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It was easy, at least in the execution of the plot.
We prepared for launch around 11 pm, the masts retracting and silver hull of the ship expanding up and over our heads. The Ehrengard looks like a clunky glowing shrimp floating at the surface, engines orienting towards the deeps to give us power for liftoff. She’s an older ship but I’ve never wanted to replace her with the newer, sleeker models. Apart from sentimental value, the older ships have bigger holds, and having done the math, I concluded that the extra fish justify the extra operating costs and embarrassment of appearing to operate a junker. With the voyage ahead of me I wonder if I should have upgraded, but it doesn’t really matter now. No fishing vessel was ever meant to travel long distances. Longer distances than the Lunar roundtrip, anyway.
Liftoff was as smooth as ever in my reliable if unfashionable Ehrengard and as soon as the seatbelt sign -an antique, a gift from my father- was off, the crew hit the galley to continue celebrating. There’s nothing quite so intoxicating as alcohol and stimpaks in near zero gee, except maybe liftoff itself, once you get used to it. Before you are used to it, you have to drink alone and ride liftoff in solitary because nobody will risk drinking with you. Luckily my crew is a hardened bunch. Even Nasr, who doesn’t drink often, can hold his own among the rest of the enthusiastic crew. Melville, first mate; Nasr, oceanographer; Chandra, engineer; Stevo, Jean and Gudrun, crew. It’s traditional for the captain to serve the crew after liftoff, and I give each their drink in turn. I know their favorites. Dosing the appropriate liquors before releasing them from liftoff stasis was straightforward. Even with the stimpaks, they are asleep within an hour. Melville is the last to drop off, drunkenly telling me that I’m the best captain ever and if I ever changed my mind about girls then she’s right there for me, as the whiskey glass slips from her fingers. I harden my heart. I cannot hear the glass hit the floor for the insistence of the call in my head. I think I hear my name in it now.
I’ve left them all on couches and chairs in the galley, belted in just in case of any turbulence. The six of them sleep deeply; now I know whose snoring was keeping the rest of us up all night. Up in the bridge it is nearly quiet, the only noises the slight thrumming of the ship’s engines and a faint sloshing from the hold. Space has no voice, not like the ocean does. I sit at the navigation panel and lift my hands to the display. “Ehrengard,” I whisper. “Show current path.” The ship obligingly displays our trajectory towards Lunar Prime, and I feel something like revulsion as I look at it. An adjustment here, an adjustment there, until the trajectory before me creates a humming resonance with the call in my head. Looking at the mathematical equations shifting before me I can almost feel geometric structures aligning and crystallizing in my brain.
“Captain, these alterations will prevent us from reaching Lunar Prime. Is that your desire?”
“Yes, Ehrengard. Assume this trajectory.”
I think I will burst with joy and I think I will die of shame.
We prepared for launch around 11 pm, the masts retracting and silver hull of the ship expanding up and over our heads. The Ehrengard looks like a clunky glowing shrimp floating at the surface, engines orienting towards the deeps to give us power for liftoff. She’s an older ship but I’ve never wanted to replace her with the newer, sleeker models. Apart from sentimental value, the older ships have bigger holds, and having done the math, I concluded that the extra fish justify the extra operating costs and embarrassment of appearing to operate a junker. With the voyage ahead of me I wonder if I should have upgraded, but it doesn’t really matter now. No fishing vessel was ever meant to travel long distances. Longer distances than the Lunar roundtrip, anyway.
Liftoff was as smooth as ever in my reliable if unfashionable Ehrengard and as soon as the seatbelt sign -an antique, a gift from my father- was off, the crew hit the galley to continue celebrating. There’s nothing quite so intoxicating as alcohol and stimpaks in near zero gee, except maybe liftoff itself, once you get used to it. Before you are used to it, you have to drink alone and ride liftoff in solitary because nobody will risk drinking with you. Luckily my crew is a hardened bunch. Even Nasr, who doesn’t drink often, can hold his own among the rest of the enthusiastic crew. Melville, first mate; Nasr, oceanographer; Chandra, engineer; Stevo, Jean and Gudrun, crew. It’s traditional for the captain to serve the crew after liftoff, and I give each their drink in turn. I know their favorites. Dosing the appropriate liquors before releasing them from liftoff stasis was straightforward. Even with the stimpaks, they are asleep within an hour. Melville is the last to drop off, drunkenly telling me that I’m the best captain ever and if I ever changed my mind about girls then she’s right there for me, as the whiskey glass slips from her fingers. I harden my heart. I cannot hear the glass hit the floor for the insistence of the call in my head. I think I hear my name in it now.
I’ve left them all on couches and chairs in the galley, belted in just in case of any turbulence. The six of them sleep deeply; now I know whose snoring was keeping the rest of us up all night. Up in the bridge it is nearly quiet, the only noises the slight thrumming of the ship’s engines and a faint sloshing from the hold. Space has no voice, not like the ocean does. I sit at the navigation panel and lift my hands to the display. “Ehrengard,” I whisper. “Show current path.” The ship obligingly displays our trajectory towards Lunar Prime, and I feel something like revulsion as I look at it. An adjustment here, an adjustment there, until the trajectory before me creates a humming resonance with the call in my head. Looking at the mathematical equations shifting before me I can almost feel geometric structures aligning and crystallizing in my brain.
“Captain, these alterations will prevent us from reaching Lunar Prime. Is that your desire?”
“Yes, Ehrengard. Assume this trajectory.”
I think I will burst with joy and I think I will die of shame.
