by Bob Mauldin
Construction pods were located in a ring around the aft end of the factory section, brought on-line, and had crew training to use them. These were one-man, self-contained miniature spaceships in their own right. They were the workhorses of the construction projects, designed to take a completed equipment assembly out of the main ship and move it into space and secure or install it. Twenty-four of these nimble craft were on hand to perform whatever task was assigned them.
And there was still a trickle of recruits coming in. By this time, most of the more glamorous positions had been assigned, and the occasional recruit would show something less than boundless joy when they found out that the only positions left open were either janitorial, maintenance or something equally boring and dismal. Sometimes it was only due to the confidence and spirit of the interviewers that the potential recruit agreed to sign on in one of the less sought-after positions.
Stephen had department heads reporting to him on a regular basis and two scientists working in the engine room had detected a small fluctuation in one of the magnetic containment fields. They had adjusted it and established protocols to monitor both fields and automatically keep them at optimum. Some very interesting observations were beginning to come in about their ship. Some of the technology was well in advance of Earth: the monopole energy source, warp engines, artificial gravity, transporter, and such. But other things seemed rather anachronistic beside them. Most internal data transfer was by fiber optics, for example, and most things were powered by electricity produced by generators that wouldn’t get a second glance on Earth. The scientists were having a real problem trying to come up with a hypothesis to explain the disparities. Links were built to allow Earth equipment to run on ships’ power.
One report that caught Simon’s attention was about the power source. The science-types were all a-buzz about finding actual working equipment based on ideas that were still just theories to Earthbound humanity. Apparently the original builders had discovered monopoles, a fairly recent theoretical possibility to Earth scientists. What was most interesting to Simon was that anti-matter was involved. It seemed that monopoles could be created artificially, and that it took one north monopole and one north anti-matter monopole to create power. If they were put in conjunction with each other in a containment field, they generated power. The mechanism was simple, apparently. Simple, that is, if you had the technology. North poles tend to repel each other, and matter and anti-matter tend to attract each other. If an anti-matter north monopole was placed next to a normal matter north monopole, the dynamics of the situation created power that could be tapped. At rest they provided enough power to keep all ship systems active. If pushed together by manipulating the magnetic containment fields, they produced enough power to move the ship at normal speeds. If pulled apart by the fields, they produced energy quantum levels higher, thereby allowing warp drive. The scientists were starting to call it a quantum drive. And, apparently, that strange ship down on deck eighteen was what went after the necessary material to produce monopoles. Scooped from a sun’s corona. Which explained the badly warped armor plating.
The other news was what made Simon’s day. He had been worrying about how he was going to feed this crowd. So far, most of them had been beaming down to their homes, keeping the problem at a minimum. Once they left orbit, though, the problem would be how to keep enough food on hand.
“We’ve been studying the transporter as everyone is calling it,” the little man said. Simon never could remember his name. “It seems,” he began in a phrase that had become stock over the last few weeks, “that the device has a cousin, so-to-speak. Have you noticed the alcoves in some of the rooms, primarily the ones we’ve set up as dining rooms?”
“I have,” Simon said hesitantly, not sure where this was going.
“Well, it appears that those alcoves are a kind of matter converter. We think, that is, my colleagues and I think, that if we can get control of those alcoves, we can start programming them to produce whatever we want them to. Like well-done steaks, or soup, or oatmeal ...”
“And how did you arrive at this conclusion?” Simon asked, all ears.
“We simply followed certain trains of thought, Captain,” the man said. “First, we have all that organic material between the hulls of the ship. We figured that it had to be more than shielding as some surmised. Then, when we found the conduits that led to the various ... terminals ... for lack of a better word, we became certain that they had a specific function. Then we just followed the wiring, so-to-speak, and we got the connection, if you will excuse the pun. In other words, we can program the computer to give us whatever we want in the way of organic foodstuffs. It just won’t do anything like take organics and turn them into metals, plastics or whatever.”
Simon, Kitty, Gayle, and Stephen became a panel that summarily decided which of the volunteers would fill which position. Nine out of the ten possible command slots for each shift had been filled. Tactical Officer, also known as second officer, was still vacant because there was no vital need to fill it yet, although there were several names under consideration.
The first draft of the command roster put the four friends in four of the top seven positions in first shift with one other older person filling out one of the top slots. John Marshall, a sergeant from Simon’s old platoon, took command of all security with an automatic promotion to full Commander. Leaving the Tac Officer’s position unfilled at present, that left only three people new to the group. Second and third shifts would be made up completely of newbies, a move Simon thought would show one and all that there was not going to be any discrimination.
Meeting daily, the command team grew from the original four members to nine. The exotic, more than slightly alien surroundings tended to keep most people off balance enough that for most of the time leadership questions were overlooked in the welter of other things to do. The primary command team began to mesh, bringing problems to the daily briefings for solutions that didn’t readily present themselves elsewhere. Simon decreed that each officer on the command team was responsible for their alter egos on the other two shifts, so each person became responsible for training at least two others in the time remaining before the ship left orbit. The most common things being brought to the staffs attention were the newest discoveries about the vessel and frictions between crew members as they shook down into a functional whole.
