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"You used chewing gum?" Colonel Gutierrez demanded, her voice over the communications circuit sounding disbelieving.
"I had some with me," Josh explained. The probe drifted, awaiting rendezvous with the shuttle sent to retrieve it. "My mouth gets dry sometimes when I'm tense, you know, so I usually carry gum. It worked to repair the broken link, and was flexible enough to handle the shock when I went back into FTL to get home."
"And that was why we lost the other six probes? Because of a single broken linkage?"
"No, Colonel." Josh tried to keep his voice unemotional, tried not to think of the six pilots before him who had ridden into oblivion. "We lost those probes because they were being controlled by pilots. Your guess was right."
"I don't understand," Colonel Gutierrez shot back in anger. "Why do you say that? What would pilots have done differently?"
"Colonel, they'd have done something fundamentally different. Because they were pilots. Because of their training," Horton explained carefully. "I'm not a pilot, but I know plenty of them. You're trained to trust your instruments, right?"
"Of course."
"Especially when you're disoriented, right? And lacking outside visual reference?"
"Naturally! It's when you're disoriented that you most need to refer to your instruments. You have to follow what they tell you or you'll crash. It's too easy to mistake what you think you see…" The Colonel's words trailed off. "I think I understand."
"Yeah. Pilots' training tells them that they must depend on what their instruments tell them when they get disoriented. It's drilled into them, isn't it? The better the pilot, the more experienced and the more highly trained, the more they know to depend on their instruments. Right?"
"Right." Colonel Gutierrez sounded as if she were in agony.
"But at FTL you're not seeing those instruments you're trying to depend on," Josh continued. "You're seeing an image generated by your brain. Blurred. Incomplete. And consisting only of whatever the brain remembers seeing from before or is otherwise convinced must be true. I thought I saw an intact linkage when there was actually a broken one there. I thought the instruments were saying everything was working fine. But you can't trust anything you see in FTL state. Or rather, anything you think you see."
"Like Alice," Colonel Gutierrez murmured. "Down the Rabbit Hole into a world where nothing is what it looks to be. Wait a moment. Didn't you report you saw your arm move, even though the vision came in jerks?"
"I thought I did. Most likely, what I really saw was my brain knowing I'd moved my arm, getting feedback from the muscles, and calculating where I ought to see it based on how much it had moved. That's what made the picture stop-motion. I guess our brain's image-manufacturing center can't handle streaming video very well."
"That makes sense. But why were you different, Commander? What made you act against what your instruments were telling you?"
Josh shrugged, unseen by his listener. "Me? I got my training on ships. I don't trust instruments any further than I have to trust them. I assume stuff isn't going to work right. That training saved my butt. But pilots have to train and act differently."
"Pilots have to train and act in ways that keep them alive on Earth," Colonel Gutierrez stated bleakly, "but in ways that will apparently kill them in FTL state. What happened to them, Commander Horton? What do you think happened to the pilots we sent before you?"
"The transition shock surely knocked their mechanical linkages off-line just like happened to my probe. After that, I think they kept referring to their instruments as long as they could, probably seeing things on the displays that their brains said ought to be there if they were getting so dizzy, until they passed out. Any corrective actions wouldn't have worked because they were based on imaginary instrument displays. If the pilots started to recover, they'd just get disoriented again and pass out again. So their probes just kept going."
"Like being caught in a high-speed spin forever," Gutierrez noted bitterly. "Damn. Damn it all. Why did they have to die like that?"
Horton sighed heavily, shaking his head. "Because you can theorize about something and observe something from a distance and plan for something, but you never really know what's it like until you go there for real. That's why we need explorers, Colonel."
"And explorers don't always come back, do they?"
"No. They don't."
"We should have sent robotic probes! I told them! We could have designed enough fail-safe's in to each one so that eventually a probe would have reported back with the answer. We didn't have to risk humans on blind thrusts into the unknown!"
