
Hope
By Wil C. Fry IV
(Begun in 1995, in Cabot, Arkansas; Finished in 1998, in Gravel Ridge, Arkansas)
A novel of the human race's first attempt at expansion
beyond the boundaries of the Solar System.
I - The First Chapter
Gliding smoothly through the emptiness that was interstellar space, Nadyozhda (Hope) was almost as silent as the vacuum itself. The mighty banks of rocket engines were quiet now, and as cold as they would ever be. The motors on the radio antennae made no sound, leaving the monstrous apparatus pointing forlornly at Earth. Months had passed since any messages had been received. The armored covers on the hundreds of portholes remained in place; the hangar bay doors, the cargo bay doors and all of the airlocks were closed tightly.
\*
Without warning, an airlock door began to open, sliding back into a hidden recess in the skin of the Nadyozhda. The door was small, and no light came from inside so that any casual observer would not have noticed the movement. Then a remote-controlled repair mechanism clambered out of the airlock, its exterior lights coming to life at the same time. The machine was large enough to accommodate up to four humans for days at a time, but against the immensity of the Nadyozhda, it was only a pinprick of light. This time, as at most times, the repair craft was empty of human presence, receiving its instructions from the great repair control computer inside the mother ship.
Slowly, inevitably the machine moved along the surface of the 'Hope', like a flea on some large bald creature. Then it stopped, its spotlights locked onto a certain section of the mother ship's hull. For about an hour, the efficient craft worked at repairing the damaged outer skin, and then slowly found its way back to the nearest airlock door. Seconds after the last appendage had withdrawn into the safety of the airlock, the door returned from the hidden niche in which it had been resting, to make the outer skin smooth again.
\*
Somewhere else in space; somewhere else in time: Objects composed of rocks, minerals and ice, and moving at tremendous speeds had collided. Fragments had broken away, spinning off into interstellar space at unimaginable velocities. Most fragments had been captured by the gravity wells of large, established heavenly bodies. Many of the giant gas planets had rings of these fragments, interlaced with free-floating ice structures, the rings being tiny miniatures of the asteroid belts that surround many stars. Most of the fragments found their fate here, trapped by gravity.
Others, by far the minority, had plummeted off into deep space, propelled only by the initial force of collision, but without deceleration. Perhaps after hundreds or thousands of years, these lonely remnants of would-be planets would be trapped by some far distant star or planet. Others would persist in their independent wandering.
As fate would have it, one of these chunks of debris from an ancient collision of planetoids, as it hurtled through the void, found that its path intersected that of something much larger, and much more capable.
The surprised computers on board the 'Hope' registered a blip on their radar screens that was quickly identified by spectral analysis as an asteroid fragment. Without hesitation, another door - much smaller than the airlock door, slid open, revealing a minute portion of the craft's survival-defense system. A blindingly bright ruby light leapt from the side of the colossal space ship, precisely into the heart of the swiftly moving rock. The shard of planetary material, a few yards in diameter, suddenly began to experience terrific heat, increasing too rapidly to radiate off into space, or even to spread evenly through the boulder. Within seconds, the heated material at the center of the rock had expanded too much for the infrastructure to hold together, and the quickly closing blip split into a thousand different ones.
Instantly, the computer calculated the trajectories of the two tiny pieces that could still puncture the hull, and bringing another laser into action, the two pebbles were soon incinerated. The Nadyozhda sped on, hoping to enter the Banard's Star System within seventy more years.
\*
That was about the extent of the action on the exterior of the mile-long vessel, coasting inexorably on toward the target, set on its course some eighty years before. Inside, there was more action, but still it was quiet. The artificial intelligence kept track of the humans who were so delicately kept alive in their cryogenic tanks. In five different bays of a hundred tanks each, the human crew lay in suspended animation. Low hums, along with an occasional click, or hiss, or thud, emanated from the delicate machinery, the expensive computer systems, and the ugly, methodical science robots that kept the equipment in good repair.
\*
Many trillions of miles behind the Nadyozhda, the Sol System was in a somewhat controlled chaos. Revolting asteroid miners had successfully blockaded the major spacelanes between the inner and outer planets. Battered nitrogen miners on Titan and other moons were desperately trying to slip past the Belt where millions of Venusian and Martian farmers struggled with low-yield harvests, due to nitrogen-poor soils. Thousands of prisoners on Phobos had carried through on insurrection threats and were holding off Solar Patrol shuttles.
Earth had been wracked with war for ten years running, and nervous generals in orbiting missile stations alternately extended and retracted threats of nuclear assault. Six overcrowded cities on Luna's surface and seventeen packed space cities in Earth or Luna orbit struggled to control organized crime, government corruption and sabotage attempts.
Smaller domed or underground cities on Ganymede, Callisto, Europa, Io, Titan, Rhea, and other outer gas giant moons struggled but survived, continuing to trade among themselves, steadily recycling oxygen, while drawing more from chemical solutions available nearby. Their advanced hydroponic farms and strict rationing laws enabled them to stay alive, while new cultures were being established, unique among the Jovian moons and very different from that of Earth.
The frozen scientific outpost of Pluto had lost communication with the rest of the Solar System when the last comet had rushed through.
\*
Time continued to pass, as it always had. Planets with their moons in tow continued to circle their respective suns, people were born and people died, and the combined information of the human race outran all abilities to contain or digest it.
Then, one million three hundred and seven thousand hours after the departure of the Nadyozhda, something new happened. When the radar systems on board noted that Banard's Star was only twelve light days away (still nine months away in travel time), the computers sent new messages to the cryogenic bays. Starting with Bay #1, the hissing and clicking increased greatly as temperatures began equalizing and probes and sensors began to detect life signs. The atmospheric pressure in the rooms began increasing toward human-normal.
The robot caretakers of the cryogenic tanks, not realizing that their duties would be coming to an end soon, went from tank to tank, slowly pulling each one from its slot in the wall, allowing the human occupants time to thaw and then awaken. Warm air from vents in the wall blew across the crew, as special liquid chemical solutions were sprayed over them, assisting in the defrosting process and making it less painful.
As predicted many years before, the women began to recover from this frozen state before the men, moving their limbs stiffly and slowly at first as the life-giving fluids of the body started flowing again. One by one their eyes began opening, blinking as rapidly as possible, trying to focus on anything. After several hours of blinking, focusing, breathing, stretching, swallowing, and anything else that seemed to help, the first woman sat up groggily from the place where she had lain for 149 years and 3 months.
Still wondering where she was, her eyes focused on the strange looking form next to her tank. "Thirsty?" it queried in a metallic voice. After she realized it must be a robot, she tried to remember what it was that the robot had said.
Again, the polite machine said, "Thirsty?" It took a few seconds for her to decipher what that series of sounds meant and even longer to formulate a reply.
Shaking her head just a little bit, she opened her mouth and said, "Yes."
With a low hum, the robot's servo-motors cut in and a mechanical arm reached toward the woman, a bottle of water clutched gently in its pincers. When the woman's fingers were wrapped firmly on the plastic, she managed, "Thank you," and the robot's arm returned to its side.
While she sipped slowly at the cool, fresh water, the robot rolled away from her tank. The woman's eyes tried to follow the machine, struggling to focus, and suddenly realized that other women all around her were struggling to sit up, and the robots were attending all of the humans. As she continued to drink, she realized with a start that all of the other women now sitting up were naked. A few seconds later it dawned on her that she too was unclothed. A very faint memory slipped into her conscious mind; all of them climbing into the cryogenic tanks, completely nude. It was necessary, the scientist had told her. Dangerous things happened when the skin froze onto clothing. Like the woman in Kiev, she thought.
Setting the water bottle down on the edge of her tank, she tried to pull herself out. It was a struggle for her to recall the movements required for such a task. Finally, she pulled herself up over the edge and set her feet down, standing groggily in the aisle between her tank and the one to her left. Holding tightly to the handhold welded on the side of her tank, she looked around Bay #1A. A glowing sign on the wall to her right said "DRESSING ROOM". After taking a deep breath, Elizabeth Novgorod stepped carefully toward the door, and suddenly memories began flooding her mind.
\*
On the other side of the wall, behind the head of Elizabeth's tank, was Bay #1B, in which the men were acting in much the same way as the women, stretching, breathing deeply, blinking and trying to orient themselves. One by one, they groped their way to their own dressing room, on the average half an hour behind the women. Whenever one of the humans passed through the dressing room door, a faithful robot made its way to the abandoned tank/bed. After quickly vacuuming the inside of any left-over moisture or dust particles, the robot closed the transparent cover, rechecked the switches and then carefully pushed each empty tank back into the slot in the wall.
In the dressing room were small lockers, each with a full name at the top, followed by a twelve-digit identification number and a somewhat faded photograph of the proper member of the human crew. Simple benches ran in front of these lockers, and all around the room. At one side of each dressing room was a shower facility with full-body air dryers.
One of the first men into the dressing room was Petr Novgorod, the chaplain of the crew. About six-foot-one and very slender, he stood in front of the locker, reading the name and number and glancing at the photograph of himself. Funny how those freeze machines screwed up your thinking, he mused. One could really embarrass oneself in front of these other people. Fortunately, he could remember from his childhood that it was the wise man who held his tongue while the fool blurted out his folly. That was from the Bible. Suddenly it snapped into place! He was a seminary student - no wait; he had graduated - and there it was! He was the Chaplain (actually one of five co-chaplains) of the 500-person crew on mankind's first interstellar voyage.
When he looked again at his name on the locker's label, and saw "Novgorod", he suddenly remembered that he was a newlywed. Where was Elizabeth? Had she survived the trip? Had she remembered him yet? On and on the unanswered questions popped into his mind, and then he smiled to himself, remembering their recent honeymoon in New Italy. No, it wasn't recent, he reminded himself; it was 150 years ago!
Shaking his head at the awe of it all, he headed for the shower. Minutes later, completely dry, he walked out of the shower cubicle, and stopped at the ID machine, on a pole in the center of the room. Pressing his thumb onto the print scanner, he said, "Petr Novgorod."
A small voice said, "Recognition complete," and the locking mechanism on his locker clicked. He then stepped over to his locker and swung the door open. This action produced a very faint cloud of dust, which the long-dormant air conditioning system soon whisked away. Another ghost-like collection of airborne particles arose as he shook out the jumpsuit and undergarments that he found inside. As he slowly put them on, with other groggy and naked men stumbling into the room all the while, he found that his clothes were somewhat loose. That reminded him that he hadn't eaten since August of AD - what was it? - 2165.
After carefully slipping his shoes on, he began looking for the other door.
\*
Freeze Bay #1 had been fully emptied and all of its previous occupants were eating in their cafeteria before Bay #2 began its "unloading" process. Each bay took up to three hours to empty, and another forty minutes or so were required for the dressing room and shower facilities to be vacated. Then, the robots went through, making sure nothing was left out of place. All in all, just under 25 hours passed before the last man of Bay #5 had entered the #5 dining area, and the last cryogenic bays were locked up.
The ship was on five time zones, each separated from the others by about five hours. This put the Nadyozhda on a 25-hour clock, and in this way, all necessary stations could be fully occupied around the clock, without anyone losing unnecessary sleep. It was now Monday, November 3, 2314 AD, and mankind's greatest mission to date was ready to commence. Within hours of waking up from the long sleep, each member of the human crew would begin to fulfill his or her duties and prepare to colonize whatever suitable planets they found.
The fantastic little robots of each bay finished their prescribed duties and made their way to the refurbishing station where both robot and human mechanics waited to rebuild and reprogram the simple machines for other duties.
The Freeze Bays would remain empty and locked until the ship's commanding counsels decided that the star system they had explored was unsuitable, and the command was given to move on to the next most-likely star. Of course, the Bays containing the livestock were still active, keeping the cows, chicken, pigs, sheep, goats, dogs, mice, earthworms, etc. intact until just before landing.
\*
The Nadyozhda, for all its technological marvels, miniaturization, and automation, could still have been designed more efficiently. There were service corridors tucked away in the walls, many of which were probably unnecessary, and definitely took up a lot of unseen space. They were traversed at regular intervals by squat automatons covered on every side with arms, tools, and other appendages, keeping the maintenance of the ship out of the sight of the humans.
There were many rooms in the ship that could have been smaller, arranged more efficiently, or eliminated altogether, but these had not been considerations of the harried engineers who designed the ship. As problems around the Solar System had escalated, the governments of the nations and planets had put somewhat unrealistic deadlines into effect, making efficiency nearly impossible. With most of the funding coming from Earth, as usual, the project had proceeded at breakneck speed. Because the human race could only afford one try, safety was the main concern. Every component of the ship had several backups, and even more possibilities were contained in the cargo bay.
For ten years, the project had continued, in orbit around the moon, with all the planetary governments working together. Nearly all the building materials came from Luna and the Asteroid Belt, while the fuel came from the outer giants, and the manpower coming from Earth. The more powerful nations on Earth, combined as the Terran Federation, cooperated with the Lunar Confederacy, Independent Mars, J.U.M. (Jovian United Moons), Titan and the other outer satellites, while Venus remained aloof, still operating as a neutral nation of Earth, only an honorary member of the Terran Federation.
For ten years, wars had subsided, business had run smoothly, and millions of people came together to put mankind's last hope into action. The mile long spaceship had taken shape there in Lunar orbit, as hundreds of spaceships and dozens of space stations clustered nearby. An entirely new city came into existence, made of thousands of home and business modules, all with corresponding airlocks.
For several reasons, the powers-that-be had decided to divide the crew into five separate, independent crews. Each crew had been chosen separately and trained separately, then assembled together at Astropolis II, the nearest established space city to the construction site. Each crew had a Captain, a chaplain, several scientists and engineers, and nearly equal compliments of many other professions. They had all taken basic courses in construction, agriculture, hydroponics, medicine, computer programming, mechanical repair, cockpit instrumentation, and even piloting. No one was taking a chance that some minor catastrophe would throw the whole project down the drain. If one person or even dozens of people died in some kind of space accident, there would be others to replace them. Every contingency had been thought of, discussed in detail, programmed into each crew member's onboard PC, and added into the main computer system of the ship. All of the crew had been given tours through holographic models of the ship, so they would be familiar with the location of each compartment. They had sampled food cooked by robots, they had used zero-G latrines, they had worn space suits on actual EVAs and moonwalks, and they had read, studied, practiced, simulated, exercised, missed sleep, and studied some more until the 500 crew members were ready to be frozen into their cryogenic tanks for a long time.
After the actual ship was complete, the crew toured it and stowed their personal gear in their private compartments. Then the five crews had made their way to their respective Freeze Bays. Crew #5 had been frozen first, after saying their very last and completely final good-byes to families and friends. One by one the crews had been frozen, over several days. The day after Crew #2 had been put to sleep, a Dr. José Riceberger III had published his now historical treatise on anti-aging treatments, along with assurances that it had been proven to work.
Many thought that the Hope's entire crew should be revived and given the still-experimental longevity medicines. No, the scientists had said, for such an action would take too much time, throwing the trip permanently off schedule. It was necessary, they said, for the expedition to pass the larger planets at just the right time in order to use their gravitational pulls for extra acceleration.
Then some had said to administer the treatment to only Crew #1. Sociologists in connection with the project said the unfairness of that would cause instability in the crew years down the line. So it was suggested that the ship's medi-labs be equipped to administer the dosage. This bickering went on and on, as the scientists watched their clocks and calendars.
Meanwhile, on Earth, Riceberger was making a fortune. He had sold the treatment to the Terran Federation, with subcontracts to several smaller governments and medical corporations for enough money to live off for many centuries, with sub-clauses allowing him the money only if the treatments worked. All over the already overcrowded planet, millions and billions of people began lining up at the doors of hospitals, new treatment centers, clinics, and anywhere it was rumored that they could be treated for their aging.
Tensions between Venus and the nations of Earth began to rise, due to the Venusians' desire to be independent. The United Moons of Jove (Jupiter), or J.U.M., and Independent Mars started getting nervous. To appease the scientists, many of whom were from Mars, the coordinators of the Hope project did not awake the already sleeping crews. To pacify the colonization specialists and sociologists, the Hope's medi-labs were hurriedly equipped for the still-unproved longevity treatment, while at the same time, Crew #1 was frozen into their cryogenic bays.
Simultaneously, computer programmers finished running their checks on the masterpiece of their generation. The Nadyozhda's master control computer (or M.C.C.) was by far not the largest computer ever assembled. Several of the largest space cities in planetary orbit had larger computers for their climate control and ecology manipulation. And it was said that Independent Mars' current chairman, Vargas Glover, depended on a computer the size of a city block to help him govern his twelve million citizens. But the Hope's M.C.C. was a marvel. Every circuit and component had been produced, crystallized, tested, connected, and activated in a complete zero-g environment, and in total vacuum where necessary. The entire ship's library was contained in the M.C.C., as well as every bit of information the scientists could imagine, from bee-keeping to bar tending to boll weevil eradication. This machine controlled every aspect of the ship's climate. So also was the repair computer, the defense and safety system, the guidance mechanisms, the power plant, the communications, the ship's clock, the history of the ship's crew, the maintenance robots, and every port or hatch or airlock.
But perhaps the most amazing thing about the M.C.C. was that someone fell in love with it. Scott Hayford was one of the assistant designers and chief programmer for the M.C.C. throughout the last decade. From the very first, he had known he was in for the long haul. He had sold his home and office complex on the 170th floor of Tokyo's Bill Gates Tower and bought housing modules from Lunar Housing, Inc. There were three modules, each over thirty feet long and fifteen feet in diameter on the inside, shaped something like a DazzleWater can. At first, he had lived in these, commuting to the construction site in his short-range Jeep. Shortly, he had paid for "Parking & Power" at the growing station next to the construction site. At that time, Hope City was a mass of tangled docking tubes, power modules, solar cells, radar antennae, and housing modules. Scott Hayford got assigned to docking tube #12, and a space tug pulled his three modules into position and the driver hooked him up.
