Alder's World Part One: Mass 17

by Joel Stottlemire

  As a member of the command crew, the computer kept track of his location at all times, but he had set his status to “unavailable.” Never the less, after about an hour and a half of work, just as their muscles were warming to the work and they were both forming a fine film of sweat, the communications console at the corner of the field paged him. He ignored it at first, but it called a second time a few minutes later with a priority code. He sat down his basket and, with a nod at Elana, went over to the terminal.

  Pilton was on the line. “Alder?” His voice was high and nervous. “Alder. Can anyone hear us?”

  Alder glanced at Elana who was still working about thirty meters away. “No.”

  Pilton giggled. “I need to show you, er, I need you to meet me. Can you meet me?” He was talking fast, almost too fast to be understood.

  “Sure. Where are you?”

  “Oh. Don’t come here. Meet me. Meet me at the number 7 airlock. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Okay.” Alder scowled. The number 7 airlock was all the way at the back of the engineering module in the middle of a set of storerooms. It was rarely used except for periodic maintenance that required crew to go outside the ship. “Do you need me to bring anything?”

  “No no.” Pilton giggled again. “Just uh, just come. You’ll see.”

  Elana gave him a sour look, but didn’t comment as he made his way to the lift.

  Alder rode down the lift in silence and was startled, as he always was, by the changes in the engineering section. While he didn’t think there was much improvement to be had by “balancing” the ship, one of the problems that you encountered when you worked with a crew who had mostly all passed advanced calculus, was that they could work out their own opinion about what was statistically significant. In order to present the most balanced ship possible during the upcoming descent, stores, some of which hadn’t been moved in fifteen years, had been sorted, weighed and re-distributed using a nightmarish schema that may or may not have made any real difference.

  The once wide, orderly corridors into the bowels of the engineering section were a morass of crates and packing straps.

  The number 7 airlock was an entirely utilitarian affair. It was far out beyond the decorated, pleasant sections of the ship, out even beyond the production bays and printers of engineering. The walls were the standard, flat white paint of all the airlocks. It featured a standard round antechamber and completely boxy and unremarkable airlock. Pilton was already in the antechamber when Alder arrive. He was still dressed in his dress uniform. Behind him, in the airlock itself, was large, self-lifting cart with a tarp draped over it.

  Alder approached somewhat warily. The Captain was so nervous even Alder could sense it. Additionally, his clothes were wrinkled and torn and there was a cut somewhere in his scalp that was bleeding a thin stream down the side of his face and staining his collar. One of the knees was torn completely out his pants. His pasty white leg peeked out from the opening like a frightened child. It seemed too thin to support his belly. He was noticeably relieved when he saw Alder approaching.

  “Computer.” He said, “Confirm Executive Authority, Pilton, William, no middle initial.”

  “Confirmed. You have Executive Authority.”

  “Thank you. Please make the following changes in exactly ten minutes time. Grant to Alder Samuel C. the rank and privilege of Flight Commander and assign to him the duties and privileges currently assigned to me. Please confirm.”

  Alder started to say something but the computer overrode him. “Unable to confirm. That order will result in two officers with the rank of Flight Commander.”

  “Correct. Correct.” Pilton agreed. “I will leave the Duster before the end of ten minutes. Please confirm.”

  “Confirmed.”

  “Where are you going?” Alder asked. He was eying the cart over Pilton’s shoulder. There was a dark and spreading stain on the tarp and it seemed as if something were moving slightly under it.

  “I…uh…I have to show you something.” Pilton was squinting the eye on the side of the cut. Alder could see a large bruise in his scalp.

  “It’s about personality styles.” Pilton said sliding backward into the airlock. “You see. We were all picked not just for our skills but our personalities as well…for the flight. Hold right there.” He said to Alder who was following him, trying to understand. “Now that we’re not flying, the rules have changed.” He was beside the controls in the airlock.

