Authors: Mark G Brewer
He was in a good mood and held his arms out
indicating the ship. "I think this is the oddball."
Silence. . .
"I'm sorry," He laughed. “Ham is
the oddball!"
Ham ignored the comment. "Regan is
right; you're definitely an oddball by your own people's standards. They're too
comfortable, too content and their desire to explore has been lost. They
experience no threats other than themselves and they have no compelling reason
to grow or develop, so they coast. You, on the other hand, can't stay still.
You roam whenever you can, wherever you can. You take insane risks outside
protocols and though I hate to admit it, you are a breath of fresh air."
"Huh," Marin responded in mock
despair, "That's air about to be expelled!"
Time to move on Regan thought, a change of
subject perhaps? "I think it's time we clearly delineated Ham from the
ship, this ship definitely needs a name."
"It has a name, it's Ham." Marin
protested.
"Marin, you still don't get it, Ham is
the ghost, the mind of the ship. What do you think Ham?"
"I'd like to call it the Stein”, he
said, 'the Stein Traveler'."
Regan was momentarily shocked and
embarrassed but Marin couldn't resist a jibe. "You're going to allow
yourself to be branded with her name?"
"Well unlike some, I'm not likely to
be branded in any other way." He sounded disappointed.
Regan quickly intervened. "Let's take
a break guys. I desperately need a bathroom stop and to eat. I'm starving. I
suggest we break, and then meet again to discuss my ideas for defense. No one
is going to destroy this Stein Traveler."
The control room took up half the area of
level two, Pods and Interceptors being level one. The elevator shaft filled the
center of all levels including the saucer. On level two the other half of the
area opposite Control was broken into a small galley, ablutions and this larger
segment, a meeting room. Regan renamed it the war room, a reference to home
that felt good, like a connection.
Now, sat at the large central table,
coffees and food at hand, Regan had Ham explain the workings of the Infinitely
Variable Spinning Displacer. Much of the explanation of course was science well
beyond her comprehension, but the practical applications were another story.
"So . . ." She back took the
lead, "If in atmosphere the Variable Spinning Displacer is displacing
volumes of air or gas, which is mass, from one side of the vessel to the other,
could it also displace solids? After all, in vacuum you said that it displaces
the ship instead."
"Yes, of course," Ham replied, "depending
on what the mass is. In atmosphere we move air, low mass but there is great
pressure created. It still requires enormous energy to maintain constant and
smooth movement. Fortunately we have no shortage of energy. In space we move
the ship yes, but into vacuum, very little resistance but still enormous energy
required. Remember we're talking about many thousands of small displacements
per second. Regan, what do you have in mind?"
"What I'm wondering is if someone
fired a missile at you, could you simply displace it to the other side of the
ship and let it continue on its path? . . . Is that a stupid question?"
"Hmm, the surfaces of the ship,
including Pods, Interceptors and Transport are constructed so that they're both
strong and active. There are literally hundreds of millions of tiny effectors
built into the hull, so many that at first glance the appearance of the surface
is smooth. From even a small distance away they can't be seen but as you may
have noticed, the appearance is matt black, not gloss. The effectors are the
displacers, each doing a tiny part of the whole process. In the direction of
travel the effectors most forward are displacing the most with the effect
lessening the farther from that centre you get. As I redirect the ship the
centre of concentration shifts so that we can move in any direction. Now, to
answer your question, the problem of displacing a larger object outside the
ship is that the field of displacement has to reach out, like a bulge. The
further the field has to reach out the more energy is required, still possible,
but it might take away from maneuverability. Also, the speed of the incoming
missile might mean that the displacement is occurring at only the very last
fraction of a second. Keep a spare pair of clean underwear handy!"
"But it could be done?" Regan
persisted.
"It's possible." Ham sounded
interested.
"Can we try?"
"Not unless you have a missile handy
and I'm not sure it's a good idea anyway. As I've already explained, collision
is something we do everything to avoid."
"Of course," Regan wasn't giving
up, "but what if we tried dropping out a drone or something, then flew
into it with only our momentum and tried displacing it behind us, that would be
like the same thing wouldn't it?"
Marin shifted uncomfortably. "I don't
like the sound of this and I can't believe you're even considering it."
"Neither do I," said Ham, "it
sounds like you want to play billiards with the ship!"
"Look at it this way," said
Regan, "If we get to Dahlia . . ."
"Dahlia?" asked Marin
"I'll explain later," she
dismissed him with a gesture. "As I was saying, if we get to Dahlia and
someone really does throw a nuclear tipped pool cue at you Ham, it might be
handy to send it on its way, don't you think? Then you can effect your escape."
"I suppose we could try something
small first." Ham sounded both reluctant and doubtful.
"Ham!" Marin interjected,
alarmed. "Even a small object could skewer the ship, you're both mad."
"Hey, I'm not even finished, if it
works I have an even more cunning idea," said Regan, delighted at the
prospect. "And it's something dear to my heart. When can we start?"
"Listen," said Ham, "if it
doesn't work we won't need any other ideas! Ok, we have one more opportunity
when we make our last line change in two days. We can hold there for some
trials and then make the last wave home . . ."
They endured two more days of training,
gym, track and not much else, though Regan was enjoying the time with both
Marin and Ham. At times, even while doing the most mundane thing, she would
pause stunned, considering how amazing this was, where she was, what she was
doing and with whom. The thoughts could stop her in her tracks and then with a
laugh she would move on.
