It took a moment for Henrietta to break her concentration away from her screen. “I think that is the main definition of being alive; at least for humans. A healthy person always tries to become more than what they are. Always trying to be somehow better—which, by the way, was something I was trying to do before you interrupted me.”
“Oh, I see you have access to medical databases. You are studying about the regeneration units. They were state-of-the-art when we left Vega. One wonders what advances have been made in the intervening half-millennium. These may be mere toys now, compared to what is now common practice.”
“You don’t take hints, do you?” Henrietta asked.
“What do you need hints about, Henrietta?” Perry actually sounded eager. “If this is another exercise, I would enjoy that.”
“No. What I meant is that I can’t multitask like you. I can only think about two or three things at once.”
“Oh, I can successfully complete over 800 trillion individual tasks at one time.”
“That’s nice.” Henrietta began reading the on-line manuals again, conspicuously burying her head in her computer screen.
“I am grateful you can carry out three tasks at once. I shall note that for future reference. So, I was wondering—”
“Perry, I’m sorry, but I can’t concentrate and talk at the same time. Those are … mutually exclusive tasks for me. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Of course, Henrietta. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”
“No problem, Perry. I just got to understand this stuff.”
Perry watched her return to her screen and decided to leave her alone. He would remember that talking and concentrating for her were not part of her triple-multitasking duties. He noted a slight temperature elevation in her cheeks, indicating she was embarrassed, or possibly angry. He felt bad about altering her state of happiness. He would need to do something later to make amends.
Perry looked around the ship for anything else of interest to occupy his time. He found Peter on the bridge, dutifully at command, although somewhat lost about what really needed to be done; Ali was in engineering, tweaking equipment—and what he just did felt really good; Jimmy was in his room staring at his PAD, and Stiles was walking around aimlessly between storage and manufacturing on the lower decks.
Perry came to realize they were all so different. Stiles was strong and confident. Henrietta was confident too, but very kind and considerate at the same time. I believe that has to do with morals. She actually treats me like an equal. Stiles is the senior member of the crew, but I think I like Henrietta better; possibly better than all the others. Why would I like one human over another? Perry wondered. Outwardly, it is difficult to see any differences.
He would need to think about that when he found the time. Maybe I will even spend over ten microseconds on it after I enter it into my queue. So many interesting things ….
* * *
Stiles waited three hours for Henrietta to leave medical. It seemed she would never leave, but now that he had his chance he did not know how long it would last.
No time to lose.
As Henrietta entered the lift to go up-deck, Stiles stepped briskly out from manufacturing and slinked over to her door. Before he entered, he called out to Perry, “Privacy, please, for the whole forward section of this deck.”
Stiles paused to be sure his actions were not recorded before entering medical. As he maneuvered around the door, he felt a thousand eyes on him. He looked around but saw no one. “Perry?”
There was no answer.
Stiles tried to make sense of what everything was inside the clinic, but it all looked so foreign. Henrietta kept her area neat, but one thing here looked much like any other. He pawed through her desk, looking over his shoulder nervously; there was nothing there. He opened all five regen units only to find each empty.
How much time do I have? Stiles wondered. He felt the skin on the back of his neck crawl as he continued looking around. Then he had an idea.
He rushed to her computer and lightly ran his fingertips through the screen; just enough to claim it was an accident if it was armed. To his surprise, it came back to where she was before she left. No computer security, he realized. That will come in handy. Now he could get to work.
Being careful to mark the page she was on so he could return to it, he thumbed through the “History” of the previous sites she visited. Stiles rapidly scanned the titles of her recent entries. Ah, here it is, he thought with relish. He settled down and absorbed as much medical information as he could.
Even though he would never understand all this stuff, Stiles was intelligent enough to pick up the essentials. All he needed was to find a few key pieces of information. “Like this one,” he muttered under his breath.
“… Several substances are contraindicated with the preferred therapy, resulting in severe side effects. The following list of medications, and their effects—some including death—are listed below ….”
Stiles never heard of any of those substances, but picked one that looked like it would work. Not bothering to try to decipher the medical term, he wrote down the manufacturing code and the allotment.
Now all he needed to find was where Henry left the original treatment solution. He paged up several entries. Reading through half a page of “Mixing Instructions,” he found what he was searching for: “After mixing the chemicals, the vial must be stored in cold storage until use. Each vial should be mixed no more than eight hours prior to use due to slow degradation of the nanocytes.”
Stiles then looked for the refrigerator. It probably isn’t too big … look for a latching handle; yeah, like this one. Stiles walked up to the unit in great anticipation and opened the door. He felt a satisfying suction break as the door easily opened. Inside was a small vial. It contained five cubic centimeters of a yellow liquidly substance. He found an empty disposal container and injected a fifth of the sample into it. He then rushed to manufacturing and dialed in one cc of chemical manufacturing code RT357, whatever that was. Five minutes later—which seemed like an hour, worrying that Henrietta would soon return—Stiles took the RT357 and injected it into the original vial. The level returned to exactly five cc’s and was just as yellow as it was before he tampered with it.
