Parker's Folly

by Doug L. Hoffman

  “Excellent! I have an aircraft near by. You can call me Jack, by the way. What should I call you?”

  “Bear seems to cover it.”

  “OK, Bear. Let's get moving before the Sun sets. Just one more question.”

  “Yes?”

  “I've been following you for several days. Why were you hunting those Eskimos?”

  “They hunt us, don't they?”

  Sickbay, Parker's Folly

  Betty followed the Russian doctor down the passageway aft to sickbay. Events had been moving so quickly since they exited the Osprey next to the old hangar, she was still trying to accept that this wasn't all a dream. If it was, it was a very detailed and lifelike dream. “Sickbay is on your left, Ma'am,” Betty said to Dr. Tropsha as then neared the door.

  “Yes, thank you,” Ludmilla replied. “Lieutenant Curtis pointed out the medical facility when she took us to see the Captain.”

  Entering the sickbay, Ludmilla stopped and stared. Look at all that equipment! State of the art monitoring—heart beat, blood pressure, body temperature, respiration—with color displays above each patient's bed. Forward there were what looked like MRI and portable CAT Scan machines. To the right there was a separate OR with robotic-assisted surgery equipment, incredible!

  “How does one man afford something like this?” the Russian Doctor wondered out loud. “This clinic has more and better equipment than some full sized hospitals.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” replied Betty. “There is a fully equipped lab as well for blood and tissue work, there's even a DNA sequencer. The hardest question here is not if they have something but where to find it.”

  “Amazing,” Ludmilla said, shaking her head. “Well, let's get to work. Corpsman, what should I call you? I know that you are not a nurse.”

  “No, Ma'am. A hospital corpsman is more like a combination physician assistant and emergency medical technician. I've been trained in first aid, emergency medicine and some basic surgical procedures.”

  “What kind of surgery?”

  “Removal of shrapnel, stitching up wounds, severed arteries and such. Things that won't wait for a trip to the hospital. I performed an emergency appendectomy once in the field. We were in a remote village in Afghanistan and the weather had shut down air evac.”

  “Have you ever assisted during surgery?”

  “Yes, Ma'am.”

  “Good. You still did not answer my question, what should I call you?”

  “Corpsman is too long, the Marines usually call us ‘medic’ or ‘Doc,’ but that might be confusing. Could you just call me Betty?”

  “That would be fine. You can call me Ludmilla, but only when we are not on duty.”

  “Yes, Doctor.” Experience had taught Betty that not calling an MD ‘doctor’ was like failing to call a judge ‘your honor.’

  “So which of our patients is in the worst condition?”

  “Overall I would say Lt. Merryweather is most critical. He was crushed by a crate during takeoff and has multiple fractures. The worst was an open fracture of his left femur. I cleaned the skin puncture area of debris and immobilized the break with splints and traction. I'm not qualified to immobilize the break internally. I also started him on antibiotics.”

  “Which antibiotics and the dosage?”

  “Before the debridement I administered 2 g ceftriaxone IV and immediately after gentamicin, 1.5 mg per each kilogram of body weight. His medical tag shows that his tetanus shots are current.”

  “Very good, Betty. And he is stable?”

  “Yes, Doctor. But he is heavily sedated.”

  “Is there anyone who needs more immediate attention?”

  “LCpl Reagan, Doctor. He was clawed by Lt. Bear. There are significant lacerations on his right arm, from shoulder to wrist. I cleaned and dressed the wounds but I didn't want to stitch him up myself—he'd end up looking like Frankenstein's Monster.”

  “Well, let's have a look and see what I can do to close his wounds.”

  “Excuse me, Dr. Tropsha,” a third voice said.

  “Who is that?” Ludmilla demanded.

  “This is the ship's computer, Doctor. I wanted to inform you that there are appropriate supplies, including surgical glue and staples, in the third cabinet on the left behind you.”

  “You monitor the entire ship? Even the sickbay?”

  “Yes Dr. Tropsha. Now that you and Corpsman White are part of the crew I will respond to your verbal queries.”

