Bugs in Space

Once safely out of Earth’s atmosphere, Hawke switched over manual control to the auto-navigational system. A humming drone echoed through the ship as the computers turned on the teleportation drive.

Hawke touched a button on his chair. "Ben, how are things running down there?"

"She’s purring like a kitten. All sensors read normal. I’ve been checking over some of the software. It’s got a nice graphical user interface, simplifies a lot of the usual monitoring routines. Found some of the system warnings are set much too high. I’m going to change them to a level I’m more comfortable with – especially since this is a new ship. I don’t have a good feel for her yet."

"Well, if it makes you more comfortable, it makes me more comfortable. By the way, are you in for poker tonight, twenty-one hundred, my quarters?" Even though they were in space, they kept Earth time and referred to the hours in terms of day and night.

"Wouldn’t miss it. Where’re your quarters, by the way? I didn’t have time to memorize everyone’s room."

"Third deck. Cabin 3C-2."

"All right, count me in. Just remember, I’ve got kids to put through college."

"Hey, talk to Jim. I still owe him most of my last month’s pay."

Jim disputed the claim whole-heartedly, "That’s not fair. It was the first time I went home without a hole in my pocket in almost a year! Frank’s the one who has all the luck with the cards."

"That would explain his love-life," agreed Hawke.

Ben laughed, "Okay, I’ll see you then."

Hawke unstrapped from his seat. "Hey, I’ve got a little errand I want to run. Would you mind taking over for me? It shouldn’t take more than a half hour or so."

"No problem. Take your time."

"Thanks."

Hawke took the lift from the crew station to the second deck. Unlike Ben, he’d been provided a detailed list of where all the personnel were boarding, as well as a blueprint of the ship carefully labeled with the main rooms and bays. Interestingly, the scientists’ laboratory cabins were all located on the living quarters deck. Ostensibly so they could stay close to their work. He wondered whether they’d requested it be that way.

Before he went to check on how they were settling in, Hawke had one other stop to make. Initially dark, the lights came on immediately as he turned a corner. Hundreds of microcameras and IR motion sensors recorded his passage. Integrated into the walls were multiple intranet access panels, emergency fire and medical stations, and folding seats in case of an inter-stellar emergency. She’s certainly well-equipped.

He came to a room marked "Security" and swiped his hand across the access panel. The scanner read the ID chip in his palm and the door slid open. As the ship’s captain, his ID code had been inputted into the main computer, granting him the necessary clearance to gain admittance to any room.

Five sets of eyes swiveled in his direction. Their hands instinctively went toward the holstered guns at their hips. One of them casually put the lid back on a large, black container in the middle of the room. Other similar containers, some open some closed, were stacked against the wall.

"Commander Hawke." Major Bishop stepped forward with two long strides. "You should have told me you were coming down here so soon. I’d have had my men ready for inspection. As you can see, we’re still unpacking our equipment. But since you’re here, let me formally introduce you to my team."

The four men stood erect. The first was a burly man of Latino descent with wavy hair and dark complexion. "This is Sergeant Raul Gonzales, my equipment specialist."

Raul gave a sharp salute. "Sir."

The next man was older, taller, and thinner, with a neatly trimmed moustache. His eyes, together with a long, pointy nose, gave him a vulturish look. "This is Lieutenant John-Allen Rottmann." Lieutenant Rottmann had the crisp manner of a career military man.

The third man was short, but big and heavily muscled with buzz-cut hair. "This is Corporal Jason Sweeney." His deep-set eyes burned with an intense, smoldering stare. Hawke recognized his type. Back in the Academy he’d known many similar men.

"And this is Corporal Stephen Utley." Utley was of average height with sandy hair and an element of boyish ruggedness about him. "Sir!"

"Mister Utley?" Hawke said, bemused.

"Yes, sir?"

"Where ya gonna go when the volcano blow?"

"Sir?" The Corporal looked at him blankly.

"Never mind. I’ll explain another time." They stood rigidly at attention. "At ease, men, at ease. One thing I want to make perfectly clear: out here, I don’t expect anyone to salute me. Not that there’s anything wrong with military rank and file, but I get enough stateside. Out here, I prefer to keep things more relaxed, if you know what I mean. So don’t call me ’sir.’ You can call me Nathan, or Hawke. If that makes you uncomfortable, then call me Commander. Understood?" Hawke turned to Bishop. "How does that sound to you, Major?"

