The Tarantula Nebula

by David Kantrowitz

  “Hi, John,” Ray said, sitting in the nearest chair.

  “Hello.”

  “It’s never hard to find you on this ship.”

  “It only takes five minutes to walk the entire thing,” John said, smiling.

  “I just got back from serving Byron dinner.”

  “Oh?”

  “He said he’s finished with your Patrick O’Brian novels.”

  “Already?”

  Ray shrugged. “He doesn’t have much else to do all day.”

  “I suppose he demanded to address the crew again.”

  “Nope.”

  “Really?” asked John, genuinely surprised.

  “All he said was, ‘I’m done with this series, may I have something else to read please?’”

  “He asked you politely?”

  “Yeah. Weird, huh?”

  “Maybe the reality of his situation is setting in. Perhaps he’s ready to play nice.”

  “I don’t see what harm he could do. We’ve already got him locked out of the computer systems. I feel like I’m Frodo and you’re Samwise.”

  “What?”

  “You know, discussing Smeagol.”

  John furrowed his brow. “Oh. Okay. I say we call a meeting of the crew like he was asking for. He can try to convince us that he won’t try any crap, and we’ll put it to a vote. I also want him locked out of the bridge, the cargo bays, the engine room, the zero-g room, and the galley. Oh, and the weapons compartments, too.”

  “So he can go into the hallway? He’ll be thrilled. And why lock him out of the galley? Are you afraid he’ll drink all of our booze?”

  “No, I’m worried about the kitchen knives.”

  “I can put a lock on one of the cabinets easily enough. I have an extra padlock and I’m sure Seth can synthesize the hardware components.”

  John laughed. “Synthesize them out of what?”

  “How’bout an ammo can? I can spare the lid off of one of those.”

  “Fine. I guess we can let him into the zero-g room. He can’t do any harm in there.” John looked into the air. “John to all hands, meet me in the conference room in five minutes.”

  Ari’s voice filled the bridge. “What’s up?”

  “I’m calling a meeting. Are you busy right now?”

  “Chance and I are in the middle of a combat sim.”

  “So what? You can do that anytime you want.”

  A loud burst of machine gun fire interrupted John’s response.

  “Ferro, quit squawking on the horn and fire your weapon!”

  Chance’s voice came through over the comm. John and Ray looked at each other in surprise.

  “What the hell?” said Ray.

  “Look, I’m sorry I’m bothering you but I’d rather hold this meeting now than later.”

  “Roger that, John,” said Ari. “See you in five. Out.”

  “I didn’t know we could hear what was going on in the sims,” John said.

  “Yeah, no kidding.”

  “It makes me wonder, though. Seth, can you show me what’s going on in the current simulation?”

  John felt Seth trying to merge with his mind.

  “No, I mean can you show me on one of the monitors.”

  “Yes,” said Seth’s calm, androgynous voice.

  “Okay, then. Use monitor two.”

  Monitor two was normally used as the gunner’s station. The picture switched from technical data related to the four on-board guns to an image of a forest. It was a first-person perspective, apparently looking through someone’s eyes. Humanoid shapes were flitting through the trees and the person of interest was trying their best to shoot them. John recognized the sight picture from a Springfield M1A, their standard rifle.

  “That’s gotta be Ari,” said John.

  The person shown looked down and grabbed a magazine from a belt-mounted pouch. John and Ray saw something they’d never seen before from that angle.

  “Boobs,” said Ray.

  “Yep, it’s Ari. Seth, show us Richter.”

  The image switched to Richter. He was firing his favored Colt M4 rifle on full automatic. John noticed how well he controlled the recoil.

  “We should keep this to ourselves,” said Ray. “We could have a lot of fun seeing what the others are up to.”

  “I didn’t know you were a voyeur, Ray.”

  “I’m kidding. Besides, I don’t do anything compromising in there.”

  “Me neither. Honestly I could care less.”

  “It could provide a more passive form of entertainment. It is rather exhausting to participate directly. I could pour myself a drink and be quite happy sitting here to watch the show.”

  John smiled. “I’d love to see some replays of our battles.”

  “Who says you can’t?”

  “I don’t know. Seth, can you show us, on the monitor, a replay of our last World War Two sim?”

  “No,” said Seth.

  “Why not?”

  Seth thought for a moment. “I no longer possess that information.”

  “Can you save it next time?”

  “Please rephrase the question.”

  “Can you preserve all the data from a sim for later use?”

  “No.”

  John shrugged. “Why not?”

  “The data would exceed my capacity for storage.”

  “What about saving it on our systems?”

  Seth paused. “The total storage capacity for all networked drives would only allow for three point seven seconds of simulation.”

  “Oh.”

  “Does that mean that our networked computers have more hard drive space than you do?” asked Ray.

  “Yes.”

  John sat up suddenly. Friday jumped to the floor.

  “Hey, what gives?” said Seth.

  “Sorry, Friday,” began John, “Ray, do you realize what this means?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Seth just gave us a way to determine his data storage capacity.”

  “What, you didn’t know that already?”

  Christie entered the bridge.

