Spaceship Thrive (Thrive Space Colony Adventures Book 2)

by Ginger Booth

  The orbital was only 85 meters across, 24 meters high. Dally as they might, crossing each deck edge to edge along the way, the top of hydroponics was less than a half kilometer walk. Indeed, they ducked into the gravity generator compartment just before a troop of a dozen shuffled through the passageway. Sass had forgotten that. The more energetic types ran the stairs for exercise. This balding and breathless group showed signs of advanced cancer.

  “Copeland, we need radiation dosimeters. You need the first one.”

  “I don’t know what that is, cap,” the engineer confessed. He finished school at eighth grade, his technical skills learned by doing. He could sight read fluently, though he let a computer read to him while he worked. Sass was astonished how the tattoo-covered tough could follow a technical manual by ear while he worked with his hands.

  They reached the grav generator compartment. “They are big,” Abel agreed, gazing at a row of cloaked star drive columns.

  “That’s the power, Abel,” Sass murmured. “Waste light piped up to hydroponics in those conduits above. We’re standing on the grav plates.”

  “Huh,” Copeland acknowledged. “Doesn’t look like much, does it?”

  “Colossal power draw,” Clay noted. “Half the star drives for the whole station are needed for gravity.”

  Sass demanded in exasperation, “How do you remember stuff like that?”

  Abel confessed, “We looked up fun facts while we played cards last night.”

  “Oh. Sorry, Clay.”

  Clay pursed his lips sourly at her, then turned to study a star drive control panel. “I think this is offline?”

  Copeland looked at the one closest to himself, tapping his way through several readouts. “This one’s running. Yeah, half of them are powered down. Saves wear and tear? Maybe. Onward.”

  Back in the passageway, the engineer almost bolted for the door to fabrication, but Sass and Abel herded him to the far staircase.

  “Engineering is only one flight up from the docks,” Sass consoled him. “You’ve already made friends with its king.”

  “You’ll know where to find me,” Copeland agreed. He consulted the directory again. “Deck 4, medical, workspace, labs, and open space. Must see?”

  “Absolutely.” Sass hadn’t seen enough people in engineering. “Clay, wasn’t there a shooting range? Yup, armory, left. If it’s open, maybe we can practice.”

  They found the armory door locked, with no posted hours of operation. Perhaps the orbital provided the ‘open space’ to temporary office projects. But for the moment a few people played solitaire handball against the bulkheads. The appealingly empty floor seemed to stretch far under the low overhead.

  Medical was the first section of the orbital they found crowded. As they approached, Sass noted doors labeled for lab and office but housing hospital beds and auto-docs, all occupied. One door sign read Euthanasia.

  “Director Jakeem of Medical seemed a decent person at dinner,” she murmured. “Bit fatalistic.”

  “With cause,” Clay noted.

  “Cancer? All of them?” Abel asked. Dozens of patients lived here, with more scurrying around tending them.

  “I’m guessing this is what that ‘radiation dosimeter’ thing was about?” Copeland asked.

  “Yeah, you’ll need to wear one religiously.”

  “But not you?”

  “Sass,” Clay interrupted, “you and I need to talk about what your crew knows and doesn’t know.”

  “Not here, Clay.”

  “Of course. Let’s move on.”

  The station’s captain and first mate dwelled on deck 5. Sass intended to loop through later to pay her respects. First, for tour purposes, the captain’s viewport. They entered a hushed darkened room between a couple tiers of stadium seating. They slowly approached the open floor at the front, with its transparent floor to ceiling window. Abel halted by the threadbare seating.

  Sass felt repulsed by the view by the time she was halfway across the floor. But the other three guys didn’t pause a beat. They headed straight for the handrail to behold the view.

  Copeland and Eli contorted themselves in vain to catch a glimpse of the gas giant Pono or the moon Mahina. Eli the scientist made a quick mental model with his hands, and realized that Pono was unlikely to show. ‘Up’ on the orbital pointed to the sun at all times. The fixed array of solar collectors projected out from its waist like a tutu, and the station angled itself to keep them perpendicular to the light. Clay already knew that, and gazed straight ahead.

