The Solar Sea (12 page)

Small shuttles flew out from the lunar factories just to spend a few minutes alongside the ship that looked like a giant pinwheel. This kept John O'Connell and Kurata Nagamine busy, simply monitoring to make sure none of the ships came too close to the delicate sails. Likewise, Dr. Garcia spent several hours making certain life support systems were functioning well. Once he was satisfied, he left C-and-C to organize the infirmary and make one last check that he had all he needed.

Pilot was busy keeping the sails trimmed, optimizing their angle, helping the ship achieve escape velocity from Earth's orbit. His technical crew was, likewise, engaged watching data stream in from the sails themselves and from different parts of the ship's hull, making sure everything was behaving as predicted.

Just as the ship was about to break free of Earth's gravitational well, Myra looked over her shoulder at Natalie Freeman who sat at the command console. “Ma'am,” she said. “The president is calling."

Natalie straightened up in her chair and made sure the top button of her coveralls was done up. “Put him on speakers."

"Crew of the
Aristarchus
. This is your president, Oscar Van der Wald. I just wanted to call and wish you bon voyage."

"Thank you, Mr. President,” said Natalie.

"Captain Freeman, I trust all is operating smoothly."

"All operations are proceeding on schedule, Mr. President,” reported Natalie. From the corner of her eye, she saw Pilot evaluating her carefully.

"Very good,” said Van der Wald. “Best of luck to you all. Success to you, Captain Freeman and success to Quinn Corp.” With that, the president signed off.

Pilot stepped up to the central console. “The president does realize that Captain Jefferson is in operational command of this vessel, doesn't he?"

"He knows who's in operational command.” She looked up into Pilot's eyes.

Later that day, Pilot watched his display intently. The red dot that marked the position of
Aristarchus
slowly approached a green line. Jonathan Jefferson stepped into C-and-C and walked over to the central console. He saw that Natalie was watching Pilot's display. “I'd like to have a word, please.” Jefferson's voice had a razor-sharp edge.

"With all due respect, sir,” said Natalie, “We're approaching a milestone. I think we should both be here for this."

Jefferson clasped his hands behind his back and watched Pilot's display.

The red dot crossed the green line. “We have reached escape velocity,” announced Pilot. “We are out of Earth's gravity well.” He tapped a few controls on his console. “I'm adjusting the sail trim to put us on course for Mars."

Natalie looked over her shoulder to the thruster control console. The Technical Systems Manager, Daryl LaRue, ran computations. Several numbers flashed on his screen. He looked back toward Freeman and Jefferson. “Confirmed. We have reached escape velocity."

"I could use a slight course adjustment,” said Pilot. “One degree to starboard if you please, Mr. LaRue."

LaRue looked toward the two captains who nodded in unison, then turned back to his station and fired the thrusters. “One degree to starboard, aye."

Jefferson looked at Freeman again. “Now?"

She nodded, then stood up and walked with Jefferson to the down-ladder. Just before they left, she looked at Pilot. “You have command."

Freeman followed Jefferson down one deck. He led the way to a small lounge area set along the outer wall of the sphere. A semi-circular couch surrounded a porthole in the floor. The Moon, visible through the porthole, cast a cold, wan light through the room.

Jefferson indicated that Freeman should have a seat. “I understand the President of the United States called earlier this afternoon.” He took a seat opposite her.

"He did,” said Freeman. “It caught me by surprise."

"I wasn't expecting the call, either,” said Jefferson. “However, it's traditional on space voyages that the ship commander be the one to talk to the president. I should have been called to command and control."

"Ah.... “Freeman took a deep breath, then continued. “Captain, sir, I had no intention of undermining your authority. However, may I respectfully point out, that you're an employee of Quinn Corp while I'm the active duty officer and a NASA official. The president is my commander-in-chief, not yours."

Jefferson folded his hands and looked down through the porthole in the floor. “That doesn't excuse your breach of protocol, Ms. Freeman. You're the executive officer, not the captain of the ship. We explained that very carefully to Pilot. We can't create an atmosphere of confusion among the crew."

