Oceans of Space (v1.0), page 29
You know how the insurance companies move faster when you have a substantiating witness.
“Affirmative,” I replied. “Please patch through the proper docking coordinates on the AI to AI ship to ship band.”
Already done.
I’ll put a few brewskis on ice.
(Pause)
Not that I’m a drinking man.
Just a little captain-to-captain joke…
“Affirmative. Melville and Essex out.”
No sooner was the corn-link broken than, Stubb stood over me, his arms folded and his lips pursed in a manner that reminded me of my father when he was in one of his more imperious moods.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to leave the ship,” he stated in a tone that didn’t seem to leave room for discussion.
“Recommendation noted,” I answered as I got to my feet and started to head off the bridge, “and disregarded.”
Stubb rushed to block my exit.
“Now see here,” he barked, “your father…”
“…is not here right now,” I interrupted doing my best to match his imperious tone. “And I am the Captain.”
“But…”
“And you wouldn’t think of being insubordinate, Stubb. Would you? That would be mutiny.”
“No, sir,” Stubb said, his gaze cast to the deck, “but I just don’t like it.”
My point had been made, and it was time to mend fences with the mate who really did see himself as looking out for my best interests.
“Look, Stubb,” I offered with my most conciliatory tone, “we’ve taken all the precautions necessary. Roberts is a former desk jockey, a civvy captain just like me. There doesn’t seem to be any danger. Our AI confirms that their quarantine is intact and unless the problem is Roberts himself, a possibility, mind you, but given his age and medical profile I think I can handle him. 1 bet I even outweigh him. We have nothing to worry about, but just as a precaution I’ll keep my stunner at hand.” “But Captain,” Stubb inquired, “if everything is as fine and under control as he claims, why bother with the face-to-face.”
“I guess this is what separates captains from crew,” I postulated. “We love to press the flesh, form alliances, and do the dance. Probably the biggest problems we face are paperwork and substantiating corroboration. I make a quick trip to the Mardi and provide Roberts with his insurance witness, and voila, he owes me one. And if he owes me one, he owes the Essex one, and that’s always a good thing.”
“Promise me you’ll stay in an enviro-suit for the duration of your stay outside of the ship,” Stubb insisted.
“Face and hands only,” I offered as a compromise. “If it’s good enough for the GCDC…”
“All right,” he agreed, “but I still don’t like it.”
“You have the com until I return,” I stated as I left the deck.
I heard him promise aloud that he would be watching my every move.
I overlooked the insubordination, and hastened to the shuttle deck.
Stubb had called ahead and I was met by two crewman, one of whom helped me into an exit suit (with clear enviro-mask and gloves) while the other readied my shuttle life pod.
“There she is, Captain,” the younger (who is still older than me by at least a year or two) instructed. “Ready to go. She’s all programmed, so you just have to sit back and enjoy the ride.”
As I adjusted the fasteners on the exit suit, I became aware of the bulge of the paperback in my pocket and transferred it to an exterior pouch for easy access.
“Maybe I’ll use the time to catch up on my reading,” I joked, though I sensed that neither of them was listening as they were completely absorbed in doing their duties.
“I’ve also programmed her for the trip back,” the younger added, “but if the need should arise you can just switch her over to manual and we’ll talk you back inside.”
“Not a problem,” I replied trying to sound confident. Though I had scored well on solo-pilot programming via simulation, this was going to be my first real flight on my own. I had already decided that my ego did not require that I wrestle control away from Essex’s AI, as I closed the hatch behind me and took a seat at the control panel.
A quick look around had confirmed that the area was neither spacious nor cramped and would actually be quite comfy for the short duration of my trip (or at least so I thought at the time).
I was almost there when I felt a sudden jerk as if we had snagged on something.
Sorry about that, Melville.
That was just Mardi’s tractor beam guiding you in.
I’ll be meeting you at the hatch in less than ten minutes.
I promised your boy Stubb that I would take good care of you and that we would send a confirmation of your arrival asap.
Stubb was turning into a real mother hen, and I was probably not going to let it pass once I returned to the Essex.
“Affirmative,” I replied. “See you at the dock.”
Most of Mardi’s exterior lights were turned off, but I could make out a general overview of her as we approached.
She was a much older craft than the Essex though she apparently had recently been overhauled with some newfangled pieces that were even more modem than anything in my father’s fleet.
As we approached the docking bay, I saw a flicker of lights moving down the ship toward me. Of course, I thought to myself, the AI is conserving the ship’s power reserves by only lighting those areas occupied by Captain Roberts. This might be an innovation my father might want to consider for his fleet (and already I had managed to justify this trip).
The actual docking went simpler than a simulation, and indeed Roberts was there to greet me.
“Captain Melville requests permission to come aboard,” I hailed (as was custom).
“Permission granted,” Roberts replied, adding, “welcome aboard, Captain Melville.”
“Thank you, Captain Roberts,” I answered with a crisp salute, followed by a quick lowering of my hand to offer a friendly handshake as I had seen my father do so many times before.
