Earth’s problems prior to the Terran re-bodying solution had been the same issues that created funding cuts for the Mars Project. However, when it was discovered that tellurium allowed for better success rates in consciousness transfer, Terrans demanded more of the precious metal from Mars, coming up with large bills for “advertising” the Mars Project on Earth.
Marsians laughed. They shook their heads at both the advertising bills and the bizarre practice of re-bodying. Their refusal to pay for “advertising” on Earth, when combined with Earth’s refusal to send food and supplies Mars had pre-paid, led to a breakdown in relations between the two worlds that culminated in war, a cease-fire, and finally, the No Contact Accords.
What this meant for Jessamyn and her fellow crew members was that the two cultures had grown to have completely different attitudes towards aging and life expectancy, among other things. Yet Jess’s crew, as the Marsians disabling the satellites, would be called upon to act as Terran twobodies or fourbodies whose chronological age didn’t match their body age.
Jessamyn found re-bodying all rather confusing. It was silly, as well, from her point of view. Who didn’t want to age? On Mars, growing old was a sign you were clever, resilient, and a survivor. She had tolerated role-playing as a “fourbody” during her MCC training because she couldn’t pilot to Earth without agreeing to it. But she had dreaded assuming the fake role upon Earth, and during training, she frequently lamented not being a part of the team whose mission it was to simply retrieve ration bars. However, the loss of the Red Dawn changed everything. Whereas there had been two teams, now there was only one. This meant extra days planet-side on Earth, and she would almost certainly have to pretend to be an aged person in a young body at some point.
18:00 hours meant the end of Jessamyn’s twelve hour “day” shift which had begun with morning rations at 06:00. 18:00 also meant evening rations. With neither sunrise nor sunset, the distinction of day or night could hardly remain important. The crew operated on a Terran twenty-four hour clock with some overlap in their waking hours, and it was during these overlaps that morning and evening rations were shared among the crew.
Jessamyn didn’t miss the extra minutes from Mars’s slightly longer twenty-four hour and thirty-eight minute day. On Mars the extra time was allotted to mid-day contemplation or napping. But aboard ship, Jess had more than enough time to spend in thought or sleep.
As the crew gathered once more for a meal, Jessamyn suspected they would hear news of a revised mission. She was not disappointed.
The Captain expressed her confidence in the new plan to take on both missions. Jess noted with a mixture of relief and slight disappointment that she would spend her entire time on Earth waiting with Crusty alongside the Red Galleon so that they could return rations to Mars in the event the satellite-hacking mission should not proceed according to plan.
Crusty, who rarely spoke more than two words together, shocked everyone by breaking the silence after the Captain’s new plan was announced. “Glad to hear we’ll be killing two birds with one stone. We owe that much to the memory of the good folks lost on the Red Dawn.”
At the conclusion of that lengthy speech, Crusty stood and went to check the health of an algae he kept in the rations room. After grunting at what he saw, he left with the Captain to begin the “night” shift.
Jess sighed, looking over her assigned role as a “fourbody” while on Earth. “Why can’t Terrans stay in one body like regular people,” she muttered, standing.
“Regular is different on Earth,” said Ethan. “Their system has worked for centuries, and, assuredly, they feel that it is normal.” He followed his sister, who trailed Harpreet out of the rations room and into the central corridor.
“There’s nothing normal about swapping in and out of bodies every eighteen years,” said Jess.
“The desire to practice consciousness transfer is difficult for us to understand,” agreed Harpreet.
“Their lives are not so different from our own,” said her brother. “The divisions of their lives are like ours: early schooling, apprenticeship for an occupation, serving in that occupation, and retirement.”
“And mandatory death at seventy-two. Oh wait,” said Jess in a voice dripping sarcasm, “We don’t do that part. Besides, it’s not like you have to swap bodies to do those other things.”
“You do not,” he agreed.
“Sleep well, Ethan,” said Harpreet as she and Jessamyn arrived at their quarters.
