Spindrift

by Allen Steele

  “Thank you.” Lawrence looked up at the mission chronometer, then cinched his seat harness a little tighter. “T-minus seventy-two seconds. Mr. Cohen, status of main engine?”

  “MECO in eleven seconds.” Almost as soon as Martin spoke, an alarm went off, signaling main-engine cutoff. Emily had just enough time to tighten her harness before the engine ceased its rumble and microgravity returned. Cohen silenced the alarm. “MECO complete, sir. Main engine in standby mode.”

  “Thank you.” Lawrence took hold of his armrests. “All stations, report in.”

  Once again, just as they’d done a few hours earlier, the flight crew reported affirmative. It was almost an unnecessary procedure; Galileo was now fully under control of its AI, which would presumably alert them to any system malfunctions. Yet Emily was glad for the distraction; it helped take her mind off the fact that the ship was entering the wormhole’s event horizon.

  Relax, she told herself. The probes have done this before. The first two failed, but the next five came back. Everything’s going to be fine. From behind her, though, she could hear Nick muttering the Lord’s Prayer; Ted shot a look at him, and the doctor lowered his voice to a whisper.

  As the starbridge filled the screens, Simone’s voice became a nervous cadence. “T-minus ten…T-minus eight…T-minus five…four…”

  “Everyone, hang on!” Ted yelled. “Shut your eyes!”

  “Three…two…one…”

  Through the windows, a white-hot flash. Emily squeezed her eyes shut, but not before her retinas were dazzled by its negative afterimage. She gasped as she felt herself slammed against her seat. From somewhere behind her, hull plates creaked in protest.

  A sensation of falling into a bottomless pit…

  PART TWO:

  Beyond the Heliopause

  FIVE

  JUNE 1, 2288—EASS GALILEO

  One moment, the starbridge was inert and still, a giant ring floating in the outermost reaches of the solar system. The next, a silent flash of defocused light, then the Galileo hurtled from hyperspace.

  Opening his eyes, Harker took a slow, deep breath. The palms of his hands were slick where they clutched his seat’s armrests; wincing from a cramp in his neck, he carefully turned his head to gaze about the command center. The rest of the flight crew didn’t look much better; a lot of pale and sweat-soaked faces, along with a few groans and murmured curses. At least no one had lost consciousness.

  A retching sound to his right. Harker glanced around to see Lawrence suddenly clamp a hand against his mouth, a tendril of vomit slipping from between his fingers. Congealing as a constellation of bilious green orbs, it drifted upward, captured by the air currents as it floated in the direction of the ceiling exhaust vent. Trying to control his nausea, Lawrence doubled over in his seat, fumbling with his free hand to unclasp his harness.

  “Nick?” Harker turned toward Jones, who was rubbing his eyes. “Hey, Doc, we got a problem here. Can you…?”

  “I’m on it.” Nick unsnapped his harness, then unsteadily pushed himself out of his seat. Using the ceiling rails to pull himself hand over hand across the compartment, he unbuckled Lawrence’s harness, then gently prized the captain from his chair. Lawrence continued to hold his hand against his mouth, yet he was clearly in danger of choking on his own vomit. The doctor whispered something in his ear, and when the captain shook his head, he grabbed Lawrence’s hand and yanked it away from his mouth.

  Lawrence loudly and explosively puked, and the constellation became a nebula. That was enough; Harker shook off the rest of his grogginess and unclasped his own harness. “Get him out of here,” he snapped, pushing himself out of his chair before the mess could reach him. An apologetic glance, then Nick wrapped an arm around Lawrence’s shoulder and hauled him toward the access shaft.

  “Will someone please take care of this?” Disgusted, Harker shied away from the vomit cloud. “Werner…?”

  “No problem.” Recognizing the threat it posed to the compartment’s air-circulation system, Gelb opened a maintenance locker and pulled out a handheld vacuum cleaner normally used to clear dust from the consoles. Switching it on, the life-support chief went about the revolting but necessary chore.

