by Baen Books
“I was present at the cleanup for an accidental ground activation of a drive.”
The thought of even a small Trapdoor drive being activated at ground level made Sue shudder. “So where the field was cutting off those chunks, it was also causing big radiation bursts.”
“Exactly.”
“Were the lifeboats taken intact or . . . not?” asked Dr. Pearce.
“Thinking of survivors? Let me check.” There was a pause. “It looks like LS-88, LS-5, and LS-42 disappeared in a single piece. The others were . . . cut apart, one way or another. I don’t know if they actually stayed intact when they . . . fell across the field.”
“You have recordings?”
“Some, but they’ll need some cleanup, at the least. The Trapdoor radiation pulses damaged things severely. The lifeboats themselves are heavily shielded, but the hab ring is light and relies on ship systems to keep them protected from radiation when we’re traveling in interplanetary mode; of course, there’s normally no radiation in Trapdoor space except what we bring with us.”
“How many people were affected by the radiation sickness?”
“Two hundred thirteen — most of the skeleton crew, unfortunately, plus a lot of passengers whose shuttles were near the intersections; despite the shuttle shielding a lot of people got hit hard. We lost fourteen — one of them the Captain, which is why I’m acting captain now. About half of the others recovered fairly well, but we’ve had to improvise nanostasis for the rest; I’m hoping Dr. Pearce can help out there.”
“I am sure I can. If you’ve kept them alive this long, they’ll make it. Anyone else?”
“Unfortunately, yes. We had to repair and re-balance the hab ring so we could rotate and give most people some gravity again, and then we had to replace Trapdoor coils and balance the field . . . well, there were injuries, both among the remaining crew and the passengers.” His voice dropped to a confidential tone. “We’ve also got several Bemmies on board, and that hasn’t helped matters.”
Sue let out a long breath. The genetically engineered amphibious version of the aliens discovered on Europa were viewed by many with a combination of suspicion, concern, and sympathy. There had been several very well publicized breakdowns of the early generations, and many people didn’t like being around them — with “didn’t like” ranging from mild discomfort to raging anti-alien sentiment or plain old-fashioned phobia, since — by human standards — they could be pretty scary, like a combination of a vampire squid and a slug weighing up to three hundred kilograms.
Add that kind of xenophobia to the panic on board a vessel limping into port after an inexplicable accident . . . “Have there been any… incidents?”
“None yet, but I’m real glad we’re here now. The Bemmies’ pod didn’t get away unhurt, though; one of their younger children was on board one of the lost lifeboats.”
“What? Why weren’t they all on the same boat?”
“Harratrer followed procedure; he went to the nearest lifeboat, as the emergency rules dictate, rather than making his way four lifeboats farther down.”
So in addition to all this, there’s a bereaved family of Bemmies. Never dealt with that before.
Outward Initiative now loomed up hugely, the great ring arching above and below as they approached almost perfectly aligned with the immense ship’s main spindle-shaped body. “All right, Captain, I’m going to have to pause and pay attention as we dock. We’ve got towing vessels en route, and Dr. Pearce will tend to your injured. Once I’m on board, my job — our job — will be to figure out what happened.” She grasped the controls and looked somberly at the shredded remains of the hab ring. Because if this can happen once… it could happen again.
iii.
“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Fisher, Dr. Pearce,” Captain Toriyama said. Sue was slightly surprised to see that while many of his features were as Japanese as his name, his skin was the color of coffee without much cream at all; he was also tall and not bad looking at all, and would probably be even better looking without the circles under his eyes and the worry lines engraved on his face. Next to him was a woman who looked to be about forty-five, some gray in her brown hair, tanned, narrow-faced with keen brown eyes.
“Thank you, Captain.” Despite all the efforts of modern nanofilters, she could still catch a faint whiff of burned electronics. The air must have been foul for a while after the disaster. “Two tow vehicles, Alabastra and Vilayet, will be arriving here in a few days. Have you prepared a room for us to work in?”
“The day briefing room is where we did most of our decisionmaking after the disaster. We could use that, as long as you don’t mind microgravity; it’s in the center of the main hull.” He looked to Dr. Pearce and gestured to the woman next to him. “Doctor, this is Janice White; she’s an RN and the closest thing to a doctor left on the ship.”
Pearce and White shook hands. “You have a medical facility intact?”
“Mostly intact. You’ll see when we get down there, Doctor. Follow me.”
As the other two departed to address the pressing medical issues, Sue recalled herself to her own mission. “Microgravity isn’t a problem for me,” she said. “That will do just fine. Lead on.”
As Toriyama led her down a corridor and then to one of the spoke elevators which connected the hab ring with the main body, she noticed something strange. “My omni’s not connecting with your shipboard network, Captain, just some local comm nets.”
“That’s because the shipboard network is still mostly down, Lieutenant. All the major AIs were taken out by the radiation pulses, and we really haven’t had the luxury or, really, resources to devote to trying to fix or replace them. Assuming that the replacements work. No, don’t ask me how the radiation got to the central core; we’ve got a lot of guesses but no proof.”
The elevator doors slid open; Sue jumped slightly at the sight of a horse-sized creature with three hook-clawed, multibranched arms or tentacles.