  “So Computer, what drugs do we have on hand?”

  “Please address me as ‘Folly,’ Doctor. There are several hundred in inventory and I can synthesize many more, would you like to hear them all?”

  “No, that is fine, Folly. Betty, could you fetch the supplies out of the cabinet? We will unwrap the unfortunate Mr. Reagan's arm and take a look. There is probably damage to the deep muscle structure that will require stitching. We can use surgical glue to close the skin. Come, let us get to work.”

  Bridge, Parker's Folly

  The Captain surveyed his newly expanded bridge crew approvingly. Now this is more like it, all the major stations manned and things looking ship shape. Susan and Ivan were at the wing stations on either side of the two helmsmen, both looking natty in their new dark blue jumpsuits. On the upper level, JT, also in blue, was manning the navigator's station on the starboard side. Jo Jo, who wore the orange jumpsuit of the science and engineering staff, was at the engineer's station on the port side.

  “What's the ship's status, Mr. Medina?”

  “All systems are nominal, the engineering board is green, Captain.”

  “Helm, is our course to the Moon laid in?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Replied Billy Ray.

  Jack activated the ship's PA, 1MC in Navy parlance, and announced: “Attention all hands, if you are near a porthole you might wish to look outside for the next few minutes. Earth is off the port side and the ISS off starboard. We will leaving both behind in approximately one minute.”

  Jack noticed the Russian Colonel staring, mesmerized by the view out Folly's transparent bow. “Rather breathtaking, eh Colonel?”

  “Yes, Captain. I thought the view from the tranquility module cupola was impressive but this, this is like walking in space without need of a suit.”

  “Well, departure should be even more impressive. Mr. Danner, maneuver well clear of the station before we power up the main drives. I have no desire to shred the ISS as we depart.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Engineering, Bridge. Dr. Gupta I will need main engines in 20 seconds.”

  “Aye, Captain. They are all online and ready.”

  “Thank you, Engineering. Mr. Vincent, set us on course to the Moon.”

  “Aye aye, Captain!”

  The ISS slipped behind the ship then diminished in size, slowly at first, then more rapidly. No movement could be felt on board, no change in background noise was heard. The day-night terminator swept past as the Moon rose from behind its parent planet, pale and beckoning. For the first time, Parker's Folly left low Earth orbit for deep space.

  Chapter 10

  Cargo Hold, Parker's Folly, En route to the Moon

  Parker's Folly was falling toward the Moon, having passed the gravitational crossover point during the night. It was going to take the ship only about half the time it took the old Apollo capsules to voyage to the Moon. Earth and its Moon travel along curved paths through space, but the distance between them remains the same on average, about 384,000 km center to center. The point at which the gravitational pull of the Moon is equal to Earth's is roughly 58,000 km from the Moon.

  Captain Jack had taken the night watch and Jo Jo Medina was currently officer of the deck. Under way, when the Captain or First Officer were not on the bridge, the Captain designates an OOD to be in charge of the ship. With Jo Jo in charge on the bridge, the Captain was in the owner's cabin sleeping and Lt. Curtis was in the cargo hold working out.

  Most of the crates in the hold had been unpacked and r
emoved, their contents installed in various locations around the ship. A few remained scattered about the middle of the deck while a clear path had been opened around the sides of the hold. GySgt Rodriguez had roused her squad early for physical training and now had the ambulatory Marines jogging around the track, though their level of exertion in the lowered gravity was minimal.

  Overnight, the Captain ordered the deck gravity increased to match that of the Moon, roughly 1.6 m/sec2, one sixth of Earth normal. The Marines and First Officer were taking the opportunity to become accustom to lunar conditions in case the need arose to EVA on the surface.

  “Hey Gunny,” Cpl Sizemore puffed out between strides, “what's the Navy officer doing with that big stick?”

  “She's practicing, Sizemore. It's called kendo, the way of the sword in Japanese. The wooden sword is called a bokken, I think.” the Gunny huffed. “At one time samurai used wooden swords to practice their technique, sort of like target practice for swordsmen.”