  “Look.” Alder said, from just outside the airlock door. “This is going to require adjustment from all of us.” A creepy feeling was growing in his gut as he watched the obviously injured Pilton. There was someone under the tarp. Whoever it was groaned softly

  “Wait!” He yelled, but realization had come a second too late. The airlock door shut slid shut.

  Pilton spoke into the microphone, his voice echoing tinnily in the ante-chamber. “…There are a couple of us that just don’t belong. It’s science you understand. Well, psychology.” He giggled. “Almost science.”

  Alder rushed to the tiny control booth next to the airlock. Pilton was right on the other side of the thick glass. The controls on Alder’s side were locked out. He looked through the six inch glass at Pilton who was staring back at him. “I don’t fit here. I’m all glory and fame. You know that. You all are going to be hungry and cold.” His eyes were ice blue and didn’t look as mad as he sounded. “I could never do cold. I could never lead through a famine.” He paused while Alder pushed vainly at the buttons and yelled at the suddenly unresponsive computer. Behind Pilton, the tarp was moving. Whoever was under there was struggling to sit up. “You’re orders won’t work for another eight minutes or so.” Pilton said through the glass, then resumed his narrative. “There are others on the ship who could lead in inglorious circumstances like that, Mbaka, Elana, and you Alder. In eight minutes you will be the new ships commander.”

  “This is crazy!” Alder bellowed out, hammering helplessly on the glass. “Come out of there.”

  Pilton shook his head. A red warning light was spinning over his head. “No Alder. It needs to be you. You are clean and egoless.”

  “Don’t say that. Come out. We need you to help us with Tallen.”

  Pilton giggled and glanced over his shoulder at the cart. The sick feeling in Alder’s gut rose to a wave. “You don’t understand Alder. I have already helped you with Tallen.” He paused. “Fisher too. I told them I wanted to meet. I told them I wanted to cede control in an orderly fashion.” He giggled and wobbled. “We were supposed to meet right after the ceremony. I took a plasma charger. I got Tallen from across the table. Fisher was…harder. I hadn’t planned on having to kill two.” He touched his head gingerly. “I think he gave me a concussion, the bastard.” A warning horn sounded. Pilton’s mood swung suddenly and he leaned into the glass. “Elana will tell you. I’m the hero here, the one they’ll tell stories about. I just saved the crew years of suffering. Tallen was a monster. This is me in glory. This is noblest sacrifice.” It was Fisher who was moving on the cart. He was dazed but had managed to get his head out from under the tarp and was moving as if to roll over, and toss himself to the ground. Pilton continued, ignoring him, “No greater love has any man than he who will lay down his life for his neighbors.” He jabbed a button and Alder slammed his eyes shut. While quick enough to be mostly painless, the outer door took several seconds to open. Since he had not dropped the pressure before opening the outer door, Pilton created a sucking vacuum that ripped the room clean. A fair percentage of Pilton, Fisher, and the already dead Tallen, stuck to the inner doors as the rest of their remains and the cart were pulled into the dusty void of space.

  Needs

  Allayah Harshaw sat quietly in the chair opposite Elana. If she felt tension about having been summoned to the ship’s psychologist office, she didn’t show it. She’s entered the room quietly, looked with some interest at the glass ornaments, and sat when Elana asked her too.

  Studying
her face, Elana could remember how impressed she’d been with the young bio-engineering back on League Prime when she’d shown up in the candidate pool.

  Allayah’s profile had appeared, even though she was well below the recommended age due to the concerted efforts of a number of her professors and co-workers. She was really too young for the mission but, there was an X factor to Allayah that couldn’t be denied. She had poise. She accomplished everything she set out to do and she was, quietly, extremely likeable. Elana had given her the full psychological profile and recommended her for inclusion; a remarkable woman on a remarkable life journey. Like everyone else who interacted with Allayah, Elana felt a certain pride at having helped her reach her goals. Yes, there was an X factor.

  Sitting now face to face, Elana found herself second guessing the conversation she wanted to have. She’d thought about it for years, maybe even since launch, but there’d never been enough need, enough pressure. Elana had things she wanted too and wasn’t keen to share. She cleared her throat.

