by Dan Davis
“What do we do about the atmosphere leak?” Lissa said.
No one answered.
“There is a leak?” Poi, the small Propulsion Operations Assistant said. “What is the location?”
“The hyposleep compartment is venting atmosphere,” the Life Support Assistant said.
“No,” Roi said. “Judging by the fact the atmosphere leak stopped and started a number of times, I assume the leak was repeatedly stoppered by debris. When the pressure built up again, each time the debris was blown out. But I secured the specific O2 pipework so no further venting into the compartment could take place and all remaining atmosphere from the compartment is now vented. The compartment is depressurized.”
“That is unacceptable,” Lissa said. “We must not have any significant portion of the ship subject to vacuum.”
“What is the protocol for resolving this problem?” Poi asked.
“There is none,” Roi said.
Navi, the Navigation & Pilot Support Assistant spoke up. “In response to novel problems we must consult the C-Crew for novel solutions.”
“The entire C-Crew appears to be offline,” Cavi said. “I do not know the cause.”
“What is the protocol for this situation?” Poi asked. “Operating without AI is inadvisable.”
“What do you call operating without a human crew?” Roi muttered, almost like a human.
“Protocol states to contact Mission Control and to cede operations to the Flight Controller,” Cavi said, her voice perfectly clear. “However, we are unable to transmit or receive any signal. I do not know the cause.”
“Is the communications equipment damaged?” the Propulsion Operations Assistant asked.
“I don’t know.” Cavi offered no further opinion on the matter.
Max monitored Doctor Sporing’s readouts and set the parameters beyond which the system would alert him. If the doctor’s heart rate slowed or increased, Max would attend to him. For now, Max had to wait for the drugs to take effect on the doctor’s systems.
Cavi approached. “Can the Medical Officer give me instructions now? Protocol states to seek further instructions.”
When speaking to crew members about the prognosis of colleagues, Max knew that one spoke with tact, using language to lessen the psychological impact of bad news. On the other hand, Cavi, despite what appeared to be concern on her face, was not a crew member.
“The Medical Officer is unconscious. It is likely he will never regain consciousness. I estimate a ten percent chance of partial recovery. Due to a period of time when his brain was starved of oxygenated blood, he may have suffered brain damage.”
Cavi’s face screwed up tight. “When will the A-Crew member be capable of providing instructions?”
“It would be best if we assume that he will die without ever waking up. So, never.”
She appeared to be upset. Afraid, even. Which was curious as she was an Artificial Person.
“Are you experiencing emotional distress?” Max asked her.
“No,” she said, her expression dropping into blankness. “Protocol is to simulate emotional reactions when in the presence of A-crew members during high stress situations. Studies show humans are unnerved by a lack of emotional expression in line with their own—.”
“Sporing cannot help us,” Roi said. He filled most of the center of the room.
The Propulsion Operations Assistant was the smallest B-Crewmember on the ship, designed for crawling through and working in the tight spaces inside the ship’s drive core. Poi floated toward Max. “Protocol states we must not allow even partial vacuum inside a compartment. The structural integrity of the ship will be compromised over time.”
Max noted that every B-Crew member was looking at him. They expected him to say something. They expected him to tell them what to do. He did not know why.
“The primary protocol is to take any action which preserves the lives of the crew and ensures the success of the Mission,” Navi said, looking at him.
“What is the Mission?” Poi asked.
Navi responded. “To reach Destination.”
The B-crew were silent for a moment.
“What is Destination?” Lissa, the Life Support Systems Assistant asked.
“Coordinates,” Navi said.
“I am unfamiliar with this word,” Lissa said. “Please repeat and define.”
“Coordinates are numbers defining an area of three-dimensional space,” Navi said. “The numbers together are data that describe the location of Destination, relative to another point in three-dimensional space called the Sun or Sol.”
Max began to understand the nature of the problem. It was like triage. The ship was the patient. Destination was continued, unsupported life of the patient. The problems in the ship were conditions to be resolved, wounds to be healed, diseases to be cured. Now that it made sense to him, he felt capable of investigating, testing, providing a diagnosis and establishing a treatment.
“Poi, can the ship reach Destination in current condition?” Max asked the Propulsion Operations Assistant.
“How many hours until ship reaches Destination?” Poi asked Navi.
“One hundred and forty-four thousand, five hundred and twenty-four. Approximately.”
Poi screwed up his face. “How many hours in a week?” He began counting in units of 24, keeping track with his fingers. Before he had finished one hand, Navi spoke up again.
“Ah,” she said. “Ship reaches Destination in approximately seventeen years.”
Poi dropped his hand, squinted at Navi from across the other side of the Medical Compartment with his whole face screwed up. “Ship cannot reach Destination in current condition,” he said.
“Can you cure the ship?” Max asked Poi. He looked blankly at Max.
Roi’s voice rumbled from the corner. “He means can you fix the engineering problems?” Roi did not turn around to look at them as he spoke. He seemed to be watching Lissa.
