Spaceship medic

Chapter 4

'There is no cause to panic - and we cannot afford even to get excited,' Don shouted over the voices and loud questions. 'I want absolute silence in here!'

It worked. The trained spacemen were used to taking orders, so they obeyed the command. Dr Ugalde was just as quiet as the others. Don was standing, and he remained standing as he swept his glance over the others, almost forcing them back into their chairs with the intensity of his gaze. Holtz was still standing in the doorway and, as he opened his mouth to speak again, Don stabbed an angry finger at him.

'First Engineer Holtz. You will close that door and be seated. Then you will give your report in a proper manner. Without being too defeatist, if you can possibly manage that.'

Don was not intentionally cruel to the older man. But he could not allow Holtzs panic to spread. The engineer flushed red and started to say something. Don would not hear him.

I said sit down first. That order was very clear.' Don was angry now and it could be heard in his voice.

Holtz wavered for a moment, then his shoulders slumped. He closed the door and dropped loosely into the nearest chair. When he spoke his voice was hollow with defeat.

Why fight? This was going to be my last voyage, now it is the last voyage for all of us...'

'What do your instruments read?' Don broke in.

The First Engineer's head hung down as he spoke, and his voice was so low that they had to strain to make out his words.

'Solar radiation... going up, going up steadily. I know what that is. Sunspots, a solar storm, and no way to guard against it.'

'What does he mean?' the Purser asked. 'We've ridden out solar storms before without any trouble. Why should one bother us now?'

'Could I answer that?' Chief Kurikka asked. Don nodded to him.

'We've lost too much water, that's our main trouble. The water in the ship's double skin absorbs most of the charged particles sent out by the solar storm, slowing and stopping them. Just like the atmosphere on Earth. With half our water gone there isn't enough thickness to stop the radiation. And if Mars Central is sending out a warning, this storm must be worse than most. It's going to be a tough one to lick.'

'But we're going to lick it,' Don broke in. 'Have there been any special precautions taken in the past for strong storms?'

'Yes, sir. We shift axis to point the reactor ball at the sun. This puts the mass of the reactor between the engine-room and the sun> so they are protected. Then all of the water is pumped into the emergency space on the head of the drum in that direction. As long as the ship keeps the correct orientation there is enough protection.'

'Do we have enough water left for that trick?' Don asked.

The Chief Petty Officer's expression did not change as he answered.

'No, sir, we do not.'

'But the engine-room will still be protected?'

'That is correct.'

Don smiled. 'Then that is half our problem. Passengers and crew to the engine-room for the duration of the emergency. Take care of that, Purser.' The First Engineer started to protest about the space, but Don waved him to silence.

'Crowding won't hurt us, but radiation will kill us. Well find room for everyone. But first we have to find a way to shift our axis. We will have to work as fast as possible because we don't know how much time we have. Yes, Boyd.'

'I think I can be of some help there,' the computerman said. 'We have had garbled radio messages before during solar flares, and the computer is set up to process them. Multiple recordings are made, since the same message is sent over and over again, and run through the computer. The machine picks out the meaningful parts and assembles them for a complete message.'

'That sounds good,' Don told him. 'Get cracking now on those recordings.'

'Yes, sir,' Boyd said, trying not to run until he had got through the door.

They all had important work to do and, one by one, they received their instructions and left. Only when they had gone did Don realize that he had nothing to do with the ships problems until they came up with some answers. His medical tasks were done for the moment. He had treated all of the injuries, and the two serious cases were in the sick bay and under sedation. They were both attached to telltales that made continuous readings of their blood pressure, temperature, respiration, heartbeat, brain waves and all the other factors that had to be watched. If any of these changed he would be warned at the same moment by the alarm on his belt.

For a few moments no one was bothering him and he could be alone. Sleep was out of the question. There would be plenty of time for that later if they avoided the present trouble. Even while he was thinking about this, his feet were making up his mind for him. Without consciously coming to a decision, he was out in the corridor and heading for the nearby elevator. The observatory, of course, that was where he wanted to go.

While the elevator crawled up its shaft he called the duty man in the control-room and reported where he would be.