"You're right, of course, sir,” said Freeman. “I apologize. It won't happen again."

Jefferson nodded, then looked up into Freeman's dark eyes. “There's only one other thing that bothers me. Why are you here?"

"I'm here to observe the mission.” Freeman's answer was very precise and practiced.

"I think there's more you're not telling me.” Jefferson sat forward slightly.

Freeman sat back and studied the curved walls for a moment, more to avoid Jefferson's gaze than through any curiosity about the ship's construction. Finally, she looked back at him. “Why are we really going to Saturn?"

Jefferson smiled. “We're looking for organic compounds and possibly life at Saturn.” Jefferson echoed the tone of Freeman's precise, practiced answer from before. “The biomedical implications would be astounding."

"They would be, but how profitable would any of it be for Quinn Corp? Most of the answers Alonzo says we're seeking can be found on Earth, in the laboratory. The possibility of finding intelligent life is a big deal, of course, but that came up only after the project was started. Quinn Corp is investing a lot of money in this mission. I'd like to know why."

Jefferson chewed on his lower lip. “I'm aboard this ship to make sure she gets safely to Saturn and returns home. Just make sure you don't interfere with the operation of the ship as you ‘observe the mission.’”

"I understand, sir,” said Freeman. “One more thing—does Pilot seem a bit young to you?"

"At first.” Jefferson nodded. “Then I remembered something I'd read at the Air Force Academy—that most scientists make their greatest discoveries before they turn thirty."

"Alonzo's brilliant, I'll give you that, but is he experienced?"

Jefferson ran fingers through his white hair, then smiled disarmingly. “That's why I'm here and why I'm glad you're here, too."

After the
Aristarchus
left Earth's gravity well, space traffic died off completely, giving Neb O'Connell much less to worry about. Out of lunar orbit, there were no more spaceships transporting goods to and from the Earth. There were no more shuttles to buzz by the
Aristarchus
, serving as collision hazards. Seeing that Neb was less busy with ship's business, Dr. Nagamine ordered him to start a series of observations, using the ship's telescopic cameras to take pictures of Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. In that way, Neb's job aboard ship became very much like his job back on Earth.

For Neb O'Connell, the first week of observations was interesting. He had new equipment to learn and the new routine was interrupted by the requirements of his other duties—monitoring the ship itself to make sure it was in good operating condition and monitoring the area immediately ahead of the ship to make sure there was nothing in their path. Also, though there was a radio-frequency antenna aboard
Aristarchus
, most of Neb's photos were in the optical band. For the first time in his professional career, he got to photograph the planets as they appeared to the human eye.

By the second week of the voyage, O'Connell had the new routine down pat. It required very little concentration on his part. Though he was still delighted to be aboard a spaceship heading toward the outer planets, he grew bored.

Over the course of the voyage's first month, phone calls and radio communication with the
Aristarchus
tapered off. During the first weeks, Lisa Henry and Myra Lee felt far too much like telephone operators as family and friends kept calling members of the crew to wish them well on their journey. Members of the press called repeatedly to interview Captain Jefferson or Captain Freeman. Thomas Alonzo refused interviews, saying the cameras made him nervous. Once
Aristarchus
left Earth's gravity well, the limit imposed by the speed of light took its toll on phone conversations. The delay between the time someone aboard ship spoke and it could be heard on the Earth increased rapidly. As phone calls between Earth and the ship died down, email traffic picked up, but that required much less attention from Myra and Lisa.

The cetacean biologist felt better as she grew more accustomed to the ship's strange gravity. She and Lisa examined the whale translation programs that Joyce Harmer had written to the
Aristarchus
communications computer.

During the first week of the flight's second month, Myra was surprised by a phone call from Earth. Responding, she found it was Joyce Harmer, calling from her new office at Quinn Corp. “We think we have a more-or-less exact translation of the whale's message,” she said. Without waiting for a response, she continued on. “It says, ‘The cycle continues. The tool builders prepare to cross the great void. For them, the art is the death. The keepers of the rings are advised, many hunters and bards have been lost to them. The cycle resumes.’ The reference to crossing a great void or emptiness convinces me more that the whales are speaking to someone in space, if not Saturn itself."