  “Could she really hurt someone with that thing?”

  “I've seen people smash cinder blocks and bust up crates with one of those things. It could break bones or mess you up inside, easy. Now quit yapping and concentrate on running.” With that, the Gunny pulled away from the talkative corporal.

  In an open region in the center of the hold, Lt. Curtis was running through some individual katas—ritualized practice exercises. The bokken, literally “wooden sword,” was made to mimic the size, weight and balance of a traditional samurai katana. Normally, it was better to perform katas with a partner, but she could find no takers for that. Better than doing katas was actual sparing, for which the lighter shinai was used. So far, Gretchen had been unable to entice anyone into sparing with her more than once. The only one who wanted to play was Lt. Bear, and he didn't use a sword.

  Watching unobtrusively from the sideline was Dr. Saito. Gretchen finished her kata and saw the Japanese physicist out of the corner of her eye. She walked over to him and bowed, saying in decent Japanese, “Greetings Doctor, you wouldn't by any chance be a kendōka (a practitioner of kendo)?”

  “Actually I am, Lieutenant,” Saito replied in the same language, “but I am quite out of practice. However, if you have some spare equipment I would be happy to practice with you.”

  “You're in luck, Doctor,” Gretchen replied, switching to English. “I have a pair of shinai and armor in my quarters. If you would be so gracious as to spar with me I would be in your debt.”

  “I would be honored to spar with you, Lieutenant.”

  “Great! I'll be right back.” Gretchen quickly disappeared up the passageway forward to the crew's quarters. This should be interesting thought Yuki. He was a skilled kenshi (swordsman) but had not practiced in years, not since his wife and son had died. Maybe he should have, after all one of the Buddhist inspired tenets of kendo was mushin, or “empty mind.” Perhaps he could have found comfort for his grief by embarking on a quest for spiritual enlightenment like the samurai of old.

  * * * * *

  Gretchen soon returned with two sets of kendo equipment. There were robes, two helmets with metal grills to protect the face, and a series of hard leather and fabric flaps to protect the sides of the head and throat. Heavy leather gloves to protect the forearms and hands, breast plates and quilted groin protectors called tare completed the panoply.

  The two shinai were modernized versions with carbon fiber reinforced resin slats in place of the traditional four bamboo ones, though the slats were still held together by leather fittings. In modern kendo both strikes and thrusts can be used against one's opponent. Strikes are only made towards specific target areas on the wrists, head, or body, all of which are protected by armor. Thrusts, which are more dangerous, are only permitted to the throat and are seldom allowed by lower ranking kendōka.

  “We should start slowly, Doctor. Do you wish to be uchidachi or shidachi?” During practice, the participants take the roles of either uchidachi, the teacher, or shidachi, the student.

  “I would humbly prefer the role of student, Lieutenant,” said the slender physicist, wrapping a towel around his head for padding before donning his helmet. “And please call me Yuki.”

  “Great, please call me Gretchen.” she replied, donning her own helmet and moving out to the middle of the impromptu practice space.

  Yuki joined her and they bowed deeply to one another. The pair struck a pose with their swords held high in front of them, tips crossed. Then they launched into a noisy flurry of strikes and counters, accompanied by the stamping of feet and loud shouts—the traditional kiai, a verbal sign of their martial spirit.

  In kendo it is important that a strike be made with the correct portion of the shinai. The shinai and its parts represent a real sword. The back of the sword is marked by a cord that runs down one of the four slats, from the tip to the hand grip. The slat opposite the cord represents the sword's cutting edge, the two on either side the flat of the blade. The cord is secured one quarter of the way from the tip by a leather ribbon. This represents the forward quarter of the blade, the most effective cutting part of an actual sword blade.

  In order for a blow to score, solid contact must be made in a valid target area using the correct portion of the blade. But a solid accurate strike is not enough—the path of the blade and the direction of the edge must be in proper alignment. The strike must also be accompanied by a correct kiai yell. The leading foot step, the kiai, and strike should all occur simultaneously.