  “Thank you.” Despite the absurdity of the moment, Harker realized that he’d just become the senior officer on the bridge. Yet he had no time and less inclination to savor the moment. There were more important things to think about just now. “Simone, how are we doing?”

  “We’re in good shape, sir.” The helmsman had shaken off her torpor; her hands moved across her console, snapping switches as she studied her console’s comp screens. “We were in a lateral spin, but…” Simone paused, let out her breath. “Yes. RCS firing to compensate. Bringing her back into trim, sir.”

  “Excellent.” Harker pulled himself over to Simone’s station, peered over her shoulder. As she said, Galileo’s attitude was beginning to stabilize; the screen to her left showed its profile coming back to its proper orientation on its x-, y-, and z-axes, while the one to the right displayed its position relative to both the starbridge and Eris. “Nice work,” he said. “Rather have you in the driver’s seat than the AI.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Simone smiled. “Sorry for the rough ride.”

  “We’re through, safe and sound. That’s what matters.” Raising his gaze to the windows, Harker looked out at Eris: a whitish-grey crescent, little larger than a soccer ball, dully reflecting the radiance of a distant star. It took him a moment to realize that the star was the Sun, and that he was seeing it from a perspective that few other humans had ever experienced. So large and bright back home, but out here in the Kuiper Belt he could have covered it with a raised thumb.

  “Find me an orbit. Can you do that?” Simone nodded, and he turned away. “Toni? Ship status?”

  “Nothing to worry about. All systems green.” The XO paused, studying the screens above her station. “All the same, I’d like to inspect the engine module. There may have been some stress on the portside radiation shield, section three.”

  “Can it wait? I’d like to engage the field first. Might make things a little easier.” Antonia nodded, and he looked over at the chief engineer. “Martin, you think we’re ready for that?”

  The chief engineer looked a little green, but he nodded. “One-minute warning on your mark, sir.”

  “Mark.” Grasping the ceiling rail, Harker hurried back to his seat. He’d barely settled back into it when the klaxon whooped three times, signaling all hands that the Millis-Clement field would be activated in sixty seconds. When it fell silent, Harker glanced over at the com station. “Arkady…?”

  “Already done it, Captain…I mean, sir.” An apologetic grin. “Transmitted a message back home via hyperlink, informing them that we’ve safely…” Arkady held up a hand as he listened to his headset. “Receiving signal from the gatehouse, confirming our arrival,” he added. “They’re ready to close the bridge.”

  “Well done. Tell ’em we copy, and we’ll be in touch.” This would be the last exchange between Galileo and Starbridge Earth; the hyperlink was capable of sending and receiving radio messages only so long as the wormhole remained open, and the gatehouse couldn’t keep it that way indefinitely. “Raise the LCP and begin calibration with Mare Muscoviense. Soon as you’ve got a lock, transmit a test message.”

  Arkady nodded as he turned back to his console. From there on, all contact with home would be achieved by means of a 250-kilowatt laser communication platform located on the service module, which would transmit messages to the Union Astronautica’s deep-space tracking station on the lunar farside. The laser wouldn’t move any faster than x-band radio, but it would allow for more information to be sent with less interference from interstellar matter.

  Behind him, Martin recited a countdown: “MCI in five…four…three…two…one…” Harker felt his body settle into his seat as gravity returned to Galileo. Doing this so soon would cause a small spike to the zero-point energy generator, b
ut it shouldn’t affect the deployment of the diametric drive torus. He looked again at the chief engineer; Martin carefully studied his screens, then silently gave him a thumbs-up. The ZPE generator was copacetic.

  What next? Harker let out his breath. Not much, at least for the time being. The ship appeared to be in good shape. Everyone had recovered from the stress of the hyperspace jump and was going about their business. He supposed that he should go down to Deck C and check on the passengers, yet until Captain Lawrence returned to duty…

  “Nice going there, Mr. Harker.” Feeling a hand touch his elbow, he turned to find that Emily had come up behind him. Her face was flushed, her hair matted with sweat, yet there was an encouraging smile that gave him reason to relax a little more.