  Sass gulped and forced herself to join them at the handrail. The room light came from the stars, billions of them. With no reflections on the armorglass, the illusion of falling into the Milky Way was compelling.

  “Remember the first time?” Clay whispered beside her, eyes fixed on infinity, his face like stone.

  “Always,” she agreed, her voice as small as the universe was large. The shuttles and colony ship provided no windows for passengers. She boarded a transport on Earth, and didn’t see the stars for three years. Some days sanity fled. She’d known with dread certainty that it was all a lie. They weren’t really barreling through space to an unknown world. It was in this room that they saw the sky again. No Earth, no Mahina, no Pono, just the appalling frigid stars to profess that there was no going back.

  Some 50 of them visited the orbital that day, for a video summit meeting with Mahina Actual. The meeting where the urbs told the refugees they were not welcome here. There was no world ready for them to land and take up their lives again. They were too many. The two events had nothing to do with each other really – the view, the news. Except both hit her hard to the solar plexus, to knock her breath away, on the same day.

  Unfortunate stars.

  The orbital seemed luxurious then. Compared to the Vitality.

  “You’ve seen this before, Sass?” Copeland asked. He broke the spell.

  She nodded infinitesimally. “After that talk with Clay. Then I’ll tell you.”

  “Bet that’ll be a hell of a meeting,” Abel commented from behind her. Unlike Copeland, Abel knew his business partner was older than she looked. He didn’t know how old.

  Clay was right. It was past time for Sass to come clean with her crew.

  “Bet you like this, Sass.” Abel craned his neck to peer to the top of the jungle growth. At the center of deck 6, amid food hydroponics and housing corridors, lay a 2-story atrium of short fruit trees and tropical ornamentals. The lower foliage and flowers provided a riot of color against deep browns and green. Fiber optic light pipes lit the understory as well as the canopy, and snaked along trunks.

  Sass and Clay mentally compared the pocket park to the glorious botanical gardens in Mahina Actual. The atrium’s dead brown leaves, impenetrable overcrowding, and zero animal life made for an unflattering comparison. A musty smell suggested their watering regime favored fungus. But perhaps that wafted from the hydroponics corridors.

  “Mine’s nicer,” Sass replied. A posted sign read ‘30 minute limit.’

  “Question,” Copeland said, bent over the atrium railing. “Do the solar sails outside generate power? Or collect light?”

  “Collect light,” Eli guessed. “Probably charge batteries when the lights are off at night. At Mahina Actual, we pipe in plant lighting from solar collectors during the day. Plus waste light from the star drives. The plants get less light during the dark days.” On the moon, the sun set once a week, for 3.5 days.

  Copeland frowned. “I didn’t see solar collectors at the city.”

  “The light grey regolith is reflector enough,” Eli explained. “They contoured the moon rock a bit to feed the light pipe collectors. Basically the surface is a low-quality reflector for maybe a 10-klick radius around the city.”

  “I did not know that,” Sass murmured, surprised.

  Eli grinned. “Plants are my thing. And Dr. Bertram’s thing. He must be around here somewhere. Excuse me!” He hailed down a passing technician who carried a tray of tra
nsplants. “Could you direct me to Dr. Bertram?”

  The tired-looking guy jutted his jaw over his shoulder to indicate a corridor of corn. “Coming now.”

  An emaciated man who appeared no older than the rest of them approached. Eli was in his forties. His doctoral thesis advisor was likely in his sixties or more. Four years on the orbital? Sass hazarded. Eli said they’d last spoken a few years ago. The trees left behind from the senior botanist’s experiments were still young.

  Eli’s face broke into joy. He trotted forward to embrace his mentor among the kelly green blades of hydroponic grain. Bertram winced at his strength. Sass tactfully turned back to the atrium to give the pair a moment. Less tactful, Clay and Abel soaked up their body language to get a read on their relationship.

  Soon enough, Eli turned back to proudly introduce Bertram to his ship mates.

  “We have two of your air scrubber trees in the Thrive’s hold,” Sass told him. “They’re wonderful. You must drop by to visit them.”

  “God, yes,” Bertram said. “How long can I stay with you?”

  Taken aback, Eli stammered, “I…thought you would show me your work on the station first. Get to know each other again.”

