Survey Ship

CHAPTER NINE

In the silence following Ching’s outburst, the sails rotated, slightly, so that they could all see the transparent shimmer of the film across the observation window; behind them the stars blurred. All sails set, Peake thought, and acclerating at full speed — to nowhere.

Ravi said calmly, “It can’t possibly be as bad as that, Ching. We have a known position for the colonies and for the T-5 cluster, and fixes for most of the known stars. Surely, once the computer is working properly again, we can find out exactly where we are, compared to where we ought to be, and reset a proper course to take us there. The ship is maneuverable, after all, it’s not as it was in the old days of the unmanned probes, where once set in orbit, the probe continued until it either crashed into something, or fell apart. We can maneuver fairly well; if we absolutely had to, we could cut acceleration, coast to rest inside the orbit of Pluto until we knew exactly where we were and in what direction we had to leave the Solar System, and then restart the drives. Theoretically, we could even turn ship 180° and decelerate back in the direction we came, to the point of the original error.”

Peake made a small weak sound, almost a giggle.

He said, “I can hear it now. We slide into orbit alongside the Space Station. They say, hey, what, back already? We told you not to come back till you found us a habitable planet. And we say, sorry, folks, the computer you gave us doesn’t work…”

Moira made a small finicky adjustment to the replaced sails. She reminded herself of a woman pulling herself together after a rape, trying to reassure herself I that she is still alive, still essentially undamaged, still able to function. She tried to recapture the ecstatic sensation of being at the center of a great web, controlling the movement of the ship, controlling the flow of the universe — it would not come. All she felt was the shaking of her own hands on the controls; the one thing that was real to her, the perfection of machinery, solid and without human fragility and limitations, had been breached. She looked at the sail blurring the stars and thought of the thickness of it, measured in micrometers. How frail and frangible it seemed, shivering in the vacuum, cold against space as she was cold in the heated cabin.

Teague was looking at the great disk of Jupiter, and. regretting the lack of the stability of a planet to take any sort of standard observation. He knew Jupiter’s position in the Solar System, but he did not know precisely where the Ship was and that meant that he had no way of knowing precisely where anything else was, relative to it. But he said, “We have an absolute set of locators out there; Jupiter and its moons. We can find out precisely where they are and where they ought to be at this moment in Universal Time—” he gestured at the cumbersome True Time figures still streaming, [ with relentless, pulsing precision across the room of the cabin. “Even if we had lost all the cosmic data in the computer, we could re-calculate it all from the position of Jupiter and the Sun.”

The Sun’s disk, very far away, very dim and pale and only a blot against the stars, at a far corner of the lenticular window, seemed incredibly distant. Suddenly there was the loud clanging of an alarm; they all jumped, and Fontana gasped as the red pulse of an alarm-light flicked on and off.

Moira’s hands were already moving, trimming sails. She said, “I’ve got it; just a proximity alarm; a hunk of debris.” She reached to cut off the sound, the vibrating red carbuncle of the emergency light. “Wherever we are, I don’t like it here and I suggest we change course enough to get well out of the plane of the asteroids. We aren’t maneuverable enough to run the gauntlet of the asteroid belt.”

Ching, by automatic reaction, touched the computer console, and stopped dead, her hands frozen. She said weakly, “That’s no good, Teague. You know where we are in reference to the asteroid belt and Jupiter—”

“I can get us well off the plane of the ecliptic, and that’ll keep us away from most asteroids,” Ravi said, “but Ching, you’ve got to do something about the computer as fast as you can. How long will it take you to check it out?”

“There are a few things I can do right away,” Ching said, “I can probably have some idea of what’s wrong inside a few minutes.” She touched a few buttons, frowned at the results, repeated the process. Then she whistled, a small, sharp sound.

“Peake,” she said, “enter the course you laid. Let me watch you do it.”

