To the Stars

by Nathan Dodge

  “Your faith in me is touching, Camm, but you’re not thinking. What you see and what they see is very different.”

  “You are the ranking officer.”

  Benedict raised his hands above his body, turning the wrinkled backs of both toward Camm’s visual sensors. “This is what they see. They don’t see the ideas, Camm, they don’t see the thoughts. They see the last wisps of hair, the scratchy voice, the knee that won’t bend right in the mornings. They see a body that doesn’t serve its master very well and question whether the mind does the same.”

  “You were appointed—”

  Benedict interrupted forcefully. “I’m a vanity attaché, a presidential rubberstamp, don’t you get it? Forty years ago, maybe, I could have convinced them all. But it’s not forty years ago, Camm. I’m an old man. And old men do not win mutinies.”

  Camm was quiet, the velvet whisper of his processing audible through the port, tens of petacycles racing by as he sought to understand the crew’s human limitations. And finally, the hum stopped. No counterargument came, much as Benedict wished for it. Camm understood.

  “How do we convince them?” Camm sounded hesitant. Frightened?

  “We can’t,” Benedict muttered. “Not with a full frontal assault.”

  He did another lap. “The trick is to get Stamson to do what we want without realizing who the idea came from.”

  “How could we accomplish that?”

  Benedict pondered. “Well, the idea has got to be to convince Stamson that it’s his idea. I think you have to sort of insinuate your findings into the current lines of research. What are you working on for him right now? Specifically, that is.”

  “The science staff is to try to come up with a new navigation algorithm that works in whatever framework we now exist. They have satisfied themselves that our current predicament is not a result of a systems malfunction. There are two major efforts. First, the theoreticians are evaluating some of the recent MV work looking for new ideas. Second, engineering is executing incremental realignments—Jumps—in an effort to understand if any real movement occurs.”

  “Any progress?”

  “None. The second item is particularly fruitless, and we’re wasting energy as well.”

  Benedict considered his notion one more time. It’s easy, he thought, if Camm will cooperate. Aloud, he said, “Can you lie?”

  A pause (stunned silence?). Benedict waited.

  “I do not know. I have never tried. Normally, I respond to a question or request for information with an accurate reply.”

  “I’m not talking theory, here. You probably have a billion-entry dictionary in there with you somewhere; you know what lying is. Can you do it?”

  After a hesitation, Camm asked, “Can you coach me?”

  VII. Deception

  It wasn’t as hard as Benedict had feared it might be. The theoreticians were hell-for-leather into a dozen speculations in never-never-land anyway. The matrix equations were too complicated for any human mind to comprehend without a myriad of simplifying assumptions, so all Camm had to do was to doctor the data to pique Stamson’s interest. Stamson’s staff slowly meandered in the direction Benedict and Camm wished them to go. The only questions were one, did Stamson have the guts to recommend the gamble? And two, was Benedict’s idea correct?

  Benedict paced his room and prayed that Camm could learn the art of conspiracy over the next eighteen hours. It was a highly unsatisfying period, the only benefit being the exercise Benedict logged in laps around his cabin. When Camm roused him from a fitful, nightmarish sleep filled with dark gulfs and ominous black holes, he asked, “How far along are they? Are they ready to try a Jump? Is Stamson convinced?”

  Benedict realized he was close to babbling. “Sorry, I haven’t slept well while I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “There was nothing to report until now. They are considering the higher-order terms that I emphasized and they see the energy relationship. The trouble is, we’ve down to forty-one percent power. Stamson’s people have designed the experiment, but he’s worried. If we are unsuccessful, and we use the anticipated energy, our supply will be exhausted.”

  Benedict pondered. If I were a pompous, egotistical asshole, and my staff had just scared the pants off me by laying out a scenario called you bet your ass, what would I do? He looked into the scanner. “Call me before the conference.”

  “There is no conference scheduled, Jordan.”

  “There will be, Camm. Never fear, there will be.”

  Benedict had time for a trip to the head, a cup of coffee, a doughnut, and two brief sentences in his journal before Camm brought the speaker to life again. “Stamson and Kogan are to meet in fifteen minutes. I prepared data for the admiral’s presentation. Kogan specifically invited you.”