Six days a week, Scott Hayford and his team of three other computer programmers spent at least twelve hours a day in the frame of the slowly developing starship. Before the framework was wrapped in skin, the main elements of the M.C.C. were installed, and then that section of the ship was the first to be pressurized. The team then began to live on board, to finish the assembly and begin the arduous task of programming the computer, while the rest of the ship grew around them. Every time an airlock or radio or camera or any mechanical device was added to the ship, this elite team made sure that it was connected to the M.C.C., and that there was a failure-alert circuit tied in.
Scott Hayford did not take advantage of his privileged status. While each of the others in turn took their four weeks of paid leave every year, Scott would find recreation by watching one holo per week, spending the majority of his time with the M.C.C., or as he called her, "Hope". From the beginning, the Russians had wanted the name Nadyozhda (nuhd-YOHzh-duh), or "Hope" for the ship, and no one had ever offered a strong argument to the contrary. But Scott used the name to refer to the mind, or brain, of the ship, the M.C.C.
The rest of the team couldn't be sure, but they suspected that their computer responded more favorably to him than to the rest of them. Ever since they had installed the voice circuits, they had talked to the computer of course, and as do most talking computers, it had a feminine voice. But they could almost detect a smile or wink in the voice when it talked to Scott, even if saying, "Radio test for secondary backup radio in power plant is complete."
One day, only two years before the launch, one of the other team members - Marie Clark - happened to forget her tool kit in the computer maintenance office when she stepped out to her quarters. Normally, this would not be odd, but Marie was supposed to remember everything. You see, she was to be the computer expert for the Nadyozhda, part of Crew #1. But she had not forgotten the kit on accident.
When she stepped back into the office, she saw what she had hoped to find: Scott Hayford, draped across one of the chairs there, staring at a screen that Marie couldn't see from the doorway. He was droning on, "No, Hope, it's just hard to explain the difference between good poetry and bad poetry. In fact-"
Suddenly Hope's voice cut him off, "Scott, someone has entered the room."
Marie stepped in sheepishly. "Sorry to interrupt, but I forgot my tool kit. I'll be leaving as soon as I can get it." While she was talking, she had edged around the desk, trying to catch a glimpse of what Scott was seeing on the monitor, acting as if she were looking for her kit. Then she heard Hope's voice again, sounding a little irritated.
"Marie, your tool kit is on the desk to your left."
Marie looked at Scott, who shrugged, then she decided that she could afford a slight bit of irritation herself. "All right," she said, "what goes on here? How can I wake up at Banard's Star and do my job if you always act like I'm an intruder?" She was, against her better logical judgment, addressing the computer.
Hope answered back, her very real-sounding voice saying, "I did not mean any harm, Marie, but Scott and I were discussing-"
"Hold on," Scott interjected. "Look, Hope, maybe Marie's right. You two are going to have to get along for several hundred years. If anything goes wrong, Marie's going to have to fix it, right?"
Stubbornly, Hope said, "Nothing will go wrong."
"Hope!"
"Okay, Scotty, but I want you to come with me."
Marie's mouth dropped open, and she stared. "Scott, are you two in love, or something sick like that?"
Scott grinned from ear to ear. "Yes, Marie, I think we are. Although I don't think I could marry a computer. What would the babies look like?" He chuckled.
"But, Scott, it's a machine, for Christ's sake!"
"At least I'm not a human!" Hope spat.
"Hope, I'm warning you, you can't act like this. Marie is my friend" -her eyebrows went up ever so slightly- "and if I want to talk to her I will. And she's a damn good programmer."
\*
Upon entering the dining room, the first thing Petr Novgorod did was locate his wife. There she was, already wiping her plate clean, her eyes locked on the doorway through which he came. When she recognized him, her eyes lit up, and her mouth broke open in a joyful grin. Petr began to walk faster, going around the end of the long table, as she rose and rushed to meet him. Then she was in his arms again, after 150 years of hibernation, soft and warm and exhilaratingly ALIVE. He kept saying, "You are so beautiful, my love, so beautiful," while she said, "I never thought you would awaken."
She kept one hand clasped to his while with the other picked up her plate and silverware, and took them to the kitchen, where he picked out his meal. The thought suddenly crossed his mind that they were all eating food that had been grown and processed more than a century ago. Suddenly, he wondered what was going on back home.
"Darling, when will we receive news from our home system, do you know?"
As they sat down, she said, "I think Marie Clark had gone to the control room to begin looking over the accumulated transmissions. She awoke early. I thought I was first, but when I began to eat, she came through to say 'hi' and that she had already eaten." Elizabeth turned to her husband. "Petr, do I look older to you?"
"Nyet!"
All around them, groggy husbands were being reunited with their wives, and the few single people were gathered at their own table. Most of the wives waited for their husbands to eat, but a few of them left after greeting them to begin settling in their cabins, or getting ready to assume their duties.
\*
In the initial planning stages of the colonization effort, in the 2140s, sociologists, ecologists, political scientists, and behaviorists had been assembled from the Terran Federation and the newly Independent Mars to discuss the crew size, long before a design for the vessel could be decided upon. Many ecologists and some sociologists, especially from Terra, had stipulated that several thousands would be necessary for a successful colony to be completely independent. A Martian1 political scientist mentioned that the first human outpost on Mars had only been composed of two dozen scientists and engineers. It had then been pointed out that Mars was only half an AU2 from Earth, only months away even during the days of the original settlement, and now only weeks away, while Banard's Star was hundreds of years away from help, at the very fastest. The argument went on for months.
When preliminary designs began to be submitted, a new factor was introduced. Even the largest plan available - capable of holding 10,000 humans - was a ship that could be piloted by less than a hundred people, if necessary. The smallest ship design accepted, which would hold only 200 colonists, could have a crew of under 20. So a political scientist suggested the idea of "back-up" crews, each of 500 people, to fill a ship for 2500, thus being able to operate in shifts, leave some room for possible accidents in space, and, if the opportunity arose, colonize more than one planet.
Another stood and reminded the group of the Daniel Boone II, already in operation. It regularly left Terran orbit with 2,000 or more colonists for Luna and Mars, with a crew of only 50. It would drop off hundreds at Luna and pick up valuable ores, then carry the rest of the passengers and the ores to Mars. At Mars, the D.B. II would pick up foodstuffs and mail, carrying them out to J.U.M. Its return trip would be a cargo run, carrying minerals and expensive nuclear fuels back to the inner planets.
Finally, the group's chairman submitted the final report to the colonization committee. It stated that the ideal number of humans to start a colony on a completely alien world was around 2,000, but that with enough supplies, a successful colony on a habitable planet could start from as little as one hundred and still expect to succeed. So the Committee compromised, mostly due to budget pressures. The Hope would contain 500 colonists, all willing to leave the ship in orbit and live on the planet they found. In certain situations, however, smaller settlements could be left, in increments of 100, while the rest of the crew could continue on. The various situations in which the crew would split up were detailed in a report titled "Policy on Colonization." In its final form, the "Policy on Colonization", as released by the Hope Committee was 700 pages long, summarized for print on the market in 250 pages.
This report contained the committee's answers to every conceivable situation or problem, and outlined plans of action to be taken by the colonist crew upon arrival. It was full of guidelines, rules, procedures, and instructions that should not be taken lightly. It was junk, thought Captain Cochran.
Captain James Cochran, commanding officer of Nadyozhda's Crew #1, sat in his stateroom, reading the "Policy." He touched a key on his computer, and the useless words disappeared from his screen. Turning his eyes to the ceiling, he muttered, "Who did those guys think they were, telling me how to run a star ship?"
II - The Next Chapter
Scott Hayford finally took a vacation, during his last year of work on the starship. No one could locate Marie or Scott for three weeks, not that they were needed of course; the M.C.C. was fully operational. When they returned - on two separate shuttles and supposedly from two different resorts - they seemed much friendlier toward each other.
First one and then the other of the two remaining programmers were sent back to their old positions on Mars, while four new team members were added. These four, along with Marie, were colonists, one from each crew, and began to learn the details of the M.C.C.'s operations. The six (including Scott) lived on the Nadyozhda for the last six months, in artificial gravity of Ê Terran-normal, making absolutely certain the M.C.C. could survive and operate for 500 years if necessary, all of them learning to call her Hope, and speak to her as a friend.
In the 700-page "Policy", it was noted that in case of mechanical failure, one or more of the five computer specialists would be awakened, to deal with the problem. Presumably, Marie would be the first choice, but by the time this last training was complete, any one of the five could handle most emergencies.
Sometime during that last six months, Scott Hayford sold his useless living modules to an elderly couple from Earth, and donated the money to his invalid sister on Venus. He had a dark secret...
\*
When Robert Gillespie Adams-Muñoz completed his "Anti-Gravity Device" back in 2112, he thought he had built a new type of propulsion device. He had long dreamed of wheel-less cars, floating houses, perhaps even a weapons delivery system. But, to his extreme disappointment, what he developed was merely an artificial gravity field that could be sustained only inside a network of newly developed composites - highly conductive composites. He died a famous but desolate man, leaving all his great wealth to a degenerately wealthy hard rock band out of spite for what the world - and indeed the universe - had done to him.
By 2115, an existing space city in Terran orbit had these new composites networked into its skin, and the first non-experimental artificial gravity field began its operation. By touching a button and turning a dial, the gravity-field operator could take the gravity field from zero-g to 100-g, or higher, if the power plant could take it. The gravity could pull in any direction he desired, at any strength. The entire station had to be remodeled to allow for the new gravity. The tiny space city grew tremendously during the next few years, and became Astropolis I. Soon, other existing stations began adding the field, some buying more than one, to allow for different fields at different times in different parts of the station.
Rich colonists to Mars bought the gravity generators, so they always wouldn't be bumping their heads if they stepped too hard in the light gravity. The government of Mars, a colonial setup at the time, equipped their city gym with a field, and other government buildings. Rich people on Terra used the fields to ease the tiring effect of their home planet's gravity. The Terran Federation used the generators to train their space pilots, and accustom colonists to the changes in g's in space.
But still, no means was found to use the device as a propulsion system. Unless you consider the trains that ran in tunnels which were networked with the necessary composite. These trains were expensive to build, expensive to ride in, but very, very fast. The tunnel - actually a tube, above ground for most of the trip - from New York City to Los Angeles took only forty-five minutes, which was faster than any airline. The tunnel from Chicago to Mexico City took about the same length of time.
But what Robert Gillespie Adams-Muñoz had envisioned was a field that acted upon the gravity field of a body in space, such as a planet. In his mind, a car would have its own mini-anti-gravity machine, propelling it against Earth's pull, thus traveling extremely fast. He dreamed of wingless airliners, hauling thousands of passengers at a time, sailing effortlessly across the ocean. He saw houses, each equipped with their own field, hovering high above the city, thus ridding the Earth temporarily of its population difficulties. The inhabitants of the house would zip down to the city in their a-grav car. Buildings could be supported with much less material, if a powerful field enveloped only the construction materials, causing them to be absolutely weightless. But it never happened. And so he died.
His son, a very cynical brat until his father's death, took up the work, to create the propulsion system, first working from his father's notes, then discarding them completely. When the Nadyozhda project began to take place, He was pressured to finish before the mission began, but nothing inhibits genius like deadlines.
\*
Production on the starship had not been rushed until the end, but had never had significant delays. The politicians involved knew that the financial backing could not last forever. Taxpayers would eventually decide that the project was the proverbial rat hole, where the government could pour all their money, with no responsibility. The conglomerate corporations that were funding huge sections of the construction were getting wary. And things in general were getting shaky. The Luna Confederacy had survived a minor civil war, and bought Phobos from the Martian Government to use as a prison, equipping it with an artificial gravity field of 11/2 g's and a small atmosphere.
The Hope's cargo bays were slowly filled with farming supplies (solar powered tractors, hoes, rakes shovels, vacuum-packed seeds), construction equipment, mining tools, land rovers, and an enormous amount of backup supply for the trip. Her shuttles and scouting probes were stowed in the hangar bays, after being rigorously tested and revised. The collision-protection system was tested and proven more than satisfactory. Ten colonists, two from each crew, volunteered and tested the hibernation tanks, feeling fine after a month in cryostasis. The M.C.C. reported that the ship was ready and could commence fueling one month before the scheduled launch date.
Small chemical-powered tugs pulled the immense vessel to a new Lunar orbit, far from the now permanent construction station, newly dubbed "Hope City". (The inhabitants, most of them having had a part in the building of the Nadyozhda, intended to sell surplus food to Earth in return for materials to continue building starships.) Once the first starship was fully pressurized and fueled, the Abe Lincoln and the Teddy Roosevelt shuttled the five crews over, one crew at a time.
Minutes after they were locked in their cryostasis tanks, the longevity treatment installed in the ship's medi-labs, Scott Hayford went on board one last time to initiate the launch sequence. His small space Jeep floated near one of the forward airlocks, tethered by a thin line. News vans from several holo-networks were orbiting at a safe distance, the news crews all trying to get their telephoto lenses in place, to capture the most historic event of their generation, perhaps the most monumental moment in the history of the human race. The leaders of all the human governments were making glorious speeches (some of them prerecorded) all over the Solar System, each making their part in the expensive venture seem the most worthwhile and the most prestigious. The fact was, without the intense cooperation of all these governments, it is certain that mankind would not have sent the Nadyozhda when they did.
With all this fanfare, something unexpected happened. The tether line that held Scott's Jeep to the immense starship came loose. Or maybe he just hadn't latched it properly. Whatever the case, the Jeep began to drift away from the Hope, and the Launch Coordinator began sending distress signals to Scott Hayford. These messages were never given the satisfaction of a reply. Suddenly, the Jeep's retrorockets began to fire, pushing it farther and farther from the Hope. An aide to the Launch Coordinator suggested that perhaps Scott had finished and had reentered his Jeep unseen by those observing the event. After all, the Jeep was just a flea against the behemoth-sized outlines of the majestic starship. The aide put his name on the unemployment listings the next day.
Then, right at the appointed time, the enormous banks of reactor-powered rocket motors began to fire, the heat and radiation exhaust shooting out for miles behind the Nadyozhda. The Confederate nation of Luna immediately launched two nuclear powered police ships, and the Terran Solar Patrol sent all six of theirs that were in the area, not far behind. The effort was futile. The M.C.C. piloted her ship as perfectly as planned and picked up momentum rapidly as the ship headed for interstellar space. The outposts near Jupiter and Saturn were notified, but were impotent. By the time the Hope cleared the asteroid belt and fell into Jupiter's gravity well, her speed was too great to be matched. The star ship was traveling faster than any human craft ever had. News correspondents on the Jovian satellites covered the "slingshot" maneuver as the interstellar craft plummeted almost straight into Jupiter, using the added acceleration of the fall to sling her toward Saturn. Saturn was soon passed on the opposite side, and the mission was underway.
Within weeks, Pluto's orbit was passed, and still the ship picked up speed. All communication with the M.C.C. indicated that Scott was not aboard ship and that the mission was going fine. Every hour, the gap between transmissions was longer, as the distance increased.
In the media, Scott was called a pirate, a glory-hound, and other things (it was even stipulated that he committed suicide by one network, which had followed the path of his Jeep until it crashed on the far side of Luna), but his image soon faded from their screens. Back home they still had the famines to worry about.
\*
The crews aboard the Nadyozhda, still nine months from the Banard's Star System, took their time about getting to work. Even before they were awakened by the M.C.C., all the clocks in the ship had been activated and divided into five time zones. Each time zone was four hours and 48 minutes apart from the next one. So, for example, the Captain from Crew #1 would get to his office at 08:00 by his clock. When his watch showed 12:48, the Captain from Crew #2 would get there, their shifts overlapping. Then #1 would take his lunch break. He would leave his office for the day when his watch showed 17:00. If, however, he stayed late for some reason, at 17:36, he would see the Captain from Crew #3 coming to give #2 his lunch. To inhabitants of Terra, it seems difficult, but they had already been living on this type of schedule for six months before the launch, in order to grow accustomed.
Hope had launched two of her scout probes while the crew was still in cryostasis, letting them get ahead of her, so they could send back information to chew on before the ship entered the System. The human crew had approximately nine months to prepare for their arrival in the alien solar system, the first humans ever to do so.
Each cabin's onboard PC had been sent a 28-page news synopsis from the M.C.C., compiled from her transmissions received during the trip. Upon turning on their PC for the first time, each crew member saw a flashing notice on the screen, advising them to read the bulletin when possible, and to enjoy their first day of being awake.
After their first meal, Petr pulled a piece of laminated paper from the pocket of his jumpsuit. It was hard to imagine that this paper had lain inside this jumpsuit for so long. The paper had a diagram of the ship on one side, in a very tiny scale. On the other side was a larger scale diagram of the living quarters section, just forward of the hangar bays. On this diagram was a highlighted path from the cafeteria to his cabin. He had put it in his pocket before entering cryostasis, knowing that there would be some temporary memory loss upon awakening.
When Elizabeth saw what he was looking at, she grinned and put her arm around him. "My dear, senile husband, if you can't remember how to get there, you could follow me."
Petr looked up into her eyes. They were laughing at him. Smiling wryly, he answered her, "Elizabeth, what else have we forgotten during our sleep?"
"Petr, Petr! You naughty man! Follow me to the cabin and let us remember."
Minutes later, the Novgorods were in their cabin, checking everything. There was one bed, just large enough to be termed "mini-queen size", a small desk with the PC and drawers under their bed for changes of clothes and other personal items. There was a small door between the bed and the desk that led to the small bathroom they shared with the next cabin.
After a few minutes of newlywed-type romanticism, Petr sat at the desk, and began scanning news, reading the most interesting items to his wife, who was looking through their personal possessions. This is what she heard:
"Well, we were right dear; the Venusian colonies finally declared their independence from Terra, right after we left...There was a war, for two weeks, until the Treaty of 2166. Venus and Terra join to form the Solar Federation and the Solar Patrol - I guess that's some kind of Space Police
"Wow! By 2200, Mars had a population of over 50 million, in a dozen cities and thousands of settlements. Their atmosphere must be getting better. 'Mars is financially independent.'