“My apologies,” the creature said in a deep, slightly buzzing voice. “I should not have been waiting so near the doors.”
“No, it’s not your fault at all. I knew there were Europans on board. I’m Lieutanant Fisher.”
“My formal name is Kryndomerr, but please call me Numbers.”
Toriyama was noticeably relieved by her reaction. “You’ve worked with Bemmies before?”
“During my undergrad work on Luna, yes. Call me Sue, then, Numbers. I would guess you’re a mathematician?”
“That is my profession. Analysis of datasets for anomalies is one of my specialities, which would seem a useful talent for this investigation, yes?”
“Yes indeed. Glad to have you aboard, Numbers.” Now that they were in the central body, there was virtually no sensation of gravity — the radius of the main hull was less than a tenth of that of the hab ring — so she followed the big Bemmie by extremely long, flat jumps. “You’ve assembled all the data on the event?”
“As much as we could without the automatics, and the damage that we have sustained,” Numbers said. “That is not quite as complete as we would like.”
They reached what was obviously the briefing room, with microgravity chairs, presentation projectors, and other accoutrements of such locations, including a zero-g coffeepot. Sue turned to Captain Toriyama. “Captain, prior to the disaster, what was your position on Outward Initiative?”
“I was second in command with a primary responsibility for the engineering department.”
About what I thought. “Then, Captain, I must request that you leave and not involve yourself in the investigation further. A board of inquiry will have to be convened into this event, and you will be directly involved. If I find evidence of negligence or other irregularities, this may reflect poorly upon you; at the same time, if I find no such evidence, that work must be clearly done separate from your involvement.”
Some of the worry lines deepened; he had clearly understood from the beginning that he might be held responsible for t
he disaster. “Yes, Lieutenant. That’s why Numbers here is available. He was a colonial, not one of the crew. I have had a list of other colonials you may be able to consult, for information separate from that of the crew.”
Well done. “Good work, Captain. I appreciate your cooperation.”
Captain Toriyama saluted and then turned, departing the briefing room without a backward glance.
She looked over at Numbers, who was arranging a number of articles in careful order. “Colonists? I didn’t know that they were yet allowing you —”
“We are the first,” Numbers said; the pride in his voice was unmistakable. “Our pod petitioned extensively for the opportunity, from the oldest to the youngest. It was the proudest day of our lives when we were notified that we had been selected for this opportunity.” The vibrant shifting patterns on Numbers’ skin — generated by bioluminescent chromatophores similar to those seen on Earthly squid — suddenly grew muted and dim. “Little Harratrer was especially happy to go, because it meant he could stay with his best friend.”
“Harratrer is the one of your people who was lost?”
The Bemmie expanded and then contracted, causing his body to bob up and down — the closest equivalent to a nod that they could manage. “He was called ‘Whips’ and was my second son. Studying to be an engineer, and was near the top in his class.”
And his best friend was obviously a human, since this is the only Bemmie family aboard. Interesting. “My sympathies, Numbers.”
“Appreciated, Sue.” He completed his placing of objects (with appropriate adhesion clips to keep them from moving) on the table. “Might I ask about your profession? You piloted Raijin to us with frightening precision, but you are now an investigator?”
Sue laughed. “My official title is Emergency Watch Officer, which basically means ‘person that you hope doesn’t have much to do’. My job’s to respond to emergencies the automatics don’t know how to handle. Piloting’s my avocation, investigation and handling of emergency procedure’s my responsibility, and engineering analysis is my main professional training.”
“I see. You have the skillset to get to an emergency quickly, the training and authority to run an investigation, and the professional knowledge to understand how the emergency happened.”
“Basically. There aren’t many of us in any given solar system, which is good . . . because it means that there aren’t enough emergencies like this to require more. Modern safety systems are extremely good.”
She floated to the table. “Records of the event from all systems . . . testimony from witnesses . . . video recordings . . . prior maintenance data . . . you’ve done a good job pulling this together.”
A ripple of light and color showed Numbers appreciated the compliment. “I simply thought about what I would need to fully understand the event.”
“Well, you seem to have thought it out well.” She strapped into one of the seats; floating at random was a pain. “Let’s get started, then.”
iv.
Sue shoved her hair back and forced it back under the restraining clip. “Well, now I’m even more mystified than I was before.” She drifted over to the coffee dispenser, filled the transparent carbonan cup again.
Numbers floated nearby, chaotic patterns flickering over his hide. “Yes.”
“I’d expected to find a flaw somewhere — neglected maintenance, a mistuned coil, a one-in-a-million abrupt coil failure, something. The symptoms sure looked to me like some kind of beat between coils that turned out to have a positive feedback resonance. But . . .” Sue shook her head.
“Agreed. Instead, we have found nothing but exemplary records of service, coil condition monitoring records showing micro-tuning being regularly performed to maintain an overall synchronization less than one micro-Hertz, absolutely nothing to show a fault anywhere in either maintenance or design. No apparent manufacturing or component flaws, either.”
“No. Those would almost all show themselves immediately in the synchronization data, if nowhere else.” She looked across to the Bemmie’s two visible eyes and grinned. “Good news for Captain Toriyama and his crew, anyway.”
