Ship's Log

by Lawrence P White

  He found himself staring at six large crystals, each a different color, and each of them containing myriads of tiny winking lights within their interiors. Colonies of smaller, colorless crystals surrounded each large crystal, also replete with winking lights. Racks of black boxes of varying sizes and shapes filled the space behind the crystals, but the crystals held his attention. He knew without any doubt that he was looking at a computer, or perhaps several computers. If computers had names, this cluster formed the entity called Ship. He caught himself reaching in to touch the green crystal right in front of him, but he came to his senses and recoiled. He had no business intruding.

  Were they alive? He stared mesmerized, his eyes shifting from one to another. He wanted to learn what was taking place here—heck, computers were his job. He felt like a kid staring into a candy store, but he knew that now was not the time or place to let his curiosity run wild. Until this mission was over, he would take the conservative approach to such things. Even so, it was with great reluctance that he closed the compartment.

  He shook his head to clear it, then he moved aft to another compartment where he discovered an assortment of tools, meters, and spare parts, all of them neatly arranged and labeled. The designers had not had the foresight to label anything in English, of course.

  He scowled when he admitted to himself that it wouldn’t have mattered if they had.

  The opposite wall held survival equipment—medicine, food, and lots of other things he did not recognize but whose functions he could sometimes guess. The last compartment was a surprise, although on second thought it should not have been. Space suits, but what suits! He removed one and shook it out, marveling at its light weight. Made of a gossamer thin, see-through material, the suit was clearly meant to fit over a human form. No separate helmets were evident in the compartment, and he discovered the suit was all one piece, helmet and all, incredibly soft and thin. Nearly all the bulk was situated in a cluster of sealed pouches around the waist. If complete, and he suspected they were complete, then certain essential items such as oxygen, radios, perhaps even a jet pack of some sort for moving around in space must be contained inside the sealed pouches. Was is possible to fit such things into these small, compact units? Then he looked around at the rest of the control room and rolled his eyes.

  He sighed as he put the suit away. So much to learn. Would he ever get the opportunity?

  That essentially covered the bridge. It was not the Starship Enterprise. Instead, it seemed alive. Rushing waters, bright blue sky, and towering clouds intruded right into the ship. He remained continually aware of the ship’s environment, and he felt certain the same feeling would prevail once he was out in space. It felt eerie to see three empty seats sitting in mid-air. No controls moved to the silent commands of an autopilot. All was still within the ship despite the shrieking wind that had to be outside.

  He felt like he should be doing something, even if it was just monitoring, but for the life of him he could not think of anything that needed his attention right now. The screen showed lots of action as the ocean rushed by and figures scrolled without pause around the edges. His pride took a beating, but he knew that he was only a passenger on this trip.

  He shrugged and turned to the main door that separated the bridge from the remaining four hundred feet of ship. This door was thick. It was actually two doors with a small gap between them. This was where Jarl’s escape pod had separated from the rest of its ship. He pressed his hand on the door-open pad.

  Snick! The door slid open, and he stepped into the common living area. Whoever had designed this craft had not simply left its occupants with whatever room was left over after installing all the important systems. Instead, the needs of its crew must have been high on the list of priorities because the area felt warm and inviting.

  His first impression was of roominess. He estimated the area was some 30 feet wide, 20 feet deep, and the ceiling 10 feet high. Divided into two main areas, a lounge which he now stood in occupied most of the space. Directly across the lounge, in the middle of the far wall, another door led aft to six individual staterooms. Immediately to his left, six chairs surrounded a dining table that looked like it had been fashioned from cherry wood and polished to a high luster. It might not be real wood, but if it was not, it was a good imitation. Beyond the table, the food preparation area occupied a narrow band along the entire wall.

  His second impression was of richness. Unlike the flat, drab colors he had lived with during his army days, furnishings here had been completed in warm, comfortable earth tones. A thick, dark green carpet covered all but a narrow band along the counter in the galley.

  Just thinking about the galley made him realize how hungry he was, but Arlynn had not taken the time to show him how to use any of the equipment here. He still had a supply of sandwiches that Nancy had prepared back in camp, but they would not begin to last him a week. By tomorrow or the next day, he would have to figure out something else. He wouldn’t eat any of Arlynn’s alien food of course, but he had brought plenty of his own along. If worse came to worst, he could probably eat stuff he had brought in cans without cooking it. That was a small price to pay to make First Contact work.

  As for the rest of the room, had he not known he was on a spaceship he would have thought he had been transplanted into a cozy living room back home. An assortment of couches and straight-backed chairs were scattered about, making small alcoves of privacy, yet the room retained a sense of openness. He could easily imagine spending the long boring days of a trip relaxing in a room like this with a good history book in his lap, escaping from the reality of what existed beyond the walls of the ship.

  He walked through the room, idly running his hands across the furniture, and ended up at the far doorway. He touched the door-open pad and found himself staring down a sixty-foot long corridor with another closed door at the far end. Three identical staterooms opened off each side of the corridor for a total of six. Arlynn had mentioned that a full crew of five or six often included married couples who would double-up in one room, so it was unusual to have all the rooms occupied unless they were carrying passengers.

