by M. Alan Marr
“What wow?”
The doctor shakes his head, looking at the molecular chemical display, reminding Chaz of the symbols in an organic chemistry book. “I’ve heard your world is polluted, Commander, but you have toxins present that are very troubling.” The doctor looks next at the radiogenic values on the screen. “Sir, were you exposed to weapons fire?”
“Weapons? Oh, yes, Commander Dev shot a bear.”
“A bear?”
“It’s a large animal.”
“I take it not a friendly one if it was shot.”
“Not typically.”
“It was an x-ray weapon?”
“Yes.”
The doctor nods. “Your tissues absorbed some radiation from the weapon discharge.” The screen shows the pattern of radioactive particle exposure. “From what I see here, I would say you were facing the animal and that it was vaporized.”
Chaz is impressed. “I was. And it was. How can you tell?”
“When a pulse shot is fired at a living target, most of the energy discharge is contained within the target itself. Vaporizations create a more general type of exposure. Evidence of inhalation of the vaporized material is present in your lungs, which suggests close proximity. Furthermore, the particle dispersion on the front side of your body indicates you were facing the target.”
“Wow, that’s really impressive.”
The doctor continues, humbly. “Etiology, Commander, the foundation of my work.”
“Etiology?”
“Causality of condition, sir. The radiogenic particles had to get in your lungs somehow.”
Chaz, concerned with breathing in radiation, comments, “I might have been better off with the bear.”
The doctor smiles at that. “We’ll neutralize your exposure, sir, don’t worry.” The doctor turns to a medical assistant. “Crewman, prepare an anti-rad, MI series, and also an antiviral to take care of the Commander’s sinuses.” The doctor turns to Chaz. “Commander, I need to eliminate the rhinovirus in order for you to remain aboard. I’ll have to quarantine you to quarters otherwise. I’d also like to administer a metabolic and immunization series to clean up everything else in your system.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever you need to do.”
“You can sit up now, sir.”
As Chaz begins to sit up, he is startled when the examination table adjusts to the new position automatically. He turns to the screen and notices several small blinking white areas on the body scan near his belly. “What are those white flashing spots?”
“Those areas indicate nascent malignant disorders.”
“Malignant disorders—on my world that means cancer.”
“Yes, sir, I’m familiar with cancer. But these are areas where cellular division triggers are showing signs of dysfunction on the molecular level.”
“In other words, future cancer.”
“If untreated, yes, sir.”
Chaz rubs his lower abdomen. “Where is it?”
“It’s located in your pancreatic system, sir.”
“Oh my God,” Chaz says in despair. “I’m going to get pancreatic cancer.” He drops his head down. And like any patient faced with horrifying news, he looks at the doctor with pleading eyes. “Can you do anything?”
“Of course,” the doctor replies while writing notes on his pad. “The metabolic compounds will reset those triggers and clean up all of your resident toxicities.” He adds, “You’ll be in the best shape of your entire life in about ten minutes. In a day or two, your entire vascular system will be completely restored. You’ll feel like a new man.”
The medical crewman delivers four small vials containing various compounds, two of which are glowing slightly. The doctor checks the ID labels on the vials and scans them with his writing stylus before inserting the vials into the top ports of an injection gun. The crewman sprays the end of the gun with some type of aerosol, then wipes Chaz’s neck with a moist square of gauze.
“Commander, the best place to introduce are the large vessels in the neck.”
“Is it painful?”
“No, sir,” the doctor says as he positions the injection gun. “Head up please, sir. Turn slightly.”
Chaz nervously complies, and squeezes his eyes closed. He feels the end of the injection gun press against his neck. It is somewhat warm and slightly tingly. The doctor pulls the trigger, and the injection gun makes a slight pressurized discharge and recoil sound. Chaz opens his eyes and looks at the doctor. “Didn’t it work?”
“Yes, sir.”
Chaz looks at the gun and sees four empty vials. “Wow, that didn’t hurt.”