Horton paused for a moment, thinking. "I'm sorry, Colonel, but you're wrong. You know what saved me? Ginger Rogers."
"Ginger Rogers? The actress?"
"The dancer, Colonel. You know, I didn't get it right earlier when I said my professional training made the difference. That was only part of it. The other part was the old movies and the science programs I like to watch."
"I don't understand."
"They're what told me what was wrong. Movies and random bits of learning. What made the difference were things I picked up in the course of living, little bits of apparently unrelated information that came from being a human being with a life of varied experiences behind me. You see, Colonel? Those robotic systems you just talked about. How would we have known to incorporate the knowledge they'd need to realize what was wrong and why? Who the heck would have programmed a robotic explorer with what would have been regarded as useless trivia? But that kind of knowledge, the stuff a person just happens to pick up because people like to do that, that's what made the difference." Josh paused, remembering the overwhelming mix of exhilaration and loneliness he'd felt at being further from home than any human in history, imagining a machine in the same place, seeing the same things but feeling nothing. "Besides, we've got a universe to explore. Why would we want to let robots have all the fun?"
Author's Note on Generation Gap
Once it became clear just how far distant other stars were, and how long it would take for a human spacecraft to cross that distance, the idea of generation ships was born. The trip might take many human lifetimes, but that could be handled by having a ship in which the crew was made up of families. As the original members aged, they would train the next generation, who would run the ship while giving birth to and training the generation after them, and so on until the immensely-long voyage was done. The typical science fiction story about generation ships has something going wrong. Part of the crew mutinies, critical equipment breaks, the crew forgets they are even on a ship, and so on. But it is possible that a system can be devised which is so strong, so effective in maintaining order and the equipment on the ship that the ship would reach its objective safely. At that point, a system that strong might itself become the problem.
Generation Gap
"Is it real?" From the observation deck of the Generation Ship Terra, a compartment of cold, gray metal relieved only by wide display screens, the blue/white/brown world below seemed like one more video simulation played out within the confines of the ship's computer systems.
"It's real." Greg Tyre nodded toward the image. "I went to one of the airlocks, suited up, and went Outside for a look. It's there."
Frowns creased brows all around him as the crowd reacted. "Was your walk authorized?"
"Why does that -?" Greg bit off his reply as he saw the frowns deepening. "Yes. I'm a ship maintenance and repair tech. I can authorize a walk whenever needed to examine the hull. I determined it was needed."
Most of the frowns disappeared at the reassurance and attention returned to the globe on the displays. Greg turned at a touch on his sleeve and saw Jane Fernandez had come up next to him. She leaned close to whisper. "Oh, dear. You might have broken a Rule, Mr. Tyre."
"Yeah," he murmured back. "Why get manic over that when we're looking at the planet our great-grandparents set out to reach?"
His answer came not from Jane but f
rom a large man who shook his head, eyes narrow with disapproval. "Those Rules kept us alive and got us here, young man. Continue conforming to them."
Greg smiled back at the man. "Yissur." The man glowered at the youthful slurring of the respectful reply, made a clear show of reading Greg's nametag, then turned his back.
Greg felt a tug on his sleeve, following as Jane led the way out of the crowded compartment. As they closed the hatch behind them, Jane pointed back inside, made a gagging motion, then laughed. "I am going to be soooo glad to get off this thing. What do you suppose it'll be like?"
"A planet? Like the simulations, I guess."
"Oh, get real. It's got to be different. Come on, let's go to Port One and watch the screen there."
Port One, the first recreation lounge on the left side of the ship, displayed the same image on its display screen. A crowd of young men and women were scattered at the tables, eyeing the vision with rapt attention. "Hey, Jane. Greg," one hailed them. "It looks like Earth, doesn't it?"
Jane shook her head. "Different land masses."
"I don't mean in details."
"Then don't ask a planetary geologist for an opinion." Jane laughed again as she took a seat. "I still can't believe it. A real planet where I can actually practice geology."
