The Resolute

by G. Weldon Tucker

  Commander Dyna Washington, heading a solid team of ten highly intelligent programmers and design techs, began seriously upgrading the Resolute’s computer system. Through many false starts and cautions by her superiors not to cross that line into sentience, they diligently worked to bring it to a level just short of that point.

  Sentience begins to allow an unplanned response to changing conditions. AI is a misnomer, for it is a hell of a lot of programming to develop those ‘What-If’s’. It had eventually allowed the Cyborgs to outmaneuver mankind.

  Just under sentience meant a quick, programmed response to unfolding practical events. So, they soon had a smart, quick, self-defensive computer that would watch out for Resolute and its precious cargo. Yet, it could be controlled, even dismissed if needed. And, like any good Commander, it responded as if it were trained. Just like a human. No extra experimentation… No opinions.

  As expected, it was now the secondary master of the ship, driven by the orders of the highest level of command on the bridge at any moment. By the time it was implemented, Senior Captain Lincoln Morgan ran the bridge, but in his absence, those who held the bridge called the shots, pending his arrival.

  Names were bandied about among the group until, with much laughter, they gave it the name, Spook.

  “Appropriate, people! After all it is everywhere in the ship. Everywhere!” Dyna reminded them.

  -----

  Dyna’s partner, Ben, headed up the Engine Room and Repair Shops, now, with four hundred reports on a 24/7 cycle. Both he and Dyna were busy, but still found enough time to raise their three children.

  With the onslaught of babies, there soon came a rising hue and cry about overpopulation aboard the Resolute.

  The original launch of sixty thousand was approaching one hundred and fifty thousand. Not cramped, yet, but on the way. Supposedly, the ship had been designed for five hundred thousand, but then, no one really expected a lifetime journey or two out here.

  All of the initially infected quarters had been declared safe, at the end of that year, and people flocked to fill the empty cabins. No one got sick.

  But that hue and cry was getting louder. Runaway population expansion could destroy the ship. That might be true in extreme, but there were people who could crunch the numbers to estimate at what point that might happen.

  Unlike a planet to plunder and stretch, there were simply not enough resources like water and food, and an empty ship would power on without them. But, if they suddenly curtailed all births, there would be a huge gap in productive personnel until it was belatedly restarted. There had to be a balance. Like Earth’s different countries over the centuries, sooner or later, there would have to be limits.

  -----

  By twelve years, it was a full two months of delay for outgoing packets, which were, at best, sporadic. Jake figured out the problem, well in advance, but they had no way to guarantee delivery, either way. Kind of a ‘why bother,’ sort of thing.

  No matter the quality of the aim for either parabolic dish, one cannot guarantee an exact match after several trillion miles. An undetectable error as small as one millionth of a degree put the parabolics out of adjustment, with no way to correct it. They could miss each other by several hundred thousand miles. So, packets went out, hopefully from either end, with the math suggesting a nu,mber, ever expanding, for days outand half again that number of days back. And stretching magically with every new light year. But, alas, no contact…

  Frankly, packets became reporting tools, and Resolute, probably like the others, ran itself. No one knew if any reports were ever read by anyone or anything at all…

  And, time passes…

  CHAPTER 22

  Nearly twenty five years out, the city within Resolute thrived. There was the constant hum of people going about their business, attending to their jobs or their duties, and hoping, each and every one of them, that they would find a landside home, soon.

  Those that had been born on the moon still felt a longing to be with old friends, who were, by now, much older, or, perhaps passed on. Or, worse, the Cyborgs got them all. Those born on the ship that had never even seen the moon, had only what the elders could tell them, and pictures, both of Earth and the moon.

  The ship born were eager to find a home, but not nearly under the same pressure as those moon born. The ship was all they knew, and they knew it very well.

  Elevators now worked at three points in the Resolute. The bow, for the bridge and all military decks, all seven hundred of them. Twenty elevators, covering fifty floors each, in tandem, most places for up and down efficiency, and in sequence in others. The stairwells remained of course, in case the elevators failed.