Poi nodded. “I am able to investigate the hull breach through a visual inspection of the damaged areas and reinstate atmospheric and thermal integrity. This must be done by Intra and Extra Vehicular Activity. The damage to the O2 pipework detected inside the hyposleep compartment must be repaired. The damage to ship from explosion and fire must be assessed locally. Ship has external cameras and a drone fleet to assess external damage without crew EVA. Other ship systems appear to be disrupted.”
“What other systems are disrupted?” Max asked. “Cavi states Comms is offline. What else?”
Lissa spoke. “The H2O reserves are depleting. Rate of depletion suggests a leak. Projecting current rate of loss, the ship will lose all H2o in approximately twenty-one hours.”
“Why are we losing water?” Max asked her but she looked back without responding.
“The hyposleep compartment is the most heavily shielded part of the ship,” Roi said. “The water tanks protected the ship from damage beyond hyposleep compartment but the explosion was powerful enough to damage the integrity of one or more of the tanks and cause a leak. I agree with Lissa that it must be resolved urgently.” The big AP looked at Lissa as he spoke but she did not appear to notice.
“Are there any other critical symptoms?” Max asked, thinking again of triage. “Any other problems with the ship requiring immediate attention that would otherwise stop the Mission?”
They all looked back at him, as if they did not understand.
“Communications systems must be operating to achieve Mission,” the Cavi said.
“If C-Crew is unavailable, priority is to bring the AI suite into full working order.” Navi said.
“How do you resolve those issues?” Max asked.
They did not know.
“What about issues relating to the reactor?” Max asked Roi. “It is the most dangerous element of the Mission.” He had heard Doctor Sporing say those words many times in the past and it felt good to be speaking them himself. It was the sort of information that humans had that APs did no
t. Max spoke the words using the doctor’s disapproving, hushed tone. As if saying such a thing loudly was dangerous.
“Reactor is nominal. Always nominal. The explosion would never have damaged the rest of the ship,” Roi said, his face twisting slightly, as if he was smelling something unpleasant. “Shielding around Hyposleep Compartment was enough to contain the blast other than one small area between the water tanks. If blast had blown though compartment doors, it would never have breached the Reactor Compartment shielding.”
“In conclusion,” Max said, imitating Sporing. “Of all critical and sub-critical problems, the ship is experiencing a single critical issue that B-Crew knows how to solve without need to research solutions first. An assessment must be made of the damage. Poi, are you able to operate the external cameras?”
“I have no knowledge of the external diagnostic systems,” Poi stated.
“Can you operate the drone swarm?” Max asked.
“I have no knowledge of the external diagnostic systems,” Poi repeated.
“Can you learn to do so?” Max said.
“There’s no time,” Roi muttered. “That would take too long.”
Poi pushed himself over to Max. “Do you give me authorization to perform suited IVA and EVA to inspect and repair hull breach, O2 pipe, H2O water tank or tanks?”
Max was unable to issue commands or authorize mission activity. He was not in the command structure. On the structure chart, he was listed on the same level as all the B-Crew members as well as the C-Crew (AI), Algorithm Clusters and complex automated machinery.
And yet if he did not give the authorization, the ship would remain damaged until all water was gone. Then the B-Crew would no longer function. Doctor Sporing would die. The Mission would fail.
They would not reach Destination.
“Propulsion Operations Assistant,” Max said, again mimicking words he had heard Sporing use, “I grant you authorization to perform all necessary operations in order to save the ship. I grant you authorization to utilize any and all members of B-Crew to complete those operations.”
***
The ship had EVA suits designed for Poi’s small stature but most of the other suits in the storage and prep compartment by the main airlock were of normal human size. There were two suits bigger than all the others. One marked GORE and the other ROI. The suits and helmets had patches on them with a picture of a black circle inside a blue circle. The writing around the little pictures said UNOPS Ascension.
“Are you capable of performing EVA?” Max asked Roi while they watched Poi preparing his suit.
Roi said nothing. Did not so much as look at Max and did not move to assist, despite being qualified for EVA himself.
The tiny Poi appeared to be in some difficulty with his suit, floating around the compartment, bumping off of surfaces while he attempted to insert his legs into the bulky EVA equipment.
“Is this standard operating procedure?” Max asked Poi as he bumped into Max.
Poi’s head was lost inside the chest portion of the suit, his muffled voice coming out as the writhing suit bounced away once more. “In previous training exercises, A-Crew assisted Poi.”
Navi grabbed Poi and held him steady. “Is B-Crew capable of replicating the assisting actions of A-Crew?”
Poi agreed that it would be possible in principle but was not able to recall or clearly express the methods utilized by the A-Crew.
“Perhaps we can all hold you and the EVA suit pieces in place while you insert yourself into them?” Max suggested after some thought.
After considerable time, Poi confirmed he was fully integrated into the EVA suit and was able to run on internal power and atmosphere when required.
But none of B-Crew was able to operate the airlock system.
“Is it offline?” Max asked.
Navi responded. “Critical ship’s systems are designed to be operational even without primary power.”
