by Meridian
“I couldn’t help noticing, Ranking Phil,” said Keeler in the transport pod, “that you didn’t share Executive Tyro Commander. Lear’s conclusion about the system problems.” Redfire looked over his shoulder, as though afraid someone might be listening. “Can I trust you, Ranking William.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Not every system glitch was minor. In fact, one so-called glitch is why you’re here.”
“You mean the shuttle accident that killed Commander St. Lawrence.”
“Za. Do you know what the official determination was on the crash of his shuttle?”
“I read the report. Something to do with gravity?”
Redfire explained. “When an Aves lands, Pegasus redirects its artificial gravity field away from the flight path. Pegasus cut gravity for St. Lawrence’s Aves, but the shunt failed, just for a second. The gravitational drive of the Aves was still engaged, and coupled with the gravitational shear from Pegasus –
two fields pulling different parts of the ship in different directions – ripped it apart.” Keeler tapped his walking stick against the side of the pod. “If I could understand that, it might sound pretty spooky.”
“The official explanation makes sense, until you consider that nothing like this has ever happened before. For the failure of both safety systems, the shuttle’s and the ship’s, to happen during a 13-second window during which the Aves would be destroyed … the odds are on the order of 2 to the power of 131
against.”
“Long odds, indeed, but still, one of a number of small glitches, albeit one with catastrophic consequences.”
Redfire drew back. “When you’re having numbers of minor system glitches, it tends to explain one minor, but catastrophic, glitch when it happens, doesn’t it?” Keeler let out a short, startled breath. “Are you suggesting homicide, Lieutenant? By God, man, it’s been nearly three hundred years since anyone on Sapphire has committed a homicide! I should know; it was one of my ancestors.”
“The commander wasn’t on Sapphire when he died, sir. And I wasn’t necessarily suggesting a homicide.”
“What then?”
“Assassination.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Under Republic Law there is. There is a sanctioned arm of the government empowered to perform the ‘selective elimination of individuals to serve the greater good.’”
“You speak of the Centurions.”
Redfire could not mask his surprise. “You know of them?”
“Za, Centurions, the Special Operations Branch of the Republic Ministry of Public Safety. Not well-known, but any good student of history can find the hand of the Centurions in, or suspiciously near, certain events in Republic History … although frankly I think the conspiracy theorists overstate their influence. They have their origins in Republic’s Wars of Unification. They were empowered to eliminate persons whose corruption or incompetence was a threat to Republic objectives. But they were supposedly disbanded once the planet was under a single planetary government. Are you suggesting that St. Lawrence was so incompetent or disloyal that the Centurions eliminated him to safeguard the mission and the ship?”
Redfire shrugged. “It’s just a theory… not the only one.” The transport pod pulled to a stop, and the exit hatch opened into Deck Seventeen, Section 66:30 Habitation Area Alpha. Simulated sunshine illuminated a landscaped pathway lined with lilacs and aster trees. High above, the clear shield of curving hull made for an artificial sky.
“Ranking Philip, you have come perilously close to accusing one of my officers of murder, and much closer than that to slandering her reputation.”
“I realize that, sir, but I feel you have a right to forearm yourself.”
“I mean if you are willing to say such scandalous things about my first officer, what would you be willing to say about me.” He paused as they entered a kind of courtyard between habitation complexes, stacked like blocks into pyramids. Keeler looked at each in turn, frowned and pulled out a data pad. “And on that subject, what does the crew think of me, from what you’ve heard?”
“They know you opposed the Odyssey Project from the beginning. They know you left the Odyssey program when this ship was given to St. Lawrence. Some of them doubt you have the will to command.” Keeler nodded agreeably. “Ah, good, I’d hate for all that to come as a surprise. I think this is where I will live.” Following the directions on his datapad, he crossed the quad to a set of quarters set apart from the others and designated for Pegasus’s commanding officer.
He touched the keypad and waited a moment for it to key into his aura, the unique electromagnetic signature created by his life force. He gestured for Redfire to accompany him in, which saved Redfire the trouble of inviting himself.
They stood in the entryway, looking over the space, bland and undecorated, every trace of the previous occupants meticulously removed. Keeler sighed.
“I am sure it will look better when they bring your things up from the landing bay,” Redfire said.
Keeler shook his head. “On my estate, my butler’s bathroom was bigger. Perhaps I can request additional quarters for closet space.”
Redfire was casually examining the bare walls, discreetly memorizing the layout. “I’m sure you can do whatever you want. There’s plenty of empty space on this ship. Only 20% of the habitable volume is being used.“
“I know that. Seems a waste, really. Space for 35,000 on this ship, setting out with only a fifth of that.
A lot of people back home would have given anything to be onboard.”
“They planned Pegasus for a multi-generational mission. Room to grow, room to take on human crew from other planets. The mission planners built in capacity for the ship’s population to double each century we’re in space.”
“Insanely optimistic if you ask me,” said Keeler.
“Also, when the Pathfinders were redesigned, the size of the ships doubled, but the crew complement remained the same. Apparently, someone forgot to notify the Odyssey Project Human Participation Sub-Directorate.”
