Midshipman Henry Gallant in Space (The Henry Gallant Saga)

by H. Peter Alesso

  When they reconvened, Gallant returned to his position at the foot of the table. Captain Caine said, “Mr. Gallant for failure to perform an adequate pre-watch walkthrough and for procedure violations as DC leader, you will receive a Letter of Reprimand in your jacket. In addition, you will be required to undergo additional fire and damage control training.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “By the way, both of the repairmen are doing better and are expected to make a full recovery. Good job pulling them to safety. That’s all.”

  Gallant left the wardroom unhappy about the letter, but feeling greatly relieved about the injured men.

  CHAPTER 7

  Gallant shifted his weight from foot to foot, as he stood beside the airlock to Repulse’s hangar bay. He felt conspicuous in his Service Dress Blues, but that was the required uniform for travel. Inside the hangar, passengers were boarding a shuttlecraft. Several crewmen were also waiting for transportation to Jupiter Station. When his turn came, Gallant passed through the airlock and boarded the shuttle.

  “Hello, young man. Do you remember me? Jacob Bernstein? Jake?” called a man from the cockpit, waving his hand as he spoke. He was sitting in the pilot seat.

  “Yes, Jake.” Gallant felt as if he had found an old friend - it was the aged pilot who had brought him out to Repulse.

  “It’s good to see you. Come up front and sit next to me. I hope you’re doing well on your new ship.”

  “Yes. Everything is fine, thank you,” said Gallant, stepping forward to get out of the way of the dozen or so other passengers.

  “Oh, really? What happened to your hands?” Jake asked, looking at the extensive bandages.

  “There was a fire. I was careless,” Gallant said, sitting down in the co-pilot’s seat.

  “Tsk, tsk. Isn’t that always the case with the young?” Jake said, shaking his head. “So foolish. I expected better from you.”

  Gallant smiled contritely, “Repulse’s triage paramedics and doctors took great care of me. They put temporary dressings and healing suave on the burns. They gave me some prophylactic antibiotics and sent my stem cell samples to the Jupiter Station hospital. The hospital has grown new skin for me. I’m going there now so they can graft it over the burns. It’s no big deal. I’ll be going back this evening. My hands will be just fine.”

  “Nevertheless, you must think before you act, or next time you’ll lose more than a piece of your hide.”

  “You’re right. I’ll be more careful in the future,” said Gallant, appreciative of Jake’s concern.

  While they were talking, the shuttle filled to capacity.

  Jake announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts. We will be departing in a few minutes.” He shut the hatch between the cockpit and the main passenger’s chamber, as required for flight preparation.

  Jake called the Repulse’s hangar duty officer and asked for clearance to depart. When it was granted, he started the shuttle’s thrusters and maneuvered the vehicle out of the hangar and into space. Soon the passengers were chatting comfortably while the tiny craft made its way toward Jupiter Station in orbit around Ganymede.

  “How have you been doing, Jake?” asked Gallant when Jake had set the AI autopilot.

  “Oh, I can’t complain. Well, I guess I could, but it wouldn’t do any good,” he chuckled.

  “Why? What’s the problem?”

  “Oh, money,” he said. “It’s the cost of antimatter. You’d think with the Ganymede accelerator finally up and running, that prices would fall. But it doesn’t always work that way in commerce -not when the military has first call on the stuff.”

  “Do you own this shuttle business?”

  “Yes, for over thirty years. My family was among the first Jupiter frontier pioneers. They came to the Kendra settlement on Ganymede as silicate miners. Later they helped to develop space habitat for colonizing asteroids and moons. Did you know that some very large cylinder habitats are five miles in diameter and twenty miles long, made from ordinary steel and glass to support from 1,000 to 100,000 people. Some space colonies use thin-walled pressure vessels with recycled atmospheres and hydroponics. Each sector of a space habitat has its own atmosphere control system with sensors and regulators including activated carbon filters and air ionizers. Colonies often use solar energy until they get to large distances from the Sun such as Jupiter."