Slowly, meticulously, rechecking it with the tiny calculator which was part of every navigation student’s permanent equipment, as much a part of him as his head, Peake found the figures and ran them into the computer. Ching watched, frowning a little.

“Now you, Ravi. Show me exactly what you did.”

Frowning, Ravi complied.

“All right,” Ching said, “I know what’s wrong. Or — wait,” she qualified, as five faces turned to her in expectant hope, “I’m not sure whether there are mechanical bugs in the computer itself; I’ll have to get in there and find out. I’d have to do that, anyhow, to find out what’s wrong with the DeMags, if Teague and Moira are sure there’s no mechanical problem in them. But I know how we can get, at least, mathematical right answers out of the computer, because I know why it’s giving us wrong answers. Ravi, are you aware that when you were converting the acceleration factor into days, you divided everything by twenty-four instead of twenty-four point zero?”

“As a mathematician,” Ravi said, offended, “in a simple arithmetical function, there is no difference whatever between twenty-four and twenty-four point zero.”

“Quite right,” Ching agreed, “in a simple arithmetical calculation, and that’s why the answer the computer gave you was wrong and you knew it was wrong. It’s as if you’d asked it how long it would take to get to the orbit of Pluto at one gee acceleration and come up with a figure of eleven hours — utter nonsense that any mathematic idiot could spot. Or getting a figure of eighteen kilometers for the diameter of Mars. Only when the figures are astronomical, it’s not so easy to check them. Normally, the computer — no, never mind, we stipulated that none of you has any computer sense. But I’ll have to explain this so that we can get right answers out of it.”

She frowned, fumbling for words which would explain to them something which was transparently obvious to her, now that she saw what had happened, but which would be as obscure to them as some of Peake’s medical textbooks were to her. Finally she said, “I feel like a fool; Ravi’s the mathematician, and it would be insulting his intelligence to suggest he didn’t know the difference between a real number and an integer. But to the computer there’s a tremendous difference — they’re stored in a totally different format, and a real number is stored in twice as much space as an integer. Normally, the computer will convert all the integers to real numbers when they’re used in arithmetic with real numbers, but now there seems to be something wrong with the Float subroutine, which should be doing that. So when the computer goes to do arithmetic, thinking it’s using a real number, it picks up the integer and whatever is in the storage space next to it — giving results that can only be described as ”unpredictable.“ Which means that even if you add two and two, you’re likely to come up with five or sixteen, and when you get into complicated mathematical calculations, you have very serious difficulties. All right; we can still get the right answers from this thing—” she touched the console, frowning, “as long as we are very careful to float everything before we input it — in other words, don’t put in any number, not even an exponent, without a decimal point. Or we could try putting everything in a binary—”

“Not on your life,” said Moira with a shudder.

“Binary is as simple as our normal decimal system, once you get used to it—”

“But I don’t have time to get used to it just now,” Moira said.

Ching nodded. “In any case, we should still be able to get the right answers — assuming that we input everything as a real number, and assuming that the Float subroutine is the only thing malfunctioning — but we still shouldn’t trust the computer until I have a chance to check everything out. And that includes programs already built into the computer as well as the ones we’re putting in ourselves.”

Moira asked soberly, “Is there any possibility that the meteor damage was to the computer module?”

They could all, Fontana thought, see the implications of that. Mathematical computations for the navigation, after all, could be done with the aid of their calculators, checked by Ravi’s talent. But the computer was literally in charge of every other function of the ship. Gravity. Life Support. They were still running on stored food, but soon they would begin molecular synthesis of every mouthful they ate. Teague could see it too; he said wryly, “No chance the life-support computer tie-ins are screwed up? All we need is for the computer to start synthesizing H₂SO₄ instead of H₂O!”

