What was he supposed to do next?
Everywhere he had traveled while touring the ship he had passed off duty marines or – even worse – armed guards stationed near all of the critical areas. There had been no update from his people prior to the attack as to what his next course of action should be. His fellow Brotherhood members must have erroneously assumed that they would successfully capture Khyber Base and re-integrate their undercover agent back into the fold. Now he felt snared like an animal – if he attempted sabotage or even a simple escape he would be caught and killed.
Escape?
He became extremely furious at the simple thought, sitting down in the center of the room and pressing his head against raised knees.
Escape to WHERE exactly?
Even if he managed to penetrate the hangar bay’s security and somehow steal a ship, how was he supposed to get home without help from the other members of this crew?
Further… if he did manage to escape, presumably the Pathfinder would soon leap to a new destination somewhere just as far distant. That meant the next time the starship made use of its newfound super-charged PTP capability the spy would be stuck here forever – alone. He let out a sob of despair and tears rolled down his cheeks as he realized that he was trapped… trapped aboard the American ship. Emotions he had always been able to suppress abruptly began welling up from deep within him, and he knew that if he didn’t learn to control them quickly and behave normally in public his true identity would inevitably be discovered and capture would soon follow. Feeling grief-stricken and helpless, he sat quietly sobbing in the center of the room for quite some time.
*
“What a freaking piece of junk!” Thomas Roh snarled, turning and hurling a piece of electronic equipment against the nearest wall. “Work damn you!” He was standing on the footrest of an F-175 fighter, next to its cockpit. His latest attempt to reactivate its systems had ended in failure. He ran a hand through his thick hair and paused for a minute, thinking carefully to himself.
“We’ve found a working, older version of the software,” pointed out Angie – an attractive dark-haired female standing across from him and working on the same ship. “It’s just a matter of time and patience now. We review each enhanced subroutine from the upgrades and won’t add it into our starter program until we’re certain we’ve filtered out all the viruses and backdoors.”
“Some of the legitimate code is part of the virus,” snapped Thomas, still angry. “We may end up having to eyeball every line of code. Do you know how many of those there are?”
“I know that this would be a lot more difficult if we hadn’t found an unaltered, original version of the software,” Angie commented, turning her attention back to her work. She let him vent his anger and shook her head briskly at Glen as he walked over from a second F-175 that was sitting on the hangar deck behind her. They had set up three teams to “compete” with each other, figuring that would give them the best results. Each would come up with a new software program with as much of the Brotherhood infiltration coding removed as possible. Then they were planning to compare and contrast those three programs, using them to draft a final version that would hopefully be completely virus free.
“Thomas, how long has it been since you slept?” asked Glen carefully, studying the young man’s face. “Every time I’ve started a new shift, you’ve either been in the Lab or here in the hangar bay working on one thing or another.”
“Do you know how much code I have left to sift through?” the young scientist asked, anger filling his voice.
“I’ve got a pretty good idea, yes,” Glen replied. He could see the fatigue in Thomas’ eyes along with the pressure the young man was putting on himself to get things done. “How long has it been since you slept?”
“Shouldn’t you get back to working on your stuff?” asked Thomas, failing to conceal the hostility in his tone.
“Fine, you can tell it to the Captain,” Glen responded. He powered off his laptop, closed its lid, and set it next to the rest of the equipment between the two fighters. Then he turned toward the exit and began walking toward a Comm-link. Thomas watched in anger at first, then ran after the older man and grabbed his arm.
“Wait!” he pleaded desperately. “Please don’t go to the Captain.” He took a deep breath and looked his co-worker and friend directly in the eyes. “I’ve worked hard to have a chance at eventually taking over command of the Lab from you – it’s just that we’ve had to solve so many of these frustrating puzzles in so short a time. It’s getting to me a bit, that’s all.”
“How long has it been since you slept, Thomas?”
“I… I haven’t been able to sleep since the day of the attack,” he finally confessed. His expression changed to one of shame. “I went off-shift a couple of times the first few days but wasn’t able to drift off. So I just kept returning to the Lab or here and continued working. It’s kind of just become old hat. I have been taking meal breaks.”
“You haven’t slept in six days and you never told anyone?” Glen asked carefully, beginning to feel a little angry himself. “We’ve got most of the tough stuff licked, Thomas – it’s okay to take a longer break if you need to. For God’s sake, do you know what you can do to yourself if you ignore your body’s basic needs?”
“The Captain wants…”
“The Captain wants the fighters back up and running as soon as possible!” Glen interrupted. “And as soon as possible doesn’t mean that you have to stay down here every minute of the day ruining your health.” He pointed firmly at the nearest lift. “You’re off-shift as of this minute for at least two days. Report to Dr. Simmons and have her give you something to help you sleep.” He pointed again for emphasis.
“But we’ve got all this code to go through. What if…?”
