The Black Hole

They met at the end of their shifts for their traditional poker game in Hawke’s cabin. As usual, Frank managed to down the most beers, with Hawke coming in a distant second. The non-alcoholic brew wasn’t as good as the real stuff, but military regulations strictly forbade alcohol during space flights, even extended ones such as theirs.

Roger joined them at Hawke’s behest and the young engineer was ecstatic by the invitation. Hawke wasn’t even sure if Roger knew how to play, but he held his own once they explained the rules of the game. In fact, it was Hawke himself who was the biggest loser this time around, but nothing that would break his meager bank account.

During the hands, Roger chatted incessantly, and in painfully exquisite detail, about the ingeniousness of Dr. Bhattacharya’s code, which had the inevitable effect of boring them all to tears. It wasn’t until Frank loudly passed gas that they were able to change the subject. Hawke thought Roger was a nice guy, but he’d clearly been in front of a computer screen for too long.

Frank, on the other hand, was the complete opposite when it came to good graces. For the benefit of the new kid, Frank had to prove he was capable of belching the whole alphabet, forwards and backwards.

Hawke picked up the glasses and placed them in the sink in the lavatory. The cleaning staff would refresh them in the morning. Starling stuck around to help, even though he should’ve been on the bridge. They were in a particularly barren section of space. Nothing on the deep-space sensors registered anything and even the starcharts showed no large planets or heavenly bodies nearby. They were between galaxies, one of the few times they allowed the ship to run entirely on auto-pilot.

"Hey, Jim, I’ve been thinking."

"Uh-oh, that usually means trouble." Jim put the cards away and laid them neatly on the small accent table fastened to the deck floor beneath a hanging LED light. The faux stained glass shade completed the picture of a quaint lounge area.

"Did you know that zoos used to house live animals, and not the Animatronix with piss-poor AI you see now?"

"What does that have to do with–?"

"It’s one of the few memories I have of my grandfather. He told me how one of the greatest experiences he ever had was going to see the last real zoo with his parents before it was forced to close and the animals euthanized. I think it was somewhere in New Zealand, or maybe Australia." He paused and looked directly at Jim. "Do you think we’re doing the right thing?"

"I see where you’re going. Look, don’t start philosophizing," Jim lectured, waving a finger.

"Seriously–"

"Seriously nothing. I love you, you know that. I always have. The days back in school were the best times I ever had. But all that was a long time ago. My life’s different. I’ve got Carla now. I’m ready to move on, start a family, y’know like Ben."

"Jim–"

"No, hear me out. Before this mission came up, you were moping around for months, probably longer and it just took me that long to notice. That’s why I think you took it – because you were yearning for one more shot, one more chance to relive the old days. I didn’t realize it until I started to get caught up in this thing with you. But if you start looking too deep, trying to turn this into some kind of crusade instead of what it is – a scientific exploration. Look, I need to get back to the bridge. We can talk later, y’know."

"Alright. I’ll come relieve you in a few hours."

"See you then."

Once he’d finished transmitting his daily log to Command along the Pony Express, as he and Jim referred to the modified satellite relays, he changed into his boxers and slipped under the cool, satin covers, determined to at least get some small amount of rest. "Computer. Lights off. Background music. Volume level three. Artist, Jimmy Buffet."

"I do not have that musician in my databanks," the computer replied in a monotone, female voice.

Hawke sighed. He figured as much. He kept forgetting to upload his private music collection into the computer’s on-board library. "Alright, just give me something soft. Maybe some classical jazz."

"Would you care to be more specific, Commander?"

"No. Surprise me."

After an hour of tossing, Hawke decided to go to the fitness room, hoping a good, quick workout would at least tire him out physically, if not mentally. It was empty, which was what he had hoped. What he liked best about the exercise room were the five meter tall, oversized windows that looked out into space. He hopped onto a treadmill and in thirty minutes had worked up a good sweat. As he switched off the machine and wiped the perspiration from his face and neck, Doctor Hoyos trotted in. She was wearing a red sport-tank and gray athletic shorts, her hair tied back in a pony tail. She seemed surprised to see him.

"Oh. I didn’t expect anyone to be here."

"Do you usually take your workouts late at night, Doctor?"