Fontana shuddered. Ching said soberly, “I can’t entirely exclude that possibility. I’ll get inside the module as fast as I can, and check every unit inside it. No, I don’t think there was damage to the computer module; the tests showed the integrity of the module undamaged. But even if it wasn’t holed, we can’t rule out secondary impact shock as a possibility. Or — considering that the first failure of the DeMags was before the impact — the possibility of some defect in programming, or some damage inside to the storage apparatus.” She stood up and stretched nervously. “Crisis over. Just make sure I okay every figure you enter in the computer before you put it in. Ravi, do you know where we are?”

He bit his lip. “I will, before long,” he said, “I’m getting a fix on Jupiter and three of the moons, and triangulating with the Sun; fairly soon I’ll know our exact position relative to where we ought to be. Whether we can get back there without running the gauntlet of the asteroid belt, that’s another thing; we may have made a critical mistake before we crossed the orbit of Mars, and it’s just possible that the whole asteroid belt is between us and the direction we had intended to go. And unless Ching says the computer is back to where we can rely on it absolutely, I don’t think we ought to make any major course corrections. There might be some kind of glitch in the mechanism which regulates the drives, so that we enter into the computer exactly what we want the Ship to do, and how we want to maneuver, and instead the Ship does something else.”

He could see Moira shudder, and she lifted her hands from the sail controls and stared at them curiously, in a helpless way that seemed wholly at odds with everything he knew of Moira.

He said, “I can see now why they wanted a psychic on the crew, Moira. You knew, before we were holed. And you knew the damage was in the gym.”

“But not in time for it to do us any good,” Moira said, tightly. She lowered her eyes and would not look at him.

“I think the first thing for us to do is to deal with the damage in the gym,” Teague said, “and to check out all the Life-Support equipment and verify that it’s working exactly as it should—”

“No,” Peake said steadily. He started shucking his pressure suit. “After this kind of crisis, we’re all drained and blood sugar is dropping, so we get panicky and start imagining all kinds of horror. As you said, we’re working on stored food, so there’s no danger of getting something lethal because the synthesizers aren’t working. I suggest we go and have that dinner we were about to have when the meteor struck us.”

Only Ravi protested. “I don’t want to leave the Bridge until I’m sure we’re safely out of proximity to the asteroid belt—”

“At the rate we’re going, that will be about six minutes,” Peake said shortly, bending to check what he was doing, “and you need food just as much as the rest of us. Anyhow, even if we were out beyond the orbit of Neptune, there would be no way to exclude the possibility of a grain-of-sand type hitting us again. It’s about as unlikely as the sun going nova in the next twenty minutes. Come along and have some dinner, Ravi; sitting there in that chair isn’t going to keep all the little meteors out of our path!”

“You too, Moira,” Ching said, stopping behind her chair. “You’ll think more clearly with some food inside you — and I know I will, too.”

Peake slung his pressure suit over his arm. He said, “All of you. Bring these, and the helmets, back to me— main cabin and store them right where they were. You can see, now, the importance of having them accessible in every module, at every moment!”

As they pushed, one by one, into the free-fall corridor which would take them back to the main cabin where the food console and their musical instruments were stored, Teague bounced up behind Ching. She had taken off the helmet of the pressure suit, and had it tucked under her arm; the heat of the suit made her dark hair cling in wispy little tendrils to the back of her neck. He pried her hands loose from the crawl-bar. “Come on,” he said, “I’ll hold on to you. I won’t let you get hurt. You’ve got to learn not to be afraid of it. Ching. Come on, put your arms around my neck.”

Hesitantly, she complied, feeling his rough cheek against hers. Somehow the feel steadied the lurching sickness inside her. Under ordinary conditions she very much disliked touching anyone, feeling they were all too aware of her difference; she knew how they felt,

that she was not quite human… as if the genetic tinkering had had some monstrous effect on her, freakishness, and if they touched her, the strangeness would somehow rub off; she had learned to keep herself rigidly away. Only, under the multiple shocks of the past hours, Teague’s strength felt warm and comforting, she wanted to cling to him and cry. She wound her arms around him with relief, hiding her face as he pushed off and they flew the length of the corridor, coming up with a soft bump at the far end. Teague pushed her gently through the lock and they were in the familiar gravity of the main cabin. She clambered down from his arms, began to strip off her pressure suit, hanging it in the rack, She felt self-conscious about the way the thin tunic clung, wrinkled and sweaty, to her small breasts.

