Ming and Farr were right behind him, and they boarded the waiting ETO and spiraled upward toward the Resolution, the place they would call home for the foreseeable future. It was the culmination of all their efforts and the end of all their preparation, but it was just the beginning of their trials and the grand voyage of the Resolution.
CHAPTER 3
Farr completed his walk down inspection of the Resolution or, actually, his float down inspection, to be accurate. When she was at full thrust the ship would actually create a one eighth of a g through its constant acceleration. While it wouldn’t relieve the crew of their need for daily exercise in the centrifuge, it would give the crew a sense of up and down without having to grip the wall mounted handholds to move about. As it was, because the target was the moon, the Vasimr engines were operating at very low thrust. They were building the ship’s speed by no more than a couple of hundred kilometers an hour as it made ever widening orbits of the Earth, thanks to the navigation of Dr. Thangruph. But the fuel used would be negligible, meaning they wouldn’t have to top off the tanks before proceeding on their primary mission, the asteroid colonies.
The Vasimr design concept was two hundred years old, but had been tweaked many times along the way as the technology of producing electromagnetic fields had evolved on Earth. Obviously the Calamity and the years following it had slowed the development, but it had never been abandoned entirely under Lansing and Lao. A standard plasma engine operates by passing the fuel (in early engines it was xenon, lithium or other rare gases) through an electric field and stripping off the electrons of the molecules, thereby creating plasma. The positive ions are then propelled rearward at high velocities by the tug of an aft generated electrical field and expelled, creating the push for the space vehicle. The Vasimr went a few steps beyond that.
Plasma engines before the Vasimr’s advent could not control the rate or even the pattern (which caused a loss of energy) at which the plasma was expelled. In the Vasimr the plasma is directed through an electromagnetic field which controls the shape and rate of expulsion of the plasma. By varying and manipulating the field a vessel could control its’ rate of thrust and acceleration in a very precise manner. In space travel propellant and the rate at which it is expended is everything. The old chemical rockets of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries were inefficient, burning their entire propellant source in one giant, orgasmic burst. Afterwards they were helpless and at the mercy of their pre-programmed trajectories. The Resolution was expending a minimal amount of propellant as the speed increased by the hour. A lazy seven day trip to the Moon had been planned and mapped out by the ship’s navigational program courtesy of Dr. Thangruph.
Farr was in possession of a virtually new ship, no matter how much the other Captains denigrated her behind his back. He knew they did from the quick silences that descended when he approached them at the scheduled briefings. Everything on board was the best humanity had to offer. The former Cybelean Princess had been gutted internally. Every system she possessed, with the exception of the asteroid mining equipment, which for obvious reasons there had been no opportunity to improve, had been rendered obsolete by twenty third century technology. Her engines were brand new as was her emergency backups and life support systems. And the Resolution was the first ship that would operate with a quantum computer.
As he understood it, and he didn’t, not really, if he was being honest, the difference between quantum and normal computing was a matter of approach. A normal computer will solve problems like you’d navigate a maze. It proceeds down each corridor and at each fork it selects one direction, because that is all that it is capable of doing. If or when it reaches a dead end, it turns around, comes back, and tries another route until eventually it solves the maze unless, of course, the maze is so large that it takes centuries to solve or longer. There were some equations and theories of this nature that Farr was familiar with, and a normal computer would solve them eventually, however the universe could burn out before they do. Quantum computers ran on quantum bits, or qubits as the programmers called them. Because of the bizarre properties of a quantum state, like superposition, a qubit can be either a 1 or a 0 or it can operate as both a 1 and a 0 at the same time. If one qubit, as both a 1 and a 0, can do two calculations at once, then two qubits can do four, and things get exponential pretty quickly. To Farr it was magic, like being in two places at once, but to Dr. Thangruph and his assistant, Quincy Mbata, it was obvious. As long as they understood it, like Ming said, I suppose it’s enough. Space travel required the very best of computers and the more advanced the propulsion system and the greater the acceleration, the more humanity had to rely on computers. No human who had ever lived could make the necessary adjustments to Resolution’s heading if she was in full thrust mode.
If she were to fire her engines at full thrust with a midpoint turnaround to decelerate she would arrive at the asteroid belt in less than two months and not the four months planned for this expedition. However, she would’ve expended her propellant and she would simply float there, unable to do anything until she was refueled. As it was she would take four months to arrive at her first destination in the belt but with half of her propellant still available and the means whereby to get more.
Farr had insisted and badgered the Council incessantly into keeping the asteroid mining equipment on board and upgrading its components. He’d even convinced them to keep the bow mounted laser. In this way, he’d argued, if they found no survivors and no facilities in the belt they could harvest ice and separate the hydrogen and oxygen from it to maintain life support and propellant.
Even though Dr. Thangruph had been tragically killed earlier he was still on board the Resolution thanks to the devices of Quincy Mbata. A holographic image of the late doctor was the interface with the system and, Farr had to admit, it was difficult to remember that he was talking to a computer half of the time. Once he’d even found himself arguing with Dr. Thangruph over a particular upgrade. In some ways it was downright creepy. Because of the way the computer functioned it was able to anticipate, if that word actually applied, the requests of the humans onboard. To Farr it blurred the lines between real and artificial intelligence.