“Your team is just that… a team,” Glen pointed out. “You’re actually hurting it if you’re working with all that fatigue.” He looked carefully into Thomas’ tired eyes. “We did great, kid! We got the CAS system on-line and functioning and we couldn’t have done it without you. Trust me; we’ve left the Brotherhood behind. They can’t possibly follow us through a long range CAS transit!” He shrugged. “So maybe it’ll take us a day or two longer than expected to get the fighters running – but we want them to actually work correctly when we tell the Captain they’re ready – right?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Go see Karen and get something to help you sleep. That’s as close as you’re going to get to an order from someone you work for.” He paused, letting the impact of what he was saying sink in. “Don’t feel bad about it, either. Did you know that there are lots of other people who have had the same difficulty?”
“No, I guess I didn’t.”
“Our home world is more than likely destroyed… we’ve lost family and friends… and everybody was wondering if we were next,” Glen said forcefully. “That’s why the Captain made the decision to move the ship away from the Sol system. Because the constant stress of dealing with everything was starting to affect even our best people. We all need some time to catch our breath and keep ourselves healthy because we all need each other now more than ever.”
“Okay, I’ll stop in and see the Doctor,” Thomas promised. He entered the nearest lift and Glen watched it slowly rise toward the passenger area. He started back toward the F-175 he had been working on, hesitated, then walked over to the Comm-link next to the lift. His fingers quickly tapped in the number for the Medical Ward.
“Dr. Simmons.”
“Karen, this is Glen,” he said, unable to hide the concern in his voice. “Thomas is on his way down to see you. He hasn’t slept since the attack and he really looks like he’s got a serious problem. I’m hoping you can make sure that the kid gets some rest.”
“We’ve had quite a few of those already, Glen,” she replied. “It’s common among workaholics, and unfortunately that’s the type of person generally requested for projects like the Pathfinder.” She paused,
thinking carefully. “From what I know about Thomas he’s probably going to resist a long-term treatment plan. I think he’s been putting a lot of pressure on himself and slowly winding himself up long before Earth was attacked. People who work as hard as he does don’t want to let up. It often takes just as long a time to unwind that kind of an emotional spring as it does to coil it up.”
“I know, and the worst thing about the situation is that he thinks it’s his fault somehow,” Glen said softly. “He’s one of my best people and we wouldn’t be alive if he hadn’t made things happen in a hurry. We owe him a lot.”
“I’ll do my best for him. But you might want to consider planning a lighter duty schedule for him… perhaps indefinitely.”
“He’s not going to like that,” commented Glen. “I don’t think he’s going to like that at all, Doctor. You better be ready to stand firm with him.”
“I didn’t say he was going to like it,” replied the Doctor. Glen nodded and closed the Comm-link. He sighed and took a quick look around at all the electronics specialists dotting the crowded hangar bay. Normally only deckhands, pilots, and support ship mechanics hung around down here. A first glance now and some people might think they had moved half of the electronics from the Lab Wing into the bay. Trying to remember where he had left off in his seemingly endless search through the fighter navigation program, Glen headed back toward the F-175.
*
Dr. Juliana Markham tapped up-to-date coordinates into the keyboard on the workstation next to her. Above her, one of the huge computerized telescopes in the Observatory wing immediately received and began processing the new parameters. The telescope hummed slightly as its lens setting auto-adjusted and its angle shifted slightly. The Doctor and her staff had been steadily recording images of the distant Galaxy clusters and taking navigational readings for most of the day now. She wasn’t sure if their original mission still applied, but until she heard otherwise she planned to be ready if the Captain called looking for information.
She smoothed wrinkles out of her light blue blouse, noting that they ran a pretty informal office on this end of the ship. Most of her staff were walking around wearing blue jeans or cotton slacks… there wasn’t a suit or white coat around. Anyone who didn’t know them better would think the Observatory was run by civilians – instead, it was the focal point for some of the brightest minds on Earth. Julie was a tall, strikingly beautiful woman with graying hair. She was approximately 55 years old and in her mind she used the word “approximately” a lot where her age was concerned.
“The latest navigational reports the staff have put together are being routed to your terminal Doctor,” said Kari Hansen, her Administrative Assistant. The short, auburn-haired young woman smiled and added, “It’s quite a lengthy set of file names – we’ve identified a lot of possible destinations already!”
“I’ll bet,” replied Julie, pausing long enough to put on a pair of reading glasses. She called up the first report on her workstation and began reading briskly; taking careful note of all the new information provided with a curiosity that continually astonished everyone who worked with her. Adam Roh entered through one of the hatchways that led back into the ship and Julie idly noted Kari walking over to make certain the proper authorization badge dangled from the man’s shirt pocket. The pretty young woman was one of the most efficient and organized people that Julie had ever met. If they were going to be millions of light years from home for any length of time, then Kari was the person you wanted to have around keeping your office running.
Despite the fact that the Pathfinder project’s designers had planned for much of the ship’s time to be spent in the empty void and darkness of distant space, the observatory was still built to block out most of the star shine during the times that they were Galaxy-based. Almost all of the Observatory wing’s edges were composed of sturdy metallic “sliding door” panels that could be opened or closed to allow in or block out as much light as desired. Naturally the telescopes were computer-controlled and all fully adjustable also, able to change angles easily and lengthen or retract as needed.
