Spaceship medic

Chapter 9

In the silence that followed this shocking announcement, the rapping on the control-room door sounded unnaturally loud. An air tenders mate came in and saluted, throwing a quick glance around at the silent men. He handed a slip of paper to Don.

'I thought I had better bring these readings directly to you, sir. I just ran the test a few minutes ago.'

Don stirred himself, it took an effort to think of other problems after what they had just heard. He took the slip and looked, uncomprehending, at the piece of paper.

I'm sorry, could you tell me what these figures mean?'

The air tender pointed to the row of numbers on the right, and to the last one which was circled in red.

'These are the percentages of oxygen concentration in the air. You'll notice they have been going down steadily. These are the figures taken every five hours, since the accident. The change has been slow, but there is now an abrupt drop, here in the last number. I think the radiation from the solar storm knocked out a lot of phytoplankton. That, in addition to what we lost with the water, is putting us below equivalency.'

'What does that mean?'

'Well, simply, sir, the people in the ship are turning oxygen into carbon dioxide faster than the plants can replace the oxygen. We're running out of breathable air.'

Don shook himself. There were too many problems at once.

'How long before it reaches the danger level?' he asked.

'Days at least, I'm not sure. But something should be done now...'

'Not at the present moment. I'll be down to air control as soon as I can. Who is in charge?'

The crewman, he could not have been over twenty years old, looked uncomfortable. 'Well, Lieutenant Hong is dead, so I guess that leaves me.'

'What's your name?'

'Hansen, Air Tenders Mate 3rd Class Hansen.'

'All right, Hansen, you are now acting air control officer. Do your work well because we all depend upon you.'

'Yes, sir,' Hansen said, squaring his back and saluting.

He'll do the job, Don thought, watching the man leave. Then memory of the message from Mars returned, and with it a feeling of sick depression. He returned to Kurikka.

'What is this reaction mass that Mars Central is so worried about?' he asked. 'I hate to act stupid, but medical studies leave little time for reading about anything else. I thought this ship was powered by atomic engines ?'

'It is, sir, but we still need reaction mass. A rocket moves not by pushing against anything, but by throwing something away. Whatever is thrown away is called reaction mass. In chemical rockets it is burning gas. The gas goes in one direction, the rocket goes in the other. The more you throw away, the more reaction you get and the faster you go. You also get more reaction by throwing something away faster. That is what we do. Our reaction mass is made up of finely divided particles of silicon. It's made from steel plant slag, vaporized in a vacuum, so the particles are microscopic. These particles are accelerated by the engines to an incredible speed. That's what gives us our push.'

Don nodded. 'Seems simple enough -at least in theory. So, although we have unlimited power from the atomic engines, we don't have enough reaction mass for the course change required?'

'Right, sir. Normally we carry more than enough mass for our needs, because the course corrections are made as early as possible. The more the ship gets away from the right orbit, the more mass is needed to get us back. We've waited a little too long this time.'

Don refused to give in to the feeling of gloom that swept the control-room.

'Can't we use something else for reaction mass?' he asked.

Kurikka shook his head. 'I'm afraid not. Nothing is small enough to get through the injectors. And the engines are designed to run with this kind of reaction mass only.' He turned away and, for the very first time, Don saw that the rock-like chief petty officer was feeling defeat. 'I'm afraid there is nothing we can do.'

'We cant give up!' Don insisted. 'If we can't change the orbit to the correct one, we can certainly alter it as much as possible, get it closer to the correct one.'

'Maybe we can, Captain, but it won't help. With all our mass used to change course we won't have enough for deceleration.'

'Well at least we'll be closer to Mars. There must be other ships there that can match orbits with us and take everyone off. Let's ask Mars Central about it.'

The answer was infuriatingly slow in coming, and not very hopeful.

'We are running all the possibilities through the computer here, but there is nothing positive yet. There are no deep-spacers here who can aid you, and the surface to satellite ferries don't have the range to reach you, even with your correct orbit. Don't give up hope, we are still working on the problem.'

'Great lot of good that does us,' Sparks muttered. 'You're not in our shoes'

'I am afraid I must disagree with Chief Kurikka and say that his last statement is wrong,' Ugalde said. He had been standing in a daze of concentration for a long time, and did not realize that the Chief's last' statement had been spoken almost fifteen minutes earlier. 'There is something we can do. I have examined the situation from all sides and, if you will permit me to point out, you are looking at only part of the problem. This is because you have stated the question wrong.' He began to pace back and forth.

'The problem is to alter our orbit to the correct one, not to find more mass. Stated this way the problem becomes clear and the answer is obvious.'

'Not to me,' Kurikka said, speaking for all of them.

Ugalde smiled. 'If we cannot get more reaction mass, then we must get less mass for our present quantity of reaction mass to work against.'

Don smiled back. 'Of course! Ihats it! We will just have to lighten ship.'

'It is important that everything that is jettisoned be weighed first,' Ugalde warned. 'This will be needed in the computations. And the faster it is done the better our chances will be!'