Ethan turned back to his room and Jess entered hers, crawling up to her top bunk.
“I don’t know how I’m going to impersonate an elderly person, if it comes down to it,” said Jess.
“Being old is not so difficult, child. I would not know my own age if I never looked in the mirror,” said Harpreet.
Tired, Jessamyn smiled. She didn’t have it in her to continue the conversation. She’d found it impossible to sleep last night, so her body felt exhausted now. She brought a hand to her mouth to cover a huge yawn. Looking at her fingers, she wondered who she would be in the body of another person. Not Jess, she thought. How could she possibly separate the part of herself that knew flying in her bones from the part of her that understood it in her head? Crazy. That’s what Terrans were. She yawned once more and fell asleep.
~ ~ ~
Life aboard the ship settled into a simple and somewhat dull routine. Earth began to appear brighter, and Jessamyn sometimes thought she could see a blue tint. Her brother continued visiting the observation deck four times a day, Jess joining him each morning before and each evening after their duty shift. The systematic visits, especially those made with his sister, provided incalculable relief for Ethan. He admitted that he often felt an unpleasant sensation that the walls were pressing in on him, but when Jess questioned him about it, he insisted he would survive. His sister worked hard at believing him, ever watchful for telltale signs that all was not well. Ethan certainly performed his tasks with efficiency, running systems checks several times a day that would have made his sister cross-eyed with boredom.
“Ship still holding together?” Jess asked her brother one morning as he completed a report.
“I believe so,” said Ethan. “Although I have detected an anomalous reading in the observation deck.”
Jess snorted. “The window’s tired of you, Eth. This is its way of saying, give it a rest already.” She grinned at her brother. Privately, she was proud of him for finding a way to manage his claustrophobia.
Ethan didn’t reply but stared intently at a series of readings. His fingers flew across the screen and he frowned. “The observation deck appears to be drawing oxygen from other parts of the ship.”
The smile faded off Jessamyn’s face. “You serious?” She left her post at navigation and stood behind her brother as he scrolled through a series of numbers.
“There,” she said, pointing to a reading.
“Yes,” said her brother. “I believe this may indicate a small leak.”
“Small leaks don’t stay small out here, Eth. How long has this been going on?”
He retrieved a set of readings from the prior day. “Nothing yesterday.”
“It could still be nothing, today, too, I suppose,” said Jess.
Ethan, shaking his head as if uncertain, checked his chrono-tattoo.
“You thinking what I’m thinking? Wake up Crusty?” asked his sister.
“The payload specialist will have entered REM sleep at this hour.”
Jess rolled her eyes. “Crusty would want to be woken, trust me. And don’t do that. Don’t go all Kipper on me with the names.”
“Payload specialist is his designation.”
Jessamyn groaned, then tapped the screen. “Refresh those readings on the ob-deck.”
Ethan startled visibly at what he saw.
“Holy Ares,” murmured Jessamyn. “Is it me or did those numbers just take a big jump in the wrong direction?”
“I believe we must interrupt the payloa
d specialist’s sleep cycle,” said Ethan.
But Jessamyn was already on the ship’s comm, hollering for Crusty to wake up now.
They met him in the hall that connected Crusty and Ethan’s shared quarters with the rest of the ship. Crusty was already pulling up readings on a screen beside the ob-deck.
“That ain’t good,” said Crusty, shaking his head.
“Can you fix it?” asked Jess.
“Fixing things is what Crusty does,” said Ethan when the payload specialist didn’t answer.
The gruff mechanic strode back down to his quarters, grabbed his diagnostic wafer, returned, and hit the seal door opening to the ob-deck.
“Wake the Captain,” said Crusty as the door slid shut.
Moving forward along the narrow hall, Jessamyn got Kipper up, sending her back to the mechanic.
Harpreet would want to know, too, thought Jessamyn, pausing at the quarters she shared with the old raider.