“Perfect,” he rejoiced.
Stiles rushed the vial back to the chamber and carefully closed the door. “Well, Peter, I’m so sorry these chemicals don’t mix well. Any good doctor should have known that, as the instructions clearly indicate. It really is a shame we don’t have someone more experienced here in medical making proper decisions.” He smiled to himself, biting back the glee he was feeling. All done; for today’s treatment, that is.
Just before he left, he remembered the radiation disposal container and the manufacturing bulb he had left on the counter. He rushed back and swept them up, planning to take them to his room to hide away.
He probably should have remembered the computer screen too, but it slipped his mind. Just as he closed the medical door, he looked around the corridor one last time to be sure no one was lurking around. “Made it,” he sighed with contentment. “Return to monitoring mode,” he whispered as he made his way back to the lift.
Perry—or anyone else for that matter—would have no idea anyone had ever been down here.
* * *
Now that the crew had extra time on their hands, they needed to decide what to do with Lieutenant Wilkins’ body. Ali went up to the cold storage room where they left Ruben back at Vega. It did not take long for him to report the grisly details to Peter. According to Ali, the lieutenant looked like a large, desiccated potato, and the air in the sealed room was unbearably sour. Before he got off the com Ali recommended they never use that room again. Peter decided not to tell the others about Ruben’s condition and went up to help Ali retrieve the body. He regretted that decision immediately. No words could have described what was up there. Peter also decided it would be a long time before he ever ate potatoes ag
ain.
The boys decided to use a missile housing unit to seal what remained of the body and quickly carted it off to the rear missile room. With as much dignity as they could muster, they loaded the lieutenant’s body into an ejection tube and gathered everyone on the bridge. Ali activated the view screen to the wake of the ship.
“Does anyone know anything appropriate to say?” Peter asked. Everyone remained silent. “Well, I guess I just push the button, then,”
“You can’t just do that,” Henrietta argued. She cleared her throat, giving her time to think. Stammering, she continued, “None of us knew Lieutenant Wilkins very well, but he seemed like a good man. He died trying to protect us and save the ship. No one could have asked for more.” She looked around for help. “Does anyone have anything else to add? Ali …?”
“He knew a lot about the ship. My father always liked him. Said he always kept ahead of schedule.”
Henrietta nodded gratefully and smiled. She looked toward Peter, but he just shrugged his shoulders.
“I do not think Lieutenant Wilkins liked me at all,” Perry said.
“What an awful thing to say!” Henrietta scolded.
Perry hummed. “Is the truth not always appropriate?”
“Uh, there are times when saying nothing is better than saying anything bad,” Henrietta said.
“Saying Lieutenant Wilkins did not like me is not saying anything bad. It is a simple statement of fact.” Perry hummed.
“Well,” Jimmy observed, “just because I don’t like Stiles doesn’t mean I should be saying it out loud … much, anyway.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” Stiles added. “Maybe you can cozy up with the lieutenant in that metal trash can before we throw out the garbage.”
It was obvious Henrietta was losing control of the situation. Instead of the somber ceremony she envisioned, this was turning into an argument about who did not like who. Giving up all hope she turned back to Peter, “Maybe you just should push that button.”
Confused, Peter replied, “That’s what I wanted to do in the first place.” Peter turned to the control panel, “Here’s to Lieutenant Ruben Wilkins. A fine officer and friend …. He will be missed. May he rest in eternal peace.”
Peter pushed the missile button and the screen showed the sleek metal casket shooting off into the gas clouds. A thin, hollow trail formed in its wake as it sped away. The crew stared at the screen for a few minutes in muted silence.
“I am assessing the lieutenant’s trajectory,” Perry reported, “and I am happy to report that he will enter the chromosphere of Antares in 401 years.”
“Why are you happy about that?” Henrietta asked perturbed. Peter wondered if everything Perry said from now on would annoy Henrietta.
“My records show that cremation is an acceptable means of final internment. Is that not so?”
Before Henrietta had a chance to add her caustic comments, Peter replied, “Yes, it is. That’s good to know, Perry. It’s a fitting way for a sailor to end.”
“No way’s fitting to die!” Henrietta cried. She stormed out of the bridge to escape the company of the others. “I’ll be down in medical.”
Everyone switched from looking at the view screen to watching Henrietta’s dramatic exit.
“What’s gotten in to her?” Peter asked. The other boys shrugged in unison.
* * *
“The more I study this system, the more interesting it becomes,” Perry commented.
“Why’s that?” Peter asked.
“I am not sure there is anything this complex in the human database. Antares is so large, and the companion star is far enough away, that there are a multitude of planetary bodies that have formed or been captured in this system; some mysteriously very close to the B companion yet locked onto Antares. I believe planetary particle disks were able to independently form around both stars, thus producing quite a few planets at each star. After all, there is ample source material in the nebula clouds here.”
