by Jay Allan
We were still a week out of Darbat Orbital when I arranged to visit environmental during the afternoon break. I’d been working through all the instructional materials on engineering, but I hadn’t been able to score a passing grade on the practice tests. There wasn’t any one thing I was missing, but rather a kind of diffuse inability to keep everything straight, particularly with the environmental stuff. All the scrubbers, filters, cleaners, and recyclers kept getting jumbled up in my head. I contacted the section chief on my tablet and made an appointment for a tour.
I knew the Environmental Section Chief, Spec One (Environmental) Brilliantine Smith, from seeing her in the mess line. She was easily the tallest person on the ship. I’d guess her height at something over two full meters. I’d also seen her in the gym and sauna. She didn’t carry an extra gram of fat on her frame. The best description I could think of was willowy. She kept her chocolate-brown hair short like the rest of the crew and had a kind of generic, galactic citizen look, except that she had to duck to pass through every hatch on the ship. She walked with a kind of stoop, learned no doubt through hard experience.
Walking into environmental for the first time was like stepping into wet gauze. The smell was unmistakable, but I didn’t really find it objectionable. It was kinda funky and green smelling. Not quite fishy, but there was a hint of that, too.
Smith watched me enter and nodded approvingly. “You’re okay.”
“Excuse me, sar?”
She grinned. “No, sar, for me, Ish. I’m no more officer than Cookie.” She grinned even more. “Just taller. They call me Brill, among other less flattering appellations, I’m certain.”
“I—see,” I said, although I only got about half of what she was saying.
“You’re okay because you didn’t wrinkle your nose when you came in.”
“That’s good?”
She nodded with a wink. “Between the humidity and the smell, about half the people that come in here turn around and walk right back out. The humidity’s from the matrices and the smell is from the algae.”
“Okay, that much I understand. But there is still a lot I’m confused by.”
“How far have you gotten in the instructional material?”
“All of it, actually, but I can’t seem to pass the practice test. Things I get right on one, I miss on the next and around and around. I can’t seem to keep the scrubbers and the filters straight.”
“Filter the water and scrub the air down, mix water and algae to make it all brown.” She chanted it in sing-song with a smile.
“Wow, I actually understood that,” I said with surprise as it slowly penetrated my brain.
“First practical piece of advice we give people. Water gets filtered and air is scrubbed. Then they get mixed together. It starts with running the water through a collection of different media to filter out finer and finer impurities. Eventually, it goes into the scrubbers where it keeps the algae matrices wet. That’s probably where your brain gets confused because the scrubbers work on both air and water.”
“Okay, that makes sense so far. So, the air doesn’t get filtered?”
“Actually, it does, but we don’t have a separate filtering system for it. Not like the water. There’s a simple electrostatic field that the air is passed through when it first comes into the system. It snags all the dust and other particulates out of the air. Technically, that’s not a filter because a filter is a physical barrier, like when you make coffee. The weave in the paper has holes that allow the infused water to pass without permitting the grounds themselves. It’s the same idea with the water system although the chemical processing is a bit more complex.”
I nodded. “And because the air is passed through a field, and not a physical barrier, you call it scrubbing instead of filtering?”
“Exactly.” She nodded and smiled. “The scrubbers also grab any odd gases that make their way into the system. Those are usually byproducts from work on the ship like trace amounts of free esters, ozone, and so forth. The goal is to keep the proportions of oxygen, nitrogen, carbon dioxide, and trace gases consistent. The air coming into the system is high on carbon dioxide and low on oxygen so we feed it into the wet algae matrix where the algae absorb the carbon dioxide and produce oxygen. Have you ever noticed that the berthing areas don’t smell like a locker room?”
I nodded.
“The algae loves the stuff that makes that smell. It would reek if not for that.”
“Right, thanks, that helps.”
“Come on.” She turned and beckoned me to follow with a wave of her hand. “I’ll give ya the half-cred tour.”
For the next stan, she showed me the inner workings that kept our air and water clean. I expected to be disgusted by some of the processing. Sewage isn’t exactly appealing, but I found myself fascinated by the way the air and water systems intertwined on the ship. There was a certain amount of unrecoverable waste, but almost ninety-eight percent of the air and water was recycled. At each port, we topped off the elements that got lost, used up, or destroyed. I even got a perverse bit of entertainment out of the notion that coffee was continually recycled through the crew’s kidneys, down to environmental, and back to the mess deck where it started the cycle anew.
When we got to the algae matrices, the-makes-it-all-brown part of the doggerel became apparent. According to The Handbook, the algae were a blue-green variety but when they were wet, exposed to light, and healthy, it wasn’t green at all, but a kind of reddish-brown. The matrix itself, was actually a synthetic film that held each little alga suspended to maximize its surface exposure. My preconceived notions about tanks of blue-green pond scum were blown away.
I laughed out loud and she turned a quizzical eye in my direction. “I don’t know why, but I had this idea that I’d find big vats with bubbling slime.”
She grinned. “That’s a common misconception. The bacterial recovery tanks are the closest thing we have to fit that impression, but they don’t bubble. We actually have to aerate them to keep the aerobic bacteria alive, not the other way around.” She looked pensive. “Now if we could just find a use for the sludge…”
“Sludge? What do you do with it now?”