  “Thank you.” He raised a hand to gently brush back the hair from her eyes. “Simulator didn’t quite prepare us for that, did it?”

  “Prepared us enough, I think.” A wry glance at the access hatch. “More than Ian, I think,” she added, lowering her voice. “Maybe that’ll teach him to skip training.”

  “Yeah, well…” He shook his head. “Not that any of this will be entered in the log.”

  “Of course not.” Emily glanced about the command center. “But you know what the main difference is between you and him? He treats everyone here like subordinates. He barks orders and expects everyone to obey him…”

  “That’s what a captain’s supposed to do.”

  “Uh-uh. A captain’s supposed to be a leader, not a boss.” Another smile. “You treat these people with respect. They’re your friends, and you trust them…and they know that. Half of them were ready to puke their guts out, just like he did…but they sucked it in and did their jobs before you had to ask. You think they would’ve done that for him?” Before Harker could respond, she took his hand. “C’mon, now. They’re just fine. Let them do what they’re supposed to do. You, on the other hand…”

  “I should go below. Check on the science team.”

  “Sure. That comes first. And then…” Emily tugged at his hand, pulling him from his chair. “You need to take a lady out to see the stars.”

  A glance at Antonia. She looked back at him, gave him a stoical nod; she’d take care of things on the bridge. With an inward sigh, Harker let Emily escort him from the command center.

  The science team had handled the jaunt better than he expected, at least for the most part. When Harker stopped by Rauchle’s quarters, he found the team leader collapsed on his bunk, waxen-faced and in a foul mood. He’d become violently ill, leaving Kaufmann to clean up the mess with a handful of paper towels he’d hastily snatched from the privy. Harker made his exit before Rauchle could vent his temper in his direction. He was getting fed up with Rauchle’s tantrums; sooner or later, he’d have a chat with the physicist, but not just yet.

  Cruz, on the other hand, had accepted the chaos that erupted in his cabin with grace and good humor. The astrogeologist had brought with him a small library of disks, paper books, and loose-leaf binders; all well and good, except that he’d neglected to secure them to the shelves with the safety straps provided. They’d scattered in midair all over the place, then come crashing down once the field was engaged; when Emily came to visit him, she found Cruz picking up books and loose pages. Yet even though he’d suffered a bump on the forehead from The Proceedings of the Planetary Geography Society, Vol. LXXI, Cruz’s only protest came as a rueful grin. Harker left her to help Cruz gather his belongings, then pushed himself down the corridor.

  The door to Ramirez’s quarters was shut, yet as Harker approached it, his nose caught a faint odor that he couldn’t identify: somewhat like burning leaves, only more pungent. When he rapped his knuckles against the door, he heard Ramirez’s voice, yet it was muffled and indistinct, and the astrobiologist didn’t open it. Becoming suspicious, Harker decided that his prerogatives outweighed the scientist’s privacy and touched the door button.

  The cabin was filled with smoke, pale and intoxicating. Ramirez was sitting at his desk, the palm of his left hand cupped around something in his right hand. When Harker demanded to know what he was trying to hide, Ramirez sheepishly held up a small, hand-carved wooden pipe.

  “Many apologies, Commander,” Ramirez murmured, a beatific smile upon his face. “A small indulgence on my part…one I cultivated at Dolland.” He offered the pipe to him, the ember in its bowl still smoldering. “Care to join me? Does wonders for the nerves.”

  “No, thank you.” Harker had heard that cannabis could be smoked, but until then he’d never met anyone who would ever indulge in such an archaic vice. As it was, his eyes were already beginning to water. “That’s rather dangerous. I’m surprised you didn’t trip the fire alarm.”

  “That?” Ramirez pointed to a dislodged service panel in the ceiling. “Sorry. Deactivated.” A sleepy grin. “Little trick I learned in prison. Made life there a bit more bearable.”

  “Yes, well…be that as it may, that’s one trick you’ll have to do without.” He extended his hand. “If you’ll please…?”

