Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a wry Tennessee silently mouth, “Dismissed?” He decided to let it ride as they dispersed to their stations and tasks.
Daniels started to rise to follow the others.
“Danny?” Oram murmured softly. “A word before you go.”
She sat back down in her seat as the last of her colleagues filed off of the bridge. Leaning toward her across the table and lowering his voice, Oram spoke earnestly. He was trying, in his maladroit fashion, to be comforting.
“I know there’s nothing I can possibly say—but I am so sorry. He was a genuine leader and a fine man. Jacob and I didn’t always see eye to eye, as you know. Even when we disagreed on some technicality, though, I always respected his decision. When his reasoning differed from mine, it was always elegantly presented. In the end he always managed to get people to come around to his way of thinking, and he did it without shouting or having to pull rank. It was an honor to serve under him.”
She struggled to muster a smile. “I appreciate that, Chris. I know Jacob would’ve, too.”
His tone changed. “You should take a few days off,” he said firmly.
“I’d rather keep busy.” The smile, what there was of one, faded instantly.
“That wasn’t a request.” He tried to keep his voice level, lest his new tone contradict his earlier compassion.
She stared back at him. Ordinarily she would have been more vocal, he knew, more defiant in her response, but right then she did not have it in her. Noting her expression, he felt moved to explain further.
“I’m responsible for the mission now,” he reminded her, “and for the lives and well-being of everyone on board, be they operational crew or sleeping colonists. I didn’t anticipate being put in this position, and I need everyone’s help. That means I need everyone functioning at their best, including you.” He essayed a smile of his own. “When we don’t want to take a break is usually when we need one the most. Take a couple of days. Cry it out, okay?”
She gaped at him.
“‘Cry it out?’ Here’s an idea, Chris—Captain. Maybe it will prove ‘helpful.’ How about I mourn the loss of my husband in my own way? I don’t think I’ll be contradicting any formal guidelines in the general crew manual… sir.” Rising from her seat, she turned sharply and walked quickly from the bridge in the wake of her crewmates.
Oram watched her go, realizing he hadn’t handled that as well as he could have. “New to this…” He had confessed as much. Not that it had made any difference. A little while ago he had been a member of the crew. Now, with the death of Jacob Branson, an unavoidable gulf had opened between him and his shipmates. There was nothing to be done about it. That was the way of command.
He was going to need Karine’s advice more than ever.
Removing a pair of metal worry beads from a pocket, he absently began to roll them together in one hand, listening as they clicked. He couldn’t let such episodes as the encounter with Daniels distract him from his new duties. Everything from now on depended on focus, focus, focus. That meant staying calm and analyzing in depth every situation, be it human-to-human interaction or a report from engineering. Despite his new position and responsibilities, he very much wanted to remain friends with his crewmates.
Only time would tell if he would be able to manage it.
Emerging from a service lock, Tennessee and Ankor moved away from the massive arc of the Covenant. In the blackness of interstellar space their bright yellow EVA suits, laden with gear, and their oversize heavy-duty helmets gave them the appearance of giant cyclopean beetles.
External antennae would have cemented the similarity, but as a safety measure everything—including multiple informational readouts—was built into the suit or its headgear. The suits’ rounded shapes meant they could bump up against the ship or any other solid object without fear of dislodging or snapping off something critical.
Tennessee lined up a course that would take him to the tip of one collector extension, while Ankor headed for the mast core. Each man had his own predetermined tasks. Unless an unforeseen problem arose, there was no need for them to operate in tandem. They knew their jobs. Toiling separately would see the necessary work go twice as fast.
Around them was arrayed the firmament: an endless sweep of stars and nebulae, glorious and overpowering in its beauty. Rendering it all the more awe-inspiring was the knowledge that for them, what they were viewing effectively had no end. The galactic magnificence proceeded almost infinitely in every direction, the view unmarred by the adjacent presence of a planet or moon.
Magnificence, and a cold indifferent emptiness that was held at bay only by their suits. They could marvel and fear at the same time. Concentrating on the work at hand always helped to prevent distraction, though Tennessee couldn’t keep from voicing his reaction.
“Damn. Y’all should see this view.”
Upworth’s voice, crisp and familiar, sounded on his suit’s speakers. “We can’t see anything until you get the external camera array fixed. It wouldn’t be the same anyway. Contemplating it via projection is a long way from actually being out there.”
“Projection, smojection—why don’t you look out the damn window, hon?” With that, Tennessee continued suit-to-suit. “Ankor, let’s get the power back on so those poor folks canned up inside can take in the sights. I’m gonna give up on trying to describe it.” He paused briefly to check one of the brightly glowing readouts inside his helmet and near his chin. “Let me know when you’re in position.”
Efficient as ever, his colleague was already there. “I’m in position. Maybe because I’m not goofing off, enjoying the view. Let’s get to work.”
Grinning to himself, Tennessee used a power trimmer to cut away a damaged portion of one collector panel, then gave it a tug. While the diaphanous material was infinitely greater in expanse than the tiny figure of the spacesuited human, it also weighed comparatively less. His single pull was enough to send the torn section he had just excised drifting off, away from the rest of the panel and the Covenant.
Unspooling some thread-like cable behind him, he fired the propellant unit on his suit and, accelerating rapidly, headed for the far end of the mast. It took a while to cross the now collector-less gulf. Reaching the end of the damaged section, he secured the cable-thread and signaled to Ankor.
Receiving the directive, the other man commenced to draw the repaired collector taut.
A good start, Tennessee told himself. Now swing about, rotate the cosmos around your head, try not to get dizzy, and repeat. Operating as a single unit, both men moved methodically toward another damaged portion of the collector.
IV
Rooms and corridors inside colonization ships were sizeable out of psychological necessity. This didn’t matter to the colonists themselves, however. They slept on in their pods, dormant and oblivious, knowing they would not be awakened until the ship reached its destination.
Transitory coffins with transparent lids didn’t have to be expansive. All that was needed was enough room for a body to lie in comfort, and for the machinery and instrumentation that would sustain it in that biological dreamworld called hypersleep. The colonists could be—and were—packed together as closely as was technologically feasible.
It was different for an awakened, working crew. Whenever they were revived to perform maintenance, checkup, recharge, or other ship’s duties, it was important for them to have room to move about freely, and adequate personal space in which to relax. Otherwise, cosmic beauty notwithstanding, the fact that they were dozens, perhaps hundreds of light years from the nearest breathable atmosphere, the closest gurgling stream, the next cool falling rain, could drive even the most highly trained and well-prepared individuals quietly insane.