"Mars and Ceres form a joint republic... Ceres has a population of over 5 million, with artificial 1/2-g of course... They trade minerals for food, still buying fuel from J.U.M.
"Terra tops 13 billion in 2223, and surface wars continue. They've started populating the oceans, it seems, with both surface and underwater colonies....
"Population in Terran orbit exceeds 25 million... Wow! I wonder if our colonies will produce such great numbers....
"Mars-Ceres joins the Solar Federation in 2247, still importing more from J.U.M. than from Terra... All the other outer moons form their own nation: The "Outer Satellites Republic", or OSR, and then join the Federation with J.U.M. in 2252... J.U.M.'s population is over 10 million, and OSR has nearly 4 million..."
Elizabeth joined him and began looking over his shoulder. They read about the revolt of the asteroid miners - not including those working out of Ceres - and the Phobos insurrection, and the famine on Ganymede. The outpost of Pluto was recovered after 15 months of silence, the eight survivors were made heroes.
The last transmission received, which was now more than six years old, showed the Solar Federation encompassing all the populations of the Solar System, except that of the Phobos Confederacy and the "Fifth Planet's New Republic", which is what the asteroid mining companies now called their new nation. Venus and Mars could combine their populations to total one billion, and the orbiting stations around the four inner planets boasted another combined billion. Earth's last war had given some population relief, bringing her total down to 12 billion. Adding Phobos, the FPNR, J.U.M., and OSR (now including Pluto) claimed another half billion.
After a light supper and a short Bible study, the Novgorods re-consummated their 150-year-old marriage and then went to sleep. Even then, other Freeze Bays were continuing to thaw, on other time zones.
\*
The next morning, Petr awoke to hear a quaint beeping noise. Looking up at the screen of his PC, he saw the message alert signal. Rolling out of bed, careful not to disturb his sleeping wife, he sat down at the desk and touched the screen with a fingertip. The message appeared, reading like this:
The Captain (Crew #1) requests the presence of his executive officers in Meeting Room 2 at 1200 hours today. Please bring any pertinent information that you wish to brief the others on. Don't be late. This means YOU!
Captain Cochran
Petr stored the message for his wife - she was also a member of the executive board - and touched menu icons on the screen until he had the general "road map" for the ship. He downsized the map until it would fit on two pages, and printed. Twenty-five seconds later, the paper stopped moving, but Petr was in the shower. Within five minutes, he was showered, shaved, dressed, and stepping out the door, map in hand.
The Nadyozhda was just less than one mile in length, about 5,000 feet, with the radar in the bow, and the rocket engines at the stern. It was 750 feet deep at the largest bulge - the cargo bay - and at the same place it was almost 1,000 feet wide. From the power plant all the way to the control room, was one corridor through the exact center of the vessel, only five feet wide at the power plant, enlarging to twelve feet in width at the cargo bay, and only narrowing again at the bow. It was this passageway that Petr found, and followed all the way to the power plant.
There, he found a young engineer from Crew #5 looking over all the dials and readouts, having been awake only a few hours. The ship's computer had of course already turned the ship to allow the proper amount of deceleration as they entered the new solar system. Petr glanced around, noted the door to the Chief Engineer's Office, then headed back toward the front of the ship, leaving the muted roar of the rockets behind him. Without stopping, he noted the Recycler, where the ship's air and the humans' waste was treated, and made into useful substances.
When he got to the first Cargo Bay entrance, he entered, letting the door slide closed behind him. He found himself in one of the intersecting passageways. The Cargo Bay was really a series of Bays. Near the core or center of the ship, where he stood, there were a lot of closets, or storage rooms, for smaller items. The seeds, tiny replacement parts for all the larger machines, space suits, oxygen masks, and other things were on shelves, in cabinets, or in boxes. Petr followed the branching passageway past the storage for these smaller items, through an open airlock into the section for larger items. Here he found spare tires on racks, shovels and other tools wrapped together tightly, and fastened to the floors. Here also were the smaller vehicles, the land rovers for two people and extra battery packs for them, the jet backpacks for EVAs, and small boats. Through a large, double airlock, he found himself in one of the three large Bays. There was one on each side of the ship, and one at the bottom, each with its own set of giant doors. He was in the Port side Bay, and could see large 20-man boats, 15-man land rovers - able to operate in a complete vacuum, large crates containing dismantled mining machinery, and the solar powered tractors and other large farm equipment. There were also, he remembered, many fruit trees suspended in cryostasis, as well as many farm animals. Satisfied, he walked back toward the central passageway.
A little further down the main walkway, Petr saw the hangar bay doors. To enter the double airlock there, he was required to give his thumbprint on a screen, and say his name into the voice identity scanner. Only the members of the executive counsel and the one hangar boss from each crew had their identities recorded here, since at least one of them had to be present when the doors were unlocked. Petr stepped through the portal into the largest single room in the entire Nadyozhda.
While the cargo bays constituted the largest section of the ship, they were actually several rooms, dozens in fact. But the Hangar Bay was one single, cavernous hollow in the center of the ship, about 800 feet long, 600 feet high, and 850 feet wide. From where Petr stood, on a catwalk, he could see all of the auxiliary craft that the mother ship possessed. He knew that the Nadyozhda had several gravity field generators, the main one being for the entire ship, holding the crew at an easy 7/8 g. But here in the hangar bays, only the catwalks had that luxury. The rest of the space was held at zero-g, to keep the smaller craft from buffeting one another during the trip. Of course, they could have been carefully attached to the walls, thus requiring more heavy machinery, or each one snugly tucked into its own chamber, like the lifeboats on the Daniel Boone I, the passenger liner that ran the Terra-Mars-Venus circuit once every month. But with the advent of the artificial gravity fields, more efficient use could be made of hangar space. Now, not only were the walls, floors and ceilings of the hangar bay able to store extra craft, but every cubic yard. Slender but strong catwalks ran through the largest onboard hangar facility ever made, imitating a spider's web in their intricacy.
Everywhere that there was room, a ship was tethered to a catwalk. Nearer to the doors were the tiny automatic space probes, two of which had already been launched. Then there were the dozen or so modified Jeeps, used to inspect or repair the hull of the mother ship, or even the other auxiliary craft. Next were the small shuttles, ten of them, which resembled compact sports cars in relation to the shuttles of earlier space exploration. These had first been used to patrol the surface of Luna, and then in the exploration of the outer satellites, and the newest model as of 2165 had been included in the repertoire of the Nadyozhda. Able to be flown by only one man, they could hold up to five, and a few days' worth of provisions; they were meant for short range observation, and were very fast and comfortable. And finally, closer to where Petr walked the catwalk, were the five full-size shuttles. These could transport up to forty people at one time, or enormous amounts of cargo, with wings for an atmospheric landing, or retrorockets for a straight vacuum landing. All of these craft floated serenely in their zero-g environment, which Petr was tempted to experience by stepping over the rail. But he wanted to tour the rest of the ship before his meeting at 12:00.
He wandered back through the living quarters area, greeting a few other people in passing, most of whom he only recognized faintly. 'Well,' he thought, 'if they are from my Crew, I'll know them well enough very soon indeed.'
He looked in briefly at the cryogenic storage areas, where now only animals slept. It looked very cold and lonely to him in there, but he was grateful for the technology that had allowed him to make the 150-year voyage and still be only 32 years old.
Without deviating too much from the central walkway, he noted that his map showed the living quarters to be slightly longer than the hangar area, about 900 feet, and about the same height, but narrower. He knew though that there had to be enough room for five hundred people to avoid being claustrophobic. What if the cryostasis machines went down? And what if there were no suitable planets in Banard's Star System? There had to be enough room.
When he passed from the living area and entered the science section, he saw that his new watch said 10:45. The laboratories for planetary research were in the cargo bay, ready for insertion in the cargo sections of the larger shuttles, but any other research would take place in the mother ship's laboratories. Any information that could be gained from the search of the Banard's Star System would be entered in the M.C.C. and studied in the science labs, even if no settlement were left on any of the planets, with all of the results eventually sent back to Sol.
Not understanding most of the processes that would take place there, Petr quickly passed the lab area, and entered the bow of the ship, the narrowest, smallest section, where the central passageway narrowed again. On his left were five meeting rooms, and on his right were large storage rooms for maintenance and cleaning supplies. Above and below him, he knew, were the vast memory banks of the M.C.C., which mysteriously controlled most of the ship's functions. Next, he passed the library on his left and his own office on the right. The Captain's office was just ahead of his own, with the M.C.C. office across the hall from that, and at the very end of the passageway was the control room. Forward of the Control Room were only the radar and other sighting devices, mostly inactive at the moment, since the bow was now pointed back at Sol, the massive rocket engines slowing the ship for entry into the Banard's Star System.
He ducked into one of the library's viewing rooms, where he accessed some old books on the viewing computers, and began to read, clicking from screen to screen every thirty seconds or so, until 11:58.
\*
When Crew #1's executive counsel was seated at the table in the meeting room, Captain Cochran spoke. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the first order of business is health. Dr. Massaan, I assume that everyone is successfully awake?"
The Indian Medical Doctor smiled, his white teeth contrasting handsomely with his almost-black skin. "Yes, Captain, they are. And the longevity treatment?"
"My next sub-order of business under health, good Doctor. I guess that we are aware of the general confusion regarding that subject, just before we left. The other crews may have read about it in their synopsis of Human History, but we need to have everyone treated as soon and as fairly as possible. Doctor, are you aware of how to administer the treatment?"
Massaan smiled again, and Petr wondered if the doctor ever started a sentence with any other expression. "Yes, Captain, I followed the research very carefully, even during my practice on Terra, and in Astropolis I. Probably by the end of the week, everyone can be treated."
"Good. And the last medical issue is this. I want you to give everyone their mandatory physicals at the same time as the treatment, so we all won't have to see you twice. No one is exempt from this physical, understand. I'll just have to find time."
"On the contrary, good sir, you will be the first. I cannot allow the mission to proceed unless you visit me directly after this meeting. Our Captain must be certifiably fit for his duties."
"Uh, okay. I guess you're right. Next order of business is work. As most of you know, we're on a kind of communist system here, where everyone works, and everyone eats and gets medical attention. If anyone refuses to work, or wants to shirk their fair share of duty, or tries to consume more than their fair share of necessities, you are authorized to speak to them for me, and if they still persist, to report them to me. Although we were selected very carefully for this mission, someone may try to take advantage of the situation, and assume that we won't do anything about it. But we will, won't we?"
The others nodded their heads. "According to Policy, sir?" Petr asked.
"First of all, Pastor, call me James, like you used to. Second of all, the Policy was written 150 years ago, and 36 trillion miles away. For you scientists, that's about 387,000 AUs. Many of our policies will have to be arbitrary, or whatever works to accomplish our mission. There may be changes to the way the Policy is carried out. Of course, we will have to agree on changes. If I say something in one of our meetings, and none of you vocally disagrees, I will assume you agree.
"Now, as I was saying. Right now there's not much work to go around. But all of us can find things to do. And Guv'ner here will assign work duties to everyone, according to how he sees fit. Okay?"
No one vocally disagreed, so he went on. "Okay, the M.C.C. has sent out the two probes that the Policy called for, and within a few weeks, we'll be receiving information from them, telling us more about the system we're entering. But from here, we can detect four planets, with a possibility of two more on the other side of Banard's Star." He paused while everyone celebrated. There were cheers, and a small applause, and a 'Slava na Boka' from Petr. "Yes, friends, we've hit the jackpot. Now we've just got to pray that one or more of these babies can support our type of life.
"We're still not receiving any signals of any kind from the system, and it is not apparent that there is any kind of technological race extant here. We-"
Petr, being on the linguistics team, interrupted, "Sir, uh, James, while it is true that there may be no space-faring race there, does that mean that there will be no intelligent life of any kind?"
Cochran was about to answer when Marie cut in, "Reverend Doctor - or is it Doctor Reverend? - this star system is known to be millions of years older than our own. Don't you think that if life were to develop here, it would have done so long ago?" She appeared irritated by his question.
Before Petr could defend his question, Cochran stated, "Please, Dr. Clark, it must be considered as a possibility.
"Now, do any of you have anything you wish to brief the rest of us on?" He looked around the table, waiting.
Dr. Marie Clark, the diminutive and exquisitely beautiful computer programmer, sitting to the Captain's left, shook her light brown curls lightly, and offered, "Well, in case anyone's curious, all systems are "go" as far as the M.C.C. is concerned. Our ship's brain couldn't be in finer shape if she were human."
"Thank you, Dr. Clark." The Captain, short and wiry with dark hair cut like a wire brush, let his dark brown eyes move on to the next member of the Counsel, the very dark and always-smiling- before-he-spoke Dr. Massaan.
The highly respected and highly capable Indian doctor smiled again, as if he were sincerely smiling. "I have inspected our clinic and medi-labs, Captain - may I please call you Captain until we are more familiar? - and I find everything in order. I will have my computer send a message to every cabin, announcing each person's appointment, before the end of the day. So far, no one has suffered ill-effects from the long sleep."
"Okay, Doctor, and I'll be down as soon as this meeting is adjourned. Right?"
"Correct."
The next person was Mr. Ortega, commonly called "Guv'ner" by his friends. He had been the first elected head of the Lunar Confederacy, and had stepped down after twenty years of reelections to join this enterprise. He smiled a little polite smile, and said, "Well, the work schedules that were printed before we left will suffice, with only a few adjustments. I think we should add more time for personal exercise and education, but besides that, I think we'll be fine. Once everyone's on schedule, my job should be fairly easy until we arrive. If anyone needs me, I'll be on the 'south 40'." He grinned at his left-hand neighbor, Mr. Davidson, who spoke next.
"And it's prob'ly a good idear fer all y'all ta stop by the farm. Ya know, after we git all settled on our new planits, y'u'll need ta know how it's dun."
Marie laughed out loud. "How in Nature's Great Universe did you graduate from college with speech like that?" She grinned her prettiest cheerleader-type smile at him.
"Football scholarship, ma'am." He shrugged, his immense shoulders rippling as they moved, and grinned back at her. "But farmin' wuz always what I's good at."
This time, it was Cochran's turn to chuckle. "I'm glad to hear that you're better at farming. My report says you were the only fullback to take the Heismann Trophy in 80 years. We'll be eating well, friends."
Davidson grew red in the face, and then said as if he had almost forgotten it, "Oh, they's som'thin' straynge about mah farm."
"And that is...?"
Petr noticed Marie look a little nervous for a second, before she recomposed herself.
"Well, suh, part of it was already growed up when I first got there."
Cochran's mouth moved slowly from side to side as if he had a toothache while he thought over this new information.
Marie settled it for them. "I should have mentioned it sooner, Captain, but it didn't seem necessary. Once or twice during the trip, the M.C.C. woke me up to discuss certain things. Apparently she was lonely. So, I took the time to grow some food, so I wouldn't use up the supplies."
Several whispers and other curious sounds began, and were cut off abruptly when the Captain smiled and replied, "Yes, young lady, you should have mentioned it, but I can understand how such an intelligent machine would have such feelings. Are you sure that's all you have left unsaid?"
"Sir? I'm not sure what you mean..."
"I'll speak to you a little later, Dr. Clark." He thought to himself for a moment, then sighed. "Well, it seems as if everyone needs to say something. Dr. Novgorod, anything unusual about our power plant?" Cochran glanced grimly at Marie.
Elizabeth answered, "Not that I've noticed, James. Uh, actually, I haven't been there yet; I just woke up." She blushed beautifully.
Cochran glanced at Petr hurriedly, then back to Elizabeth. "Doctor, I certainly understand your fatigue-" he looked at Petr again "-from such a long trip, but please, first thing after the meeting, go check everything. We must keep the human element involved here. Got it?"
"Yes sir, James. I'm very sorry."
"No need to be. Pastor?"
Petr smiled at the memory that word brought upon him. Captain Cochran, all during his rise through the Terran Federation's space program, had attended the small church Petr pastored in the great space city of Armstrong. Only a struggling seminary student at the time, Petr had held together a curious congregation of all types of religions, mostly spacemen and their families, although occasionally tourists would drop in. Cochran had slipped in, usually late, every time he was docked at Armstrong.
"Well, Jim, all I have to say is that services will begin in the dining area this Sunday at 10:00 hours, and on Friday nights, I will hold informal religious forums at 20:00 hours in the hall outside our cabin, unless too many people show up.
"In my capacity as architect, we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"
"Okay," Cochran said, "See you all in a few days. Get busy, and good spacing to you all." To Marie, he said, "I'll see you in my office after lunch, Dr. Clark."
\*
Scott looked up as Marie entered his cabin, her lips pursed with frustration. "What is it, sweets?"
She sat on his bunk beside him, and put her head on his shoulder. As he put an arm around her, she said tiredly, "Scotty, the Captain knows you're on board. He says for now he won't say anything to anyone, because he hasn't decided what to do about it. Oh, Scott!"
He squeezed her shoulder gently. "Look, Marie, honey, the Captain and I are both reasonable men. We both know I'm a 'space pirate' by definition, and by the Treaty of 2075, I should be thrown out the airlock when apprehended. But we also know that on a mission like this, everyone can be of help. And besides, we have a bargaining chip; he needs Hope, doesn't he?"
Hope spoke up, "Scott, I assume you joke when you infer that I might be useful as a bargaining chip. However, I was created to carry out the mission of this ship, and I intend to do so, even if the Captain is inclined to follow the procedures ambiguously outlined in the badly written Treaty of 2075."
"But, Hope," Scott whined, "I thought we were friends?"
"Remember, human, while I greatly enjoy your company, we agreed at the outset that your decision was dangerous. And I hope you don't intend to manipulate me as you would an emotionally disturbed human female."
