by Ginger Booth
“Yeah, I’m not really a journalist.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” A yawn overtook the captain again. “One of us should go to bed so I can sleep. Or both of us. Copeland can answer the doorbell.”
“I’ll contact Clay,” Kassidy offered. “Still thinking. You go up. Thanks, Sass.”
“Here you all are!” Sass said, coming up short at Copeland’s open cabin door the next day. Benjy and Abel were with him, seemingly studying, of all things. “Benjy, sweetie, could you join me in the office?”
Several males looked up and blinked at her.
“Sorry. That ‘sweetie’ thing just slipped out,” Sass apologized lamely. “I need help with some math. Plotting trajectories.”
“In a few minutes, captain,” Abel replied. Benjy’s mouth was still hanging open.
She ducked out to wince on the catwalk. She paused to eavesdrop at Benjy’s voice.
“Is she flirting with me?”
“Probably not.” Copeland.
“No.” Abel. “I don’t think so, anyway. The Thrive has a strict don’t screw with crew policy. Maybe.”
“Good to know,” Copeland acknowledged dryly.
“But she’s – I don’t know,” Benjy whined.
“Captain’s pet,” Copeland teased.
“You’re her favorite,” Abel growled. “That’s for sure.”
“Yeah. I don’t know what to do with that. And Clay, and…”
Sass decided she didn’t want to hear anymore, and hastened to her office.
“Thank you for coming, Benjy,” Sass greeted his arrival. She hoped her smile was professional enough. “You recovered enough to work for a couple hours?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sar. Sorry.”
Sass bit back the temptation to say, ‘Just call me Sass.’ “Great. I need to run some numbers. Our optimal travel windows to the mining platform Hell’s Bells. How we fly there, how long it takes, fuel requirements. Like that. And from there to Sagamore Orbital.”
She brought up a blank drafting program on her desk, and roughed in the problem. The gas giant Pono in the middle. Its ring system of ice and rocks, asteroids and moons. She dropped a red dot for Mahina as a ‘you are here’ marker. Another in blue for Sagamore at its closest approach, aligned with Mahina but farther out the rings. And then dropped a few more ghost copies of Sagamore around the ring band.
“The problem is similar for Sagamore or Hell’s Bells,” she explained.
“Wouldn’t it be better to use a navigational plot, captain?” Benjy inquired. “To scale?”
“Yes. It would. I was just trying to show what I meant. I’m not very good at the nav plotter, so I get things straight in my head first before arguing with – That’s fine. If you’d rather use the plotter.”
“No, this is clear,” Benjy agreed. “But I want it to scale.” He dropped a line from ‘Mahina,’ through the center of the gas giant and out to meet the rings on the other side. “What distance is this diameter?”
Sass looked it up. “That’s 1.236 –”
“Two digits is enough,” Benjy clarified. “So 1.2 million kilometers? Cool.” They sized the problem to scale, with velocities sketched in as well, for both Sagamore and Hell’s Bells, which currently resided about a sixth of an orbit behind Gola, the uncolonized large moon between Mahina and Sagamore. Each of them came into conjunction with Mahina fairly often, shaving that 1.2 million kilometers off the length of the trip. Which was well worth doing, as even without it, they were 0.75 million klicks from Sagamore.
Benjy frowned at the plot. “And how often do we come into conjunction with Sagamore?”
“Their week is 28 days, Gola’s 14 days, ours 7.”
“So every 28 days, all three are aligned?”
“No. When Gola and Mahina are aligned, Sagamore is on the exact opposite side of Pono. Likewise, if Sagamore and Mahina are aligned, Gola is on the far side.”
Benjy boggled a moment, fingertips to his skull. “Oh! OK, now I get it. You’re right, this schematic is helpful. One more. How fast can we go?”
“We can accelerate at 1/4 g. We have yay much fuel.” She looked it up and rattled off how much they had left. “Uh, let’s say a quarter of that is reserves. We don’t plan on it. And maximum safe speed in empty space – because no space is truly empty – is 4200 kph. And of course everything is still moving while we move.”
