[center][h2]History Lesson 6 - “Out The Window”[/h2][/center]


OOC: This episode will include a few interspersed history briefs to set the stage for China Doll’s adventures at Asteroid AN-3872.

[b]138L. 310V.[/b]

“It’s quite simple, really.”  In response to the growing unrest over Gossamer’s stunning course deviation, the Captain, at the urging of the ship’s Passenger Council, had directed the Chief Engineer and the ship’s Chief Navigator to hold an informal ‘town hall’ style meeting with a selected audience.  The Engineer cleared his throat and continued, “Gossamer was originally designed to conduct commerce within the Sol system, primarily the harvesting of ice and minerals from the rings of Saturn.  Her bridge and navigation systems were well suited to this task.  What we were not aware of,” he offered, “was the potential for deviation.”

The screen before him glowed with a transparent overlay.  Two planets hovered at opposite corners of the image, with a yellow line moving to join them.  “Here you see Gossamer’s projected course between Earth and Saturn.   If we zoom in, you’ll note a thinner, black line that is the true course heading.”  As he spoke, the yellow line grew in size and thickness until at it’s center could be very plainly seen a crisp black line.  “Now,” the Chief Engineer said, “we’ll fast forward that course all the way to Saturn.  Watch the black line.”   

The image moved, indicators placed to aid viewers’s comprehension raced past as the course line closed in on the ringed planet.  The large yellow line, Gossamer’s course, seemed to hold steady.  Yet, the narrow black line within began to shift, moving slowly downward.   “And we’ve arrived,” the Engineer proclaimed.    “You can see that, even in a Sol system run, the ship’s Nav equipment tolerated some deviation from true course…but they still arrived at their destination.  Now, let’s look at our journey.”

The onscreen image zoomed out to reveal the entire Sol system.  As viewers watched, the yellow line snaked away from Earth, moving at the same fast-forward speed as it raced past Saturn toward the far end of the system.  The bottom of the screen revealed a closeup of the course line, replete with overlaid yellow and inner narrow black lines.  This time, the graph indicators denoted the years spent inflight.  As the years raced by…2120…2150…2170…2190…the thin black line continued an inexorable march toward the edge…”until 2196, just over two weeks ago,” he concluded.   “We saw this sort of deficiency in the navigation systems of other vessels, early on in the migration.  That it took ninety-five years for us to realize the flaw in ours is a testimonial to the attention paid Gossamer’s original construction and outfitting.”

“Or to the short sightedness of her owners when they did a rush turnaround on her for this trip,” a voice shouted from the assembled crowd.

“I’LL REMIND YOU…” the engineer shouted to be heard above the sudden hubbub.  As the crowd fell silent, he started again.  “I’ll remind you that Gossamer and her sister ships were being refitted for passengers during a time when the Alliance was dismantling cities for raw materials to complete the Ark fleet.  I can’t speak from personal recollection; I’ve only got the captures and what my grandparents told me, same as you.  But I do know for a fact that the people who were readying Gossamer as a generation ship had to fight for every nut and bolt, every bunk, every scrap of food and drop of water they could load.”  He looked over the attentive faces.  Any more questions?”

“How do we get back on course?”

The Engineer took a breath.  “Our challenge has always been to preserve enough fuel for two pivotal events.  The first is a course correction burn that we expect to undertake once the arks have landed and begin beaming flight telemetry.  The second, and most important,” his eyes swept the audience, “is the atmo entry and landing phase.  It’s to those ends that we’ve all been working so hard to conserve our fuel, and,” he grinned, “why you’ve all got such toned legs from pedaling bike generators.  We’re looking at the best ways to effect course restoration using little or no fuel.  Once we have our correction course, we’ll keep you posted.”

Another hand shot up.  “You don’t have a corrected course?”

The engineer turned, casting a glance toward a nervous looking young man seated on the high stool behind where he stood.  “I’ll let our Chief Navigator speak to that.  Jay?”

