“Well, that’s the last of ‘em by my count, Commander.” The grizzled Chief-of-the-Ship ran his left hand across the back of his neck, as if to wipe away something distasteful. “Ain’t gonna be no stowaway shitbirds on this cruise.”
“Those were the last two on my list as well, Chief,” Gretchen replied, consulting her tablet. She knew that the Chief didn’t really hate the dockworkers, he was simply honoring the long standing tradition of collegial hazing that always took place between shipyard workers and Navy sailors. Like opposing sports teams, sailors and shipyard workers had considerable respect for each other, but they’d be damned if they would admit it. “Let’s button her up, Chief.”
“Aye aye, Commander,” he said as he pressed a control on the wall panel. With a sound similar to an airliner raising its flaps, the gangway began to rise and retract into the side of the ship. At the same time the curved airlock door slid down from its open position, nestled along the hull of the ship above the doorway. It dropped down to cover the airlock entrance and sealed flush against the hull with bank-vault like solidity. “We got a good seal and the ramp is stowed.”
Gretchen nodded and spoke into her comm pip. “Bridge, port airlock.”
“Go, port airlock” came the instant reply.
“Captain, the ship’s company is all present or accounted for, all base personnel are disembarked, and the ship is sealed. We are ready to start dock depressurization.”
“Roger that, Commander. We will start depressurization directly. Bridge out.” All of the scaffolding that surrounded the ship for weeks had been carefully removed, mindful of the damage inflicted on similar scaffolding back in Texas when the ship first launched. This time there would be nothing around the Peggy Sue when the ship’s repulsors lifted her 8000 metric tons from the dock floor, not even air.
Gretchen smiled and spoke to the Chief, “Looks like we are finally ready to get underway Chief. I’m heading back to the bridge.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m gonna go check on the crew. First time leaving port for most of ‘em. They’d better be standing to, bright eyed and bushy tailed.”
* * * * *
A little over an hour later the massive doors that covered the top of the shipyard dock slid silently aside, uncovering an infinitely black crack of sky. The dock was empty and under vacuum, warning lights flashed at airlock entrances in the bay walls. The ship’s hull had no noticeable air leaks, the reactors were run up to full power and the drives were in ready standby—the Peggy Sue was ready to depart.
“Farside port control, Peggy Sue,” called the Captain.
“Go ahead, Peggy Sue.”
“The Peggy Sue requests clearance to depart.”
“Roger, Peggy Sue. You are cleared for departure. Good luck and godspeed.”
“Thank you Farside. We will see you in 30 days,” Jack acknowledged. Sitting behind the Captain in the observers’ seats, Jean-Jacques whispered to Dr. Li, who was beside him, “Well it is about time.”
“Chill out, Jean-Jacques,” Sally replied, “for a UN bureaucrat you have little patience.”
And precious little diplomacy either,
she added silently.
Lcdr. Curtis entered the bridge and stood beside the Captain’s command chair. “Captain, all stations are manned and ready, all sections report ready to depart,” she said, with a barely restrained smile.
“Thank you, Commander. Helm, activate the bottom repulsors,” the Captain ordered. “Lift her out of this hole in the ground, Mr. Danner.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” came Bobby’s reply. Bobby and Billy Ray were seated at the dual pilot stations. At the auxiliary stations sat Sandy and Nigel, the ship’s newest lieutenants, observing the first team in action. Slowly, the 500 foot long ship rose above the dock floor, its six massive landing legs folding seamlessly into the hull.
“Mr. Medina,” the Captain called out. “Maintain normal deck gravity and bring the shields up at minimum until we clear the dock.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” replied Jo Jo Medina from the engineering station on the port side, aft of the captain’s chair. With no sense of movement and no noise save the occasional muted beep from the instrument panels, the Peggy Sue floated silently upward like a balloon.
Clearing the top of the volcanic dome, the stark landscape of the Moon dramatically appeared in the ship’s viewports. A tangle of jagged black and grays tumbled away to a horizon that looked close enough to touch. The Moon was nearing first quarter to earthbound observers, meaning the day-night terminator was approaching Farside Base from the east, long shadows disappearing into dim grayness and then inky darkness.