  “Mr. Harker…”

  “Dr. Ramirez, this isn’t Dolland. This is my ship, and its safety is more important than your nerves.” He snapped his fingers. “Hand it over…or I’ll ask Ms. Vincenza to come down here and help me search your quarters. And believe me, you won’t like that very much.”

  The smile vanished from Ramirez’s face. He hesitated, then surrendered the pipe. Harker carefully laid his thumb upon the bowl to snuff out the ember, then put it in his breast pocket and held out his hand again. Ramirez glared at him, then reached beneath his left thigh and pulled out a small pill container.

  “This isn’t very fair, you know,” he said, tossing the container to Harker. “Perhaps you should ask Dr. Rauchle for the liter of schnapps he has in his bag.”

  “If you want, we can have a shot of Irish whiskey together. I brought a bottle with me. That’s not the issue.” Harker juggled the container in his hand. “Tell you what, chum,” he said, reaching over to a wall panel to activate the exhaust fan that Ramirez had failed to notice. “You do your job, and I may find a way to let you use one of the emergency air locks for your indulgence. Think you can do that?”

  The smile reappeared. “Sure. So long as you show me how to use it so that I don’t space myself.”

  “That’s your problem,” Harker replied, and Ramirez’s smile became a irate glare. “Whenever you’re ready, you know where to find me.”

  Harker backed out of the cabin, closing the door behind him. He turned to discover Emily waiting for him in the corridor. “I heard,” she said quietly. “I never would’ve believed it.”

  “Weird, huh?” Harker uncapped the container, peered inside: a couple of grams of cured and crumbled cannabis leaves, light brown and resinous. “Thought this sort of thing went out with rock and roll.” She gave him a confused look, not understanding the historical reference, and he shook his head. “Never mind. Who’s next?”

  “Haven’t seen Cole or Sinclair. Guess we’d better check on them, too.” She turned to head down the corridor, and Harker followed her. They made their way around the bend until, just past the captain’s quarters, they reached Cole’s cabin.

  The door was shut; Harker knocked on it and waited a moment. Receiving no answer, he pushed the button. “Sir Peter?” he asked as the door slid open. “Pardon me, sir, but…”

  “What do you want?” Lawrence demanded.

  Startled, Harker stepped back. The captain’s back was turned to the door; he looked over his shoulder to glare at him. Past him, Harker spotted Cole, seated on the edge of his bunk. The Astronomer Royal seemed more surprised than angry, yet it was clear that he didn’t welcome the interruption either.

  “My apologies, Captain,” Harker said. “I only meant to check on…”

  “We’re doing fine,” Lawrence snapped. “Now get out.”

  “Yes, sir…sorry, sir.” Harker hastily backed away. Lawrence was still glowering at him as he pushed t
he button; the door slid shut, and he let out his breath. “Damn,” he murmured. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Why should you? If he’s not in sickbay, then he ought to be on Deck A.” Emily regarded the cabin with suspicion. “What’s he doing here, anyway?”

  “Damned if I know, but it’s none of my business.” Harker turned away to continue down the corridor. “We’d better get lost. Right now, he’s angry enough to…”

  Realizing that she was no longer with him, Harker looked back around. Emily had quietly moved close enough to the door that she could place an ear against it. Shocked by what she was doing, he started to say something—Are you insane? Get away from there!—but she held a finger to her lips, then urgently gestured for him to come closer.

  Eavesdropping on the captain. Beneath the proper conduct of a first officer. Yet curiosity got the better of him; Harker quietly moved back toward Cole’s cabin and, lightly grasping Emily’s shoulder, laid his left ear against the door.

  “…nothing of this.” Lawrence’s voice, just barely intelligible. “He hasn’t been briefed, nor shall he, unless there’s an emergency.”

  Cole said something. Exactly what, Harker couldn’t tell; his voice came to him as little more than a murmur.

  “If it comes to that, certainly.” Lawrence again. “But I’d just as soon that he not be aware of its existence. Or anyone else, to tell the truth, other than my crewman. It was installed just before we left, and only we have the activation codes. If we need to…”

  Cole interrupted him to say something. This time, Harker made out a single, midsentence word: “…Spindrift…”