The doctor smiles. “I told you it wouldn’t. Now, sir, if you would, please lie back down.”
Chaz is uncertain how to make the exam table adjust backwards, but realizes all he has to do is start reclining and the device mimics his motion. The doctor repeats the scan. This time, the screen shows improved results. The various flashing white dots begin turning yellow as the medications circulate through Chaz’s system. The flashing yellow dots begin turning into hollow circles, which begin disappearing entirely.
“That’s better,” the doctor says with a nod. The organic chemistry window begins to show the toxic compounds being neutralized as well. “Well, Commander Ronaldi, outside factors notwithstanding, I’d say you’re going to live at least another . . . eighty years. Oh, and you’ll never get another sinus infection again. You can get up now, sir.”
“Are you serious?” Chaz gasps as he gets off the table. “You’re saying . . . You’re saying I’m going to live past a hundred and twenty?”
The doctor shrugs. “Most likely longer,” he says as he writes notes in his pad. “The metabolic compounds not only reset your abnormal triggers, but the healthy ones as well. I also immunized you against a variety of pathogens and carcinogenics.” The doctor turns his pad around. “Sir, if you will place your hand against the pad and state your full name and rank.” Chaz does as he is asked. The computer signals a tone. “Thank you, Commander. Your handprint and auditory signatures have been recorded. Your biologic data will upload in our system, so if you ever need medical attention anywhere in the Crown, your physician will be able to access your biometric information. The same information is also copied to your interlink device.” The doctor pulls a small data chip out of the computer and hands it to Chaz.
Chaz jokes, “What’s this, the bill?”
“That is a data plank, sir. It’s a permanent copy of your biometric measurements and medical data. In case there is a problem with retrieval.”
Chaz looks at the small thumb drive-like device and then pockets it. “I wish it was this easy on Earth.”
“Sir, is it true medical care on your world is . . . financially based?”
“It’s slowly changing to include everyone, but essentially, yes.”
“Fascinating,” the doctor says, not wanting to insult Chaz. “Speaking of Earth,” the doctor adds, “these inoculations will guard against all presently known Earthbound pathogens as well.”
“Really?”
“Yes, sir.” The doctor places his pad in the computer. “You’re free to go, Commander.”
“So I’m . . . everything’s all right now?”
“Yes, sir.” The doctor smiles. “You’re . . . what is the expression on Earth? Fit as a fidel?”
“Fit as a fiddle.”
“Fiddle, yes, sir.” The doctor stops him. “Uh, sir, may I ask, what is a fiddle?”
Chaz laughs. “It’s a musical instrument.”
“I’m not certain I understand the adage.”
“Neither do I,” Chaz admits. “But apparently they’re built to last.”
The doctor suddenly realizes Chaz is in unfamiliar surroundings. “Shall I escort you back, Commander?”
“No, I’ll be fine, but thank you, Doctor.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chaz leaves the Medical Deck and retraces his steps back where he came from. Along the way, he realizes the li
ghting in the corridors is significantly lower. He was so focused on the doctor during the walk to the Medical Deck earlier he didn’t notice. Looking around, Chaz notes it must be late because the decks are now quiet compared to all the activity when they first arrived. This is a bit of a relief, as there is no one to watch the Earth man finding his way around. As an ensign in the Navy, Chaz remembers wandering around his first ship at night, learning the best routes to key locations and his muster station. The memory makes Chaz smile because, right now, he’s basically doing the same thing. The empty corridors seem to take on a ghost ship feeling. The deck very slowly swaying, the subtle sounds all around that go unnoticed when it’s busy . . . all seem a little odd right now.
