Like the Cererians and other asterites, most Martians walked everywhere they went, even if it was from one end of the dome to another, and the domes on Mars could be up to thirty five kilometers diameter. But walking with a loaded backpack or a weighted gravity belt was the best, and was about the only way to get any exercise on Mars that didn’t require gymnasium equipment.
Will’s backpack wasn’t loaded and only had some “good luck charms” that were actually just keepsakes, and a few changes of clothes; he could print more on the ship. They told him that the robots could print a new guitar that was better than his Martian guitar. He had sold his guitar despite not really believing the replacement would be better, along with everything else. He then deposited the proceeds in a savings account. He should have a nice sum when he returned, especially with the payment he would receive for the trip. Not much would be needed while traveling, it would all be supplied on history’s second manned interstellar voyage.
His walk was more like a very long lope, three meters between steps, without a gravity belt.
He had received a very troubling call that morning; his son and his grandson had been shot by the police, his daughter in law was in jail on some “security” charge, and his grandson had survived the gunshot and was in the hospital. He wondered what would become of the boy; there wasn’t anything any Martian could do about anything those crazy Earthians did. You couldn’t even go there.
He thought about how if he ever met his grandson, the kid might be older than him! Or at least, look older. He sighed. He figured he’d probably never get to meet the kid.
Mary and Mrs. Harrington were already in their seats, waiting for takeoff. Mary was in a window seat, Mrs. Harrington in the very last row by herself.
It was a GOTS surface N-67 spaceplane, designed for travel from Mars’ surface to orbit and back. The GOTS inter-planetary craft could land on the far less massive asteroids, but not Mars. It waited, parked in orbit above Mars. Asterites were already aboard the orbiting ship, having boarded from their asteroids. From Mars, it would head straight to Anglada.
An outrageously dressed man boarded and walked towards the front section, and sat down next to a window. Mary had only seen clothing like that in old photographs, and was amazed that they were still being made; they looked brand new. Probably printed them out from an antique catalog, she finally thought.
Bill sat down in the front next to a window, glad that he had bought a dozen pairs of Kadiddlehoppers, the most comfortable pants he had ever worn. They had gone out of business after the next run he had taken after buying them, and nobody sold clothing any more when he got back. Everybody was printing their their own clothes out these days with a brand new thing called a “loom.” There were different kinds and brands, but basically to print clothing you put a big spool of thread on your loom, uploaded a pattern to it, and it prints clothes. Of course, you needed a thread printer to print thread, but most people just bought the thread, which could be reused, although it seldom was. Expensive fancy looms had up to five shafts for five spools of colors or thicknesses of thread. He considered getting one; ship’s captains were paid pretty well and still received the government payment, but he had enough clothes. Again, he was a nerd.
Apparently the Kadiddlehopper’s pattern had been lost. Bill had read that it was from hubris and a lack of imagination that lost both the pattern, and the company itself, although it seemed to him that the invention of the loom was what had destroyed the clothing industry. Kadiddlehopper was behind the times and hadn’t switched to selling patterns, like the other clothing manufacturers had.
William came in, dressed more conservatively, as well as several other passengers. He sat down next to Mary. She figured she’d clean this old sucker out, wondering how well off he was, and forgetting that there would be no use for money until they were back home in the solar system when they would all have plenty.
Unlike the Sirius expedition, this one did involve psychologists. Jerry Morton and Ralph Wiebe had their doctorates from Harvard for Jerry, and the University of Illinois for Ralph. Both schools were on Mars, originally branches of Earthian schools. They had both grown up and gone to high school and undergraduate school together on Ceres, where they had returned after college and had boarded the Titanic from.
They were the only ones on the ship younger than the rules allowed, in their early fifties. There were a dozen psychologists back on Mars with the children, where the Solar Team was based. The psychologists in the Solar team were all young, selected as teenagers who had shown promise of being good in that field. Despite holding doctorates, the oldest was only twenty six. But only Ralph and Jerry would be on-board. They were by far the oldest psychologists on the project. Both had joined the nascent project while in grad school on Mars; planning for projects like that can take years.
The families of the asterites in the Solar team had moved to Mars for the project. Like their children, they were now set for life and not dependent on the government check, although they still got one, like everybody. Robotics and artificial “intelligence” had taken almost all jobs, and psychologists were highly sought after.
Ralph and Jerry collaborated on the psychological training, trying to impress on these volunteers the huge amount of change to expect when they got home. They would be studying everyone to see if there were other causes besides the obvious societal changes.
The plane filled up, and one last straggler came onboard carrying a strange looking suitcase before the doors were closed, the seat belt and no smoking signs lit up, and everyone strapped in for takeoff. Will put the roach tin back in his pocket and smiled at this strange old lady who seemed to be hitting on him.
The plane took off and the signs darkened. It would be an hour or two before reaching orbit and everyone was on board the interstellar spaceship, and in their apartments. Will lit his roach back up. Apparently Mary... wasn’t that what her name was? He hadn’t been good with names even when he was young, and it was a lot worse these days. He forgot what he was thinking about.