Roberts quickly grasped my hand and gave it a shake, noticing the enviro-gloves, and observing with a nervous giggle and twitter, “Can’t be too careful. Never know what you can pick up. Who knows where I’ve been or where I’m bound for?”
“Excuse me?” I replied, not sure if he was just joking in an odd way or whether he was indeed quite buggy.
Lowell is just a little on edge, and even at the best of times his humor is a bit eccentric, an AI voiced.
“Indeed, indeed,” Roberts agreed, his eyes darting back and forth until their gaze fell on the book that I had carried over from the Essex. “Much of a reader? Always thought readers were the cream of the crop myself.”
“Indeed,” I agreed, as I noticed a certain gleam in his eyes.
“Then we have something in common, though obviously not as much as you have in common with your book, Captain Melville.”
“One of my favorite ancestors,” I winged, “and this one of my favorite books. I keep it as a good luck charm.”
Lowell, don’t you think that Captain Melville would like to see more of the ship than just the docking bay?
“Of course, of course,” he twittered, “but first allow me to introduce you to (twitch) the only thing that has kept me sane (twitch) during this crisis. Mardi’s AI, and you may call it (twitch) BABO.”
BABO?
“Brain and basic operations,” he explained to me even though the questions had come from elsewhere. “It’s so much easier than AI-Brain and Basic Operations Unit. Don’t you agree?”
“Why not,” I replied, and walked with him down the corridor away from the docking area.
As I looked down the corridor, I noticed that the areas we would pass through were lit so as to be easy on our eyes, while also keeping certain areas along the way in complete darkness.
Roberts had started out as my tour guide, but seemed to be more interested in discussing the works of Herman Melville (which immediately made me uncomfortable since, with the exception of the data that one can pick up on a book by merely carrying it around, despite my claims to the contrary, I was still in state of total ignorance).
I also noticed that Roberts had the peculiar habit of finishing almost every statement with “right, BABO” as if the approval of the AI was necessary.
Eventually BABO took over the narration of our walking tour explaining that certain crewman had been exposed to Adkinson’s Gangrene while in port at one of the SEATAC gambling dens, and had exposed everyone else on board to it (with the exception of Roberts who had been relaxing in coldsleep as a means to forestall the wear and tear on an older body during space travel) before it was properly identified.
As BABO related over the ship’s com-link speakers:
At the outbreak of a second case, I immediately did the appropriate correlations and decided that a quarantine had to be put in place. As you may or may not know, Adkinson’s Gangrene is a degenerative disease that causes massive tissue damage in the gray matter of the human brain at a very fast rate. By the time I had noticed the problem, ten crewman were already terminal. More would have died in hours had I not ordered everyone else into hibernation.
“Everyone owes their lives to BABO’s quick thinking,” Roberts commented, pointing to recently illuminated cold-cell that currently housed a crewman.
I looked on in quiet horror. I had never seen a case of this horrible disease before, and quite frankly didn’t notice any external signs on the sleeping crewman.
As you can see, there are no outward signs of the insidious disorder, BABO continued. But it is deadly and highly contagious.
“Though it is now contained and no longer a threat,” Roberts butted in. “BABO saw to that, and once we get back to port, all of the proper precautions can be taken and my poor crew, at least those who have survived, will get the proper treatment.”
I also isolated the dead, and offloaded them. I then incinerated them once they were a safe distance from the Mardi so as to avoid any further contaminations.
“That’s my BABO. Always thinking.”
Once the afflicted were in cold storage and the dead isolated, I decontaminated the ship, and revived Captain Roberts so that he could oversee my command of the ship.
“Indeed, indeed,” Roberts twittered, “and it’s a good thing that you did or else Captain Melville’s call might have fallen on deaf ears, and then he might have had to make a query on our behalf, causing us lots of red tape which none of us would have wanted. Space Nautical Code Section 598, after all.”
I had forgotten that part of the code which orders all commanding officers to investigate “unmanned vessels” more than two days out from port and take command or post a guard on such vessels until a controlling legal authority had assumed responsibility.
Even though Captain Roberts might be on the verge of going off his nut, the ship was still safe, under his command (with the able coordination of the obviously competent and conscientious AI “BABO”).
As we entered the foredeck, I began to feel a slight bit of fatigue. I was not yet accustomed to varied artificial gravity fields, and the change from the Essex to the Mardi was just enough to cause a strain on my not quite in shape physique.
Roberts was babbling on about some story or another trying to involve me in a conversation about someone named “Benito Cereno” when BABO came to my rescue.
Captain, Captain Melville is obviously fatigued.
Perhaps you would like to rest for a few moments, Captain Melville.
Maybe you would like to take the opportunity to check in with your ship. I can set up a corn-link for you directly.
“Thank you,” I replied, more than willing to be rescued from Roberts literary jaws of boredom. “That would be splendid.”
I’ll have your mate on the line in less than three nanoseconds.