The dire predictions of many alarmists of the twenty-first century had never materialized with regards to artificial intelligence, and most computers, even now, could only mimic intelligence. But the quantum computer, Farr believed from his limited exposure, seemed to address problems differently and was sometimes just plain unnerving.
Farr put away his portable sensors just as Ming come floating in from the bridge.
“Can you join me in my cabin in a few minutes?” Farr asked him a bit formally.
“Five minutes quick enough?” Ming responded.
“Yes, see you then.” Farr finished putting away the Portable System Scanner he’d been using and made his way down the right wall, hand over hand.
Quite a few members of the crew had thought it funny to launch themselves down the passageways, and the practice had been much in evidence during the first two days outbound. But Farr, worried about possible injuries, put out a strict warning to all hands. It changed to a command when Dr. Skorsson had lost his grip during a “reentry”. This was what the crew called the sudden end to propelling themselves down the passageway by grasping the handholds on the nearest wall when they arrived at their desired destination.
Skorsson had missed the handhold, but fortunately, had not been seriously hurt. But Farr, seeing a real incident on the horizon, had put a stop to it immediately. Any crewman, his order stated, who injured him or herself while “launching” was subject to being removed from the team. The practice ended immediately after he issued the order. The men and women onboard had worked too many years to position themselves to even have a chance at this assignment and they weren’t about to jeopardize their place because their Commander was an uptight killjoy, a term he believed they had extracted from one of Ming’s movies.
Sitting in his cabin, a
three meter by three meter affair, spartanly appointed, he waited for Ming. He didn’t have long to wait before he arrived.
“Well, what does your gut tell you about the crew after your first sweep?” Farr asked as soon as Ming took a chair.
“No one stands out as a nefarious corporate spy, but then again, he wouldn’t be much of a spy if he did, would he? It’s probably too early to tell, Callum.” By unspoken assent Ming called him by his first name in private, but always acted with perfect protocol when other crewmembers were around. “Look, maybe we’re being paranoid. I mean the corps never touched the equipment on this ship, it was all built by the guilds.”
“I believe that’s the trap, to be lulled into complacency and then for disaster to strike. That’s something Sun Tzu would advocate as a strategy. Look, there’s no reason for us to assume anything on the ship is sabotaged, because we watched it all come here, get installed, knew without a doubt where it came from, so, if the corps are up to something, then they must have someone onboard. And Ming, I just feel that they’re up to something.”
“So do I,” Ming said, disgusted with the situation, “but so far everyone seems okay. Arenson, the genetics weenie, is the closest thing to a suspect I’ve got and I really think he’s just an irritating nerd not a super spy.”
“What’s a nerd?” Farr asked puzzled and immediately regretted it.
“Sorry, twentieth century term that meant a really smart kid who was into science and was usually bad with the girls, which, by the way, I’m not, but I’m pretty sure most of the other guys are,” Ming said grinning.
“Alright, tell me about Arenson,” Farr said ignoring the rest. Ming often got caught up in his twentieth century slang and Farr had vowed on many occasions not to encourage him. It was just that the question slipped out of your mouth before your brain could send the stop signal.
“Well if you put down the corps around Arenson, he’ll automatically take the opposite side and defend them.”
“That could just be part of being a nerd couldn’t it? Sounds irritating enough to me. Does he do it on every subject?”
Farr could see Ming pause, deep in thought, replaying every conversation he’d ever had with Arenson in detail. According to the ships’ records Ming had one of the best minds on board, behind perhaps only Mbata and Arenson.
“No, he doesn’t, come to think of it, it’s just when you mention the corps that he gets all defensive.”
“Anyone else?”
“No, but I think we can rule Kemmler out. If you so much as mention the word corporation around him he gives you a scathing lecture of all of their past sins and peccadillos.” Santiago Kemmler was the scientist most familiar with the Vasimr engines and was supposed to be the one that Farr would listen to when it came to that subject. But, while Kemmler might’ve been a scientific genius, Farr placed his faith in Master Chief Christopher Wells, whom Farr had personally requested. Wells had served with him in the past and Farr respected his professionalism and knowledge. When Wells told him he had a problem, Farr listened.
“Well, we’ll just keep our ears open and our guard up. Right now we’ve got other things to worry about. We’ll be on the farside in another few days and we need to go over the landing mission and brief the party tomorrow.”
“The whole crew is taking bets on whether we find anyone alive.”
“What are the odds?”
“Not good for survival. Most of the people on Earth think they’re all dead too, except for that Stuart Covington guy.”
“He’s a pretty smart fellow and I don’t think I’d bet against him. He’s always well prepared when he takes on his opponents at those round table discussions they’re always having these days. I’ll put my money on him.”
“Same here, I enjoy watching him dismember the corporate talking heads. Always makes them look like buffoons. Why don’t we have him on this mission?”