The navigator lurched to his feet, his face a study in panic barely contained.  “We…um…what we’re doing…is analyzing data,” he stammered.  “As Patrick said, the system works great for…a shorter range.  We’re trying to…teach it…to handle the longer distance.”

A hand shot up.  Against his better judgment, he haltingly agreed to the question.  “Y…yes?”

Shaniqua Tyler stood up.  “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why teach that old dog a new trick?” she asked.  “We’ve been out here ninety-five years. Thirty more to go.  Even if you tack on a year getting us back on course, the current rig should put you in the ballpark if you feed it the right heading.”

Heads were bobbing; a murmur was rising in the crowd.  This woman was making sense to the great unwashed.  “It’s not that simple,” the Navigator attempted to take control.  “We can’t just punch in a new heading on the bridge and make this go away.  There’s a thing out there, thirty years ahead of us, called a marshaling point…”

Pity, she thought, that even now in the year 2196, [i]mansplaining[/i] was still a thing.  “Yes,” Shaniqua cut him off, “that’s the way point by which you’re hoping to make the final turn and lock into Ark telemetry.  So now, instead of teaching your navigation system, why aren’t you plotting the new course?”

A flush of anger was rising to his cheeks.  “In order to do that,” he said dismissively, “we’re developing a method of observational navigation…”

“You’re looking out the window,” she said flatly.

This raised a swell of laughter, which the moderator soon had under control.  “Chief Navigator Morris,” she gestured with an open hand, “would you like to expand upon that answer?”

“I would, thank you,” the young man’s eyes seemed to glance everywhere but toward Shaniqua.  “Looking out the window,” he forced a chuckle, “is exactly what we’re doing.  As we know we’ve got a course deviation, but can’t truly answer just how much…yet, we’re studying the surrounding stars in relation to our own movement, and working to develop a calculus by which to make reliable course corrections.”

Shaniqua had not returned to her seat.  Now, her hand was up once more.

“You have another question?” Morris asked, his tone less than enthusiastic.

“Yes,” the young woman spoke clearly.  “Have you consulted the report submitted by Dr. Julius Berghauer in 2188?”

This was met with a few audible groans, some muted laughter, and in this moment, the navigator sensed that this woman had just lost whatever hold she might’ve had.  “Sheer quackery,” he smirked.  “That nonsense was peer reviewed and rejected out of hand.”

As a derisive laugh rose around her, Shaniqua’s face was set in a pleasant smile.  “Well, Navigator Morris, let me share this much with you.  I’ve been looking out the window, too, every day for the past ten years…charting the stars and using Berghauer’s calculations.  His numbers work, sir.”  Again, laughter drowned her out.  She saw by the way the Navigator seemed to take refuge in the crowd’s support that exposing herself thus had been pretty much a fool’s errand.

“Well then,” the Navigator smiled as she took her seat, “now that we’ve heard from the conspiracy theory sect, does anyone else have a question?”

***********************

“That went well,” she thought glumly to herself as she tried to make as inconspicuous an exit as possible from the auditorium.  There was a service exit just five meters ahead.  That’d lead to a back corridor staff elevator that was largely unused at this hour.  She’d make her escape, spend the rest of the night gone fetal in her bunk, and then hope for a shift in an EV suit all day tomorrow…

“Tyler.”  A hand closed firmly upon her shoulder.  She turned to find Patrick Claiborne, the ship’s towering Chief Engineer, standing there.  “Are you trying to get yourself busted down again?”

“No, sir.”  She shook her head.  “I like my job.  It just…I know what works…”

The big Irishman rubbed his jaw.  Yeah, you held your ground in there.  So tell me, Tyler,” he asked casually, “when you ‘looked out the window’ every day for the past ten years, didja bother to record your work?”

“Every single day, sir,” she nodded.

For a moment, he only nodded, his lips pursed as he worked on his own thoughts.  “Tomorrow,” Claiborne ordered.  “My office, oh-six-hundred.  Be prepared to explain it to me as if I were a child.”

>>>TO BE CONTINUED<<<