Stars Fell on Trieste

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Stars Fell on Trieste Page 36

by M. Alan Marr


  “I know this one,” Chaz says. “The reactor is set up like a missile. It will launch into space before it explodes. We saw one of those on Lyra.”

  “That’s pretty cool.”

  An inbound communiqué appears on the household screens, along with a tone. Dev looks toward the screen closest to him and sees the label LOBBY. “Commander Dev.”

  “Commander, there is a comestibles delivery for you, sir. May I send them up?”

  “Granted.”

  “Yes, sir.” The call ends with a brief sound.

  The screen then shows a schematic of the building and, specifically, a green dot moving across the lobby to the elevator, and finally up the elevator shaft. Dev walks to the foyer and presses the button on the lift to meet the delivery person. He acknowledges the charge on the delivery person’s finger pad. The delivery person then hands Dev a very large box, which he places on the dining room table. The crew comes to the table as Dev opens the lid to the box, revealing many smaller cartons inside that even look oddly similar to Earthly Chinese take-out.

  There is a mixed response to the strange, yet familiar, foods before them. Tiny, cautious tastings of the food are eventually abandoned in favor of digging right in and eating.

  “Wow, this is great,” Harrison says, eating with chopsticks.

  “Is there MSG in this?” Annette asks.

  “I don’t think so,” Dev replies.

  “I don’t get it,” Jen says. “How is it there’s a Chinese place here again?”

  “One of our Observers, back in your 1950s, was so enamored by the cuisine, she froze and brought samples of all her favorites, introducing Trieste to Earthly Chinese takeout. This eatery is actually called Hong Kong Oasis. It’s just down the street from here. You’ll find it a mix between Tertian Eastern and what you know on Earth.”

  Dinner is taken casually, but as Dev can see, the crew is tired and opts to retire early for the evening. Tomorrow will start a new day. “Before you sleep, please make sure you cover the introductory chapters of the CDF-T1 basic trainer. They won’t let you fly it unless you complete the first-stage exam. Help each other. Initially concentrate on systems and procedures. The flying will take care of itself. We’ll work together on the science, but I need you guys to be ready to fly tomorrow.”

  chapter 17

  STARS BEFORE ZENITH

  ☆ ☆

  The group is woken up at 0600. Everyone showers and dresses in their flight suits, and meet up at Dev’s for breakfast. Today, Bross holds a case containing new brass-like chronometers for the Oasis team.

  “Ooh, look, more swag,” Jen says, picking one up. “What are these? Disintegrators?”

  “Bullet-proof bracelets,” Matt says, holding up two of them crossed at the wrist.

  “They are chronometers,” Bross informs them.

  “What?”

  “Wristwatches,” Chaz says, knowing Jen is just giving Bross grief.

  “You guys are going to have to learn how to tell time all over again,” Dev says. “Local time here on Trieste is based on a thirty-one-hour rotation.”

  “What?” Jen gasps. “A thirty-one-hour day?”

  “It’s a format we call Z-time.”

  “Zulu time?” Steve asks. “That’s what we use back home in aviation.”

  “Zenith time.” Dev replies. “If you look at the display on your chrono, you’ll see at the top a series of tick marks on other side of the center Z. The center marks the zenith. On Trieste, you see that the thirty-one-hour day is represented by fifteen tick marks, then the zenith, then fifteen more tick marks. Daytime is in bright contrast. Sundown begins the light blue ticks, and nighttime are the shaded dark blue ticks.”

  “Do I need to write this down?” Jen asks.

  “No.” Dev continues, “These chronometers automatically set themselves based on the position of the sun on whatever world you happen to be standing. They will calculate the length of a day based on individual planetary rotation.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jen says.

  “A day on Trieste is longer than a day on Earth. In fact, the time of day on every planet is different because of its size and rate of rotation around its star. That’s also why we don’t use light years to express distances, because a year on Trieste is different than a year on Earth or a year on Lyra, or anywhere else we may go. So, day-to-day time is expressed in hours either side of zenith.”

