The early darkness broke overhead. Slowly, ever so slowly the great lighting system of the Maryland began to glimmer ever brighter, heralding a new dawn for the ship. I had once read that on earth, during dawn and sunset, atmospheric disturbances and the revolution of the earth created colors of red and orange in the morning and evening sky. I wasn’t sure I believed that – it was an impossible thing to imagine. Especially in light of the crystal clear white light that I had known all my life.
“Here let me steer. You take a look at this.” I shoved the two pages of handwritten data into Simon Allen’s hands.
Simon had rented a small sailing sloop. It had a long lithe hull that cut the dark water easily as we glided across the lake.
Simon pulled out a small flashlight to help him see in the dawn’s dim white light. He squinted as he read.
Up ahead in the bow Eleanor sat curled up in a ball; she looked to be asleep and probably was. Since the dawn of time, daughters have suffered for the fishing adventures of their father’s — probably more so than any other human convention, I supposed. She was a trooper. I only hoped her spirit would hold-out for the rest of the day, especially later… Especially then.
Simon Allen was well versed in engineering and astrophysics. I watched his face as he read the two pages. Other than a few raised eyebrows his face betrayed no emotion. When done he folded the two pages carefully, and handed them back to me.
“Not good. Not good at all.”
“Yes. This is a fine mess we are in. Have you heard anything more from the Orion?”
Looking carefully over his shoulder at Eleanor, he pulled his jacket tightly about him as an occasional splash of water found its way over the side, he whispered, “no. Only what we spoke of a few days ago. More than sixty Orion crew members, officers and citizens alike, have been arrested, and about seven hundred others have gone just plain bonkers. Whatever madness assailed Harville is now spreading.”
“What do you make of it Sir? Especially, in light of this new information.” He nodded, indicating towards the two pages I had tucked away safely under my coat.
I had no answer. Instead I said, “Let’s see where the day takes us.” Then we lapsed into a comfortable silence watching the scenery of the shoreline as we passed.
We trekked about ten kilometers up the center of the lake. A small river estuary was off to our right and we furled our sail and made the rest of the way through the shallow water by motor. The change of configuration woke Eleanor who asked us sleepily where we were.
We pulled the boat onto small golden sandy beach. Large willow trees and the Maryland’s ever present Pines hung thickly about the shore giving the area the look of a jungle.
The overhead lights of the grid smiled fondly above us; with dawn passed the warmth of Maryland’s glow was in full glory. It was time to fish.
Eleanor skipped barefoot across the sand, and with a length of rope, pulled us firmly up onto the beach.
“Nice job Lieutenant.” I told her.
Awkwardly, Simon and I clambered out of the boat; arms full of fishing gear, Eleanor stopped us, “don’t forget our breakfast.” Simon handed her his armload of gear and stepped back into the boat to retrieve the picnic basket she had brought.
We set up our rods and began almost immediately. Eleanor, finding a suitable spot on the beach, set the picnic basket atop a large colored woven blanket. Within a few minutes she joined us on the shore; her rod ready. We did not speak; our silence broken only by the gentle rhythmic swish, swish of our fly-rods as they made their precise incisions through the air.
Eleanor was first to get a bite; a large male rainbow trout that must have weighed about fifteen kilos nabbed her fly and a fight ensued. Eleanor won. It was a nice catch. Then, a few minutes later, Simon caught two, and Eleanor one more; nothing for me.
Another thirty minutes and the run was over; the fish stopped biting. Eleanor stowed her gear and started gathering wood and brush from the woods for a fire. Simon also stowed his rod then cleaned the catch. Stubbornly I remained; the busy sounds and the tasty smells of breakfast being prepared went on behind me.
“Come on Dad. Pack it in.” Eleanor came over and handed me a mug of hot coffee. “You know you never catch anything.” This was true – as much as I loved fishing I was a terrible fisherman. I took the coffee from her. The small wood fire and the smell of grilling fish made my decision easier.
“Fishing, it seems, is more about luck than skill.”
“Keep telling yourself that Dad — if it makes you feel better.” Her eyes were laughing at me.
