by CK Burch
The Captain's Boat of the Prometheus had turned out to have a similar situation with its comm systems that the Icarus had: namely that the comm relays mysteriously were neither broadcasting nor receiving. Static all over the place. None of this was making any sense. It weighed on him as he'd taken a swing down to the cargo bay to inspect the radiation scrubbers that Tybalt and her team had set up; not bad work, really. But that had gotten him thinking. If they could do that good a job with the scrubbers, what about comm systems? Sure, it was implausible and a long shot at best, but once an idea got in Lawrence MacConnel's head, it was like a shark biting down on a bit of prey. No fucking letting go until it was either swallowed or just plain dead.
So of course, this new idea was that Doctor Tybalt and Co. had somehow rigged the communications on the ship so that they could get at the artifact.
Implausible, yes; but not impossible.
Mac strode past the experimentation bay and into the data control center, a large hub of three-dee holos displaying each of the logins made by the science team and their recordings. Mac was able to access it utilizing his Level Black clearance--being chief engineer had its perks. He scanned over and over for Tybalt's entries, Kerrick's, even Straub's, the little fuckwit. Straub could hold his liquor and knew jokes that even Mac blanched at but he was a little on the stupid side. If he'd made any kind of mistakes, they would be as pronounced as Captain Markov's mustache, but ten minutes of searching gave Mac everything he knew he would find: bupkis. The three doctors of science had limited their systems usage to chromospheric data only, in Tybalt's case primarily in relation to the artifact. Straub, fuckwit though he may be, had made some interesting notations on a strange series of extra-wavelength radiation pulses that were in the Sun's otherwise normal hydrogen emissions. Mac rubbed his chin. All of his instrumentation had been calibrated to check only for radiation interference between normal bandwidths; could this extrawave rad pulse be causing the blackout? If so, it didn't quite make sense. Captain Udeh had been able to send a transmission from the Captain's Boat after arrival on the Icarus, which meant that the extrawave rads took time to cancel out signals, if it was actually the culprit. Only one question remained, something which Straub hadn't answered in his notes: where was it coming from?
The artifact, of course, Mac thought. Simple mechanics: when you introduce a new element into a familiar system and something new happens, the new element is the cause of the new effect. Quid pro fucking quo. But why hadn't Straub come to the same damn conclusion? Well, he was a fuckwit.
Mac sighed. As bad as it sounded, he really wished that Tybalt and her crew had been responsible for knocking out comms. It just meant that he would have a rhyme and a reason for it. As it was, this new extrawave radiation was still a big fucking question mark, as he had no tools to calibrate detection of it. He could jury-rig something to do so, but he still had to get to engineering deck to make the final once-over for the dive.
He checked his data pad: thirty minutes to go. Plenty of time to go down below, confer with Clarke, and give Captain Markov the green light for dive. After all this was done he was going to take a forty-minute hot shower, get out the case of Jack Daniels he had set aside just for occasions like this, and boot up the quality holoporn he had in his database. This was fucking draining.
His comm perked up. As he stood up from the science data center, walking back in the direction of the lift, he lifted it to his mouth and said, ″MacConnel.″
″Markov.″
″Captain. What can I do for you?″
″I don't know where you are right now, but I need you down in engineering on the bounce. We need to dive early.″
Mac stopped in his tracks. ″We need to do what now?″
***
On the bridge, Stephen Straub knew his opinion didn't count for much; Doctor Tybalt had made that pretty damn obvious.
In the cargo bay, it had been about the scrubbers. Yes, Tybalt had said field-stream was the setting she wanted to use to decontaminate the artifact once it was inside the cargo bay, but at that setting the scrubbers would only be half as effective given the amount of space they had to cover and how few scrubbers that they had in the first place. Wide-burst would cover more area, despite the broader band of decontaminants. But Straub had done his math: the wide-burst method would, once all scrubbing beams converged, cover the entire field surface of not just the artifact, but the cargo bay itself. Doctor Tybalt seemed to have forgotten that they needed to decontaminate the cargo bay as well; all her focus was on the object itself. Just as she had dismissed his theories on where this extrawave radiation was emanating from: the artifact itself, which despite somehow absorbing both the heat and the thermal radiation around it, was expelling this low-level extrawave frequency that was almost undetectable. Tybalt herself had missed it, and that was probably why she hadn't listened to Straub's explanations. Because she was the head of the research project, so if she'd missed something it probably didn't exist. Fine, it could be that way. Perhaps she wasn't as affable as she put on to be.
Kerrick was giving him the cold shoulder too. Probably because he'd said Sarah's name out loud in bed earlier. If she hadn't heard it, then there was something else, but Straub knew he'd said that name out loud and he knew he needed to get his concentration back into line. He hadn't thought of Sarah this much in years. Now it was tumorous. In the cargo bay, Straub had tried to get Kerrick to back him up on the scrubber faux pas, but she stubbornly stuck to whatever Tybalt said. Sydney Kerrick was smarter than that, smarter really than Tybalt, but sometimes she allowed her own self-doubt to get in the way and shove her confidence to its knees. Straub had tried to reason with her before this, on other situations with Tybalt giving thoughts on data collection and mission protocol, when Kerrick had held other ideas, but she didn't listen then and she wouldn't listen now. Kerrick bowed to command, and Straub was outgunned two to one. So he reset the scrubber to field-stream and was done with it. He just hoped that his math was bad. It usually wasn't.