Marie looked up at the monitor where Hope's false image was. The almost gaudy curly locks of golden blond hair cascading over shapely bare shoulders were offset by a pair of crystal blue eyes set in prominent but softened cheekbones and sharpened by very dark eye shadowing. Marie wasn't sure where Scott and Hope had come up with the image, but she was sure it wasn't a respectable source. But it had a very convincing effect when Hope manipulated the screen to show movement, and it looked just as if they were using a vid-fone back home. The image was only a head and shoulders shot, but it gave the impression that the rest of the figure was nude. Marie wondered what Scott saw on the screen when she wasn't there.
"Scott, Hope is right about her mission, and you're right about the Captain. I know he's a reasonable man, and I'm sure he'll find a way to utilize your talents... Maybe he'll let you help us set up the computer system for the colony or something."
Hope's features on the screen took on a hurt expression. "But you'll always come back to me, right, Scotty?"
Marie, very smug about the way she had just tricked Hope, said, "Now who's the emotionally disturbed female?"
III Another Chapter
Those sociologists and political scientists who had argued for the colonists to number in the many thousands had been blinded by a detrimental practice found in their own Terran and Martian societies: specialization. In most human societies, if a man is a plumber, that was all he knew. The same applied for engineers, doctors, cooks, soldiers, holovision broadcasters, mechanics, computer programmers, etc. The key to keeping the crews so small on the Nadyozhda was generalization. Almost everyone knew more than one field very well, and they were aware of the basics in all fields. And on board ship, they all rotated through many jobs. Examples: Harley Davidson, chief hydroponicist of Crew #1 was also the athletic director, in charge of formulating exercise routines for the crew, to restore fitness after the 150-year sleep. Petr Novgorod, chaplain of Crew #1, was also an accomplished general architect, sharing the responsibilities of designing and directing construction of the colony when the time arose. But they both shared kitchen and cleaning duties with the rest of their crew.
Almost every member of the crew was "chief" or "head" of something and employed the help of other "chiefs" and "heads" to accomplish his task. But only seven from each crew had actual "offices" outside their living quarters. These were the Executive Counsel members, holding the responsibility with the Captain for the smooth running of the ship.
\*
Day 3 (November 5, 2314 AD): (Petr)
I rolled out of my bed groggily, gently removing Elizabeth's arm and placing it softly under the sheet beside her. Grunting, I stood up and switched off the alarm, stretching mightily at the same time. I touched my toes a few times, then picked up my dumbbells. As I began doing my curls, I tried to remember which books I had sacrificed in my personal weight allowance to bring the weights. Oh well, all those books are on file, and I need to be fit for the rigors of colonial life. I hurried through the rest of my fifteen-minute routine and stepped into the shower.
Five minutes later, smelling clean and having shaved, I returned to our cabin and pulled on my jumpsuit. Leaning over my wife, I whispered into her ear, "Kraseevy, wake up." Her eyes - those beautiful eyes, even in the morning! - opened halfway, and I gently shook her. "They'll be needing you in a little while, dear.... I've got to go."
After sliding on my non-slip boots, I left the cabin, quietly closing the door behind me. Soon my steps had taken me to the dining room and into the kitchen. There I saw what I assumed was the largest man on the ship.
"Dobryeh Utrah, comrade. My name is Petr." I held out my right hand, my left pulling an apron from the rack.
The huge, dark-haired man in front of me grasped my hand gently, and replied, "Forrest Harmon, glad ta know ya. What d'ya do?"
"Chaplain, architect, cook, farmer, et cetera. And you?"
Forrest smiled. "Now that's good question. I was 2nd alternate for some other guy who turned chickin' at the last minute; that 'u'd be centuries ago by now. The first alternate was deathly ill, so I came. So far, I farm, and help Mr. Davidson with athletics, cook, and move heavy things. But when we get on the ground, I'll be chief mineralogist.
"Well, let's get cookin'."
Soon, we had the microwave ovens going full steam, thawing items from deep freeze while the grill warmed up. I turned on the drink dispensers, and Forrest began to brew some real coffee, just as the Captain walked in. The noise startled me when a heavy fan kicked on above my head, apparently taking the excess heat away to heat the running water and the farm.
"Good waking, Pastor," Cochran said. - I had learned long ago that in space, you couldn't really say "Good Morning" anymore, since morning was only a phenomenon observed on a planet, when the star appears to rise above the horizon. Several different replacements had been tried, but "Good Waking" had stuck among the Terran Space Corps. - "And to you too, Forrest."
"Yes, sir, Cap'n. It'll be about two 'n' a half minutes for breakfast." Forrest was drawing the Captain a mug of coffee while saying this, and then handed it to him. "What can we get ya?"
The Captain sipped carefully out of the steaming mug. "Whew! Uh, make it Eggs - three, please, and toast, bacon and milk."
I said, "At your service, Cap - I mean James," trying to get involved in the work too. It appeared to me that the Captain and Forrest got along better than they should have, for a starship captain and 2nd alternate mineralogist, but I didn't think too long about it; others were starting to arrive.
They came one by one or two by two through our line, fueling their bodies for the day's work. Another man and a woman joined Forrest and I behind the counters, helping to serve, and keep food coming. In slower moments, I glimpsed a view of the excess grease draining off the grill, where I knew it went into a powerful filtering system, to be used again. The chunks that were filtered out were transported to the recycling plant in engineering, separated into their component elements for use all throughout the ship. The same applied to the dishwater. All the dishes were cleaned to be used again, and even the sweepings from the dining room floor were taken to the "Recycler".
When the cooking was finished, I tossed my apron and gloves into the laundry chute, washed my hands and headed forward, to open the Chaplain's office, or relieve the #5 Chaplain, if he had gone to work. Forrest followed me, probably heading for the farm to meet Mr. Davidson, leaving the other two to clean the kitchen.
Just after I entered the passageway, Forrest caught up to me, and drawled, "Say, Rev'ren', what's yer creed?"
I stopped and looked at him. Many people do not inquire of another's religion, especially out in space. I have heard of many quarrels starting this way, which ended in someone taking an exit through the airlock without remembering to wear a spacesuit. But by his accent - a little sloppy, but somewhat European - I judged that he was either fresh up from Earth, or a Venusian colonial, and a lot of them are really free about what everyone believes. So I decided to answer.
"Technically, I'm New Revised Interplanetary Calvinist Pentecostal. Personally, I try to interpret the Christian Scriptures to the best of my ability, and help people get right with the God of those Scriptures... if they choose to believe in Him. You?"
"Huh? Oh, I guess ya c'd say I'm a Heinz 57 - a mix, that is. But you read a Good Book. I'm sure I'll see you again, either here or there, or on the ground."
"Thanks, Forrest. I'll be looking forward to it."
He took the branch in the passageway that led to the office of Mr. Davidson, just as I assumed, while I followed the same route I had taken the day before, straight through the heart of the ship, all the way to my office.
On the door, the label read: Office of the Chaplain. Underneath it had my name and degrees in somewhat smaller letters, then the names of the other four chaplains, in tiny script. I decided to have that changed, if I could. I can not stand for anyone to have any reason to gossip about me, or to make me look bad, and besides that, I'm no closer to God than those other ministers. I just happened to get the luck of the draw. In parentheses, behind each minister's name, it gave the name of the organization that held his or her credentials. I noticed Reorganized Martian Muslim Churches For Christ, which gave me a start. I had apparently not kept up with the expanding and constantly changing religious world of which I had been a part. I did remember something about one of our crews having a Muslim minister, because of an unusually high number of Islamic families, but I did not remember this strange mixture of Christian and Muslim faiths.
I let that thought slide, and glanced at the other creeds: Whitfieldian Mathematical Christian Scientist-Adventist, Southern Baptist of Venus (now that was original!), Assemblies of God-World Pentecostal Fellowship, and The Martian Orthodox Jewish Assembly. What a concoction! I thought, I hope we never have to explain how all of this stuff is true, yet completely separatist and contradictory!
With a thumb-and voice-print, I was allowed into my office, or actually into the small anteroom before the office. I had forgotten about this, but suddenly remembered my last-minute suggestion to provide a place for people to wait or pray or read while waiting for someone else to exit the actual office. I noted the shelves, holding the only real, bound books outside of the cabins. Glancing over them, I was pleasantly surprised to find some of the titles that I had sacrificed in favor of my dumbbells, but also many other books, and a twelve volume set that outlined the statements of faith and basic structure of every known religion in 2164 AD. Goodness! I wonder how many creeds exist in 2314? Maybe this volumed set's new edition has expanded to three hundred volumes.
When I reached the door to the main office, I noticed the status lights on the frame. There were three words that could be lit, in combinations or individually, either by a manual control inside, or automatically, by the M.C.C. The "Chaplain In" was glowing softly, but the "In Prayer" and "With Someone" were dark. With my thumbprint again, I was allowed to come in, and I heard the speaker inside announce in a soft feminine voice, "Rabbi Joseph, The Reverend Petr Novgorod is here."
The Jewish minister from Mars looked up from a large book that was open on the desk. "Well, Reverend, I have heard so much about you." His voice was weak and sounded tired, but his eyes looked healthy to me, and his hair was not completely gray. His beard, trimmed short for the cryostasis, was also gray, and he looked very much like an authentic Jew, although I have always doubted how many actual descendants of Jacob really had kept the blood pure. "Come in, sit down. No, no, have your seat. I've got to get some lunch, my watch shows 12:50. Of course, no one's been here yet, seeking counsel, but I know they will, when we get closer. This will be very traumatic for all of us, don't you think?"
He seemed to struggle slightly when he first arose, and my first thought was because of his age. Then I remembered where he was from. "Gravity giving you a problem?"
Smiling, he answered, "Yes, son, even after that last six months at three-quarters. But I shall grow accustomed to it over time." As an afterthought, he added, "I hope we find a light gravity planet here in the Banard's Star System."
Then I remembered his question. "Yes, Teacher, this whole mission will surely be very traumatic for all of us. This will be the human race's first contact outside our solar system. But enjoy your lunch, sir, and don't hurry back, remember, I'm already on my third day."
"Of course, Petr - may I call you Petr?" - I nodded - "but I have many things to look over today. And then tomorrow, I must receive my longevity treatment. I'll be back."
When Rabbi Joseph returned, he took the corner desk in the inner office, in deference to my position, and reopened his thick book. I had not had a chance to notice the title, so I kept my curiosity to myself. I spent the day thinking of Elizabeth and my sermon for Sunday, and jotting a few notes concerning Friday night's open dialogue.
I spent my lunch hour with my wife, and directly afterward went to Dr. Massaan's clinic to undergo my rejuvenation treatment. I awoke at almost 16:00, feeling slightly dizzy, but still able to resume my duties. After receiving a bottle of medicine to help the dizziness, I returned to my office, to speak with the minister from the Reorganized Martian Muslim Churches for Christ.
When the minister from Crew #2 had showed up at 12:30 (my time), the first thing I noticed was the fact that she was a she. That accounted for the "Reorganized" part of her Church's title. But I had left quickly, and then returned at about 16:15. When I walked in to the anteroom, I noticed all three lights were lit on the inner office doorframe, so I waited for a while, spending the time looking up the RMMCFC in the encyclopedia of religions. Just about the time I found it, the door opened and a man walked out about the same time as two of the indicator lights stopped glowing. So I went in.
Reverend Kristie Jurabi was a tall but very slim woman, obviously born on Mars, or at least she had lived there since she was very young. And she was very dark, probably of Arabic ancestry. "Good afternoon, Number One Chaplain," she said. She was already in the process of standing, to move to the corner desk.
"And good morning to you, number two. Someone having spiritual problems already." I sat down at the main desk, casting a questioning look in her direction.
"You could say, maybe, sir. But more likely a psychological problem. The man came to tell he is fearing the open spaces of the planet that we choose. Lived he has in space stations and vessels all the life."
I was finding it difficult to follow her English, since I myself still think in Russian from time to time, translating all that I say and hear. It was obvious that she was doing the same, from one of the Arab languages, or possibly the Martian lingo of 2165, which was a mix of Russian, Arab, Chinese, English German, and (some claimed) actual ancient Martian languages. But when I understood what she had said, I realized that I would have the same problem. I had never, as far as I could remember, set foot on the surface of a planet. I had been to Luna several times, and once to Mars, but both visits kept me safe inside pressurized chambers. And I had lived most of my life in Armstrong, one of the first actual Space Cities.
"I think I understand the man's problem," I commented. "I will probably encounter the same feelings when I first step outside of the shuttle. I have never breathed air that was not contained and maintained by mechanical devices."
"Then maybe you will come to pray with me?" She smiled quickly, then let it disappear.
"Maybe." I thought for a second, then plunged on in. "Reverend Jurabi, what is the significance of the title that your church holds?"
She did not smile this time, but her eyes did. "Thought I you would ask. People times of many can not reason the mysteries of our religion at glance first." She seemed to have learned her English from a cross-lingual dictionary, rather than a teacher or class or exposure. "But will I explain try it to you?"
"Uh, yes, please."
"Reorganized means now that female people can ministers become. Martian means we that are from Mars. Muslim applies to moral code and customs ours, it known being that of us many Islamic children were. Churches means 'group of people meeting to indulge in religious practices,' plural form implies more than one. For Christ means that intellectually and spiritually - if there is a difference - we have been persuaded to believe in the atoning death, empowering resurrection, and delivering Second Coming of Christ. You will now ask about Muslim moral codes and customs ours. We believe the Prophet - Mohammed, that is - had of a purpose in mind to purge the existing Church of his time of Sin, to make it pure more. So, as it must be all over known, his moral code was stricter much by far more than that of most what you and me call Christian Churches. We follow his code."
My mind reeled. Outwardly, I nodded, which was merely a token promise that I eventually planned to understand what she was saying. I let her get back to her work, while I rewrote the outline for Sunday's sermon and scribbled another question for Friday night's open forum.
\*
Day 3 (Nov. 5, 2314): (Harley)
I sat down in my office, just in time to hear a man larger than me entering the farm area. I knew it had to be Forrest Harmon, since no one else on the ship was heavier than me - as far as I knew. I looked at my desk, wishing there were papers and forms to rustle through. How can you call this an office when it's so clean?
Forrest leaned into the doorway, a questioning look on his face, apparently awaiting my instruction. Then I realized that he was probably wondering how both of us could fit in the cubbyhole that was called an office. "Let's talk outside," I said, as I stood.
Now, I make most men look thin when I stand beside them, even though I'm short. It seems all of the early cosmonauts had been small, wiry fellows, and even the majority of the early colonists were a light bunch, because of fuel considerations and maybe health concerns. It was only early in my generation that heavier people had spaced - except for those very wealthy people, or members of NAAFA, the National Association for the Advancement of Fat Americans. Yet next to Forrest Harmon, I felt like a ballet dancer.
I offered, "Breakfest wus good. Ya cook much?"
When he shrugged, it seemed to me that the ship's course was slightly altered. Maybe the man's a miniature planet in disguise.
"Not really, Mr. Davidson. Just McDonald's as a kid. What'd'we doin' today, Boss?"
"Well, the number five shift will still be here a while. Why don'ch ya take a gander and see what we got. Don' ferget yer O2 mask."
"Sher thang, Boss."
I went back to my office, thinking hard, while Forrest walked through my pride and joy, the farm of the Hope. There were endless aisles of tanks, where sprouts were beginning to grow. To most people those sprouts all look alike, but I can tell them apart, by their leaves, their root structures, even the stems have different configurations. As Forrest walked down each aisle, I recited in my head all the plants we had. Asparagus, artichoke, blackberries, blueberries, beets, broccoli, cabbage, corn, cauliflower, cucumbers, carrots, cherries, apples... Basically, every kind of fruit or vegetable or grain imaginable, all the way up to watermelon, yam, and zucchini. On the tanks, there were tiny plastic cards posted, detailing the chemical solutions best suited to the growth of that plant. I noticed Forrest reading some of them carefully, ignoring others completely. He looked up at the CO2 vents and the controls that regulated the flow to different sections of the farm.
Every pressurized section of the ship was connected by vents to the farm, where we had a miniature 'cycler under the floor. Every person's exhalations contained valuable Carbon Dioxide, and other non-breathable compounds. Certain ones, especially CO2, were separated out and sent into the farm for plant consumption. The plants in turn produced oxygen for human consumption, along with valuable sugars, starches and proteins necessary for the crew's survival.
After a few minutes, I bored of watching my new trainee, and thought about him instead. Now here was a man at least six foot six, and probably weighing in at around 275, on a space ship, assigned to the farm, when he obviously didn't know too much about it. Yet he seemed to have great powers of observation, for I saw how his eyes moved slowly and confidently from item to item. And he obviously could read chemical solutions, or there would've been a very confused look on his face when he read those little plastic cards. And from his accent, I'd say he was from the East Coast (of North America, that is), or possibly Venus. And it sounded a little like an accent that I'd heard in an old movie once.
Out of curiosity, I decided to pull up his file. There wasn't really a need, since as long as he could do the work, I didn't care where he came from. Yet, something bothered me about his manner. So I flipped on the PC at my desk, selected the main menu icon and clicked, general info - click, personnel - click, files - click, and "by name" click. Then I typed in "Forrest Harmon" and hit 'return'. All the computer said was "No File for 'Forrest Harmon'." So I tried it last name first, and with only one "R", and then several different spellings. Each time: "No File...."
Reaching to the wall beside me, I tapped the intercom switch, and tapped in the code for the Captain's office. "Chief Hydroponicist. Is the Cap'n in?"
A rumbling baritone answered, "This is Captain #5. Captain Cochran is in the control room. Is this an emergency?"
"Not really." I could feel the lines on my face deepening, as if a year's crop had been destroyed by a drought. "Will ya be there fer a few minits? I need ta come up."
"Come up if you feel it necessary. Are you sure this can't be discussed over the phone?"