  “What’s this meeting about, guys?” she asked.

  “Christie, we just had a breakthrough with Seth,” said John.

  “Oh?”

  “You know how we couldn’t quantify Seth’s hardware?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, he just told us how much hard drive space he has. Or, that is to say, how much data storage space he has.”

  “Let me guess. You asked him an abstract question about it.”

  “Yes.”

  “I told you that was a more effective way of communicating with him.”

  “You two want to clue me in to what you’re talking about?” Ray asked.

  “We asked Seth how much storage space he had about two weeks ago. He didn’t understand the question even when John was linked with him. Remember, he can access our computers through the network but the network can’t access him. He’s a read-only device, so to speak.”

  John nodded. “We asked Seth to put it in terms of the hard drive space of our computers. He still didn’t understand. But we never asked him to do it with an actual quantifiable piece of data. It seems so simple now.”

  “So, what’s the answer?” queried Ray.

  “I just need to crunch the numbers. Ari, can you meet me on the bridge please?”

  Ari entered from the conference room. She was carrying a bottle of water and looked tired.

  “What’s up?” she said. “Are we having the meeting in here instead?”

  “No, I have something else to ask you. What’s the total hard drive capacity of our network?”

  “You mean in terms of gigs? I’m not sure. We have five identical machines on the network. They have a total of a seven hundred and fifty gigs. My laptop has three gigs. What about your system?”

  “I have eighty.”

  “Okay, then, that means our entire network has eight hundred and thirty-three gigabytes avail
able.”

  Friday meowed at John.

  “Can you sit down please,” said Seth. “I wasn’t finished sitting in your lap.”

  “Not right now, Friday,” John replied. “Seth, what is the maximum amount of simulation time you can store?”

  “Point two five seconds.”

  John sat down at the station across from Ray. He opened the computer’s calculator.

  “Okay, then we just compare the ratio of point two five seconds to three point seven seconds, and we have our answer.”

  John worked the calculator.

  “Wouldn’t this mean that our network has more memory than Seth?” asked Christie.

  John nodded. “Yup. The answer is fourteen point eight gigabytes.”

  “How can such a sophisticated AI system operate with such little memory?”

  “I don’t know. Seth’s strength could be his processing power. I imagine the actual hard data is rather efficient in nature.”

  “Maybe Seth is referring to his available storage capacity,” began Ari, “as opposed to his original capacity. Don’t forget that he can’t remember shit about the mission, Umber, or his own damn origins.”

  “That’s a good point,” said John. “We should continue this discussion after the meeting.”

  John led the way into the conference room and the others followed. Richter and Dana were sitting at the table.

  “So what’s this all about?” asked Richter.

  “Shit, I forgot to get Byron,” said John.

  “I’ll go,” Ray said.

  Ray left via the rear exit. John sat at the head of the table. Ari leaned against the wall, removing a cigarette from her pocket and lighting it.

  “Do you have to do that in here?” asked Dana.

  “Nobody ever said anything about this ship being a non-smoking environment,” Ari said. “I mean look, the smoke barely has a chance to spread before the ventilation system carries it away.”

  “You can still smell it. How’bout as a courtesy to those who are bothered by it?”

  “Who’s bothered by it?” Ari asked, looking around with a scowl.

  The others remained silent.

  “Speak your mind, Dana,” said John after a moment.

  “Christ, Dana,” said Ari, “if you don’t want me to smoke around you all you have to do is ask.”

  Dana sighed. “Fine then, I don’t want you to smoke around me. At least, not as often as you do.”

  “Well, I’ll run out eventually. Then you’ll get your wish.”

  “Don’t be such a jerk, I know as well as you do that you’ve got ten cartons of those things in the hold.”

  Ari smirked and looked away. “You noticed that, huh?”

  “Look, fellas,” Dana began, “it’s not my place to dictate who can smoke where. I know half the crew smokes. I just wish we could regulate it a little.”

  “Sorry, but if you’re out-voted, you’re out-voted.”

  “Ari, I think compromise is the best solution here,” said John. “Dana, what do you propose?”

  “I’d like to designate the conference room and the bridge as non-smoking areas. At least when I’m present.”

  “Richter, what do you think?”

  “Smoke, no smoke, it makes no difference to me,” replied Richter flatly.

  “Christie?”

  “I honestly don’t care one way or the other. I’ve dropped down to three or four cigarettes a week.”

  “I know Ray doesn’t smoke very often,” said John. “I say we accept Dana’s proposal with one modification. If someone is smoking on the bridge when she arrives, they may finish smoking, but no further tobacco use after that.”

  “But your Stanwell lasts for an hour fully loaded,” observed Christie.

  “Hey, I said it was a compromise. Besides, Dana is out-voted.”

  “Fair enough,” said Dana. “Thank you for the consideration.”

  Ari crossed the room to the garbage receptacle, unceremoniously spit on her cigarette to put it out, and threw it away. The rear door opened and Byron was ushered in by Ray. Ray sat down.

  “Have a seat, Mister Sterling,” John said.

  Byron took the only remaining chair. Ari resumed her previous position leaning against the wall.