But then when they'd returned to the science deck, Tybalt had made a discovery that she really didn't like: the artifact's decaying orbit was accelerating. Within forty-five minutes it would be below max safe dive for the Icarus even with the new shields and with no hope of retrieval. If the Icarus was beginning its dive at that time, it would miss the plunge. There was no time to waste if they were going to pull it aboard, so the three of them had booked it to the bridge expecting to find Captain Markov, but instead found Captain Udeh still in Acting Captain position. Tybalt had gone into grant request mode, quickly pitching her findings and the need to act quickly, yadda yadda yadda, and poor Captain Udeh looked like he was fit to be tied. Commander Collins just sat in the captain's chair (why wasn't it the other way around?) while Udeh tried to calmly explain to Tybalt that Markov would be arriving soon, all the while patting his leg like he was doing some weird patty-cake. Sergeant Laguardia had been there, arms behind her back, quietly taking in the scene, watching them all without watching them all, her sidearm prominently featured on her hip. Kerrick had joined Tybalt's impassioned pleas while Udeh had finally gotten a hold of Markov on the personal comm to confirm the captain's arrival.
When the captain arrived, Straub had gotten used to this outside vantage point, and that was when he really began to notice the personalities at play. Straub was certainly no psychologist, but he had an instinct for people. He used to watch kids on the university campus back on Earth, body movement, facial expressions, vocal inflection as they spoke to each other or to him at times. He'd started a minor in psych but had gone into sciences because he loved the stars more than he loved people. Besides, if he made it his career, how would he be able to enjoy it? He liked to notice the small details, the little things that no one else noticed. He was looking for them now.
Something was wrong.
Udeh was clearly out of his element, but the way he kept feeling his pockets, like he was looking for loose change or something, was notable. It was
in sporadic moments, sometimes one time after another, always subtle, but as Straub watched him, he realized that Udeh wasn't actually aware that he was doing it. His eyes and attention remained focused on those talking to him, and the way the Prometheus captain's hands smoothly flowed from gesticulating to patting his pocket made it look all but unnoticeable. Maybe Laguardia saw it. Maybe she was too busy trying to look at everyone and everything. That was the secret to people watching: you really had to let it work itself out. There was no way to capture it all. You had to find the repeatable cycles and wait for them to loop. Laguardia's loop was the way she trusted no one. Back straight, chin high, muscles in her arms taut and flexed, the way her magbelt was just a little bit lower than dress code to allow her sidearm to ride her hip like that, bobbing like an apple with each step she took. She wanted to exude power. She was afraid of something. She was favoring her right knee; she hadn't done that before. Straub had watched her particular brand of hip movements in the past couple of weeks (all women had their own unique movement) and this didn't match up to what he'd observed. She didn't appear injured either, so the cause was what?
When he took a step back to reexamine Doctor Tybalt, he realized that she was acting out of order. She was frantic; no, exacerbated. Like she couldn't understand why Markov wasn't just hearing what she was saying and giving her what she needed to proceed. When the research expedition had split at Outpost 12, Tybalt had made sure to tell both teams that these were military ships run by military people and that they all needed to work with them in accordance to how these ships were run. Yes, they were, at heart, science vessels, but the USDSE was a military operation who just had science divisions. And even up until the discovery of the artifact she'd been very concerned about the understanding between the crew and the research team. This is their ship, not ours, she kept saying. And now she was trying to run the goddamn place like she was Earth President-In-Chief or some bullshit. Toes tapping, hands on her hips. And Kerrick was a mimicry of Tybalt's body language down to a T: Sydney was a chameleon in that regard. He had watched her interact with Tybalt, with other members of the research team, with Captain Markov, and whoever was the dominant personality she adapted to in their speech and mannerisms. Maybe it was a communications defense mechanism, a way to ensure that the message was getting across. Or maybe she just wanted people to like her. Straub, despite his feelings for her, felt it was the latter. He'd felt that for the last week and a half, and wondered if he would ever need to bring that up in conversation with her. That was a relationship conversation. Right now they were, well, they had been fucking. Things were clearly changing and from this perspective Straub wasn't sure if there was going to be anything left over once this business with the artifact was done with.