'We start right now,' Don said, pulling over a notepad and electric stylo. 'I want to list everything that is not essential to the operation of the ship and the lives of everyone aboard. Suggestions?'

'The passengers' luggage of course,' Ugalde said. They should keep what they are wearing and the rest will be discarded.'

The purser moaned. 'I can see the lawsuits already.'

'I'm sure that the company is insured,' Don said, making a note. 'Their luggage or their lives - that is really not much of a choice. They can keep their valuables and personal items, but anything that can be replaced has to go. You'd better have them all assembled in the main dining-hall in fifteen minutes. I'll come up and tell them myself'

Jonquet nodded and left. Don turned to the others.

'The dining-tables, chairs, dishes, most of the kitchen equipment,' Kurikka said, counting off the items on his fingers. 'All the frozen meat and refrigerated food. We can live off the dehydrated emergency rations which use recycled water.'

'Good thinking. Who's next?'

Once they began to concentrate on it, it was amazing the number of items that they found. Carpets and decorations and banisters on the stairs, furniture, fittings and spare parts. The list grew and Don checked off the items. There was one obvious - and heavy - item missing. The cargo,' he said, 'what about that?'

Kurikka shook his head. 'I only wish we could. There is heavy machinery, bales of clothing, a lot of items that we could do without. But all the cargo is container loaded for the most part, and sealed into place against the G stresses. The shuttle rockets have the special extensible power sockets to reach down past the containers to free them, but we don't have the equipment. I suppose we could jury-rig something to get the containers out, but it would take a couple of days at least.'

'Which is far too long for us. The cargo stays - but everything else that can go, goes!'

As the crew got the jettisoning under way, Don went, reluctantly, to the main dining-hall. He had some idea of the reception facing him there, and he was not far wrong. The passengers, all 112 of them, were waiting for him, and were in an ugly mood. He had to shout to be heard because of the noise made by the crewmen who were already tearing out the tables. He explained about the difficulties they were experiencing, the fact that they were far off course because of the accident, and the need to lighten the ship. A concerted growl of anger went up when he told them that their luggage was being thrown from the ship as well.

'You have no right and you cannot force me to!' an elderly matron called out and there were shouts of agreement from all sides. Don waited until they were silent before he spoke again.

'I am sorry if I appear to be highhanded. But I assure you that there is no other way out of this mess. This is not my decision. You know that I am a doctor, and the acting captain of this ship only because all of the other officers are dead. But we have been in contact with Mars Central and it is their decision that we must lighten this ship or we will never be able to turn it.' There were more complaints, but Don shouted them down.

I am Captain and this is an order. You will keep only the items I have mentioned, and you will bring your luggage here within half an hour. Your lives depend upon it'

They left, reluctantly, grumbling complaints to one another. Don smiled wryly to himself thinking that he would never win any popularity polls with these people. But he had to save their lives -whether they liked it or not. One man stayed behind and approached Don. He looked familiar, a lean, tanned man with a crisp moustache. He introduced himself.

'My name is Doyle, Captain, I am General Briggs' secretary.'

'Yes. What can I do for you?'

Doyle ignored the sharp edge to Don's voice, and smiled. 'Not so much for me, Captain, but for General Briggs. He would like to talk to you. Is that such an unreasonable request?'

Don hesitated. He remembered that he had promised to talk to Briggs. He might as well get it over with, and this would be as good a time as any while the excess weight was being jettisoned.

'All right, I'll come with you now.'

'Thank you, sir, I know that the general will appreciate this.'

They stopped by the control-room for the key to the compartment, then went to the temporary brig. The general stood up from the bunk when they entered.

'Very good of you to come, Captain,' he said.

'You wanted to talk with me, General?'

'Yes, if I could have a minute of your time. But what I really wanted to do was apologize for the incident in my cabin. I, of course, turned in all my cigarettes, I can take orders as well as give them, you know. However I forgot one pack which, completely without thinking, I started to smoke. That is the cause of the accident. I am very sorry that it happened.'

'So are we, General.'

'I am sure of that. Now, if I may, I would like to ask you how long you plan to keep me in this compartment? I am not protesting my sentence, your actions were completely justified, but I do feel that the term of the punishment should be spelled out.'

Don thought quickly. He needed the passengers' cooperation, and haying the general on his side would surely help. The man's earlier anger was gone and he seemed genuinely repentant. There was no point at all in keeping him locked up any longer.

'You're free to go now, General. This was never a matter of punishment, just a temporary measure until we uncovered the reason for the fire.'

'Very kind of you.'

The last words were cold and formal, with none of the warmth the general had shown while explaining a moment earlier. He and Doyle turned and left at once. Don looked after them, some memory gnawing at him. What was it the crewman had said? Wasn't it something about there being more cigarettes in the burned luggage? Well, even if the general had lied to get out of confinement, it was not important. The incident was closed and he had the ship to think about.