"Please, call me Ana. We’re both off-duty, after all. No need to be so formal. But to answer your question, yes, I’m one of those people who have a lot of energy, even after a full day. If I don’t find some way to expend it, I have a hard time falling asleep." The seductive inflection in her voice was impossible to miss. She settled in to one of two rowing machines, set the resistance, and began her routine.

She had a habit of biting her lower lip slightly while she rowed, giving her a coquettish look. Hawke admired the smooth, well-toned muscles of her arms and legs, glad to see she practiced what most doctors only preached – maintaining a level of fitness that promoted healthy living. He finished toweling dry and went up to her. "How are things in the Medi-room? There haven’t been any epidemics of near-G induced sickness or anything I should know about?"

"No, nothing so dramatic. Just a couple of people suffering from minor rashes – chemically induced. Some of the supplies the cleaning staff uses are a bit harsh on the skin. Oh, yes, and there’s been one case of severe gastrointestinal blockage. Your Senior Maintenance Engineer needs to include vegetables in his diet more regularly."

Hawke chuckled. Knowing Frank, he probably used the opportunity to make a pass at her.

"He seemed to have the notion that beer counted as fiber. Hopefully I straightened him out in that regard."

"You’re preaching to the choir. A lot of people have tried to change Frank’s ways. So far, none have succeeded."

"That’s his own business. I can only offer medical advice – not enforce it." She grunted slightly with exertion. A bead of sweat trickled down her neck and into the crease of her breasts.

"So are you enjoying the trip so far?"

"It’s certainly a change of pace from what I’m used to. I don’t usually get the opportunity to travel in my profession. In a way, it’s kind of like a working vacation. I had no idea the stars could be so...bright. It’s beautiful."

Hawke agreed, absently looking out. "Most people don’t realize."

"There is one other thing. I’m going to need to run some tests on the biohazard filter in the next few days. Nothing out of the ordinary, but I want to check its functionality before we get to our destination – for when it’s time to send a party down to the surface."

"Absolutely. Just tell me whether you need anything – anything at all."

"Thank you. I may take you up on that." She gave him a meaningful stare through lowered lashes, her lips curling in a half-smile.

God! She certainly isn’t shy. He glanced at his chrono-ring. "It’s been a pleasure chatting with you, Ana, but I’ll have to leave you to your workout."

A look of surprised disappointment flashed across her face. "Maybe we can plan to meet more often," she suggested. "Aside from meals here and there, and the weekly socials, our duties rarely seem to intersect."

"It’s a deal."

Hawke took a quick soni-shower to clean off and clear his brain. The sonic vibrations and temperature-controlled air jets, combined with a fine alcohol-based anti-microbial spray removed his sweat, dirt, and odor, leaving him refreshed and clean. Water showers were a luxury that could not be afforded in space.

He couldn’t get the image of Ana’s body out of his mind, though it was certainly a more pleasant picture than the thoughts that’d been troubling him lately. At times like this it was solitude he craved. Jim had been right about his motives, but he was wrong, too. And the truth was something Hawke couldn’t tell anyone, not even his friend. Andy would’ve understood. Once, long ago, when Hawke had been mired in one of his dark periods, he confided in Andy and thus learned they suffered from the same brand of fatalistic pessimism. They’d been best friends ever since…until the tragic accident that claimed Andy’s life.

*****

Three and a half months into their six month journey things had gone smoother than Hawke could’ve hoped. Since the problem with the teleporter, they hadn’t experienced any other major system glitches. The scientists mostly stayed in their laboratories, but were quite friendly and personable during their weekly meetings. Hawke had even settled into a mutual, live-and-let-live, non-verbal agreement with Snelling to ignore each other as much as possible. And during the last few weeks, he and Ana had begun a mutually playful and flirtatious relationship which helped alleviate the routine boredom of the flight.

"I think you should look at this," Jim announced. He swiveled the console around.

Hawke frowned at the display. "Good Lord! What’s causing those readings?"

As copilot, one of Starling’s functions was to monitor the navigational system, including the near and deep-space sensors as they entered new galaxies, looking for foreign objects, stray meteors, or other space debris not listed on their star charts. "I wasn’t sure at first, so I did some data mining – using the long-range sensor data and cross-checking the findings with our maps. But now I’m sure our present course is putting us within reach of a black hole."

