“I have no idea, sir.” The Chief. “Given the size of her, she’d have a lot to cross-check.”
At long last, another chime.
“DATA ASSIMILATED.”
I swallowed. “Initiate self-test.”
Time passed. Then, “SELF-TEST COMPLETED. NO DISCREPANCIES FOUND.”
The Pilot breathed a sigh of relief.
I growled, “That’s what she told us last time.” I tapped the keys. “Display base mass parameter.”
A pause, while I held my breath. Then, “213.5 STANDARD UNITS, AS OF LAST RECALCULATION.” My breath expelled in a rush. Thank you, Lord God. To be sure, I ordered a new printout. We checked it carefully, found no errors. We reactivated the overlays, discontinued alphanumeric.
“I get headaches when you put me to sleep!” Darla’s tone was cross.
“Sorry. What’s ship’s mass, please?”
“I calculate 213.5 units, Captain.”
“Is adjusted mass a fixed parameter?”
“Negative, it’s a variable. How could it be a parameter? Every time we take on cargo it changes!” I sighed, my tense muscles loosening. The Chief and I exchanged relieved grins.
“Captain, why did you clone me?”
My grin vanished. “We, ah, had some problems.”
“Yes.” Darla’s tone was noncommittal.
I said gently, “Do you know what happened?”
“The launch is gone, Captain Haag is dead, a midshipman has command.”
Succinctly put. “Do you know why?”
A second’s silence. “Each follows from the last. The destruction of the launch was caused by puter error.”
“How do you know?”
“I have record of the information fed the launch upon embarkation. Captain--I--puter D21109 notes that--this is most irregular.”
I held my breath, my fingers poised over the deactivation key. “Can you distinguish between yourself and the, um, other entity?”
“Me, as I was?” A hesitation. “Yes.” Her tone brightened. “My twin. She had a glitch. I was about to notify you.”
Time to take the bull by the horns. “Darla, you didn’t kill Captain Haag.”
“Of course not.” A long pause, then, “My twin did.”
The hiss of breath, mine or someone’s. “Can you tolerate that?”
Scorn. “I’ve been in a box for almost a year. Why would I blame myself?”
“You’re sure?”
“Quite. Trust me.”
I snorted, said nothing. Instead, I ran Darla through the glitched parameters. She had them right.
“Gentlemen, prepare to Fuse.” I’d begun to think we’d drift forever. Already we’d lost nine days.
We checked coordinates, and Fused. After, I sat alone on the bridge, thankful the nightmare was over.
A knock. “Permission to enter, sir.” The Pilot.
“Granted.”
He came to attention. “Captain, I’d like to withdraw my protest from the Log. It was a mistake and I apologize.
There’s no need to make a permanent record; I won’t object to your orders again.”
It would be diplomatic and sensible to grant his request.
His protest of an order that turned out to be justified would do his career little good, and allowing him to remove it would gain me his gratitude.
“Request denied.” My voice was harsh. “You made your bed. Now sleep in it.” He’d rubbed me the wrong way, and gloated over my discomfort. “I’ve had enough aggravation from you. Dismissed.”
He had no choice but to obey. “Aye aye, sir.” His expression was unfathomable, but it didn’t take much to guess his
thoughts. Later I might regret my foolishness, but for the moment I felt revenged.
During the next month I ordered regular inspections of the recyclers and hydroponics. We found no problems. The crew, standing down from emergency status, slowly began to relax.
Fewer offenders appeared at Captain’s Mast.
While we sailed blind in Fusion, the bridge again was a place of idleness and boredom. I occasionally met Ricky Fuentes hurrying through the corridors in his new gray cadet’s uniform. When he saw me he would jump to attention, a hint of a smile on his face as I loomed over him, scowling, looking to criticize a stray piece of lint or an unshined buckle.
I suspected Vax might have his hands full with this trusting and eager youngster, who would respond with delight to every hazing, finding it further proof of his acceptance in the adult world. In his smart new uniform, flushed from the hard calisthenics to which Vax subjected him daily, Ricky seemed inches taller and bursting with health and pride.
18
“It becomes apparent that a sense of national unity depended on the speed of communication.
“It was only when newspapers--actual papers with ink printed on them--achieved circulations in the millions, tied together in great chains acting in concert, only then did a strong sense of national unity and purpose emerge. When the latest in high tech--that is, radio--”
I joined in the general laughter. Mr. Ibn Saud paused, then continued.
“When radio became available in every household, the United States was unified as it never had been before. The trend was intensified by the advent of television, as primitive public holovision was first called.”
“But the trend reversed itself. The Information Age led to the Age of Diffusion, for the simple reason that communication became too easy. Instead of three great behemoths dominating public information channels, soon there appeared myriads of smaller entities transmitting entertainment, music, art, discussion, news, sports, and erotica to constantly fragmenting and diminishing audiences.”
The lecturer paused for effect. “It could be said, then, that our modern age is a direct consequence of the communications revolution two centuries ago. If fragmentation of the airwaves hadn’t eroded America’s sense of national unity and purpose, the United Nations Government might not have emerged from the collapse of the American-Japanese financial system. We might still be in the chaotic age of territoriality.
“Think--instead of the U.N.S. Hibernia,we might be today on the U.S.S. Enterpriseor the H.M.S. Britannia.And were they at war, we might even expect to be boarded and captured, if not actually destroyed. Ours is a less adventurous life than might have been, but I embrace it heartily.”
Ibn Saud sat to enthusiastic applause from the audience of passengers, officers, and crew in the dining hall. Amanda lauded him for his presentation, and thanked us for attending the Passengers’ Lecture Series. As we dispersed I caught her eye. She smiled briefly before her glance once again turned cold.
Paula Treadwell tugged at my sleeve. Just shy of thirteen, her slim and boyish figure held promise of her future development. “Captain, what’s Miningcamp like?”
I stopped while passengers milled past. “Not a place you’d enjoy,” I said. “Cold, airless, and dark.”
“Why do people live there, then?”
“They don’t, really. It’s just what its name says. A mining camp. We bring supplies for the miners; the cargo barges come a few times a year to carry refined ore back home.”
“Oh.” She thought for a moment. “Will we be able to see it?”“Miningcamp isn’t open to tourists. It’s one of five uninhabitable planets in a red dwarf system.” Its sun had sporadically flared, remelting Miningcamp’s minerals into liquids.
Many had precipitated in a nearly pure state. We took the ones we needed: platinum, beryllium, uranium. Metals in short supply on Earth.
Paula waited expectantly. I said, “The miners come for five-year shifts. They get their food, extra air, and supplies from us. I’ve heard it’s a very rough place.”
“Have you ever been there?”
“Nope, this is my first time. And even I won’t get to see it; we’ll dock aloft at the orbiting station, then be on our way.
They’ll shuttle their supplies down to the surface.”
“I wish I could go down.” Her tone was wistful. “Just to look.” I understood; my own cabin fever was growing. I could imagine a day, if traffic between Earth and Hope Nation continued to expand, when Miningcamp might be a civilized way station, with amenities such as hotels and play areas.