  The elevators were also at the midpoint of the ship, a fifty foot by fifty foot lobby carved out of every deck, with the same tandem and sequential elevator system for all levels. The final set was in front of the engine room bulkheads.

  Workouts now, once the elevators made getting around so much easier, had become mandatory for everyone, civilian and military. And improvements in those cavernous rooms allowed more efficient, more functional units, and many more of them.

  The foundry never stopped aboard Resolute, churning out the next best thing, all the time.

  In essence, Resolute held a growing, healthy city, ready to seed the next world, wherever or whenever it might be.

  This, of course, required better quality optics, and those were cranked out for all cameras. The range for detectable formation of any object, natural, manmade or alien, reached nearly five hundred miles. Not exactly enough to avoid the next big rock, but much better than before. If one is traveling near light speed, that is one hundred eighty six thousand miles per second. Five hundred miles would only work for those things pacing the Resolute, not for anything else. Not enough time to react.

  In tandem, the new radar heads ran hot and heavy at all times, newly expanded to cover over 343,000 cubic miles. No more repeats of a hovering Cyborg ship creating havoc. Or an alien, for that matter…

  -----

  Director of IT, Dyna Morgan, lying pretty and naked on their new, oversized bed, watched her handsome partner, Ben, as he dressed in their sizable, upscale quarters. He was still ruggedly handsome, a man’s man, afraid of nothing, and she loved him dearly, as she always had.

  He was a wonderful lover, a caring man, but when Commander Morgan called, ‘JUMP!’ everyone under his command went straight up. Well, so the story goes, she thought, grinning to herself. She knew him best. She did not jump.

  Their three children, Kev, Allie and Victor were not afraid of him at all. And all three had gone into the academy, recently graduated as fresh, young Lieutenants.

  “What are you grinning at, woman?” he growled, playfully, as he struggled into the new uniform pants. The material was synthetic, and it seemed to cling like a second skin. On him, it was… perfect.

  “You. Such a perfect man!”

  “Stop that, baby, or you will make me late!”

  “Who will call you on it?” she said, playfully, as she cast off the sheet.

  Commander Morgan was very late. Thank the Health Services for better birth control…

  CHAPTER 23

  During the twenty sixth year, the civilians voted in a new calendar, based on AL, or after launch. This year, then, became 26 AL. It made sense to tie the calendar to the only rock they knew, Resolute.

  More years passed. The end was nearing for the elder families. The Morgans and the Washingtons were certainly scattered all over the ship, the seeding complete.

  Now, the oldsters, pushing sixty-five and more, were gathered to celebrate both the Dyna-Ben partnering anniversary, as well as Kelly-Jake’s. All had aged well, rigorous exercise, in the workrooms or in their beds, and they all looked good. No sunshine, no radiation, all held up well.

  “Still, old folks,” said ‘Admiral’ Lincoln Morgan, as he held up a ten year old bottle of wine, an illegal substance, offering to refill the others’ glasses.

&n
bsp; “We are the old folks. The newer, faster, better, brighter generation is pushing us right out and over the top. Kind of like new lava does to the top of the mountain.”

  Ben groaned, “Come on, Linc, you aren’t going tell us about the slippery slope up here, are you? All icy and stuff?”

  “Well, I was. Some just cannot mind their manners. How do you tolerate him, Dyna?” But he grinned, for they knew he was kidding. Familial support ran high in this group.

  “When he gets like this, I just take him to bed and … beat it out of him!” she said, laughing with the others.

  Ben colored nicely, but wisely held his tongue.

  Then, suddenly, “THUMMMP!” sounded heavy in all ears, as the big ship jumped, knocking all the wine glasses away from the table. They, like everything else, had magnetic inserts, but the crashing blow broke them free to float.

  “JESUS! WHAT THE HELL?” the Admiral roared, even as the klaxons went of full sound, drowning out everything.

