by Dain White
“Even x-ray?” he chuckled. “That makes sense… that’s why I can’t scan these!”
“That’s correct Gene. When I considered the environments Jane and Yak would be in, I decided their safety required more complete mimetic capabilities. The suits should protect them adequately for some of the higher frequencies, though exposure time does need to be limited.”
Gene flashed me a look, and I nodded confidently. I wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, a confident nod goes a long way.
*****
The shower felt small, as usual, but if it made me less stinky I was prepared to suffer. The world just isn’t built for people my size. That’s a fact I’ve grown to accept.
I clicked off the water and took a moment to breathe in the hot steam and relax. The shower compartment filled a gurgling sound as the drain below cycled water. I took a moment to slap excess water off my body before reaching for a towel. We don’t really need to preserve water, but it’s a good habit to have – there’s no reason to soak water into a towel if you don’t need to.
I shivered a bit in the cold air of my stateroom, did some calisthenics to warm up, then got dressed and ready to stand watch.
When we were in slipspace, our shipboard routine became a lot more relaxed, but we still stood regular watches. Even though there wasn’t a lot to do, the captain was a firm believer in maintaining a sense of structure, a routine to keep everyone involved in the day-to-day processes aboard the ship. There was still plenty of work to be done, even with the ship in slipspace.
On a daily basis, we all stood at least one bridge watch as backup for Janis, in case something went wrong. Bridge watches in slipspace were generally quiet, perfect for catching up on reading, writing, or just sitting quietly. There wasn’t much to do but keep an eye on the status screens.
As everyone on board had a specialization, we all spent an additional watch period working on whatever projects and tasks were handy. My schedule dogged in alternation with both Jane and Gene, so they could use me for heavy lifting as needed. Pauli normally stood two bridge watches in a day cycle, as he could track just about anything from his station.
My dog watches were usually to help Gene or Jane, but everyone else also dogged watches through the mid-day cycle to handle galley duties, cleaning, or work-as-directed – by the captain, naturally.
Captain Smith was either always on watch, or never on watch, depending on who you asked. I guess it would be more accurate to say he was always alert, yet not really doing anything about it.
On a long hop like the one we were on currently, the rotation of watches, the schedule… became almost… well, routine. Not that it was boring, but it became predictable.
Not much aboard the Archaea was ever boring, except maybe standing bridge watch. I didn’t really have much to do except think, and I do more than enough of that already.
Working the dog watches with Jane or Gene were usually the high points of my day. Jane was always working on something dangerous and highly technical, the smell of ozone and risk of imminent death by electrocution worked well for making a shift exciting – and she was a lot of fun to work with.
Working with Gene was also a lot of fun, because he was always building something up or tearing something down, and he wasn’t afraid to let me wade right in and help. I was pretty careful to do exactly what was asked and nothing more, and I think he appreciated that. With the complex machinery and systems we had aboard, the last thing any of us wanted was someone loosening the wrong bolt.
Because I usually dogged watches with Gene or Jane, I didn’t get much time to spend on rotation in the galley, which meant we didn’t get to eat nearly enough home-fried spuds and onions. Not that it was all that bad, we had a lot of curry, tandoori, soups and sandwiches… but nothing stokes your fire like a belly full of perfectly caramelized onions and spuds, fried and hot.
*****
“How’s it going Pauli?” Yak asked, as he floated onto the bridge deck. Punctual as always, he was settling in to the helm station right when the ships bell chimed for the watch change.
“Oh, it’s going pretty well, Yak… nothing to report” I replied. It had been a pretty quiet watch, perfect for going through the unit test results Janis had generated on the Emwan project.
“What are you working on, Pauli?”
“Well… it’s a little hard to explain”, I trailed off momentarily while I tried to come up with a way to describe the type of work we were doing. A big part of what I do is make technological concepts understandable for the neophyte, but some of what I do is so complex, it’s practically impossible to explain.
“Does it involve code?” he asked.
I laughed. “Yes, but it’s not fair if I just say ‘writing code’, right?”
“No, you’re always writing code. What are you writing?”
“Well, I’m technically not writing anything at the moment. I’m working on an analysis of some unit test results that Janis has generated from her project with Emwan.”
“Unit tests?” he asked quizzically.
“Yeah… a unit test is like a program within a program, designed to programmatically test methods and other code blocks. I guess another way to think of it, is an automated system for ensuring that all possible use-cases are being handled.”
“And a use-case is…?”
“A use-case is essentially the way the method will be used. In classic logicspace, a method can be called by another method, and can accept data as input, in the form of variables.” I took a deep breath. “It’s like this… the program she is working on is incredibly complex, far more complex than I can understand, so one of the processes we use to evaluate the program, is to develop automated tests, called unit tests.”
“What sort of things are you testing?”
“Good question. The structure of the program consists of unit blocks. We are essentially flooding through a wide range of inputs for each block, and even through a wide range of blocks, exploring the functionality and responsiveness of the underlying structures.”