The Chief Medical Officer waded into the fray with his diagnosis. Not a regular participant at the daily briefings, Dr. Harrison (Sandy) Penn said, “Boredom. Pure and simple. Even if we are where we are.” He suggested exercise equipment as a starter and it was brought aboard and copied. Card and board games began to appear around the ship and the computer began tapping into satellite broadcasts of radio and television for storage and replay. Crew quarters and recreation areas were equipped with receivers, so watching television was becoming popular in the off-shifts. “But don’t let it become the only form of relaxation,” Dr. Penn warned. “And,” he added, looking directly at Simon, “you should probably have more interaction with the crew. I haven’t been aboard long, but I have already heard two things about you. One is that you are secretly one of the aliens that built this ship, and the other is that you tend to keep yourself apart from the regular crew. The second, in my opinion, tends to reinforce the first. You should get out among the crew more and show them that you are as human as they are.”
Simon fumed as Kitty, Gayle and Stephen broke out in gales of laughter. Kitty was the first to find her voice. “What must they think of me? I’m married to him!”
Glances passed among the newer members of the command team until Shirley Dahlquist, appointed to Navigation Officer and training under Stephen and some of his science team, said, diffidently, “The doctor is right, Captain. Your reputation started out pretty good among those of us who got accepted early on, but the newest recruits don’t see much of you. The talk in the rec rooms after shift turn to all sorts of things concerning the ship and the c
ommand teams, especially you. Having been the first one aboard the ship and recruited the rest of us, you have earned, whether deservedly or not, a reputation. Keeping yourself apart from the crew only makes people talk more and some of the rumors are just,” she hesitated for a second, “I was going to say out of this world, but you know what I mean.”
Kitty, still chuckling at the thought of Simon as an alien, said, “Hon, you should make yourself more visible. We all should, for that matter, but you most of all.” She held up her hand as Simon started to protest. “I hear stuff, too, and Shirley’s right. What our people need is the occasional inspirational talk that all good managers know how to give. You’ve got to tell the troops that they’re doing a good job, and they need to hear it from you.”
Simon’s face turned red as he tried to find a way out of his dilemma. “I’m not a public speaker! I don’t have any idea what to say to people or how to say it!”
The silence that greeted Simon’s outburst stretched out enough to begin to be uncomfortable. Amy Carpenter, newly appointed to Helm Officer, first shift, diffidently said, “Captain, I think the biggest thing that has people spooked about you is the fact that you are planning to keep this ship away from the government. That takes a lot of guts, Sir, and it makes people wonder what else you’re capable of.” She looked around the table before continuing. “Captain, I have some public speaking experience. I’ll be happy to help you write a speech to give to the crew, if that’s what you need. Actually, it’s not so hard to do. I thought I could never get up in front of folks and say something, but I found that with practice and a belief in what you have to say, it’s actually rather easy.”
“Thank you for your offer, Ms. Carpenter,” Simon said, discomfited by the statements of his new helm officer. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.”
Engineers were busily going over and amending plans for the first dock. While no changes were being made to the operational side, several people voiced the opinion that the over-sized ceilings, chairs, tables and various other equipment needed to be reworked from the outset to make it more human-friendly. Control panels were lowered to a more workable level, along with the aforementioned chairs and tables and the theme carried itself over into things like beds, toilets, door handles and as many things as could be thought of ahead of time.
Parameters were changed in the computer, keeping the original plans separate for safety’s sake. The fuel plant, being fully automated, needed no changes. As soon as the ship arrived at the spot where they were going to build the plant, the Sundiver, as the fuel scoop had been named, would be sent on a three and a half month round trip to pick up its cargo of coronal material needed to begin operations. Controlled by the computer, no other supervision would have been necessary. But with the loss of the computer’s higher functions, a team of astrophysicists would program the maneuvers into the Sundiver’s onboard computer and track it all the way.
A departure date had finally been set for moving the Galileo out of Earth orbit and into the asteroid belt. The last of the crew were called back, accounted for, and a final countdown begun. It had taken three months to get to this point, and tensions were running high. Until this moment, no power had actually been routed to the engines and until that happened, all that had gone before was just an exercise.
There were quarters for forty more people than were actually needed, and they were filled, too. Once the dock, tentatively named Orion, was operational, over five hundred volunteers would remain aboard to begin production of the first ship and would stay aboard for up to one year. That would leave just over four hundred aboard Galileo for the return to Earth orbit. More crew would be recruited, and they could then head out to build dock number two.