Breakfast was excellent. From the picnic basket Eleanor brought out some bread which we toasted and lathered thickly with butter, jam, and Devonshire cream. Herbs and spices seasoned the grilling fish. Eleanor served it all on aluminum cooking platters.
After breakfast and clean-up I suggested a short walk to settle our food. We broke our little camp and packed our gear back into the boat. I found a nice piece of driftwood to serve as a walking stick and followed Simon and Eleanor into the woods. We found a small dirt track that led upwards; it followed the gentle curve of the Maryland’s hull. We hiked for about forty minutes and came across a small clearing in the woods and stopped to rest. Eleanor, who had been chatting amiably about her friends and shipboard life, suggested that it was probably time to head back. She had a shift on the bridge that evening, and if we headed back now she would be able to get in a short nap before going on duty. An awkward silence ensued. Simon continued up the track, leaving me alone with Eleanor.
There are many kinds of relationships between men and women but none are so special, or so tumultuous, or more complicated than that between father and daughter…
“What!” Eleanor shouted, throwing her backpack to the ground. “Dad, I have a life here! How dare you!” She paused and marched back down the dirt track. She stopped and turned, stomping back towards me. “This is because of Uncle John isn’t it? You’ve never liked him or any of mother’s friends.”
“This has nothing to do with the Thorpe’s.” I replied coolly, but she was right about the latter. I did not like her mother’s friends.
“I’m asking this, not as your commanding officer, but as your father. Keep in mind — I’m asking — I need people I can trust!”
She was silent at this, torn between duties. The two appear indistinguishable but were not. Her face flushed with an even greater rage. Tears welled in her eyes and she turned her back on me.
Simon Allen who had been watching us from higher up the track spoke loudly and clearly, his voice cut the air like a knife.
“Lieutenant! Pick up your gear and do as you are told. Time is short and we don’t have time for these childish antics.”
Stunned by the severity of Simon’s command her face reddened, and then without another word she bent over and picked up her pack. With chin, stuck proudly in the air, she stalked past Simon without looking at him, and continued up the track.
“Sorry Sir but you know how Weston is.” He said tapping his watch face.
I nodded and said, “thank you Simon, it was the right thing to say — it’s what she needed. I had hoped she would choose though.”
All the same I knew I could never have ordered her to join our little adventure. But one thing was for sure – I needed people I could trust.
“She’ll get over it.” Simon said at last, breaking the silence between us.
We followed Eleanor up the track. While we couldn’t see her, we could hear her pushing her way through the scrubby bush ahead. She must have figured out for herself where it was we were really going, and so we allowed her the led, no doubt fuming as she went.
The sun was dimming past noon, and through the trees and bush we caught occasional glimpses of the lake beneath us. Our little boat, pulled up neatly on the sandy shore; tiny and insignificant. Then from above us, Eleanor screamed.
* * *
James finds a train
A week had passed since James had found the train. It had been a calculated risk to believe that the Bethlehem’s internal transportation system would not have been completely decommissioned prior to the ship’s last day of service. James had only guessed that it would have remained operative or at least, key parts of it. He had guessed right. The fear that had nagged him since he began the trek from the collapsed elevator was that the ship’s trains may have been hangared and locked away. If that had been the case he would surely have died in the darkness of the giant dry-dock — but isn’t that what a calculated risk is all about? There’s no skill involved in “calculated risk.” James had been lucky, and he knew it.
His train, the one he found, gave little resistance to entry. As soon as he got its fusion engine powered and online he had pressure and heat. It only took about five hours to create a livable atmosphere and another two hours before he had water. The wait was worth it. James decided that that first shower, after four weeks in a pressure suit, was the best shower he ever had, or would ever have again. Not to mention the toilet – a real toilet. James could be forgiven for thinking he had discovered nirvana.
The train had been primarily a people-mover; moving workers fore and aft of the dry-dock’s port side. It had a couple of large cargo bins beneath the sitting berths for moving light freight. But only one of these cargo bins was pressurized. The train was typical of other train’s throughout the Fleet. As a boy, James had ridden on one much like it to school each day. The thick upholstered leather seats could be rotated to face fore or aft depending on the direction the train. He smiled at the memory of the entertainment that he and his school chums got by flipping these things backwards and forwards. The clanking sound of it drove the other commuters crazy. Now though, in the sobering quiet of the Bethlehem, the same chair would serve him as a bed.
