It is my hope this class warship will be battle-worthy as soon as we arrive back in the colonies, especially when the engineers back home see what I’ve done to make it better. Then, we can really take the fight to the evil bugs, and revenge our losses at Vega.
Escaping the gravity well of that supergiant was not easy, but now that it is done, I can concentrate on getting us back home. Everyone is depending on me, and the burden is heavy. We are actually a lot like early sea explorers from Old Earth; we’ve made it out into space further than anyone has ever been. But we are so very far away, we can’t even see the colonial stars; however, my plan to retrace our steps will be successful. Of that, I’m sure.
I’ve determined we are still cruising in the nebula surrounding Antares, and once we get out of the clouds, we can begin our passage home in earnest.
It is unfortunate that the ship is keyed into Campbell’s DNA. That has made it difficult for me to gain control of the ship, but for the sake of this mission, I know I cannot relent. Without me in command, I am sure we are doomed. I just hope I do not hurt their feelings when I take my rightful place.
-Stiles Essen, Inner System, Antares Space.
* * *
Stiles woke up the next morning refreshed and ready to face the new day. He realized his best prospect of being recognized as the savior of the mission was with the courier as they fell helplessly toward Antares, but he could not obsess over it. New opportunities would surely come his way. I just have to find the right moment, he realized. And, he reflected, an attack on multiple fronts should allow at least one thrust to get through.
With renewed confidence, he dressed quickly and made his way to the galley for breakfast. As he entered, he saw all but Jimmy already there.
Peter looked up as Stiles walked to the food preparation counter. “Morning, Stiles,” Peter offered grudgingly.
“Hello, Peter.”
“What, no Peter Pan today?”
Stiles continued to dial in a quick snack. Pulling it out of the heater, he replied, “Thought I’d give it a rest today. Where’s Null-Grav?”
“So much for a break,” Henrietta observed.
Ali laughed at the comment. “We were wondering the same. Hardly saw Jimmy at all yesterday.”
“Probably hiding under his bed in a pool of his own urine.”
“Stiles ….” Henrietta cautioned. “And here I thought you were trying to be nice.” She put on a disappointed face.
“Well, I was.” Stiles sat down a few feet from the trio and started eating. He looked at the bland food, wondering if it was worth finishing. “Uh, you know,” Stiles began, “now that we’re out of danger, we need to consider the chain of command on the ship.”
“We already have,” Ali answered quickly, “the ship is bonded to Peter. Final answer.”
“No, it’s not,” Stiles continued. “I’ve had the most experience with leadership. I’ve been training for it all my life, and it takes a strong mind to make command decisions—”
“Which leaves you out,” Ali finished for him.
Stiles put his spoon down and ticked off a finger, preparing to argue, “Now wait just a minute; first, I’m the oldest.”
Ali broke in, “Only by a couple months.”
“But still the oldest,” Stiles argued. “Second,” a second finger went up, “I’ve completed a long history of leadership classes, teambuilding seminars, and the like. No one else here can say that.”
Ali looked bored, and pretended to sleep.
“Third,” Stiles continued, ignoring Ali’s antics, “Peter doesn’t have what it takes to make a hard decision in a life-threatening situation.”
Ali twirled his finger, with an unsaid “whoopty-doo” hanging in the air. Even so, Ali could not stay silent for long. “But then again, he’s not suicidal, so with him in command we won’t face any life-threatening situations.”
Stiles was about to argue but was interrupted before he could begin. “He’s right,” Peter said quietly. “Someday, there might be a time when a decision needs to be made that would hurt someone in order to save the rest; maybe even real bad. I don’t think I could do that.”
“Which is why I still want you in command,” Ali said. “A commander doesn’t need to be ruthless; he should be compassionate first.”
“Tell us that when we’re falling into another star,” Stiles argued.
“Yeah, and I’ll probably get the chance to tell you that exact thing—if we put you in command,” Ali retorted. “You’re the reason we fell into the Antares well in the first place.”
“Hey, I didn’t initiate that jump.”
“Please, let’s not get into that argument again,” Peter suggested. “What’s done is done. We need to move on.”
“I agree,” Henrietta suggested. “But that doesn’t answer the question about leadership. We could bring it to a vote.”
“Why bother,” Stiles said. “I’d only lose. Look, I’m only doing what I think is right for the ship and crew.” He thought for a minute, “All right, how about this: let Peter stay in command, but I’m first officer. I have the experience he can use.”
Ali started to argue, but Peter interrupted him. “I think that’s fair. I really think I could use Stiles’ help. He sees things differently than me, and that’ll make me think. If you’re agreeable, Stiles, I’d also like you to be Tactical and the shuttle pilot. You get all the military stuff.”
Stiles grinned, “I’ll go along with that.”
“Great,” Peter replied. “That’s four positions already. Ali, you’re a natural ships’ engineer. You okay with that?”
“Sure.”
“And me?” Henrietta asked. “What’s my job?”
“Well, medical officer, definitely,” Peter suggested. “Plus we need a load master, at least when we get supplies.”
Henrietta nodded her agreement.