“C’est magnifique!” Jean-Jacques softly exclaimed. Having been interned below on his arrival at Farside Base this was his first close up view of Earth’s satellite.
“Indeed it is, M. de Belcour,” the Captain answered. “One of the original Apollo astronauts described it as ‘magnificent desolation’.”
At least this UN bureaucrat still retains enough of a soul to be appropriately awed by the Universe around us.
After a few more seconds of appreciative silence the Captain’s own revery broke. “Mr. Taylor, have you plotted our course to Mars?”
“Aye, Captain. Plotted and sent to the helm.”
“Very good, Mr. Taylor. Mr. Vincent, all ahead one quarter and set course for Mars.”
“Aye aye, Sir. We are underway for the red planet.” The Moon dropped swiftly behind the ship while those quick enough on the port side caught sight of Earth as it emerged from behind its companion. Both were rapidly left behind as the Peggy Sue carried mankind’s first visitors toward the solar system’s fourth planet and points beyond.
Chapter 13
Peggy Sue, Saturn Orbit, 25 Days Later
Wreathed in its glorious rings, Saturn hung majestically in space off Peggy Sue’s starboard bow. A portly ball, banded by clouds—smokey brushstrokes in shades of brown, tan and cream. The rings were also painted in the same soft pallet, though hints of blue and yellow were visible on closer inspection. Nine main rings and countless minor ones, consisting mostly of ice particles with smaller amounts of rocky debris and dust, ranged from nearly transparent to seeming solidity. Faint radial spokes moved across the rings’ surfaces, interrupted only by the shadow of the planet itself, a visual manifestation of Saturn’s enormous magnetic field.
A clutch of 53 named moons attend the court of Saturnus, ancient Roman god of agriculture, strength and justice, largest of these the appropriately named Titan. Larger than Mercury, Titan is the only moon in the solar system with a significant atmosphere. If not kept in thrall by its giant parent, it would be counted a planet in its own right. As such, Titan presented a perfect test subject for the instruments and robotic probes that would be used to look for life on planets circling alien stars—some of the science section were secretly hoping to find signs of life on Titan itself.
The crew manning various stations on the bridge and in the CIC did not have time to gaze in admiration upon nature’s tableau—they were in the process of completing another in a series of training exercises. Overlaying the view of the solar system’s most magnificent planet, lines, symbols and annotations in glowing red, blue and green formed a gloss on nature’s handiwork. Using data provided by Peggy Sue’s sensors, each moon was carefully labeled and its orbital vector noted. From this crowded neighborhood, a tiny object followed a divergent path, headed toward the ship. It was a shuttle returning from dropping probes into the dense atmosphere of Titan.
“Captain, we have a shuttle inbound from Titan, 100,000 kilometers out and closing at 45 km/s,” reported Lcdr. Curtis from the CIC. The Combat Information Center was a new addition to Peggy Sue’s bridge area, an enclosed space behind the bridge proper. Located between the engineering and navigation stations, its purpose was to collect, display, evaluate and disseminate tactical information for use by the commanding officer. It could also serve as a tactical command center when a boarding or shore party were operating outside of the ship. The CIC concept was adopted by the U.S. Navy during WWII, supposedly taken from the
Lensman
novels of E.E. ‘Doc’ Smith, an early 20
th
century science fiction writer.
“Roger, CIC. Let me know when it is within 100 kilometers,” Captain Jack responded. In all, it had been a successful cruise: they had visited Mars, the asteroid belt, and now Saturn. He had landed the ship in the caldera of Olympus Mons, the largest volcano in the solar system, giving all aboard the right to say that they were among the first Earthlings to touchdown on the surface of Mars. In a rare assertion of his prerogative as master and commander of the Peggy Sue, Jack himself was the first to set foot on the red planet.
The ship’s planetary scientists were beside themselves with joy, deploying seismic sensors and collecting samples from the dead volcano and several other sites around the planet. Scientific bounty not withstanding, Dieter Schmitt remarked that there were so many people on board that the only one who would be remembered for landing first on Mars would be the Captain.