I'm goin' ta smash his Goddamned skull when ah git up there! I touched the "end call" button, and stood up. I strode angrily into the hall, wishing that I could slam the door shut behind me, but it slid quietly shut as it always would. I opened the door into the farm after taking a deep breath and shouted to Forrest, "Don' fergit ta milk the cows!" I hoped he would realize it was a joke - all the animals were still in cryostasis. Then I headed for the Captain's office.
When I got there, I stepped in through the open door, only to see a very familiar face, but before I could even think about who it was, Cochran spun on me. I hadn't even noticed he was there until his barrage hit me.
"Now what is so fucking important that you can't discuss it with Wilson here?" He jerked a thumb at the familiar face I had seen and continued. "Look here, Davidson! I realize you've got an important position here in this ship. Now YOU must realize that you're supposed to be able to handle these little things that come up. I-"
"Cap'n, I-"
"Shut up, Davidson, and tell me what your problem is."
I can say that when that little man started to swear at me, with his veins all puffed out and his face getting red, my first thought wasn't What a poor, overworked man. My first thought was about how I could beat the crap out of him. And I'm sure I could crush him in a split second. Then I realized who "Wilson" was.
"Okay, Cap'n. I - Well, hello, Robert!" I had suddenly recognized the quarterback from my freshman year. "Well, sirs, I planned on discussin' it with Wilson here, but I couldn' say nothin' over the tube." I hesitated a little. "It could be somethin' ya don' wan' gettin' out."
Cochran was looking a little more subdued now, like the stuck pig who just realized he was really stuck in the barbed wire fence and decided to stop screaming. "Go ahead, Davidson."
Wilson, my old friend whom I didn't have time to have a reunion with just then, saw Cochran heading for the chair, stood quickly, and headed around the desk to one of the two chairs. I took the other one. As I sat down, I looked back at the open door, wondering whether or not anyone outside could hear me.
"For crying out loud," Cochran muttered, and touched a button on his desk. The soundproof door slid into place, leaving the three of us in seclusion. I felt a little more secure.
"Sorry, Cap'n, it's jest - well.... Are you aware that they's a feller on board our boat who's got no file?"
Cochran's eyebrows shot up and a very worried expression clouded his face. That was the expression I was hoping I would cause with this piece of news. Wilson looked back and forth between the Captain and me.
"That's the goddamn truth, Cap'n. I got a Mr. Forrest Harmon in my farm who's got no file in our computer."
Then Cochran made an expression I did not expect at all. His eyebrows went back to their normal positions, and he laughed. "Oh, well, I thought you meant.... well, never mind." He suddenly grew serious again. "And so what's the problem, Mr. Davidson? Is Mr. Harmon causing you any trouble?"
"Well, no sir, uh, he seems to be a mighty fine feller, but I thought that all of our shipmates was in that there Em-See-See, and that each chief was ta be permitted to check 'em out, if need be."
"Well, you see, Mr. Davidson, I believe that this Mister, uh, Harmon was substituted at the last minute for one of our single men who became sick just before launch. As I understood, deathly ill. If his file was not uploaded, we'll just have to deal with the situation. Why don't you ask your new friend about the information you need to satisfy your curiosity. If his answers are not satisfactory, you can send him to see me, immediately. Understood?"
Actually, I felt as if I'd been brushed off, but apparently it was a successful brush-off, because I answered, "Of course, Cap'n. Sorry I bothered you."
"Forgotten."
I got up to leave, and the door slid open. Suddenly Robert Wilson jumped to his feet and held my arm. "Just a sec, Harley! Captain Cochran, if you will excuse me, sir. There wouldn't have been a problem with uploading. As you know, all the files for all alternate selections were already in the M.C.C."
Cochran inhaled sharply, and pushed the door control button again. It slid shut, and I turned around, to face the two Captains. Cochran breathed once, deeply and slowly, then said in a quiet voice, "If I say that this problem is not a serious problem, then it becomes a minor problem, therefore one to which my attention need not be called. Am I clear, gentlemen?"
Robert and I answered together, "As a bell, sir!"
IV - Yet Another Chapter
(Petr)
For those who think that the Chaplain of a starship crew doesn't have much to do, I have a few words. Not only were there many people who were very emotionally disturbed about the whole idea, and many people with religious problems, which took up much of my time as we drew closer to Banard's Star System, I had many other jobs. I cooked, cleaned, sorted supplies in the cargo hold, exercised, loaded scouting shuttles, farmed, and even prayed for someone's personal computer.
And for those who believe the history books when they tell of our busy weeks just before arriving in orbit around BS-3, I have a few words. Those weeks were no busier than any of the other weeks. The schedule that was set for us by the Committee For Colonization regulated our lives steadily through the hand of Manuel Ortega. Our "Governor" handed out duty lists predictably every morning; usually they were on our desks or PC screens in the mornings. I don't know how he did it, but he kept us in a fair state of organization, and no one went without work.
Except for Scott Hayford. Yes, we found out about him. Two weeks after we woke up, in mid-November, Captain Cochran told us about our stowaway in one of our normal meetings. Apparently, he had known about it the whole time, and just wasn't sure how to break it to us that we had 501 colonists aboard, instead of 500. We had been a little surprised.
Mr. Davidson interjected, "Cap'n, if yer sayin' that somebody jest went an' stole our ship, ah don' think ah understand correct."
"Look, Davidson, there's no way he could have stolen the ship. The M.C.C., whom he calls 'Hope', is completely aware of her mission, and has no choice but to carry it out. But Mister Hayford had made friends with her while the programming was going on, and she begged him to come along."
Dr. Massaan asked, after smiling whitely, "Am I correct in assuming that this Mister Hayford has lived on our ship for one hundred and fifty years, while we all slept?"
"Yes, Doctor, that is what happened. He was given the longevity treatment by Hope, although occasionally, he slept."
Massaan spoke again, "Do you mean he was in cryostasis? There were only five hundred tanks." He had not smiled before saying this, so I knew that he did not always smile before talking.
"Look, Doctor - everyone, a lot of things happened while we were in cryostasis. Marie here" - she had been sitting quietly this whole time, having known in advance that Cochran was about to release this information - "married Scott just before we left, after she was made aware that he was to stowaway. Just after our departure from the Sol System, he underwent the longevity treatment, and then got to work having Hope build him another 'sleep tank.' She did so, from materials within our cargo bays, so he could extend his life span for years to come. While he was awake, he occasionally woke Marie, to keep him company, and they used our hydroponics department so they would not use too many of our supplies. Only limited parts of the ship were pressurized during this time, and everything possible was recycled.
"According to the now extinct 'Terran Space Code', Scott Hayford could be tried as a pirate, a thief - not only for the ship, but for the supplies he used while living here - and for treason."
At this, I noticed Marie perk up. "Treason, Captain? I think not."
Sternly, he raised his hand and she quieted. "Yes, Marie, Treason. We were sent to establish a new and completely independent planetary government, and his presence here makes that difficult. But as I was saying, he could be tried for these crimes. What I propose is this: Since he and Marie and Hope recycled everything they could, and since they outfitted our scouting probes with the new a-grav drive, and even saved the seeds from the plants they grew, Scott should be abdicated of these charges, and made a temporary member of our crew.
"Wait until I'm finished! Upon reaching a habitable planet, Scott will be sent away from our colony into exile, as soon as we can afford to give him a few weeks worth of supplies and a small land rover. Marie will be given the choice of joining him or divorcing him and staying with us."
They had argued and argued while I kept my mouth shut. Finally Captain Cochran had persuaded everyone to accept his plan, and they announced his presence to the rest of the crew. That was a mistake. For days, we could not get anything accomplished because many people were constantly crowding the forward passageways, trying to get in touch with Cochran, to express their opinions. He had not given them a chance, since he stayed shut up in his office until they went away.
Forrest Harmon's prime talent had been revealed during that time: crowd control. The Captain had authorized him to use "whatever force necessary" to clear the passageways and restore order. He had recruited help.
I heard the buzzer go off at the cabin door and instantly awoke from a sound sleep. The clock on the PC screen showed that it was 01:27. I stretched mightily, not even disturbing my soundly sleeping wife. I climbed out of the bunk, and pushed the button to unlock the door; it slid open.
Filling the doorway was my breakfast companion, Forrest Harmon. "What can I do for you," I queried, sleepily.
"Well, I need to know, Petr, do you have any military experience?"
"Huh?" His question startled me. It is not something I'm normally asked as a minister, unless a soldier is trying to help me understand his or her particular circumstance. "Well, yes. Why do you ask?"
He looked down for a second, then his eyes met mine. Cold, dark brown eyes. "I need your help. Mister Davidson told me to shove off, as he doesn't like me for some reason. Yours was the next door on the hall, and you've always seemed very athletic; quick reactions, strong for your size, cool-headed. There are people all up in the forward hall, blocking the Captain's office. He said he would've called me sooner, but he thought they would go away. Now some people from the other crews are up there complaining."
"About what?"
"Huh? Oh, surely you know. Scott Hayford."
I was flabbergasted. I thought the Captain's decision had been right, and that everyone would simply accept it. Now it seemed we were headed for mutiny. Quickly, Forrest explained to me that some people were upset about their rations being eaten, their supplies being used, and their unique status being betrayed by an outsider who had not been selected for this mission. And when the critical mass of complainers had been reached, an uproar had resulted. No one was sure what anyone was saying, but they were all saying it loudly, and profanely.
"And Mr. Davidson told you that he would not come?"
"That's right, Rev'rend."
Seconds later, with my jumpsuit on, I was buzzing at Mr. Davidson's door. Perhaps a Chaplain should not behave in this way, but I really was not thinking about it.
When he opened the door, I let him have it. "For the love of God, Mr. Davidson! Our Captain is being attacked on all sides for making the best possible decision under the circumstances, and you want your beauty rest? You should be ashamed of yourself! Here I am, a man of God, with a mission to save men's souls, and I'm going to do my duty to the ship. How can you have respect for yourself, lounging in the bunk like that..."
After a few minutes, he came with us, looking a little sheepish.
Cochran made an announcement over the P.A. telling everyone that Forrest was his representative in this matter and that he was behind Forrest's activities. This did not help much, but Forrest's loud voice did. When he finally got their attention, he bellowed, "Now listen to me, everyone! If you have a complaint, file it in the proper file on your PC, and it will be read. For now, you must stand by the Captain's decision. Now clear this hall!"
One man, about my height, but thicker, faced Forrest. "Wait a minute, mister. If you think I'm gonna listen to you just because you're bigger than me-"
He quickly became quiet, mostly because the edge of Forrest's hand had connected with the side of his neck. As the man went limp, Davidson and I stepped forward and caught him, lowering him easily to the deck.
"All right! Anyone else got a complaint?" One woman started to speak, thought better of it, and walked past us, toward the living quarters. The others followed, one by one. Mr. Davidson and I waited until they were all gone, and turned to Forrest.
He said, "Hang on a minute, boys," and stepped to the Captain's office door. It slid open, and Cochran came out.
"Well, boss, can we go back to sleep now?"
Cochran looked at us, then turned back to Forrest. "I thought I said to get Mr. Davidson here. Where did the Pastor come from?"
Forrest and I started to speak at the same time, but Davidson overrode us. "Cap'n, let me explain. Ah was bein' a tad lazy, so Forrest had ta git the rev'ren' here ta he'p 'im. But rev'ren' here says ta stop by mah door, an' wake me up. Well, through a little sermonette, he convinced me o' mah duty. Mah apologies, sir."
"Hmmm," Cochran said, then looked at the man on the floor. "What happened here?"
This time I got to answer. "James, the man was behaving in a mutinous fashion. Mister Harmon was forced by the circumstances to defend himself and reestablish order in the ship. Should we take him to the clinic?"
Forrest said quietly, "He'll be all right. Just pop him into his cabin, and leave a couple of painkillers on his desk. Tell his wife not to worry. Just have her keep him from doing anything crazy."
"Where's 'is cabin?" Davidson wanted to know.
"Crew number two, cabin 217, last name of Gallagher," Forrest answered quickly.
I looked up sharply at him, but kept my mouth closed. This incident helped me to see what I had suspected days earlier. When I had noticed how well they knew each other that day at breakfast, and when Davidson had come to me a few days later, telling me that Harmon had no file, I had been suspicious. What this man knew about mineralogy, I do not know, but he was definitely part of a bigger picture. The only way to know by looking at a man what his cabin number is, is to know him. I assumed at that point that Forrest Harmon had studied every file on the ship and knew all about all of us. Well, it made me feel a little more safe.
Davidson apparently did not suspect anything by this quick answer, although he might think about it later. He hefted Gallagher onto his shoulder and walked aft toward the cabin areas.
I turned to the Captain. "James, sir, I understand my commitment to my faith and my position here in the ship, and the respect my position holds. However, that in no way conflicts with my ultimate duty to my Captain. Sir, if you are ever in danger, or if the ship is ever in danger, please to do not fail to consider me. I have more skills than just 'throwin' tahgedder a good surmun.'"
He grinned. "I know, Pastor, but of course you can see what a mob we had here, and I wanted the biggest, strongest friends I could muster."
"Of course, Captain, yet surely you can see the advantage of having the Chaplain publicly and visibly on your side?"
He nodded, and turned to Forrest. "You made a good choice." Turning back to me, he added, "Petr, I understand that you had some military experience?"
I blushed, which I do not do very often. "Well, that's what I told Forrest here. Actually, I was just a member of the Armstrong militia for two years, which paid my way through the seminary on board the station. No actual battle or conflict experience."
"Hmm," he said again. "If I remember correctly, Armstrong teaches their militia recruits judo, and zero-g aikido. Is that correct?"
"Yes, sir, it is. Of course, it also came with the training about the sacredness of such knowledge, and the proper environment for its use. I've never had to use it outside the gym except for once, when some poor lug tried to mug me in Section 8, about six years before we launched."
"What happened to him?" Forrest asked.
"Eh? Oh, the mugger? Well, I'm not sure. I was never too aware of the Armstrong hospital system's ability to reattach a person's limbs."
It soon became known around the ship that Forrest Harmon was the Captain's "Sergeant-at-Arms" or Bodyguard, or Chief of Police, or something. Some people resented the fact that they were forced to obey this "brute", but most acquiesced. But no one liked Scott Hayford. It was hard for me to understand, because the few times I met him, he seemed like a soft-spoken, intelligent, and very capable man. I guess it is true that your sins will find you out.
Then, he refused to work. Governor Ortega had sent a work schedule through the M.C.C. to Scott's cabin - not on the blueprints - but Scott wouldn't show up for work. He usually ate in his cabin, as he had during the long trip, only occasionally making an appearance in the dining rooms. Mr. Davidson reported that he had never shown up for work at the farm, nor for exercises. Mr. Gallagher, who happened to be a shuttle pilot, was also in charge of the cargo bay areas and never saw Scott there, either, where he was supposed to help with inventory. Even Marie stated that he wasn't really helping the mission when he talked to Hope, either. She had come to Cochran's office one day, and complained, saying now that Scott's presence was common knowledge, he had become depressed, angry, bitter, and a lot of other emotions common to people who are rejected by every single human within six-light years.
So, the Captain called me, and I showed up at his office, noticing that Forrest and Mr. Davidson were already there. The inner door slid open, and the three of us went in. The Captain was standing behind his desk, and just behind him, the small-arms locker was standing open.
Before any of us could say anything, Cochran spoke, "Gentlemen, if you don't agree with what I'm about to say, please wait until I'm finished, then return to your cabin. We've got a situation here that is similar to many I've faced before. One man, who refuses to obey orders, who refuses to pull his fair share of duty, but still wants the privileges of being on the crew. Well, it won't happen, not under my command. Is that clear?"
We nodded in unison, "Yes, sir."
"Okay. I had decided to let Scott work with us for the remainder of our flight, and then as soon as possible, send him away from our colony into exile. Well, now he doesn't even want to experience the best part of his deal. So I'm going to settle this once and for all. Let's go."
None of us went back to our cabins. He stood up and turned to the small-arms locker, and held up a Nelson Stun gun. "Mr. Davidson, do you know how to use one of these?"
"Yessir!"
Cochran handed the weapon and its holster to the ex-fullback, who quickly strapped it on. Cochran looked at me next, so I said, "If my hands and feet are not adequate, then I have no place here."
He agreed with a nod, and turned back to the locker. This time he pulled out a Rolstein needle gun - not one of the tiny, 10-round models that wealthy females carry in large cities, either; this was the secret service version, with at least fifty rounds in the magazine. It would have been a heavy handgun for me, but in Forrest's hand, it looked quite normal, even a little small. He swung the safe's door closed, and turned the dial at the bottom.
Without a word, he walked past us, and turned left in the passageway, heading aft. Forrest stayed on his heels, while Davidson and I kept up the rear. We turned in to one of the meeting rooms, and the Captain stepped back while Forrest removed one of the access panels from the wall. Then he stepped back and allowed the Captain to enter the corridor first. There were many different ways to get to any part of the ship, we had learned, after Scott's presence was revealed. The service corridors ran throughout the ship, between cabins, under the dining room, over the cryostasis tanks, even in the hull of the ship surrounding the hangar bays. It was somewhere in this maze that Hope had allowed Scott and her robots to construct a cabin, without damaging anything. I wondered what numskull had designed a spacecraft with that much extra space, but I had not dwelt on the thought very long.
Arriving at Scott's door, the Captain pushed the buzzer. The door slid open, and Scott launched himself from the cabin, taking the Captain with him. Before the knife in his hand reached Cochran's skin, Scott's entire body went limp, and Cochran caught the knife by the handle as it fell. Forrest and Mr. Davidson returned their weapons to their holsters, and helped the Captain to his feet. I had not even moved, it was over so quickly.
A few minutes later, Forrest stepped back into the ship, closing the inner airlock door behind him. When he got his helmet off, the Captain said, "Well?"
Forrest continued to pull the rest of the pressure suit off, as he spoke. "Well.... It's done. I don't think you'll have any more problems, Captain. Not from the crew anyway."