Greg smiled and nodded. "Yeah. It's weird. We've been scheduled to arrive here about this time ever since our great-grandparents set off. But it never seemed real, not until we actually got here."
"It still doesn't -" Jane's reply was cut off by the image of the planet vanishing, replaced by the Seal of the Community of Terra Township and a loud fanfare of trumpets. "Oh, hell. What's Mayor Magetry got to say?"
The community seal slowly faded in time to the trumpets, replaced by the lined face of Mayor Magetry. Magetry looked slowly back and forth, as if scanning his audience, which he could indeed be doing if he chose to use the surveillance cameras in every compartment. "This is a good day." A low groan emitted from the young adult audience in Port One. Magetry had begun every speech of his career as mayor with that phrase, and since he'd been continuously reelected since his father stepped down, it had been a long career. "We have fulfilled the dreams of our ancestors by reaching this planet."
Jane cocked an eyebrow at Greg. "I thought our ancestors' dream was to establish a colony here."
"Me, too."
Magetry's face held a warning frown, now. "I must caution against irrational exuberance, against any weakening of the bonds and Rules and Traditions which have kept us happy and healthy over this long journey. The planet must be examined. Evaluated. A landing party will be sent out after due time. Until then, continue in your duties, praise our ancestors, and trust in the procedures which have brought us this far, and will take us further. If need be." Magetry's face spasmed in a brief smile, then faded out to another trumpeted chorus.
"Inspiring," Greg noted. "Why is that robotic assist the mayor, anyway?"
"Because he's always been mayor," Jane pointed out. "Just like his daddy."
"Yeah. Mayor-for-Life Magetry. Heaven forbid the voters should elect anyone else. They've always voted for a Magetry. Why change?"
Jane grinned and called out the question to the crowd. "Why change?"
The other young adults in the room smiled with the same mixture of mockery and bitterness as the crowd yelled back: "It's always been that way!"
Someone pounded on the controls to the display until the image of the new world reappeared. While a few, brief cheers rang out, Carl Chang came in, spotted Greg and Jane, and headed for their table. "Private party?"
"Nope. Have a seat. How's life in social paralysis?"
Carl managed to look pained. "Social programs, if you please."
"Same difference."
"Not to me." Carl looked around conspiratorially. "I caused a real ruckus in there, you know. I moved somebody's pencil box to the other side of their desk."
"Don't let Magerty find out," Jane advised. "Did you hear his little speech about irrational exuberance?"
"I couldn't miss it. What'd you expect Magerty to say?"
"I dunno. Some hint he's happy about reaching the planet we've been heading for all our lives, maybe?"
Carl shrugged. "Why should he be happy?"
Greg gave him a puzzled look. "I'd think that was obvious."
"That's 'cause you're young. At least in ship terms. You're, what, close to thirty years old? Change isn't totally scary to you. I'll bet it'll be a lot scarier when you actually encounter change."
"What's so bad about change? I'm sick of Rules, sick of Traditions, sick of having people watching me every second to make sure I'm not deviating from the social norm."
Jane nodded. "Ditto."
Carl spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Look, you guys are always joking about my job in social programs. But all I'm doing is helping to carry out the original vision for this ship. As are the people who are watching you. You know what the Terra is, right? I mean, as a social unit?"
"Paralyzed." Greg pointed at the display. "Did you view the last update we got from Earth? I couldn't even understand some of the stuff they were doing and talking about, until I saw some five minute segment of people who acted and talked like us. And you know what? That segment was part of a popular historical drama that's all the rage back on Earth these days."
Carl nodded, obviously unsurprised. "Sure. Like you say, we're paralyzed. By design. What do you get when put a few thousand humans into a social unit and isolate them? You get a small town. The most socially conservative way of living known to mankind. Small towns don't change, because the social pressure is all aimed at conformity. That us. Change comes to small towns as a result of outside influences. New people moving in, new ideas coming in. How much of that do we have?"