The elevator went up from the outer skin, really inwards to the midpipe that connected the two sections of the spacecraft. When the elevator stopped and the door slid open, Don grabbed the edges and pulled himself forward. With gentle ease he floated out, hanging suspended in mid-air. As soon as he touched the far side of the padded midpipe he grabbed one of the flexible handles located there and pulled himself towards the observatory.

Since the spaceship, with its engines turned off, was in free fall, there was no feeling of weight or gravity at all. The rotation of the ship created centrifugal force in the outer deck areas. But here, at the centre of rotation, the forces were cancelled out and he could float as easily as a fish in water. The observatory door opened when he touched the button and he drifted on through.

As always, the breath caught in his throat at the incredible sight. Stars, rivers of stars, galaxies of them turning slowly before his eyes.

The observatory was a great transparent bowl at the end of the midpipe, where it projected from the drum. Here, without any air in the way to diffract and dim them, the stars did not twinkle. They were hot points of light, of different colours and varying brightness, filling the bowl of darkness overhead. It was easy to forget the transparent covering and feel the sensation of being with them, among them, a part of the infinity of the universe.

There was the sun, off to one side, its glare automatically dimmed by the material of the dome. It reminded Don of the storm, already brewing on that fiery surface, and he checked the radiation counter. It was up slightly, but not enough to cause damage. Going up steadily, that's what Holtz had said. How much time did they have before that storm of destroying particles hit? And what could he possibly do to save the lives of all the people in his care? He pressed his clenched fists to the cool surface of the dome.

If there was a time for despair, this was it, when he was alone and unseen. He was tired, almost exhausted, and part of him wanted to give up on the spot. Pass the buck to someone else. There in the darkness, he smiled at the thought. There was no one else: this was where the buck stopped. As a doctor he had been trained to accept responsibility for life and death. He had never thought when he took his Hippocratic oath that it would include being captain of a spaceship. He hadn't learned much about that in medical school! He smiled again at this thought and felt better. He would keep doing the job, to the best of his ability. That was the only course open to him.

The phone buzzed, loud in the silence of the galaxy-embracing chamber. He picked it up.

'Captain here,' he said, automatically now that the decision had been made.

'Control-room, sir. The tapes of the message from Mars Central have been processed by the computer. I have a transcription here of the complete message - do you want to hear it?'

'Just the figures. How strong is the storm going to be - and when does it hit us?'

'Just a moment... here it is. Force eight on the Hoyle scale. Ten is the tops, and I've never seen one over six before 'So it's strong. I get the message. Now, when is it due?'

'One and a half hours at the soonest. May be delayed a few minutes past that, but no more.'

Don silently expelled the breath that he had, unknowingly, been holding. 'All right. I'm on my way to control. Contact a passenger named Ugalde and have him meet me there soonest. And Chief Kurikka as well.'

Ninety minutes to turn the ship. It didn't seem possible. But it had to be done. Concentrating fiercely, Don found his way automatically back to the control-room, to face a furious Doctor Ugalde.

'The impossible you ask of me, Captain, and then to do it immediately. And then you interrupt! Such things cannot be...'

'Less than an hour and a half until the storm arrives,' Don said quietly. 'Our time has run out, Doctor.'

Ugalde's face went grey and he half-dropped into the chair next to him. 'Then... it is all too late,' he whispered.

'I don't think so. We are just going to have to make the manoeuvres by the seat of our pants.' Don had to smile when he saw the shocked expressions on the faces of Kurikka and the duty man. 'We have no other choice - and I wish you wouldn't look so astonished. You all know that commercial jetliners are almost completely controlled by automatic devices. Yet I'll bet you have all flown your own lightplanes or copters yourself. Spacers are no different. The first astronauts had to fly by wire when the automatics went out. We'll do the same. Kurikka, just what is involved in an attitude change, to move the axis of rotation?'

The Chief looked gloomier than ever. 'It's all done by the computer, sir. The astrogator feeds in the data and instructions, then we just sit back and watch it happen.'

'Isn't there a provision for manual control, in case something should go wrong?'

'There is, though we have never had to use it. Those controls there.'

Don went over to the indicated board and looked at the dials and switches. 'Now can you - simply - tell me what happens when an attitude change is made?'

None of this was by the book, and Chief Kurikka lived by the book. Yet he was intelligent enough to know that there were times when the book had to be thrown away. Reluctantly, in spite of himself, he came to the control board and switched on the screens.

