Symbiosis Chapter 7

    “Change of plans?” Jackson asked. The cement ball of terror struck his stomach.

    “In a few minutes, Tom. Go address your crew.”

    Captain Jackson promptly introduced himself to the new crew members he would be counting on, protecting, and bonding with. As expected, everyone came to the meeting in uniforms and with their name badges pinned prominently on their pockets, and offered a sharp salute. Only in the navy had Jackson exercised the gesture as required although formality didn’t hurt on this occasion, especially since he was the recipient of the respect.

    It was too soon to memorize names, he simply addressed each member personally by their name and rounded his way back to Admiral Wallace.

    While the other people mulled about reacquainting or getting to know each other, filling cups with coffee, water, and snacking on small brownie squares, the captain and admiral sat, then spoke quietly without an audience. The suspense chewed on Jackson like an alligator.

    “What’s up?”

    “The situation on Eta Cass Five has grown desperate. They sent a communication that reached us three days ago. Deaths are occurring exponentially from their plague. It mutates so quickly and virulently they can’t nail it down.”

    “I understood that,” Jackson said.

    “We’ve decided to deploy the Maria Mitchell ahead of schedule in order to get the nano-abiotics to them as quickly as possible. We don’t want to miss this opportunity to gain them as allies since they’re less than twenty light years from here.”

    “You’ve picked another team for the mission?” Tom was almost relieved but then telling Rianya that Beta Hydri was not on the menu would be akin to pruning a rosebush. She was patient, and understanding, but her angry side was not something he wanted to challenge.

    “There’s no other team. We’re reassigning you to the Maria Mitchell. I’m not entirely sure who changed whose minds at the top but if I were you, I’d take it and run,” the admiral said. He handed Jackson a small reader that displayed new orders on the screen.

    “I’ve been reassigned?” Jackson asked. He sat back a few centimeters from the admiral and a little surge of serotonin tingled around his heart.

    “That’s not a problem, is it?” Wallace asked with perfect seriousness.

    “She’s still maiden,” Tom said, clearing his throat and scooting his chair in closer to the table, almost pinning himself in so he wouldn’t fall out.

    “Yes, but she’s laid down. The commissioning is tomorrow. There’s no reason you can’t all go aboard today to prep.”

    “What about the Stephen Hawking?”

    “What about her?”

    Jackson maintained his composure, taking a few deep breaths and allowing just enough excitement to escape to show his gratitude for the privilege he was about to undertake. He smiled, shook the admiral’s hand, and nodded once.

    “Is this crew going to be adequate for her?”

    “You have room for a few more, but I doubt there’s time to recall anyone who’s available in 24 hours. On top of that you’ll need space for the science team from Beta Hydri IV. You have who and what you need right here,” the man said, nodding at the group. “By the way, that young woman there, with the long braid?” Admiral Wallace nodded at a crew member perhaps all of twenty years old, who Tom hadn’t yet met. He nodded and turned back to the admiral. “That’s my daughter. She’s head of your housekeeping for the mission.” Jackson ground his teeth but in total silence. If the admiral’s daughter was the price he had to pay for the Maria Mitchell, it was a steal.

    “We’ll be ready tomorrow.”