Peter was alone on the bridge after their failed attempt at a solemn funeral. Henrietta left the crew in a huff and did not contact the others since shutting herself off in her office to pout. Ali wandered to the galley for a quick lunch by himself, and Stiles and Jimmy unexpectedly went to comp together to work on the language translator. Peter was simply sitting around, staring blankly at the view screen and wondering if there was anything interesting to do. “Oh,” he replied to Perry’s comment. “Quite a few, huh?”
“Yes, Peter. Antares has fifteen main planets, with an aggregate total of fifty–three major satellites with diameters over 2,000 miles. If we count all the satellites, they would number in the low thousands.
“I conjecture they were packed very closely together during original formation, with many original planets being captured as satellites. It appears as though there has been quite a bit of planetary realignment throughout the short lifespan of Antares. Four additional planets co-orbit both stars in very convoluted orbits, and—so far as I can detect from this distance—there are at least three planets confined solely to the B companion star at very tight orbits. It is not beyond possibility that there are over thirty planets within the confines of the Antares nebulosity.”
“That’s quite a few,” Peter observed. “Perry, display the system schematics on tac.” Peter slipped over to the larger tactical station and studied the configuration of planets. The ninth, tenth, and fifteenth were gas giants. The last one was so large that Peter was surprised it had not formed into a brown dwarf. The two innermost planets they already passed—Alpha- and Beta-Antares-A—were airless chunks of cinder that were so close to the bloated surface of the central star that Peter was surprised they were still in orbit, but the others were far enough away to still remain a mystery enshrouded in the space clouds. “Have you detected any terrestrial atmospheres?”
“No, I have not, Peter. I am still experiencing significant interference from strong hydrogen, oxygen, and methane emissions from the surrounding nebula. It is impossible to differentiate specific planetary atmospheric gasses from the intervening interstellar elements we find ourselves within.”
Peter knew there were strict requirements to be met in order to form conditions favorable to the development of a terrestrial atmosphere and hence to life. The planet needed to be similar in size to Old Earth, ideally with a mass between half and double the Earth, although several Super-Earths had been catalogued up to ten times the size of Old Earth. The planets also had to occupy a restrictive zone not too close, nor too far, from the parent star where temperatures were sufficient for liquid water on the surface to be stable. That was called the Habitable Zone. “You’re having trouble determining planetary atmospheric spectra?”
“Yes, with any certainty,” Perry replied.
“List the planetary mass and diameter data, then. Include the large satellites, but skip the three co-orbiting planets.”
Data for the eighteen known stable planets and fifty–three satellites were displayed next to the schematic. All three planets from the B companion were too far away to know anything with certainty and displayed question marks beside them. Of the total, eight of Antares’ fifteen planets and twelve moons were close to the right size. “Do you have an estimate of Antares’ HZ?”
“Antares is not a typical main sequence star,” Perry stated, “so it is usually not considered in such calculations. However, I would estimate the Habitable Zone to be centered at 255 AU, or about 23 billion miles.”
That’s a long way out, Peter realized. “So Antares’ HZ is nearly half way to the B companion star?”
“Correct, in so much as supergiants have an HZ.”
One main planet and a moon of a gas giant appeared to be at a suitable location, but they were a long way away from the ship.
“I should also point out,” Perry continued, “that the surrounding gas clouds absorb tremendous amounts of stellar radiation, and will thus affect the HZ calculation. Due to highly variable cloud densities, the HZ will also
be spatially and temporally variable. I could run a simulation through time if you wish.”
“No, forget about it, Perry. With all the clouds, and the fact that Antares is not a main sequence, I doubt very much we have a CHZ here.”
That was a Continuously Habitable Zone, or a region where the planet could enjoy moderate temperatures continuously for the three to four billion years necessary for advanced life to evolve.
“It would be difficult to forget about these calculations unless I delete all the astronomical observations I have made within this system to date. Is that what you wish me to do?”
“No, Perry. I meant you should not carry out the advanced HZ calcs.”
Perry hummed. “That is a very strange way of answering my query, but I shall attempt to forget about it.” He hummed again, and the noise started to grate on Peter’s nerves, as though he were being mocked.
“Gee,” Peter commented, “five minutes with you and I see why Arietta’s going so wacko.”
* * *
“Here I am, Arietta; reporting for duty.” Peter entered medical and sat down in front of Henrietta’s desk. He smiled and offered a jovial salute.
Her computer was on, and she was busily transferring notes to her PAD. Without looking up, she continued to copy over medical entries. She looked annoyed. “Between you and Perry, I can’t get anything done around here.”
“Sorry I bothered you. Should I come back later?”
“For what?” Henrietta snapped.
Peter looked concerned and waited for her to look up. Grudgingly, she finally did.
“For my treatment.”
Henrietta placed her stylus down. She switched off her PAD and closed her eyes in shame. “No, I should be the sorry one.” She hid her face in her hands. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“So what’s wrong?”
Henrietta continued to talk through her hands. “Nothing; everything … I don’t know.” She kneaded her forehead, trying to concentrate. “This is too much, Peter. My mom and dad are gone. I’ve hardly had time to think about them. I couldn’t even have a funeral for them,” she whined. “Why am I alive, Peter, and not them?”