The Solar Sea (7 page)

Natalie reached over and shook Diana's hand, then took a seat in the other high-backed chair. Seeing Diana Aguilar's discomfort in the chair, Natalie was glad women's dress uniforms had been changed so they included pants rather than skirts. Her only real challenge was sitting such that the hilt of her dress-uniform sword didn't tear the expensive fabric of the chair.

"Captain Freeman,” began the president, “we have a proposition for you. Have you heard of the
Aristarchus
project?"

Natalie nodded slowly.

"We're concerned about the mission proceeding without an observer from NASA aboard.” Aguilar leaned forward.

"NASA was disbanded eight years ago,” said Natalie, warily.

"It's just been reinstated,” said the president. He pointed to a paper on his desk. “The film crews just left."

Diana Aguilar stood and offered Natalie Freeman her hand. “Congratulations, Captain Freeman, we've decided to appoint you as first administrator of the new NASA."

Natalie's mouth dropped open as she stood and first took Diana's hand followed by the president's. “So what exactly does this entail?” asked Natalie, still afraid she was being punished for failing in her negotiations with the Iraqi Prime Minister.

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A New Age

Pilot led Jonathan Jefferson down a sloping gangway into the great spheroid—the fuselage of the
Aristarchus
. They entered through an open airlock door near the middle of the craft. Even though gravity on the Moon was only one-sixth that of the Earth, the ship's floor seemed to slope away at a dangerous angle both up and away from the airlock and down toward the ground. Pilot indicated a set of handholds.

"Of course, the ship will be rotating in flight, so down will be toward the outer walls once we're underway,” explained Pilot. “The ship is designed with that in mind."

"What if gravity fails?” asked Jefferson.

"That's like asking ‘what if the sun turns off?'” Pilot gave a self-satisfied smile. “Even so, our engineers have built in safety contingencies.” He tugged on the handhold for emphasis, then made his way downslope to the next room.

Passing through the door, they found a motor that stood about as tall as Pilot, clamped to a set of rails on the floor. Tool kits were mounted to the room's walls. “This is one of the steerage rooms,” explained Pilot. “There are ten of these rooms. The motors will adjust the trim of the sails giving us the ability to maximize speed and adjust course."

"What happens if one of the motors breaks down?” Jefferson looked for a way to bring in a backup motor.

Pilot pointed to the rails. “The motor can be unclamped and rolled away, allowing the crew to turn the sail by hand.” He knelt down next to the motor and pointed out marks on the floor. “We can measure the angle of the sails with these marks. As such, the
Aristarchus
may be the first space vessel in human history that does not require computers for in-flight operations."

"A spaceship that can be flown manually?” Jefferson's eyes went wide. “That's almost completely unheard of.” He knelt down next to Pilot and looked at the markings on the floor. The markings were inlaid brass like one might find on an old-fashioned sailing ship.

"The humans aboard this ship will have more control than even the Mercury astronauts who'd asked for joysticks, so they could fly their ship like an airplane."

"That motor looks heavy.” Jefferson stood, then carefully grabbed handholds and fell-stepped around the unit. “How many people would it take to disconnect and move it in the event of an emergency?"

"One.” Pilot grinned as Jefferson narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out how one person could move the motor. “In flight with full gravity, the motor will weigh about 500 pounds. However, it's so carefully balanced that one person can unclamp the motor and move it back. The sails will also have weight because of the rotation, but there's a gearing system that allows one person to unlock the sail and move it by hand."

"I presume that's a worst case scenario.” Jefferson tried to imagine coordinating ten people turning sails by hand.

"Indeed it is.” Pilot stood and moved over to the wall and grabbed a capped pipe. He dropped the hinged lid and blew in. “But we even have an old fashioned comm system in the event that electronic communications break down.” With that, he moved downslope and grabbed onto a ladder mounted on the wall and climbed toward the center of the sphere. Opening a hatch in the ceiling of the steerage room, he disappeared. Jefferson grabbed onto the ladder and followed him up through a tube.

