Symbiosis Chapter 8

We especially need imagination in science.
It is not all mathematics, nor all logic,
 but is somewhat beauty and poetry.

Maria Mitchell,      1818-1889

   Cameras on tripods crowded the space port viewing platforms attended by humans, a few hundred humans, mostly in civilian attire, some in uniforms. Launch day for a new space craft still held some fascination for Earthlings, generally scientists and astronauts and maybe their families. The Jacksons had stayed aboard, as did all but the two Security Forces that Admiral Wallace had personally assigned to the ship.

   Nevertheless, the World Media dutifully covered the event since the Science Ship Maria Mitchell was a new, supra sonic model with a relatively large science crew. Jackson had earned a reputation as a bit of a celebrity since he returned, essentially, with the cure for the Spliced Gene Malarial Vaccine pandemic.

   Three journalists and a single camera operator stood on the bridge facing Jackson, his back to the stars, all asking questions and vying for a better camera angle or brighter light than each other. Each time one of them ventured too close and looked down they all panicked like birds to get back on the opaque half of the deck.

   “From what we understand,” Jackson said, “the fifth planet in the Eta Cassiopeia star system is suffering from antibiotic resistance on a planet wide scale. The plague is serious and threatens their viability as the only humanoid species in that star system.”

   “Captain Jackson, what medicine are you taking that will cure their disease?”

 “We’re taking a large variety of successful compounds we use on Earth, and nano-abiotics for delivery, in hopes that one or two will be effective. We aren’t certain of the actual disease that they are battling.”

“Is this a long mission?”

“We expect to return in approximately one year.” Jackson looked past the journalism party at his stoic crew who were artificially preoccupied to avoid attracting a reporter to their station. Jackson took a step backward, closer to the bow, luring the reporters onto the transparent part of the deck a centimeter at a time.

“Is there a risk of contamination of their plague to human beings?”

“You should probably ask Dr. Ferris, here, about specific biological details,” Jackson said and handed the process off to Mission Specialist Doctor Jane Ferris, who’d been standing behind the captain, eager to chat up the reporters and unwittingly save Jackson from his agony. Dr. Ferris led them away towards the tactical astrometric alcove, leaving the captain and officers with some breathing room. Jackson stepped back another half meter into the fishbowl to make sure they weren’t coming back for him.

  After a moment he realized they would be leaving shortly and advanced out of the glass room and stepped to his post. Lee and Rougeau followed him with their eyes as he passed their stations. When Jackson finally sat down, he realized that for the first time his entire primary bridge crew was all male. That hadn’t been intentional. He suddenly expected a fraternity atmosphere that wouldn’t have been tolerated when Bala was at one of those stations.

  Which bothered him more than he first realized. As much as he’d always considered the protocols on his bridge as cordial and respectful, had he been less of himself in the company of female officers? People often said the genders were equal of mind and ability, and he agreed. In fact, often the females didn’t become preoccupied with the same issues as the males; sexual jokes, bragging, innuendos, none of it was appropriate, but he could almost feel the preponderance of testosterone and now hoped he wouldn’t regret his choices. Why he should even consider his officers’ gender when looking at qualifications bothered him as well. Male and female would always have some differences.

  While he waited for the “Go” from Admiral Wallace, he picked up a portable to review the manifest and spent several minutes checking and rechecking that his choices and alternates, plus the assignments from the admirals and colonels, were what he expected. This maiden launch would be smooth and no stopping at Luna or Mars to let off any stowaways or make changes in personnel.

Science Ship Maria Mitchell Crew Manifest 29 souls aboard:

~       Captain Thomas K. Jackson, Mission/Ship Commander

~       Lieutenant Chen Lee, Helm, Information Tech Specialist

~       Lieutenant Jay May, Navigation, Helm, Communications

~       Ensign Jean Rougeau, Navigation, Helm

~       CPO Stuart Watson, Information Tech, Communication Systems

~       Sergeant Zoe H. Stone, Yeoman/Quartermaster

~       Commander Quixote Kee, First Officer, Chief Engineer

~       Scott B. Gregory, Dr. of Astrophysics, Mission Specialist

~       Jane G. Ferris, Dr. of Biology, Mission Specialist

~       Rianya Jackson, Apprentice Life Science, Mission Specialist

~       Commander Phillip Adams, MD, Chief Medical Officer

~       Ensign Wilson Mills, PA, Chief of Nursing, Medic

~       Rosalind Henderson, RN, Medic

~       Kym Byrd, Engineer’s Mate

~       Ron Painter, Engineer’s Mate

~       John Chin, Engineer’s Mate

~       Ensign Catherine York, Security Chief, Armory

~       Clayton Wagner, Security Force

~       Dean Bowen, Security Force

~       Shellie Barone, Security Force

~       Bailey Campbell, Chef

~       Jules Graham, Cook, Steward

~       Simon Harchett, Steward, Hydroponics

~       Ann Wallace, Housekeeping Lead

~       Keith Campbell, Maintenance Lead

~       Andrew Baumann, Maintenance, Housekeeping

~       Chuck Harris, Maintenance, Housekeeping

~       Zalara Jackson, student (age 4)

~       Huntington York, student (age 6)

  One of the reasons Jackson chose York was her familial status, although he didn’t want to admit it entirely; Zalara would have someone her own age on board. Of course Ms. York was entirely well qualified and experienced. Jackson found himself questioning his ethics. Had he allowed personal gain to influence his final selection or was his reason legitimate when all else was equal? As the captain was it his prerogative to place his interests, and therefore the ultimate interest of the crew and the mission, into the decision making process?