  “How’s it going?” Byron said.

  “Mister Sterling, you’ve been asked here to participate in a discussion about your future. We’d like to give you a chance to convince us why we should let you out of the cargo hold.”

  “This is the point of the meeting?” Ari blurted.

  “Bullshit,” said Christie.

  “Hold on, folks. Just bear with me for now. Byron?”

  “Okay. Where do we stand?”

  “Where we stand is that you still betrayed us. That we can’t forget. We might be able to forgive you, however, if you prove yourself to be trustworthy.”

  “I can’t change what I did. I can only hope that you can understand why I did it. This mission is very important and I just wanted to be sure that the right people ended up aboard. I know I went about it the wrong way, but the results were positive. I see now that this crew is the right crew for this ship. Honestly, I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

  “Okay, Byron. Well said, I think. Does anyone have anything constructive to add?”

  “What about all that egomaniacal bullshit you were spouting after we discovered you?” asked Ari.

  “I’m not going to lie to you all,” said Byron. “I have a rather high opinion of myself. I know that I can contribute to this mission in a good way. I’m never going to get that opportunity wallowing in the cargo hold, so I’m willing to change. I can’t help who I am, but I know I can make myself function as a member of this crew.”

  “We’re not offering you a position on the crew,” said John. “We’re simply offering you a greater run of the ship. You’re already locked out of the command functions. You’ll still be locked out. There will also be areas of the ship that will be off-limits. You will have access to the galley and the observation room. If you want to visit the bridge you’ll have to be escorted. If you screw up or give us any reason to doubt you, it’s back into the cargo hold.”

  “What about quarters?”

  “Any volunteers to be Byron’s roommate?”

  The crew all vocalized negative opinions.

  “Why not sleep with a rattlesnake?” muttered Christie.

  “I didn’t think so. You’ll stay in the cargo hold. We’ll give you some of the spare furniture and you can set up a more personalized space in one corner.”

  Byron shrugged. “I guess I can’t complain. How much longer until we get where we’re going?”

  “Five weeks.”

  “Okay. I agree to your terms.”

  “What about the network terminal in the galley?” asked Ari.

  “Put a password on it,” John replied.

  “Great,” said Byron, “what am I supposed to do to kill time?”

  “Stare out of the frigging windows!” barked John. “You’re not here to be entertained! You got that?”

  “I’m sorry I asked.”

  2. Day Eight

  Ray Bailey stretched out on his bed, breathing deeply. It was two o’clock in the morning and it was about time to rack out. He was glad that they made progress with Byron the previous evening. Everyone knew perfectly well they were avoiding the issue by keeping him down there for so long, so it was a relief to reach a decision. Ray was most concerned for Christie, who intensely disliked Byron, and Ari, who wasn’t fond of him either. Ray figured that a bit of insanity at the beginning of their journey was warranted. Byron certainly couldn’t have predicted his own reaction to discovering the Faith. It was the kind of thing that made rational thought take a five-minute break, after all.

  Ray smiled to himself and let the stress melt away from his body. He found his quarters to be the most relaxing place on the ship, despite the stunning effect of the zero-g room and the more adrenaline-inducing capabilities of a
n orb sim. Watching the stars slowly creep by in his side-facing window, with the bluish room lights turned down low, Ray was able to revel in the excitement of the mission while remaining calm and serene. He had customized his room as much as possible, but extras had been a hurried afterthought. Still, Ray thought the rooms needed little sprucing up to be inviting.

  Ray’s role as weapons specialist was by default. He was the one who designed the mounting systems for the onboard guns, and his background as a police officer allowed him greater insight for the best small arms for the crew. In fact, the crew had no idea if any of their weapons would be effective where they were headed. As Ray said, they got the best they could.

  The Reckless Faith was a large ship by any Earth standard. Unrestricted by typical airframe designs for ships required to enter and exit the atmosphere, the Faith lacked the familiar wings and fins one might expect. The designer derived great inspiration from the US Air Force’s C-5 Galaxy, at least as far as size and shape. The exact weight of the Faith was not known, but was estimated to be about 1500 tons. Anti-gravity technology allowed ease of movement and made landing gear unnecessary, although the crew knew they could put down in a body of water and be safe in an emergency, as the Faith was naturally buoyant.

  The ship’s maximum speed within the Earth’s atmosphere was 4200 miles per hour, limited by its ability to withstand friction. Anything faster than that would risk melting the hull. Its maximum speed in space was approximately 1.56 million c, or 1.56 million times the speed of light. This astonishing figure was misleading, however, as it refers to the Faith’s relative speed and not the actual speed. The ship was able to cross such fast stellar distances by entering a dimension the crew called Superspace. A conceptual conundrum, Superspace was best thought of as lying “above” normal space. When viewed from above, distances between points seemed shorter, like looking down into a concave lens. Thus, moving between those points took less time. The further “above” normal space one went, the more pronounced the distortion. The crew found it interesting that being in Superspace looked no different from regular space, hence the confusing analogy. As far as Ray was concerned, the entire affair was virtually incomprehensible.