Jefferson emerged from the tube at one end of a brightly lit, octagonal room. Plastic consoles faced five of the eight walls. A supply cabinet took up the back wall. In front of it was a small worktable. There were doors in the other two walls as well as two ladders, one leading up and the other down. At the center of the room was a semi-circular console with a chair in the middle.

"This is the command and control room or C-and-C for short.” Pilot pointed to the chair in the center. “That's where the captain sits. He can monitor all ship's operations from there."

"In other words, that's your station,” said Jefferson, knowingly.

"Hardly,” said Pilot, seemingly taken aback. He pointed to one of the five consoles lining the walls of the room. “When I'm here, I'll sit there, at the pilot's station.” He pointed out each of the other stations in turn. “Communications and biosciences, life support, external sensors, and astrosciences—that's Neb O'Connell's station—and sail and thruster control."

"When you're here?” The colonel inclined his head. “This would seem to be the nerve center of the ship. Wouldn't you be on duty here most of the time?"

"The central hub of the ship—the null gravity core—has windows that look out each side. There are telescopes, sextants, and other navigational aides installed in the hub. If the navigational computer goes down, we'll still be able to steer the ship from there."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a Luddite, Mr. Alonzo,” declared Jefferson. “It sounds like you don't trust computers at all."

Pilot grinned. “I think most technicians and engineers are Luddites at heart. Computers are just tools and like all tools, they can fail. Even so, there is one computer that's all-but vital.” He pointed to the station he'd called ‘life support.’ “We have numerous backup systems to power the lights, the food service units, and air supply, but if we lost the life support computer, we'd have to abandon the mission and return to Earth as fast as we could. Well as this ship is designed, we frail humans just couldn't sit out in space in a round metal can and keep ourselves alive for an extended time without the computer."

The colonel looked around at the command and control room, impressed. “Okay, if you're not going to occupy the command chair, who will?"

"You, of course,” said Pilot. “You're one of the planet's most experienced astronauts. I want you to make sure we make it to Saturn in one piece and get back home."

Jefferson caught his breath. “Why me? Why not one of the other astronauts that was aboard
Ares II?"
Even as he asked the question, he carefully stepped to the command console in the center of the room and looked it over, already getting acquainted with it as though he knew for a fact he would be sitting there for the next few years.

"You're the youngest,” said Alonzo. “Also, your personality profile matches what we want for this mission more than many of your fellow astronauts."

The colonel scowled. “That brings up another point. I trained for years to go to Mars, got to know my fellow astronauts like they were family. How soon will we be launching this ship?"

"If we're able to stay on schedule, I hope to get the ship assembled next week. With training for new personnel, we should be ready to launch inside a month."

"One month,” said Jefferson slowly. “How can you expect a crew that has been together for less than a month to form a cohesive team that will make this mission a success? I read up on heliogyro theory and checked the alignment of Jupiter and Saturn before coming to this meeting, Mr. Alonzo. I know we'll make it to Saturn in about the time it took me to get to Mars, but it'll still take a well-trained team to accomplish the task."

"This is a new age, Colonel Jefferson.” Pilot stepped over to the external sensor station and brushed his fingers over its surface. “If spaceflight is going to be a reality for mankind, we've got to get away from the mentality that long years of preparation are necessary for a short voyage. After all, Columbus put his crew together for the voyage to America in about a month. If he could do it and succeed, why can't we?"

The colonel took a deep breath and frowned. “Columbus had his share of problems."

Pilot rolled his eyes and moved past Jefferson to the door at the far end of C-and-C. “Let me show you to the crew cabins."

The one-time astronaut followed Pilot through the far door, past a galley that seemed more like a country kitchen than a sterile shipboard mess hall and into a nicely appointed bedroom. With a touch of a button, one wall of the cabin came to life, showing a scene of a mountain stream. Deer stood a ways off, munching grass. Clouds drifted lazily through the sky. Jefferson almost thought he could reach out and touch the pine tree nearest to him. Instead, since they were now in a part of the sphere parallel to the ground, Jefferson sat down on the bed and admired the scenery.