  “Final call to all remaining on board, please proceed to the airlock and hatch to disembark.”

Jackson came out of his trance and realized it was almost time to launch. He listened to the ceremony happening in the protective shell of the space dock where Admiral Wallace took pride in the ship, credit for the mission, and didn’t mention a sole’s name on board.

  “Countdown to launch in one minute,” Mr. Watson announced to the bridge.

  “Mr. Rougeau, is our course laid in?”

  “Course laid in to Eta Cassiopeia system, sir.”

  “Mr. Lee, clear all moorings,” Jackson said calmly. He tapped a button to open the intercom to deck five.

  “Quixote, are engines online and thrusters ready for intra solar system travel?”

  “Aye, sir, thrusters at station keeping and reactor is online. Don’t go to full speed for a few hours, Captain. We have to shakedown this system back here.”

  “Understood. Mr. Watson?”

  “All systems go for launch, countdown at three, two, one, zero.”

  “Mr. Lee, employ thrusters at twenty five percent and take her out.”

  “Aye, sir, employing thrusters, one quarter speed.”

With a vague lurch the maiden voyage of the Science Ship Maria Mitchell had begun. On the speakers a cheer came across from the space dock platform and Jackson watched the people waving as the ship pulled away from the silver rib cage of its origin. She picked up speed easily, slipped out of her cocoon, and into the vacuum of space.

  “We’ve cleared space dock,” Mr. Lee announced.

  “Good work. I’ll leave you and Mr. Rougeau to your respective posts; I have a date in engineering. Mr. Watson, let Quixote know I’m on my way.”

  Jackson stood and stepped into the fishbowl-bow to look out at the Earth as they left orbit. It shrank remarkably fast for an object that filled the sky to a sphere that could be seen in its entirety. At this speed, however, it would take a full day just to reach the orbit of the moon.

  “Let’s go to a hundred percent Intra Solar System power levels and be on our way, Mr. Lee.”

  “Aye, sir, one hundred percent ISS.” Jackson left the bridge just as the engines quadrupled their speed. The inertia stabilizers stalled briefly knocking him aft against the wall of the tube. Unharmed Tom chuckled at his fortune to be aboard, in command, and asked the transport tube for passage to the fifth deck to visit the engines.

  “Quixote,” the captain said while crawling through a submarine style bulkhead door.

  “Captain, welcome.”

  Jackson straightened his back and turned to admire what appeared to be a miniature Hadron Collider, or an enormous MRI machine, quietly humming in the belly of his ship. Along the walls an incalculable number of green, red, yellow, and blue signal lights glowed and blinked, randomly to Jackson’s eyes. Dozens of readouts on transparencies displayed constantly changing numbers and an engineer stood fixed in front of the most active monitor.

  “Sir, let me introduce you to my first mates, Electrical Technician Kym Byrd, and Mechanical Technician Ron Painter. John Chin, my Propulsion Technician is somewhere in the belly of this beast.” Jackson had met everyone but another introduction to people he didn’t know was fine with him.

  “It’s a pleasure, Captain,” Ms. Byrd said quickly turning briefly from her post. Mr. Painter stepped up quickly.

  “Captain Jackson,” the man addressed him.

  “Congratulations, crewmen, you’ll be working with one of the best engineers in Science Administration. I’m lucky to have him and you would do yourselves a favor to remember that.”

  “Aye, sir,” the two said almost in unison.

  “So give me details about this Slip Electro Magnetic Ion technology,” Jackson asked of Quixote.   “I’m not a hundred percent up to speed on it. And, what’s our readiness score?”

  “Do you really want the engineer jargon, sir? I think you know all you need to know, and I want to run a few more simulations, Captain. This has only been tested in very limited circumstances. I’ll log it as a readiness six of ten at thirty minutes post launch.”

  “Another time then, that’s fine. Time to full speed?”

  “Eighteen to twenty hours, Captain.”

  “You mean, tomorrow?”

  “It takes time to get the reactor chamber ready, and then the calculations are fed into the quantum computer, which is rather quick, but then we have to simulate--”

  “Never mind, Quixote, you know your job, I’ll take your word for it. See you tomorrow then.”

Captain Jackson was thoroughly satisfied that Quixote knew his job and decided to touch base with him about the engine details when they weren’t at such a critical moment. He peered inside the gym and found the room empty, as it should be. He took the steps up a flight to Deck III to check on his doctors and mission specialists, and stop at the galley to grab some coffee and sniff the air for dinner clues.

  “Doc! How’s everything in our infirmary?”

  “Jack, come on in,” the doctor called from behind a wall. Jackson sauntered in, coffee in one hand and the other stuffed in his pants pocket. The treatment room was brightly lit which made an ideal environment for Dr. Adams’ potted medicinals.  At least a dozen different plants crowded the azure counter tops but plenty of room to doctor people.

  “Just came by to see if you need anything.”

 “Not a thing. I have my plants and chemicals, plenty of room, two nurses and Dr. Ferris. All I need is a bottle of Draconian Tequila and the entire pharmacy is complete.” The senior doctor’s sprightly step belied his eight decades of living. The depth of his knowledge, however, was evidence of his age and years well spent.

  “I do wish I could convince you to stop pouring all that sugar in your cup of fuel,” Adams said. His eyes focused on Jackson’s omnipresent coffee mug.

  “It wouldn’t be worth drinking without sugar. Glad everything is good, I have a few more rounds to make. Join us for dinner tonight?”

  “See you at nineteen thirty.”