by David Wiley
CHAPTER 4
Sean Franklin had not killed Solo yet, but Boris admitted that accident a few days back seemed more than a bit suspicious. The Arkhangel was a typical wildcatter ship, mostly metal girders welded together in a boxlike framework from which hung living and working modules, cargo holds, fuel tanks, and engines all connected by various tubes containing ladders. It would never enter atmosphere, so it did not boast the smooth lines of one of those rocketships featured on Ernie's beloved 'Space Patrol: Arcturus', but its mass did have to remain relatively balanced along the longitudinal axis for maneuverability. That same balance required that the Arkhangel's crew quickly repair it when one of the six main thrusters failed.
Standard operating procedure required two of the crew to do any extravehicular activity. Ernie volunteered, but Solo, backed by Boris, overruled her. "What do you have? Less than a hundred hours experience and a novice rating? It's one thing to crawl around in a vacuum back in the shipyard, another thing entirely out here. Sean and I will handle it."
Abasolo Cesar and Sean Franklin were listed as the ship's two primary EVA specialists. As they suited up, Horst pulled the Captain aside to argue against sending the two of them out together, but Boris overruled him, figuring if Sean was out to get their cocky young pilot he would do so in a less-public venue. The pair had been poking around Thruster Number 5 for nearly a half-hour when Solo started checking the fuel lines leading to the dead thruster. One of the lines blew out with tremendous force and blasted Solo back against a couple of the ship's girders. A metal cable, strung from girder to girder caught him across the upper back of his suit. Ten centimeters higher and the cable would have sliced through his breather hose and probably his neck as well.
The accident had some real benefits. Solo now sported a really glorious bruise across his shoulders, but he finally seemed to have realized that he did not lead a charmed life and dialed back the acidity of his comments. In addition, Boris now had an excuse to call Sean in for a personal conference in the Captain's cabin. Sean now faced him across the battered plasteel desk, his jaw clenched, ready for a dressing down.
Boris hated confrontations like this. He glanced up at the hologram of the great actor Madankirpal in his role as Jalil Sengupta, the first human to set foot on Mars. The production was, of course, a tragedy, as Sengupta had perished when his rocket exploded while leaving Mars.
How would Madankirpal play this part? Boris offered Sean a drink. After the small, wiry machinist hesitantly accepted the cup, Boris asked if Sean had ever met Philippe Laviolette? Sean shook his head, puzzled. "Well, Philippe was an old friend of mine. More than a friend really, like a brother. In fact he still owes me money. Anyway, he crewed on the DaLong a few years back. Yeah, that DaLong," Boris responded to Sean's raised eyebrow. Sean had heard of the ship, as had everyone out here in the Kuiper.
"One night, in port on Makemake, we got really soused. Only time he ever told me what really happened on that trip. Odd what happens with some crews when they are so isolated. Little things seem to take on great importance. Only eight of DaLong's crew came back alive. Philippe said he did not sleep for the last two weeks of that trip."
"Fact is, now that I think about it, I do not believe most of them ever shipped out again. I don't know if they made that choice or others made it for him. At least they were luckier than their four crewmates who finished the trip in the meat locker. Maybe luckier too, than Philippe. He and the DaLong eventually vanished without a trace. Ah well, another drink?" Boris held the bottle poised. Sean shook his head.
Boris poured himself another shot from the bottle. "I will be wishing you a good evening, then, Sean. I appreciate you putting up with an old man and his reminiscing." He lifted the cup in salute as his cabin door shut behind Sean. He smiled. The great Madankirpal could not have played it better.
"I recalibrated the sensors, but I still can't even tell exactly how big it is. But it is big," Solo told the assembled crew. They had traveled Solo's predicted week without noticeably gaining on the object.
"Nothing is nothing, no matter how big it is. We're already going to practically be coasting just to get back to the elliptic. Microgravity for weeks on end is no fun. Turn it around, Abasolo." Boris shook his head. Why had he even wasted a week on this?
"I agree. If anything were to go wrong..." Horst was idly flicking his penknife's razor sharp blade open and closed, open and closed, open and closed.
"Plus I'm sick of eating basic rations," Sean groused. At least his sniping at Solo had only been verbal since his little visit to the Captain's cabin.
Solo's shoulders slumped as he reached for the controls. "Wait!" Ernie interrupted. "At least, take a look at this first." She brought up a picture on the view screen. "Abasolo may actually be right about this. I knew the scans were not showing much, so I decided to see if I could see anything visually. I aimed the scope in the direction of the anomaly."