  Bertram waved a hand in dismissal at the hydroponic corridors dead-ending at the atrium. “Yours first! Tell me what you’ve learned, Eli!” His sunken eyes shone, starved for the companionship of scientific peer and protege, anyone who understood him and shared his passion. “We could talk for hours. Days. Weeks!”

  “I can walk them back, cap,” Copeland offered to Sass, coolly assessing the threat and finding it weak. Bertram flinched from his cold eyes. “Tour’s over anyway.”

  The top three decks featured sleeping racks and hydroponics. The topmost deck held air-recycling hydroponics, significantly less charismatic than the crops. Copeland left plant management to Eli and Sass.

  “Thank you, Copeland,” Sass said. “Clay, joining us for our courtesy call on the captain?”

  “No, I’d rather find the data center,” Clay assured her. “Get us a tap. You might ask the captain’s blessing on that for me?”

  “And you don’t want to ask him yourself because…?”

  “We’ve met.”

  Sass chuckled. “Did you send him here?”

  “I helped.”

  “Hum,” Sass replied. “This could be fun.”

  “Captain?” Abel interjected. “I haven’t seen anything dangerous. Do we really need to –”

  “Yes,” Sass cut him off. “The others need a wingman at all times on the station.”

  Clay elaborated. “Abel, MA exiles the sex offenders here. Plus crimes against settlers. Or both.”

  “Dreadful people,” Bertram moaned confirmation.

  Abel recoiled. “But captain, then you and Clay –!” Both were highly attractive, glowing with health and fitness.

  “Don’t worry about us,” she assured him.

  Clay chuckled agreement. He headed off alone with a wave.

  Sass claimed Abel’s elbow to steer them back toward the captain’s cabin. “I haven’t decided about you yet, Abel. Maybe a buddy system. Don’t come aboard alone.”

  “I vote yes on the buddy system,” Copeland opined behind them. “For Abel. I don’t need it.”

  Abel shot him a glower. Tough Copeland returned a crooked grin.

  4

  The three Aloha colonies were populated from the same continent on Earth, North America.

  “Captain Ingersoll,” Sass purred. “An honor. Mind if I sit?” She slid her butt home into the sole visitor chair before he could reply. Commander Alohan, her khaki uniform today matching the captain, glared at her.

  Sass searched the true-blue eyes of her counterpart, a match to her own. A recessive eye color, few sported blue eyes these days on Mahina. The man sat erect, feet flat and square on the floor under his currently transparent display desk. His jaw, resolve, and mind appeared clear. Patchy white hair, oxygen cannula, IV drip, and catheter spoke otherwise. His will would not overcome this illness.

  Ingersoll permitted the slightest twitch at his lips at Sass’s arrogance, quickly suppressed. The two sat in the tiny cabin’s only chairs. “You may sit on the bed,” he wryly invited his number one and Abel.

  “My first mate, Abel Greer,” Sass introduced. She watched amused as Alohan awkwardly perched with one butt cheek off the foot of the captain’s bed. Abel paused, and chose to sit his ass next to, not on Ingersoll’s pillow. Sass beamed approval at her business partner.

  “Thank you for welcoming us, Captain Ingersoll. I don’t wish to tire you, so perhaps I should jump right in. I trust the supplies we brought from Mahina Actual buy us a certain amount of goodwill, shall we say? On your orbital.”

  Ingersoll’s eyes narrowed. “Mahina Actual owed us a food resupply. In fact, it was overdue. Replacement staffing as well. Our turnover is high.”

  Sass spread her hands. “You would need to speak to Guy Fairweather at MA about that. The new Director of Security.”

  “Where is Oliver? MA has not been very forthcoming with us about their recent reorganization.”

  “Kendra Oliver was deposed. She’s now at Phosphate Mine 1. Permanently, as I understand it.” PM1 amounted to a quicker death sentence than the orbital.

  “And were you the cause of this, Captain Collier?”

  “A criminal is responsible for her own punishment, Captain Ingersoll. That said, I did aid the prosecution.”

  “Of course you did. I remember you, you know.”

  Sass smiled, and glanced to Abel and Alohan. Alohan’s stick-up-her-ass focus rested on Abel, who slouched forward, forearms on his knees, attempting to look disinterested.