“We press it into blocks, freeze dry it, and give it away to planets that need terraforming material. It’s not worth selling, and we’re prohibited from jettisoning it.”
That struck me so oddly that I laughed again. “Are they afraid the galaxy will fill up?”
She shook her head. “No, actually, back in the thirty’s it was okay to just drop ‘em out the airlock. The problem was that one wound up splattered across the main viewing port of a passenger liner.” She did a good job of keeping a straight face, better than I could have. “Rumor is that several members of the CPJCT Steering Committee were aboard at the time and didn’t fancy having their view ruined by streaks of spacer sludge.”
“Thanks, Brill. This has helped a lot.”
My break was over and I needed to head back to the mess deck so we said our goodbyes and she gave me a friendly wave as I headed out.
For the rest of the day I kept chanting, “Filter the water and scrub the air down, mix water and algae to make it all brown,” over and over in my head. Two days later, I took another practice test and passed. Not perfect, but it was the first passing mark I received on the engineering materials. I felt jubilant.
Chapter Ten
Darbat Orbital: 2351-October-22
The final docking at Darbat Orbital was just as uneventful as leaving Neris. It felt rather strange that after spending practically my whole life on Neris I was going to visit a different planet—or at least its orbital. I confess I had a certain level of excitement at the prospect, although rationally I knew it couldn’t be all that different.
We set navigation detail right after lunch. Everybody got a good meal into them before we started the process and we spent the afternoon watch doing the actual docking maneuvers. We didn’t need bento-box lunches so there was no extra work. All
Pip and I had to do was the normal post-lunch cleanup and hang out until the ship was secured. Cookie planned for a small meal at 1800 but he would need only one of us.
Cookie smiled when I asked about it. “If there are more than three people left aboard for dinner, besides the watch section and the first mate, I’ll be very surprised. First night in port is usually the quietest. You gentlemen split it up. We’ve got a four day port stay. Work it out between you and post it on the duty roster so I know who to look for.”
I was excited about docking, not because I planned to leave the ship, other than a stroll around to stretch my legs and see the sights a bit, but because it would feel good to have the relatively relaxed duty that came from having most of the crew ashore.
Finally, the announcement came, “ALL HANDS, SECURE FROM NAVIGATION DETAIL. SECURE SHIP FOR PORT OPERATIONS. THIRD WATCH HAS THE CONN.” We looked at each other and Pip grinned. I knew he was thinking about the bottles of Grishom in his locker. Cookie waved us out and we headed for the berthing area just in time to hear, “NOW, LIBERTY, LIBERTY, LIBERTY. HANDS NOT ON DUTY MAY LEAVE THE SHIP ACCORDING TO STANDING ORDERS AND ESTABLISHED PROCEDURES. NOW LIBERTY.”
A hooting cheer came from the berthing areas and we stumbled into a maelstrom of half clothed bodies, grinning faces, loud plans, brags, and general teasing. Pip and I jumped onto our respective bunks to free the floor space and plan.
“You go, Pip. I’ll take the duty tonight so you can get your business taken care of.”
“Thanks, Ish. I’ll come back for dinner tomorrow and you can take the next twenty-four?”
I nodded. I was in no particular hurry and I knew he needed to finish this deal and line up the next one. Of course, I was pretty sure he had another deal already in mind, but I didn’t pry.
I dug into my studies, but with so much noise in the berthing area, it was all but impossible to concentrate. I checked the cred balance on my tablet and saw that I’d been paid, and it looked like the right amount minus charges for dues, taxes, shipsuits and my running shoes. It didn’t seem like a lot for almost seven weeks’ work, but the share amount was half again more, so I couldn’t really complain. The share amount offset the deductions with a bit to spare, but I could see where doing a bit of private trading might pay off.
At 1600 I went up to the mess deck to help Cookie with the evening meal. He really didn’t need me, but it gave me something to do away from the still noisy berthing area. I took a certain satisfaction draining out the two partial coffee urns, leaving the full one for dinner. It would be great to have an urn last for more than three stans at a time. I remembered my trip down to engineering with a grin as I thought about the filters below processing the black liquid that I drained away. Filter the water and scrub the air down…
After almost seven weeks of serving a full crew, port-duty seemed easy. I had a pleasant evening working with Cookie, and he was kind enough to help me clean up afterward.
While I swept out the galley after dinner, I took the opportunity to ask him about the mysterious project he and Pip had been working on.
“Ah, Ishmael, I really should thank you for breaking through to Pip. He’s a remarkable young man.”
“He’s something. I’m not exactly sure what.”
Cookie chuckled. “He has a most unusual way of looking at things.”
“So, what are these simulations you’re running?”
“We are experimenting with options for acquiring the supplies we need for the ship in some rather innovative ways.”
“Oh?” I asked with the rising inflection in what I hoped was an adequate imitation of my mother’s tone used to evoke additional information.
“No, Ishmael, not yet. When the time is right, all will be clear. In the meantime…” He slid an index finger alongside his nose. “We’ll just keep on as we are, eh?”