Bill wondered who was piloting the Titanic, besides himself. There were supposed to be three pilots, but they couldn’t find a third who was both qualified and in good health. As it would have to be someone who was ancient, it was almost certain he would know him.
Or her, he corrected himself. Even though women ordinarily disliked piloting space ships, there were still a few who sought it out.
He took out his phone and continued reading a book he had started two days earlier.
The ship to Anglada was in orbit waiting for them.
Although most of the people on the trip held doctorates, only one person was called “Doc,” Harold Guisewild, the physician. His was probably the second most important job on the ship, after the captains, especially since older folks like the people on this ship often come down with physical ailments.
He was the only physician they could recruit, and his specialty had been pediatrics, rather than geriatrics. He had brought an extensive medical library, although most if not all of it was sure to already be in the ship’s library.
He could synthesize any drug he needed, as the fusion generators could turn hydrogen into any element, which could be combined in any combination one wished with the right tools, all of which were on the ship. Three of the connected ships carried nothing but water ice, which fusion physics and chemistry could easily change into anything.
Of course, all of the passengers had been thoroughly examined physically, and especially mentally, and many prospective crew and passengers had been disqualified because of lung, circulatory, mental, or other problems. At least, thought Doc, they’re all healthy. He, himself, was sixty four and had come out of his forced retirement for this trip.
Damned shame to make a healer stop healing, he thought. Still in orbit, with the spaceplane just getting getting ready for docking, he floated down to the commons area. In the commons there was a bar, restaurant, auditorium for hologram and old two dimensional movies, performance stage, and everything you would find in a modern entertainment center except for the performers, stage hands, and others needed to run live shows. He wondered about that; these days entertainment was computer-generated holograms. Real stages had fallen out of favor long ago. The commons also housed various games, like darts, pool, cards, and video games on every holographic tabletop.
He wasn’t hungry, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, since they would be weightless until the ship started moving. How could you eat in weightlessness?
The table and chair feet were electromagnetic, as were tabletops, just for safety. Not just while weightless, but sometimes when there were pirates, a ship’s captain had to do some pretty fancy maneuvers that would have broken things not held down. That included bones, so people always strapped in when there was any real danger from pirates, and the electromagnets were high powered when necessary; they adjusted themselves.
The ship was brand new and state of the art. A new paint had been developed on Doris that acted as a holographic video screen, and all the walls and most flat surfaces were painted with it.
The commons was situated near one of the airlocks, and he just wanted to eye his fellow passengers. A robot came up as the airlock opened, and he ordered a cup of coffee. One of the downsides of the trip was no human wait staff like back in the worlds. Nobody had ever liked robot waiters and bartenders.
The people started floating in through the airlock, gentle breezes propelling them to their quarters, guided by the tickets in the their phones to their flats.
It looked to Harold like there were a few dozen, maybe a hundred, counting the asterites who were already on board. He thought to himself that he shouldn’t have ordered the coffee, as he couldn’t drink it until there was gravity. Gravity would take a while longer, he thought, when the robot came back with a sippy cup and its plastic bag of hot coffee as had been used in weightlessness for centuries.
This was Harold’s first trip in space. Vesta had one of the best universities and the best medical school in the belt. Maybe the best in the solar system. He had been born on Vesta and lived his life there. He sipped his coffee from the cup, as had been done in space for centuries. “I hope they use regular cups when we get gravity,” he said out loud to himself.
Bill floated to his quarters. They would be right by the pilot room, as would his fellow captain’s. He wondered how this was going to work. Depends on who it is, he thought. It was strange to him that the other captain hadn’t greeted the rest of the crew and expedition members. He would have, and had thought everyone did.
Bill had never co-piloted a ship, and never had heard of it ever being done. As his door opened, so did the other captain’s, who floated out and glared at Bill. “Shit,” the other captain exclaimed, “I should have figured those assholes would send you.”
Bill frowned. “Hi, Mort.” Morton Salter had tried to run Bill’s best friend, John Knolls, out of GOTS over two centuries earlier, stationary time. Bill had nearly gotten Salter fired when Bill was defending his friend, and the victory was sweetened even more when his friend had married the company founder’s daughter. Bill was sure that Salter hated his guts.
Salter replied simply, “How we gonna work this?”
“How about twelve hour shifts?” Bill stated.
“Okay, you’re it, then. I’ve been on duty a hell of a lot longer than twelve hours. Oh, the engine and generator inspections are both really late.”
“Wait, I need to...” Bill said, as Salter’s door shut.
“Bastard,” Bill said, going into his quarters. If he knew he was going to have to put up with that jerk, he would have stayed in retirement.
Will was having his own problems. As he floated down the corridor, Mary floated alongside him. He hoped his apartment wasn’t close to hers and feared it might be. And she kept jabbering, he thought. Why should I care about her damned puppy?