From his meager store of provisions that had not been swallowed up by the elevator, James was able to make up a passable bed with a few blankets and his sleeping bag. From the seatback he was able to fashion a crude but comfortable pillow. James had everything he needed, almost. With the basics of life met — shelter and a fusion generator — James did need food. From out of his emergency kit he found a package of dried Chlorella spore. Chlorella is an algae that could be grown easily, even in poorer conditions that James found himself in now. The instructions on the side of the packet claimed that: “Chlorella is a complete protein, and contains calories, fat, and essential vitamins needed for human survival.” Hmmm… James did not think that picture on the side of the packet helped make the substance look terribly appetizing. Instead, it looked like green slime. James consoled himself with the thought that he would only need to eat it for a few months, at the most. By that time Catherine Moreland or Andrew Bingley would have returned for him. However, in the mean time, there was still a slim chance that he may find some edible food on the Bethlehem. To date he had not looked – he had not had the time. But after more than a thousand years, even at the coldest of temperatures, preserved food could still spoil, and the green goo may be the only meal he got.
Utilizing the train’s computer, James had successful hacked one of the Bethlehem’s main computer servers. While there was no sign of the navigational source code he soon discovered that Moreland and Bingley had been almost correct in their deduction of its actual location. Using some of the earliest of ship manifests, the first two hundred years of service, he felt he had a good idea where exactly. These manifests gave him name, age, and occupation. Also, he found a roster of living quarter assignments. Based on the assumption of “efficiency,” that most people tend to live close to where they work, he felt that if he could link these separate pieces of data it would point him in the right direction. James wrote a simple program that interrogated the information. And after a few minutes he felt he had, more or less, a rough idea of where to start his search proper.
Utilizing the train as transportation, he would need to travel about thirty five kilometers aft of his present position, and then head back into the main arteries of the ship again, but only a kilometer or so. James located several local power sources in the vicinity of the “search” area; he powered these up ahead of time. By the time he arrived he would have heat and a breathable atmosphere.
The train contained a large wall map of the port side of the Bethlehem. James found that at a touch, he could zoom the map in and out, adjusting its scale. At first, he felt that he didn’t need this map simply because he had already memorized as much from Moreland and Bingley’s database. However, after closer study, he realized that the train’s map contained incredibly detail that Moreland and Bingley did not have access too. The train’s map could zoom right down to a scale that gave living quarter location, and in, and around this, were narrow pathways that that led into, and out of, these facilities. These pathways and other entry points probably served as maintenance access spaces, but it was difficult to tell. Each day James would spend several hours poring over the map, memorizing what he could.
After a day or so of fiddling with the trains control system he was able to drive it a few tentative feet. The train was typical of magnetic levitation types found throughout the Fleet, and so, without external power to the tracks he could not get the train to move faster than one or two kilometers per hour, at best. Though, this was not entirely unsatisfactory because it was probably safer that way. James had no idea what might lay ahead on the tracks or the condition of the tracks. And so he nixed the idea of finding whichever external power source and computer system that powered them – he had, after all, only a short distance to travel.
The day he saw the girl in the white dress he had driven the train about five kilometers, and not daring to put the train on autopilot, he parked it, and planned to spend the rest of the day improving his Chlorella farm. Chlorella, James decided, tasted awful. It was unpleasant to the touch, unpleasant to the tongue, and oddly disturbing to the mind as it slid ungracefully down his throat. But, it kept him alive.