“So if the trip takes 10 days, we aim for where the target will be 10 days from now.” Benjy stared at the desk sketch for a few more minutes, then started to nod slowly. “Got it. Let’s bring up the nav plotter.”
“You understood the question? What are our launch windows – when we need to leave here. And do we have enough fuel to visit Hell’s Bells, then Sagamore orbital, then Sagamore. Then return the same route. We’ll need to brake on the way down to Sagamore, then climb out of its gravity well.”
They got busy crunching numbers with the actual distances and velocities in the navigation program, with all the other complications included. For instance, Pono had 14 moons, not just Mahina, Gola, and Sagamore. Some of the objects classed as asteroids also shared their bands of the rings. They might not rate moon status, but they were bigger than any town on Mahina.
Benjy was sweating by the time he came up with his answers. The launch window to Hell’s Bells came every 14 days, and their jump from there to Sagamore every 28 days. That much they clearly saw from the original sketch. But their next window of opportunity came in 8 days, and fuel was tight, a little over into Sass’s preferred quarter leeway.
He sat back, frowning. If he screwed this up, they could be marooned in space with no way back. “How do we make sure I got this right?”
Sass pulled up another file. “Get someone else to perform the calculation.” Her solution, performed before she went and got him, arrived at the same launch window within 60 minutes of his.
Benjy blew out in relief. Then he tapped the desktop display. “You led me too much. How’s Clay at this stuff? Or Copeland?”
Sass brought up another file, with the title Check assumptions! “I used you first to make sure I had the right parameters. Clay and Copeland are more used to garbage-in, garbage-out. They won’t assume I got the inputs right.”
She pushed back from the desk. “Thank you very much, crewman Acosta! I had two more items for you. If you aren’t worn out.”
“My brain is fried,” Benjy admitted. “If you need more calculations, I need lunch first.”
She laughed. “No. Well maybe. First is that we’ve had you on an hourly basis, charge your dad for rent. But you’re stuck in space. Abel and I were thinking salary.”
He nodded. “Abel already spoke to me. We agreed on a salary.”
“Excellent. Thank you!” Sass paused to smile warmly. “The other thing is what I overheard after I left you in the cabin. I should not have listened. I apologize.” She sighed. “You have nothing to worry about from me. Or anyone on this ship. You are safe here.”
“Well, I was pretty sure if I said no…”
Sass laughed. “No means no. Agreed. But also, Benjy, I’d never ask. I like you very much. But not that way. I hope you feel the same.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sar. Sorry.”
“Sass will do.”
“Right. But Sass…what do you feel about me? I mean, the guys were teasing me. I’m the captain’s pet. Stuff like that.”
“Guys tease, Benjy. It’s what they do. You… I don’t know. I find you delightful. We have fun working together. My son was about your age when he died. You’re nothing like Paul. Maybe you remind me of what I wish could have been. What Clay had with his son.”
“I’m sorry. Back on Earth?”
Sass nodded. “Long ago and far away.” She smiled sadly. Every single detail about Paul’s life, Benjy would find alien. It was better that way. Lying rain-sodden in a ditch from an overdose, Paul hadn’t died well.
“Anyway. The idea of anything…amorous with you, Benjy. It’s a non-starter.
More like I’m constantly kicking myself for getting maternal on you. Like, calling you sweetie by mistake. Sorry about that.”
“Got it. Thanks, captain. Sorry about Paul.”
“You’re not him. I get it. See you at the lunch meeting.”
13
Carbon dioxide enrichment is a particular stress factor. Excess CO2 impairs judgment and intellectual achievement, and makes people very cranky.
“We have a tentative departure date, 8 days from now,” Sass told the assembled crew in the daily update meeting. “I am considering whether to ask MO to lend us guards or spare hands for the trip. We have 6 extra beds, or 4 would be less intrusive. Then Benjy and Copeland could just double up.
“Clay, Copeland? I’d like you to calculate the trajectories for us, too. Double-check Benjy and me on the math.”
Clay’s expression scrunched in horror. “You mean orbital mechanics?”
