by Rob Buckman
“Both sides moved towards Wake Island, each putting an aircraft screen ahead of them.” Any lingering feeling of hesitation was gone, as he continued. “The US fleets radar at that time could ‘see’ only 50 miles ahead of them, so they use Catalina Flying boat out of Wake to scan ahead where they thought the Japanese fleet should be…"
"Yes, yes. Thank you Cadet Gray,” the professor cut in as he stood, “I can see you have been paying attention, please sit down and I will continue.” The professor ushered him quickly off the podium.
That he’d spent two hours explaining the battle and had not got that far went unsaid. Janice winked at him as he sat down again, and she didn’t mind the grin on his face so much now. Apart from the professor's long-winded explanations, the class work and exams were getting harder and harder. Not all his professors were that sharp tongued, and most he liked especially his navigation professor. This was the one class he enjoyed, as the Professor loved to tell jokes and give them fun assignments. At least Mike thought so. The professor was a short, rotund little man, with red cheeks and a fringe of hair around this head that reminded Mike of the jolly little monk Friar Tuck from the Robin Hood stories, without the habit. He did have to suffer through Astrophysics 101 just like the rest of them, as he couldn’t very well reveal he had a master mariners ticket. Or that he’d already sat for his nth space navigation license.
“For those of you not familiar with nth space, as it is called, I shall endeavor to enlighten you.” His smile left no doubt they’d learn the lesson in every excruciating detail. “Nth space is the name given to a dimension outside of the four we are so intimately familiar with.” He looked around the class for a moment to see if anyone was nodding off yet.
“To enter this dimension any proper equipment, ship must first lift above or below, depending on the ship’s orientation, the gravitational well of a star system, or the ‘wall’ as it is commonly known.”
At this point mathematical equations began appearing on the main screen behind him. “This equation gives you the minimum distance a ship of a given size can enter nth space once they are outside a star system with a given size star.” The wall screen divided into two, the second slowly filling with additional equations.
“As you can see from this equation, all stars are connected through nth in a complex interconnection network of gravitational ‘highways’. That being the case, of what value is it to a ship’s Captain, Cadet Wilson?”
“Um, that no matter where you enter nth space, your destination is always above or below the destination star?”
“Simplistic, but correct. You can enter nth anywhere outside the gravity well, yet you must calculate your end point very carefully. He looked around the class for a moment.
“Why is that Cadet Fletcher?”
“Several reasons professor. A miss-calculation could bring you out too close to the primary on one hand, or too far away, necessitating a long inbound journey to your destination on the other.”
“Correct. What else?”
“Due to the hyper gravitational pulse preceding the ship, or ships, the enemy knows you are coming? It also means that any defending force has a warning of an enemy ship or fleet approaching. Can anyone give me an estimated time for such a warning?” Mike raised his hand.
“Yes, Cadet Gray?”
“It would depend on the size and number of ships involved sir.”
“Precisely. For one small ship it could be as little as twenty minutes, for a fleet, an hour of more.” Another equation materialized on the screen.
“Can anyone enlighten us on intrinsic velocity?”
Mike eyed the equation, computing the numbers in his head, but he didn’t raise his hand. The Professor had a bad habit of asking the Cadet in question to explain his calculation on the main screen. Mike couldn’t do that, as many times he knew the correct answer, but not how he reached it. The professor launch into a long explanation of the equation, but it boiled down to, subjectively, the speed at which a ship entered nth space was the same when he exited and independent of his speed in nth. Speed in nth space was always the same for every ship no matter how big the size of its Warshousky sail. It also meant that you could sidestep the light speed limitation and traveled at many times the speed of light from one star system to another, sometimes in as little as an hour. It wasn’t a total breeze for Mike as on some of the harder calculations, he had to hit the book to explain how he reached his answer, but even that was fun for him. On one such occasion, the Professor came up with one of his, at least from his point of view, fun exercises. This usually made most of the cadets groaned, knowing they be sweating to figure it out.
“Today I’m going to give you a simple, straight forward navigational problem.” They’d all heard that one before.
“In this exercise, I want you to calculate a zero/zero intercept with an outbound warship here,” he pointed to a place on the holomap of a star system. “The ship in question is a Defiance class, five million ton, heavy Cruiser, boosting for a position above the gravity well at a point above the star at a constant five gravities.”
“Your task is to reach that ship by 14:30 hour’s local time.” He looked around the class and grinned. “All you have to do is rendezvous with this ship before she translates. Any questions?”
“Parameters for the ship we will be using sir?” Jackson asked. Here is where the Professor liked to get tricky.
“Oh, let’s say you are driving a class 6 shuttle, carrying replacement crew members.” He laughed softly to himself at some secret joke, then started humming as he sat down and began reading a lurid sci-fi novel, the cover decorated with monsters, half-naked girls and a hero with a blaster of some sort.