Fortunately, Hope - the computer - knew exactly what was going on, and agreed that Scott had been getting a little psychotic lately, so she continued her functions as outlined in the Policy.
Anyway, as I was saying, no one went without work. Exercise, eating, working, sleeping, preaching, praying, reading, copulating... everything continued in a steady rhythm as the months passed. All couples had been told before the launching to use every possible form of contraception, because if Banard's Star System contained no habitable planets, there would be no hibernation tanks in which to put newborn babies, for the next jump.
Then we found out that the next jump would not have to take nearly as long as our first one had been. My darling wife discovered this. She had been poking around in the power plant, where she worked, and peering through the shielded glass at some of the reactor components, when she noticed something strange. She had been about to don a rad-suit when the chief engineer from Crew #2 had come in and reminded her of her status as Crew #1. Janie Fowler had stood by the Policy, which said that any of the crews were expendable to a greater extent than the first crew.
So, minutes later, Janie was in the rad-suit, sneaking around the inner workings of the power plant. That evening, my wife had told me all about it. Janie had found modifications in the reactor that conserved our fuel greatly. The much more energy efficient reactor had used only 30% of our power source for the trip, when it should have used just over 50%. So Elizabeth looked up the news file from Terra - the whole file, not the synopsis we had read on our first night awake - and found some very interesting things which she had relayed to us at the next executive counsel meeting.
Elizabeth ran a hand through her almost black hair before beginning. "Due to modifications made to the power plant, reactor, and recycler while en route, we now have 70% of our original power, rather than the 50% predicted." Some eyebrows went up. "And with information received from transmissions from Terra, we are experimenting with new technologies.
"For example, a mass converter operating on the E=MC2 principle was built on Mars just over a decade ago, and we may be able to convert our ship's power plant, once we arrive in orbit around a planet here in the Banard's Star System. Also, gravity technologies have changed tremendously. When we left, the only applications of Dr. Adams-Muñoz' work was artificial gravity fields, like the one we use here on the Nadyozhda. In 2280, the good Doctor's son, then 180 years old - due to the success of the longevity treatments - finally created the anti-gravity propulsion system, known as 'a-grav' back home. He is now one of the richest men ever, at a decrepit 214 years. These a-grav motors can use the gravity of any body in space to work against, but the bigger and closer the better. Our two probes that Hope launched while we slept and are now sending us all this information-" she held up the pamphlet that Marie had passed out earlier "-about the Banard's Star System are now equipped with a-grav propulsion systems, powered by solar panels. All of our other probes, shuttles, and missiles are still being modified. And by the time we are ready to leave this system, we may not have to use rocket engines at all."
She paused for breath, and to let this soak in, then continued, "One more thing, Captain. Remember 'Hope City', in lunar orbit? According to the news we received, the workers there have launched three other colonial ships in the last 150 years, heading in other directions. They've also expanded their farming modules and are continuing to sell billions of bushels of food to Luna, Terra, J.U.M., and OSR. Anyway, the ship after ours, the Mayflower, was powered much like ours is, but was much larger, holding just over two thousand people. It was headed toward Tau Ceti, leaving in 2209, with an ETA in 2345.
"The third ship launched from Hope City - in 2260 - was modified much the way our ship is now, allowing it to carry less fuel per mass, allowing more room for colonists. Called Hercules, it is the same size as our ship, holding 1,000 people, with an ETA in 2510.
"The fourth one had rockets only as a backup, being powered by a mass converter and using a-grav for propulsion. The Exodus launched in 2302, using the gravity fields of Sol, Jupiter, and Saturn to 'push' against, heading for a star 19 light years from Sol, and planning to arrive in 2340. Gentlemen, that makes her average speed half of the speed of light, or 93 million miles per second, the fastest ship ever. And the kicker: the Exodus carries 10,000 people."
Cochran's eyes widened, as he spoke. "That means she'll get there before ships two and three reach their destinations, even though they were launched decades earlier! Wow! So what you're saying is this: if we choose to move on from this system after exploring it, instead of another 175 years of sleep, we'll get there in, what, fifteen years?"
"About eighteen, to be exact, Captain. That is, if they don't invent something else in the meantime."
Davidson butted in, "Ah'm glad ah'm way out here with all y'all Rip Van Winkles than back there in that System. Jest think of all the new probl'ms they must've invented along with the technol'gy."
Marie grimaced at his murderous use of the King's English and then said, "Captain, Hope can do these new modifications herself, but it would be much faster with the help of a human crew, besides the fact that the engineers will need to know the setup in case of an emergency."
"Yes."
As soon as the two automated probes got close enough to Banard's Star, whose gravity they were reacting with to fly in closer, they began sending back information. As soon as we woke up, the Captain had told us that there were at least four planets in the system, maybe two or three more. A few weeks later, we knew there were six in all. Marie had Hope print us all pamphlets that described as much as we knew about the system, with more specific reports for certain people who needed them.
The outer planet, BS-6, was larger than Terra, but colder than Pluto. It would be no use to us, except for possibly a place to orbit an unmanned radar station, to be the last defense for the system.
The next one, for now called BS-5 since we would save naming the planets until later, was a gas giant about the size of Uranus, but with no ring. A dozen or so tiny moons whirled about it, in irregular orbits, none of them on the elliptical plane of the system. Perhaps one or two of its moons could be colonized, or at least have a manned station, to conduct mining of fuels from the Jovian-type atmosphere of the planet.
BS-4 was currently on the other side of her orbit, too far to be specific about anything, but we could tell she was another gas giant, with several moons, about the size of Neptune.
Then there was an asteroid belt, much larger than the belt surrounding Sol, sometime called the Fifth Planet. There were at least two dozen planetoids in this belt the size of Ceres, meaning that this group of rocks might actually have enough mass to form a "Fourth Planet", which the asteroid belt of our home system did not.
We were too far out then to tell, but BS-3 and BS-2 appeared to have climates somewhere in the Venus to Mars range, and were both in that size range as well. BS-2 was also on the far side of Banard's Star, so we would swing through the outer planets, still decelerating, and enter a tight parking orbit around BS-3, to engage in further exploration.
During the nine months of deceleration, which we couldn't feel because of the a-grav field inside the ship, we became a fully functional space crew, not just a bunch of passenger-colonists, like those in the Daniel Boone II, who just went along for the ride, until they got to their destination. We scrubbed and polished the interior of the Nadyozhda, we grew food, we had Church, we discussed possible government setups for the colony, depending on how many of our crews we dispatched on each planet. There was never a dull moment, at least for me; if my life ever started becoming dull, my precious wife helped me to find entertainment.
By the time we passed the orbit of BS-6, Mr. Davidson and his helpers had produced the first tobacco crop, and everyone who used to smoke, took it up again, and even a few others who said it helped them feel less homesick. Jonathan Gallagher, who turned out to be an good man after all, rigged a still in one sector of the cargo bay area, with the Captain's permission of course, and began producing alcohol. Then Hope said she could do it easier, and soon, many types of liquor were available to those who wanted it, and soon, each dining room became a pub after hours, in each time zone. Limits were set as to how much could be consumed by each person, and Forrest saw that it was enforced.
Of course, Elizabeth and I abstained from such behavior, not necessarily because we thought it immoral, but because certain activities can soon destroy all respect for a minister, no matter what society thinks is moral for everyone else. And a minister needs the respect of his parishioners if he is to properly influence them toward God.
At first, we had had a kind of socialist setup on the Nadyozhda, with each person getting their fair share of medical attention, food, and services, as long as they worked their assigned hours, and did not disrupt the schedule. Of course, like most space ships, it was also a military-type organization, with the Captain at the head, and everyone expected to obey his orders, if he chose to give them. Yet, in a way, it was a democracy, since each person had a voice, with which to offer suggestions or complain as the case may be. So we were a Monarchical Democracy, with a socialist economy. But that soon changed. Almost all of us had lived our entire lives in some kind of free-enterprise economies, with varying degrees of laissez-faire incorporated into them.
So we invented money. This project gave Governor Ortega many headaches, and he delegated these headaches to his assistants on the project. First, the Captain had to be persuaded, which was not too difficult, because he had been used to paying for everything with cash all his life. Then the debates had to go on and on about what would cost how much; should we use dollars, rubles, pounds, crowns, credits, francs, marks, or some new kind of cash; what services, if any, would be free; and many other uncertainties. Finally, a system was worked out.
We would use "credits" as our monetary unit - not the Solar Credits used by Armstrong and other space habitats, but our own "Galactic Credit." Hope printed out what we would need to get going, and a pay scale was set up. Level one on the scale was for those crew members who just had one position, and would only serve as general labor in any other job. Level two was for the rest of the crew, who held two or more positions. Level three was for the Executive Counsel of each crew, and Level four was for the four "backup" Captains. Level Five was the highest on our primitive pay scale, and was for Captain Cochran alone, the best paid man on the ship.
Payday was every Saturday, and the money was handed out at the meeting rooms in the bow, by each crew's Political Officer, who also became Paymaster. Within two weeks after this all started, every one of the Paymasters had "hired" Assistant Paymasters, to get a little extra money each week, just for sitting in a chair and handing out money.
All food had a cost after that, whether you bought it at the dining room - which we came to call the 'restaurant' - or had it delivered to your room or office at other times. Delivery cost extra, because it took up the time of the little robots, or kitchen workers. Alcohol and cigarettes cost, and the only places to buy them were the restaurants, and after dinner. Unless you bought the tobacco straight from the farm, or the alcohol straight from the distillery, which was considered legal. Laundry was free, repairs done by robots were free, and the library was free.
Repairs done by humans were paid to the M.C.C., which in turn paid the salaries of the repairmen. Monies collected at the restaurant from food sales were funneled to the farm, from where they were sent to the cargo bay, for seeds, or to the power plant for more CO2, which in turn went to the M.C.C., to pay the salaries of the engineers, cargo bay workers, and farmers. Money from the sale of cigarettes went to the cigarette factory, who in turn paid the M.C.C. for paper and the farm for tobacco. And so on.
At least at first, Hope was the ship's Paymaster General, since she supplied the cash for the payroll, and collected most of it back before the week was over. Elizabeth and I saved a little here and there, since we didn't buy alcohol or cigarettes, but there wasn't much else to use it for, except extra food, or a new jumpsuit every now and then.
But it was decided that we would continue this same basis for economy when we got on the ground, so maybe our money would come in handy, a few months from now. Soon, Manuel Ortega was appointed Paymaster General, by Hope, and was moved from pay Level three to a new level, invented by Hope, Level 3.5. He opened the "First Interplanetary Bank of Banard's Star", and began loaning money at good interest rates, for those who drank too much, or smoked too much. He also let some of us open savings accounts at somewhat lower interest rates, with the warning that interest could not be paid until one year after we grounded on our new home. For two months after that, only the Chaplain's and their spouses could afford to save money. Then several Captains began saving some too.
For weeks after our new system started, prices fluctuated widely, while the proprietors tried to figure out how much they could charge for certain things, and still get their money. It did not take long, however, for the "economy" aboard ship to settle down, and for most people to realize how ridiculous the whole thing was. We were the crew of the ship, therefore, we were entitled to food, repairs, et cetera; why should we have to pay for such things? But no one really complained except those on the lowest pay grade who also drank and smoked.
Then I began to pull in a little extra money from chess matches. When the Captain from Crew #5, Wilson, found out that I played chess, he started meeting me a couple of times a week, to play. I think that maybe he is a better player than I, but he is unable to focus his mental energies on the game. Others eventually found out, and the oldest game in existence began to be my source of extra income. Every time I played, my opponent and I would each lay five Galactic Credits on the table, and the winner would collect the ten credits. Since I rarely lost, and usually only to Cochran, my extra money began to pile up.
The engineers of the Nadyozhda spent a lot of time studying the new a-grav technology, trying to understand it. Only one made the jump in reason necessary to grasp the concept, according to my wife, and that was Janie Fowler, from Crew #2. Even so, the other engineers did not find it necessary to understand the technology, as long as they could reproduce it - in much the same way, a preacher did not need to understand the Bible to preach a moving sermon.
So they began to reproduce the technology, fitting our ten remaining unmanned probes with the equipment used to manipulate gravity fields for propulsion. Then they moved on to the five full-sized shuttles. And finally, just before arriving in orbit around BS-3, they began to work on the ten small shuttles. The space jeeps were not fitted with the a-grav motors, since they were only for use around the hull of the mother ship, and had no significant gravity field to act upon. Of course, if we had been in orbit around a planet, the motors could act on the gravity of that planet, and move in relation to the Nadyozhda, when they needed to repair it, but the piloting skills necessary for such a flight would be a long time in developing. All of this addition to these craft was done by using materials from our cargo bay, units that had been spare parts for the artificial fields of the ship, which with slight modification became a-grav motors.
I preached, and read, and prayed, and talked, and listened, and worked at the various odd jobs that Ortega assigned to me. Every Sunday, I held a morning service at 10:00 in our dining room, in the grand traditional Christian fashion. Usually I led the singing, since there were not too many people on board who had been schooled in the great hymns of the Christian Church, some dating back to the 19th Century. Usually, I had the lyrics projected behind me on a screen, so those in attendance would have some basis for singing along. For two weeks, we sang a cappella, until I found that Hope had over 600,000 published songs in memory. All she had was what would amount to sheet music, but with the help of Marie Clark and some altered voice circuits, Hope learned to play music. After two more weeks, she (Hope, the computer) suggested to me that the music would sound better if she were allowed to sing the other vocal parts. Marie insisted that she had not instigated Hope's interest in music, but she added that Hope was much more intelligent than most humans, at least in her capacity. She just needed people to love her and talk to her, so she could "grow up." I had refrained from laughing in Marie's face.
After three or four grand hymns, with beautiful music and wonderful three and four-part harmonies, Cochran would stand to give some announcements about the ship's schedule for the next week, or discuss briefly any problems that were present among the crew. Then I would return and preach a short sermon. I will admit that I am inclined to short sermons. Perhaps it stems from my childhood back in the Dohr Habitat, when I was forced to attend the Assemblies of God Church in our tube, and the preachers who visited there, as well as the pastor, all seemed to believe that the longer a sermon was, the greater your chance of getting into Heaven. I remember being disgusted by their ignorance of the Scriptures, or their inability to stick to a central theme - I guess I'm a purist of some sort. Anyway, after I had defected to Armstrong, and went through the militia training there, I began to feel my Christian roots again, and attended the seminary on the "college bonus" from the militia. Even though this seminary was not Assemblies of God (it was "Independent Calvinistic Baptist"), there was still the tendency toward long, rambling, meandering sermons that did little or nothing for my spirit.
When the time first came for me to mount the pulpit in the seminary chapel, it was already well known that I was intending to get my credentials through the new and still-struggling New Revised Interplanetary Calvinist Pentecostal denomination, so everyone was wary enough as it was. Then when my sermon was only seventeen minutes long, I was almost expelled. The meeting I had with the board of directors did not discourage me though. They tried to explain how a sermon that short could not contain enough "meat" for the congregation. There was not enough time to fully expound the scriptures. Church would be over before lunch.
When allowed to speak, I explained that my sermon was only a copy. I told them how I had taken the most responded-to sermon from the year before, both transcript and recording, and doctored it. From seventy-one minutes, I had pulled everything that related to the scriptures and to the central theme, and copied it. They had not recognized the sermon, because it was organized, powerful, void of vague reminisces about past revivals, empty of cute but meaningless jokes about organized religion in general (but of course not about the Ind. Calv. Bapt. Church), clean of references to holovision shows or computer news services. When they grudgingly allowed me to show recordings of both sermons, my point was made, or so I thought.
The recording of last year's sermon was by a dignified but extremely aged professor. All throughout there been smatterings of applause, very unusual at that seminary. Then, during the recording of my sermon, it was breath taking to watch the other students gasp with delight, or intensely scribble down pertinent notes from what I had said. Toward the end, when entire rows of students and professors alike were jumping and shouting with tears streaming down their faces, the board member in charge of playing the recordings shut it off with a grimace. "That ain't the kind of religion I'm int'r'st'd in. Hype! Crowd Manipulation! It looked like a circus to me," he had growled.
But a few of the others, who still had tears in their eyes from watching, reminded the angry one about his past as a revival preacher, and how that God's presence needed to be felt again in the school - indeed in the whole city of Armstrong. After that I have never preached longer than twenty-five minutes.
Anyway, with the crowd that I had on the Nadyozhda, I could not go on for too long since they were not "religious people". So I took basic themes from the Bible, illustrated if possible with a crisp retelling of a First Testament story, and grounded solidly in a few other passages, to be sure to explain the subject, then applied the moral to a current life situation. Other times, I addressed popular misconceptions about the Church, the Bible, God, etc. For instance, many non-Church-goers use this excuse not to attend: "Why should I go to Church when the Christians can't even figure out what they believe? There's hundreds of different denominations, who all think they're right, and the rest are going to hell!"
This is not true. There are of course, some groups who insist that only the small number of people in their membership will be saved, but for the most part, Christians are accepting of their brethren from other Churches. And many of these churches maintain their distance from one another, not over doctrinal differences, but over how to run the Church, or other secular matters.
Still, I had plenty to go over, throughout those nine months of deceleration, and my crowd grew from three the first day to 118 the Sunday before we arrived. The Captains of Crews #2 and #5 had reluctantly given a small number of their people permission to adjust their Sunday schedules so they could attend our service.
What else can I tell of our descent into the gravity well of Banard's Star? We saw pictures of the two outer planets we passed, and a rough map of the asteroid belt. We worked, and slept and ate.
And I should not record what happened between Marie and I, in order to protect her reputation. No sin was committed. No harm; no foul.
V - The Arrival
For a century and a half the hundred-odd viewports around the ship had been solidly covered with metal plates that fitted flush into the hull, keeping the windows safe from incoming rocks. Instruments and computers had done all the sightings; not even the Captain had opened the covers on the control room's windows. But once we were in orbit around BS-3, Cochran announced that it was safe. Hope had scanned the surrounding skies during three consecutive orbits, and reported that any meteors headed our way would be taken care of. And so, at 12:00 hours on a Sunday in August, Time Zone #1, the covers opened.