“Good afternoon Dr. Markham,” Adam said pleasantly as he stepped up onto the platform she occupied near one of the telescopes. “How are things proceeding?”
“Oh, as you may have guessed this has been quite a treat so far,” Julie commented. “I’ve spent the last hour alone confirming some of the truly wonderful mysteries that our Earth-based equipment could only begin to help us speculate on. Variable stars, nebulae, globular clusters…” she threw up her hands in delight. “You name it and I can find you dozens of examples within the course of a few minutes. It’s literally too much to explore!”
“You’ll record everything, and then the Captain decides to transit the ship again…” grinned Adam.
“Exactly, and the entire cycle of discovery begins all over again – from a brand new reference point!” Julie chuckled. “I tell you Adam we’re only using half of our potential here,” she commented somewhat disappointedly. “If we could have safely transited back to Earth at this point and allowed them to download our data, it would have sped up our learning process considerably.” She shook her head in disgust. “That awful attack has taken away our loved ones, and now it’s limiting our ability to streamline processing all of this new data that we’re receiving.”
“The Brotherhood of the Dragon is not real popular over in the Lab wing, either,” noted Adam. “Glen and Thomas are still trying to clean up the latest version of the fighter software so we can restore power to the two long-range shuttles and our fighters.” He shrugged. “But we have gotten a lot accomplished in a short amount of time. Thomas sent me a report on the Canary probes and they performed flawlessly in his CAS testing series. We wouldn’t have had to return to Earth in order to file a report – instead we could’ve just opened a PTP window and sent one of the Canaries.”
“Well that’s an interesting thought,” Julie mused, slipping a pencil behind her right ear. “In other words we can use the Canary probes to check up on Earth from time to time and see if any of our people survived?”
“When the time is right, the Captain will probably do just that,” decided Adam cautiously. “But in the interim, everything depends on where we end up transiting to next. Theoretically it’s always a one-way trip back, but when you consider how far we could end up going…”
“Realistically one-shot trips beyond a reasonable point are not something we can expect to rely on long-term.” Julie said, completing his sentence for him. “The universe is a creation constantly in motion,” she observed, sounding somewhat disappointed. “And the farther we journey away from home, the more even the slightest change in the alignment of astronomical objects will affect our navigation.”
“That’s correct, Doctor. I have been reading your reports!” He handed her a data disk loaded with encrypted computer files. “This is from Thomas and Glen – it’s their latest assessment of the Pathfinder’s CAS capability. I think you’ll find it an interesting read. The Captain wants to meet tomorrow promptly at 0700 to discuss our next move, and he instructed me to begin including you in our meetings.”
“Lovely,” said Julie with a bit of sarcasm. “He must think we don’t have enough to do down here already. Right, Kari?”
“That’s right, Dr. Markham,” Kari replied heartily. “We spend most of our time here in the Observatory playing card games.”
“I’ll make sure the Captain hears that you need something to do,” Adam joked as he turned and headed back toward the exit hatches. He glanced around the huge chamber. Like the Laboratory wing on the other side of the ship, it was almost completely filled with computers and observation equipment. “Perhaps he’ll have the Lab build you a few more telescopes.”
“Make sure he sends lunch now and then,” Kari called after him.
“And a pot of hot coffee!” added Julie.
*
Mary was busily sautéing onions in the kitchen section of her quarters when t
he door chimed. “Come in!” she called cheerfully and glanced up to watch Glen as he entered the small apartment with a grocery bag tucked under one arm.
“Oh, I love the smell of onions!” he declared, walking over toward her countertop area and unpacking the sack full of food. She handed him a clean knife and he hastily began chopping vegetables, tossing a handful now and then into the hot pan she continued to stir. “It’s really quite something to see this ship in operation,” he said, impressed. “Half of every galley is set up as a restaurant for the folks who want to eat out – the other half is pretty much your average grocery store with all kinds of fresh stuff you can bring back to your quarters.”
“Stir fry was a good idea,” she decided. “We’re supposed to stick to a diet of mostly vegetables for the time being, anyway.”
“And poultry,” Glen pointed out, tossing a handful of neatly sliced chicken into the pan. He continued chopping up additional stalks of broccoli, bok choy, carrots, porta-bella mushrooms and cauliflower.
“Weren’t you supposed to add the meat first?” Mary asked, wondering just what recipe he was following. “Is this one of your famous bachelor concoctions, by any chance?”
“It’s stir fry, you don’t need a recipe. Just throw everything together in a hot pan and let the steam do the work,” he insisted, dumping a handful of freshly sliced mushrooms into the pan. In a small mixing cup he began blending soy and oyster sauce and then mixed in a few tablespoons of a spicy BBQ blend someone had suggested they try along with a final dash of sesame oil. He dumped a half cup of water into the pan and poured the sauce over the top. Steam erupted from within the food mixture and Glen smiled in triumph.
The Pathfinder Trilogy Page 12