    “Tom,” Wallace said wryly, “don’t crash this one.”

~~~

    Tom’s mouth genuinely dropped open a full centimeter when he saw the size of his quarters on the Science Ship Maria Mitchell. He had hoped that the enlarged quarters he’d finagled on the Stephen Hawking were still configured after her refit, but he’d not expected the generous accommodations he found himself in at all. Rianya was also taken aback; Zalara seemed perfectly happy that she would have room to actually run from side to side without walls or obstacles.

    The captain’s quarters had been placed in the center of the ship near the gravitational balance, and extended from the port to the starboard with a window on each side of the ship. Being on the first deck meant no footsteps or machinery above their heads and only officers’ quarters between theirs and the forward bulkhead. The slope of the walls at the ceiling followed the curve of the ship’s hull reminding Tom somewhat of his youthful service on a submarine.

    The floor plan mimicked the narrow homes of San Francisco with all rooms aligned along one long wall and a hallway that connected them all. Five meters deep and twenty meters across, he could have had a swimming pool installed and still had room for a billiard table. It was at least half again as large as the size of their little house in Old San Diego.

    On the port side two rooms, one five by five meters against the hull and one four by four meters sandwiched a two by four meter lavatory. The larger room had a two by two meter square bed and the window, the smaller interior room was fitted as an office. A significant storage area was next that opened onto the main living area. This middle zone had no corridor but was open to the starboard side with an advanced holographic entertainment screen and shelves for books, personal effects, and even objects d’art or sculptures, trinket boxes or the like.

    The furniture was more than functional, not just several grades above the stark, modern style on the K class ships, but downright homey and comfortable, muted blues and greys instead of drab goldenrod and beige. On the starboard side against the other window a small nook for preparing any meals as desired and a table that would easily accommodate four to dine upon completed the space.

    “In Neptune’s name I never expected this,” Tom said once the door behind them closed.

    “This is bigger than anyplace we’ve ever been,” Rianya said quietly. Tom looked at her reaction.     The awe in her eyes was greater than his own. Zalara broke free from her mother’s hand and jumped on the sofa, taking up the control box for the electronic station.

    “This is how it should be. This is what it should be,” he said aloud to himself. An inner joy took over, an excitement that rivaled his first command, gosh, nearly fifteen years ago. They wandered back to the bedrooms; he made a mental note to have the office changed to a bedroom for Zalara, moving out the desk and moving in a single bunk. In the large bedroom a crate of their belongings and some small boxes had been neatly stacked and stored against the far wall. Rianya sighed, lay flat on the bed and looked at the ceiling.

    “I like it here! I really like it!” Tom crawled on the bed as well, lay on his back next to her and also looked at the ceiling, then at her.

    “This is the way it should be. I don’t mind telling you I’m damn excited.” He kept his emotional lid on tight for fear of losing control. She reached over to touch him but he didn’t wait for that. He rolled on top of her and scooped her up tight against his body so he could kiss her, softly, then harder, then wrestled his face between her neck and shoulder. The nook was warm, and fragrant like jasmine flowers. If he could just stay that way a few more minutes time would have stopped and recorded perfection. The intercom chimed sharply.

    “Captain Jackson, you’re requested on the bridge.” Shaking his head he rolled back to catch his breath, forget his hormones and get up and back to work. He resisted banging his hand on the intercom but instead tapped it gingerly with exaggerated care.

    “On my way,” he said to the zinc plated grill on the wall, ran his hands through his hair, and left for duty. Rianya smiled and waved as he disappeared.

   

When he arrived, one deck down, he wasn’t disappointed with the glory before his eyes. Like the S. S. Linus Pauling and Stephen Hawking, the bridge bow had aluminum oxynitride windows from floor to ceiling, but two decks high instead of one. The view had been astounding on the former ships, but seeing the blackness of space above him, around him, before him, and under his feet was surreal. The soft yellow lights warmed the bridge against the cold metal surfaces and holographic computer readouts, glowing red and green lights, dials, touch pads, and automated noises that hummed, clicked, whirred, beeped, or chimed as programmed in order to get the attention of a human.