"I was told it’s your show, Commander."

"Anyway, I came here because I had some concerns…the assistants tagged with the scientists. I was never given a dossier–"

"Don’t worry, Commander. I can assure you there isn’t anyone who hasn’t been screened. But we didn’t turn up much on the lab rats. Most of them are just out of post-doctorate work, so their records weren’t as traceable. Was your concern about one in particular – a suspicious bit of dialogue, or some nervous behavior that seemed out of context perhaps?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Well, you should maintain a constant vigil about that sort of thing."

"I will." Though Hawke was more interested in keeping an eye on Snelling than any college-grad technician. "Anyway, I know how easy it is to seclude yourselves, or socialize only within your own circle, so I plan to hold weekly meetings in the second deck common room. No agenda. Completely informal. Just a way for everyone to get to know each other. Your men are welcome to come."

"Thank you. I think that’s an excellent idea."

"I plan to extend the invitation to my teleportation specialist, Lieutenant Johnson, that young network engineer, Roger I think his name is, Dr. Hoyos and her medical corpsmen, the maintenance engineering team." He added, "And Snelling would be invited, too."

Sergeant Gonzales straightened to attention. "Sir, I’d be happy to volunteer for the detail." Sweeney and Utley exchange knowing glances. Sweeney mumbled something and the two men snickered. "What’s so amusing, Corporal?"

The grim-faced marine quickly sobered. "Nothing. Just that Gonzales would take any assignment if it meant getting close to the Doc."

"Shut yer trap, Sween, ya big ape!" Gonzales retorted.

"Alright, that’s enough, both of you," Bishop cut in. She addressed Hawke. "We’ll be sure to send someone. Either myself or one of my men. Was there, ah, anything else, Commander?"

"No, I..." Hawke looked around at Bishop’s men, face to face. Not one of them had moved the whole time since he entered. They were waiting – waiting for him to leave. Hawke stepped up to the hastily covered container and threw open the lid. He instantly recognized the XK-1 rifles. Inside were spare charges, and a small crate of plasma-fragmentation grenades.

The rifles fired a short burst of an intense beam of electrified plasma. On full power they could deliver the equivalent punch of a small bolt of lightning. If fired inside a StarCruiser the electrical overload could easily short-circuit most of the teleportation and life-support systems, leaving them completely defenseless and stranded – for days and possibly weeks or months, depending on when a DSR team could be assembled and launched. Most likely they’d all be dead by then.

Bishop saw the look on his face. "Don’t worry, Commander. They’ll be safely stowed for the duration of the journey. You have my word. They’ll only be used if absolutely necessary."

"And when would that be?"

"It’s an unexplored planet. No telling what dangerous creatures we’ll find. Better to be prepared, don’t you think?"

Hawke frowned. It was an excessive amount of firepower in his opinion. "Just make sure it’s kept under heavy lock and key. We can’t afford any accidents."

"Of course."

*****

It was the alarm, coupled with the flashing red lights, that screamed something was wrong. Of course, that’s what alarms are for. Hawke quickly brought the transporter drive off-line. The steady hum that had been gently reverberating through the ship was suddenly obvious by its absence. The silence felt eerie and ominous by comparison.

"Ben, talk to me. What’s going on?"

Lieutenant Johnson’s voice came through immediately. "Not sure yet. Early indications are that the CDA detected an approaching collision and was attempting to execute an emergency reroute of the ship’s path."

"Near and deep-space sensors don’t register any objects that would trigger the alarm. Hell, we just barely passed the Kuiper Belt. If anything should have set them off, it’d have been before those asteroids, not after."

"I know. I’m running diagnostics now. I should be able to tell you more in a little while."

"Alright. Keep me informed."

"You bet."

Hawke sighed. Unexpected contingencies were expected on a mission, no matter how much pre-planning had been done. And yet, Hawke had hoped with a brand new, state-of-the-art vessel they might get lucky. They were less than a day out on their journey. So much for Chinese reliability. Hopefully the delay wouldn’t set them back too much. They were on a pretty tight schedule as it was.

Hawke fired off a quick transmission to Houston to let them know what was happening. They were near enough to Earth that the terra-based engineers might be able to provide them with useful debugging suggestions within a reasonable time.

"Some things never change, huh?" joked Starling. Hawke smiled, but there wasn’t much humor in being adrift in space outside of your solar system.