  “And the zenith is what, exactly?” Jen asks.

  “The zenith is when the sun is directly overhead. High noon.”

  It’s not as bad as they think, however, because the Tertian night is exactly fifteen hours long (or seventeen hours, depending on whether Trieste and Triton’s orbits are exchanged), so despite the long day at school, the new recruits have a long night to recuperate.

  “Okay, I’m going to add a little bit of complexity to telling time here. In Fleet Service, we use what’s called the watch-system. It goes way, way back to the day when an officer stood watch on the Quarterdeck of sailing vessels. We do that today as well. I’m going to punch up the display on the screen, but here’s how it works: Basically, the day is divided into six five-hour watches. The five hours before the zenith is the Forenoon Watch. The five hours before that are the Morning Watch. The five hours after noon is the Midday Watch. The five after that Night Watch, and then Third Watch. Then, finally, the Dawn Watch, because it is on that watch you’ll see the dawn.”

  Dev programs the screen in the living room to display the standard watch times:

  Dawn Watch 2800-0200

  Morning Watch 0300-0700

  Forenoon Watch 0800-1200

  Mid Watch 1300-1700

  Night Watch 1800-2200

  Third Watch. 2300-2700

  “Why are the forenoon and mid watches highlighted?” Harrison asks.

  “Chaz can answer that one.” Dev smiles.

  “Because, like the Navy, it’s during those two watches most of the work gets done.”

  “You had this system in the Navy?” Jen asks.

  “The hours were different, but basically, yeah.” Chaz adds, “You’ve all heard this before, the ding-ding, ding-ding of a ship’s bell? That’s to signal the time.”

  “That’s what that is?” Matt asks.

  “They didn’t teach you that at Yale?” Jen jabs and smiles.

  “Why is third watch last?” Steve asks. “Shouldn’t it be sixth?”

  “It’s the third watch before the forenoon watch,” Dev says. “Sounds better than the up-all-night watch, which is what it is.” Dev laughs at the minor pun. “So every half hour at the Admiralty, you’ll hear a ship’s bell. At the start of the Forenoon Watch you’ll hear a single ding. Thirty minutes later they’ll add another, so you’ll hear ding-ding. At noon, a cannon is fired to mark the zenith.”

  “Well, how do you know what watch you’re in?” Harrison asks.

  “In the old days you’d look at the position of the sun. Now, you just look at your chrono. But you’re scheduling is going to be a combination of watch-times and chronometric time. In other words, if your instructors tell you to report at three bells in the forenoon watch, what time is that?”

  They all look at the screen and try to do the huge calculation. Matt looks at them like they’re all crazy. “Uh, 0900 geniuses.” He explains, “One bell is 0800 at the start of the watch. Two bells is 0830, three is 0900.”

  “Okay, fine,” Jen says, then turns to Dev. “Give us another.”

  “Six bells in the Mid Watch.”

  They all look back at the screen. Matt doesn’t say anything.

  “That’s . . . ” Jen squints and counts out on her fingers each ring of the bell. “uh, 15 . . . 30?”

  “Correct.” Dev nods his head. “Listen, guys, you pretty much only hear them use the watch system on board a warship or at the Admiralty. Most of what you’ll be doing will be using the standard Z-time schedule.”

  ***

  Upon reaching the Admiralty, the flight
attendants are whisked off to the Enlisted Training Command to begin their classes.

  The pilots successfully completed the first-stage exam covering the introductory procedures section of their manuals for the basic training craft they will be flying this morning. Leftenant Idris is pleasantly surprised at the test results, but not as much as the pilot candidates themselves. Chaz included. After all, he’s flown some of these ships, but never got into the books about how they actually work.

  The Oasis pilot candidates meet in the wardroom, where the Lead Instructor conducts a briefing about the training scenarios that will be used for today’s evolution, starting with how they are to report for duty. Administrative details covered, the briefing gets into the nuts and bolts of flight training. Right now, it all sounds a bit confusing. No one has questions, because no one really knows what questions they should be asking.