A shiver traveled down Myra's spine as she considered the translation. “What does that bit about ‘the cycle’ mean?"

There was a brief pause as Myra's signal traveled to Earth and Joyce's answer returned. “We're not exactly sure. We think it might be something like ‘begin transmission’ or ‘end transmission.’ Of course, we could have details wrong. If they're speaking in idiom, the meaning may have little to do with the actual words."

"It's not a lot of words to build a translation on,” said Myra, frowning.

A moment later, Joyce's response came. “Twenty-eight words,” she said. “It's not a bad start and there are some good ones, like the verb ‘to be.’ You can input the words into the program I gave you. If you meet anyone who speaks this language, it'll be a good start to understanding them."

Myra pushed the transmit button. “I certainly hope so. Thank you, Dr. Harmer."

There was only one cook aboard
Aristarchus
, a man named Angus MacDonald. The kitchen was well equipped with a number of automated appliances, so MacDonald actually could cook meals all on his own. However, during the sixth week of the flight, several crewmembers, including Captain Freeman, Dr. Garcia, Lisa Henry, and Vanda Berko decided during a card game to volunteer their services in the kitchen. Not only did it provide MacDonald some relief, it also provided the crew with some relief from his cooking. It wasn't that MacDonald's fare was poor. It was actually quite good, but his repertoire was a bit limited.

One day soon after, Neb O'Connell stepped into the galley and was greeted by the aroma of onions, garlic, and chiles. “It smells good,” he said.

Dr. Garcia, who was on duty in the kitchen, looked up from behind the counter. “Thanks. It's an old recipe of my mother's—chilaquiles.” He handed Neb a plate covered with tortilla chips smothered in a red chile sauce topped with chicken, onions, and sour cream.

"I thought you'd make us eat healthier food than this,” chided Neb, taking the plate.

"It's not that bad.” The doctor shrugged.

"Don't listen to him,” said Lisa Henry from a table in the corner. “The doc's the least healthy cook of the lot. I'd take the soup if I were you. That tortilla pie thing about seared my tonsils."

"You don't have any tonsils, my dear,” said the doctor. “I know. I've looked down your throat myself."

Lisa rolled her eyes. Neb took the plate and stepped over to her table. “May I join you?"

"Sure.” She shrugged but wore a cautious smile.

Neb sat down and took a tentative bite of the chilaquiles. After the first, he took several more. “That's really good."

Lisa looked at him, wide eyed. “How can you stand that stuff?"

"He obviously has good taste,” said the doctor.

"I've been living in New Mexico for the last few years. Red and green chiles are a staple of the diet. You get addicted,” said Neb, by way of explanation. “This is actually a little mild for my taste, but I didn't even think we had any chile aboard the ship."

"That's ‘cause MacDonald's scared to use it,” said Dr. Garcia.

Lisa inclined her head. “Hey, maybe you should volunteer for the kitchen crew, then you and the doctor can take turns torturing the rest of us."

"It
would
be torture,” said Neb. “I've been known to burn soup from a can.” He took several more bites of the chilaquiles, then washed it down with some iced tea. “But the thing is, I would like to find something to do in my off hours."

Lisa smiled openly. “You could help me pick a movie to watch tonight."

Neb sputtered for a moment, then came to his senses. “I'd like that."

"No popcorn, though,” said the doctor. “You've used up your allotment of carbohydrates eating the chilaquiles."

Captain Jefferson carefully observed the crew. He noticed how Neb O'Connell and Lisa Henry would steal glances at one another. More than once, she made a point of asking for advice or help. He would unclamp his chair from its restraints and roll it across to her station. Once there, it was normal to hear their conversation drift from the original topic into movies, books, or even food. The camaraderie between them felt natural and relaxed. They were two technicians who had been working behind the scenes and as they grew to know each other better, it was apparent they had other things in common, as well.

Unfortunately, not everyone was getting along as well as Neb and Lisa. One day, Jefferson went to the kitchen for lunch. As he sat down to eat, he heard Angus MacDonald ask Daryl LaRue about his day.