The captain’s follow-up announcement came immediately after, “This is the captain speaking. Very good work people. At the end of three minutes only one person was listed as dead. Carry on.”
“Dead?” I asked.
Cookie took off his suit and nodded. “You have three minutes to get into a suit when the alarm sounds, young Ishmael. If you don’t make it, your department head lists you as dead.” I saw the disappointment in his face.
Pip and Cookie stripped off their suits, marked them as used by pulling a red tab on the hanger, and racked them back in the locker. Afterward Pip helped me, and we practiced with the suit for a stan before we had to set it aside and help Cookie with lunch. During the mess line, nobody mentioned it, but I could feel my ears burning and I knew everybody figured out I was the deader.
After lunch and the subsequent clean up, Pip continued to drill me. Two stans later, I still couldn’t get the suit on in under three minutes. My feet kept getting tangled in the legs no matter what I did. The longer it took, the more frustrated I became. For his part, Pip was right there encouraging me with, “Just once more. You’ll get it this time.”
Eventually, Cookie came over and watched me struggle under my friend’s direction for about three ticks, before he interrupted. “Very funny, Mr. Carstairs. Now would you care to show young Ishmael how to do it correctly?”
Pip had the decency to look abashed as he had me turn the suit around.
“You had me trying to put it on backward for the last two stans?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Sorry. Entertainment is in short supply out in the Deep Dark.”
“Jackanapes,” Cookie cuffed him on the back of the skull with the tips of his fingers. “What if he’d needed to get into that suit in a real emergency?”
I was having trouble not laughing myself even as the butt of his joke.
Cookie took the suit, folded it up so it looked like it came from the locker, and showed me where to grab it. A quick flick of the wrists and I stepped in, pulled it up, and shrugged into it in almost one smooth movement. A quick toss of my head and the helmet slid into place and I locked it down on the first try.
They took turns showing me things like the radio, patch kit, and the instrument panel mounted on the sleeve.
Cookie pointed to the air supply timer. “This is for emergency use only as it has just one stan of air. Use it just to get to a soft-suit or a lifeboat. You cannot survive long in it so you must be sure you know what’s going on around you if you ever have to put it on.”
Pip patted me on the back. “Next time you won’t be the dead one.”
“How often do we have these drills?”
“At least once every ninety days. Sometimes more.”
I took off the suit, folded it in the approved manner, and put the used indicator across the top before hanging it with Pip and Cookie’s. Several more were in the locker.
I pointed to the hangers with red tags. “What happens to the used ones?”
Cookie answered, “Someone from engineering will collect and reset them for use. Never take a used emergency suit because you won’t know how much air is left in it. You can’t change out of them in a vacuum and it would cost your life if you needed forty-five ticks and only got thirty.”
It was a sobering thought and I took it to heart.
As I closed the panel, I reached for my tablet. The ship’s schematic had an overlay showing all the emergency suit lockers. I made a mental note of the one nearest my bunk.
Cookie in the meantime turned to Pip. “You will be doing evening clean up alone for the next week, Mr. Carstairs.”
Pip nodded. “Aye aye, Cookie.” He may have tried to look contrite but he still had a big grin on his face. So did I for that matter. It wasn’t something to joke about, but still, it struck me as funny. Personally, I think Cookie left the galley then so he could have a good laugh, too.
Funny as it was, I was getting a little tired of being in the dark so I went to Beverly after dinner clean up. I found her reading in her bunk.
“Bev? Can you help me?”
She looked at me over the top of her tablet. “Dunno. Whatcha need?”
“What’s the story with these drills? I’m getting tired of being caught off guard by them.”
She chuckled. “Well, they’re supposed to be a surprise, but if you’ve never been through them, I can see why you’d be frustrated.”
“It’s making me a bit crazy. I’m okay with fire and suit drills now, but are there others coming up that I should know about?”
“It’s in your tablet under ship emergency procedures but I think the only one you haven’t been through is lifeboat drill. Do you know what your boat assignment is?”