“And this helps you refine the program?”
“Definitely, and it lets us refine it without directly running it. While it’s not very common, there have been a few occasions where I have been able to help Janis avoid logic faults or help suggest a more efficient flow of logic through the structures of the program.”
“How complex is this program?”
I thought for a moment, trying to come up with a good analogy. “That’s a tough question, Yak. What’s the most complex system you know of?”
“That’s an easy one, Pauli: the Service. Definitely the most complex system I’ve ever worked with. Deployments, resupply, troop movement, supply lines, command and control – heck, you know how it is.”
“Well, that’s a good analogy, Yak, though I have to admit in my time in the service, I didn’t really get an impression that it was very efficiently organized. I definitely agree that it was complex, maybe a little bit overly complex at times.”
“You asked for complex, not efficient.”
“Good point… okay, using the complexity of the Terran Service as a starting point, imagine if it was about a hundred billion times as complex, while being as perfectly efficient as Janis can get.”
“Yeah… that doesn’t really mean anything, Pauli.”
I laughed. “Okay, fair enough. How about, imagine if every planet throughout the galaxy had a service just as involved as the Terran Service. Now imagine that each separate service worked seamlessly with every other service, in perfect synchronicity. An order from the Vice Admiral would flawlessly propagate throughout the structure, throughout every system. Intel would just as efficiently flow upwards through the chain of command and help guide the decisions that were being made.”
“That sounds insanely complex.”
“Okay, we’re getting close. Now, take that, and scale it up in your mind to as complex as you can imagine.”
“That’s crazy, Pauli. How can you test this?”
“Well, the important part is not that the separate ‘nodes’ can communicate effectively, but the manner in which they communicate. Much like the service, nodes of the Emwan program are organized in a structure, a sort of hierarchy. There are control nodes, support nodes, processing nodes, and so on. There may be several hundred billion nodes, but their core functions can be tested on a small sample and then extrapolated upwards to look for anomalies.”
“What sort of anomalies?”
“Well, slow processing, garbled results, other issues that impede or restrict the flow of information through the system. Unlike Janis, who has a mutating structure, Emwan is more… defined. This leaves a lot of room for improvement over her original implementation.”
“So you test these… nodes, and suggest changes to make them work better?”
“Yep, that’s essentially it… though Janis is the one testing, and all I am doing is really giving her a second opinion, or the occasional suggestion for improvement.”
“Is it fun to do?” he asked after a moment.
“Definitely, this is what I live for, Yak”, I replied with a smile. “For some people this would be tedious, but for me it’s an intensively creative process. It feels like I’m always trying to solve a puzzle, like I am pushing the boundaries of the technology we have available.”
He chuckled. “It sounds incredibly nerdy.”
“No, it’s geeky, Yak. There’s a huge difference.”
“Nerd… geek, it’s all the same thing.”
I laughed. “No way, Yak. Nerds and geeks are completely different animals. I am definitely a geek, and definitely not a nerd.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Consider something besides technology. Would you consider Shorty a gun nerd, or a gun geek?”
“Is there a difference?”
“Sure there is – a gun nerd might know every last bit of information about a specific gun—“
“That sounds like Jane”, he interrupted.
“True, but a gun geek, would use that information as a foundation to become very good at using the gun.”
He reflected for a moment. “That sounds like Jane, too.”
“What sounds like me?” Shorty asked, floating into the bridge.
“We’re discussing the finer differentiation between a nerd, and a geek, Shorty”, I replied.
She looked me right in the eye and prepared to remove my windpipe. “And what do you think I am, Pauli?” she asked murderously, hands resting softly on my throat.
I swallowed and chose my words carefully. “Well, I say, you’re a geek…” her face darkened “…because you’re incredibly skilled?”
She laughed, and let me go. “I am definitely a gun geek, Yak. He’s right.”
“So you’re saying that someone who is heavily specialized on a subject is a nerd, but someone who is heavily specialized, as well as proficient with the subject, is a geek?”
“That’s the way I see it, Yak. It may be nerdy to become an expert in tech – but it’s geeky to take that knowledge and create an AI. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so… Using that analogy, Jane is definitely a geek. She knows the technology, but also knows how to use it.”
Shorty smiled. “So what does that make you, Yak? Are you a nerd, or a geek?”
He laughed. “I am a Marine, Jane. I don’t study it, I don’t research it… I definitely don’t write papers about it. My only job is to take care of business, like a mean, green, killing machine.”
“You’re a geek” she replied dangerously, smiling.
*****
I loved the smell of freshly ground coffee.
The galley was filled with the industrious soothing sounds of the steam press, the clack and click of the heating element, the soft syncopated percolation forming the perfect accompaniment to the hearty aroma that permeated the air.
Gene was going to rue the day he ever cast aspersions on my brewing skills. I may be a decent captain, I might be a hot pilot, but if there’s truly one thing I do well, is brew up a pretty damn exceptional pot of coffee.