  “Sam says you were the one who grabbed him when the gravity failed.”

  “Lieutenant Commander Alder was caught off guard I think.” Allayah responded. “It was humorous.”

  Elana pursed her lips slightly. She needed the younger woman to open up, hear Elana’s personal concerns. She switched gears. “Thanks for coming to see me today, Allayah. I just want to assure you that this is in no way about your performance. It’s exceptional, as always.”

  “Thank you Dr. Alder. May I ask what this is about?” So cool. So direct.

  Elana paused. Did she really want to do this? “This is about me, Allayah. I’m afraid that, as the ship’s psychologist, I don’t really have anyone that I can confide in. As the ship’s psychologist, I’m supposed to be calm and in control at all times. It doesn’t give me much chance to have moments of weakness or fear myself. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes ma’am.” Allayah stopped, didn’t asked the obvious question about why Elana wasn’t seeing one of the other ship’s doctors. She sensed as Elana hoped she would, that this was personal.

  “There’s so much fear in the ship now. Everyone is trying to pack up or make plans for if they don’t make it. I’m sure you’ve felt it; that need to tie up loose ends.”

  “Yes ma’am. Several of my crew have been hosting ‘sit ins’ in the gardens. They don’t want to go back to their quarters after they finish their shifts. I sent you a note.”

  “Yes, and I think your response has been wonderful. Let them have these hours. We may really all be dead tomorrow.” Elana slipped into silence. Allayah watched her. “I’m a woman too, you know.” Elana continued as if to herself. “I have fear. It’s curious to me. I don’t seem to be afraid of dying, but I have some loose ends I would need to clean up first…just in case.”

  There was some softening in Allayah’s face. She sensed and responded to human suffering. ’Perfect.’ Thought Elana.

  “You’re a remarkable woman Allayah. I’ve really enjoyed watching you over the years…” She paused again. “I need to ask you to do something for me…something important.”

  Allayah leaned forward, the roles of Doctor and patient forgotten. Her eyes were warm. “Tell me.” She whispered.

  “It’s…it’s not about me you understand.” Elana whispered back, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s about Sam. I need you to help me with Sam.”

  Descent

  Alder fidgeted. There wasn’t much to do but fidget. He would have liked to have been hiding somewhere with El, be back ‘on the couch,’ letting the pressure out of seeing Pilton go completely mad. Unfortunately, the immediacy of landing day had trumped all other concerns.

  The atomic had gone off as planned, ripping a miles wide hole in the cloud and tipping the Duster toward her fateful encounter with the planet below. The ion pads were burning full strength now, setting the angle of descent. Rolls of numbers were scrolling across the screen in front of Alder, altitude, pitch, velocity, a dozen others, but, until they got far enough into the atmosphere for the pressure to build, there wasn’t much to do but watch them scroll by. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be anything for him to do even then. He shifted in the harness he was wearing and pulled at his neck brace. The 11g finale to the stunt they were about to pull was enough to snap a neck if the angle was just wrong.

  They had moved the bridge from the main ring to a converted room high in the bio-dome not far from where he and Elana had watched the surface of mass 17 burst. The original bridge was just above the edge of the ring and likely to get subjected to intense heat as the ship turned the thickening atmosphere into plasma as it descended. It was possible that the engineering section and parts of the bridge would burn through without destroying the rest of the ship.

  It had been hard work to convert what was meant to be a leisure room into the new nerve center of the ship. The optical lines had been re-run, analog lines had been laid down in parallel, and crew members at key controls around the ship were connected wirelessly with battery powered radios in case all else failed. They had had to build a small step in the doorway to help people over the mass of cables.

  Pilton’s final command had been taken in stride by most of the crew. Lieutenant Commander Alder was now Ship’s Commander Alder. Even Garson, who should have been next in line seemed relieved that the burden had passed to Alder. There were a few crew members who were still missing and could cause trouble; some of Tallen’s men who, while leaderless, seemed unwilling to admit that their plans for domination had been crushed by a madman in white dress uniform.