"You can download movies, television, Internet, even scenes from home right to the wall of your cabin. You won't even need to miss the latest movies that are playing back home while we're on the mission.” Pilot looked Jefferson in the eye. “Off hand, I'd say it's a far cry from anything NASA was ever able to provide on the
Ares II."

"Creating a luxury liner in space may help stave off morale problems, but it won't prevent them."

"That's why Mr. Quinn and I want you in command.” Pilot sat down in one of the chairs at the table. “I want someone who can help keep the crew in line, keep them working as a unit. Also, your recent work in nanotechnology overlaps several key specialties."

Jefferson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You said you don't have a full crew, how's all this been built?"

"We've been utilizing as much of the factory labor as Old Man Quinn will allow. However, most of them will be staying behind. I'd like to get ten more crewmembers—that would bring us up to a compliment of twenty-five. Among other things, I still need a top-notch communication's specialist and a biochemist or biologist. If I can find a team where the specialties overlap, it would be perfect."

"Why's that?” asked Jefferson.

"The biological scanners are slaved into the communications gear. Sensors for organic compounds are tied into the low gain sending and receiving equipment. Also, by having the bio scanners and communications tied together, it allows for easy recording of the data."

Jefferson rubbed his chin and thought about the explanation. It seemed to make sense—mostly. “What about a high gain antenna? I didn't see one on the outside of the ship."

Pilot smiled disarmingly. “The whole ship's a high gain antenna.” When Jefferson raised his eyebrows, Pilot gestured all around. “Aluminized quinitite sails are great radio frequency receivers."

Jefferson nodded, understanding. His thoughts turned to other things Pilot said. “Twenty-five people,” he mused slowly. He looked up at the mountain scene on the wall, felt the comfortable bed beneath him, then thought of setting foot on Mars again and exploring the atmospheres of Jupiter and Saturn. It was almost enough to make him willing to risk the voyage. “There's one more thing I'd like to see. You mentioned the shuttle-lander."

"Right this way.” Pilot shut off the view screen.

Myra Lee was at home in the shower when the phone rang. Grumbling to herself, she shut off the water, wrapped a warm, fuzzy towel around her middle and started drying her hair with another. After a minute of searching, she found her cell and answered.

"This is Joyce Harmer at Oxford,” said a very precise voice on the other end of the line. “We believe we are close to translating a portion of the whale song for you."

Myra's knees went watery and she fought not to drop the phone.

"Dr. Lee, are you there?” asked Harmer, vaguely distressed.

"Yes, I'm here. It's just that no one has ever come up with a translation script for whales before. This is absolutely historic."

"I know. Can we set up an Internet chat and I'll show you what I've got?"

"Absolutely, I'll just sit down at the computer.” Myra's towel slipped an inch. “Actually, better give me a couple minutes to get dressed. You caught me in the shower."

"Certainly. I'll wait for your ping."

Myra let the towel drop as she stepped through the house, thinking of the implications of the first words from whales. She found a T-shirt and some slacks and dressed as quickly as she could—which wasn't very fast since her mind kept turning around in circles. Finally, she started toward her computer, just remembering to grab a brush, so she could comb out her hair as she talked.

She logged into the computer and pinged the Oxford philologist. Harmer's face showed in a window on the computer. Her short, gray-blond hair was a mess, not matching her precise speech at all. There were dark bags under her eyes as though she'd been up all night working on the complex problem. Suddenly, Myra didn't feel so bad about combing her hair in front of her own camera.

Harmer sent some charts over to Myra, who recognized them as being very similar to her own charts of recorded whale song. “You were right,” said Joyce. “This new song is very like binary code."

"You said you have a translation?” Myra forgot her hair and leaned forward.

"Not exactly, but we do have a sense for what they're trying to say.” Joyce closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and continued. “It's as though they're sending a message. The context makes it sound like a warning. If we've got it right, it's something like, ‘The land dwellers are on their way.’”