“I ought to go and shower and put this thing in the disposal!”

Teague chuckled. “We’re all the same. Look,” he said, laughing at the long rip in the thin nonwoven fiber of his pants, “I’m practically exposed! Not that it makes any difference here, for heaven’s sake, we’d all better get accustomed to the sight of each other’s bodies. Unless we need clothes for protection, I see no reason we should’t go nude at least part of the time. You’re not prudish, are you, Ching?”

She shook her head. She had grown accustomed, certainly, to the sight of nude bodies — about half the athletics at the Academy were done co-educationally and in the nude, clothing being worn only where needed for support. Full-breasted women like Fontana had needed some support when running or engaged in active sports. Ching was thin and small-breasted and never needed them; but she had never been one of those who felt more comfortable in the nude, and had in general worn at least a minimum of clothing. Teague, she remembered, had usually preferred to go naked in the gym or swimming pools. She said, trying not to feel embarrassed at her own unwillingness to do the same, “You don’t have to wear clothes for my sake, Teague. Whatever feels comfortable.”

“Thanks.” Teague stripped off the thin fiber suit and thrust it into a disposal chute. He noticed a stray sheet of the music paper he had covered with a scribbled note, lying on the floor; caught it up and started to send it down the chute after the paper suit, but Ching caught his arm.

“Teague, don’t. Finish it first. I really want to see how it comes out, and I’m sure Peake would, too. He’s enough of a musician—”

“Enough of a musician not to appreciate anything less than Bach or Mozart,” Teague said, wryly, but he did slide the page into the bin which held his flute, Ravi came in, saw Teague’s nude body, and said, “That makes sense.” He took off his pressure suit, pulling off part of the wrinkled fiber suit under it. As Fontana and Peake and Moira came in through the sphincter, Ravi asked, “Does anyone here seriously object to nudity? We could conserve material for clothing by wearing it only when we’re doing dirty work, or want protection.” “I don’t mind anyone else going naked,” Peake said, “but I like something between my bottom and the seat of the chairs.” He hung his pressure suit and helmet in the rack, went and dialed himself some food from the console.

“I handle that by putting a towel or something on the seat,” Teague said, taking a small handful of fiber towels from the dispenser at the bottom of the food machine and putting them over the seat. “We recycle the towel material anyhow.”

“I don’t care who wears what, either,” Moira said, “and personally I prefer to go naked about half the time. As long as one thing is made perfectly clear — that it’s not a sexual invitation. When it is, I’ll make it obvious. If people can distinguish between simple nudity and putting my body up for grabs, I’ll go naked. Just don’t get the wrong idea, anybody.” She stripped off her own crumpled tunic and pants, got herself a plate of food, and sat down to eat.

Ching felt abashed and embarrassed at her own unwillingness to follow suit, as if she were a spoilsport. I envy Moira’s confidence, she thought. I wish I could do that.

Fontana said, “Well, I prefer wearing clothes. My skin is sensitive, and I prefer not to shiver with every stray draft. Anyhow, I prefer to keep nudity for private occasions, if nobody minds.”

Ching thought, well, if Fontana feels that way too, at least I’m. not the only one!

Ravi’s eyes followed Moira; her pale skin was freckled all along the back, too, and her small breasts hardly more than brown nipples, the body of a girl of twelve. Fontana and even Ching had more sensuous bodies, but he remembered, with a quick stir of sexual memory, how intensely he desired Moira. Damn; and she had made it very clear how she felt about having that associated with simple nudity. Maybe that was the trouble with nudity, that it was hard to refrain from making those associations here, when you were with a woman you had known. In the gym, or even on the Bridge, where they were deliberately doing something else, he might not have betrayed himself but here he knew he would do so.