Chaz’s misgivings turn out to be misplaced, as he successfully backtracks to the deck where his quarters are located. He isn’t exactly sure which door, but then notices a small screen displaying Dev’s rank and name and his own right below it. Okay, good. The lift should be down and to the left. Along the way, he notices some corridors on one side have alcoves every so often with small exterior portholes, something he hadn’t seen being in the interior corridors of the ship. There are also various unknown stations and open rooms containing curious machinery and displays, as well as the requisite military vessel pipes, valves, signage and symbology. One placard looks like it must indicate caution and another, he concludes, signals radioactive danger. Chaz enters the lift and ventures a guess that out of the apparent six decks, the uppermost button would likely take him to the Quarterdeck. The lift opens, and Chaz walks out to a cavernous compartment lined on either side with what must be some sort of weaponry oddly resembling cannons. Chaz approaches the closest cannon and nearly bangs his head on a transparent bulkhead. He realizes the cannons are in two parts; firing control stations here inside the deck, and the canon itself behind the bulkhead. Some have what look like bandoliers of artillery-size shells, while others have industrial-gauge cables plugged into them. He guesses the outer hull must have gun ports that open during battle. This is a warship, after all. Cannons and Quarterdecks, masts and sails, this can’t be just a coincidence, Chaz thinks. Still so many questions.
Undeterred, Chaz reenters the lift and descends one level. This is the right place. The sentries standing at the entry to the Quarterdeck come to attention. They don’t see an Earth man anymore, but a Lieutenant Commander of the Crown. Chaz hesitates and speaks to one of the guards. “I’m looking for Commander Caelestis.”
“Sir, I believe the Watch Commander is at the forward Navigation Bridge. Sir.”
“In there, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
Chaz enters the Quarterdeck slowly. Not fully manned, the pace is somewhat subdued and quiet, like the rest of the ship. Amazingly, the late watch on the Quarterdeck of this ship seems as familiar as when Chaz himself stood night watch on the bridge back in his Navy days. The room is dimly lit and accented by the colors of many status displays and transparent boards. Looking over the rail at the half deck below, several of the stations are unmanned, but there are a few officers and enlisted personnel working together at one station, obviously trying to sort out a problem. Cover panels to that station are open, and several computer components have been pulled out and are being worked on. The Quarterdeck itself seems quiet, and due to the obvious lack of any enlisted personnel, as before, Chaz concludes this area must be officers country only.
He rounds the status board and sees Dev standing at the holographic display in the same spot Vijay stood earlier, quietly studying the large navigation display of the cosmos between Earth’s system and the Constellation Lyra. And just like Vijay, Dev is entirely focused on his work. Chaz cocks his head. Apparently, that’s the Navigation Bridge. The holographic display seems much more crowded now, showing all of the natural phenomena in this section of space: radiation belts, nebulae, energy sources, stars, solar wind, large gravitational bodies, etcetera. For the first time, Chaz notices mathematical tools suspended in the graphics. Near each of the principal stars there is something like a protractor and compass azimuth, and something that looks like an angular measurement device.
Dev is working with an analog version of the protractor device projected in the display. The Third Lieutenant standing on Dev’s opposite side notices Chaz approaching and offers a polite “Sir” to attract Dev’s attention. Dev looks up at the Lieutenant, who directs his gaze toward Chaz. Dev turns around and smiles.
“Commander Dev,” Chaz says formally.
“Commander Chaz,” Dev replies with happy surprise, then turns briefly to speak to the Lieutenant. “Keep an eye on that particle front.”
Chaz approaches the display. “Are you busy?”
“No,” Dev says warmly. “You found me.”
“Well, I initially ended up in a room full of cannons.”
Dev makes an upward motion with his head. “Gun Deck.”
“But I found you, even if I did take the scenic route.”
“I knew you’d be right at home out here. Oh, hey, did the medical officer see you?”
“Yes, he did. I just came from there. Apparently, I’m going to live another eighty years.”
“They weren’t expecting me to bring guests. Usually they would meet us in the Flight Deck for medical clearance, but I guess these were unusual circumstances.”
“He had an emergency in progress at the time,” Chaz says. “They had to amputate a guy’s hand.”
“They’ll make him a new one.”