As he descended the stairway to A deck he saw an incredible sight. Since the floor of this deck was the outer skin of the ship, tempered glass viewing ports were set into the floor. They were two yards in diameter and framed circles of blackest space, punctured by the bright, unflickering light of the myriad stars. The stars appeared to move by steadily, as the ship rotated to provide weight for the passengers. Except at the times of arrival and departure the stars were the only thing that could be seen.

Not any more. The brilliant light of the distant sun, unshielded by any atmosphere, glinted from the many objects that streamed through space around the ship. Tables, suitcases, chairs, hams, shoes, rugs, cans; crockery, the list was endless. They moved slowly away, appearing to shrink and vanish, and new objects took their place. The jettisoning had begun.

The scene around the airlock was that of orderly confusion. A counterbalance scale had been rigged next to the open door of the lock. As the miscellany of things to be discarded arrived they were weighed, and the weight recorded, then were unceremoniously dumped into the open mouth of the lock. When the level reached up to the opening, the door was closed and the air pumped out. Then the outer door opened and centrifugal force hurled everything out to join the stream of debris moving slowly away. When the lock was closed the entire routine was repeated. Chief Kurikka was supervising the operation, and he came to report as soon as he saw Don.

'Going well so far, Captain. We have had some trouble with the passengers, but that is going smoothly now too.'

'What kind of trouble?'

The chief looked around, then lowered his voice.

'I'm a realistic man sir, and when my life depends upon it I am not one to think much about applying the honour system. I've had the purser and some of the men going through their cabins after the passengers have dumped their luggage. We've found a lot of "essential" items that weren't that essential. They've been dumped too.'

'You're a hard man, Chief, and there will be lawsuits to prove it. But I'll back you all the way.'

'Yes, sir. We're just about through here and the weight we discarded is being totalled for Mars Central.'

'Finish as quickly as possible. You know why.'

Kurikka nodded silently and went back to his work. Don turned away - and stumbled. He had to grab the wall for support. He was tired beyond belief, but he could not stop until the course corrections had been made. Walking slowly and carefully, he went along the passageway to the control-room where he fell into the captains chair.

'Firing information is in, sir,' a voice said - and Don jerked his head up. He had dozed off without even knowing it. He blinked at the sheet of paper that Sparks held out to him.

'What do they say?'

'Ten minutes to blast. The Chief and Dr Ugalde are setting up the sequence. Mars Central says that they are "optimistic" about the course change now.'

'They'd better be right as well as optimistic,' Don grumbled. 'Thanks, Sparks, you - the entire crew - have done a great job on this.'

'Hope it works, sir,' he said, putting down the paper and turning away.

The machines took over. The computer on Mars had worked out the firing instructions for the course change, and the figures were fed into the ships computer. Once it knew the correct attitude desired, the computer fired the positioning jet and tilted the great ship in space. Don looked out the port as stars moved to new positions and smiled wryly, remembering the hours of watching and working he had done to do the same job badly.

Then the waiting began. The needles on the control board moved as the computer ran up the output of the atomic engines in preparation for the firing of the jets. Finger-chewing minutes passed until the computer decided that the correct moment had arrived. It did not inform them that it was time. The first that they knew was when the jets fired and a sudden, sideways thrust pushed at them.

'Well, that's it then,' Don said. 'How soon before we know if we are on the correct course, Dr Ugalde?'

The mathematician frowned in thought. 'I would say that it will be an hour at least before a meaningful base line can be established. We will make observations for Mars Central, and as soon as their computer has established our new orbit we will be informed.'

Telephone, Captain,' Kurikka said, and Don switched on the instrument before him. Rama Kusum's worried face looked out at him.

'Could you come to the sick bay, sir? There is a patient here with a fever and, well, I don't know quite what to do.'

'Any other symptoms?'

'Nothing I can put my finger on, just a generally sick feeling, upset stomach, you know.'

'I certainly do - and there is nothing to worry about. There are any number of mild infections that start that way. Just hold on and I'll come right up to have a look.'

It was almost a relief to have a medical matter to worry about, rather than the responsibility for the entire spaceship. He was a trained doctor and he knew that he could handle anything that occurred. Only in the operation of the ship did he have a feeling of futility.

'I'll be in the sick bay, Chief. Call me as soon as there are any reports.'

He opened the door and was almost run down by Hansen, the air tender. He was hurrying and looked frightened.

'I'm sorry, sir,' he said. 'I was coming to see you. In private, if I could.'

Don closed the door behind him and glanced both ways. The corridor was empty.

'Right here is fine. What is it?'

'The oxygen, Captain, the rate of production has fallen off again. We are way below the replacement rate, and right now people are breathing the stored oxygen in the atmosphere of the ship. I'm taking out the excess carbon dioxide all right, so there is no build-up of concentration of that. But the oxygen... 'How long before the effect will be noticeable?'

'It's noticeable right now! If you were to run around you would be out of breath mighty quick. And soon, two or three days...'

'Yes?'

'People are going to start dying, sir.'