  Jake stopped for a moment then added, "I grew up out here in the colonies, but I didn’t fancy the mining trade. So when I was old enough, I started my own business. My dad supplied the down payment and secured a loan to get the shuttle. He also helped negotiate the military contracts, so I could travel between military ships and the station. My folks have since passed away, but I still earn a living for my wife, Margret, and me. We have a home on the station. My oldest son, Brandon, is a sergeant in the 7th Marine regiment stationed near Kendra. My other three boys and their families visit from their Ganymede settlements whenever possible.”

  “You’ve lived your whole life in Jupiter’s orbit?” asked Gallant.

  “That’s right. Plenty of folks live their whole life in space settlements these days. You’re probably used to Earthers, who take one space trip in their lifetime and think that it’s a great adventure.”

  “I’ve never been to Earth. My grandparents were pioneers too. They settled in New Annapolis, Mars. My father was a terraforming engineer and Mom was a mineralogist. They worked together and treasured everything about Mars. Those were magic years for us.” Gallant looked out into space. His expression changed as the pleasant memories were crowded out by painful ones. “One assignment resulted, in us being posted to an encampment on Phobos.”

  Gallant took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around his chest. “A large meteorite got past the laser defenses and struck our shelter.” His eyes welled up. “My parents had only seconds to react. They sealed me in an escape pod,” his voice wavered, “They never made it to their own.”

  He sat quietly staring straight ahead, numbed by his own revelation.

  “I’m sorry, Henry,” said Jake. He put his hand on Gallant’s shoulder. “That’s a harsh burden.”

  They were silent for a few minutes. Then Gallant, looking to change the mood, asked, “Tell me more about your business.”

  “Well, let’s see. It used to be quite lucrative. I operated under a military contract. They paid a base rate, plus a fee for each trip to ferry personnel and small shipments between ships and the station. They used to pay for maintenance, repairs and my flight time. Fuel was included as part of the contract. Now, I have to pay my own fuel costs. Oh, they upped the ferry price some, but not enough to suit me.”

  “The cost of antiprotons probably fluctuates because the availability depends on how much is left over after the military ships are serviced. Is that right?”

  “You got it. You’ll have to excuse me now. We’re approaching the station,” said Jake. He placed the ship in manual and began flying it toward a docking port.

  After Jake parked the shuttle, he said, “I’ll be here when your operation is done.”

  “Thanks,” said Gallant as he left.

  -------------------------------

  Jupiter Station’s hangar bay was dark, dank, and dreary. The overhead air conditioning vents were emitting a frosty stream of vapor with a stale musty odor; the result of shuttle craft exhaust, coupled with inadequate air recirculation.

  Gallant felt a chill and pulled his jacket tight around him. He crammed his bandaged hands into his pockets. His eyes were watery and his nose running. He sneezed and thought longingly about a steaming hot cup of stim-coffee. He checked the time and found that he still had over an hour before his medical appointment.

  Plenty of time for a cup of stim-coffee at the Officer’s Club, he thought.

  After a short walk along the station’s interior corridor, Gallant opened a door into an elongated oak-paneled room filled with small tables and adorned with military paraphernalia. The crowded well-lit
room overflowed with cheerful banter, dissipating the hangar bay gloom. Bustling waiters moved about, servicing the tables.

  Gallant tried to get past a short, plump man in elegant civilian attire. “Please excuse me, sir,” he said, unsure of the man’s rank, or station. The stocky man nodded a vague acknowledgement, but hardly moved, as he quickly returning to his clamorous conversation. Gallant squeezed by him and made his way further into the room, when he heard his name being called.

  “Henry! Henry, over here!” came a voice over the clamor.

  Someone was weaving his way through the horde of officers, while trying to avoid knocking their drinks over. Despite the intervening figures, Gallant couldn’t fail to recognize Ed Stevenson, his former academy roommate. As tall as Gallant, with sixty more pounds of brawn and sinew, Stevenson had been a linebacker on the academy football team and was as tough as they come.

  “Henry, it’s great to see you,” said Stevenson, his arms extended. The welcoming bear hug, he applied, almost crushed Gallant ribs.