I shook my head.
“Look up your record. It’s down near the bottom.”
I pulled out my tablet and found the notation. “It says boat four.”
“Odd to port, even to starboard,” she said. “Four should be the second boat back from the bow. You know where the boat deck is, right?”
I nodded. “I’ve seen the hatches under the track, but I didn’t look too closely at them.”
“Next time you’re in the gym take a look. Make sure you know where boat four is.”
“That’s it?”
She thought for a moment before saying, “There are some specialized drills, damage control and battle stations and such, but we only do those once in forever. Fire, suit, and lifeboat are the big three and we’re required to do each of them once a quarter, so get used to ’em.”
“Thanks, Bev. I’ll remember.”
I climbed up into my bunk and, on a hunch, I went through The Handbook and found a section on klaxon calls. The raspy buzz of fire, the whoop-whoop of hull breach, and the pingity-pingity-pingity of abandon ship were all there along with battle stations, general quarters, and a dozen others that I didn’t recognize. Even mealtimes had special tones that announced each one.
We were still a week out of Darbat Orbital when I arranged to visit environmental during the afternoon break. I’d been working through all the instructional materials on engineering, but I hadn’t been able to score a passing grade on the practice tests. There wasn’t any one thing I was missing, but rather a kind of diffuse inability to keep everything straight, particularly with the environmental stuff. All the scrubbers, filters, cleaners, and recyclers kept getting jumbled up in my head. I contacted the section chief on my tablet and made an appointment for a tour.
I knew the Environmental Section Chief, Spec One (Environmental) Brilliantine Smith, from seeing her in the mess line. She was easily the tallest person on the ship. I’d guess her height at something over two full meters. I’d also seen her in the gym and sauna. She didn’t carry an extra gram of fat on her frame. The best description I could think of was, willowy. She kept her chocolate-brown hair short like the rest of the crew and had a kind of generic galactic citizen, appearance, except that she had to duck to pass through most of the hatches on the ship. She walked with a kind of stoop, learned no doubt through hard experience.
Walking into environmental for the first time was like stepping into wet gauze. The smell was unmistakable, but I didn’t really find it objectionable. It was kinda funky and green smelling. Not quite fishy, but there was a hint of that, too.
Smith watched me enter and nodded approvingly. “You’re okay.”
“Excuse me, sar?”
She grinned. “No, sar, for me, Ish. I’m no more officer than Cookie.” She grinned even more. “Just taller. They call me Brill, among other less flattering appellations, I’m certain.”
“I—see,” I said, although I only got about half of what she was saying.
“You’re okay because you didn’t wrinkle your nose when you came in.”
“That’s good?”
She nodded with a wink. “Between the humidity and the smell, about half the people that come in here turn around and walk right back out. The humidity’s from the matrices and the smell is
from the algae.”
“Okay, that much I understand. But there is still a lot I’m confused by.”
“How far have you gotten in the instructional material?”
“All of it, actually, but I can’t seem to pass the practice test. Things I get right on one, I miss on the next and around and around. I can’t seem to keep the scrubbers and the filters straight.”
“Filter the water and scrub the air down, mix water and algae to make it all brown.” She chanted it in sing-song with a smile.
“Wow, I actually understood that,” I said with surprise as it slowly penetrated my brain.
“First practical piece of advice we give people. Water gets filtered and air is scrubbed. Then they get mixed together. It starts with running the water through a collection of different media to filter out finer and finer impurities. Eventually, it goes into the scrubbers where it keeps the algae matrices wet. That’s probably where your brain gets confused because the scrubbers work on both air and water.”
“Okay, that makes sense so far. So, the air doesn’t get filtered?”
“Actually, it does, but we don’t have a separate filtering system for it. Not like the water. There’s a simple electrostatic field that the air is passed through when it first comes into the system. It snags all the dust and other particulates out of the air. Technically, that’s not a filter because a filter is a physical barrier, like when you make coffee. The weave in the paper has holes that allow the infused water to pass without permitting the grounds themselves. It’s the same idea with the water system although the chemical processing is a bit more complex.”