  “Commander Chaz?” the Lead Flight Instructor calls. “I understand you’ve flown one of our advanced trainers. Have you any advice for your Midshipmen, sir?”

  “Yes. Definitely.” Chaz takes a few steps forward and turns to address the group: “There is a crossover between helicopter and fixed wing flying in Tertian ships.” Chaz pauses. “Have any of you ever flown a helicopter?” None have. “Then hovering is going to take some work, but listen to your instructors. Try not to get frustrated. Just remember, it will all come together. Trust me, I know.”

  Briefing complete, and without further ado, the Oasis pilots are ordered to proceed to assigned simulation bays and wait for their instructors.

  Each pilot stands before the access doors to their assigned simulation bays. Five instructors enter the corridor at once and march smartly to their positions, turn, and then order their students to press the button to open the door. They each enter and look around curiously. The large simulation bay is just as Chaz remembers, a large spherical room surrounding an aircraft trainer in a partially recessed berth in its center.

  The basic trainer looks like a modern Navy or Air Force trainer with very stubby wings. The seating arrangement is pilot forward, instructor behind and slightly elevated.

  A voice comes from above. “Candidates, man your ships. Internal environment online in three, two, one.”

  The spherical simulator bays energize. The images stuck on the spherical screen suddenly jump out and form the three-dimensional outside environment.

  SIMULATION BAY 04 - JEN

  Jen looks around the impressive simulation. “Holy shit—”

  “Midshipman Jen, I am your Instructor Pilot. You may address me as Leftenant, Instructor, or sir.”

  “Don’t you have a name?”

  “Of course I do. But this is basic flight instruction. We eliminate favoritism in basic flight by keeping the instructors anonymous. You may or may not see me again after this lesson. All scores are quantified and logged. My individual rankings will be added to your training docket. Those rankings are indicators of your progress and are important for your progression, and will be referenced by your next instructor. Rankings allow the Training Command to detect trends or deficiencies that may require the services of specific instructors with specialized skills to help combat weaknesses.”

  “I see,” Jen says. “Well, Leftenant Instructor Pilot, sir, it’s nice to meet you.”

  SIMULATION BAY 02 - STEVE

  The instructor points out to Steve where to begin the power-up sequence.

  “The panel on your left holds your main control switches for internal power, environmental support, propulsion, and weapons system. Do you see them?”

  Steve locates the panel. “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well, initiate those switches.”

  The trainer’s canopy closes, and the single engine winds up quickly to speed.

  SIMULATION BAY 01 - Chaz

  “This thing seems a bit rickety compared to the fighter.”

  “It would seem so, Commander,” the instructor says. “But it is important for you to complete the entire course, sir.”

  “I understand. I just got spoiled in the fighter.”

  SIMULATION BAY 05 - Matt

  “Very well, sir,” the instructor says. “Gently roll the throttle grip forward to engage the vertical maneuvering system. Raise the trainer above ground level.”

  Slowly, Matt does as he is instructed. The trainer lifts out of its berth and rises several feet off the ground.

  “Very good,” the instructor says. “Forward and aft momentum are flight-locked, as are pitch and roll. Right now, the trainer is active in vertical mode only. Roll the throttle grip back down a little and you’ll see the vertical height of the trainer change. Try and get a feel for the system.”

  Each simulation plays out various versions of the same scenario. Trainers are bobbing up and down as the student pilots vary the rate of gravitation applied to the small ship. It may seem random, but each time the pilot rolls the field on and off, he or she is gathering information and experience on the nuances of the system. Harrison rolls off too much power, and his trainer hits the deck with a thud, but without the usual aerodynamic cues the pilots are used to, these trainers almost seem unnatural, as the tug of gravity and feel of the air over the wings is conspicuously missing.

  “A little too much reduction,” the instructor says.

  “Sorry.”

  “As any zero-gravity ship comes closer to a hard surface, you’ll develop a feel for the last few feet, as there is a slight buoyancy effect when field rebounds against the ship.”