Two hours later, Hawke still hadn’t heard from Ben. His patience quickly turning to agitation, he left in search of the teleportation specialist. Upon entering the main drive chamber, Hawke found the place a shambles. Computers and consoles were ripped apart, with the pieces lying scattered around the floor. Two sets of legs stuck out from underneath the main computer terminal. Operating manuals and wiring schematics on portable LCD screens lay next to the legs. Greasy fingerprints were smeared across the touchscreens. He didn’t need to hear the muffled conversation to identify Ben and Frank by their lower halves.

The size of the computer banks in the room was impressive in an age of microcircuitry and nanotechnology. The teleportation processors ran at such blazing speeds and generated such enormous amounts of energy that the room was kept cold to keep the circuits from overheating. Specialized radiation panels were used to dump excess heat. It seemed incongruous to think that the freezing temperatures in outer space couldn’t provide the perfect medium to be a natural heat sink, but in reality, the vacuum of space tended to act more like an insulator.

Hawke squatted on his heels. "How’s it going, guys?"

"Oh, hey," Frank greeted, craning his neck.

The two men scooted out from under the console and sat up. Ben looked at the dirt on his hands, wiped them on Frank’s pants, and stood up.

"Hey! I just washed these," Frank protested.

Ben threw him a doubtful look. "Sorry, Nate. Been meaning to call you to let you know what we’ve been doing. We checked first to make sure the sensors didn’t get fried by some freak power surge. The PhD-types have been hooking up some heavy-duty shit the last few days. It’s possible one of them sent a stray current through the power grid."

"I thought the ship’s mega-suppressors and surge detection software prevent that."

"Well, that’s true, at least of the hardware. But the software only works on stuff hooked up to the network, and my understanding was that all of the high-tech lab devices brought onboard were standalone machines. In any case, it’s easy enough to check the sensors with a meter. I wanted to make sure we didn’t overlook the obvious before moving on to more difficult possibilities. We even double-checked the sensor calibrations, thinking maybe those were out of whack, but the sensors weren’t the problem."

"So what was?"

Ben looked sidelong at Frank who shrugged. "Well, actually, we haven’t located the problem yet. Right now, we’re checking the wiring on the main motherboard and all her hundreds of connections. As you can imagine, that’s going to take some time. And if it doesn’t work, we’ll need to take the whole teleporter drive apart and check each component individually – magnacoils, switches, master control module – everything. Frank’s got his crew checking the inventory to make sure we’ve got spares. Hopefully, it won’t come to that. Otherwise we could be looking at two days, at least."

"Just let me know when you’ve got a handle on the problem. In the meantime, I sent word to Houston. Let’s see if they come up with any good suggestions. For what it’s worth, my money’s on you two."

He left the two men to their work and considered the theories behind the Laws of Teleportation. As was the case with many inventions, the technology was originally intended for a different application. In this case, it was first developed as a medical device. People with incurable tumors stepped into the device and teleported a few feet into a receiving chamber. When their molecules were "reassembled" as they called it back then (even though it was a misnomer), the device would eliminate the cancer using specially written algorithms designed to "sniff out" corrupted cells. The effect was nearly instantaneous and the patient was healed without the use of invasive surgical procedures, chemicals, or smart pharmacological agents which could have adverse side-effects.

Based upon the proven success of the discovery, it was only a matter of time before the revolutionary technology was adapted to make long distance travel feasible. Physicists determined they could create a field of specially charged alpha particles around an object or group of objects and collapse the entire field, simultaneously manipulating the quantum wave function through a process known as the decoherence effect. In this fashion it was possible to displace equal volumes of matter from one place to another, even if a barrier existed between the original and target destinations. The artificial wave function collapse caused the objects within the alpha field to "tunnel" through the intervening space and re-materialize at the desired location. Hawke had read textbooks explaining the math behind the science in infinite detail, but it was incomprehensible to him.

Nevertheless, the FDA had performed extensive studies on teleportation decades ago and declared it safe to use for human beings. In fact, the probability of a teleporting mishap was reported to be less than one in fifty trillion. Like most people, having lived with the technology all his life, Hawke accepted it as a natural aspect of society. Just like in the 20th century, when man first learned to fly. Hundreds of thousands of people traveled on airplanes in a single day, yet few of them were fully versed in the doctrines of aerodynamics that kept a one hundred and twenty ton metal container aloft.