  Eventually, Gretchen was able to whack Yuki on top of the helmet. They separated, circling each other warily. “Again!” she shouted. Once again the two swordsmen engaged. This time Yuki scored first, striking the left and right helmet target points in quick succession. Again they separated.

  After a strike, it is particularly important for a swordsman to show continued awareness of his opponent and their surroundings. This is demonstrated by passing through or moving diagonally to a proper distance while keeping one's sword tip pointed at the opponent's center. The swordsman must remain on guard, ready to thwart any attempt at a counter attack.

  “Very good, Saito-san,” gasped Gretchen, partly winded. “You are dan rated, aren't you?” Proficient kendōka are rated by levels of expertise called dan, ranging from 1 to 10 in order of increasing skill.

  “I was 5th dan when I fell out of practice,” said Yuki, who suddenly looked quite formidable in his swordsman's armor. “You too are dan, I think.”

  “I am also 5th dan, but you are from a Japanese school and are most certainly better trained than I am.”

  “The only way to improve is to banish the four sicknesses through fudōshin,” Yuki replied, referring to the concept of “unmoving mind.” When achieved, fudōshin prevents the kendōka being led astray by delusions of anger, doubt, fear, or surprise arising from his opponent’s actions—the so called four kendo sicknesses. “Again?”

  Gretchen bowed and again struck the starting pose. Again the crack of swords and kiai shouts filled the cargo hold. At the side of the chamber, the Marines, finished with their PT and morning run, observed.

  “I didn't know we had any Jedi on board,” said Cpl Sizemore, referring to the loose flowing robes that two swordsmen wore under their armor. The corporal wasn't far off, George Lucas freely admitted that Japanese samurai and the samurai films of Akira Kurosawa had a great influence on his Star Wars films.

  “Jedi or not, I don't think I'd like to go up against either of them up close and personal,” remarked PFC Sanchez, “not with those sticks they're whacking each other with.”

  “Joey,” LCpl Washington said, “that's about the smartest thing I ever heard you say.”

  Bridge, Parker's Folly, Entering Lunar Orbit.

  Lt. Curtis had showered and rubbed liniment on her bruises from sparring with Yuki. For supposedly being out of practice, the little Japanese physicist was quick, quicker than she was, Gretchen admitted to herself. He also packed a wallop. She hurt all over, but it was a good kind of hu
rt, the type that meant she had gotten a real workout for the first time in months. To her right, JT was engrossed with the navigator's station, occasionally saying something like “wow” or “fantastic!”

  “Mr. Taylor, what is it that you are finding so fascinating about the navigation station?”

  “Lt. Curtis, were you aware that this ship packs a number of astronomical instruments, including a 2.2 meter reflector telescope? Combine that with being outside of Earth's atmosphere and its like having my own private Hubble space telescope! It does infrared and near UV as well, and it's all controlled from right here at this console.”

  “I am aware of that, Mr. Taylor. And what interesting sights have you been looking at with Mr. Parker's equipment?”

  “The rings of Saturn, Neptune, and the Moon of course, and look at the view aft,” he gushed, ignoring the remark about who's telescope it really was. “I think you can pull it up on your screen.”

  “I can do better than that,” Lt. Curtis countered. “Heads up everyone, I'm going to put the main scope's image up on the forward display.”

  The star field and Moon, visible ahead of them through the ship's transparent nose, wavered and were replaced with a view of the limb of an outsized Earth with the Sun just peaking around it. A couple of the bridge crew gasped at the sight.

  “Sweet! I didn't know it could do that,” exclaimed Bobby from the helm. He and his cowboy partner were splitting watches.

  “That is breathtaking, Mr. Taylor,” the First Officer finally managed. “Perhaps you could show us where we are headed?”

  “Coming right up. I don't know what the mirror is made out of but it must be light. This sucker repositions really quickly.” As JT spoke the view from the big telescope turned to blurred streaks of light and quickly stabilized on a picture of the cratered face of Earth's satellite.