“Who remembers the others who were with Armstrong on the first Moon landing?” he remarked sourly. “We will be lucky to be mentioned in a textbook appendix.”
This prompted the Captain to send an email to TK Parker, back at Farside Base, asking him to commission a commemorative plaque, listing the names of all on board. It would be installed in the main hall of the base to be built atop Olympus Mons.
Following the all too brief stay on Mars, the Peggy Sue made her way to Saturn by way of the asteroid belt. There a supply of antimatter was retrieved, plunder taken from the alien refueling station at Beta Comae. Since arriving at the sixth planet, more scientific probes were deployed. Dual purpose missions to several of the moons ferried scientific personnel and Marines, who practiced landing and maneuvers under the differing, unearthly conditions.
Jack and Ludmilla accompanied the Marines during a visit to Enceladus, a moonlet covered with ice and snow. As the party hiked across its frozen, fractured surface they came upon a sight unlike anything else in the solar system. On the horizon, back-lit by the distant Sun, rose a shimmering curtain. From a 300 km long crack in the moon’s icy surface, geysers spewed water vapor into the inky black sky.
Emerging from the liquid sea beneath the surface icepack, the water vapor immediately froze into a rising wall of ice crystals, extending 500 km into space. From there the crystals fell slowly back to the moon’s surface as snow. All of the bears were entranced, sitting down on the snowy surface and wordlessly staring at the spectacle in front of them.
“Now that is a sight worth leaving home for,” Bear commented, breaking the silence.
“Indeed it is,” agreed Isbjørn. “You are a bear of your word. You said you would show me sights unlike any at home.” The sight was breath taking and it took the better part of a half hour before the squad was ready to move out again. Even the Gunny was taken by the ghostly spectacle, though the sergeant was unwilling to admit it.
While the Marines practiced landings on several other moons, back on board the ship the pilots and gun crews threw themselves enthusiastically into their work. The ship itself was performing splendidly, so well that Chief Zackly complained that the engineers and damage control parties were not getting enough training. Of course the Chief was never satisfied—it was part of his job description.
Damned if I don’t think we’re ready to get underway for our true objectives,
Jack observed.
Once we recover the shuttle, I think we shall head for home and a quick resupply, then on to Gliese 581.
The Captain did not want to drill the crew to the point of exhaustion. As in sports, optimal training brings a team to its peak just in time for the championship game.
“Helm, be prepared to break orbit once the incoming shuttle is retrieved.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
“CIC, let’s wrap this exercise up and prepare to set course for home. Starboard section and I will take the Klingon death watch.” The Klingon death watch—a term borrowed from the submarine service—was the watch following a long period of continuous drills. It was generally considered suck duty because the watch standers got no break following the practice exercises. That was why Jack was standing the watch himself, it was harder for the crew to bitch when the Old Man was pulling the same duty.
“Commander, you might wish to visit the science and medical sections and inform them that we are about to depart.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” Gretchen replied and headed aft.
* * * * *
As Lcdr. Curtis traveled aft she passed through the ship’s main lounge. There, standing in front of the large, eye shaped observation port was JT, staring moodily at the giant planet below. Moving next to him, Gretchen softly placed a hand on his shoulder. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”
“Yes, more spectacular than I ever imagined,” he replied. “First time we saw the lounge viewport, I remember saying how cool it would be to have a drink at the bar as the rings of Saturn slipped by.”
“Well you are doing just that… except for the drink.”
“Yeah, but I always thought that I would be recording a spot and she would be doing the on-camera narration.”
“You and Susan?” Gretchen asked, both sympathy and personal sadness in her voice.
“She really would have loved seeing this,” he said softly.
“Everyone who knew her misses her, JT,” she told her partner, wishing she could ease his pain. “I can’t help feeling that she is with us in spirit.”
“I hope so,” he said faintly. “I truly hope so.”
She knew there was nothing she could do—reconciling one’s feelings after the loss of a close companion took time. Particularly when the companion was so young and killed in combat. But both she and JT were combat veterans, living with loss came with the job. The feeling of loss never goes away, but the pain eventually fades. She squeezed his shoulder and quietly continued on her way aft.
Peggy Sue, Departure for Gliese 581