For the last two days however, this moment
and the anticipation of it had dominated her thinking. Rubbing her hands
together now she looked at the small barrel distantly visible on the screen.
Ham said it was solid and of course it had to be to mimic the mass of a
missile. He had ejected it into space immediately after coming out of warp and
now they would spend the next day or so playing with it.
As Ham accelerated the ship toward it she
reviewed his briefing from that morning. She knew that based on Hams modeling
there was a possibility the displacement field would break down. His visual
showed the field would bulge out from the sphere of the ship but the further it
extended, the more the sides of the field would contract so the effect was as
if looking at a teardrop. Ham worried that if he pushed it too far the teardrop
could break away, or more likely collapse.
As the barrel drew nearer she began to feel
nervous. Her confidence in Ham was secure but she did wonder whether this
attempt was all about trying to please her, doubts suddenly filling her mind.
"It's going to work." Marin
reached out and gripped her upper arm encouragingly but he didn't sound
confident.
The gesture caught her off guard and she
shrugged him off, Marin pulling his arm away quickly. Immediately she regretted
it and reached out to clasp his hand.
"Here we go - death or glory!"
Ham warned them.
She peered at the barrel, noticing for the
first time flailing objects on either side. "Ham." She asked,
disturbed, "Are those arms?"
"I like to call them appendages."
Ham replied offhandedly. The barrel was drawing quickly nearer and the 'appendages'
really did appear to be flailing widely in panic, something to do with the
momentum it carried as it was ejected from the ship. The effect was deeply unsettling.
"What is it?" she asked,
appalled.
"It was all I could find; it's one of
the cleaning units."
Regan put one hand to her mouth in shock. "This
is too disturbing for words."
Marin laughed out loud and she thumped his
arm.
"What?" he said, "You're
feeling sorry for it, that's funny. Now this really is a machine, if it breaks
we replace it with another, possibly an even better one."
Somehow this didn't seem right anymore and
the feeling wasn't helped by the device waving as it got closer.
Whether she imagined it she wasn't sure but
it did appear as if a shimmering something reached out just when the waving barrel
had almost filled the screen. Then it disappeared and Regan let out a gasp,
unaware that she had been holding her breath.
"I'm going to rear view." And
there it was disappearing into the distance.
"I'll come about for another pass,"
said Ham, "We'll do it faster this time."
"How fast was that?" Marin asked.
"Only five thousand kilometers per
hour," Ham was dismissive, "we need to try upwards of twenty five
thousand."
"Let's go to fifteen thousand, and
then work it up from there." Regan suggested.
"Ten," said Ham, "just to be
relatively safe."
She laughed, "Well you haven't lost
your sense of humor!"
Two hours later and confidence was high.
Thirty five thousand kilometers per hour and Ham was convinced it could be
done. They celebrated with a coffee.
"Now Ham, what do you think about part
two of my cunning plan?" Regan was really excited now.
"You know," Ham replied, "I
think it might just work. As suggested I've been lessening the power to the
field and I'm confident there is enough for what we want to try."
The plan was to concentrate the strength of
the field on opposite sides of the sphere, two bulges in effect. As the missile
or object entered one side it would be displaced to the rear, only to be
immediately displaced back. This required two very quick actions that Ham
pointed out could only be accomplished by a genius, super powerful, amazingly
dexterous, sentient computer. Did we know of one?
The idea had two extra complications.
First, the object would need to be inverted during the second displacement so
that it would be facing in the opposite direction otherwise it would still
blast the ship! Second the first bulge would need to be turned off in the
twinkling of an eye. Fortunately, Ham said, for someone of his skill this would
not be difficult.
"Are there any downsides?" Regan
asked.
"I can see we'll be vulnerable on the
sides away from the bulges and I guess maneuverability will be hugely
compromised, correct?" Marin asked.
"Correct," Ham answered, "but
only for a second."
"Well, I can see another problem,"
Regan spoke her concern. "This won't work with a stationary object, to try
this we need the object to be moving."
"I'm way ahead of you sweetheart,"
Ham said with a comical Brooklyn accent. "The Pod is underway."
On the screen a Pod appeared, quickly
moving away from them. It seemed disturbingly large, much larger than the
barrel.
"Ham . . . are you sure about this?
Aren't we making a big leap here?" Regan felt suddenly alarmed at the prospect.
"Look," Ham replied, "a
missile is pretty big, maybe as long as the Pod, this is the big test."
"I'll say!" In a comical waste of
energy both she and Marin moved behind the chairs as if protecting themselves
from the action on screen.
The Pod made its turn in the distance and
grew alarmingly on screen as it accelerated toward their now stationary
position. As it filled her vision Regan couldn't help squeezing her eyes shut,
her hands gripping the back of the chair so tight that they hurt.
Then . . . nothing!
As she opened her eyes the sight of the Pod
shooting away from them came as such a relief, to her embarrassment, she
whimpered. Marin, normally a warm olive color, also looked ashen.
"What view is that Ham, did it work?"
Regan was whispering.
Ham whispered back. "Is the Pope a Catholic?"
"Yesss!" She screamed with relief
and excitement. "I love it, The Arteis Displacer!" She turned and
hugged Marin, lifting him off the ground, it was a shock.
"Arteis?" Marin squeaked, pleased
at her reaction.
"Arteis!" she said with a
delighted laugh, "Return to Sender!"
*
The War Room, Riverside, NZ
"It's bad Kevin. Somebody's on a witch
hunt and they've decided Regan's the witch." Mary poured a glass of
Chardonnay and uncharacteristically took a long slug before continuing.