"Shit. Can you give me a visual?"

"Yeah. Sort of. Gimme a sec."

Rather than wait for the inevitable rush of questions about their stoppage, Hawke contacted Ben, Major Bishop and Snelling and told them to meet him on the bridge. They crowded around Starling’s monitor until Hawke switched the images to the main screen. They watched the simulated lines, white on a black field, of gravitational force as they slowly whirled like a malevolent vortex.

"Wow. That’s a real monster," exclaimed Ben.

"Can we see it for real?" asked Bishop.

"No. It’s too far for the cameras to pick up clearly. You’d just see a slightly darker spot against an already dark background," Jim replied.

"How is this possible?" demanded the Protocol Officer. "There shouldn’t be a black hole anywhere in this sector!"

"It’s a renegade."

"A what?"

"A renegade. A rogue." At Max’s blank look, Jim explained, "When black holes were first theorized and their existence proven sometime in the twentieth century, it was assumed they were stationary objects. In most cases that’s true, but in certain rare circumstances, like if the core of the dying star collapses asymmetrically, it generates tremendous inertial force, enough to ’jumpstart it’ into motion."

"Why didn’t the Navigational Engineers plot us a path around it?" asked Bishop.

"Obviously the eggheads back in Houston missed it. They must have been too anxious to spec out our flight plan."

"So much for nothing being left to chance," Hawke said.

"Well, in their defense, the starcharts they used were probably old – years, maybe even decades. This black hole would have been billions of miles from where it is now. And the astrophysicists would’ve had no idea it was a rogue unless someone compared its location against newer data."

Snelling scrunched his eyes at the map again. "So what’s the big deal? It’s almost a billion miles from our nearest planned coordinates."

"Celestially speaking, that’s not very far when you consider the distance between heavenly bodies with more reasonable gravitational pulls," said Jim. "At that distance, as unfathomable as it may sound, even a small black hole could theoretically knock us so far off our course we could entirely miss the M51 galaxy."

"Wouldn’t the navigational system detect the deviation and correct it?" Bishop asked.

"That’s where it gets tricky. Maybe, but not necessarily. You see, there’s a bug in the NAV code no one likes to talk about because under normal circumstances it’s completely negligible. The program assumes, unless directed otherwise, that our position in space is always known relative to other heavenly bodies used as cosmic reference points. When it detects the presence of large objects such as stars and planets, it’ll auto-correct our path as you’d expect. In fact, we wouldn’t even be aware of the change. But the gravitational field of a black hole is so powerful the auto-correction program wouldn’t sufficiently account for it, resulting in a subtle "nudge" off our course heading. This change can be extremely slight – only a fraction of a fraction of a degree, but the consequences would be devastating. By the time the system realized the error, if it ever did, we could potentially be so far off that it could take months to get back on track. Fortunately, the ship is equipped with what’s called the Tulley-Fisher Survey, so we’d never actually be lost. We could pinpoint our location based on the inter-galactic three-dimensional reference points the data provides. But as for our planned schedule…"

"Alright, I get the idea. What do we do?"

"Well, I could take manual control, but that’s bound to be woefully inefficient, and probably dangerous. So we’re going to need to reprogram the entire flight path. But I’m not sure if the system will let me. I only did it once on the simulator."

"I’ll get Roger up here. He should be able to help," Hawke said. "In the meantime, radio Houston and let them know we have to deviate from our original course. They’re the experts at this sort of thing. Maybe they’ll get back to us promptly, though I doubt it."

Ten minutes later Roger appeared on the bridge. "Whoa!" he said, awed by the swirling display. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes," said Jim.

"Where–?"

"It’s in our way, let’s put it that way," Hawke answered dryly.

"So we need to reprogram our flight plan, which was downloaded into the navigational computers. And which the powers-that-be didn’t foresee we’d need to alter."

"Exactly."

"Well, I can get into the system, but someone’s going to have to tell me what to change the coordinates to."

"That’s where I come in," said Jim. "I’ll figure out the path to take and feed the coordinates to you. We’ll have to do the same thing for the return trip, too."

"That part’s easy. The return trip hasn’t been downloaded yet. It’s still sitting in the buffers. All we’ll have to do is reverse the original course, including any corrections we make, and the auto-routing algorithms will do the rest."

