[center][h3]History Lesson 4 - “We Know The Way”[/h3][/center] OOC: This episode will include a few interspersed history briefs to set the stage for China Doll’s adventures at Asteroid AN-3872. Average flight time from Earth to [b]34Tauri(2020)[/b]: one hundred twenty-five years. Even the most casual student of history can understand the rapid pace of societal change. Time and again, the power of one idea had altered the course of human history, often for better, frequently for worse. Alliance sociologists had planned for these inevitable eruptions by implementing strict codes of conduct aboard the arks. All occupants would follow them without exception, for fear of a ‘three strike’ policy whose culmination resulted in the immediate death and recycling of the perpetrator. Severe infractions, such as murder, sexual assault, or endangering the vessel, could be, and were, dealt with much more swiftly. In accordance with the accepted psychological benefits of employment, all passengers were obligated to perform daily tasks. A regular work schedule, coupled to frequent ‘information’ transmissions broadcast throughout the ark fleet network, served not only the purpose of keeping the population desirably informed, but also staved off the impression of isolation. “Let’s get there together” became a popular slogan for Alliance broadcasts. This brand of social engineering proved mostly successful, though dissidents would occasionally make themselves known. Their histories can be deduced from vessel logs whose closing entries to these cases frequently read “consigned to reclamation.” The following Independent vessels had no such structure. Each became its’ own microcosm, a closed community either disciplined by reason or succumbed to the will of a charismatic leader. Little societies flourished, corrupted, and collapsed aboard these ships. Ideologies took hold, and frequently buckled under the crushing weight of space travel. Some vessels resorted to piracy for their sustenance. One such miscreant, SV Tempest, made a career of her predations until one day in 2165 when a mistimed approach resulted in a collision with her intended victim, venting the hull to space and instantly killing both crews. C/V Gossamer was more fortunate. Owing to her considerable size and tightly regimented passenger count she sailed on, her course heading one-three-seven lateral, three-zero-nine vertical. On this heading, she’d soar into the heart of [b]34Tauri(2020)[/b], with enough fuel to navigate and land upon whichever of the terraformed worlds the Alliance would dictate. [b]137L. 309V.[/b] Years passed. More vessels failed along the way, with maintenance of aging systems and brittle hulls breached now coming to the forefront. Many of these ships, like their unfortunate forbears, would spend eternity in a lifeless glide toward a new home never realized. C/V Gossamer had all the challenges of a ship growing old while in service. The sight of her engineering/maintenance crew, busy outside in their power assist exoskeletal suits, had become commonplace, as had early rationing and power conservation. The Captain and her descendants had no intention to follow the ghost ships to their catastrophic fates, imposing a firm discipline among the souls in her charge. Families were permitted two children…eventual replacements for the parents. As passengers died, their bodies were recycled to provide nutrients for both the hydroponic garden and the cricket farming center. Reports from the Arks…occasional scraps of errant transmissions… included innovations for use by the trailing ships. One such development was the blending of crickets and plant matter into a protein rich paste that proved vital to the dwindling food reserves of the ad hoc generation ships. People died. People were born. The world of C/V Gossamer carried on. She’d been on her journey for eighty-five years when her second captain died. It was during this year, 2186, that a thirteen year old girl sparked their greatest controversy. Shaniqua Tyler was a fragile child, her undersized physique displaying many of the perceived effects of lifetime space travel. Her bone density was roughly eighty-seven percent of Terran normal. When her reduced muscle mass was added to the equation, the result was a less than encouraging prognosis for a healthy life, let alone the ability to bear children. Under the somewhat draconian methods adopted for Gossamer’s management, the child was a prime candidate for the recycler. Her mother, LaShonna, a member of the ship’s engineering crew, developed a method that not only spared her daughter’s life, but provided benefits to the entire ship for the remainder of their voyage. One day, while working off her frustrations on an exercise bike in Gossamer’s gymnasium, she realized that not only were the bikes’ onboard displays powered by the simple act of pedaling, but that an astonishing amount of generated electricity was being permitted to simply drain away. Thus, a new passenger work assignment, ‘pedal power,’ was born. Even little Shaniqua could participate and make her contribution to a grateful vessel. The girl excelled, frequently volunteering for an average eight hours of pedal power per day. As her body strengthened from prolonged activity, so did her mind. She exhausted Gossamer’s video library, in addition to making deep inroads into the ship’s digital text database. Her mind sharpened, her inquisitive nature its’ blade edge as she tackled subjects of interest. Art, history, music, literature…all would soon have her name registered as a heavy user of their selected categories. Then, her curiosity turned outward, toward the stars themselves. Astronomy was the first step, though she quickly became dissatisfied with the earthbound star charts when compared to the observations made through a viewport. It was this sense of disquiet that would launch a deeper interest, and ultimately expose a crucial flaw. At first, celestial navigation was little more than a romantic topic. She loved the tales of sailors on the sea, judging their positions by reading the stars in the night sky. A favorite was a movie called ‘Moana,’ story of a young Pacific Island girl who took observations with thumb and forefinger. Curiosity thus piqued, Shaniqua