  “Ed, it’s great to see you,” said Gallant, rubbing his chest, overjoyed at his good fortune in running into his friend. Just then, several officers vacated a nearby table. He grabbed Ed’s arm and pulled him toward it. They plopped down into the seats and began moving glasses out of their way. A waiter came by and took their orders for stim-coffee and wiped off the tabletop.

  “How have you been?” asked Gallant.

  “I’m fine, but I’m stuck on Jupiter Station until Renown returns,” said Stevenson.

  “As missile weapon’s office, I would have thought you rated transport directly to your battle cruiser,” said Gallant.

  “Captain Rook left word for transient crew members, to remain here until he returned,” Stevenson said with a frown. Newly commissioned midshipmen were always eager to reach their ships because their two year deployment tenure didn’t start until they report aboard.

  “That’s unfortunate. I don’t suppose there’s anyway to learn when Renown will return,” said Gallant. Stevenson shrugged and then glanced at Gallant’s hands. He asked, “What’s the story with the bandages?”

  “There was an accident on Repulse; a fire in the forward missile compartment. I was the DC leader and was careless. The burns aren’t really very bad. I’m due for medical treatment in about an hour,” said Gallant. He hesitated, trying to decide if he should also tell Stevenson about the letter of reprimand.

  “Well, until then, tell me about your ship. What’s it like on deployment?”

  “Repulse is a fine ship with a well-trained crew. Captain Caine seems strict, but fair. I’m the communication officer. I suspect you’ll get that same job on Renown. We haven’t done all that much; a few training exercises, otherwise we’ve remained in Jupiter orbit.”

  Stevenson gave Gallant a sharp look, before asking a direct, but tactless question, “Have you made any friends?”

  Gallant managed a weak smile, “You know perfectly well, that I’m getting the same silent treatment that I got at the academy.”

  “Don’t get discouraged, you worked through it at the academy, and you’ll deal with it on Repulse.”

  A new throng of officers entered the packed room and tried to force their way to the bar. The ripple effect jostled the two midshipmen as they were collecting their stim-coffee from their waiter.

  Gallant took a welcomed sip before returning his attention to his friend. He said, “It took the better part of two years to find just a few friends at the academy. If it wasn’t for you and Sam, I wouldn’t have survived. You were both ideal roommates and wonderful friends.”

  “Who are you kidding? You didn’t need any help from me, or Sam. Nothing was going to stop you. Nothing did then, and nothing is going to stop you now.”

  “Thanks, Ed. You don’t know what a shot in the arm your support is,” said Gallant. “Do you know how Sam is doing?”

  “Wellman is an astrogator on Superb, the flagship of the Mars Fleet. I got a message from him just a week ago and he’s doing well.”

  “And how about you?” asked Gallant.

  “I’ve been spending most of my time completing AI training courses and availing myself of the local restaurants and taverns. There are some fun entertainment spots on Jupiter Station. I’ve met some nice local girls. I can introduce you, just say the word.”

  Gallant blushed, “Thanks Ed, but there’s someone on Repulse, that I kind of have my eye on.”

  “Okay, I understand,” laughed his friend.

  For nearly an hour, they chatted about their possible futures until finally, they found themselves saying farewell.

  “Do you think we can get together again?” asked Stevenson.

  “You can count on it,” said Gallant.

  -------------------------------

  Outside the Officer’s Club, Gallant tapped his comm pin and asked directions to the medical facilities. He waited several minutes for a small taxi service to take him to the hospital.

  When he arrived, a nurse greeted him as he signed in. She led him to a room for minor surgical procedures. He removed his uniform blouse. She removed his bandages and placed a sterile cover over each of his hands. The cover had a hole that exposed his burns.

  “A little stick,” she said, and she plunged a needle into his hands, one at a time, and injected them with analgesic.

  “You won’t feel any pain. You can watch so long as you keep your hands perfectly still while the surgeon performs the procedure. Okay?”