Copeland’s reaction was worse. The man still looked pale and weak, like a strong breeze might topple him. “How the hell would I calculate that! Cap, I got an 8th grade education! I’m not an engineer, damn you! I’m a mechanic!”
He shoved his chair to clatter backwards onto the floor, and stormed out, punching the door frame on the way.
Abel half-rose, but Sass waved him down. “Leave him be. I’ll talk to him.”
“First mate ought to discipline him, Sass,” Abel argued.
“No, it’s me he’s mad at.” Eli’s hand raised from a forearm on the dining table. “Eli?”
“I can check your work. Bertram’s here this afternoon as well. Not our forte, but we certainly know the calculus.”
“Perfect. Thank you, Eli. And thank you too for the radiation data you got us yesterday. Everyone’s at safe exposure levels except Copeland –”
“And Sass,” Clay interrupted.
Sass continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “But keep an eye on it. Abel, Kassidy, I owe you that EVA training this afternoon –”
Clay demanded, “Sass, have you taken a turn in the auto-doc yet?”
She glared at him. “Let’s make EVA at 15:00. Kassidy, please review the training videos before then. Abel can show them to you. Jules, do you need help today?”
“No, ma’am sar,” the teen bit out.
An angry Jules would take some getting used to. Especially with her usually doting husband flinching from her. Sass easily decided not to stick an oar in there during a meeting.
“Alright, the topic until next update meeting is what needs to happen before we leave this charming station. Let’s be about it.”
Abel, Eli, and Kassidy left the kitchen with alacrity, at least. Clay kept his seat and glared at her, arms folded on his chest.
Sass shot him a hairy eyeball, and turned to Jules instead. “Can I offer you another hug?”
“No.”
“If you want to talk, anytime. I mean that. But the computer also has a pretty good shrink program to talk to, if you’d rather keep it private.”
“A what?”
“Here.” Sass brought out her pocket comm and showed Jules how to access Dr. Shrink, the psychotherapy app. “I used to play with it back on the farm. I didn’t have a big issue to work through. Just got lonely after the guys died. No one to talk to. So I talked to Dr. Shrink. Fair warning, he gives homework. But you can ignore it.”
The teen pressed her lips together in a glower. “I’ll think about it. Am I excused?”
“Of course.” Sass turned to Benjy. “I don’t need you this afternoon. Maybe you could help Copeland if he wants it. I’ll talk to him now.”
“You’ll visit the auto-doc now,” Clay ordered.
“I’m the captain, Rocha. Not you. Do not interrupt me in a meeting again. Don’t you have databases to mine or something?”
“I hoped for more help with that. From the other law enforcement investigative professional on the team.”
That would be me, Sass noted. She nodded curtly, and left in search of Copeland, hoping he’d cooled down a little.
Copeland tried to punch their kicking dummy in the hold. It wasn’t much of a dummy. Both martial arts aficionados, Sass and Clay swaddled one of the catwalk support posts with padding from Clay’s original mattress. He insisted on buying a new one for his cabin. Morbid fear of cooties or something.
Sass judged a twelve-year-old needn’t fear the power in Copeland’s strikes today. “Here, punch my hands instead. You’re pissed at me.” She took a horse stance, springy-legged in front of him, both forearms up on guard.
“I don’t hit women,” Copeland growled.
She feinted a jab at him. He blocked. “Counter.”
He hauled off with a back-fist in irritation. Sass let the blow connect, easily countering the momentum through the opposite planted foot. “Again.”
Copeland managed a jab-cross, then stood chest heaving.
“Sit,” Sass invited. She led the way to the scrubber tree bench. From the 10-meter trek across the hold, his knees buckled beneath him as he lowered himself to sit. “Vent.”
“No.”
“You need to swear a blue streak, Copeland. Have at it. Yell at me.”
He glared at her, leaning forward, forearms on thighs. Verbal abuse wasn’t any more Copeland’s style than hitting women. The guy looked like a nasty piece of work. In Sass’s extensive experience, this amounted to camouflage. He was actually even-tempered and rather a nice man. In the social circles he traveled in the Mahina underworld, he needed all the tattoos he could get.