"So?" prompted Qing.
"Sorry. Watch as I zoom in," Ernie deftly spun the tracking ball in the console with her fingers. At first it was difficult to tell anything was happening. The stars that filled the view screen were so far away that even a large increase in magnification did not affect their position appreciably.
"Ah," Horst was the first to respond.
"Yes, I see it too," Solo agreed.
Boris squinted and then he saw it. At first it simply looked like a distortion in the screen.
"Gravitational lensing," Ernie announced.
"You can't know that," Sean objected.
"Well, I can't be sure," Ernie admitted. "However, something's causing this visual effect, the way the starlight is smeared."
"Maybe a wandering planet?" Horst asked.
Solo shook his head. "A planet's mass, even a dwarf planet should register on the mass sensors. Good thinking, girl. If it was solid it would register a lot more on the sensors. It's definitely a wormhole!"
Ernie squirmed, but looked pleased. "I don't know that we can say that yet."
"Nothing rules it out, though, does it?" Qing's mouth quirked. "I'm impressed, you two. Captain? I think we have a decision to make."
The Captain offered no objection to proceeding at least far enough to see what they had found. "We cannot very well go back and say that we have found something odd, might be a wormhole, might not be, we are not sure. If they already think that I am crazy, imagine what that news would bring me. Probably a padded cell with a diagnosis of Belt Fever."
The crew watched as his bulk squeezed through the bridge's hatch. "Well that was unexpected," Horst finally said and turned to follow.
"Maybe he finally decided to grow a pair," Abasolo snickered. Ernie glared at him hard enough that he shrugged and turned away to plot a course for the anomaly.
"I don't believe it!" Sean Franklin turned and followed the Captain and Horst through the hatch, although at a considerably greater velocity.
"If we're going to do this, I'd better take a look at our long-suffering engines," Qing excused herself.
"Anything, yet?" the Captain stepped onto the bridge, the start of his watch. Ernie jumped to her feet, her face flushed.
"Nothing so far, Sir." Boris half expected her to salute. He glanced at the text on her monitor. She acted guilty, but Boris was sure she was merely reading everything in the Arkhangel's library that dealt with wormhole theory. Centuries of theorizing and never a shred of evidence as to whether any of it was right or wrong.
The only other person on the bridge looked up from the sensors. Obviously frustrated, Abasolo ran a hand through his tousled hair. "I can't get anything more out of them for the time being. In fact, I'm betting we are going to have to get a straight on view before we can tell anything for sure. I'm calling it a night."
Solo left, not looking back. "I have the conn," Boris announced, ignoring the pilot's insubordination.
Ernie turned to the Captain. "I'm sorry, sir. He should not have d
one that."
"So why are you apologizing?" Boris shrugged. He jerked his head toward the hatch. "Go on. Get out of here. It wasn't even your watch. You need to stop working so hard."
After she left, Boris keyed in a code to the monitor. The code secretly activated the ship's comms, activating the sound pickup without turning on the signal light. It was crude, but much less likely to be discovered than fiddling with the video feed and hoping they were in front of the monitor. It was Horst's cabin, but Solo was the one speaking.
"Suppose it is a wormhole? How do we keep the old fool from saying anything until we can sell the knowledge to one of our bidders?"
Horst's voice had raspy overtones. Maybe it was due to the ancient comm system, maybe not. "Why don't we wait until we know what it is, before we start worrying about that. In the meantime, you could consider being a bit nicer to our most junior crew member even if she's annoying as a puppy."
"And about as well trained," Solo interjected.
"But she saved your ass back there by bringing up the picture like that."
"Like I needed saving," Solo laughed it off.
Solo might be an arrogant son of a bitch, but he knew his stuff, Boris realized. They found out that they indeed needed a straight view at the end of the structure to determine if it was a wormhole with a view into some other part of the universe or whether it was simply some weird object that distorted light. Even a small angle kept them from making the determination. So, by unspoken agreement, the Arkhangel kept flying further and further away from main body of the Kuiper. Boris each day felt more and more like he was on a modern day Flying Dutchman. He even jokingly suggested they change the Arkhangel's name, but even after he explained it, nobody else seemed to find it amusing. Maybe it was because to conserve fuel they had throttled the ship back to one-third of a G thrust. The lessened gravity made everything feel less substantial.