  She had claimed the first room on the left, although they were all apparently identical. Her door stood open, and he walked in to find her just as he had left her.

  The room itself was as comfortably appointed as the lounge. Some twelve by twenty feet, the room was similar in size to his own master bedroom at home. To the right, a partial wall separated a closet and bathroom from the rest of the room. Her bed was hard up against the partial wall. On the left side of the room a small couch, a stuffed recliner, and a desk with a built-in computer terminal completed the furnishings.

  He stepped over to her bed where she lay face down. Her body appeared lifeless. Was she really alive, he wondered, or had she lied to him about the cold sleep? His lips thinned as he shook his head, silently threatening her if she had lied, but willing her to be okay.

  What a lady! If what she had told him about her people was true, that they were such great lovers of life that they made extraordinarily poor soldiers, then she had performed her mission above and beyond their highest expectations. He marveled yet again at her perseverance: Jarl was dead, one ship had been shot out from under her, she had shot down the Harbok attacker, her own body had failed her, yet her mission still proceeded. What focus!

  Her gray bag lay out of place under her bunk, seemingly unimportant. What riches did it contain?

  It suddenly dawned on him that she had never actually told him what her people called themselves. That bothered him. Sure, they might think of themselves as human, but there was no question in his mind on that score. They were aliens, by definition and by make-up. Devoted to life, indeed! Well, he admired them for that, but what about survival? They did not have a military, just scientists and explorers pressed into service. Could the galaxy be such a benign place in which to live? It did not seem possible. Earth certainly was not. Survival of the fittest was perhaps the most fun
damental attribute of our species. As much as he disliked the consequences of that nature—all the human suffering—he had difficulty accepting the fact that intelligent beings could evolve without it, or that they could evolve so far beyond it that their continued existence was at risk as a result.

  The whole concept had to be relegated to the back burner for the time being, but if given the slightest opportunity, he would investigate it in depth later. He might even write a thesis on it someday.

  He crossed the hallway to his own room, strewn with all the gear he had brought from the plane. He considered straightening up but decided it could wait. He checked the drawers and closet for any spare clothes the ship might provide, but they were empty. He frowned. He would have to do his laundry in the sink before reaching the baseship. He could not show up smelling like he had been hiking through the woods for a week.

  Then his frown deepened. Would he ever reach the baseship?

  He returned to the hallway and turned toward the far doorway leading aft, but he stopped. According to Arlynn, the rest of the ship consisted of engineering spaces, cargo holds, even laboratories for conducting experiments on new worlds. Could he go in there unprotected? He had no earthly idea what sorts of radiations were floating around back there from the ship’s power plant. Reason told him it would be perfectly safe, and his curiosity almost won out, but then he remembered his promise—he would do nothing to jeopardize her mission. His tour could wait. In the meantime, there were plenty of other things to do. He turned back, grabbed a couple of sandwiches from his room, and headed back to the bridge.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The scene outside had not changed. He had an hour or so before reaching Australia where he would begin his climb into space. He sucked in his breath as the full meaning of that moment engulfed him. What would it be like? There would be no towering trail of exhaust, no shaking or buffeting, he was certain. This ship was a class act right from the start. Surely, though, there would be some sensation of pressure, some noise? He hoped so. He wanted the excitement, the sense of danger the event should encompass. Arlynn treated it nonchalantly, as if it were a common everyday occurrence, no big deal at all. Well, it was a big deal! What if something went wrong? He looked at all the lights and meters and switches and wondered what he would do if something suddenly started flashing red. Or some other color for that matter. Were there alarm bells or horns or anything? How well could the ship take care of itself?

  He felt completely isolated as the immense craft hurtled along barely above the ocean. There were no air conditioning noises, no humming of electricity, no bumping along on air currents, not even the chatter of an air traffic controller in his ears to convince him that the rest of the world was still out there going about its daily routine, that he was not dreaming all this.

  He already felt cut off from Earth. He sensed the alien crystals behind him in their cabinet winking away like mad, each nanosecond marking another million or billion computations as they controlled the power plant hurtling the ship along; kept refreshing the immense screen that formed the nose of the ship; made sure the temperature stayed comfortable; kept them on course; and maintained a constant watch for other ships, planes, and the Harbok.

  The Harbok! He had almost forgotten them in his concentration on the ship. Strangely enough, instead of creating more anxiety, the realization calmed him, gave him a real problem to focus on. He had a plan for the Harbok, a plan that required his participation.

  He was learning to let the ship take care of itself. If the ship failed, he failed, and nothing he could do would change that. As for the Harbok, if they discovered him right away, there was little hope, but if he got just the beginnings of a head start, he could make it work.

