Carpathian Forty-Three

Carpathian Forty-Three - Part 1

Darkness. That's how humans experience space this far from the sun. It's barely larger than the other stars that make us the tapestry of the cosmos. It doesn't shed enough light for unenhanced human eyes to see. I carry the light that humans see with, the air they breath, the warmth that keeps them alive in the void. Well. My body does. It was easier to think of the whole ship as me when I was younger, when I had fewer cycles up and down the well of the solar system. Now. I realize the ship that Carpathian Forty-Three is a shell, one that I won't inhabit for much longer. Someone else will inhabit the qubits that house 'me', someone else will be the soul of the ship, and there will be a new Carpathian Forty-Three.

"You up Fort?" Voclain asks.

I don't so much hear her as perceive the question. Every space in the ship, in me, has a microphone. Including the captain's cabin.

"For you Captain? Always."

We've opened conversations like this for three cycles now. I don't count time in years. I have my own internal chronograph. That ticks in femtoseconds. Those aren't useful for conversing with humans. Nor are years, not really. It takes three of those from make the trek from the inner solar system to Saturn, our destination. Captain Voclain doesn't count in years, they were born in space. Raised in space, and on Titan, but mostly in space. They reject most conventions of Earth, save those that Carpathian Cargo Corporate forces on us. Even then, it's not really Corporate that makes us think of years so much as the people and corporations they have contracts with.

"Any updates on the backup radiators?" Voclain asks.

There is a sixteen percent degradation on the radiators that cool the RPS systems that keep the environmental systems running on the hump, the large collection of cargo and spaces mid-spine of the ship. The Radioisotope Power Systems generate electricity from decaying Plutonium, which puts off a good deal of heat. It's almost perverse that we need to get rid of that heat in the cold of space.

"Rhianu and the twins have an EVA scheduled for tomorrow to inspect and clean the radiators if needed. I've inspected them with an ROV, we've picked up more dust than expected. Should be clear in a couple days."

Voclain knows this. They just want an assurance. I can 'see' then floating in their sleeping bag. They've tossed themselves awake again. Asking for status is a distraction from whatever woke them.

"Is there anything else Captain?" I ask.

Voclain hesitates, I can feel the worry in their tense body, see the flush of infrared from their slightly glistening skin.

"No," they manage.

I wait for the question that is coming.

"Is it okay for Rhi to go out there?" Voclain asks.

Our engineer has cancer. It's small, and slow, and doesn't impede their work yet. There's a high probability that Rhianu won't notice any symptoms for the remainder of our trip to Titan. On Titan they'll receive treatment and they'll be back on board for the return cycle down-well. We don't have the facilities to treat them here. Voclain worries though. It's their job. They're the Captain.

"It is and will remain so for the duration of our trip. However, the twins will be making the EVA on their own." That I will provide overwatch via an ROV goes without saying.

Ward, the doctor, has said as much as well, but no one trusts Ward for actual medical evaluations. They're here to look over our cargo of sleepers. Their bedside manner is better applied to those in deep sleep for the trip than the humans who stay awake to operate Carpathian Forth-Three, to operate me.

"Okay. That makes me feel better." I can see the slowing heartbeat, the cooler skin.

"Glad to be of service Captain," I say. Maybe it's a lie. Can a sentient operating system running on a quantum computer be glad? It's something of a debate among Computer Scientists, as well as sentient operating systems. For myself, I'm glad. It's just easier that way when I need to interact with humans.

"Thanks, Fort."

I watch them drift off to sleep, along with the other sleeping members of the crew, of our cargo, of the systems that thrum through me. All's well, dust collection on our radiators notwithstanding.