He was also usually a much better fighter. The anti-radiation meds worked, but they took their toll. Or so Sass had observed in others.
“My point, Copeland,” she said, leaning forward to mirror his body language. “You’re mad as hell. I’m not scared. Don’t treat me like some porcelain doll. Dish it out. Are you mad at me? Pollan? The world?” When he didn’t answer, she added, “Yourself?” After that suggestion, she waited him out.
After a couple minutes, he started speaking quietly. “I’m not an engineer, Sass. That word means something, and I ain’t it. I’m good with machines. They like me. I like them. But effing orbital mechanics? What the hell? All these environmental systems. I don’t know what I’m doing! You’re trusting your lives in my hands. I nearly got myself killed. I can’t do this. I can help the guy who can do this. But me? I’m not even qualified to supervise Benjy. Kid knows more than I do.”
Sass gave it another minute, but he’d run down. “OK, I hear you. And I’ve thought those things. But look – we have this tech. I’m talking Mahina, now, not John Copeland. We’re none of us qualified to use this stuff. But we have it, for now. Maybe only for another generation. If MA doesn’t get its act together and replace this station, we may cease to be a space-faring people. Until Sagamore or Denali comes knocking at the door demanding tribute. And we say, sure, take it, because we gave up our choice.
“Or, we do the best we can with what we’ve got. I owe you an apology. I should have thought of that, that you didn’t have the math I was asking. Hell, I didn’t have it until about 5 years ago. Plenty of time for math homework while I was imprisoned. Finally put together enough book-learning for a bachelor’s degree equivalent, if not the credentials. Took me what, 85 years? I’m no different from you. Except some whack job gave me nanites and whole lot of time.”
“You’re no different from me,” Copeland repeated in disbelief.
“Wrong side of the tracks, you called it? Yeah. Like that. Eighth grade, right? Yeah, that’s all I got. Joined the army because they promised me high school. Left with a baby instead. Became a cop because I knew the streets, knew how to defend myself. Paid OK. Wished I had a better talent, like you do. But quelling domestic disturbances, hunting murderers and drug dealers, was all I was good for. Long time ago. But we’re not so different. I just got more time. And that’s why we’re here, really. To buy settlers more time, more health.”
“Still not an engineer.”
“The responsibilit
y is on me, Copeland. Not you. And it’s heavy. You’re worried, you’re not sure – you dump that on me. OK? I’m no engineer. But I am the captain. We’ll figure it out. Because I’m not giving up. I got this long, long life, forever young and healthy as a horse. I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t earn it. I’m not good for much except telling people to shut up and calm down. But I’ve got to make it count for something. So I try. You know?”
“OK.”
“You have a little kid. Nico needs his dad. I was never sure about taking you on this trip. Not because of your skills. Hell, I want you here! You’re light years ahead of the rest of us on making the ship work. But that little boy deserves his dad. And you deserve all the love and admiration he’s going to give you. Until he’s Jules’ age. Then he’ll be a pain in the ass who talks back and never listens.”
Copeland chuckled softly. “I sure was.”
“Yeah, girls start earlier. I was a stone cold bitch by thirteen.”
He smirked appreciation. “Army, huh? Sounds better than the mob. Discipline.”
Sass shrugged. “You found the best available to you, and you took it. You want to go back to Mahina? I wouldn’t blame you.”
He shook his head. “I want to be better at my job.”
“Me too. Tell me where I’m screwing up, OK?”
“Deal.”
“Want me to drag Pollan’s sorry butt over here? He owes you an apology. Maybe we could get a couple hours education out of him. But it’s a lifetime’s study. One step at a time. Bounce ideas off me, OK? I remember a little. Others can help, if you don’t have the tools to learn. Eli is double-checking our math on the trajectories. I should have thought of him instead of you and Clay.”
Copeland smiled for the first time. “He’s easy to overlook.”
“True. Point is, between us, we can do this.”
“Maybe keep notes,” Copeland suggested. “Tell Mahina U what we need for practical education.”
“There you go. Don’t try to solve anything today, OK? Your body is depressed. It’s taking your mind along for the ride. Tell your morose thoughts to take a hike.”