  “Good. Camm, you’ve done all you can.” Benedict smiled at the lenses of Camm’s visual unit. “Let me see if I can resurrect a few techniques from years past.”

  Benedict hummed a tune on the way to the bridge, arriving a little late on purpose, wanting to avoid any preliminary conversation with Kogan. He had expected a crowd, but there were only Kogan, the XO, Stamson, and two of his staff.

  Benedict sat down quietly, returning nods from Kogan and MacIntire, the XO. Stamson, who had been speaking, ignored him and went on: “We were fortunate to pursue this line of inquiry. I had instructed Camm to investigate the higher-order effects, and when it looked promising, Dirks took up the study. Dirks?”

  Dirks was a small, dark woman, half the size of the male scientist seated beside her, delicate and precise. The second scientist scowled as she began to speak. “We took a different approach, looked at a lot of the higher-order terms in the MV equation. The question is which are important and which we can still ignore. We tasked Camm to filter out the key terms and give us some recommendations. Camm reduced the equation to seventy to eighty significant terms, which we investigated. Camm agrees with our assessment.”

  Kogan was looking more irritated by the moment. Benedict decided to provoke Stamson’s ire before Kogan lost his temper. “So we understand the situation. What now?”

  Fortunately, thought Benedict, looks aren’t lethal. After regarding him balefully for a moment, Stamson said, “There may be a way back, if we want to chance it.”

  The other scientist was looking agitated as well. “May I speak, sir?” he finally asked. When Stamson nodded, he addressed Kogan. “Captain, the risk in Commander Dirks’ proposal is very great, and totally unwarranted! In my opinion, we must undertake a major reassessment of the relational model, and perform in-depth reasonableness tests before revising the trip scenario.” He was wound fairly tight, primed to unreel his entire family of objections, and he set off at a gallop.

  There were corrections, additions, and revisions from all around the table; the whole discussion went on interminably. The scientists had the data, they saw the implications, and most (though apparently not Dirks) were terrified by the possible risks. Stamson had obviously brought both sides to voice opinions, pass on information, and also pass the buck. Kogan, who no doubt realized where the buck stopped, looked increasingly disgusted.

  After an hour, he excused MacIntire and the scientists. He pointedly asked Benedict to stay, and Benedict wondered if the admiral realized that he had been insulted.

  Kogan aimed the obvious question at Stamson. “Admiral, what do you recommend?”

  Stamson looked very unhappy. He turned to Benedict with almost a pleading look, then mumbled, “Recommend? Why . . . Well, Captain, I’ve always felt that my function is to present sound alternatives and let you make the decisions.”

  “What alternatives? We either do whatever the hell you’re recommending, which I have yet to understand, or we don’t.”

  Suppressing a smile, Benedict put in, “Let me understand this, too, Admiral. As I understand it, if your analysis is correct, we’re not really ‘lost,’ in a theoretical sense. Right?”

  For once, Stamson didn’t even scowl
. “Yes.”

  “In other words, we’ve been wallowing out here for a while with no physical feeling for where we are, but relationally, we’re right were we’ve told the engine to drive us.”

  “Yes.” Stamson was certainly subdued.

  “So if your theory is correct, we just drive home by heading for the last coordinates that had us in our universe, and we use a little extra gas to get uphill.”

  “That’s what we believe.”

  Benedict nodded and leaned back in his chair. “Seems clear enough to me, Captain. I agree that there’s not several choices, but after all, you asked the admiral to find an answer, not six alternatives. And he’s done that.”

  Kogan looked curiously at Benedict. Benedict went on before Kogan could comment on his defense of Stamson. “I guess the only other question is, what are the risks?” He smiled a self-deprecating smile. “I’m afraid I didn’t understand all the objections of your colleague.”

  Stamson paused and cleared his throat. “Well, the most reasonable assessment is that we only have Camm’s word that the relational equations have been thoroughly analyzed. After all, Camm is only a computer”— Benedict suppressed a snort—“whose recommendations are no better than its programming. If a key term in the relational model has been overlooked, then maybe we don’t fully understand our situation. The Jump could potentially consume substantially all of our remaining energy. If the equations are wrong, then we end up stranded.”