    And the captain’s chair, embracing, oddly ergonomic and covered in command controls, only waited for his occupancy. He wanted some music, some brass fanfare to accompany his arrival, but he had to make that up in his head.

    “Captain on the bridge,” Mr. Watson announced and stood up quickly. Mr. Lee stood, and also his new navigator, Jean Rougeau, a young ensign on only his second mission. Admiral Wallace didn’t stand immediately, but then slowly got up to greet the captain with respect.

    “Good evening everyone; please as you were, men,” he told them with a wave and walked forward to the admiral on the bow. The invisible floor didn’t bother Jackson in the least, but the admiral seemed somewhat uneasy standing on what appeared to be thin air.

    “Tomorrow, at thirteen hundred,” Wallace said. “Have you had a chance to address the crew?”

    “I’ve only been on board a couple hours. I was planning on meeting up during the last meal shift with everyone. Will you be joining us? No sense shuttling down just to shuttle up again in the morning.”

    “Yes, thank you Captain, I will join you and remain on board until the ceremony.”

    “Everything looks in order here, but I’d like to simulate a shakedown launch and familiarize myself with this new bridge.”

    “Very well; I’ll see you at nineteen hundred.” When Admiral Wallace had left Jackson’s shoulders dropped at least a centimeter. He’d forgotten the stress a CO could bring and sternly reminded himself to tread carefully with his own officers and crew.

    “Ensign Rougeau,” Jackson addressed his new navigator.

    “Yes, sir,” the man answered quickly and formally, standing up at his station.

    “At ease Mr. Rougeau, before you hurt something. Ensign, come with me to the doyen’s office.” Jackson took a few steps towards the stern of the bridge and the navigator followed him through the rear door where, finally, a formal office had been established for the captain have private conversations rather than in his quarters.

    One of the first assignments given to support personnel was that of preparing the ship for duty, and the person to oversee that also served as their quartermaster, Zoe Stone. So far the only thing Jackson found out of order had been an empty pantry in his quarters. Given the sudden change of plans he was willing to overlook it, but nevertheless expected to find a coffee appliance in there before morning.

    In the Doyen’s office a clear pitcher of water and glasses had been set on a tray, and also one micro thin transparent aluminum bowl of shelled, mixed nuts and another with tiny, classically shaped pretzels. His orders stood for fresh fruit as well, but again, he was not strict over minor inconveniences and simply sat at the meeting table with a gesture for the navigator to do the same.

    “I haven’t spoken with you since our interview last week; I just wanted to welcome you aboard. I’ve worked with Senior CPO Stuart Watson, and Ensign, oops, Lieutenant Chen Lee; they’re both on their game, easy going. I think you’ll fit in comfortably on the bridge.”

    “Aye, sir, I agree, and thank you for your confidence, sir.”

    “Ensign, don’t make your sentences a ‘sir’ sandwich. We’re not that tightly laced.”

    “Understood.”

    “Captain usually works. You do know how to steer, I trust? Everyone on this mission has at least two jobs, more like three or four.” The young man blinked a couple of times at the captain. “At ease, man,” Jackson said, smiling, reaching across the table to rattle him by the arm slightly. “I didn’t know my reputation was that of a lion. If you make a mistake, I’ll just put you in the brig until a court martial can be arranged.”

     “Sir?” Jackson shook his head slightly and ran his hand through his hair. He often forgot his sense of humor was desert dry and took some getting used to by subordinates.

    “Just relax and do the job you know how to do. You wouldn’t be here if your last CO hadn’t insisted. But I do understand this is your first deep space assignment. We’re likely to be out over a year before we return to a space station or Earth. Cooperation is a critical, we all depend on each other.”

    “I understood that when I applied, Captain. My last assignment was four months on the Europa shuttle, and I didn’t disembark once.” Jackson glanced hard at the eager face bursting with discipline. He’d seen that same face dozens of times over the last twenty years, not the first of which had been his own. Fair haired with amber-brown eyes, he could picture how Rougeau might have been on that Europa shuttle mission, hands steady on the thrusters and eyes glued to the readouts in mortal seriousness.

    “You’re Canadian, if I remember?”

    “From Montreal, Quebec, sir.”

