apart in a row of orange containers marked “Geological Survey Team.” She typed her security code into the lock and the door swung open.
She spoke, “It’s okay to come out,” but it was the impulse sent from her implant that coaxed her friends from their crate.
The four-legged robot nicknamed ‘Larry’ came first, but only placed its front metallic talons outside, as if afraid of the light.
A two-meter long vehicle on caterpillar tracks nearly pushed Larry aside as it came rolling out. ‘Curly’ chirped and raced around Thomas in circles, its cluster of launch tubes shaking and rattling as it whirled around.
Moe came last, waddling on flat feet with its wings folded above rocket pods. Combined with a forward sensor array designed to mimic a beak, the drone resembled a big crow assembled from building blocks.
“I am sorry you have to spend the trip in here but don’t worry, I will visit every day.”
Kelly sat on the floor and held out her wrist computer.
“Dr. Kost—Ellen—said I should think about what I want to do when I am out of the military. Don’t worry, you guys will come with me, but I guess you will have to lose the weapons. Anyway, she said I should think about it since my tour will be up and I don’t have to re-enlist if I do not want to.”
Moe’s wings unfurled.
“No flying in the cargo bay.”
Moe’s wings retracted.
“So, check this out,” and her computer projected an image into her mind of a thirty-story building of spiraling pillars along which sprouted crops and vines. Because they linked to her thinker chip, the robots saw the image, too.
“This looks like a skyscraper but it is a vertical farm. Isn’t that neat? They are--Larry, come out,” and she patted the floor. The robot left behind the container and sat next to her.
“Guess who does the farming? That’s right,
robots.
Well, I’m thinking we could do farming together. They have these on Earth near the big cities. You know, I haven’t been to Earth in a long time.”
She changed the image from the vertical farm to a textbook on the subject.
“Anyway, I can take courses and get, like, a certificate that says I can be an ‘automated agricultural systems engineer.’ How cool is that? So I need to learn about these things and you guys are going to help, okay?”
Her implant opened the book, feeding the text to her mind that Kelly read aloud, her voice echoing across an empty cargo bay.
---
Captain Charles hosted Dr. King, Professors Coffman and Carlson, Wren, Kost, and Fisk in the common room. While not as fancy as a traditional dinner at the Captain’s table, the Additive Food Processing Station provided machine-woven reproductions of salad and steak, the former smelling like plastic, the latter a surprisingly sweet scent.
Commander Hawthorne supplied bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon from his personal stash and Carlson shared a box of fine chocolates he had brought aboard with his gear.
It was an awkward, quiet affair, however, until after dinner when the second cork popped.
Dr. King filled her glass and passed the bottle to Captain Charles, whom she asked, “What do we expect to find?”
“According to the probe, Gliese 581g is a rocky planet with one side permanently facing its red dwarf sun.”
“There are rocky planets closer to Earth,” Wren pointed out.
Dr. King said, “Back on Oberon, you showed us computer simulations of the planet, but do we have any photographs from the probe?”
Wren answered for the Captain, “You cannot send data over a QE connection, only coded messages. Still, I will tell you what we will find: minerals and gases that Universal Visions can exploit. In the end, it’s always about corporate profits.”
To everyone’s surprise, Fisk shot, “You are one of those people who bitch about profits, like they are bad but you don’t know what you are talking about.”
Fisk’s depression before launch had morphed into a combination of anger and frustration. He spoke in a low, grumbling tone with his eyes focused on his wine glass.
Wren said, “Companies like UVI build rigs on asteroids, pay people pennies to supervise robot drillers, and then ship the loads back home and sell it for twice what it cost to extract.”
Fisk forcefully replied, “And what are they drilling? Energy to fuel cars, space ships, farms, and shuttles plus building materials for domes and space stations.”
“It’s about profits.”
“Without profits you do not have this ship or even artificial gravity. Profits gave us these advances and if you spent a day working in a business, you would know something about it but you don’t, you just complain. If not for profit, we never would have made it beyond the industrial revolution, there would be no Alcubierre—Haruto Drive, not even computers.”
While knocked off-balance by the force of Fisk’s reply, Wren managed to say, “I guess you have a God just like Dr. King, except your temple is the corporate boardroom.”