"Good. You and Jim get together and start working on it immediately," Hawke said.

The two of them turned to go.

"Hold on. Exactly how long is all this going to take?" Snelling interjected.

"Hard to say, really," answered Jim. "It’s going to take hours to calculate a new route. We’ll have to steer billions of miles out of our way to avoid the black hole’s gravitational effects. But complicating things is that we don’t have detailed maps of this section of space. Our new path could be filled with a lot of space debris, so we’ll have to be extra careful. I’d say we could be looking at about two to three days, give or take."

"Days!"

Jim shrugged. "Houston has more engineers and better resources at their disposal. We could wait until we get a response from them, but that could take up to a week. Then the detour itself is inevitably going to cost us at least a week on top of that."

Snelling scowled, mumbling something incomprehensible under his breath.

Jim looked at Hawke. "Well don’t waste any more time. You two get cracking."

Jim motioned for Roger to follow him. After they left, Snelling remarked, "I’m beginning to think someone doesn’t want us to reach our destination."

"At least you’re not blaming me for putting a black hole in our way."

"I haven’t ruled out that possibility just yet, Commander."

*****

Jim was true to his word. After double and triple-checking his calculations, he directed the new coordinates to Roger. It’d been nearly a day and a half of delay, but they were once again on their way. Hawke radioed their new flight plan to Houston Space Command so the engineers on Earth would be able to account for their change in position and path. The detour would add about four extra days and would require them to drop a few additional satellite relays along the way, but they’d been equipped with plenty of spares.

Jim had labored around the clock to get them moving again so Hawke offered to work Jim’s shift so he could catch up on sleep. Alone on the bridge, Hawke considered putting the system on auto-pilot for a few hours and getting some shut-eye himself, but given the cause for their change in course, he felt better being where he could immediately confirm there were no unintended deviations from their desired heading. And the extra checking and cross-checking of coordinates and trajectories helped to alleviate his fatigue.

He was quite surprised when Roger ambled onto the bridge. It was evident Roger was feeling the strain, too. His shirt was half-in and half-out of his pants and his hair was sticking up at odd angles. Red lines on his face where his glasses had been pressed firmly into his cheeks supported the notion he’d fallen asleep at his desk.

"Shouldn’t you be back in your quarters getting some rest?"

"I’ve already had about three hours worth. I...have something on my mind."

One thing about Roger: it was obvious when something was bothering him. "What’s troubling you?"

Roger wrung his hands together and stuttered, as if the magnitude of what he needed to say overwhelmed him. He took a deep breath. "It looks like someone has been fooling with the higher level matrix architecture. And that’s not all. I noticed a few things in the computer’s log, some oddities in the way parameters were being called. I don’t think it would’ve made any difference...no, that’s not what I mean. It would have made a difference. Just not now, not on this part of the flight...but I think...on the way back it would’ve been a problem."

"How much of a problem?"

Roger pushed his glasses back on his nose. "Well, I’m not really sure. The change to the matrix affects how the ship interprets inputs from the navigation controls and external sensors." Hawke looked at him blankly. "It means we wouldn’t know we were heading in the wrong direction. The ship’s flight computer would be...tricked. If the change in trajectory was slight, and the difference between the intended and actual destinations small, astronomically speaking, then even careful monitoring of our flight wouldn’t raise any eyebrows until after the fact."

"How far off course would we be?"

"I don’t know yet."

"Do you think this was an innocent mistake? Someone installing some code incorrectly?"

"No. These things are double-checked by teams of QA engineers. And if that were the case, then our heading would’ve been off already. I checked it myself. We’re traveling in exactly the direction we should be. This change was made since we lifted off. I’m sure of it."

"Mr. Bixby, you realize the implications of what you’re saying?" Roger nodded solemnly. "You say this change would only affect our trip back?" Roger nodded again. "Do you think you can determine where we would’ve ended up, if anywhere?"

"It’ll take a little extra work, but...yeah. I jotted the deviations down so I could do that."

"Good. Let me know what you find out. I’m more than a little curious. And don’t tell anyone what you’re doing or why."

"Aye, aye, Captain." Roger gave a tired salute.

Hawke pondered this new development. Suddenly Bishop’s conspiracy theories didn’t seem so far-fetched after all.

Next Chapter: Chapter 12: Distress