    “Welcome aboard. Please have the cartography updated and installed, and I’d like the course to Eta Cassiopeia laid in well before launch tomorrow.”

    “Consider it done, Captain. May I ask a question about this posting, sir?”

    “Of course.” Jackson took a glass of water, sat back, and breathed a little easier.

    “Mr. Lee and Mr. Watson have been with you some time. I wondered who your last navigator was, if I ever served with him?”

    “Not likely. She was with me several years and was killed in the line of duty four years ago. Since you haven’t, I suggest you familiarize yourself with the logs and debriefings of the former missions of the Linus Pauling from 2151 to 2160 and the Stephen Hawking from years 2163 and 2164...before we launch tomorrow. There’s a briefing overview for years 2161 and 2162 that you should also read. Dismissed.”

    Ensign Rougeau practically leapt to his feet and scurried from the room. Jackson replaced his stern and serious face with one of disturbed amusement. First thing the ensign should have done weeks ago was check out past missions of his potential CO.

    He took a long look around the doyen’s room. The first of its kind on an Earth space vessel, the concept existed for decades before it finally became reality. Long side to side and shallow fore to aft, like his quarters, the doyen’s office was instantly Jackson’s preferred place of ship’s business.

Functional and beautiful, the double story room was enclosed from aft of the bridge, but the sides and roof were constructed with the same transparent aluminum as the bow, with views to the sides and above of the infinite black cosmos. A block of computer banks, a desk, and several monitors covered one of the solid walls, and the conference table for six filled the other half with task chairs and monitors built into the table like place mats.

    He spent several minutes working the data systems, bringing up information and scrutinizing the bits and pieces that he’d not gleaned in the brief moments prior to boarding. The bridge, two decks high and completely situated at the bow, was also deeper than the former science ships and offered a tactical astrometric alcove between his command chair and the doyen’s room door. Work stations, helm, dashboards and communication stations were fore of his central aerie at the edge of the solid floor before the transparent bottom completed the footprint.

    Deck One was officer’s quarters, private lavatories, and a deck access tube and flight of steps only going down. Deck Two encompassed the bridge and office to the fore; central and aft housed the crew cabins, public lavatories, a weapons locker, the access tube, and a flight of steps going both up and down. Deck Three was the center of the ship. Sick bay, the galley, mess hall, Captain’s dining, and functional rooms for astronomy and other sciences took up the floor space, plus more lavatories, and of course the access tube and steps.

    Decks Four and Five were the heart of Maria Mitchell’s propulsion and function. The hydroponic bay, engineering department, reactor room, computer stations, equipment storage, laser banks, and plutonium torpedoes occupied Deck Four. Another feature of this new ship was an expansion of the hydroponics garden to include poultry. In an effort to retain as natural an environment as possible, two dozen GMO bantam hens were kept in a one by two meter pen. They ate kitchen waste, laid large eggs, and provided an excellent by-product rich in nitrogen for the health of the plants.

    The shuttle and cargo bays occupied most of Deck Five, with another pair of public lavs and overnight shift compartments with a quad of bunks, entertainment monitors, and at the very fore under the bow was the gymnasium and game room.

When Jackson looked out the bow he wanted to wrap his arms around the whole ship and hug her, never letting go. She was the premier science ship with slip space electromagnetic ion fusion, powerful enough to crunch a light year into less than nine days’ travel instead of a month. This technology would allow humans to finally colonize and explore the nearby cosmos, not just Mars and the moons, without serious time paradoxes and lapses, the ability to send Carrier Vessel sized ships of cargo and supplies to the dozens and dozens of habitable planets just within a hundred light years without taking a lifetime to do it.

    Reaching the center, or the other side of the galaxy was certainly millennia from reality; the Orion Spur held more worlds than all of humanity could ever explore. He had lived to see it happen. Tom Jackson was in the heart of the Greatest Adventure. A chill raced down his back at the thought of his team discovering ancient biomes and primordial compounds. Jackson rubbed the raised hairs on his arms to settle them back down and decided he needed to eat, something, anything, and get the eagle sized bumble bees out of his stomach.