Holly left dressout and set out for the Bridge, lazily shuffling her feet. She willed her movements over her body’s objections. Her lethargic condition wasn’t detrimental while they operated in a region of the emptiest space. And thankfully, TURING could provide a summary of the Arrival Report.
She looked tiredly down the halls, the long ones curving slightly upward in a manner that quickly seemed normal. Unlike old works of science fiction, mankind could only simulate gravity through rotation. And so starships made for long voyages, like the Ugarit class, were shaped like a wheel. Virtually the whole ship supported long term occupancy without the degradation of micro g.
She didn’t see many of her crew. Most of them must had already migrated to Habitation Gate and were surely lounging around. The few she saw sipped mineral water like her – waking up their digestive tracts from its year-long slumber. Drinking was the only thing that differentiated them from zombies.
The breakfast detail would soon prepare a pot of coffee. The Outers didn’t have good coffee. It wasn’t bad per say, but it always tasted the same. But she craved energy while trudging through the narrow, upward sloping halls (a necessity for rotational gravity). And so she wanted coffee.
The Nineveh’s layout was orderly though cramped. The corridors were never wide for long because they had stored gear, damage control lockers, and such jutting out into them. Placards were regularly posted throughout the ship in English Latin script, Chinese Hanzi, and Russian Cyrillic. But the ship did have a clearance height in all areas of at least 2 meters, and that was enough for most of the crew to not have to duck their heads. The ship had an industrial feel and, due to its age, lacked a clean polish. But it was home.
She took the lift up and met Samoylova coming out of the Bridge. She was a petite woman with short hair and a trim body which looked as if she carried no fat. Like Holly, she was from Earth. And from the Triumvirate – the designation given to the foremost nations involved in power politics in the Core following the fading away of the superpower led world order toward the end of the first half of the 21st century. People in the Outers often believed them to be a scheming, monolithic block, but that wasn’t the case.
Samoylova’s eyes were in a tired squint. And she held her water bottle low at her side as if she had no energy.
“How you feel?”
“Pretty good,” she said haggardly, “considering how long we’ve been down.” She raised and sipped her drink.
Samoylova actually seemed okay for having just come out of cryo. She was obviously lethargic, but still capable. “Anything important from TURING?”
“No. Comms are good. Sensors are good. We’re keeping a quiet profile. That’s good. I think the Navplan is fine.”
“I’ll get the summary.”
“That’s all I did. We’ll be changing things for the search anyways. I found out about that, but I’ll keep quiet.”
Holly smiled. “I’ll see you on the Mess.” They parted and Holly entered the Bridge.
The Bridge was a small room more like an old airliner’s cockpit than a traditional nautical vessel’s bridge. It extended out from the forward bulkhead of the Gate to give a panoramic view from its many windows. But those windows were now (and usually were) covered with multilayer metallic shields to provide more protection from micrometeoroids and cosmic radiation. There was nothing to see out here anyways.
The Bridge had a simple setup – two seats forward and one behind on an elevated platform. Each were mostly encircled with maneuverable touchscreen consoles and displays. And behind these seats was the tabletop Navigational Plotter. Typically, remote access through their tablets provided enough command and control, and so the Bridge seldom required a continuous watch.
She glanced at the Navigation plot as she passed by it. It looked close to what she had expected. Any deviations made were small. She noted the date. She would be more than thirty years old (in solar years) by the time they made it back to human space. Time to start using physiological age.
She glanced at the ship’s placard with a smile of appreciation. It showed three crosses on a hill and the words “The Nineveh is a house of Yahweh. May God bless all who sail on her.” “Thank you,” she said while passing by.
She walked forward and sat down in the Navigator’s seat. Its cool synthetic leather was wonderfully relaxing. Her consoles booted up and she set the display to the general systems status page. She dimmed the brightness and then tried to focus on its information.
“Good morning, Navigator Holly,” TURING said, “would you like me to bring up the Navigation report for you to review?”
“No.” I’ll get the critical parts, just let me rest a bit.
“I’m sorry, but I must insist you review pertinent sections of the arrival report.”
She couldn’t object to TURING’s insistence on protocol. She had reviewed root causal analysis reports on multiple infamous starship accidents as part of her studies. Losing a proper appreciation for risk – either due to laziness or overconfidence – was always an initiating factor. Catastrophic failures of systems rarely happened in a truly sudden fashion. Rather, multiple smaller problems are allowed to accumulate.
She was not taking after those crews. She would perform her duty properly, just not right this minute. “No. Tell me what I need from it. What’s the closest distance we will hold with a significant mass object over the next twenty-four hours?”
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“The nearest distance we shall come to a significant mass object over the next twenty-four hours, not counting small meteoroids, is 762,300 kilometers.”
“Good. Keep me informed if that information changes. Now tell me how many massive planetary bodies lie near enough to our track that we can maneuver into a gravity assist without significantly impacting the apparent gravity on the Nineveh?”
“There are two such objects identified at this time. Both are more than five weeks out at our current track.”
“Good. Do we hold any contacts in this system?”
“There are no contacts held in this system. However, a possible energy signature was observed a few weeks before our arrival.”
“What has the probe said about it?”
“The mission probe assigned to us hasn’t been able to determine the source of the energy.”
“Then it’s probably nothing.” Elio space is far away. Their operations won’t overlap with ours. “But send the report to my tablet.”
“Report submitted,” TURING replied, “I require you to sign for review as soon as you’re willing.”