Peake watched Teague bringing a tray toward Ching, looking again with appreciation at the heavy layered muscles, the thatch of curling red hair on Teague’s chest and the matching red patch below. He was acutely conscious of his own body, thin, dark, gangling, awkward, bones protruding with almost skeletal impact, Ugly, he thought. It’s not that I’m black. Ravi’s darker than I am and he’s beautiful, he’s one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen, but I’m a damned scarecrow.

Teague saw the direction of Peake’s gaze, and the interest and admiration in it, and felt suddenly abashed, turning his eyes away. Maybe all this nudity wasn’t such a good idea, maybe I shouldn’t have started it.

He carried his own tray over toward Peake and sat down at the edge of the long seat. He lowered his voice to where only Peake could hear.

“Listen,” he said, with some embarrassment, not knowing quite how to phrase it, “I can’t put it quite the way Moira did, but does my running around this way bother you, Peake?”

“Hell, no,” Peake retorted good-naturedly, “I was just admiring the crop of muscles you’ve got. No matter how hard I train, and I’m pretty husky and perfectly fit, I keep on looking like a famine victim!”

“Well, you’re an ectomorph,” Teague said, feeling awkward. He moved the tray over his lap, lowering his eyes, and began to eat, wishing he had not brought up the subject. Peake said deliberately, “Let’s get one thing straight, Teague. Sure, I like men. I prefer sex with men. But I don’t go around leching about them, not even when they’re running around in the nude; I got used to that in the gym at the Academy before I was twelve years old. If I reacted all that much to nude males, I’d have gone crazy a long time ago. And there’s one thing you’d better realize. I prefer enthusiastic co-operation in my — shall we say, encounters. Disinterest, or even tolerance, turns me off — way off. And the notion of rape makes me just as sick as it makes any other decent man. Clear?”

Teague stared at his lap and mumbled, “Yeah, clear.” And suddenly, perversely, he found himself aware of Peake’s slender, dark body, the graceful fingers moving on the spoon. “No offense, Peake?”

“Not a bit,” Peake said with deliberate cheerfulness, scooping up the last of this rice, and went to put his plate through the disposal.

Ugly. Ugly as sin. OnJy Jimson ever thought any different, and he’s gone.

Teague went back to Ching, who was picking at the food he had brought her. “You look tense,” he said gently. “Here, let me rub your neck.” He leaned over her, his firm fingers kneading the tight muscles, feeling her relax, gradually, under his hands. He kept on massaging, transferring the smooth motion down between her thin shoulder blades, and after a bit persuaded her to lie down on the seat, bending over her to knead her back muscles.

She said drowsily, “I’ll fall asleep if you keep doing that.” She was amazed at herself; once again, her body was betraying her, not this time with sickness, but with a flood of warmth, of lazy, sensuous awareness; she felt that she could lie here forever, with Teague’s hands moving on her body.

He leaned over and whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear, “I’ve got a better idea.”

Momentarily Ching went tense under his hands; then, still mesmerized by the caressing movement, she thought, Why not? Her body was very alien somehow, she felt she did not recognize it. She let him scoop her up, half-carry her to the door; he held her as they floated through the free-fall corridor.

I cannot trust my body, I cannot trust the computer. But I feel I can trust Teague. Why not? And then, defiantly, Why should I be the only woman in the crew who doesn’t know what it is to have sex with a man?

But in her own cubicle, as he was gently taking off her clothes, a wave of diffidence, of awareness of her own difference, overcame her again.

“Listen, Teague,” she said shyly, “I’m not sure I — I mean, I’ve never done this before, I’m not sure I’ll — well, know how. Except, you know, sort of theoretically. Do you mind?”

Teague was overcome with sudden warmth and sympathy. He bent close, kissing her, gently prying open her inexperienced lips. He whispered, “No, Ching, I don’t mind at all.”