  “COLLISION! COLLISION!!” screamed the usually calm system, Spook.

  Everyone in the Admiral’s room knew their duty and were running as fast their Velcro/mag shoes would allow, headed for their stations.

  True, those stations were covered by Lieutenants and Lieutenant Commanders, but the heads of the departments needed to be there, and soonest!

  As Admiral Morgan stepped hurriedly onto the bridge, expecting a full firefight in progress, he was stunned at how calm it seemed. All the men and women started to rise, and he growled, “As you were. XO! Report!”

  XO David Morgan, one of only two family members not in attendance at the anniversary party, snapped out a salute, then, “Asteroid, Admiral. Caught our port side stanchion. It broke the fuel and control connections, but we are not using those engines. Fuel is shut off, controls are mute. The stanchion is severed by half, Sir. Engineering teams are on the way, Sir!” He held the salute until the Admiral acknowledged.

  In cases of emergency, protocol held over family, every time.

  Behind them, the bridge door opened and Captain Bryce Washington entered, still adjusting his clothing. He was quartered with his family not two decks down. He had been asleep, but the call was for all hands, an emergency.

  “STATUS!” Bryce boomed, despite the Admiral in attendance.

  The XO gave the same report.

  The stanchions were almost twenty feet thick, made up of, you guessed it, fifty by twenty foot panels. Certainly not designed for atmosphere, or flying, but simply to hold the pair of huge engines out there, nearly a half mile on each side. This might seem like overkill, but on a nearly twelve mile long ship, the proportions were just right.

  Easily, several engineers in space suits would walk the many compartments until they found the damage.

  “Engineers’ ETA three minutes, XO!” reported the radio handler on the bridge.

  The XO dutifully restated it, then returned to his investigative duties. This was a serious matter because, once again, the beefed up LIDAR had failed to see it.

  “Look for more, make sure it is not a cluster,” growled the XO. Weapons platforms were hot, synced with the LIDAR and everyone was all over it.

  “Estimated speed after the hit is sixty one thousand knots, XO,” a young Lieutenant, Jenny Lister, spoke up. Apparently, the nearly automated ship could see what hit it, even if it could not see it in time to sound a warning, or give that all important blip on the screen.

  All the leaders did the math. Sixty one thousand miles per hour translate to one and half times for translation to feet per second. The thing was going ninety some thousand feet per second. Not the best radar or LIDAR in the universe would have seen it coming.

  There was no way to improve LIDAR to that level. All it did, of course, was prove the known: Space is a very dangerous place.

  CHAPTER 24

  Commander Ben Morgan was soon in a space suit, along with six engineers, headed through the multiple doorways, each in fifty by fifty spaces like a honeycomb, one after another. He was trying to reach the damaged area. In space, without weight, the honeycomb system was strong, and had no vertical drag, up or down. But it could not take a rock at any speed.

  They were fortunate that they lost only half the width. The speed of the rock helped to cut the titanium steel before it could deform and tear away the stanchion, taking the engine with it. Though, in truth, it would have been much more fortunate to have missed Resolute, altogether!

  At each door, a Lieutenant held a sensor pad on a short handle against the steel. A digital meter took the temperature. Half way out to the engine, she followed protocol. “WAIT! Hold it. The temp on this door is near absolute zero. We are here, Sir!” she called.

  Space had intruded on the other side of that door. Four degrees Kelvin above absolute zero. That is one hell of a long way down from freezing water.

  The stanchions were maintained via a heating system at a toasty thirty-two, Fahrenheit, which could freeze water, but not the fuel that ran the big engines. Every wall should be warm, compared to the great outside.

  The others sealed the doorway behind them, took a few deep breaths inside their suits to steady their nerves, then opened the new door. A slight rush of residual pressure exited through the door, rippling the loose folds of the suits. But it was over in moments.

  Using powerful electric lights built into the sleeves and helmets of their suits, they stood on the threshold of the door and carefully considered their next steps.