“I will, wait!”
Laughter came from behind her. She immediately fully awoke and turned in panic. She was mistaken about being alone on the Bridge. The Captain stood by the entrance to TURING’s core. He grinned with one muscular arm stretched out, casually supporting himself against the doorway.
He held a cup close to his chest and showed no sign of fatigue. His steel grey eyes stood out among his olive face and seemed to peer into her soul. She was always fascinated by the power of his eyes. The great majority of humans had brown eyes – particularly after the demographic shifts of the 21st century. The same was true of the crew who almost all had brown eyes. Stocky and Fuller were white – brown eyes.
People regularly accessorized to alter their looks, and so it was common to see others with different colored eyes. But this was different. Those steel eyes were real.
“Captain! I…”
“Don’t,” he said. He chuckled again. “Those are good priorities that you’re setting. We’re out here in nowhere, the probe is feeding us intel, and the ship is in good condition. That’s all we need now.”
He sipped his cup. “Drink fluids.”
“I will, sir.” She took a drink.
He turned to walk out. “I’ll leave you on the deck,” he said. “I’m going to get some recreation in.”
“Aye, sir.” Her tone was instinctively tense and formal. He was being understanding toward the fact that she was tired, but she didn’t want to appear intentionally lax. He was certainly tired too, just handling it better. She hadn’t meant to disappoint him. Things were just hard because of the cryo.
She realized she was making an excuse. And excuses didn’t keep the ship and crew safe. She had to do better to make it as a deep space line officer. Was that why De Silva was silently lurking? She was the junior line officer. Certainly, both De Silva and Zhu watched her to assess her professional growth.
He turned back momentarily after stepping through the exit. “Give me your thoughts on that energy signature after reviewing the report.”
“I will, sir.”
He again encouraged her to relax and then walked toward the lift.
She watched him silently as he left. He walked a cool strut. Even though he had just emerged from cryo, he had an aura of a tall, strong man fully in control. Nothing – not sickness or exertion – ever caused him to lose that control.
She remembered learning about classical mythology in school. Ancient tales of the great heroes – men of exceptional ability who were ascribed to be the children of the gods. Mankind must have missed those days. They had made new demigods, only these were real. Maybe Achilles was the greatest warrior of his day, but De Silva would crush him like a bug.
Although she had the greatest admiration for De Silva, she also feared him. People like De Silva could irresistibly lift you up or press you down with their ability. De Silva, Stocky, and Patterson really were like the mythological demigods – or like the angels who sometimes walked the earth in the Old Testament. And, because no man could walk fully right with God in deed, they were like fallen ones.
She pulled up the information on the energy signature knowing the topic would certainly come up at the brief.
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Stocky was one of the last to arrive on the Mess, and he savored the delightful aroma of shakshuka and ground coffee. And the cynic within him wondered if this was a plan to break the ice for a crap job. He had followed Patterson to Sci-Med once the full crew was awake, and they woke their lab animals and their pet cat. They set Ghost, their large Russian Blue, down in a corner and set his food and water bowl by him. He immediately curled up next to them and dozed. Stocky wasn’t sure if it was an effect of the cryosleep or if it was just cat nap time.
They washed their hands, and then went to the table. Patterson left an open seat next to her when she sat down, and he happily took it.
“I’m going to Farm and Green after this.”
“I’ll have to go to the Bridge first,” she said, “but I’ll catch you afterwards.”
He liked that. He breathed in the air, and her scent, which was starting to return. It filled him with energy, but also a longing. He wished for more physical contact with her. He wanted his scent on her and hers on himself. He always wanted that and it was a strange mystery to him as to why.
He grabbed a bowl of tigernuts and began to snack while watching Patterson through his peripheral vision. He saw her smile at a joke. He liked her smile. He wished to learn how to always make her do it.
He figured that she had a perfectly reasonable answer to why he was so captivated by her. But if he asked, then she would know of his need. He would have to forgo learning what made this splicer so different. Besides, it wouldn’t be as seductive without the mystery.
Chandna watched them from across the table. Did he desire her too? He was supposedly married. But he wasn’t a Christian and so maybe extra partners weren’t taboo for him. Or maybe he kept his ways a secret. One of the Electrical Systems Technicians on the Abydos was “happily married” and yet found a secret lover in every port.
Chandna was a man with secrets. He didn’t smell right. His scent was like he was pumped full of chemicals that had no business in the human body. Chandna was likely trying to hide some hidden ailment. The Paramount required that Sci-Med be fully staffed. The Company had sent their second string in to meet that requirement. Maybe just to be cheap.
Stocky glanced at Ghost. He cautiously approached his food dish – looking over at Chandna. The cat knew just like he did. It would have to be their secret. Humans weren’t perceptive enough. He could only hope that Chandna’s condition wouldn’t become a liability for the ship.
He looked over his haggardly crew while breathing in the air. He smelled very human weaknesses. He smelled feces – someone had soiled their diaper on wakeup and missed a spot when cleaning. And he smelled blood – someone had banged a limb while still only half awake. He understood the crew were at their low right now and that their capabilities would increase after they ate and rested. Still, the company should have sent more replicants.
He turned back to Patterson and her deep green eyes met his. His heart jumped. He resisted the fleeting thought to turn away – a sign of avoidance. She gave a faint smile. The fear fled away and he gazed back into her smile. He could depend on her regardless of what lay ahead. And her confidence told him that – together – they could handle it.