“My understanding is that he applied but certain medical conditions disqualified him. I consider that a big loss for the home team.”
Ming grinned. “Hey, you’re picking up some of the lingo.”
Farr sighed. “Those movies have a way of sticking in your head. Kind of like annoying nursery rhymes.”
“Hah! They don’t make movies like they did in the late twentieth and early twenty first anymore.”
“Ming,” he pointed out in a pained voice, “they don’t make movies at all anymore.”
“Like I said,” Ming replied smugly as he floated from the cabin.
CHAPTER 4
The day before the ship entered lunar orbit found Farr exercising in the ship’s centrifugal chamber. Master Chief Wells had joined him for the mandatory workout and they slowly walked the force up to the maximum one g, increasing their pace as they did from a slow walk to a steady run. Both were experienced space travelers and knew better than to start off at one g, something that Dr. Arenson’s training had obviously lacked.
On Arenson’s first mandatory period in the centrifugal chamber he’d set the controls for one g. He’d immediately been slammed to the floor of the chamber, unable to move for several minutes. Farr and Wells both knew from long years of experience that one doesn’t go from zero g straight to one g in a centrifugal chamber. After a period of weightlessness any weight applied to the body was a shock, and suddenly having your full weight pressed down on you is a most uncomfortable and disorienting experience.
“So Chris, what do you think of the Vasimr genius?”
Wells gave him a glancing glare as they ran and then looked forward again.
Wells was what Ming referred to as a “throwback”. Standing around one hundred and eighty-five centimeters, he was considered short in the genetically perfect world of the twenty third century. His ethnicity was impossible to determine, as was that of virtually everyone who now lived in the old United States. He was barrel chested and had curly, reddish brown hair, cropped close to his head, and piercing brown eyes that could burn a hole in metal. Farr hadn’t shown it, but he had been terrified of him as an ensign.
Wells was an anachronism to Farr as well. He was reminiscent of the tough, hard talking, hard drinking sailors that had once made the U.S. Navy the dominant fleet of the world’s seas and Farr secretly thought that Wells promoted that stereotypical image. He carried an air about him that made every enlisted person immediately fall into line and every junior officer stutter and babble. He was the dread of the fleet, and, someone Farr considered to be a close personal friend.
“Really,” Farr said with a grin. He’d known the Master Chief since he’d been pummeling ensigns as a first class petty officer, and that look meant Dr. Kemmler was about as useful as a green ensign. “Is there any hope for him?”
“Commander, do you have any idea what it’s like working around geniuses? They could dazzle you with an hours’ worth of conceptual theory and then, the minute I actually open a relay panel or an engine calibration panel they’re as lost as Easter eggs. I asked Dr. Kemmler to measure the output from the fusion engines to the magnetic chamber and when I came back, ten minutes later, he hadn’t even opened the panel. He was looking for the tech manual. They told me this guy could design a brand new engine if I needed him to. The thing about it that pisses me off though is, if you open the panel it says “Output to Chamber”. Personally I don’t think he could poor piss out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel.”
“Pisses me off, pour piss out of a boot? Are you watching those movies with Ming again?”
“Guilty as charged. I really like that Dirty Harry guy. I love his outlook on life. He must’ve been a chief petty officer or gunnery sergeant at one time or another. Seriously, though, Kemmler’s not going to be much use to me unless we really have to design another engine. He’s got lots of theory and no practical experience.”
“How about the rest of humanity’s elite, any hope?”
“If Arenson’s little foray in the chamber or Skorsson’s journey down the center trunk is any indication, p
robably not. Ming’s the only one with any common sense in the whole group. I’ll keep the ship going for you, like I always do Commander, but these guys are probably useless until we reach the colonies. You may need these guys if we find live colonists. On a brighter note the Doc seems okay. She’s a regular guy. I like her, feels like we’ve got a lot in common.”
“More than you know,” Farr said absent mindedly. “You said “if” we find colonists alive. You don’t believe we will.”
“Increase speed one increment,” Wells ordered the chamber, then continued as the pace accelerated, “I don’t know skipper,” he said exhaling heavily, “It’s been a century. I believe it’s possible. I think about what Covington said about having some of the greatest minds on earth off planet at the time and then I look at these guys and I’ve got my doubts. But everyone on Earth seems to think the Moon is going to turn out to be one gigantic graveyard, mostly because of the Calamity, which gave the Moon as good as it gave the Earth.”
“They were building worlds back then, I’m sure they had plenty of Master Chief Wells clones running around as well.”
“That ain’t possible Commander. I’m the one and only.”
“If you say it, it must be so. How’ve the systems performed during this shakedown?”
“Good enough, but it’s not like we’re really putting her through her paces. The real tests won’t start until we set out for the belt.”
“I concur, Master Chief, but you can’t look any farther than the mission you’re on.”
“Amen.”
CHAPTER 5
Farr was on the bridge when the ship slipped into lunar orbit on the seventh day, the first earthmen to see the surface of the moon, without the aid of earthbound opticals, for a century.
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