  Ingersoll had the self-discipline to ignore their first mates. Sass had to concede the man’s leadership style exhibited more class than her own.

  “I’m afraid I don’t remember you,” she replied. “Though one of my associates, Clay Rocha, seemed to feel his presence in this meeting would be unhelpful.”

  Ingersoll’s jaw twitched minutely at the name.

  “He didn’t say why,” Sass clarified, and shrugged unconcern. “Some think cops must hate miscreants. That’s rarely true, in my experience. Cops and criminals, we understand each other. I’ve met holier-than-thou cops. They’re not very good at the job. But Mr. Rocha and I are retired from law enforcement now.

  “Regarding our shipment,” she continued, “the instrument crates were supplied by Mahina Actual. My company paid for the four containers of bulk foodstuffs. Seeking goodwill.”

  Ingersoll’s eyebrows rose. His ramrod relaxed slightly. “Understood. Thank you. Goodwill to do what, Captain Collier?”

  “My crew and I hope to find solutions to failure to thrive syndrome for the settlers on Mahina. We are an urb-settler joint mission.” Ingersoll’s brows rose higher. “Several intriguing lines of inquiry pointed up here, and toward Sagamore. Possibly even Denali.” Sass softened her voice to add, “I hope that our findings could also improve quality of life here in MO, and for the urbs in MA.”

  A flicker of rage escaped the man’s iron control. He lowered his eyes and plucked up his stylus. “An ambitious goal.” He jotted a few notes on his clear desktop. “What do you need from me?”

  “Complete data access to your archives. We’d like to study records back to the Ganymede techs with the arrival of the Vitality. Hopefully even earlier to the arrival of the urbs on the Manatee. Current research, and interviews with your crew.

  “But note, this not a witch hunt. We seek humanity’s survival on Mahina. Or at least to improve their health. We also need your aid and advice on how to reach Sagamore. Upgrades to turn the Thrive into a spaceship, not just an orbital hopper. Also complete communications freedom with MA.”

  Ingersoll jotted further notes on his desktop through this. “First, your ‘goodwill’ shipment certainly covers everything you’ve asked. Except upgrades to your ship. You understand those will cost extra.”

  “I see. W
e are unclear as to the currency up here, though?”

  “Supplies. Staffing. ‘Goodwill’ encompasses the concept well enough. You solve our problems, we solve yours.”

  “Captain Ingersoll,” Alohan intervened respectfully into a pause. “I had a question. Captain Collier sought navigation data to train her guns? Is that something we can provide?”

  “Ah. No. Our gun data is useless to train your AI.”

  “Because?” Sass asked. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand this problem as well as I should. We’ve never navigated the rings.”

  “Different problems,” the ailing officer explained. “MO is a fixed installation. Obviously, we orbit Mahina. But we cannot dodge, only shoot. We generate a magnetic field, as you do, to protect us from the small stuff. But it lies well beyond the station’s hull, to encompass the solar array. What our AI has learned over a century is not transferable to your problem. Was that clear?”

  “No dodging,” Sass confirmed. “Our process is half dodging, half shooting. And our passive defenses don’t match. Probably not our guns, either.”

  “Correct. You need data from a trained skyship to prime your system. Or an asteroid miner. The Gossamer and the Hell’s Bells serve Pono’s rings, Commander.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Alohan acknowledged.

  Sass suggested, “Could be useful to archive that data here at MO, with backups at MA. Is there a data capacity problem with doing so?”

  “I don’t believe so. Simple lack of demand. SO might keep such archives – Sagamore Orbital. Mahina never really mined the rings.” Ingersoll waved a tired hand in dismissal. “They’re mostly water.”

  “Water remains a limiting factor on Mahina,” Sass pointed out.

  Ingersoll grimaced. “I believe you’ve had experience trying to argue with MA priorities.”

  Sass sighed. “Indeed. I haven’t given up yet.”

  “But I have. This chair will pass to Commander Alohan soon. She will be the 28th captain of MO. I appreciate the courtesy visit, Captain Collier. But I ask that you coordinate with her. We will consult regarding your requests. For her information, and her final call. She’ll get back to you on any limits we’d like respected. Do not disrupt normal operations, goes without saying.”