devoured books, learning to master the sextant and azimuth ring. She understood from her readings that spaceflight navigation was a matter of point to point. Yet, with a viewport full of the same useful stars spread out before her, she reckoned that there was still a way to rely upon the stories they told. Enter mathematics. “I don’t understand,” her mother shook her head over the family’s ‘Taco Tuesday’ protein paste dinner. “You have the coordinates for Earth. You have them for 34Tauri. It’s A to B,” she gave a “back me up here” glance toward Shaniqua’s father. “It’s point to point, Shani. What more do you need?” The girl set her taco down; dad had over seasoned the food to mask the taste. “Yeah, mom, I know,” she agreed, “but if I know the velocities and headings of points C, D, and E, I should be able to track them too, right?” “Theoretically,” her father joined in. “I bumped into Professor Berghauer in the market. He told me all about how you’re pestering him…no no!” He lifted a hand to quiet her rising protest. “He likes it. You’ve got him fixating on this thing as well. I have to admit that most of what he told me went right over my head, especially when he talked about how gravity can bend light and distort your reading.” Shaniqua folded her arms. “Yeah,” she huffed, “but the more I think about that, the more I wonder if it even matters? I mean, ancient sailors still relied on those sightings, and they proved pretty accurate. Even Pacific Islanders…” “Moana,” LaShonna smiled. “I knew it.” The child stood her ground. “I can’t help if it actually worked,” she bristled. “I can’t use a sextant because there’s no horizon, but this?” Her hand waved, thumb and forefinger spread to form a distinctive ‘L’ shape. “I can plot the positions of two points relative to our course and speed. Been doing it for almost a year, and…” She stopped herself before the words might tumble out. LaShonna Tyler wasn’t going to let that one just lay. “And what?” She might be thirteen, but growing up in the Tyler family all these years taught her that crazy talk wouldn’t survive LaShonna Tyler’s ingrown analytics. With renewed interest, Shaniqua attacked the neglected taco. “CHILD!” The daughter withered under her mother’s glare. ‘You will speak.” The sudden mouthful bought her time, though seconds only. She could come up with something. But mom would see right through her. Shaniqua made a show of chewing her food, grinding it down to mush as her mind abandoned her. [i]No crazy talk, no crazy talk…[/i] “I think we’re going off course,” she blurted, doing her best to avoid wincing at the sound of her own stupidity. Mom’s reaction was…’Classic Mom.’ LaShonna didn’t glare, nor did her voice lift from its’ dinner table norm. She dabbed at her lips with a napkin, then asked, “Do you know what I did last week?” “No,” the girl’s eyes swept her plate. Here it came, the irrefutable logic, sidling up in a relatable commonplace tale. “I had to replace LED’s in some of our displays,” LaShonna reached for the pitcher. As iced tea splashed into her tumbler, she continued, “LED’s are hardy little buggers. Very low voltage. They’ll run forever…well, in this case, more like eighty-some-odd years. But they do eventually burn out.” She plucked another taco onto her plate, a move Shaniqua thought more an act of kindness toward her father’s cooking than prompted by appetite. “Which LED displays do you think I had to replace?” “I don’t know,” said a glum Shaniqua. Mom took a bite, her teeth slicing through the somewhat limp tortilla and its’ underlying filling. She chewed, swallowing the morsel which was quickly washed down by the tea, “Our course heading displays,” she replied. “It sems they’ve burned the same LED’s for so many years that they were eventually burning out. Can you imagine? The same numbers, one-three-seven lateral and three-zero-nine vertical. They haven’t changed, those little LED’s haven’t stopped burning, ever since we settled on our course back in 2101.” She paused for another bite. “Our NAV systems undergo scheduled maintenance and diagnostics. They have for years, Shani.” “But,” Shaniqua’s arguments were being systematically dismantled. Her right hand lifted instinctively, thumb stretched to create her celestial ‘L’ tool. “The readings I’ve taken. Almost a year now. They’re not adding up…” “Could it be,” LaShonna asked her daughter, “that your instrument has changed? Can you wear the same clothes that you did last year? The same shoes?” She smiled. “Shani, you’re growing up. Smart as you are, we’ve no doubt that you’ll be essential to this ship when we land in our new home. I’m not telling you to stop observing and trying to learn about the stars, but you have to understand that what you just said could frighten folk. With forty years left to our journey, a ship full of misinformed, frightened people could be a very bad thing. Don’t you agree?” “Yes.” “Good.” LaShonna traded glances with her husband. “Now, I know you’ve got some homework to finish? Get it done early and we’ll lay out a game. Sound good?” “Yes. mom.” A defeated Shaniqua Tyler took her dishes to the kitchen, before the unseen ‘whoosh’ of a door signaled the retreat to her bedroom. LaShonna ate in silence. Sensing her husband’s eyes upon her, she lifted her gaze. “What?” “Professor Berghauer,” he whispered. “What about him?” Shaniqua’s father leaned toward his wife. “He thinks she’s onto something. He followed up with his own observations, ran a second set of calculations. According to him, Shani’s numbers check out…” The instant stormclouds on her brow, coupled with an angry crook of his wife’s finger, bade him follow her in to their bedroom. Once sealed behind their door, she whirled upon him. “Do you remember how close we came to losing Shani to the recycler?” LaShonna demanded. “No one will take her seriously,” she jabbed a finger in the direction of their daughter’s bedroom. “But an old academic? If this thing gets out, Disciplinary Services won’t bat an eye about recycling them both!” “So how do we handle this?” “I can’t,” she shook her head. “If this thing comes out, we’ll all be under scrutiny. I’ll lose my job. We’ll lose everything. Dan,” LaShonna took her husband’s hand, “You’ve got to get word to Berghauer…remind him of the danger.”