The basic instructions that came with the Chlorella packet explained only how to make the green goo in a handy container of water. These instructions assumed a necessity of two or three days before rescue. James knew he needed something more than this and felt that he could “one up” his food supply into something a little more substantial. He decided to make a permanent Chlorella farm; growing the stuff on an exposed water separator made from out of one of the train’s air-conditioning units. But, it was tricky because he needed to direct expelled carbon dioxide from the air-cycle machine into the farm, and so, as he worked, laying bare the internal gadgetry of the air-cycle coil, James happened to glance out the nearest window. A flash of white caught his eye. Not expecting to see anything other than darkness, his mind did not at first register the girl. James went back to work on his farm. It took a few seconds before information, situation, and incongruent concepts collided — and when it did — he dropped his tools, his jaw, and stared dumbly out the window.
The girl, or woman he supposed, was about his age. She was standing tiptoe on the boardwalk’s railing, walking it like a tightrope walker. Her dress, just like her coal black hair, furled and ruffled as if a wind was blowing about her.
Slowly, very slowly, as the girl balanced, she turned her face towards him and smiled. Her face was pale and her skin smooth without blemish. And like a siren from millennium past, she brought up one perfect hand and brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen upon her silky white cheek. She gazed at him, her eyes were beckoning.
James leapt up, hitting his head on a storage compartment above. He scrambled into his pressure suit and stumbled out the door.
When he got there she was gone. Had he imagined it? No. There in the dust, on the railing, were marks. Someone or something had been there. A chill of fear ran through his body.
* * *
Rushing forward we found Eleanor standing transfixed at a round steel door in the wall of the forest. But that was not what she was looking at.
To her left a small gray animal with an angry stripped swishing tail clacked and howled at Eleanor. The sound was like two pieces of wood being rapidly smacked together. The animal ran about the forest floor in circles, and then from out of a copse of long grass popped two furry heads. They were smaller versions of the enraged and clattering creature. When the animals saw us come running to Eleanor’s rescue the trio took off into the woods.
“Raccoons!” Eleanor laughed “they had a nest by the door. I sure surprised them!”
We could see that long grasses and vines had practically encased the steel door. Eleanor had made a start at clearing them and now that the raccoons were gone she went back up to the door and peered gingerly behind the curtain of weeds.
“It looks safe now; they almost gave me a heart attack!” She was still smiling at her fright.
Together the three of us pulled away the remaining weeds. Not one word was spoken about Eleanor’s earlier tantrum. Although, I knew she was still angry, but as Simon had put it: “she’ll get over it.” “She better,” I thought, we had a long way to go yet.
My badge and code let us through the door. This was one of the many pumping stations that controlled the lake’s water level. It was also as an accessory to the ship’s weather cycle. It was not much to look at. In the center of the room were three large wheeled valve mechanisms. They stood about three feet off the floor. Spiders and other creepy-crawly’s had taken advantage of the high spot and webs crisscrossed their way to the floor. This was of course, the manual backup system. Beneath the floor were the automatic electrically driven valves. We walked past the three valves and their shroud of insecticidal webbing and entered a narrow passageway on the far side of the room. The passageway was lined with pipes. It was a little cramped, and even a little damp in some places. Flashlight in hand, Simon led the way. After a few minutes of walking, following the pipes, the pipes branched off in two different directions. We followed the pipes that went left; away from the lake and towards the outer hull of the ship. After a few more twists and turns we came upon the starboard fore-aft freight road. These roads are main arteries that led, as the name implies, fore and aft of the ship. They are rarely used and we saw no one. We crossed the road and slipped into a nearby freighter hangar without being seen.
Weston was waiting. He said nothing, only glancing at his watch. I couldn’t tell if the glance was approving or disapproving. I could practically hear the “tsk tsk” in his mind. Looking at my own watch I saw that we were exactly on time.
Margret Allen was waiting at the controls of the Council’s personal ferry vessel. Weston ushered us through the airlock and into the vehicle proper. Even before we could “strap-in” Margret had opened the hangar doors and gently moved the ship outside the hull into a preliminary orbit about the Maryland.
After a quick scan of our immediate vicinity, Margret Allen broke orbit and put the vessel into a full-thrust burn, driving us fast and away from the giant bulk of the Maryland. We were heading towards the Fleet’s central axis. The afternoon lighting on the Maryland could still be seen, but was fading quickly as we lit-out from her gravitation pull. Within a few minutes the Maryland could not be seen at all.
TO BE CONTINUED…