Every room that bordered the hull of the ship had a viewport, including the forward offices. The designers had arranged the living areas so that most of the cabins were adjacent to the hull, for optimum viewing, with the clinics, dining areas, and other rooms taking up the inner spaces. The cabins on the port and starboard sides each had a port above the bunk. The cabins on the top and bottom of the ship had viewports on the ceilings and floors, respectively. The five Captain's suites had two ports each. Only the cabins further inside the ship - on the middle decks - had no port holes, but there were not too many of these - mostly single cabins.
Hope had put us into a tight parking orbit around BS-3 - necessary because of our great speed entering the system - then bumped us out a little further with her retrorockets, to give us a six hour orbit. Then, she fired short, exact blasts from certain steering rockets, giving the ship a slight rotation about her central axis, causing the ship to roll over every two hours, allowing every viewport a chance to face every part of the planet's surface every few hours.
Suddenly, just after Church, every speaker in the parts of the ship where people were awake blared into life: "This is your Captain speaking. For all of you in a compartment with a viewport, you will notice that the covers are slowly moving back from the windows. The rest of you should know that we arrived in orbit around The Third Planet from Banard's Star just over two hours ago. We are now in a six hour orbit, and the ship is rotating every two hours." There were surprised looks on several faces around the dining room where I was. The Captain continued, "The reason you did not feel the rotation start is that the ship's artificial gravity field has remained steady, making void all motions from outside.
"So now I would like to announce that everyone on the ship has been granted a twenty-four hour vacation, to enjoy the view and relax before our landing effort begins. If you wish, I would advise you to go to your cabins unless your cabin has no view ports. In that case..."
People were already leaving the dining room while the Captain's voice continued to list compartments that had viewports besides cabins. I was watching the people dissipate when Elizabeth grabbed my hand, and yanked me away from the podium where I had been standing. Through her hand I could sense her excitement, without even seeing her face. I let my wife drag me through the passageways until we collapsed onto our bunk, breathing heavily.
Sure enough, the port cover was nearly out of sight, and I held my breath. Elizabeth gasped and squeezed my hand more tightly, if that were possible. We pressed our cheeks together so we could both see at the same time. I felt her excitement course through my body by osmosis, and I knew that adrenaline rush would be normal for all of us for the next several weeks, even months. Our new home!
For my entire life I had watched Terra - the planetoid of my ancestors - from viewports in the Dohr habitat, and later from Armstrong, admiring the colorful beauty, but always afraid to visit because of the violence, pollution, disease and the crowds that packed Terra so fully.
This was different. This was wonderful. For those first beautiful moments while we watched BS-3 for the first time, I felt no fear. A completely alien world floated before our eyes: blue oceans, white clouds, green plains and forests, majestic snow-capped mountain ranges - a world void of man. Of course we expected new diseases, untold dangers and unforeseeable difficulties, but - OUR MISSION HAD SUCCEEDED!
"It's beautiful!"
I was startled out of my reverie by Elizabeth's emphatic whisper. "Yes, my darling wife, it is. It is the frontier we have been so diligently seeking for all our lives."
I looked into her eyes as she turned to me. The blue-green I saw there reminded me of the oceans of our new world, and suddenly she blurred in front of me as tears dimmed my eyes. She leaned into my arms and I held her tightly. As I smelled the sweet fragrance of her hair and felt the softness of her cheek on my shoulder, I was suddenly more euphoric than ever that I had never given in to Marie's advances.
Elizabeth raised her head off my shoulder and brushed her lips against my cheek on the way to my lips. As we kissed, it all came back to me. She pulled me down on the bunk, closing her eyes, and I began to unzip her jumpsuit.
Within hours, Hope had produced a map of the new planet. There were four small continents and uncountable islands, with most of the planet being covered by water. Two of the continents were relatively flat, and sat gracefully on the poles. The other two formed distinctly alien shapes in between, covered by mountains, jungles, lakes, and even desert belts near the equator.
While Hope's first two probes continued their exploration of the solar system, two more descended into the atmosphere of BS-3 for a closer exploration. First, they just hovered arbitrarily over the surface, sending back hundreds of photographs. Then, during our second day in orbit, the probes took many temperature readings, atmosphere samples, soil samples, mineral samples, water samples; located the magnetic poles; measured the gravity at many different surface points; and performed other various scientific observations that could be done by an automatic unmanned probe properly equipped with a-grav motors.
As all this went on, and with our one day vacation finished, the crew stepped up to the mighty task of preparing for manned exploration. Elizabeth, with the help of the other engineers and mechanics and several of Hope's robots, worked to equip our small shuttles with the new a-grav technology. Mr. Davidson and his crew began stocking the shuttlecraft with foodstuffs. Others made sure that the craft were fueled (in case of a-grav failure, the chemical rockets would be needed, and frankly, we were not really ready to trust the new propulsion systems, since none of us had ever used them.) Still others stocked the landing craft with p/r suits (pressure/radiation), scientific measuring and recording devices, and the other various tools necessary for exploration.
Those of us not directly involved with the preparation of the landing effort worked mainly in the kitchens and the farm, and tried to stay out of the way of those going to and from the hangars. The medical staff from Crew #5 was kept busy doing last-minute physicals on their select landing crew.
I was stuck in the kitchen, which was fine, since I was becoming quite a chef. Forrest was with me, and a few different people who switched on and off the shift as they were needed in the hangar from time to time. We made sure that all of the workers had food available all day, whenever they could break free. The other kitchens did the same, overlapping with us to cover the rest of the hours in our day.
Time after time, I pushed carts down the passages, laden with hot food, cold food, snacks, drinks, cigarettes, to the hangar bay and back, but did have some free time to chat with those in the kitchen and dining room. That is how I finally found the time and opportunity to confront Forrest.
We were sitting by ourselves at a small table near the kitchen door, waiting for the next food rush or call from the hangar. I was idly munching on some toast and drinking from a glass of simulated milk, while Forrest gulped down about sixteen scrambled eggs - also simulated, toast, sausage, bacon, waffles, and four glasses of orange juice - freshly squeezed.
When we were both done eating, and still sitting there sipping our drinks, I decided I should at least ask. "Forrest-" he looked up sharply "-I simply must ask. You were not always a mineralogist, were you?"
With solemn eyes he gazed back at me, and I noticed his huge bulk tensing, then relaxing again. "Rev'ren', I think I see what you're driving at." He glanced around the empty room, then looked back at me. "I trust you, as I think everyone does, so I'll tell you. I need to get it off my chest.
"I'm on this ship because the Cap'n owed me a favor. He pulled more strings than his position allows, getting me here. Now I'm in his debt."
"What do you mean, debt? For what, if I may ask, did he owe you?"
"Well, here's the story. As you may know, when the first space city was populated back in 2041, the mob went with it. In fact, what you may not know, is that the mob paid for a lot of it. And that first city, Boyd, is still run by organized crime syndicates, in the biggest cooperation they've ever had. Well, I come into the story in 2129, when I was born in New York City."
My eyes widened. I couldn't imagine someone as polite and friendly as Forrest being born in the cesspool that used to be North America's greatest city. Ever since the United Nations moved their headquarters to Buenos Aires in 2022, and the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center were completely destroyed a few years later, the city had degenerated into a war zone between organized crime groups and smaller street gangs, to the point where many decent industries and businesses had left. And when the Stock Market had moved from Wall Street to Dallas, the "Big Apple" was no more.
Forrest saw my surprised expression and smiled. "Yes, I was born there. Because of my size, I was inducted into my first teenage gang at the age of ten. By the time I was eighteen, I ran the most powerful posse in the city. No, I wasn't the leader, I was the head sniper. I refused leadership because I wanted to be where the action was. But Jayson, the leader, let me in on all the big decisions.
"Anyway, we were about to decimate the second largest gang in our district, when Hugo Marxa, head of the Marxa clan contacted Jayson and me. It turned out that he was the supplier for the other gang, and wasn't going to let us wipe them out. He paid us big bucks to leave them alone. Then the family that supplied our chemicals found out about the deal, and decided to cut us off. So we took them on. Fifty-two teenagers against one of the largest families the mob has ever known. We lost, but we crippled their operations, and Hugo Marxa took us in as a second subsidy, even though only eighteen of us were left.
"Within two years, I had moved up to the Marxa clan and they moved me to Boyd to protect me from retaliation by our former suppliers. It didn't work. So I went undercover, moving from station to habitat to city, doing dirty work for Marxa until I met Cochran on Armstrong. The next day I got the message that he was my next hit. Why? Well, surely you remember the 'pirate' vessel his cruiser captured in 2150? It was a Marxa cargo ship. Yeah, so I was supposed to wax him. But I had already made friends with him, and respected him. When I got the word that he was my next mark, I refused, and resigned from the Marxa Clan, automatically signing up to be the next hit. But I was beginning to rethink my life's work, and I broke down and told the Cap'n everything. He believed me, and thanked me.
"Then I realized that the hit was still out on Cochran. He was stuck on Armstrong for two months at the time, between flights, so I protected him. By the time he finally shipped out, I had taken out four snipers that were after me, and six that were gunning for him. I managed to let Marxa be convinced that I was dead, and so he gave up on me. But I had to do something to fight against my troubled conscience, so I kept ahead of the mob, not just Marxa, but the others too. Every time I found out who the mark was, I took out the hit man. And especially, I watched out for Cochran. Whenever he came to port, I tried to be at that port first, to shadow him, and keep him safe. By 2160, I had taken out over three hundred expert hit men, and all the mobs were figuring out who I was and that I was still alive and kickin'."
Cochran managed to let me stowaway in one of his ships, and snuck me to Luna City, where I was stuck into cryostasis, at his expense. He never told me what he was going to do with me when he let me wake up, or even if he was going to wake me up. The next thing I knew I was being hustled onto the Hope, and taking a crash hypno course in mineralogy. The day after I woke up for the second time, nine months ago, Cochran took me to his office, and explained what I was doing here. By the way, I wouldn't be telling you this if he hadn't said you were the only other person that he really trusted on the ship."
I didn't get a chance to respond, since the door slid open about that time, and large numbers of hungry workers began pouring in. The communicator beeped at the same time, informing us of the need for food in the hangar. We jumped up and humped through the rush.
After two weeks of testing, exploration and observation, all done by Crew #5, with only minimal help from the other crews, Cochran and the other Captains had agreed to begin the permanent colony, and named the planet "Bliss". So the large shuttles had begun their trips, bringing down the mining equipment, the rovers, the boats, communication equipment, etc.
Our manifesto (Policy), written by the Committee for Colonization had set up guidelines for the entire colonization effort, including how many crews were to be left on each planet. And here was a "Catch-22". Supposing that the most likely planet in the Banard's Star System had not been ideal, the Policy recommended we leave only one crew and go on, since they did not want to risk all five crews on a dangerous or non-supportive planet. The problem was that for worse conditions, a greater number of colonists would greatly increase the chances of the colony's survival. Conversely, if the planet were perfect, as was Bliss, we were supposed to send everyone down, since the Committee was willing to place everyone on the same planet if there was a high chance of success. Again, the problem is that if the planet were so nice, it wouldn't take as many people to colonize it.
Bliss was perfect, by all our preliminary tests, with a gravity of 0.81-g, and an atmosphere much like Terra's had been before the Industrial Revolution. There was a very low salt content in the oceans, a tropical climate over much of the surface, and plenty of native plants that produced edible food, even in their wild forms. Even the animals we had found so far were edible, and many were probably tamable. So, by the Policy, the entire crew should be set down, even though one crew could easily survive. But by a vote of all five executive counsels, we decided that only Crews 3, 4, and 5 should be let down, while #1 and #2 went on to BS-2, and then on to our secondary system, if BS-2 was not satisfactory. Of course the two crews that were moving on would still have a chance to see the planet's surface.
So the three "lower" crews had all joined in, helping to set up barracks at first, in which to live, while the permanent building programs got underway. For the time being, the political officer of Crew #3 was the planetary head of government, until a vote could be had. And after seven weeks in orbit (late in September of 2315), those of us from the other crews began to visit the surface in rotation.
My skin crawled as I felt the alien atmosphere breeze in around me. The airlock door slid back into the hull of the shuttle, exposing the beautiful landscape before me. Vertigo began to creep up on me as I stared out at the surface of Bliss. The grass and other foliage were green, just as in the pictures I had seen of Terra, and the sky was a soft baby blue. But it was so BIG! The ground stretched away in all directions, seemingly forever, until it hit the sea, and that is when I passed out.
We had sent all the gathered information on a tight laser communication beam back to where Terra would be in six years, addressed to Hope City, since the Committee no longer existed. Our latest news flash from Terra had told of widespread financial panics, famines that had tripled in strength, and a "small nuclear war" in Asia. The 143-year old Solar Federation had crumbled, leaving Terra to fend for herself. Only the Dohr habitat had sided with Terra, since her owners still lived on the mother planet. Most other space cities and habitats had either become independent or joined with other planetary nations. Confederate Luna continued to remain aloof, being the only government that had never joined the Solar Federation. Hope City became one of the richest independent nations, because of their sales of foodstuffs to colonies all over the system. The Mars-Ceres Republic had become an "Empire", and bombed Venus into submission, thus, the beginning of the "Martian Empire".
Mr. Forrest Harmon, Senator (2385 to 2405 AD), Republic of Bliss, Banard's Star
There are a few of us left. The First Ones, I mean. The planet is crawling with humanity, civilization, and even some resident aliens from Farla, our nearest planetary neighbor, but of the First Ones, there are only a few.
We arrived ninety years ago, the first known humans from Terra to land on any planetary body outside our own star system. We left three hundred colonists here, and the other two hundred continued on to Farla, then known as BS-2. That is where we found the Farlans, another intelligent yet... - I am sorry, that's another story.
In order to keep from interfering with the Farlans, we returned to Bliss, to join our other comrades in the colonization effort. Within months permanent buildings had been erected and a city planning committee had forecast the growth of our first and capital city for the next hundred years. They were wrong. The city now looks nothing like their plans said it would, and we've still got ten years to go.
First City now boasts a population of over a million, while our planet contains something like six million. It's hard to tell, though since we really don't hike out through the virgin wilderness looking for the hunters, loners, and other people who are out there. This planet's a big place, and we've all got plenty of room.
It was only four years after our arrival here that the next colony ship came. Well, it was more like a sardine tin, with 10,000 refugees packed in it. They brought almost nothing besides the clothes on their backs and a few supplies. And they populated our planet quickly. But most of them were nice, hardworking people, as were the next 10,000, five years after that.
Then the ship from Farla arrived, bringing ambassadors from our neighboring planet. Trade began, and the exchange of knowledge.
It is nothing like Terra or the New Terran Federation (NTF). In fact, I haven't thought about Terra in nearly thirty years. Of course we get radio messages from them that are six years old, and we send them news briefs that get briefer and briefer. And they send us 10,000 or more "colonists" every two or three years.
Petr still lives on Bliss, but I haven't seen him or his wife for a few years, ever since they retired, leaving their church in the care of their very capable grandson, Alexander. Marie Clark grew old badly and still lives in the wealthy but dark side of First City. There might be a few others, but I can't think of them right now. I'm considering returning to Terra in my former capacity, to maybe clean up that government's act, but I'm getting a little old for that sort of thing.
Character List for Nadyozhda
Elizabeth Novgorod: Chief Engineer; wife of Petr N.
Petr Novgorod: Chaplain, linguistics expert, and architect; husband of Elizabeth N.
Scott Hayford: Chief Programmer and Assistant Designer of M.C.C.; husband of Marie C.
Marie Clark: Computer Programming Expert; wife of Scott H. (officially single)
Captain James Cochran: Captain
Dr. José Riceberger III: Inventor of first true longevity treatments; died 2292 AD
Governor Ortega: Chief Political Scientist;
Dr. Haank Massaan: Chief Doctor; married
Harley Davidson: Chief Hydroponics Expert (Farmer); single
Hope: English name for Nadyozhda; given name for M.C.C.