“Yes. There will still be a Board of Inquiry but this part will be mostly formality.”
Her smile faded as she looked down. “But knowing what it isn’t doesn’t help so much. We need to have an answer for what it was, or at least whether it’s something that could happen again.”
“I have acquired data on all known lost ships,” Numbers said. “I assumed that if anything like this had occurred before, we would already know about it. Therefore, if this phenomenon had been encountered by anyone else —”
“ — the ship would have been completely destroyed. That fits with the recordings; Captain Toriyama was right in guessing that his ship would have been completely destroyed if they had been a second or two slower to respond. Good thinking.”
Sue checked status first. In the last few days, the tow ships had arrived, docked and deployed their oversized Nebula Drives. Outward Initiative was finally underway to Orado; it would of course take a few months to actually reach Orado from this far out. Sue was tempted to go back to Orado Station using Raijin, but she really did have everything to do the investigation here.
She took a sip of coffee, resettled herself in the seat. “All right, let’s see if we can get anything from that data.”
Her omni displayed the data as a multi-dimensional plot of glittering stars, showing time and date of loss, type of ship, location of loss, ship size, and many other factors. The first thing that struck her was that there was too much data from the past. “I think we should filter to, um, nothing more recent than about fifty years.”
“Why fifty years?”
“Because that was about the time that they deployed the current Trapdoor Coil design and basic operation guidance. Ships before then would have had some of the flaws the redesign was intended to eliminate.”
Numbers buzzed pensively. “That will heavily reduce our numbers.”
“I know, but it doesn’t do any good to look at data that’s on ships not built like this one.”
“True. It’s just that with delays on the order of a year between scattered systems, and months even on closer systems, propagation of records and data can take years. We’ll be missing a lot of the most recent info.”
“Let’s try it anyway.”
The plot darkened, then reappeared, this time with far fewer dots — but still quite a few. Across human-settled space, we’re using a lot of FTL vessels.
There didn’t seem to be a clear pattern here. “Do you see anything?”
“No, I . . . ” Numbers’ multibranched arms slowed, froze. “Wait. Let me try something.”
The display darkened again, and then suddenly rematerialized. The scattering of dots representing lost ships had returned , but now they were mostly grouped into two separate populations, one low down and spread out along the x-axis which seemed to account for about seventy percent, one higher and focused far down the x-axis, though with still considerable spread, that comprised twenty-five percent of the total; the remaining five percent were scattered separate points.
Sue sat forward abruptly, knocking the sealed coffee cup away; she ignored it for now, as it was practically indestructible and not large enough to hurt anyone. “Well, that is interesting. What are our axes?”
“Estimated travel distance at loss for the x-axis, versus maintenance score history on the y-axis.”
Sue stared. “That means that most losses in the last fifty years fall into two separate categories — one group is what you’d expect, ships that weren’t maintained too well. But the other . . . ”
“ . . . is ships with extremely high maintenance scores — usually new ships, or commercial vessels like this which try to keep all the drive systems in tip-top shape for efficiency and economy of operation! Yes, yes!” Numbers quivered and patterns like strobing squares and triangles circled across his body. “How fascinating! Not at all what
I would have expected.”
“I certainly wouldn’t have.” Sue’s brain raced, trying to make sense of this. It was an assumption in essentially any engineering discipline: keep your machine in top condition, and it was less likely to suffer failure. But this graph seemed to say that you were actually safest if you kept it is ‘pretty good’ condition — not neglected and mistuned, but not perfectly tuned and polished either, and that made no sense.
Except, of course, it had to make sense. The division was too clear to ignore. “What’s the p-value on this division?”
“Extremely low — about 0.00004.”
“So essentially no chance that this just a random artifact in the data.” She rubbed her chin. “Freaky, as a friend of mine might say. Why hasn’t anyone else noticed this?”
“Well, I can’t say that no one has, but it’s only been relatively recently we’ve been accumulating enough data to make this pattern obvious. For all I know, of course, there could be a paper on it already published and on its way from Earth.”
The coffee container gave a rippling chime as it struck the table; she caught it and put it back where it belonged. “You know what this means?”
“Probably not in the sense you intend. What?”
“There’s some kind of flaw in the current design. A subtle one, but just the kind of thing that doesn’t show itself for years until enough people are using it, or when you extend the design to some new regime. Can you sort this by size of ship?”
“Certainly.”
The new plot showed what she suspected. “Looks like this disproportionately affects larger ships, don’t you think?”
“Yes; p of less than 0.009. What sort of phenomenon are you talking about?”
“Well . . .” she searched her memory for a good example. “Oh, here’s one engineering students have looked at for years — the Tacoma Narrows Bridge on Earth, back in the 20th century. They built this really long, very narrow and shallow bridge over a deep canyon that had regular high winds. The design might have been fine somewhere else, under other conditions, but where it was it got exposed to winds of the right magnitude to induce really severe aeroelastic flutter that ended up tearing the bridge to pieces. After the fact they figured out what was going on, but no one really thought much about it beforehand, and it was really some minor design changes that led to the disaster.”