I nodded. “And because the air is passed through a field, and not a physical barrier, you call it scrubbing instead of filtering?”
“Exactly.” She nodded and smiled. “The scrubbers also grab any odd gases that make their way into the system. Those are usually byproducts from work on the ship like trace amounts of free esters, ozone, and so forth. The goal is to keep the proportions of oxygen, nitrogen, carbon dioxide, and trace gases consistent. The air coming into the system is high on carbon dioxide and low on oxygen so we feed it into the wet algae matrix where the algae absorb the carbon dioxide and produce oxygen. Have you ever noticed that the berthing areas don’t smell like a locker room?”
I nodded.
“The algae loves the stuff that makes that smell. It would reek if not for that.”
“Right, thanks, that helps.”
“Come on.” She turned and beckoned me to follow with a wave of her hand. “I’ll give ya the half-cred tour.”
For the next stan, she showed me the inner workings that kept our air and water clean. I expected to be disgusted by some of the processing. Sewage isn’t exactly appealing, but I found myself fascinated by the way the air and water systems intertwined on the ship. There was a certain amount of unrecoverable waste, but almost ninety-eight percent of the air and water was recycled. At each port, we topped off the elements that got lost, used up, or destroyed. I even got a perverse bit of entertainment out of the notion that coffee was continually recycled through the crew’s kidneys, down to environmental, and back to the mess deck where it started the cycle anew.
When we got to the algae matrices, the-makes-it-all-brown part of the doggerel became apparent. According to The Handbook, the algae were a blue-green variety but when they were wet, exposed to light, and healthy, it wasn’t green at all, but a kind of reddish-brown. The matrix itself, was actually a synthetic film that held each little alga suspended to maximize its surface exposure. My preconceived notions about tanks of blue-green pond scum were blown away.
I laughed out loud and she turned a quizzical eye in my direction. “I don’t know why, but I had this idea that I’d find big vats with bubbling slime.”
She grinned. “That’s a common misconception. The bacterial recovery tanks are the closest thing we have to fit that impression, but they don’t bubble. We actually have to aerate them to keep the aerobic bacteria alive, not the other way around.” She looked pensive. “Now if we could just find a use for the sludge…”
“Sludge? What do you do with it now?”
“We press it into blocks, freeze dry it, and give it away to planets that need terraforming material. It’s not worth selling, and we’re prohibited from jettisoning it.”
That struck me so oddly that I laughed again. “Are they afraid the galaxy will fill up?”
She shook her head. “No, actually, back in the thirty’s it was okay to just drop ’em out the airlock. The problem was that one wound up splattered across the main viewing port of a passenger liner.” She did a good job of keeping a straight face, better than I could have. “Rumor is that several members of the CPJCT Steering Committee were aboard at the time and didn’t fancy having their view ruined by streaks of spacer sludge.”
“Thanks, Brill. This has helped a lot.”
My break was over and I needed to head back to the mess deck so we said our goodbyes and she gave me a friendly wave as I headed out.
For the rest of the day I kept chanting, “Filter the water and scrub the air down, mix water and algae to make it all brown,” over and over in my head. Two days later, I took another practice test and passed. Not perfect, but it was the first passing mark I received on the engineering materials. I felt jubilant.
Chapter 10
Darbat Orbital
2351-October-22
The final docking at Darbat Orbital was just as uneventful as leaving Neris. It felt rather strange that after spending practically my whole life on Neris I was going to visit a different planet—or at least its orbital. I confess I had a certain level of excitement at the prospect, although rationally I knew it couldn’t be all that different.
We set navigation detail right after lunch. Everybody got a good meal into them before we started the process and we spent the afternoon watch doing the actual docking maneuvers. We didn’t need bento-box lunches so there was no extra work. All Pip and I had to do was the normal post-lunch clean up and hang out until the ship was secured. Cookie planned for a small meal at 18:00 but he would need only one of us.