Simon walked onto the bridge ten minutes before departure. Looking at the crew bringing the behemoth to life, he smiled slightly at the memory of a couple of unofficial, clumsy, attempts to suborn a few of the crew. Simon was the first to admit to the efficiency of alphabet agents, but with only a large point made in the papers nation-wide about the missing civilians, and none made of missing scientists, everything else stayed quiet, except, of course, for the late-night radio talk shows.
All stations but Tactical were manned, and all stations but his were backed up by an extra crewman for training purposes. He took the command seat when Kitty relinquished it and listened to her report. “Engine room reports all systems optimum. Computer is green and course is laid in, Captain. All departments report ready and all personnel have received the ten-minute warning. Stephen will monitor things from the engine room. You have the con.”
Simon sat down and ran his hands over the controls built into the arms of the chair. He looked around the room at the expectant bridge crew and back to his wife. “Thank you, Commander, I have the con,” he said formally. He looked at Kitty, winked, mouthed the words, “I love you,” and, with a slight hesitation, entered the codes that removed the ship from standby.
A low murmur that had gone unnoticed made its presence felt by its cessation as the bridge crew turned to their posts as an almost subliminal hum filled the air and a barely felt vibration made itself felt. Pressing a button on the arm of his chair, he announced, “All hands, this is the Captain. Secure all stations. We break orbit immediately. All our work is about to pay off. From this moment on, the course of human history is going to change as we embark on the grandest project since the pyramids were constructed. Good luck to us all.” Leaving the PA live, he said, “Helm, on my command, engines ahead slow.”
The crewman reported back, “Engines ahead slow, on your command, Captain. Course laid in for position Alpha.” Commander Amy Carpenter, Senior Helm Officer, looked over the crewman’s shoulder at the console, nodded to Simon, and patted the crewman on the shoulder.
A stronger vibration began to make itself felt as the engines took the power being forced into them. From this point on, all experiences were new to each and every person aboard the enormous vessel. Simon watched several people exchange glances as their bodies registered the almost subliminal pulsations. He wasn’t immune to the experience himself and found himself looking at Kitty.
A thin smile crossed her face and she laid her hand on Simon’s shoulder. Her gaze went to the forward view screen and the image of an Earth that would never be the same again.
Calling up a screen showing the same information Stephen would be looking at in the engine room, Simon double-checked his own readings, took a deep breath, let it out slowly and gave the order everyone had been working feverishly toward for over three months. “Helm, ahead slow.” Barely noticeable, the image on the view-screen receded as the ponderous ship began to slip away from Earth.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A seriously agitated agent of an agency only recently admitted to by the U.S. government waited anxiously in his boss’ outer office. Rather than appear to be anything other than totally relaxed, he flipped through the documents collected into a manila folder on his lap. For two weeks he had been following leads on what he had first thought to be a doomsday cult similar to the Heaven’s Gate bunch, looking for possible ties to terrorist groups operating on U.S. soil.
Finding his old partner dead-bang in the middle of the whole thing put an entirely different light on the operation. And the rumors of alien spaceships caused him no end of worry. Especially after some of the things he had already seen. Pure X-Files stuff. The actual facts seemed to him to be even more disturbing than that.
The secretary had been busily typing during his entire wait, and veteran that he was, he still jumped when she spoke. “Agent San Martino, the Director will see you now.”
The agent closed the folder, stood up and walked to the door to the inner office. He took a deep breath, opened the door and walked in. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Sir. I believe that you will find that what I have to show you will justify your time.”
“Just get on with it, Agent. I have an appointment on the Hill, and not much time tod
ay.” The heavy-set man behind the ornate desk set a small sheaf of papers aside to give his full attention to the agent.
“Sir, I was present when the ALERT team scrambled for that sighting in Montana earlier this year. I have residue that our best forensics experts say can’t possibly come from this planet. Regrettably charred, but enough remained. I personally saw the craft make its escape. It was I who found the link between the event and Simon Hawke, who just happens to be an ex-agent and an old partner of mine.”
San Martino took a breath. “I faced him one-on-one and he sparkled out of existence right in front of me. And don’t look at me like I’m going nuts, because I know what I saw.”
Before he could go on, the Director held up a hand, stopping him. “Agent San Martino, relax. I am fully aware of the sparkle effect.” At San Martino’s look, the Director said, “What? Did you think you were my only line into this situation? The White House is even more interested than we are.”
The agent looked at his boss and asked, “So, I’m just confirming what you already knew?”
“Yes, but not entirely. You are bringing in new information. Like Hawke being your partner. You’ll have some insight into the man.”
“I don’t think so, Sir. Simon Hawke isn’t the man I knew fifteen years ago. Oh, same guy, just a different look in his eyes. I wouldn’t trust my own analysis of him in this situation.”
The Director looked his agent over. “Well, you’re going to have to get a handle on it. We need that technology.”
The comment jogged a memory in San Martino. “Sir, if we were to get control of that ship, how long would it be before the rest of the world governments find out?”
“What do you see as a result, Agent?” the Director hedged.