  “I thought I felt something just before we hit.”

  “Try again, sir,” the instructor says. “This time, I want you to close your eyes. Apply the field until I give you the command, and then begin reducing. Try to feel the change in buoyancy as you get close to the deck.”

  Harrison closes his eyes and rolls on the field. The instructor waits until the ship is higher than Harrison has hovered previously.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” the instructor says, “Very slowly now, roll off the field.”

  Harrison slowly begins to roll off power, and the ship descends, and low and behold, he can feel a slight difference as they get closer to the ground. He arrests the descent and gently takes his hand off the throttle.

  “Open your eyes now.”

  Harrison opens them and looks around. The trainer is hovering a little less than a foot off the ground. “Just like ground effect,” Harrison says, making a breakthrough.

  “Sir?”

  “In our aircraft you get sort of the same feeling on landing. We call it ground effect, because the low-pressure air coming off the upper side of the wing and the air that washes off the lower side of the wing creates a sort of cushioning feeling just before you touch down.”

  “Then this is the Tertian version of ground effect,” the instructor says. “You have instruments, of course, that display altitude, but pilots must utilize all resources. Visual maneuvers like this one are often used, as I’m sure they are on Earth as well.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s try it again, this time with your eyes open.”

  Harrison takes the trainer up and then back down, again arresting his descent in proper form.

  SIMULATION BAY 02 - STEVE

  “Very well, I’m going to unlock lateral roll and pitch vectors. I am, however, locking vertical height so you can concentrate on the task at hand.”

  “All right, sir.”

  There is a mechanical-sounding noise. The voice from the control room announces, “Pitch vector unlocked.”

  The nose of the trainer begins pitching up and down, although with the altitude vector locked, the ship doesn’t lose or gain height.

  “Maintain level pitch with the control stick.”

  Steve initially uses small, jerky motions on the stick, which translates into jerky, unstable control. He realizes this, and his control movements become smooth.

  The Instructor nods. “Very good. Now we’re going to unlock lateral roll.”

  A vo
ice comes over the speakers, “Pitch vector, roll vector unlocked in three, two, one . . . ”

  After another unlock sound, the ship becomes very unstable. Just like Chaz’s first time flying the simulator, the pilots find the task of stabilizing the trainer like trying to balance a plate on the head of a pin. The difference, is that this is exactly what a helicopter feels like, and Chaz was a helicopter pilot in the Navy. None of the ‘fixed wing’ pilots of the Oasis 767 have near to Chaz’s experience, and all are having a very tough time of it. Pitch . . . then pitch plus roll . . . then just roll . . . then roll plus yaw . . . then pitch plus yaw . . . then pitch, roll, and yaw. It’s a very complicated dance that all of them must master. Quickly.

  Just as each candidate feels like they’re making progress the position freeze is unlocked and the trainers are allowed to move along the flat landscape. In other words, if the trainer rolls to the right, it is now flying to the right. The students work hard at maintaining a stable hover. Hours upon hours of this yields disappointing results.

  The simulator period ends shortly before the zenith, and with the exception of Chaz, the rest of the candidates are feeling fatigued and frustrated.

  The dejected Oasis candidates climb out of their training ships and are dismissed for the midday meal break. They are reminded to depart the simulator after the instructors.

  Five Basic Flight Instructors march smartly out of the simulation bays, then turn and march down the catwalk in a perfectly spaced formation. Five weary pilot trainees exit their respective simulator bays exhausted and a little deflated, bearing none of the precision of their instructors. An officer wearing a braid on his uniform around his left shoulder signifying his position as an aide approaches and salutes Chaz.

  “Commander Ronaldi? Sir, I’m to escort you to Commander Caelestis.”

  “Very well.”

  “And, sir, your Flight Midshipmen are to go to the Officers Mess, on level three for midday meal. Instruction will resume in two hours, sir.”

  Chaz turns to the others. “Right, guys, go eat. I’ll see you back here.”

  ***

 

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