'There are two television pickups,' he said. 'One in the bow, in the observatory, and the other in the stern. It's on the centre line between the main drive rockets. This is the bow picture.'

He pointed to the screen with the sun appearing off to one side, the same scene that Don had watched from the observatory. Kurikka continued.

'There is a track around the reactor sphere, just at the base of the main tubes. A small reaction rocket rides this track, moving in the direction opposite to our spin. This cancels out the spin so that the rocket always faces the same direction. A short burst is fired, just enough to start the ship tumbling, end over end. The ship turns until it is orientated in the new direction - then the computer fires the rocket again cancelling out the motion.'

Don looked at his watch, then forced himself to look away without seeing how little time was left. There was a simple answer here. Almost too simple, he realized. He turned and motioned to the Mexican mathematician.

'Dr Ugalde - would you come here please and check me out. You've heard what the Chief said, so you know our problem. The sun is now before our bow, just about 180 degrees wrong. Now, if the rocket were fired the ship would turn end for end in space. When the sun appeared in the middle of this stern screen we would be facing in the right direction, with the reactor between us and the solar storm. At that time the jet will be facing in the opposite direction, and if it were fired the rotation would stop and our attitude would be correct. Will that work?'

Ugalde frowned in concentration, then scribbled some brief equations in his leather-bound notepad.

'It won't work that easily,' he said. 'The second rocket blast must be exactly as long as the first, and must be timed so that it ends with the ship on the correct orientation...'

'Not the details, Doctor, please. Just tell us if it will work or not.'

The mathematician looked surprised. 'Of course it will work! Why shouldn't it? It is just what the computer does. You will be doing the same thing, only much more crudely.'

'Crude or not it's going to save our lives!' Don smacked his fist into his palm excitedly. 'Start now, if you please. With your theory and Chief Kurikka's knowledge of the controls you should be able to do the job between you.'

Now he permitted himself to look at his watch and he almost gasped aloud at how little time there was left. Less than forty-five minutes remained before the solar storm of deadly radiation would hit.

'Purser Jonquet on the phone for you, Captain,' a voice said, breaking into his thought. The duty man was holding the phone out to him.

'Captain here.'

'This is the Purser, Captain. There seems to be a little trouble with the passengers. I wonder if I could ask you to come here and talk to them.'

'Not now. There is no time. I'll join you there in the engine-room as soon as I can, and talk to them then.'

There was a moment's pause before the Purser spoke again. This time there was more than a little concern in his voice.

'That's what I want you to talk to them about, sir. They're not in the engine-room. All of them have had a meeting, here in the main dining-hall, and they say they aren't moving until they talk to the Captain or a senior officer.'

'But - don't they know that they are all dead?'

The Purser's voice was softer, as if he were whispering into the telephone so that no one would hear.

'No, sir, not quite. I did not want to alarm them so I deliberately kept the details vague as to the immediacy of the emergency. Could you come here and explain to them?'

Don thought swiftly - could he? He realized now that he had made a mistake in forgetting about the passengers. Treating them like cargo, or sheep to be herded around. Everything should have been explained to them earlier. Now he would have to tell them the truth. Quickly. There were only minutes remaining.

'I'll be right down' he said, and hung up the phone.

'Captain, this is most important,' Dr Ugalde called out as he saw Don rise.

'What is it?' Don asked, walking over to join them at the controls. The sun wobbled slowly off the stern screen while he watched.

'Here, see for yourself,' Ugalde said. 'In theory it is fine to say we turn the ship by eye and hand. In practice it is something different. It can be done, and we are getting close. But we cannot make as precise an adjustment as the computer, with a ship of the great mass of this one. The sun will be aligned correctly, but will drift slowly off. Someone must make corrections constantly until all the drift has been eliminated and we are orientated correctly.'

'Do you have any idea of how long this will take?' Don asked, hoping, but knowing in advance what the answer would be.

'Hours, surely. It is most delicate work.'

'Hours! That means whoever stays here at the controls will be unprotected from the storm and will be exposed to certain death.'

'I realize that... Someone must die to save the others. Is that not a good way for a man to die?'

Don looked at his watch through a growing haze of desperation. Just a little over half an hour left. It couldn't be done, there wasn't enough time for anything.

The crew and passengers, they were all as good as dead.