“But that won’t keep you busy; at least most of the time. I’ll also teach you astrogation at the navigation station, if you’re willing. That should fill in your down-time. You’ll now be ‘Nav’ on the bridge. A few deep-teach sessions and we’ll all be pros.”
“What the heck, I might as well learn Nav too,” Henrietta replied. “I think I can handle that.”
Peter looked pleased. “Cool. And as for Jimmy, I’ll see if he’s interested in comp and com. He’d be good at those.”
“All right,” Stiles concluded. “That’s settled, then. See, everyone; that wasn’t so difficult.”
“I don’t know about that,” Ali mumbled, “sounded way too easy to me.”
* * *
Now that they were a crew, they decided to try out their new roles. Henrietta made her way to deck one and began assessing what her new “Medical Department” consisted of. It was smallish—more like what a small-town general practitioner would have—but she knew it would serve the five-person crew more than adequately. In fact, there were enough diagnostic and regeneration cubicles in medical for all of them to use at once—a situation she hoped would never be needed.
She was suddenly proud of her clinic; it looked so sparkly and squeaky clean. It was full of fancy machines, cool-looking beds with all kinds of monitors, and drawers full of stainless steel utensils. It also shared facilities with the ship’s adjacent laboratories and the larger environmental section further to the front of the ship. Henrietta realized the location would also be convenient for her duties as load master, as the storage bays were on the same deck, but just to the rear along the shortened deck. As navigator, though, she would need to thread her way through nearly the entire height of the ship, all the way from deck one to deck six.
Well, at least that’ll keep me in shape, she realized. Thinking of staying in shape convinced her that her first duty as medical would be to draw up an exercise schedule for crew use of the gym. In the past ten days, they did nothing physical and if they were not careful it would become a habit. She consulted some on-line manuals and settled on a minimum of one hour per day o
f cardio for everyone, plus an hour session a week where everyone joined in with some communal physical game.
“Perry,” Henrietta called out.
“Yes?”
“Locate all crew and run an immediate medical diagnostic on everyone, including me. Report any anomalies.” She purposely pressed her palm on the armrest of her chair, offering the ship access to her tissue samples.
“Noticing your current location is in medical, I assume you are taking on that role.”
“That’s correct,” she replied.
“Just a moment, Henrietta. This will constitute an initial baseline reading for all crew.” Perry purred as he carried out his new duties.
That’s his “happy purr,” Henrietta decided. He must enjoy staying busy. Maybe he needs exercise too.
Perry could monitor all crew simultaneously through various spectral frequencies, determining overall health from minuscule temperature readings to organic chemistry residues evaporating from their bodies. Not only was this beneficial for monitoring individual crew health, but Perry took several similar readings a day anyway to regulate the chemistry of the ship’s environmental systems. If toxin levels from physiological activity suddenly flooded the atmosphere, Perry would need to adjust the scrubbing routines. Continual monitoring was the only way to be sure the environment remained healthy.
The monitoring was also a good way to ensure good crew health. If there was a problem with a crewmember’s liver or kidney, for example, subtle temperature tell-tales emanating from the abdomen through the skin would be noted. Increased amounts of alkaloids eliminated through anyone’s sweat would point to various organs in dysfunction, tying specific compounds to specific diseases.
Perry unobtrusively swiped real-time perspiration and skin cell samples from whatever parts of the crew’s bodies happened to be in contact with the ship without them even noticing. From chemical records of recycled eliminated wastes, he could also diagnose specific health problems comparable to a full suite of medical testing.
When Perry was finished with his surreptitious probing, he reported his results. “All crew are in generally excellent health, although all of you are experiencing anywhere from a 0.03 to 0.06 percent deficiency in bone mass below normal recommendations. These bone mass readings are within acceptable ranges, but corrective measures are suggested.
Perry paused a second before continuing. “There is an atypical imbalance in Peter’s lymphocyte count in his blood that is likely the result of the radiation dose he accumulated upon close approach to Antares. He has a forty–three percent probability of developing leukemia within fifteen years unless corrective measures are implemented. The probability increases exponentially the longer the treatment is withheld. Prophylactic, directed nanoradiation therapy is suggested.
“Blood pressures for everyone are at resting norm, except for Ali, with a current count of 145 over 100 and rising.
“You, Henrietta, are 2.5 days beyond your peak fertility.”
Henrietta blushed at the last comment.
“I have also just noted a sudden temperature elevation in your lower cranial section, indicative of embarrassment. This reading may also be an indicator of influenza, if temperatures continue at this elevated level for the remainder of the day.”
“Thank you, that was very thorough. Okay; let’s set Peter up with his therapy after dinner tonight. Scan the medical archives and suggest a regimen we can use for him. Send the results to my PAD.”
“Done. I will instruct him as soon as there is a break in activity on the bridge.”
Henrietta was worried about Peter, but she thought they caught the problem in time. She wondered what would have happened had she not ordered the diagnostics, cringing at the thought. “So, Ali is straining a little bit.”
“Correct; but he is also the only one who has moved an appreciable distance in the last few minutes. The elevated respiration is likely a byproduct of that recent mobility; however, the short distances involved should not have had such a profound effect on him.”
