Carpathian Forty-Three

Carpathian Forty-Three - Part 6

"Hand me those strippers?" Stephen asks. He nods at the toolbox magnetized to the deck.
Thak doesn't hear him. They're lost in thought, considering eventualities, most likely working out the numbers for how to balance the books on this cycle. Thak's good at that, we've been profitable for ten cycles now, not a record in Carpathian Cargo, but certainly respectable.
"Thak," Stephen snaps.
"What? Right. Strippers," Thak says, handing the tool over.
Stephen is running new communications lines from the classical computers in the command module to the drive module. More appropriately, they're scavenging dark wiring that exists in the spine to link the modules computers and systems. We've been upgraded and overhauled so much over the cycles that there are mazes of disused wiring and plumbing throughout the ship.
"I'm just thinking," Thak says.
"Yeah. I'm trying not to."
Stephen postpones grief. They'll feel it later when it's convenient. It's like watching a switch on their emotions. They aren't particularly animated in the first place, but after the crew was told about Rhianu's cancer Stephen retreated into work. They're doing it again after my own prognosis.
"No. It's just... I don't think this is going to work." Thak says.
I wondered who would figure it out. I'd assumed it would be Rhianu, but they are dealing with a lot of emotions, and they don't compartmentalize them as well as the rest of the crew. It's been a long few weeks.
"This line gets us as far as The Hump, and then we'll find another to get us down the spine," Stephen says confidently.
"Not this," Thak motions at the conduit that Stephen is working on. "This," they say, gesturing more generally. "We don't have the computing power in the classical systems to plot and course correct during braking."
I came to this conclusion this morning, shared it with Captain Voclain, was asked to remain silent until midshift standup. Voclain is checking my conclusions in their quarters, but I know they're right.
"We've been doing course correction classically for decades, we can switch back," Stephen says, finishing their splice and closing the conduit. "Come on, we need to find a line in The Hump that'll get us down the spine."
Stephen returns the strippers to the toolbox, trips the magnetize button and hauls it off the deck, pulling on a handhold, floating down the corridor in one smooth motion. They are perhaps the most graceful Lunan I've encountered. I should tell them that.
"But we're more aggressive now," Thak says, catching up. "We burn more aggressively and use orbits that aren't as forgiving. It decreases cycle times, decreases fuel costs, improves profit, but reduces our margin for error on orbital transitions."
Thak is smart with numbers. That's never been in doubt. They aren't a trained astrodynamicist, but they've run cycles from the inner planets to Saturn long enough to be a talented amateur.
"We manage because Fort can do the plots and corrections quantumly, but classically... I don't think we can do it."
Stephen slows and stops at the bulkhead before The Hump.
"How sure are you?"
"I mean, I'm not a navigator, but I can do the math."
"Fort," Stephen calls. "Can we process the braking burn and course corrections classically?"
I pause. It's noticed.
"I don't believe so. Captain Voclain is checking my projections," I say through the speaker on the Hump bulkhead.
"I trust Fort, but given the elevated temperature in their core, and the weight of all this, I needed to double check. We sent the numbers to corporate and got the validation back a few minutes ago," Voclain says at standup. It's more a 'float-up', being held in Engineering on The Hump. The meeting on The Ring was taxing on Voclain and Rhianu, a change of venue brings them comfort, at least physically.
"And?" Ward asks. Tact is not an attribute often ascribed to Ward. Voclain fixes Ward with a disdainful gaze that is lost on the Earther. It's not as much that Ward can't tell when Voclain is disapproving, it's that they don't care.
"They confirm Fort, with a few refinements."
Thak fidgets, pulling themselves 'down' to the deck rhythmically with their foot. Stephen becomes less scrutable if that is possible.
The air handlers whir quietly. The lights hum slightly, not that most humans would notice, the hum is too high-pitched.
"Can we break up the burn to make it more manageable?" Stephen asks, breaking the silence.
"Possibly," I volunteer.
"Not likely," Thak says. "Monsanto paid us a bonus to get to Titan in four hundred days. We burned hard to compress the schedule and we're running light to do it."
"It would have been nice to know that earlier," Ward says.
"You'd know it if you paid attention to pre-flight," Thak snaps.
"Maybe if you didn't drone on I'd—"
"People." Voclain uses their Captain's voice. Ward is always an agent of chaos. The tension in the situation isn't helping.
"What if we lose the cargo?" Stephen asks.
Rhianu and Thak both give them a withering stare. There are deep bags around Rhianu's eyes. The engineer hasn't been sleeping, taking on work to get the classical systems ready to handle ship's functions. The emotions around their cancer diagnosis and my own fate weigh on them, ironic for a Spacer who is ill-suited to weight.
"Those are people," Ward says.
Most of our cargo is people in suspended animation. Scientists, technicians, accountants destined for Titan. They're more precious than soil or refined metals.
"It wouldn't help much," I say. "Even with the lower mass you'll need to process at one hundred and twenty petaflops to make the necessary adjustments to course to settle into a rendezvous orbit with Titan."
"Integrating the classical systems we have gets us to seventy p-flops," Rhianu offers.
Stephen starts to ask something but stops themselves before they speak. If the ship misses its orbit, it will slingshot around Saturn and be thrown into an unknown orbit, the influence of Saturn's moons providing the chaos that makes such an orbit unpredictable. The ship's stores would run out before any rescue could be attempted.
"How many petaflops do we need Fort?" Thak asks quietly.
"Optimally one hundred and fifty."
"Do you have a quantum computer squirreled away we don't know about?" Ward asks.
"Actually," Thak says, "Yes. I just don't know if they'll interface with our systems."