  God, I wish he were intimidated more often, Benedict thought. He turned to Kogan. “Captain, we have a possible course of action, and we understand the risk. Seems to me that the admiral has done a good job.”

  The captain still looked puzzled. Finally, he turned back to Stamson. “I still want your recommendation.”

  “Captain, I don’t feel that’s my responsibility. The proposed action is dangerous. I think it’s up to you to assess the risk and make a decision.”

  Kogan transferred his scowl to Benedict. “What about you? Want to crawfish, too?”

  Time to set the hook. “Well, Bill, I’m a southern boy by birth.” Which was really a lie, since Benedict was a native Texan, and Texans considered themselves Texans first, and anything else second. “We southern folks believe in deliberation, taking our time, studying the situation. Now, the admiral’s staff has done a lot of fine work. But who’s to say we won’t understand the situation a lot better in a week? After all,” he favored Stamson with his most patronizing smile, “there’s the perceptual problem we all seem to be suffering, and the science staff has been under a lot of pressure. Who’s to say they haven’t made a crucial mistake?”

  Stamson began to redden and turned to face him, the pathetic look of misery sliding away. Benedict plunged on before Stamson could interrupt. “As the admiral says, there’s lots of risk. I’d hate to stake my life on data as unreliable as this.”

  Stamson spluttered into fury. “Unreliable? What the hell do you mean unreliable, you old bastard? We’ve put a thousand man-hours into this study the last few days. I have the best MV people on Earth in that staff. Dirks has been an MV theoretician for twelve years, and Sharma is world-renowned. I’d bet my life on anything they come up with!”

  Kogan sat back. “Then you do recommend that we proceed?”

  Stamson turned back toward Kogan, caught between anger and the realization of his position. “Proceed? I—well—” In a rush, anger won out. “You’re damn right. Proceed.”

  “Good.” Kogan stood up. “Inform your staff, Admiral. I expect to Jump within the hour.”

  Stamson growled assent, gave Benedict another megavolt glare, and departed in a rush. Benedict rose carefully—that fall in the captain’s cabin had left him with sore ribs and left knee—and smiled at Kogan. “Well, Captain, I’m certainly glad you have a course of action. I’ll await the results in my cabin.”

  As he left, he could feel Kogan’s gaze boring into his back.

  Back in his cabin, he paced nervously as time dragged. Camm was solicitous. “Jordan, there’s not much time now. Just relax.”

  “Relax? Are you kidding? Camm, I’m the reason we’re about to take an awful risk! The damn trouble is, if I’m wrong I won’t even have an opportunity to give my regrets to Faye.” Benedict finally sat at the desk. “At least put the forward camera in the view screen. When we Jump, I want the news right away. What’s our spare energy?”

  “Two percent or less. As we batten down the hatches and get ready for a Jump, usage goes way up. It’s close.”

  “Why did I ask?” Benedict put his head down on the table, closed his eyes. “Let me know when it’s time.”

  Incredibly, he dozed. It seemed only a moment before Camm said, “Countdown, Jordan. Twenty seconds.”

  His electronic friend had thoughtfully provided a timer display in the corner of the screen. Benedict counted down with Camm, feeling the tension grow unbearably. I’ll feel awfully embarrassed if I faint, he thought at ten; at five he had a frantic desire to scratch, he wasn’t sure what. At one, he took a monstrous, involuntary breath.

  As usual, there was no motion or jolt. Abruptly, the display was filled with stars.

  Benedict and Camm had little to say while he shaved and dressed in fresh clothes. Finally, Benedict addressed the display unit and scanner. “I take it the energy problem is manageable.”

  “Yes. Our velocity relative to our surroundings is almost point one C, and with all the star clusters and other material in this neighborhood, the debris and dust count is very high. Our collectors are hard at work, and the fuel reserve is already over five percent.”

  “Where’s the captain?”

  “He just went to his cabin.”

  Benedict yawned and stretched. “I’ll bet he’s tired. Tell him I’m coming down a minute, before he gets to sleep.”