Then again, teleportation as a means of space travel differed from using the TelePortals on Earth which relied on hard-wired cables and electronic safeguards, though the principle was the same. The notion of all of his billions of cells being instantly displaced not just once, but one and a half trillion times every second, was more than a little frightening. The near-space scanners sensed the area of space directly ten miles in front of their projected path, and the teleporter mechanism "switched" places with the scanned region. The microbursts of energy created, in essence, a miniature wormhole and the vacuum of space provided the perfect medium.

The effect of all these "short" teleportations was completely transparent. The system as a whole was actually slowed down more by the time delay in the sensor signal converter and the need for redundant teleportation drive chains than by the processor speed, even when a considerable safety factor was thrown into the algorithm for good measure.

Avoidance of planets, stars, and other large celestial objects was accomplished automatically through the navigation software’s code which detected objects through motion and spectroscopic imaging. If large objects were detected in a direct path with the StarCruiser, the computer altered its course through a rho-correction algorithm and altered it back based upon the computed trajectories. Collision with smaller objects was generally ignored, since the spaceship’s location at any single point in time was considered to be so small that the chances of collision were reduced millions of times versus a straight ’non-teleporting’ path.

Hawke was intercepted by Snelling advancing toward him from the other direction.

"There you are. I demand to know what’s going on. Your copilot mentioned something about diagnostics on the teleportation system. That’s inexcusable! We should not be wasting time performing routine system checks. If this is one of your games, Commander, I–"

Hawke snapped his arm up. "Don’t start giving me shit already, Max. The delay can’t be avoided. The only way to continue without fixing the problem is to completely take the CDA off-line, and that’s just idiotic and potentially disastrous. I won’t do that just to maintain some Congressional desk jockey’s unrealistic schedule drafted to meet a backhanded political agenda. Now, if you’ll excuse me."

Hawke left the outraged Protocol Officer standing in the corridor glaring at his back. The PO had an overbearing way about him which raised his hackles. That’s one book you can judge by its cover. He wished Ben were there to appreciate that one – books hadn’t been made out of paper in almost a century. By the time he made it to the bridge, he was still fuming. Rather than sit down, Hawke leaned on the circular railing above the command station.

Jim swiveled around to face him. "Max was here. Gave me an earful for the last twenty minutes. He stormed out of here looking for you."

"Yeah, well, he found me. I don’t think he’ll come back for awhile."

"You didn’t hit him, did you?"

"No." Then added, "Not yet."

Jim breathed a sigh of relief. "So what did Ben say? Has he found the problem?"

"No. Said we might be stuck sitting on our hands for the next couple of days, maybe longer."

Jim’s smile faded. "Damn. Not a good way to start, is it?"

"Have there been any communications?"

"Nothing useful. Just got one telling us to stand by, that they were looking into it."

There was a tentative knock behind them. Hawke looked back over his shoulder. Roger Bixby stood apprehensively, one hand fidgeting with his glasses. He cleared his throat.

"Yes, Mr. Bixby. What can I do for you?"

"Please, call me Roger. I, uh, understand we’re having some sort of problem with the teleporter drive?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Johnson and Frank Giordano are working on it now, checking the wiring on the mainboard. They may have to test the components of the teleporter itself."

"Yes, well, that’s why I came to see you. I, uh, think they’re making a mistake."

Hawke cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes, those are hardware solutions." He smiled nervously. "It’s a typical engineering assumption. I believe the root of the problem is embedded in the software."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, consider the teleporter was working fine when we left Earth’s orbit. And, mechanically speaking, it was operating perfectly when the collision detection alarms were tripped. That indicates to me that a logical operator within the code is, or is not, being flagged correctly."

Hawke looked blankly toward Starling. Jim shrugged, "Makes sense to me."

"With your permission, I’d like to look over the uncompiled code and see if I can find the error. But I need Lieutenant Johnson to...ah...grant me access to his computer frame. It’s one of the few systems I can’t access directly and I noticed he’s a bit...protective of it."

"Roger, if you think you can get us out of this mess, I’ll give you more than my permission – I’ll give you my blessing!"

"Thank you, sir! I won’t let you down."

Before he could go, Hawke stopped him, "I’ve been meaning to ask you..."

"Yes?"

"What are the glasses for?"

Roger blushed. "They’re not actually a prescription or anything. They’re just polarized lenses, but you probably figured that anyway. I wear them because I think they make me look older, more distinguished, you know, but in an old-fashioned sort of way – like Elton John or John Lennon."