"None."
"Right. We live like our great-grands did, because there's nothing forcing us to change." Carl leaned forward, speaking softly. "Even ideas. The updates from Earth get censored, you know."
"Everybody's heard that."
"Because it's true. Don't let any disturbing stuff enter the community. And guess what? Most of our little community is as happy as can be with that." Carl chuckled. "There's also the social system whereby people marry and have kids late. That's why people our age are regarded as 'young.' It all builds stability. People used to worry about breakdown in social order on generation ships like this one. But, really, they tend to the exact opposite. Social stability."
"And," Jane added, "if they start to veer from that, social programs gets them back on track."
"Um, yeah."
"Do you ever feel guilty?"
"A little. People can be happy without being happy in a socially conforming way. But not on a ship where carelessness or accident or riot could literally kill us all. Which is why we have Rules instead of just rules." Carl smiled briefly at the displayed image of the new world. "But, down there, we can relax, I guess. Maybe I won't feel any duty to keep people in line."
"What'll you do, instead?"
"Try to help people like Magerty cope, maybe."
"I'm sure he's planning on running that planet just like he's run the Terra all our lives." Greg smiled at the thought. "But down there we'll be able to leave if we want. Form our own town if we want."
Carl seemed disconcerted by the thought. "I…suppose. But it'll be just a few thousand humans against a whole world, you know. We'll need to stick together. Do what's best for everyone."
Jane eyed Carl appraisingly. "You sound like an elder. A conforming elder. As Greg and I were just saying, our ancestors' objective was to establish a human colony in another star system. It wasn't to keep things from ever changing in our society."
"I explained -."
"Something we already knew. We had to do it to stay alive and keep the ship from breaking apart. Fine. We made it."
Carl smiled once again. "Hey, no offense. I understand. Will you be going down with the survey missions?"
"I hope so." Ja
ne's attention swung back to the image of the world below. "I can't wait."
#
"Why are you going instead of me?"
Greg smiled in what he hoped was a placating manner. "All I know is the shuttle pilot wants a maintenance tech along, and I got picked. Really, Jane. I had nothing to do with it."
"It's not fair!" She glowered at him, then spun on her heel to stomp away. "At least bring me back a rock!" Jane yelled over her shoulder.
"Sure. No problem," Greg assured her back just before she left the room. He took a deep breath, checked his tool kit, then headed for the shuttle docking bay.
"Tyre? I'm Trey. Shuttle pilot." A woman perhaps two decades older than Greg stuck out a hand and grinned. "I've gotten some of your stuff because of typos."
"Is that why you picked me?"
"Partly. I was familiar with the fact you existed. But I also wanted someone young enough to still be able to think independently."
"Excuse me?"
The pilot raised her eyebrows. "You don't understand?"
"Well, yeah. I just didn't expect that from, uh…"
"And old broad? I'm not that old, kid. And I'm a pilot, which means I value having someone with a good brain backing me up." She shook her head, gazing at the airlock leading to the shuttle bay. "You can train somebody to the point they stop thinking. Yeah, you do understand, don't you? All we've ever dealt with on the Terra are the same things, over and over again. I expect to deal with something new on that planet."
Greg smiled. "I sure hope so, ma'am."
"Give me a break. I'm not that old. It's Gayle." She checked her watch. "Come on. The schedule of events calls for our passengers to arrive in exactly twenty minutes, so I'm sure that's exactly when they'll all show up. Let's get some checks done."
The airlock felt no different from any of the airlocks Greg had used to access the outside of the Terra's hull, but instead of open space it led into the bay of the shuttle. A dozen seats, six to a side, filled the upper part of the bay, while a hatch labeled 'cargo' led to a lower area. Gayle Trey led the way forward through another hatch into the small cockpit, then indicated the seat next to her. "That's the flight mechanic's position. Strap in tight when the time comes."
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