“Ah, once again, bureaucracy triumphs over common sense. Look there, and you’ll find the root to all of the worst catastrophes in humanity’s history.” He began looking around the room to see if there was anything to drink. He would probably have to ring someone up for that. “In a like vein, I suggest we investigate the more mundane explanations for these ‘system glitches’ before making allegations against our officers.”
“Just watch out for ExTC Lear. Once we leave the system, there won’t be any other alternative commanders.”
Keeler sat down on the hideously plain, general issue couch. “I sense you mean well, Ranking Philip.
However, in my position, I can’t tolerate rumor and innuendo against one of my officers. I respect your candor, I respect your proficiency, I respect your sense of honor. I expect you to extend the same respect to my command.”
Redfire stayed cool. “As the only one standing between her and command of this ship, you have my utmost respect, and my eyes watching your back.”
chapter two
Commanding Officer’s Study
The Commander’s Conference Chamber looked out over the rear of the ship, walled by floor-to-ceiling viewports. Goneril Lear sat at conference table, and checking her chronometer: 06.95. She tapped her fingers table and silently recited a brief, tart lecture on punctuality. She was pleasantly surprised when Commander Keeler appeared at 06.98, appropriately dressed and looking rested. “Good Afterdawn, Commander. I trust you found your suite to your liking?”
“Thank you, it is adequate, or soon will be. A techie and some mechanoids are going to set up my things there today.”
She spoke with a tone she thought sounded sympathetic. “I am sure it’s an adjustment for you. On Republic, we are accustomed to living in controlled environments. Shall we begin?” He nodded to her. She proceeded through a detailed status briefing. Two flight crews were being rotated to account for two
Aves that were stranded by a methane storm on Colossus IV. There was a scheduling conflict with the artifactories, the huge complexes housed in the UnderDecks where consumer durables, foodstuffs, and anything else that was needed on board the ship was fabricated. Otherwise, all was normal. “All in all, a fairly typical duty period,” Lear concluded.
“Good,” Keeler grunted, “I trust my capable officers can handle all of these crises with little oversight on my part. Is there anything else? There are inspections I should make.” Chief among them was the virtual golf course on Recreation Deck 3.
“I thought we might discuss our first destination, the 10 122 Pegasi system, where we believe a colony called Meridan is located. Have you had the opportunity to familiarize yourself with what we know of this world?”
Keeler nodded again. “On the basis of its climate, population, and agricultural base at the time of last contact, it’s considered a good prospect for a surviving colony. If Meridian is alive and thriving, other colonies to be in good shape as well.”
“Let me show you something that may not have been in your mission briefing,” Lear said. When Lear activated the hologram display, the walls, floor, and ceiling of the room transformed into a holographic environment. She displayed a gold and pink spacecraft bulging with sensor and antennae, separated from a thruster array by several hundred meters of metallic girders.
“This is a probe Republic sent to 10 122 Pegasi some 270 years ago under the Olympic Project. It was equipped with a narrow tachyon-pulse transmitter to communicate to our home worlds.” She paused.
The commander’s file had indicated limited technical proficiency, so she added. “Naturally, the nature of tachyon-pulse technology meant that two-way communication was not possible.”
“Naturally.”
“The probe for Meridian successfully reached the system and transmitted some long distance telemetry, which we received only about four years ago.” The walls showed a disk in the distance, a bluish shade of green. Data scrolled up the side: atmospheric composition, gravity, distance from the sun, and various other pieces of information gathered by the sensors. The disk grew larger, than suddenly vanished in a blur of static.
“What the hell just happened?”
“The probe never made orbit,” Lear explained. “The last transmissions indicated that some problem had developed in the probe’s short-range communication array; the one used for standard neutrino and carrier-wave transmissions. We think it led to a cascade system failure.” She studied his face, his thoughtful expression.
“The Olympic probes carried crew, didn’t they?” he asked.
“There were nine people on the probe, in stasis. May Vesta Guide Their Souls. What I’ve just shown you has not been much seen outside the Republic Ministry of Space. I know that may offend your Sapphirean sense of ‘open-ness,’ but we have our reasons. And my reason, in showing you this, was to emphasize that our ambitious exploration must be balanced with caution and discipline.”
“Indeed,” he stretched and settled back in his seat. This prickled her. The body language was far too relaxed for a command officer.
“And on that subject,” Lear stated, with a strangely cautious tone. “There is a chronic problem that your predecessor …Vesta guide his soul… never effectively handled, that I thought might provide you a chance to establish your leadership. Some of the personnel – specifically, the Sapphirean personnel – have some difficulty conforming to the on-duty dress code.”
Keeler furrowed his brow. “You mean they don’t like wearing uniforms.”
“Exactly, Commander. For some reason, the personnel from your planet…”
“We don’t wear uniforms on Sapphire. Uniforms are considered an intrusion on individuality. Even our Permanent Defense forces are given broad discretion. Why is it so important?”
“You notice how the jackets are color-coded. You and I are command personnel; our jackets are trimmed in white. Flight personnel have dark blue trim. Light blue is medical. Red is Tactical and so forth.” She paused, wondering if she were being too condescending with information he ought already to have known.