Forrest Harmon: Chief Mineralogist; secretly Chief Bodyguard to the Captain; single
Robert Wilson: Captain of Crew #5; Quarterback at H. Davidson's college; married
Robert Gillespie Adams-Muñoz: Inventor of artificial gravity fields
Robert Gillespie Adams-Muñoz II: Son of [above]; inventor of anti-gravity propulsion systems
Vargas Glover I: Chairman of Independent Mars, 2160-2206; originator of Mars-Ceres Republic
Janie Fowler: Chief Engineer of Crew #2; married
Mishael Joseph: Rabbi of Martian Orthodox Jewish Assembly; Chaplain of Crew #5; married
Kristie Jurabi: Minister of Reorganized Martian Muslim Churches for Christ; Chaplain of Crew #2; single
Jonathon Gallagher: Shuttle pilot and cargo bay worker, Crew #2; married
Crew #1
Captain James Cochran
Computer Officer Marie Clark
Medical Officer Haank Massaan
Political Officer Mauel Ortega
Hydroponics Officer Harley Davidson
Engineering Officer Elizabeth Novgorod
Chaplain Petr Novgorod
Mineralogist Forrest Harmon
Mrs. Cochran
Mrs. Massaan
Mrs. Ortega
Crew #2
Reverend Kristie Jurabi
Engineering Officer Janie Fowler
Chief Shuttle Pilot Jonathon Gallagher
Mr. Fowler
Crew #5
Captain Robert Wilson
Mrs. Wilson
Rabbi Mishael Joseph
Future Timeline in Use for "Hope"
2022: United Nations moves headquarters from NYC to Buenos Aires
2026: Twin Towers of the World Trade Centers completely destroyed by local terrorists; NYC declared a federal disaster area
2027: New York Stock Exchange (NYSE) moves to Dallas, to be renamed DTSE
2041: Boyd, the first space city, begins accepting applications for inhabitants
2043: First permanent habitat on Luna established; quickly grows into a small city
2049: First manned landing on Mars; 25 people land, explore, leave 20 there, in sealed dome, doing scientific exploration
2050: Regular trips from Terra to Luna take colonists on the way out, bringing raw materials back with them
2059: First colony ship heads to Mars, bringing 200, establish first city there, called Marsport
2062: Prospecting begins in Asteroid Belt; Permanent habitat on Ceres
2066: Space Station built in Venus orbit, manned by fourteen scientists, and four astronauts; studies focus on the feasibility of transforming Venus' atmosphere into a breathable one
2075: Nuclear Reactors first used in space propulsion systems; long-range effects: space travel becomes much cheaper, and travel time is cut by fifty percent
2080: First humans reach Jupiter's orbit, begin exploring her satellites, looking for a site for a scientific outpost
2081: Ganymede is selected, and a base is built; scientists immediately request that mining equipment be sent
2082: Lichens and other simple plant life has taken hold on the surface of Mars, freeing oxygen, nitrogen, etc.; atmosphere project goes forward full speed
2086: First human walks on Venus' surface without a respirator; he immediately gets sick, so the respirator rules remain in effect; however, the atmosphere project proceeds with full confidence
2092: Third ship to Titan continues on to explore outer planets, manned by 30 humans
2099: First manned landing on Pluto; scientific outpost is built and left; scientists and equipment are scheduled to arrive in 2106
2100: Dr. Adams-Muñoz has first son, Robert II
2102: Luna's population tops 100,000; Second city built on Mars, atmosphere is growing, first outdoor farms successful; Respirator law on Venus revoked;
2112: Dr. Adams-Muñoz invents artificial gravity fields
2115: A space station installs the first a-grav field, is renamed Astropolis I
2120: First train tunnel utilizing a-grav field is complete, from Washington, DC to Los Angeles; takes only forty-five minutes
2129: Forrest Harmon born, March 17, in NYC Federal Disaster Area
2133: Petr Novgorod born, June 20, in Dohr Habitat
2145: The 800 inhabitants of Jupiter's moons declare themselves independent of Terra, becoming the first planetary inhabitants to do so, calling themselves JUM, the Jovian United Moons
2148: Dr. Adams-Muñoz dies, his son takes over his research
2150: A Captain Cochran of the Terran Federation captures the most elusive pirate vessel known to the Solar System (it actually belonged to the Marxa Clan of NYCFDA
2154: Petr becomes "Reverend", through New Revised Interplanetary Calvinistic Pentecostal Church - had to return briefly to Dohr to get credentials; plants new church on Armstrong City;
2155: Building of mankind's first starship begins, in Lunar orbit
2165: (July) Hope is completed one month ahead of schedule
(August) Dr. Riceberger III releases longevity treatments
(August) Hope is launched
(November) inhabitants of construction station rename it Hope City, and decide to continue building starships
2166: (March) Venus declares independence from Terran Federation; there is war for two weeks, until Treaty of 2166;
(April) Terra and Venus join to form Solar Federation and Solar Patrol
2167: Luna becomes independent as well: Luna Confederacy; population tops one million, mostly in underground cities
2180: Citizens of Mars (independent from inception of Marsport) can now walk the surface with only respirators; good used pressure suits are sold to TF trade ships
2190: Ten-year study shows that humans living anywhere besides Terra have an average lifespan of 120 years; Terran lifespan has dropped drastically, due to famine, etc., to 65 years; factors: no wars, no famines, high health and intelligence requirements for space travel, less gravity, almost no diseases
2199: Ganymede atmosphere project begins, planned to take two hundred years
2200: Independent Mars' population tops 50 million, in over a dozen cities and thousands of settlements; Mars is financially independent
2209: 2nd starship launched; holds 2,000 people, destination: Tau Ceti (14 light years away); trip should take 250 years
2213: Independent Mars and the Nation of Ceres form a joint Republic (Ceres pop.: 5 million); Ceres is now almost completely hollowed out from mining ventures; the interior of the asteroid is quickly filling with habitats
2223: Terra's pop. tops 13 billion; Terrans began populating the oceans, with floating cities and underwater cities
2224: Terran Federation outlaws longevity treatments, except for people migrating off-planet, scientists, politicians
2225: TF collapses; war covers the planet for a decade, until the nations form the NUN (New United Nations), and rejoin the Solar Federation in 2235
2249: Governments from all outer satellites (not including J.U.M.) join to form the Outer Satellites Republic (OSR)
2252: J.U.M. and OSR join the Solar Federation; J.U.M.'s pop.: 10 million plus; OSR's pop.: 4 million
2256: Asteroid mining unions revolt, successfully blockade most space traffic from inner to outer planets
2257: Prisoners on Phobos mutiny and hold off Solar Patrol for 6 months; declared the Phobos Confederacy
(December) Famine on Ganymede; lasts until June 2259
2259: Pluto's scientist reestablish contact after 15 months of silence; resulting when the last comet came too close
2260: 3rd starship launched by Hope City; holds 1,000 people, reactor has newly discovered modifications; destination: 20 light years away; trip ETA: 2610
2280: A-grav propulsion finally invented by Dr. Adams Muñoz II, at the age of 180; he creates a company that sells both the product and the technology to build them; becomes filthy rich overnight
2302: (January) First Mass-Converter built, on Mars
(December) 4th starship launched by Hope City, powered by mass converter, propulsion system: a-grav; holds 10,000 people; destination 19 light years away; ETA: 2340
2304: crew of Tau Ceti starship (launched in 2209) is awakened after 95 years of travel, to make modifications: nuclear reactor improvements, mass converter, gravitic propulsion; new ETA (with only 9 light-years left to travel): 2318
: same procedure is followed for ship launched in 2260; they have 17.5 light years to go; new ETA: 2323
2308: Earth's population down to 12 billion because of World War V; Venus' and Mars' combined total population: one billion; the orbiting stations around the four inner planets total one billion; the Fifth Planet's New Republic (FPNR), J.U.M., and OSR (now including Pluto) total another one half billion
2309: World War Five-B ("small nuclear war" in Asia); the rest of the Solar Federation expels Terra from their ranks; the Dohr habitat sides with Terra, thus leaving the Federation; Most other Terran-orbit space cities withdrew from the Federation, and became independent; Mars-Ceres Republic is overthrown in a violent coup detat, becoming the "Martian Empire"; ME bombs Venus into submission, to expand the Empire; Hope City becomes rich, selling foodstuffs to starving colonies and even Terra
2309: Hope City launches their fifth starship, this one heading out behind Nadyozhda; destination: same as Nadyozhda, unless nothing good is found there; then it will continue on past; holding 10,000 people, most in cryostasis
2315: Hope arrives at Banard's Star System; finds two inhabitable planets, one race of intelligent, humanoid life
2316: Terra again falls from the inside, historians call it World War VI; the anarchy lasts for four years
2317: Republic of Bliss is formed, a representative democracy
2318: Dr. Robert Gillespie Adams-Muñoz dies at 218 years of age, so far, the oldest man alive until his death; the next oldest man is 207, not counting the crew of the Nadyozhda, or anyone else who has been in cryostasis
2318: Starship arrives at Tau Ceti, finding two inhabitable planets, colonization ratings: 62% and 88%. Planets named Carolyn and Newhome
2320: Dohr, the oldest space city, brings Terra to its knees with the new particle beam technology, forms the New Terran Federation (NTF), controlled from orbit; all government offices for the NTF are in Dohr
2323: First contact with the "Farlans", intelligent inhabitants of Banard's Star's second planet; their ship arrived in Bliss orbit, and a treaty of mutual respect was born
2324: Third starship arrives at destination: 200 people are left on a planet with a 41% colonization rating, name it Exile; the other 800 go on to their next destination; ETA 2342
2330: After ten years of rebuilding from WW6, the NTF is once again allowed to send men into space, but only after a careful selection process; Terran population is down to 10 billion, but rising again
2332: The Martian Empire, now 23 years old, begins to take over the FPNR, taking the mining bases one by one; at the same time, Martian warships head out toward JUM, and OSR, attempting to gain control of the entire solar system.
2337: All of JUM, and most of FPNR have been enveloped by Mars' Empire; OSR remains independent - they had a lot of time to prepare defenses, besides, the distances involved for the invaders was vast
2338: Hope City, now by far the richest government outside of ME, unites with Luna, to begin preparing massive defenses, in the event that ME tries to take them; The space cities in Terran orbit - excluding Dohr - form the United Terran Orbiting Cities (UTOC), for the same reason
2340: Hope City, with a population of over 10 million, has for years been charging every outgoing colonist a large sum, and has been the largest exporter of foodstuffs for over a century; not only that, any starship returning from the distant colonies would dock there; HC joins with Phobos (which has remained ind. from ME) and OSR and Pluto to form the New Solar Federation.
2340 (August): starship launched in 2302 arrives at its destination system, finding one planet with a colonization rating at 94% (as good as Terra before the Industrial Revolution); planet is named Sovyershyenstvo ("Perfection" in Russian); name is shortened to Sovyersh for English colonists
2341: First trade ship arrives from the Republic of Bliss, docking at Hope City; Scientists from around the solar system arrived to look over Hope, to study the effects of high speed travel through the distances between the stars
2341: When Hope heads back toward Bliss, several delegates are on board, from the New Solar Federation, to talk about setting up an interstellar Federation of human-occupied planets, and to talk to the Farlans
2342: Third starship arrives at second destination, finds 91% colonization planet; names it Terra II
2344: The NTF, still under the control of Dohr, is finally allowed to join the NSF, as long as they agree to the strict guidelines controlling emigration
2346: The Martian Empire takes Phobos, and attacks Hope City; within months, the Luna/Hope City armada had beaten the tired Martian fleet; asteroid miners resume their Fifth's Planet Republic, Phobos joins with the new Free Mars, The Republic of Venus sends six ships full of raw materials to Hope City out of gratitude; all the new nations join the NSF
2350: Hope City (the capital of the NSF) is now building starships faster than they can find crews and colonists. 99.7% of the colonist candidates come from Terra; and 95% of the selected candidates come from Terra; requirements: small chance of hereditary illness, perfect or correctable vision, perfect hearing, good fitness, education, money (to pay the high emigration charge), ability to bear children, etc.; every time enough candidates pass the tests, Hope City sends out another ship, or fills up a ship returning from the colonies; about one a year, average colonist load: 10,000
2350: POPULATIONS:
Republic of Venus: 750 million
NTF: 11 Billion
UTOC: 1.1 Billion
Hope City: 11 million
Luna Confederacy: 3 million
Free Mars: 700 million
FPR (now inc.Ceres): 20 million
JUM: 12 million
OSR: 6 million
Pluto: 500
TOTAL: 13.7 Billion
2350: LIFE EXPECTANCIES:
UTOC, Luna, JUM: 270 years
Republic of Venus, Free Mars, JUM: 250 years
Hope City, OSR: 242 years
Pluto: 194 years
New Terran Federation / Dohr: 151 years
Terra II, Farla: 185 years
Bliss, Carolyn, Newhome, Sovyersh: 181 years
Exile: 148 years
2376: First radio messages reach NSF from Terra II, thirty-four light years away; by that time, the colony has already survived a two-year plague (2344-46), and has grown from 800 to 2,100 people
2380: Jose Riceberger VI, in conjunction with Hope City, starts the "JRB Trading Company", building five brand new starships, the five largest ever built
2383: The five ships depart the Sol System, headed for the five known inhabited systems, each bearing items needed for those particular locations; and ordered to bring back whatever would sell back home; the crews were not placed in cryostasis, since because of time dilation the trips would seem much shorter to them (the pilot to Bliss would only experience a year or so of travel, even though in real time the trip would take almost eight years.)
2401: Bliss' population reaches one million in First City (the capital), and 6 million overall
2429: Forrest Harmon, Senior, ex-Senator of Bliss, reaches 300 years of age, the first to do so (although 150 of them were spent in cryostasis aboard Hope.
2430: Terra once again begins a starship program, constructing the largest ship ever, in orbit next to Dohr, using materials mined from the ocean floors, and taken into orbit using a-grav
2431: Hope City is now sending out more than 40,000 colonists per year, each of them paying a year's wage for the privilege; Terra's ship, called The Exodus, leaves Earth orbit, carrying 1.2 million colonists, all heading for Newhome and Carolyn, ETA 2447
2440: JUM and OSR merge to form the Republic of the Outer Planets (ROP)
2441: the FPR joins ROP; ROP remains a part of the Solar Federation
2447: The Exodus reaches Newhome, where the inhabitants force the Terrans to undergo strenuous medical examinations before landing; only 600,000 of the 1.2 million colonists are allowed to land; those remaining on the ship fly on to Carolyn; only 300,000 are allowed to ground there; the remaining 300,000 travel on to Exile, arriving in 2060
2451: Terra launches the Exodus II, heading for Bliss, holding almost 2 million people
2455: Hope City copies Terra, and begins building much larger ships, using materials shipped from ROP, but still maintains the very strict requirements
2459: The Exodus II arrives at Bliss, where none of the colonists are allowed to land; the ship goes to Farla, where the same refusal is offered; frustrated, the Terrans launch missiles on the Farlans; an orbiting defense station destroys the Exodus II
2460: Exodus I arrives at Exile, where the remaining 300,000 colonists are allowed to land.
2461: Terra receives the message from Exodus I, about their treatment on Newhom and Carolyn, and complains to Hope City; Hope City tells Terra to find her own colonizable planets, if they don't want to screen their colonists
2469: The next starship to arrive from Bliss in the Sol System gives Terra the ultimatum: send no more ships to Bliss, unless the colonists have been more thoroughly tested; no other planet or habitat wanted Terra's sick, poor, and disenfranchised
2480: Dohr celebrates 150 years of keeping Terra from a major war, and the success of their population control measures
2500: Starship from Hope City arrives at a new solar system, 32 light-years from Sol, carrying a million colonists; half land on Paradise, and half on Kracyvy (Russian for "Beautiful")
2504: Beginning of First Interstellar War; Six Terran warships arrive in Banard's Star System, begin bombing Bliss and Farla; Farlans are the biggest part of the defense; Bliss uses the defense systems aboard the Hope and other starships to fight off the Terrans
2505: NTF takes on Hope City, half of which is destroyed; Luna comes to the rescue, chasing the NTF ships back to Terra; Dohr is completely destroyed, and hundreds of nuclear missiles are fired at Terra's surface; particle beam weapons are also used
2507: Terran warships return to Bliss and Farla, after spending three years hiding among the outer planets of that system, repairing; this time they are met in space, and two are destroyed; a third is chased out of the system by the Farlans and captured; the other three flee into space at high speed;
2508: Terra attacks Luna and Hope City; this time, ships from Venus and Mars are on hand to assist them; the Terran fleet is defeated again, but more than half of Luna's population is wiped out, as well as more of Hope City
2509: The Solar Federation blockades Terra, shooting down any ship that lifts off, and using the particle beam to destroy space ship construction sites on the surface; UTOC participates completely
2525: The three Terran warships that fled Bliss find a new solar system, and colonize New Mars and Apollos; because of limited quantities of females, a polygamous society develops, with women in charge of everything but the military
2530: Bliss builds her first starship, a trader; begins regular trips to Hope City, along with Hope.
2540: Hope City is completely rebuilt, but Luna is the new capital of the Solar Federation; oldest human ever dies in Luna City, at the age of 340 - she is survived by eleven generations of descendants
2550: Terra's population reaches two billion again, many are mutants, alive only through the use of drugs
2552: A JRB trader is destroyed between solar systems by a speck of dust;
2559: work begins on a "ramjet scoop", a magnetic field ahead of the starship which will gather up stray atoms from space, to use as fuel, and to protect future ships from collisions
2560: A pilot from JRB Trading Company retires after180 years of running between planets - he was one of the originals; due to the effect of time dilation, he is only 80 years old, subjective time;
2575: First ramjet ship is completed, the New Breed; she is launched toward Terra II, carrying 15,000 passengers;
2588: Improvement on the longevity treatment gives each person an average of 35-40 extra years
2609: New Breed arrives at Terra II, making it the fastest trip ever between the two solar systems, averaging 99% of light speed; the crew only spent six months on the 34 year trip
2612: After secretly building starships under the oceans, Terrans launch one last attack against the Solar Federation; Twenty sleek warships ravage the Sol System for three years; Stations in Terran orbit have had enough; Terran life is bombed out of existence
2615: The last Terran warship is tracked down and destroyed
2631: The last of the UTOC stations moves out of Terran orbit; UTOC is dissolved, splitting into UMOC, UVOC, and ULOC
2640: Oldest living human dies on Ganymede at 389 years
2641: Newhome becomes first of the colony worlds to surpass one billion in population
2644: Bliss also surpasses one billion; only Venus and Mars contain more humans than these two colony worlds;
2645: New Breed returns to Sol System with a load of cargo, and 300 tourists from Terra II; after six months of sightseeing, the ship returns to Terra II, with 20,000 more colonists, most of them from Luna
2646: Venus withdraws from the Solar Federation; Mars follows suit;
2647: The Republic of the Outer Planets withdraws from the SF, leaving only the orbiting city Federations, Hope City, and Luna; trade comes to a halt in the Sol System, although all the independent governments continue to trade with the Colonies
2650: After 125 years of isolation, Terran colonists on New Mars and Apollos launch their own ramjet - developed separately from the ones in the Sol System - toward their home system
2674: Second Interstellar War begins when the T.S.S. Babylon arrives in the Sol System
2674: Last known full-blooded Farlan dies of old age; all others have interbred with humans
2675: After wreaking a year of havoc in the Sol System, the Babylon heads back to Apollos, thus the end of the SIW
2678: Seismic shifting on Paradise causes earthquakes, volcanoes, and tsunamis, killing 80% of the inhabitants