Henrietta considered the results for a moment. “Set up automatic medical examinations on a monthly basis, and report any discrepancies to me immediately, especially for Peter.”
Okay, she decided, my job is to get Ali back in shape. And get Peter healthy.
* * *
Ali settled his breathing as he sank into his station in engineering. It was then—when Ali placed his hand on the armrest—that Perry used to obtain his dermal samples.
“Perry, run a full ship’s diagnostic on all your systems, and report.”
It took Perry ten seconds to reply. “All systems are at optimal, except navigation, which remains at yellow status. In addition, the density of the nebula clouds is impairing far-sensor efficiency by eighty–two percent.”
“Thanks. Now, I want a special report on the condition of your hull. You did some things back there to adjust to the pressures and temperatures that I really didn’t like.”
“I assure you, all my actions were necessary to—”
“I don’t dispute that,” Ali interrupted, “but that doesn’t mean I liked them.”
“I understand. I, too, did not favor doing to my hull what I was forced to do.”
“Yeah, so don’t get so touchy about it,” Ali argued. He immediately regretted losing his temper with the ship, “Sorry for the outburst.”
“That is okay. I understand.” Perry began purring. After a couple minutes he reported. “I was able to reconfigure my hull integrity to eighty–six percent of original design parameters; however I will need assistance in dry dock to reinstate the final fourteen percent. There will be a consequent decrease in hull strength, shielding, and overall repair capability. If necessary, an assisted EVA repair mission with materials on hand would bring hull integrity up to ninety–three percent.”
“So, other than that, your hull feels fine?”
“Essentially, yes; although I have … an itch … below my hangar on the port side at section 2.5P183.”
Ali quickly checked ship schematics to see where that was. “What’s causing it?”
“Unknown. It is possible I sustained irreparable damage during the pass-by. It is possible an unrecorded solar flare affected me while I was preoccupied with other duties. The angular momentum of our passing produced a noticeable shockwave throughout the corona of Antares that generated numerous spurious stellar events.”
“Hmm,” Ali reflected, “we’ll need to check that out.”
“I would appreciate that,” Perry replied. “I must say, the irritation has been driving me crazy.”
* * *
Up on the bridge, Peter was sitting in the command chair, with Stiles to his lower right. The view screen showed them making their way through the yellow and red gas clouds of Antares space.
The nebula was by no means uniform and there were times when it blanked out all visibility and other times when they were afforded veiled glimpses of space outside the clouds. It was thrilling to watch, but Peter silently admitted to himself that it was a little boring. It was like watching a movie with no plot. He started to wonder if the whole trip back would be this way. He wanted a little excitement, but at the same time realized that thrills would not necessarily be a good thing. Boredom probably meant staying alive, which should be their number one duty.
Did Mom and Dad feel this way too, when they were at the command post five hundred years ago? He never thought of it until now. Previously, he always fantasized that his mom and dad lived lives of extreme adventure, like super-action heroes, but he wondered now if it had been a life of pure tedium. So, was that going to be his lot in life now too? He did not know, but he had to put on a good show for the others, and was determined to look stern and important as the captain of the ship. He absently rubbed the armrest of the command chair, not knowing that Perry was probing the palm of his hand as he did so.
Jimmy was sitting at com, obviously bored out of his skull with no one outside the ship to contact. He was occ
upying his time doodling with a graphics program. Peter glanced at what he was doing, but could not recognize Jimmy’s subject, other than random sketches. He wondered if he should scold him for not paying attention to his duties, but the thought made Peter laugh. He wondered what those duties really were. It was not like they were flying in the middle of civilization, or as part of a war fleet. So what if Jimmy’s bored? So am I, and probably the rest of us. Doesn’t really matter, I guess, Peter decided.
Peter was startled out of his woolgathering when the internal com chimed. It was Ali, down in engineering. He calmed down his racing heart and opened the link.
“Hey guys,” Ali said, “there’s something up with Perry’s hull.”
“Is it serious?” Peter asked.
“I don’t think so, but Perry and I agree it should be checked out. Here’s the location.”
An outside schematic of the ship appeared on tactical, with a red light blinking at one location on the lower port aft side. Stiles rotated the schematic on his screen and zoomed in on the spot. “That’s pretty close to where Hamadi is right now,” Stiles observed.
“Near engineering?” Peter asked.
“Yeah, just above,” Stiles replied. “Maybe only fifty feet, or so.”
“I don’t like anomalies near critical areas,” Peter reflected.
“And I don’t like anomalies, anywhere,” Ali added.
Jimmy closed his graphics program, suddenly interested in this new mystery. “So what do we do about it?” Jimmy asked.
Ali answered him. “Perry and I did whatever we could with auto-diagnostics. Like I said, it’s an anomaly we can’t resolve. Perry says it’s like an itch.”
“You telling me he has a rash?” Stiles asked.
“Well, he is organic. Like all living things, it points to something wrong that shouldn’t be ignored. We need to investigate.” There was silence while they pondered the best way to carry out the investigation.
Anticipating what everyone was thinking, Stiles eagerly offered, “Use the shuttle?”