It took Mike twenty minutes to come to the same conclusion he came to two minutes after he started. It couldn’t be done, not with the time frame involved. No matter how much he juggled the data, possible top speed of the shuttle, payload, fuel consumption, turn over time and a myriad other factors, there was no way he could reach zero/zero intercept relative to the warship before it jumped into nth space. A quick glance around the class told him that few, if any had reached the same conclusion yet, maybe Jan, but there was no telling from the expression on her face. He looked at the holo-projection of the star system, then closed his eyes and imagined he was back on the bridge of the ‘Prometheus’, what would Gramps do? He laughed, quickly suppressing it as people shushed him or gave him angry looks. He had to laugh, as this problem was almost identical to the one he and Gramps faced when they pulled those ore barges out to the freighter ‘Martian Star’. It made no difference what sort of ship was boosting out, or what he was carrying, that was all fluff and feathers.
It all came down to how you could get from point ‘A’ to a zero/zero intercepts at point ‘B’ relative to the outbound ship velocity in a given amount of time. For a moment, Mike let his mind drift back to happier days, and specifically the ‘Martian Star’, feeling a warm happy glow seal over him. For a moment, his eyes drifted around the classroom and wondered what his fellow cadets would think if only they knew.
CHAPTER TWO: Prometheus
“Hey! Mike. When you’ve finished practicing your dance steps, we’ve got a haul.”
The swish of razor sharp steel slicing air and the ‘slap-slap’ of bare feet hitting the smooth wood floor paused as Mike Tregallion looked at the wall screen. His Grandfather’s bearded countenance looked back at him, his face wrapped in a smile for once. Replacing the Katana in its sheath with one smooth motion, he touched it to his forehead before replacing it on the rack with its half size twin and smaller brother. Picking up a towel, he wiped the sweat sheen off his face.
“What did we get this time Gramps?”
“Oh, the usual.” He answered noncommittally. Mike looked suspiciously over the edge of the towel, using the lower part to stifle a soft groan.
“We got the garbage run again, didn’t we?” It was more of a statement than a question, as he already knew the answer.
The old man looked at his Grandson, giving him a lopsided grin. “Well, it puts credits in our account, son.” He saw grandson shake his head and sigh, not that he blamed him. With an old tug like the ‘Prometheus’, they couldn’t match the speed of the newer deep space tugs like the ‘Titan’.
Being an ex-Navy deep space tug she could haul bigger loads, but she lacked the speed to get there first and that was the key to many holes. He looked at his grandson, seeing himself at 16, full of piss and vinegar. He’d never reached Mike’s impressive size at any age, seeing his powerful fame already topping out at six feet three inches. He eye noted the corded muscles sliding smoothly beneath bronze skin. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the boy body, partly from the 1.9 gravity of Avalon and high metabolic rate, but mainly from his obsession with working out. His eyes flicked down to his right thigh before he turned away, but there was no sign of the bite mark, for which he was thankful. He didn’t like answering the questions it might raise.
“I guess so Gramps.” Mike sighed.
“But can’t we start getting something better now we have the power core re-certified?”
“I’m working on it, I’m working on it.” He answered, sounding a little exasperated. “Stop nagging.”
“Me nag?” He grinned. “Now would I do that?”
“I’ll be glad when you discover girls and get you out of my hair.” He grumbled.
“That’s going to be a little difficult Gramps.” Mike chuckled as he walked into the bathroom and stripped.
“How so?” The old man asked as he turned away.
“For one thing, I already discovered girls were different from boys, and secondly, you don’t have any hair.” He chuckled and hit the disconnect button before the old man could reply. Not that it did much good, as he still heard the snorting reply from the other end of the house.
“Up yours space brat!”
An hour later they reached the dock and Mike immediately started his visual check of the outer hull while Gramps began his pre-flight check in the engine room. The badly dented hull gleamed with a fresh coat of paint, but it did nothing to hide the fact that she was an old boat. Too many years plying the approach lanes had left their mark on her hull. Between that and her old-fashioned fission reactor, instead of the newer fusion power plant put her way down on the list of preferable tugs. Not that Mike minded. It was the main reason they'd been able to get her so cheap in the first place ten years ago.
The Moss Brother's breakers yard was more than glad to sell, as it meant they didn't have the added expense of decommissioning the power plant. Outside, she might look old and worn, but inside she gleamed. Mike’s knack with equipment stood them in good stead, as he’d ripped out every piece of hardware, rebuilt it and put it back in service. Even the antique brass ware gleamed. Many a visiting spaceman nodded in appreciation upon seeing the neat and tidy interior, expecting to see worn out components and dirty floors. In some way the Prometheus resembled the salt water tugs of earth, something like an oversized bulldog, all head, shoulders, and no butt. Walking around the three sides of the docking pool, Mike checked the status of the optical bollards, punching in his code to switch them from ‘locked’ to standby. A freshening breeze off the bay pulled at his shirt, the smell of seaweed and salt filling his senses. He breathed deeply and turned his face up to the sun for a moment. Life was wonderful, even if it was only a garbage haul. He’d be in space again, seeing the midnight black and the diamond bright stars as he looked into the face of eternity. The breeze ruffled the surface of the docking pool, lapping against the weed-encrusted piling.