Hawke laughed heartily. "Get the hell out of here." When Roger had gone, he said, "I never would’ve pegged the kid for a vintage music lover."

"People say the same about you."

"I guess you’re right. But I’ve always had a soft spot for nostalgia."

*****

In the back of his mind, Hawke knew there’d be a price to pay. He just didn’t think it would be Bishop who came to him to settle the account.

"I’m not trying to stick my nose in your business, but my job is to investigate every disturbance or altercation that takes place on this ship. Even if that includes you."

"There’s nothing to investigate. He accosted me – after berating my copilot."

"That’s not the way he tells it."

"The hell with the way he tells it! He accused me of delaying the mission on purpose."

"Are you?"

"Of course not."

"Be that as it may, I think if you–"

They were interrupted by a voice over the bridge COM. "Hawke, this is Ben."

"Go ahead, Ben."

"We fixed the problem. I’m rebooting the teleport control software. It should be coming back online in a few minutes. Some bozo back on Earth forgot to properly unit test the prototype code before we left. As soon as we cleared the solar system, bingo, bells started ringing. The program thought a large object was nearby which didn’t correlate with what the star charts or sensors indicated. It thought we were headed for a collision with an unknown object. It was a simple fix, but there were tens of millions of lines of code to sort through. I have to tell you, Hawke, I don’t know if I’d have found it if it weren’t for Bixby. I had my doubts about him, but he’s one smart cookie."

"I’ll be sure to put him on my Christmas card list. Just tell me when we can get moving again."

"Will do."

"And, Ben?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for all your hard work on this. Tell Roger and Frank the same thing, okay?"

"You got it. Over."

Hawke turned to the Major. The Security Chief wore a pensive expression on her face. "Do you think the system could have been sabotaged?"

"No. It was a software glitch. Plain and simple. Why would you think it was done intentionally?"

"No reason."

"What would anyone have to gain by delaying us?"

"I don’t know..."

"You’re chasing shadows, if you ask me."

"I chase shadows a lot, you know. Chase them long enough and you might just catch something of substance." She walked to the door. "Oh, and Commander – please don’t take this the wrong way, because I really don’t like the man, but I’d appreciate it if you treat Mr. Snelling in the professional manner he’s due."

Hawke clenched his teeth. "I will if he does."

Bishop smiled ruefully. "I’ll have a talk with him about it. Good day."

*****

Hawke and Starling coordinated a rotating shift where at least one of them would be at the helm at all times. Not that such vigilance was necessary; the autopilot navigation system was superbly reliable. And given the immeasurable immenseness of space, the chance of collision was miniscule. Even so, Hawke felt better having at least one person manning the cockpit. He wasn’t ready yet to put all his faith in technology. Technology was man-made, after all – and Man was far from infallible.

At the moment, they were both on the bridge, Jim nearing the end of his shift and Hawke beginning his. Giordano casually lounged in one of the empty chairs behind them. Frank had become a natural fixture the last couple of weeks. Since the glitch with the teleportation system, he had very little to keep himself busy. Other than a few minor issues with faulty doors, malfunctioning voice ID boxes, and plumbing, things Frank could fix in his sleep, the StarCruiser had been running like a dream.

"So anyway, I says to her, ’Yeah? Well then why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?’ And that’s when she starts unbuttoning her shirt."

Jim said, "You really expect us to believe she went back to your quarters for a quick romp in the sack? With you?"

"I’ll bring her around if you don’t believe me. Besides, I keep tellin’ youse, when Franky-boy pours on the charm, there’s hardly a woman alive who can resist." Jim rolled his eyes. "And get this: she’s a natural redhead."

Jim threw up his hands. "I can’t take any more of this! Hawke, you’ll have to suffer through Frank’s lewd fairy tales without me. I’m going to my bunk for some shuteye."

"Get some rest," Hawke told him.

"I’ll try."

"Don’t worry, you will," Frank said like a poet reciting his favorite poem, "Recounts of my romantic interludes have inspired blissful, uninterrupted slumber in many a frustrated bachelor such as yourself."

"Frank, if I have a dream that in any way resembles one of your phony sexual encounters, it would be my worst nightmare." Jim stepped into the lift and was gone.

"Jeez-whiz, Hawke. I think I’ve just been insulted."

Next Chapter: Chapter 10: Suspicions