  There were several feet of room on the flooring left, sound enough, it seemed, and they all stepped out, then secured the door behind them. Of course, neither the engineers in their suits, nor the floor had any weight to it. No wind, despite the speed of Resolute, to blow them like leaves across outer space. Their magnetic inserts kept them in place, as they looked out over the damage.

  Each segment was fifty feet long, as had been almost everything they built on the moon. But it was also a hundred wide, five segments. The asteroid had taken a jagged, sixty foot wide half circle right out of the middle lead of the upper stanchion.

  The lower had been miraculously missed, altogether. Essentially, only two thirds of a fifty by fifty foot room, held tight together by the overhead and underside steel plates, maintained the upper engine on the stanchion. Once again, fortune smiled. There was no drag at all on the engine, and thus, no stress on the damaged stanchion.

  With foresight, the doorways were set in larger constructions doors that could lift on massive hinges. This allowed the fifty by twenty foot repair sections to be trundled in with tugs, and set in place. But Ben knew that this was not going to be easy. Repairing titanium in space walks is almost a nightmare.

  But he gave the orders, assigned the workers according to their talents, and called for both more people and a lot of specialized equipment.

  Then, he called the bridge. “Bridge, Engineering.”

  “Go, Engineering, XO on the line.”

  He gave his report, along with an estimate of six days to repair the damage. “Any cluster, Sir?”

  “Not so far. Seems a solo act, Ben. Okay, get what you need. You are the expert! Out.”

  “Sir!” Ben answered and then pitched in. It was, as he predicted, a six day project. A long, six day project, even if the last three were inside the stanchion, sealed off from space. Warmer, but still in a vacuum, so still in suits. They worked the watches, covering the damage 24/7. But still, six damned days…

  When Ben returned to his warm bed, with his always willing wife waiting, he professed to be exhausted. He had slept hot bunk style in the Engine quarters and actually had too little sleep. He had pitched in most of the way, leading by example.

  Dyna was concerned, however, because he was indeed dragging. So unlike him, even when worked so hard. She summoned a Medical Officer who came to their quarters and examined Ben, carefully.

  Then came myriad small machines, brought in by medics, and they prodded and poked everything.

  Finally, after another
exhausting day of tests, Commander Elena Hossip announced, “Commander Morgan is as healthy as a horse. He works out, he maintains diet, he is perfect. He is just… exhausted. “And, as they say, he is no spring chicken! I’d say let him recover a day or so. Off duty!”

  Of course, not one person in ten for the whole population had any idea what the hell a ‘spring chicken’ might be. There were myriad hand me down slogans, and though there were writers that tracked everything, most of them had no base, anymore.

  So, in such a manner, the legacy of our ancestors lives on. After all, milk comes in plastic bags, eggs in cartons, and all else is packaged. No one outside of hydroponics and husbandry cared about the details.

  And so, Dyna let him take it easy, turning away all calls and cares of the ship, though she fretted for those two days. But sure enough, on the third day, her partner was back. And eager. You know, you just cannot keep a good man down…

  And, as always, through space, time marches on, with or without us…

  CHAPTER 25

  The next big celebration, a family reunion, occurred the fortieth anniversary of the launch. There were a lot of Morgans and Washingtons around, from toddlers all the way up to old geezers. Some of the adults were military, seeds for someday running the Resolute, some were in civilian life, doing their jobs as expected. Sometimes much better, which is how one rises in responsibility and title, right?

  The population was heading for three hundred thousand, the two child limit imposed on everybody, with talk that it might have to go to one, temporarily.

  But the way it was planned, those older folks would be moving on, taking up little resources, and when single, living with the kids, and so on.

  They could compact all they wanted, but in fact, the animal husbandry and the hydroponics were becoming taxed.

  -----

  Unwilling to become a burden to their own kids, some of the oldest members of the families winked themselves out. By this fortieth year, there were only two left, Dyna and Kelly, both well past sixty five, which appeared to be about the limit for enduring life on the enclosed ship.