By the time Harpreet and Jessamyn returned to the ob-deck, Ethan was performing a suit-check for Crusty. The walk-out suits aboard the Galleon met outer-space standards, and protocol for their use included a systems check prior to and after any use.
“Does Crusty expect to use that thing?” Jess asked her brother in a quiet murmur.
“Yes,” replied Ethan.
“Where’s Kipper?” asked Harpreet.
Ethan explained that the Captain had returned to the bridge to examine the readings. “And Crusty has suggested that we should all move to the forward portion of the ship.”
Jessamyn and Harpreet left for the bridge while Ethan finished checking the suit for Crusty. A few minutes later, Ethan joined his sister, Harpreet, and Kipper.
“What does Crusty think?” asked Jess when her brother returned.
“He is a man of few words,” replied Ethan.
Jess guffawed. “Says the man of few words.”
Kipper spoke. “You caught this early, Communications Specialist Jaarda and First Officer Jaarda. I commend you both.”
“Thanks would do just fine,” muttered Jess.
“Did you have something to say to your captain?” asked Kipper.
Jess bit her tongue, holding back the things she would have preferred to articulate. Instead she said, “It was Ethan who noticed the readings, Captain, sir.”
Kipper nodded in response.
Crusty’s voice came through the ship’s comm. “Captain, I have one confirmed leak along the starboard hull. Requesting permission to go outside and get a better look.”
“Permission granted,” said Kipper. “I’m bringing down the inner seal door on the ob-deck as a precaution.”
“Just what I was about to recommend,” said Crusty. “Though it won’t stop a bad leak. That seal door ain’t no confinement barrier.”
For the next twenty-five minutes, the crew listened to the sound of Crusty’s breathing, punctuated with occasional exclamations of “Huh,” and “I’ll be.” When he reentered through the aft airlock, they heard him muttering a series of unpleasant wishes regarding Terrans and their technology.
“I slapped a piece of hull-seal on the outside,” Crusty reported on the comm. “The sons-of-bugs made all kinds of work for me when we get planet-side.”
“And the prognosis?” asked Kipper.
The mechanic grunted. “Hull-seal’s only good so many days, ain’t it? I’m mixing up some omni-poxy right now for the inner seal. That oughta hold her together.”
The crew sighed in collective relief.
After a moment, Kipper spoke. “I am declaring the ob-deck off-limits for the duration of our flight.”
Jess gasped. “You can’t do that.” She glanced anxiously at her brother.
Kipper stared coldly at Jessamyn for several seconds. “Don’t give me another reason to confine you to quarters, Jaarda.” She turned to Ethan and Harpreet. “Wake me at once if there is further degradation to the ship’s hull.”
Jess followed Kipper down the hall. “I’m sorry I said it that way. Kip—Captain, wait, please.”
Kipper paused, one hand on the door to her quarters. “First Officer?”
“It’s my brother,” said Jess. “You can’t seal off the ob-deck. Ethan needs to go there to keep his … his autonomic nervous system balanced.”
“Duly noted,” said the Captain, turning to her door.
Jess grabbed Kipper’s shoulder to keep her from leaving. “Crusty’s fixes always work. Please. If you don’t let Eth stand and stare out at the stars four times a day, he’ll shrivel. He won’t be able—”
“That’s enough, Jaarda,” said Kipper, removing Jess’s hand.
“—he won’t be able to make the kind of discoveries he made today. I know my bro—”
“I said that’s enough, First Officer. Are you incapable of recognizing an imperative when your captain issues one?”
Jess stood, caught between shame and panic. “I know how to obey an order, sir.”
“My order stands. For the safety of this crew, the ob-deck will remain sealed.” And with that, Kipper punched her door button and left Jessamyn standing alone in the hall.
Harpreet, standing at the far end of the hall, had seen at least some part of the interaction.
“Ares and Aphrodite! She makes me crazy,” Jess said, her voice angry and low.
“No, Jessamyn, child. You do that to yourself. The Captain is not answerable for your responses. You are.”