  Gallant nodded as the doctor entered and began looking over the wounds. He didn’t feel any pain and watched in fascination as the surgeon peeled away his damaged skin. Then collagen and the new skin, grown from his stem cells, was grafted onto his hands and bandaged.

  The doctor smiled, “A perfect job, if I do say so myself. Though, if you had had genetic enhancements, your stem cells would have produced a cleaner match.”

  “Do you see mostly genetically enhanced personnel?” asked Gallant.

  “Well, that’s a complicated question. All UP fleet officers are genetically enhanced because they are required to use neural interfaces either as pilots, astrogators, missile officers, or for general AI operations aboard ship. Hmm…, I see from your records that you’re the single exception to that rule.” The doctor paused and looked closer at Gallant. “On the other hand, I also treat UP enlisted personnel, station workers, miners, merchant fleet personnel, and colonists. They are a mixed bag of genetically engineered and non-engineered. As you’re no doubt aware, while Earthers have been making genetic engineering a routine procedure for several generations, colonists have been slower to adopt the practice. I’m not sure if it’s the pioneer spirit of individuality that motivates them, or if it’s just a lack of adequate medical facilities within the colonies.”

  “Are the genetic enhancements pretty much the same for all people,” asked Gallant, curious to get specific details from a medical expert.

  “Oh, no,” said the doctor. “Everyone’s DNA is unique, except for twins of course. So each DNA enhancement is a custom job. The doctor must take the DNA from the father sperm donor and impregnate an egg from his female partner. The DNA of the resulting embryo is then extracted and chemically altered by removing diseased or disadvantage genes, and then favorable enzyme and hormone production genes are turned on. The fertilized embryo is then implanted in the female’s womb and she carries the baby to term. The results are often good, but not perfectly uniform, hence the variation in performance of UP officers.”

  The doctor’s face formed a puzzled look as he asked Gallant, “I don’t quite understand how you are able to use the neuron interface without the enhanced enzyme and hormone production capabilities. Tell me Mr. Gallant how has your performance, as a pilot, been?”

  “Adequate, doctor," said Gallant uncomfortably. He asked, "How about my hands? When can I get the bandages removed?”

  “You can remove the bandages in three days. There will be no scarring. By next week, you won’t b
e able to tell you ever had a problem.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Gallant sat on the edge of his bunk looking at his touch screen tablet, trying to coax himself into studying his latest boring GridScape training assignment. The illustration of a complex system casualty was proving difficult for him to evaluate. His attention was diverted by a booming baritone voice entering his cubicle, “Heads up.”

  Midshipman George Gregory burst into the tiny room, his arms full of uniforms and personal items. He unceremoniously dropped his burden onto the upper bunk bed. He said, “Henry, how about giving me a hand?”

  Gallant was so surprised he just sat motionless, looking back and forth between the nearly empty common room and his bear-sized intruder.

  Finally, Gregory said, "The XO has assigned you as my wingman in Flight 4. So how about a helping hand?"

  “You’re going to room with me?” asked Gallant, still slow to realize the import of the event.

  “That’s the best way to develop teamwork. And from now on, we're a team, unless I’m not welcome?” asked Gregory, looking at Gallant, waiting for a response.

  Gallant smiled. He hoped, he had a new friend, “You’re welcome Gregory. But uhh..., wouldn't you be more comfortable on the bottom bunk?”

  “Now you’re thinking Henry. That would be great. And call me Red,” said Red extending his hand.

  At the academy, midshipmen roommates shared a treasured bond of trust. Roommates always had each other’s back ... no matter what! Gallant’s roommates at the academy, Ed Stevenson and Sam Wellman, had become his best friends. By volunteering to become his roommate, Red was taking on a special responsibility along with the mantle of trust that went with it.

  Gallant took Red’s hand and shook it enthusiastically, “I’d be proud to, Red.” He began helping Red stow his gear. The uniforms were quickly hung in his locker, or neatly folded in drawers. The shoes were placed along the locker floor. Red hung an image viewer full of pictures on the inside of the locker door. The image changed automatically every few seconds. Gallant could see they were mostly family photos along with a string of good-looking girls.