I was taking my time, and doing it right.
Starting with a medium to light grind, with the occasional check for proper grain size, I carefully abraded, cracked and slowly milled the luscious dark beans into soft, velvety grounds. After a quick check to see if anyone was watching, I added my secret, customary pinch of nutmeg to the grounds – not enough to taste, just enough to enhance the boldness.
I took a few careful moments rolling the grounds back and forth across the mesh screen of the titanium filter, carefully checking for any imperfections, and carefully rejecting any grounds that didn’t represent the absolute perfection in size, shape, friability, and texture. No cracked casings, no shiny, unhappy little grounds were going to find their way into this pot of coffee.
With the filter loaded, I took a deep breath, centered the grounds perfectly with a slight dimple in the middle to create a catch basin to receive each slow drip from the condenser, and slid the filter into the pressure clamp. A slight hand on the pressure lever, I opened the valve to release just a hint of steam. Not enough to even make it to the grounds, not yet… this was just enough to pre-heat the interior piping, to waft a slight kiss of moist warmth across the expectant grounds below.
I took another brief moment of careful reflection to make sure that I had everything perfect. The mechanism clean, the mating surfaces glistened, clicked together as one. I checked the tamping lever to make sure the action was smooth and ready and then slowly prised open the pressure lever to flood the grounds with the warmth and caress of the steam. The hiss of the condenser sang a smooth hissing counterpoint while I slowly counted down, allowing enough time for the saturation of the grounds.
At the proper time, I worked the tamping lever, adding compression to the grounds while I opened the pressure, balancing the force of one against the other, with the grounds trapped in a warm embrace between.
The first drip fell into the pot, and it was good.
The second drop fell, and joined the first in exultant harmony.
The third drip added to the singing chorus, as my heart sang out in joy and my mouth started to water. The smell took on a more subtle, roasted, hearty aroma that filled my soul.
Carefully, I balanced the pressure, riding the crest of the wave, maintaining the proper flow through the grounds and into the pot. Each drip, each drop… perfection.
The last crucial step in the process was to steam-clean the interior of my cup and the refill carafe. The steam killed any nasty stinky sour microorganisms that might be lurking in the depths, without harming the flavor-enhancing coffee stains that a well-worn cup simply must have to be a functional, well-worn cup. The steam bath also pre-heats the cup, which soothes and relaxes the all-important flavor molecules.
Or something like that… all I know, is if I were a flavor molecule, I would definitely appreciate a nice warm cup to lounge around in.
I don’t have to do it this way. It’s a decent little machine, and is perfectly able to grind out a passable brew on its own – but that’s not how I make coffee.
Thankfully, I have everyone trained pretty well, even Yak. It took many years to block out the horrible dreck they used to dispense from the galley aboard some of my earlier commands - absolutely appalling stuff, unfit for human consumption.
We make a good cup aboard the Archaea, however. Even Yak, who would probably eat coffee on a spoon of peanut butter if he had to, tries hard to make a decent cup. I don’t know if necessarily succeeds at it, but I can taste that he tried, and that goes a long way towards making something drinkable.
Now that I was locked and loaded, ready to dispense caffeine dominance, it was time for my refill rounds. I used this opportunity to touch base with my crew and keep up to speed on what is happening. This is especially important when we’re in slipspace, because there isn’t very much else for m
e to do except bother people.
I am pretty good at bothering people, I guess. Maybe not quite as good as I am at making coffee, but close. Bothering people, is what a good captain does. A silent captain, a captain that isn’t actively engaged with his crew, with his ship, with the systems and processes, that’s a recipe for disaster. Everyone becomes a little island in an ocean, they understand where they are and what they’re doing about it, but none of them know where they are in relation to the other islands. It’s the captain’s job to draw that map, to understand the map, and to navigate.
Shorty wasn’t home in the weapons deck, but that may have meant she was off shift. I am willfully, purposely bad at keeping track of time when we’re slipping. I try very hard to not pay any attention to what shift we’re on, what day it is – because a long journey only happens if you don’t actively watch it happen. I think it’s probably related to Heisenberg’s famous uncertainty principle, or at least it’s a corollary. Much like observation of a system changes its state, observation of the process of a system makes it slow down.
The clock on a long journey is like the pot that never boils. If you wrap your head around other things, like reading, sleeping, making coffee, and bothering people, it’s almost like time travel.
As I transited through the inner lock heading aft, the previous flurry of activity around the crab had stopped. The cargo bay was almost completely silent for the first time in a long time. As I floated aft across the cargo bay, I held still and listened. If it wasn’t for a slight hum of enviro, it’d be almost perfectly silent.
The lock to engineering was closed.
Now, I’ve been Gene’s captain for long enough now, that I know all his tricks. He’s probably drooling asleep across the buzz panel of the inner lock right about now, and the moment that the hatch opens, he’ll be halfway across engineering with a tool in his hand and an alert scowl affixed to his monkey face.