“They are.” Chaz looks at the navigation display, which is larger and more comprehensive than the one on the recon ship. “So, what is it you’re doing?
“Just trying to get us there faster.”
“How do you do that, exactly?”
“At this point, the cruise engines are providing fixed velocity. The sails allow us to harness solar wind, gravitation, electromagnetic waves, and so forth. By trimming the sails, we can make course and speed changes without having to fire the lateral engines, which would disrupt our speed profile and reduce efficiency,” Dev explains and points out different aspects of the holographic display. “Earth’s star system is way down there. Our direct course to Lyra is here.” The line passes through a large holographic cloud. “As you can see, the direct route would take us through this dangerous nebula.”
“Is this as fast as it gets?”
“For now, yes. When we arrived at Pluto, Adonis was already on their outbound acceleration course. We entered a trough of deep space shortly thereafter and reached high-speed cruise. Now that we’ve departed the deep space envelope, every calculation we make is an effort to gain efficiency and save time.”
“This is amazing. I knew there was a lot of math involved in spaceflight, but I never imagined all this.”
“The cosmos is a big place. Any speed advantage is important.”
“So, it’s kind of like sailing.”
“Now that we’re in the shallows, it’s exactly like sailing,” Dev says. “Only at extremely high velocities.”
“What do you mean when you say in the trough or in the shallows?”
“The term deep space is a bit too generalized for us. So to differentiate the regions, we multiple descriptions. TransCon space, is the great void between constellations; vast and very far reaching, free of any natural bodies or gravitational influence. Shallows are areas containing gravity fields or physicalities; planetary or solar objects, asteroidal bodies, or particle fronts, like that nebula. Troughs, are smaller areas of deep space within the boarders a constellation. Narrows are just like they sound, narrow troughs bordering two or more shallows. We navigate by charting all those areas on a map and plotting appropriate courses. Think of deep space as blue water sailing in the navy, and the shallows as a rocky shoal along your course. Different techniques, different dangers.”
Chaz looks at the nebula. “You said that nebula was dangerous. How so?”
Dev points out the bright yellow areas in the holographic nebula. “There’s a gamma so
urce in there putting out a lot of radiation, which is why we can’t go through it directly. However, the nebula is leeward of this red star, which is producing an unusual amount of solar wind. So if we trim the ship and run downwind of those two systems, we will avoid most of the gamma, and put us in optimal position for our next turning point way up ahead.”
Chaz sees their present course line is zigzagged and bearing away from the direct route. “Looks like we’re going pretty far out of the way to get there.”
“At first glance, yes. But the maneuvers I’m doing are all designed to increase our speed. Much more so than had we remained on the original course.”
Chaz contemplates the display, and, in particular, the part of the radiation field the ship’s course will pass through. “Why not just avoid the gamma altogether?”
“The gamma’s not all bad. We’ll get close enough for it to charge the ship’s power cells, but not close enough to be harmful.” Dev watches their course as they near the nebula. He turns to one of the officers. “Third Leftenant, half point to starboard on the headsails.”
“Half point to starboard on the headsails, aye, sir.” The Leftenant walks to the mast panels and inputs the changes ordered.
Chaz speaks quietly to Dev. “Did you just call him Leftenant?”
“I did.” Dev looks at Chaz and explains quietly. “In the old days, Lieutenants would always flank to the left of the senior, so they sort of evolved into Leftenants.” Dev adds, in a whisper, “I should mention we never say Leftenant Commander.”
Chaz thinks quickly. “Because Lieutenant Commanders stood wherever they wanted.”
“Exactly right.”
Something else just occurred to Chaz. “He replied, aye, sir.”
“He did.”
Chaz’s thoughts are interrupted as the Adonis banks about twenty degrees to starboard. Dev holds onto the rail of the navigation table. Chaz, not sure how far the ship will list, grabs on as well. They can feel the ship accelerating as solar wind from the star fills the sails, providing energetic photons and mid-level gamma, which is routed into the power cells.