I have to confess that this intrigued me even more, but Cookie knew how to keep his own counsel and I was unlikely to get more out of him, at least directly. As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long for my first real clues. We filled the rest of our time with small talk about Darbat Orbital, its restaurants, dives, and even less savory attractions. Cookie was a compendium of information and I took as much care to note some of the more interesting items on his litany of places to stay away from as from his recommendations.
The evening cleanup took almost no time compared to an evening underway. By 1900 I was running laps and looking forward to the sauna. Sandy Belterson came up from behind me and started matching my strides. I smiled in greeting.
“Hey, Ish.” We had run together several times since our first conversation. I found her to be a good, companionable running partner. Often we said nothing more than “hi” to each other. That night, she wanted to talk.
“Hey, Sandy, you’re not on-station?”
“Nah, I’ve got first watch duty tomorrow. If I go out tonight it just wouldn’t be as much fun. I’ll get a night on the town before we leave.” She smiled wolfishly. “I try to pace myself. You?”
“Pip and I split the stay. He got first night and we’ll trade off. We can’t go on-station together because one of us has to be on duty.”
She nodded and we ran a lap in silence.
“What’s he doing?”
“Who? Pip?”
“I saw him leaving the ship with a duffel. He’s trading, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.” That was all I would commit to.
“I hope he does well. He’s a nice guy.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” We paused at the head of the ladder. I was trying to decide if I wanted to run another lap or just head for the sauna.
“It’s not an easy thing to succeed at, especially on quarter share. The mass allotment is okay for personal gear, but too small to make a decent profit at trading unless you know what you’re doing. It’s hard to diversify enough and one bad deal can break ya.” Her words sent a chill up the back of my neck. Glass bottles were so fragile and I hoped he wasn’t going to have any problems.
“Yeah, well, he’s an interesting guy,” I said. “I bet he has depths we haven’t even seen yet.”
“Yeah. True of all of us, eh?” She offered a rueful toss of her head.
I decided to make one more lap before calling it a night after all and started running again. Sandy fell into step with me. “So, how’s the half share thing going?”
“Not bad. I’m already signed up for the next round of tests that are coming up.”
She beamed. “That’s great. Which one?”
“Engineering.”
“Excellent.”
“And cargo.”
“What? Two?”
I shrugged and panted for a few steps. Our conversation suffered from running too fast. “Why not? What’s the cost? I might pass one, or the other, or both. And if I don’t pass either, I’ll just try again next time.”
She panted alongside me. “True. Are you ready?”
“I think so. Of course I won’t know for sure until the tests, will I?”
She nodded, flicking a stream of sweat out of her eye with the side of her hand. “You’re full of surprises.”
We slowed the pace for the last half lap, cooling a bit, and both lost in our own thoughts. I was a bit worried about Pip and hoped he was okay. I should have been thinking about the probability that it would be just Sandy and me in the sauna together and how awkward that would be, but it never crossed my mind. I almost stumbled on the ladder as I was carefully not thinking about that possibility. Turns out she just showered and disappeared, so it wasn’t an issue. The sauna wasn’t empty though. Mr. Maxwell was there.
He acknowledged my entrance with a nod. “Mr. Wang.”
“Mr. Maxwell, sar.” I smiled in what I hoped was an acceptable manner and chose my seat carefully. Not too close in case he wanted to be alone, nor too far away to appear rude if he wanted to talk.
“Mr. von Ickles tells me you’re considering going for all four ratings.” He commented as if speak
ing to the steam, rather than to me.
“Ah, yes, sar. I am.”
“Interesting approach. Why are you doing that?” His head swiveled to aim his eyes at me through the murk.
I was worried about what he might be thinking and wasn’t sure how to explain to someone of his rank. I didn’t know what was appropriate. “It’s not exactly easy to explain, sar.”
“Well, Mr. Wang, I’d like to hear your reasoning.” When I looked over, I was shocked to see him smiling.
I was almost too surprised to answer. “Well, sar, I’m not sure what I want to do, but these last five weeks have been the most challenging and oddly enjoyable in my admittedly short life.”
“Yes?” With that one word, I knew Mr. Maxwell was a master at prying more information out of people. My mother had the same skill.
“I can’t explain it, but I suppose the best word I can come up with is therapeutic.” I realized that therapeutic was exactly the word and if Mr. Maxwell wanted to talk to me, then by the holy I would talk back.
He chuckled softly and then added seriously, “I lost my parents only recently as well. I’m sure it was not as traumatic as it must have been for you.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sar.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wang, but you were saying…about your choice in career advancement?”
“Well, sar, being stuck on Neris, needing to leave before the company deported me, and having no real idea of what to do or how to do it…made me feel helpless.”
He grunted.
“I lucked out when Ms. O’Rourke helped me get on the Lois, but I can’t count on, or trust to luck in the future. I don’t ever want to be stranded like that again, so I’m trying to select a path that maximizes my options.”
Mr. Maxwell smiled again—a thoroughly disconcerting expression. “So you’re pursuing all four half share ratings just on the off chance that you might get stranded somewhere?”