  Anxious to get that head start, he sat down in the front seat and watched the coast of Australia grow closer on the screen. Heading almost due south now, the ship lifted gently to clear the high mountains of New Guinea, then just as gently it dropped back down to the waves. In no time at all they entered the Gulf of Carpentaria on Australia’s north coast. A large island whose name he could not remember passed off to the left, then the coastline flashed by scant feet below and they were over the hot dry outback of Australia. He sat glued to the pilot’s chair as the red line shrank to nothing. The mark designating their departure point into space neared, then merged with the position of the ship.

  He held his breath waiting for the big push, but the nose of the ship simply lifted without ceremony of any kind. The ground dropped away, and he found himself staring at blue sky. He had to look down between his legs to find the horizon. The ship continued angling higher and higher, seemingly without effort, but now in addition to climbing, he discovered they had picked up speed and were traveling even faster across the ground. The south coast of Australia came into view in no time, then they were over water again and New Zealand came into view far to the east. Sooner than he would have thought possible, the ice shelf of Antarctica came into view as the ship angled higher still.

  After only a couple of minutes he found himself stretching forward to look way back between his feet to see the ground. He looked around furtively, embarrassed, but curiosity won out. He got out of the seat and down on all fours to look aft at his disappearing home. He was so high now that details were hard to make out. Then, with a rush, he realized he was no longer looking at a distant horizon. Earth had become a globe. He made out the tip of South America, still in daylight, as well as the South Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Brilliant white cloud patterns hid part of his view, but they added the proper flavor to the effect.

  Still on all fours, he looked up and gasped. Stars filled the forward view. With his heart beating rapidly, he stood up with both hands out at his sides to behold space for the first time. The nose of the ship seemed wide open to the deep coldness of space, and he shivered with a pang of horror when his senses told him there was no barrier between himself and Outside, but it was only a momentary thing. His intellect won the brief battle, allowing him to absorb a view more awesome and inspiring than he had ever imagined.

  Stars filled his view, unwinking, of many different hues, packed so densely that he could not pick out the familiar constellations. The fiery orb of the sun hung directly beneath his feet, but not as the round yellow ball he had envisioned. Ragged solar prominences and a sense of heat and power emanated from the display, making the sun seem alive. In stark contrast, the crescent moon hung behind his left shoulder in its silent, eternal shades of white and gray.

  He turned part way around, still enshrouded in awe, and let his gaze combine the brightly lit interior of the bridge with the immense depths of space beyond. This was no longer an intellectual exercise. He was here, in space. And, yes, he wanted to be here. He might be ignorant, yes. Caught up in events he had little understanding of, yes. Rushing along in a ship he had no control over, yes. But that was okay! He knew with intense satisfaction that he was glad to be here. An all-encompassing grin found its way to his face as he sat back down in his seat.

  Caressing the controls on his armrests, his thoughts turned reflective. So . . . this was space. Had he really managed to program this flight, then execute it, all on his own? Darn near, he admitted as his pride swelled. Any kid with a good feel for video games could have done it as well, but that did not matter in the slightest. This was real, not a game, and he had done it. He mentally reviewed the relentless progression of events that had placed him here, recognizing the irony of his situation for what it was. He was Greg Hamilton, just an ordinary guy off on a weekend jaunt. What was he doing here? But the smile stayed in place.

  He suddenly understood the intent of the ship’s designers. They had perched his seat right out in the vast depths of nothingness. The nose of the ship was completely invisible, as if nothing separated him from the emptiness beyond, as if there was no inside-outside, only Outside. He knew, without knowing how he knew, that the ship’s designers had wanted to make certain the crew never forgot their environment. He sensed
the coldness, the darkness, the emptiness and the fullness. He sensed the vast depths of nothing separating every star, and he sensed the awesome energy of the sun and by inference all the other pinpoints of light out there. The designers wanted him to never forget his puniness within this creation.

  But they had given him armor as well. He did not float out of his seat when he let go—he did not experience weightlessness, the never-ending sense of falling. Though intellectually he could sense the cold outside, he was warm. They had designed gravity, warmth, and refuge into his environment. Their plan probably included other shipmates to add life to the silence, a liveliness he already missed, but the design assumed one other essential ingredient: intellect. Maybe even a certain kind of intellect. Because of his intellect, he did not fear the emptiness. He knew he was ensconced in the womb of a powerful beast, and he knew the beast, knew that it would protect him.

  The design probably failed for some, possibly for many. He sensed the risk the builders had taken, but he also sensed the rewards. He suspected that he, Greg Hamilton, was one of the lucky ones.

  He could no longer see Earth, completely hidden now by the body of the ship. He desperately wanted to look at it, his home. As much as he sought the future ahead, his roots were on Earth. And he remembered with a start that his most immediate danger might come from behind. How would he know if the Harbok were after him without seeing back there?

  The controls under his fingers took on new meaning now that the ship was in its true element. He hesitated with his fingers hovering over keys, afraid to make a mistake. When he found the courage, he touched keys one at a time, looking up to the screen after each entry to see if he had made a fatal mistake. The red course line stayed in view as a line drawn through space, diminishing ahead. He touched more keys, carefully changing the scale until his entire flight showed, all the way to the blinking square of light representing the baseship.