“But, this isn’t even about me! It’s about Ethan. He needs to spend time on the ob-deck every six hours. It’s how he’s keeping it together.”
Harpreet touched Jessamyn’s face softly. “Daughter, your brother is a remarkable young man. Perhaps it is time for you to let him fight his own battles. Did you hear him demanding that the Captain change her mind?”
Jess thought about it for a moment, then asked, “You think I get in my brother’s way?”
“I think your brother would have spoken up if he felt the loss of his time upon the observation deck would impair his performance.”
Jessamyn frowned. “I want him to succeed so badly. To prove to himself that he can live any life he chooses.”
Harpreet smiled. “Then allow him to prove this to himself.”
Jessamyn placed a hand over her eyes and slowly shook her head. “I only want to help, but I don’t have the first clue, do I?”
“It is always that way with those we hold closest, child. Give your brother some room and see what he does on his own.”
Jess laughed half-heartedly. “Give him some room. Yeah, that ought to be obvious enough, huh?”
Further down the hall, Jess saw Crusty exiting the ob-deck, sealing the door behind him. He removed his helmet and took a long, deep breath.
Jess straightened her back and lifted her chin. “Crusty,” she called. “You want a hand with your suit-check?”
“I’m fine,” he said, shuffling toward the rations room, removing his gloves. “I’ll check it come morning. Evening. Whatever.”
“Good night, daughter,” said Harpreet, returning to the sleep quarters they shared.
“Good night,” said Jess. “And thanks.”
Returning to the bridge, Jessamyn seated herself back at navigation. “So I guess everything’s going to be fine,” she said to Ethan.
“Everything will be well,” replied her brother.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
Chapter Ten
CALLIBRATED TO SHATTER
At the end of her shift, Jessamyn felt as if she’d completed twenty-four and not twelve hours on duty.
“I will never complain about boredom on the bridge again,” she said as she sat between Harpreet and her brother.
“Boring over drama any day,” mumbled Crusty from across the room.
“Crusty obtained some vid footage of the outside of our ship,” said Harpreet, passing a computing wafer to Jessamyn.
Jess winced upon viewing the long ugly scarring along the starboard side of the Galleon
. “Poor old girl,” she said, her voice a mere whisper. Tracing her fingers along the image of the scar, Jess shivered. It was a grim reminder of the destruction of the Red Dawn.
“‘Nother two minutes was all they needed,” said Crusty. The dark flash of anger in his eyes told Jess he felt the same way about the ship as did she. “You did good, kid, getting the Galleon out of range.”
The Captain entered, looking bleary-eyed, and the conversation turned to their mission. With only four days remaining in transit, many details remained to be hammered out, reconsidered, and otherwise determined upon. Jess tried to focus upon her ration, but the images from Crusty’s vid danced before her eyes still. She realized anew how fortunate they were to have suffered only damage to the observation deck.
The meal ended, bringing with it the moment when Ethan would remember he couldn’t visit the ob-deck before retiring. Jess followed him with her eyes as he rose and said good night to the crew, but would not allow herself to trail behind him, ask if he was okay, feel sorry for him.
Instead of turning aft to his room, officially the captain’s quarters, Ethan strode forward to check something on the bridge. Kipper’s giving up of the ship’s largest quarters to Crusty and Ethan had surprised everyone, Jessamyn most of all, but she felt certain the additional space was helpful to her brother.
Turning to Crusty at her side, Jess asked, “Will you be able to fix the ob-deck leak on Earth?”
The payload specialist shrugged. “Likely, I can.”
Crusty was standoffish to a degree that made Ethan look friendly and accommodating. But it was plain enough why MCC had chosen him: he could fix anything. It was rumored that you could set him out on the planitia with only a methanol/oxygen fuel-cell system suit and a reverse-water-gas-shift reactor, and in a week he would be not only alive, but living in a structure he’d built from dirt and ice by turning these into metals, glass, and other useful items.
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