To her surprise, the commander began musing aloud. “They’re really nice jackets. Nice, just heavy enough, cottony, comfort-moderating. Lots of pockets, inside and outside, on the sleeves. The black really brings out the trim on the shoulders and sleeves. Combine them with a kicky little black strapless dress and high-heels and we could host a cocktail party.”
Lear faked a chuckle. “I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to appear in high heels and a strapless skirt.”
“Who said anything about you?”
Just as Lear was about to draw him back on topic with a well-chosen phrase, he asked. “Is the uniform problem hurting efficiency?”
“Bad discipline always impacts efficiency… although the results may not be measurable.” She paused momentarily. “On the other hand, those gloves Tyro Commander Redfire where may interfere with his ability to use the ship’s weaponry.”
Keeler held up a hand. “Those gloves mark him as a Master Artist. Owning them is a very high honor on my planet. The only way an artist gets them is for another artist to hand over his own, in acknowledgement of the greater talent of his fellow artist. They mean as much to him as your rank insignia does to you.”
She leaned in closer, and spoke even more intently. “Commander, this would be a strong statement to the crew.”
“Za, a strong statement that as captain of this ship, my primary concern is going to be that every one is wearing the right color jacket.”
“It’s not about the jackets!” she insisted. She took a breath and steadied herself. Her eyes dug into him, and she continued with carefully measured words. “A time may come when the crew will have to follow your orders without question or hesitation to ensure the success of our mission or, indeed, our survival. If they don’t respect you, how can you be sure they will follow your orders?”
“Tyro Commander Lear,” Keeler said quietly. “I am not going to waste whatever respect I may already have on a trivial issue like how the crew dresses.”
“Commander, this is not a university campus, this is a ship with a highly important mission, possibly heading into dangerous space. The crew must have the discipline to deal with whatever we may encounter. Besides, the uniforms help erase the differences between our cultures and enable us to act as one united team.”
“Then, why do they have these patches on the sleeves?” Keeler indicated the left sleeve of his jacket, with the colorful crest of Sapphire sewn onto it. The blue and silver patch of Republic was on Lear’s. She had no answer. Keeler frowned. “I’ll speak with the department chiefs. If they feel the uniform situation is as dire a problem as you make it out to be, I will address the problem then.” It was not the answer she wanted, but it was a beginning. She had known this one would be difficult, his psych-profile had indicated stubbornness, but the voyage ahead was long. She had faith that he would see that her way was the right one, and she hoped it would be sooner rather than later.
The hatch to the door chimed. “Enter!” Keeler and Lear said in unison. She flinched, wondering if he would take this as some kind of challenge to his command. To the contrary, Keeler simply smiled and wiggled his eyebrows.
Technician Halliburton entered with a pair of mechanoids, one a squat schlepping drone, the other a lifting bot. Between them was a large, old, and comfortable looking armchair.
“Ah, good!” the commander exclaimed. “My comfy chair. Let me show you where to install it.” Agro-Botany Bay – Deck 11
Pegasus carried enough irradiated, flash-frozen food to feed ten-thousand people for thirty years.
Nevertheless, someone had thought it worthwhile to maintain fields and gardens on board where fresh food could be grown to supplement the supplies in storage.
Someone else had come up with the idea that ship’s personnel should be rotated through the Agro-Botany Bays on six-week schedules. It probably looked like
a good idea at the time, Specialist David Alkema was thinking as he prodded a hydroponic mattress with a sensor to test soil alkalinity in the ship’s crop of ultra-wheat. “Nominal,” he reported.
“Really?” Kayliegh Driver chirped, taking the sensor from his hands. “We may have to reformulate the fertilizer mix,” she said excitedly. Climatology was her profession, but only because her score on the Botany exam had been two points lower.
“Perish forbid,” said Alkema. So, this is what passes for excitement in Agro-Botany. He looked up. Unlike the Garden-Parks, there was no holographic sky overhead in the Agro-Botany Bays, only the gunmetal blue organic metal composite – a combination of materials strong, resilient, and with a capacity for self-repair and sensory transmission like that of human muscle and flesh – of the ship’s structural plating. “How many more grids to check?”
“Four more here, then we’ll check the hemp fields in Bay 12. Did you have plans for later?” Alkema was calculating how long it would take him to get to his quarters, change, and make it to Double Happiness, a loud music club located near the hangar bays. “Za, I am planning on meeting friends for lively personal interchange. Would you like to come?”
She smiled away from him. “I am semi-married, or I might.”
Alkema looked perplexed. “Semi-married?”
She explained. “I fell in love with a man I met in the Odyssey Project Training Facility. We would have been married, but the Ministry of the Family requires a waiting period of a full year. We held an unofficial ceremony, so our families could participate, but we can’t legally marry for another quarter and sixteen days.”
Alkema wanted to ask if this meant they were “semi-maritally conjugating,” but decided it would be impolite to ask.
She went on. “Maybe you could ask my brother along. He’s been looking to meet a good woman. Kind of shy, but once he gets to know someone…” She was interrupted by a hissing noise from the rear of the bay. “What’s that?”