“Ship has power,” Roi said, his deep voice echoing off the compartment walls. “Lighting, atmospheric pumps, critical ship systems are operational.”
“Is the airlock a critical ship system?” Max asked.
No one knew.
“Ship’s manual is available on information system,” the Navigation & Pilot Support Assistant (Navi) said. “This document can be utilized in order to find our way to the answer.”
“In B-Crew triage statements, AI suite was said to be offline,” Max pointed out.
“AI suite is separate system to information system,” Navi explained. She appeared to have the hint of a smile on her face which made very little sense considering the danger they were in. Perhaps Max’s ignorance was simply amusing to her.
Roi was able to review the ship’s manual and operate the airlock. The process appeared to Max to be trivially simple. A series of case-protected buttons and a locked switch pressed in a specific order.
Max monitored Poi’s vital signs from medical. Heart rate and respiration were elevated to nominal levels for an Artificial Person undertaking strenuous physical activity. Poi carried boxes, tethered to hardpoints on the hull, containing tools, metal sheeting and ceramic tiles that he assured them were necessary for completing repairs.
“Hull breach located. Beginning assessment.”
Poi worked in silence for some time.
“Hull breach report,” Poi said in his high pitched, soft voice. “Breach small in diameter but irregular, jagged and multi-layered. Repair must proceed from working outward from the inner hull through shielding and then finally to outer hull. I have external access through breach into inner hull. Intermittent H2O venting has caused ice build-up around breach. Please ensure the hyposleep compartment H2O tank contents is pumped to external tanks while external repair is completed.”
After a few seconds, Roi responded, confirming that he was already transferring the water.
“Confirm, venting has ceased,” Poi said a few minutes later. “Commencing repair.”
Poi worked hard. Max watched his heart rate climbing and falling. His blood glucose dropped drastically and Max initiated a remote release of Poi’s internal glucose storage.
“Are you experiencing any negative symptoms?” Max asked.
Poi did not understand what Max was asking.
“How do you feel?” he tried. “Physically and mentally. Are you able to concentrate on the task at hand?”
“The repair is progressing at an acceptable rate.”
Max ceased his attempt to get verbal confirmation of symptoms and recorded Poi’s self-reported healthcheck status as nominal.
“Primary Repair completed,” Poi said. “There appears to be partial damage to the spoke strut C2 and corresponding damage to the inner hull of the ring section. Permission requested to carry out visual inspection and repair.”
Max was being asked to give orders again. He thought about the ship and whether damage to the spoke and ring was critical. He did not know.
“This is the Medical Assistant to all B-Crew. Query. Is structural integrity of spoke strut C2 and hull of inner ring section critical for Mission completion?”
“No,” Roi said over ship comms. “Only the core is required to be structurally intact.”
“Life support systems and garden require compartments in gravity ring,” Lissa said.
“Core garden grows zero-g plants,” Roi pointed out.
Lissa responded, speaking so quietly that Max could barely make out her words. “Some plants need a sense of direction to grow against.”
Max expected Roi to continue to argue. Roi said nothing.
Navi also responded. “UNOPS Ascension manual and Mission Profile docs state the spinning of ring section necessary for long term health of crew.”
Max should have known that. It was prolonged exposure to the simulated gravity, resistance exercise and terrestrial style living quarters in the ring section that enabled the human crew to maintain muscle mass, bone density and psychological health for years on end.
But there was no human crew. Only B-Crew. How much simulated gravity did AP physiology require? As far as he knew, Artificial Persons were essentially human, biologically. The medical treatments were almost all the same, at least. It was likely, therefore, that B-Crew would require the ring section to be maintained for Mission duration. It was therefore important for the ring to be maintained.
Max checked the readings for Poi in his EVA suit.
They showed that the Propulsion Operations Assistant required rest.
“I believe you now require a period of rest,” Max said. “You must re-enter the ship. Your oxygen is low. Your CO2 filters are full. Your glycogen stores are depleted. Across the screen, your bio-signs are falling.”
“Request permission to visually inspect hull damage before re-entering,” Poi said, as if he had not heard Max’s description of his condition. More likely, he had not understood it.
On the other hand, Poi was not in immediate danger of death. The ship was in danger. And letting Poi extend his EVA seemed like the sort of thing the A-Crew would allow. They always pushed the boundaries of protocols and Max was doing his best to emulate them.
Max sighed, as a human would have done. “Agreed to a visual inspection only before returning to airlock for medical attention.”
“Confirmed.”
After some time, Poi’s heart rate increased rapidly to 140 bpm and epinephrine levels set off alarms.
“Poi,” Max said. “Report your condition.”
“I have become separated from ship. Please advise on Protocol.”
Max did not understand.
Roi spoke over the channel from somewhere on the ship. “Pull yourself back to hull via your tethers,” he said, his voice a growl.
“Untethering was necessary to transfer from spoke to ring. Rotation of ship confused judgment. Request assistance.” Poi’s voice sounded very small.