Apparently she had bought a puppy to take on the trip before looking to see if it was allowed, then getting angry when it wasn’t. A stupid old woman being childish, and the old bat kept hitting on him. Odd how more buttons on her blouse were open now than on the plane. Did she think she was seventeen?
It was tiring. And saddening. This woman had everything his wife hadn’t had that he hated, and nothing his wife had that he loved.
The breezes started to separate them, and she took his elbow. “Wait!” she said.
He loosed her fingers from his arm. “See you later,” he said, hoping it wouldn’t be too often.
Bill threw his backpack where it would fall on the bed when gravity returned, and then went to the pilot room through the door connecting it to his quarters. He dreaded the stairs down to what he called the dungeon, where the generators and engines were, even though there weren’t any stairs used in weightlessness.
There was no need to bring much of anything on the trip, as there were ships full of provisions that had about anything anyone would need, or even want. If there was anything that hadn’t been thought of, the robots could construct it.
Except Kadiddlahoppers. Bill had brought his outrageously comfortable and out of style trousers.
Three ships carried solidified dihydrogen monoxide, and two had landers, satellites, and other tools for exploring the planet and its star. They would be connected together at the sides for the trip, acting as a single ship. They were all strung together now, and the circle would be connected before they left orbit.
With twenty six ships in parallel, Bill figured he could get at least five gravities out of it, maybe three times as much, but these Asterites and Martians couldn’t take that much weight, even if they hadn’t been geriatric. Actually, fifteen Gs would kill anybody. Whoever was paying for this trip sure was going all out.
He read the logs and was delighted to find that he wouldn’t have to go to the dungeon, since it said there was an electrician whose job was engines and generators. Named... lets see, Joseph McCarthy. Oh, and another one, he saw, Walter Rollins.
Bill grinned at the estimate of when they would get to Centauri. Schedules were never right and never could be, since there were far too many things that could slow things down or even speed them up. And with travel that fast and for that long, time is pretty meaningless, anyway.
He decided to go to the commons and meet some of the passengers, glad that he only had to inspect this ship’s cargo; most of his cargoes were in the vacuum of space, only the vacuum of space was in the ships themselves, their environment seals deliberately unsealed. Nothing oxidizes without oxygen, and little can spoil when frozen, so he wasn’t required to inspect them.
“Commons,” he said. His phone was already programmed to fit the ship’s electronics and communications, with an invisible company upgrade it had installed earlier. Breezes blew him towards there.
“Damn it! Stop! Return!” He’d forgotten his damned hat. You weren’t captain without the hat. He retrieved his headgear and returned back towards the commons.
This wasn’t Bill’s day, it seemed.
It wasn’t Will’s, either. “William! Wait!” an old woman’s voice screeched as he floated down to get a beer.
“Damn,” he said, and pretended not to hear. It didn’t really matter, because in weightlessness, you went where the breezes went and at the breeze’s speed. Bad time to go for a beer, he thought.
He pulled a muggle out of his pocket and lit it with his electric lighter. They had used flame hundreds of years ago on Earth, he knew, but those lighters had been outlawed because of the global warming that combustion of fossil fuels for hundreds of years had caused, the beginning of Earth’s becoming a hellhole. This was back when humans hadn’t physically gone past the Earth’s moon, although probes were sent, before the humans had moved underground to escape the weather’s wrath. He was glad the lighter ran on electricity. A flame would have blown out in the propulsion breeze, but you would still need a flame for a bong or another kind of pipe, or at least a laser lighter. Of course, in weightlessness a bong was out of the question.
He floated into the commons and grabbed a chair; literally, to stop his forward movement. It skittered across the floor for a few inches as its magnetism strengthened, and stopped as Mary floated in, followed by several other floaters, including Captain Kelly.
“William! Hi!”
“Hi, uh, ...Mary.”
There was an embarrassed silence before both of their phones said, in unison with everyone else’s phones, “Hi, folks, I’m Bill Kelly. I and Mort Salter will be taking shifts as captain. We will be leaving orbit as soon as the ships finish connecting, so if you’re ordering drinks, I’d wait until we’re on our way. Hope to meet you all one by one soon, but right now I have to go to the pilot room. Joseph McCarthy and Walter Rollins, could you please meet me there?”
After meeting and getting instructions from Bill, Joe thought Captain Kelly seemed like a nice enough guy, as the breezes led him to where he didn’t know that Bill called “the dungeon.” It was named for its stairs, which Joe would find out soon enough were the torture equipment in this dungeon, and it was as hot as hell down there when the engines or gen-erators malfunctioned.
Right now, the engine room just made him feel at home. Marveling at its engineering and workmanship, he wondered why Captain Salter hadn’t sent him down here. He finished inspection, floated upstairs, and called the captain, who had said “Call me Bill,” to inform him the inspection was completed and he was upstairs. He wondered why Bill had told him to call when he was upstairs and not when the inspection was finished.
He would find out soon enough, the first time he went up those stairs with gravity. He would soon call the engine and generator rooms “the dungeon,” too. The only thing he wouldn’t like about his dungeon was escaping from it.