Cookie smiled when I asked about it. “If there are more than three people left aboard for dinner, besides the watch section and the first mate, I’ll be very surprised. First night in port is usually the quietest. You gentlemen split it up. We’ve got a four day port stay. Work it out between you and post it on the duty roster so I know who to look for.”
I was excited about docking, not because I planned to leave the ship, other than a stroll around to stretch my legs and see the sights a bit, but because it would feel good to have the relatively relaxed duty that came from having most of the crew ashore.
Finally, the announcement came, “ALL HANDS, SECURE FROM NAVIGATION DETAIL. SECURE SHIP FOR PORT OPERATIONS. THIRD WATCH HAS THE CONN.” We looked at each other and Pip grinned. I knew he was thinking about the bottles of Grishom in his locker. Cookie waved us out and we headed for the berthing area just in time to hear, “NOW, LIBERTY, LIBERTY, LIBERTY. HANDS NOT ON DUTY MAY LEAVE THE SHIP ACCORDING TO STANDING ORDERS AND ESTABLISHED PROCEDURES. NOW LIBERTY.”
A hooting cheer came from the berthing areas and we stumbled into a maelstrom of half clothed bodies, grinning faces, loud plans, brags, and general teasing. Pip and I jumped onto our respective bunks to free the floor space and plan.
“You go, Pip. I’ll take the duty tonight so you can get your business taken care of.”
“Thanks, Ish. I’ll come back for dinner tomorrow and you can take the next twenty-four?”
I nodded. I was in no particular hurry and I knew he needed to finish this deal and line up the next one. Of course, I was pretty sure he had another deal already in mind, but I didn’t pry.
I dug into my studies, but with so much noise in the berthing area, it was all but impossible to concentrate. I checked the cred balance on my tablet and saw that I’d been paid, and it looked like the right amount minus charges for dues, taxes, shipsuit
s and my running shoes. It didn’t seem like a lot for almost seven weeks’ work, but the share amount was half again more, so I couldn’t really complain. The share amount offset the deductions with a bit to spare, but I could see where doing a bit of private trading might pay off.
At 16:00 I went up to the mess deck to help Cookie with the evening meal. He really didn’t need me, but it gave me something to do away from the still noisy berthing area. I took a certain satisfaction draining out the two partial coffee urns, leaving the full one for dinner. It would be great to have an urn last for more than three stans at a time. I remembered my trip down to engineering with a grin as I thought about the filters below processing the black liquid that I drained away. Filter the water and scrub the air down…
After almost seven weeks of serving a full crew, port-duty seemed easy. I had a pleasant evening working with Cookie, and he was kind enough to help me clean up afterward.
While I swept out the galley after dinner, I took the opportunity to ask him about the mysterious project he and Pip had been working on.
“Ah, Ishmael, I really should thank you for breaking through to Pip. He’s a remarkable young man.”
“He’s something. I’m not exactly sure what.”
Cookie chuckled. “He has a most unusual way of looking at things.”
“So, what are these simulations you’re running?”
“We are experimenting with options for acquiring the supplies we need for the ship in some rather innovative ways.”
“Oh?” I asked with the rising inflection in what I hoped was an adequate imitation of my mother’s tone used to evoke additional information.
“No, Ishmael, not yet. When the time is ripe, all will be clear. In the meantime…” He slid an index finger alongside his nose. “We’ll just keep on as we are, eh?”
I have to confess that this intrigued me even more, but Cookie knew how to keep his own counsel and I was unlikely to get more out of him, at least directly. As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long for my first real clues. We filled the rest of our time with small talk about Darbat Orbital, its restaurants, dives, and even less savory attractions. Cookie was a compendium of information and I took as much care to note some of the more interesting items on his litany of places to stay away from as from his recommendations.
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