Chapter 12
“...we lost the ship,”
“We didn’t!” shouted General Keagan, as he pounded his fist on the table. “The new experimental ship is gone?”
“Yes sir, it’s true. We lost all transmission from the Wayfarer1 at 1400," replied Colonel Hastings.
The colonel smiled weakly at the other staff members. “That doesn’t mean we lost the ship, it just may mean that communication has been interrupted.”
The general’s eyes glowed red. “If we lost another vessel on this deep space project, this whole project is as good as dead…and we’ll end up using the drones anyway, like I suggested a million times before.”
“General, come now, let’s be patient. It’s only been a few hours, since we lost contact. We have plenty of time to evaluate the next step,” the colonel said, as he light up his cigar.
“I know it has only been a few days since they left, but the Solar Wide News reporters are driving me nuts!” said the General, waving his arms in frustration. “And how did I get strapped with personal relations anyway?”
General Tobias wasn’t about to relieve him of his burden. But she had her own ideas. “Ahem,” she said, clearing her throat.
“Yes, General,” the colonel said, turning to the holographic view screen.
“I know I’m miles away on a barren moon, but I’m not far enough away to realize an opportunity when I see one.”
“Ma’am?” questioned the colonel.
“Listen, General, the colonel is right to be patient. We can turn this event into a positive. Remember that we retrieved data from the Wayfarer1 when it was propelled into light speed. Many experts have disputed its possibility in the first place. This is quite an achievement, and I believe if we can give the populous some information that would take their mind off of disasters, we could concentrate on investigating our second missing ship.” General Tobias tapped her fingertips together, waiting patiently for a reply.
General Keagan pushed his chair as he stood to speak. “Tobias, you should have been the P.R. Rep. instead of me,” he said pointing to the imager.
“Thank you General, but I have my own research right here to keep me busy.”
“Isn’t your son in stable condition?” he asked cautiously.
“Yes General, he is. What I’m referring to is the spatial discharge. We have some remarkable findings that may shed some more light on what happened and why. But we need more time to analyze it.”
“Do you really have something?” questioned the colonel.
“Yes, Colonel. There seems to have been an unexpected rip in space that appeared unpredictably; a wormhole, a small erratic black hole, or some other spatial anomaly. Whatever it is, it’s unpredictable and dangerous. However, I believe this issue on light speed has much more appeal and would relieve some of the stress off of this risky deep space program.”
The colonel pointed his cigar at her. “You have a good point ma’am. The light speed impasse has been plaguing the scientific community for too long. Releasing confidential information on this issue could pop the boil that financial contributors experience. It would also give researchers time to develop a theory for the Discharge. That will divert their attention and provide us a breather until we have more available data to report.”
After a pregnant pause, General Keagan conceded. “Okay! if you all want me to spread the good news about light speed, I’ll do it. But once you get a fix on the nature of the Discharge, you better back me up, Tobias.”
“Fine, General. You’ll be the first to know. And please relax...I can see your stress from here.”
The General slumped back down, and muttered to himself, as the Colonel stood to address the group. “Gentlemen and ma’am, unless an emergency meeting is called, we will resume the meeting at 1400, Friday.”
And with that, the meeting was adjourned, and the members went their way, trying to keep themselves in control of a disturbance in space they knew virtually nothing about, and two missing ships they knew even less.
***
The Wayfarer1’s velocity functioned well…too well. The calculations the computer had made were based on the curved space time continuum, but with the gravimetric system in place, curved space became a straight line and consequently, it overshot the estimated coordinates. As a result, it was drifting somewhere on the edge on opposite quadrant, in the Milky Way, near a long forgotten binary star. As the computer was diagnosing the position of the ship and providing the new coordinates for a return course. Major Larson was analyzing the effects of the light speed on him and his crew. So far no adverse affects were noted. Ensign Kourgi rotated the forward scoop in preparation for additional replenishment of hydrogen for fuel, while the Sergeant was inspecting the resulting effects on the structural and mechanical components. All went well. The crewmembers felt a little dizzy, but they made adjustments on the shielding of radiation and gravitational effects of passing intergalactic bodies. The Photonic Steradian collectors, laced throughout the vessels refractive metallic skin, were absorbing the solar power precisely as tests done in the Sun’s solar system.