  Elana had nodded when Alder told her the incredible tale of his encounter with Pilton. She patted his cheek and said, “Really, you’ve been in charge for years Sam. Pilton was just too proud to admit it.”

  Alder knew he wasn’t really in charge. Everyone knew their jobs and would do just fine without him. If they needed to have a name at the top of the list, he didn’t mind that it was his that was there, as long as everyone remembered that they were in charge of themselves. He was sitting in the center chair meant for Pilton. He’d tried to get Mbaka or Gibson to take the seat. Gibson refused on the argument that the flight controls were hard wired into the chair in front of the command chair. Mbaka just laughed and patted him on the shoulder.

  So he sat in the command chair and fidgeted. To his left was Wei monitoring systems. To his right was Mbaka who seemed to be joyful, almost giddy. The only other person in the room, and the one who should be in charge, as far as Alder was concerned, was Gibson in the pilot’s chair. She was charged with seeing that Muuk’s program executed correctly. There wasn’t really much she could do. While she might be able to turn critical systems on or off or re-route power, if the computer couldn’t fly the ship, there was no way she could. The line was so fine that a flight error would send them into a high-g tumble faster than Gibson’s brain could send signals to her fingers. Still, they were flying so there was a pilot. A damn good one at that, Alder thought.

  The rest of the crew, with the exception of those hardy souls who had agreed to take wireless radios and be strapped in next to the machines they were responsible for, were lashed into harnesses in the core of the biodome. It was uncomfortable; every available space inside the inner most set of pressure doors had been converted into a padded cell complete with harnesses and a strap that went around the forehead. They’d had to turn off the gravity well generators in two sections to even get people mounted in some of the more outlandish locations. Worse, they had started loading eight hours before the atomic. Already, some people had been in their harnesses for over fourteen hours. In theory, everyone on board was bolted into a harness capable of withstanding 11 g’s. In theory.

  Elana had chosen to be strapped in with the horticulture crew near the also harnessed animals. She felt the gardeners and livestock handlers were the most unprepared for the dangers of spaceflight and therefore the most likely to be frightened by the mad descent.

  “Beautiful isn’t it?” Mbak
a interrupted Alder’s musings.

  “Hmm Yes.” The other advantage of having the bridge moved to the biodome was the view. The entire front panel was a single window out into the coming storm. They had chosen the shallowest approach possible to minimize the impact with the surface. As terrifying as it was to contemplate trying to slide out a kilometer long ship on bare rock, hitting that rock head on was ten times worse. They had already orbited the planet twice, letting their orbit decay. They were on the night side now, waiting for the dawn. The planet filled the screen, a black ball side lit by the blue white halo of the soon to rise sun. The aurora was still below them but close enough to see the unnatural knots whip by, giving some indication of their speed.

  It was the final orbit. If they made it to the night side again, it meant they had survived. If not, their remains would be scattered across the alien terrain.

  “Really beautiful.”

  Alder looked over at Mbaka who was smiling at him broadly. “What are you smiling about?”

  “You just seem tense.” Mbaka said. “You should learn to relax.” For some reason, reaching the climax of their adventure had put Mbaka in a joking mood. Different people respond to stress differently, Elana always said.

  “I’ll relax tomorrow.” Alder shot back, trying to match the mood.

  Mbaka smile broadly. “Good. That’s in about four minutes.”

  A slight shudder rumbled through the ship.” It’s nothing.” Wei jumped in immediately. “The number four shield just ramped itself up to 100%.” It had been decided early on that the main communications channels would be broadcast across the ship. This was so that crew members trapped away from the bridge, their fate taken out of their hands, could at least hear what was happening around them. Someone was also playing Pietcraig’s “To the Skies Triumphant” in the background. It was more than a century old but seemed to fit in spite of the fact that they were falling out of the sky. It was good that it seemed to fit because no one could figure out how to turn it off. Alder suspected that it was a going away present from Pilton. It seemed like the kind of thing he’d do.