True to its word…
Captain Melville, is everything all right? Are you all right?
“Of course, Stubb, though I would think that you wouldn’t have to ask that question. You are monitoring my vitals, I assume.”
Yes, Captain, just as a precaution …
“Everything is well under control here,” I pronounced, “and I will be returning shortly. Please relay on to port that all is well and under control with the Mardi. Tell them a viral outbreak has been contained and that no emergency assistance will be necessary until she reaches port.”
Aye, aye, sir. (Crack-Crack-crack) There seems to be some feedback building up on the line . …
“Melville out.”
I hope you didn’t shut the transmission short on account of the feedback. I am sure that I would have been able to clear it up.
“Not necessary, BABO,” I replied, hardly noticing that I seemed to prefer conversing with the AI rather than my human captainly counterpart.
I noticed that Roberts was becoming increasingly twitchy, his hand constantly reaching up to scratch a scab at his temple.
“Well,” I said aloud as I was becoming steadily more uneasy being away from my own command, “I should be getting back to the Essex”
“I’ll escort you out,” Roberts replied, and quickly took my arm, urging me back toward the docking bay as if we were trying to rush beyond the carefully coordinated pace of the AI controlled lighting.
At one point we had just about outdistanced the lights and were proceeding rapidly from dimness into darkness when Roberts whispered into my ear, “I only call it BABO because of the story. There just isn’t time…
The lights had caught up as we entered the bay and Roberts immediately became stone silent.
Thank you for coming, Captain Melville.
“Thank you, BABO.”
“As you can, see, everything is fine, so you better go,” Roberts said, urging me forward, and almost pushing me into the air lock.
I turned around to return a customary salute when the madman rushed forward, coming right at me and into the shuttle pod with me.
“Wait,” he cried, “the insurance forms…”
.…but there were no forms in his hand, and before either I or BABO could respond, he had closed the hatch and hit the emergency ejection control.
In less than a nanosecond we were thrust off-balance as our craft was blown from its docking station.
“Switch to manual,” Roberts ordered, reaching across me to undo the autopilot. “We can’t trust the AI.”
He then grabbed the com and hailed the Essex.
“Come in Essex! Come in Essex!.” he screamed.
Who is this, a frantic Stubb answered back.
Where is Captain Melville?
We are at alert. Our shields are down and life support is dropping.
“Oh, no,” Roberts cried.
Our systems won’t respond.
Come in, Captain.
The AI is down, some sort of virus was passed to us from the Mardi, we…
(Silence)
* * *
“It’s too late!” Roberts said in despair.
I grabbed the madman and shook him. I needed answers.
“What is too late?” I demanded.
“Mardi’s AI has infected the Essex! It has joined the mutiny…the madman explained, his hand reaching to his temple. “The outbreak was a hoax…the decontamination just some form of demented target practice…I don’t know how much time I have…I think BABO has control over my space-sickness implant…I…”
“What?” I demanded.
Just then Roberts’ face became serene, as if he felt no pain.
“It was just like in your story…‘Benito Cereno’…I tried to warn you…”
.…and then the sole survivor of the Mardi expired, as the electronic implant in his brain exploded at a transmitted command from the AI he called BABO.
A flash of light outside of the front portal distracted me from my corpse companion as the Essex exploded into a million pieces as its internal self-destruct codes were accessed.
.…and then the lights went off in my shuttle pod.
The light came back on after what seemed like an eternity (but was probably less than an hour which was luckily more than the amount of time necessary for us to get out of scanning distance from the Mardi).
After the destruction of the Essex, we must have dropped off BABO’s scanners due to the ion residue, and it and Mardi had apparently moved on to other matters.
Life support had been maintained through the shutdown, and I was left alone in the presence of a corpse with a paperback copy of a book that in my arrogance I had claimed to have read when I had not.
Had I read it, things might have turned out differently.
I waited for another hour to pass before activating the SOS beacon, praying that the Mardi wouldn’t pick it up, and then decided to pass the time by reading the book before me.
Sure enough there was a story included by the name of “Benito Cereno.”
It dealt with an inexperienced captain by the name of Amasa Delano who goes to the aid of a ship in distress only to encounter a distraught captain and his blackamoor servant Babo who was in reality the leader of a bloody mutiny that had just taken place before the other ship arrived on the scene.
Roberts had lucked out in that his BABO did not understand the intentional reference the name conveyed…but with one of life’s little ironies, Roberts was also not lucky enough to have come across a better read captain even if he did happen to have the coincidental name of Melville.
So here I sit in this life pod, making a record of my folly for someone to one day review. I have read the bound volume that was the gift from my captainly predecessor and have almost memorized each word of one of The Piazza Tales entitled “Benito Cereno” by a certain Herman Melville who I may or may not be descended from. Had I not been so bold, haughty, inexperienced, and unlearned, my own crew as well as that unlucky captain might still be alive.
We have not crossed paths with any other ships since the encounter…but it is only a matter of time.