Here and there, fish, both native and imported from Earth, darted amongst the ferns in the clear green depths, and for a moment Mike contemplated getting his fishing rod out when they returned. Fresh fish for dinner would be nice for a change. Lobster would be better, and he reminded himself to check the pot out in the bay when they landed. Climbing aboard, he retracted the gangplank and sealed the outer hatch, checking the status lights as the inner airlock hatch closed and sealed behind him. Both were green, showing both closed and airtight.
“You checked the airlock?” Gramps voice called up from the upper deck.
“Yes, Gramps.” Mike sighed. After ten years of doing this, you’d think he’d remember what with Gramps harping on it all the time.
“Good. Main systems on line. I’m off aft to the engine room, you take the helm.”
“Again! How come you get to play with all the good stuff and I only get to drive?” Mike yelled back.
“’Cus I’m the Captain and you’re the deckhand, that’s why.”
“Deckhand?” Mike yelled in outrage. “I thought I’d been promoted to First Mate?”
“You were till you hit the dock on landing last time.”
“Sheesh! Hit the dock! I barley bumped it, and it wasn’t my fault, you didn’t answer the helm in time.”
“Har de har har! Heard that story before my lad and it doesn’t wash.” A broad smile spread across Mike’s face as he made his way up to the bridge. Gramps knew this was where he wanted to be, not stuck down in the engine room.
He’d been piloting the tug out of dock into space since he was twelve, first with Gramps standing behind him, then on his own. By now, he was an old hand. At first Gramps manage to stop the Port Captain, Harbor Master, and orbital tracking and landing from finding out who was at the helm by routing the comm signal back to the engine room. That didn’t hold for long, but between the three of them, they managed to find a way around the dilemma. They insisted that Mike take the Mate’s test, which he passed with flying colors. With a bit of fudging they’d managed to hide Mike’s age from the prying eyes of the Inter Systems Examining Board. They simply left off his age, claiming an oversight, managing to keep that going for two years then they simply lied about his age. Unbeknown to Mike, he’d taken three tests since then, one for his First Mate’s ticket, a second for his Captaincy and the third for his Master Mariners ticket. Gramps was saving the presentation of his Master’s Certificate until his legal eighteenth birthday, and the knowledge that he’d been legally entitled to pilot the tug for two years. He didn’t know about any of them, and it was a matter of pride that he could pilot the tug out of air and anywhere within the Avalon system, including the ‘Rift’.
Due to the nature of any haul, Mike always switched with Gramps, as he was needed as a deckhand supervising the actual hook up and towing of the charter. With his Master’s ticket in hand, it was a short step to get his nth space license. With that he could Captain and pilot a starship anywhere in the universe, and especially into and out of the Rift. Teenagers being what they were, Mike like most adamantly resisted taking responsibility for anything, or being seen as part of the ‘older generation’. They loved showing off their prowess, but shrugged off any effort by their ‘elders’ to conform. Mike was no exception, and had resisted all of Gramps efforts to get him to voluntarily sit for the test. Mike brought up all on board systems and ran down his pre-flight checklist, ticking the items off one by one. Gramps training and the knowledge that failing to do so could be fatal were more than sufficient to make sure he didn't’ cheat. From the outside, the Promethium looked a lot like the old water tugs of Earth, with the high bridge giving the Captain, or helmsman a clear view all around the ship. In this case, the 'window's were actually smart screens, not real windows at all. From Mike's point of view, they acted like real windows, but with the added zoom option so the helmsman could 'see' out a lot further than with a normal window. He could also switch to any view and bring it onto the main front 'window' for when he was backing the tug up. Or performing a difficult maneuver.
“All systems online and in the green, Gramps.”
“So what are you waiting for, written permission! Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Geez, what a grouch!” Mike muttered, smiling to himself.
“I heard that, space brat!”
“So what else is new?” The banter went on a
s Mike keyed the comm system to Ground Center. They'd been going back and forth at each other for as long as Mike could remember, but he never for a moment, let himself forget the respect, love and admiration he had for his Grandfather.
“Center, this it Sierra, Whisky, Gulf 893 requesting clearance.”
“Sierra, Whisky, Gulf 893, this is the Center. How you doing today ‘Prometheus’?”
“Doing good Charley, how the wife and kids?”
“As usual, Mike. Where are you off to?”
“The usual exotic run too far away places.”
“Got the garbage run again, huh.”
“Yup, you got it.” He grumped.
“You are clear for an initial run to point Tango. No traffic on your flight path out onto the bay, but I have inbound traffic on final.”
“Copy that, Central - clearing dock now. Will hold at point Tango for further instructions.”
“Clear, Sierra, Whisky, Gulf 893.”