Captain Markov, on the other hand, looked more harried than the rest of the group, but it was the way he held himself, carried his frame, that gave Straub the impression that the man was still keeping it together despite the atmosphere. Markov's eyes were tense, ringed with dark circles, but there was a focus in his pupils that no one else's eyes mustered. There were glances left and right from all sides, taking in those around the bridge. Even Laguardia was going back and forth, trying to keep herself situated with every potential target in sight. But Markov, as soon as Tybalt launched into her tirade about how important the artifact was, gave her his whole attention and nothing but. He listened. He waited. When he needed to ask a question, each syllable was formed and solidified before spoken. The wheels were turning with the captain alright, and Straub felt a little bit more at ease once he saw that there was at least one other person who wasn't acting twitchy on this goddamn craft. Markov was taking in everything around him, and seriously weighing Tybalt's ″request.″
″Doctor,″ he said, ″you have to realize that we may be putting the crew in serious risk if the preparations aren't final. The ship and the crew both have to – ″
″Well, what goes into dive prep?″ Tybalt snapped back. ″Engine check, bulkhead check, heat shielding, sensor arrays, all of these things that shouldn't take six hours to go over and check and recheck.″
″Doctor,″ Markov said, his voice treading the thin line of patience and patronizing, ″we are diving into the heart of a star.″
″I know that. I understand the risks. I've been on a few of these dives myself, Captain. The point is this: we have an opportunity to capture and examine one, an alien artifact. Two, something that could very possibly revolutionize the way we perform solar dives. It's still within our range if we go now, and I hardly see the point in calling out safety risks for making said dive half an hour early.″
Markov nodded. ″You have a point. As do I. There's a lot more to a solar dive than simply pressing buttons and systems checks. Our men below decks have to constantly monitor engine heat, power relays, coupling conductivity, all of which are being assaulted by the heat, the radiation, and the stress of making this dive. The Icarus might be built for such a thing, but that doesn't make the dive itself any less of a fantastic risk on us all.″
″I know.″ Tybalt's voice shifted from high and fast to low and slow, emphasizing each syllable. ″And I recognize and respect the risk we take each time we go on a dive. But what I'm telling you is this: if we don't seize this opportunity to snare that artifact out there, we may be missing out on a potential leap forward in technology for the USDSE by about twenty years. Twenty years worth of technological evolution could very well be riding in the understanding of the artifact's composition. Solar divers and solar collectors like the Prometheus could get closer and collect more energy for our outposts, Dyson bubbles could be realized and colonized. Twenty years of research in a single dive, Captain.″ Her flailing of arms had ceased; Straub saw something of the research scientist who had been leading this expedition over the last few weeks emerge from the harried mess she had been a moment ago. ″With the utmost sincerity: this is worth whatever risk we are taking.″
Markov looked over at Kerrick, who was already nodding, her arms crossed over her chest just like Tybalt, whether she knew she was doing it or not. Then Markov turned to Straub. ″Doctor Straub, as the other member of the research team, I have to inquire of your opinion. What's your take?″
Oh, great. All eyes were on him, from Tybalt to Laguardia, and even if that hadn't been worrisome enough, it was Kerrick's eyes that held him fast. They were pleading, and yet disinterested. We're done with whatever we had, Straub thought, realizing that there was something truly amiss. He considered the risk of the dive, which as he and Markov well knew, wasn't too great that they shouldn't dive half an hour early. It was the pickup of the package that would cause the most worry. That much radiation, that much intensity. Straub considered all of this and the extrawave rads the artifact seemed to be emanating, and then thought of the crew. They needed this to be over with. So much shit had gone wrong in so short a time that the crew needed this dive to be run and done, and maybe pushing forward and doing it would be good for everyone. Just look at the fucking bridge crew for god's sake. Damn the potentials of the artifact's secrets; just look at the toll this mission had taken on the crew. They needed it to be over with.
″I have to agree with Doctors Tybalt and Kerrick,″ Straub said. ″The artifact is an important find. It's going to help us immensely in the sciences field. But I think it's my responsibility as a member of the crew to acknowledge the risk of capturing it with that much radiation present. Risky, but worthwhile? Yes. Ultimately, however, it's your ship.″ That was as diplomatic as he could be. Tybalt wanted that goddamn thing, Kerrick was keeping her shapeshifting personality in line, and the crew needed this mission to be over with. Straub didn't give a damn anymore. All he saw was the potential relationship that he had been fostering with Kerrick dying in her eyes, and on top of it, he wanted off this goddamn ship.
Markov nodded. ″For the record, your advice is noted, Doctor Straub. Thank you.″ Markov turned to Tybalt, and held her gaze as he removed his comm from his magbelt. The chief engineer
's voice came back, and Markov said to him, ″I don't know where you are right now, but I need you down in engineering on the bounce. We need to dive early.″
Tybalt clasped her hands together, made a slight bow to acknowledge the captain's decision and her appreciation, and then pointed to Kerrick and Straub and said, ″Let's go.″
Markov slipped something into Straub's hands; it was a personal communicator. ″This is set to my frequency,″ the captain said, his voice low. ″If anything goes wrong, call me instantly.″
Straub nodded, and pocketed the comm. He followed Tybalt and Kerrick off the bridge. As they left, he turned and saw Captain Udeh lean in close to Captain Markov and begin to confer over something, probably this clusterfuck of a mission, and Straub caught Markov's eyes and they both nodded at each other. Straub felt like he understood the captain; he also felt like the captain was the only other person not going haywire from all the stress of these fucked-up goings-on. With any luck, Markov on one end and himself on the other, there might be some slack for the crew once this dive was over. Straub smirked to himself; he felt like some strange science cowboy. Into the Sun, boys. Keep your heads up.