  “He will not sleep for a while. He has to work on the ship’s journal before he retires.”

  “All right.” As he turned to go, Benedict was struck by an absurd question, but he asked it anyway. “Do you like roses?”

  “I never thought about it, Jordan.”

  “Think about it.”

  Stamson was with Kogan. He favored Benedict with his normal grimace, and continued to Kogan, “And full ship functionality exists. Also, we ran a quick perception test on one of our technicians, and his responses were all perfectly normal.”

  Kogan nodded. “All’s well that ends well, and so forth. As far as I’m concerned, we should continue the mission, if at all possible. Have we learned enough about our problem to avoid the wrong kind of Jump in the future?”

  “I believe so. Some of the data we gathered has given us insight into the pertinent higher-order coefficients of the realignment equation, and we’re revising the trip scenario coordinates. We should be able to complete our circumnavigation with the knowledge we now have.”

  Kogan looked up at Benedict. “Jordan, happy to see the stars?”

  “I am. Wherever we are looks real homey. By the way, Admiral,” Benedict asked brightly, “do we know where we are?”

  Unhinged fury flickered across Stamson’s face. “Know where we are? Well, goddammit, of course we know where we are!” Stamson stood up. “Captain, if you need me, I’ll be in the lab.”

  Stamson swept out of the cabin in a 500-kilowatt huff. Benedict felt quietly amused at Kogan’s stricken face. He smiled at the captain and took a seat, much too pleased with the day’s events to be upset with Stamson. The captain looked on the verge of an apology, but Benedict forestalled him.

  “Don’t worry. After fifty years on the Hill, I have a thick skin.” He waved the incident away with a swipe of his left hand. “In his own pompous way, he means well. He was terrified earlier; just trying to convince himself that he wasn’t that afraid.” He rubbed the smooth walnut arm of the chair. A good sensation, that feeling of real wood. Benedict longed for home. “As you said, all’s well that ends well.”

  “You helped in the process. The way you played him into c
ommitting . . . that was a work of art.”

  Benedict’s eyes widened. Then he smiled. “Saw through that little charade, eh? Yes, I could see he didn’t want to commit himself, so I just gave him a nudge.” At least, Benedict thought gratefully, Camm had not revealed his part in the discovery. All to the good.

  Kogan ran a hand through unruly black hair. “I haven’t mentioned it to him or anyone else. I’d really like to rub his nose in it, make him understand you believed in him more than he did himself. It’s a temptation to put Stamson in his place by at least telling how you played him.”

  Benedict shivered. “Hell, no. He’s enough of an enemy already.” He stood up and moved to the port, which Kogan had left open. A colossal galaxy, packed with stars and other celestial sights dominated the foreground of the scene. To the left a blazing flare of gas and dust, lit from within by the light of thousands of suns, added a counterpart design. The center of the galaxy they approached was a sea of stars, so closely packed that the center shone as a solid mass of golden light. The great clusters of stars scattered along the spiral arms of the galaxy reminded him of multicolored masses of flowers, and he thought of a garden—and home.

  He spoke up suddenly. “You don’t have a garden on this ship?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Well, you need one. We might run into an alien civilization without roses, and we could do them a favor.”

  Kogan nodded seriously. “So we could. I’ll see to it when we get back.”

  Back in his room, Benedict felt himself beginning to relax the slightest, although relief was slow in coming. Religious or not, he could still shudder at the thought of the lost crew in the exploration boat, feel the tremulous fear that they’d been left behind to an inescapably cruel fate. He hoped his worst fears were wrong, and that they had vanished into a glory of strange particles heretofore unknown to man, to escape into the vast beyond, one great step ahead of the rest of humanity toward the eternal.

  Pondering the events of the last few days, Benedict determined to institute an awards ceremony when Columbia finally returned to Earth. Perhaps some sort of civilian medals to the scientists, and appropriate military awards to the crew, including Kogan. With, of course, posthumous awards to those lost. Maybe even some sort of award to Camm. How did you award a computer for its inestimable work? Benedict wasn’t sure, but he determined to think seriously about it.