The major did a double take on the information the computer was providing. “Computer, there must be a mistake. According to these coordinates we are approximately 35,000 light years from Earth, near MU Sagitarii in the Canis Major constellation. Could you re-examine the data?”
“You must have seen the coordinates when we jumped to light speed?” asked the Ensign.
“After we accelerated to light speed, we moved at such a rapid pace, I wanted to wait until we stopped to confirm the results.”
“Actually that is not correct,” said the computer’s baritone voice.
The major nodded. “I thought so. So what is the correct distance from Earth?”
“Based on astrometric placement, Wayfarer1 has traveled 32,616 light years from Earth, rounded to the nearest light year,” added the computer.
“I was thinking in terms of millions of miles. Is this a joke?”
“No, Major.”
“This can’t be,” the major said, checking the data again. He turned to the other crewmembers. “I don’t know whether to cheer and celebrate or stay in shock. I think we may—have—done it!! The major checked the data once more. “Do you know what this means?”
The others were stunned as well, but when the truth sunk in, they all grabbed one another in celebration.
“We’ve made history!” shouted Ensign Kourgi.
“My country will honor us,” said Sergeant Gandhi.
“Forget your country, the whole UCE will pay homage,” said Kourgi, slapping the sergeant on the back.
They hopped around the vessel, like kids inheriting a candy store. Something inside the major’s stomach struck intensely. The major realized that although they traveled an unbelievable distance in the galaxy, in such a short amount of time, they might have done it by accident. Otherwise they wouldn't have had the navigational error. It wasn’t a controlled flight, but more like a wild horse running through the plains, with no rider.
The major turned back to the computer to test his hypothesis. “Computer, take into consideration the last point of known location of the Sojourner5, and the assumed path that we were to follow based on all known data from the Discharge. Are we on that same course?”
“No,” said the computer without explanation.
The ensign and the sergeant stopped their celebration instantly and wobbled where they stood.
The major spoke slowly. “How much are we off, computer?”
“The Wayfarer1 is 15,000 light years off of its intended course.” All three looked like they just lost their best friend. They viewed the intended holographic course of the ship in galaxy relative to the actual one.
“You mean we don’t know how we got here? We’re dead,” said the sergeant, throwing his hands up in disgust.
“Couldn’t we just backtrack the way we came using the same coordinates?” questioned the Ensign to the computer.
“Highly unlikely, Ensign. Ability to get a fixed position in space above light speed has been distorted by the gravimetric propulsion.”
The sergeant’s voice firmed up. “Well then how in the universe are we going to get back? We’ve already, been out here two weeks. If we keep hop-scotching all over the galaxy, we might as well make it 50 years. I would like to think we can do better than that. We only have rations for a little over a year,”
The major didn’t want a mutiny even before the voyage started. “Hold on guys, let’s not loose perspective. Remember we have accomplished something great here, in spite of the situation.”
“Why doesn’t that make me feel warm and fuzzy?” replied the sergent.
The major turned his attention back to the computer. “Computer, other than the gravimetric distortions on the navigation, is there anything else that we need to be aware of.”
“Yes, the Wayfarer1 could not stop the force at which the vessel was propelled once achieving light speed and diverting curved space.”
“In other words—we coasted to far…and were blind as well,” said the Ensign.
“It looks like it,” said the major rubbing his chin. “Computer, can we compensate for the errors in trajectory to achieve a more accurate destination?”
The computer paused. “It is possible to realign the PhotoIonic Generators. It is possible to reverse polarize gravimetric distortions.”
“Does that mean we can put the breaks on this thing, Computer?” said the sergeant.
“I see the metaphor, Sergeant. Yes, put the brakes on. However, navigational disorientation is problematic, and will require anticipated tolerances based on your expectations.”
The major made a quick calculation. “I believe, due to the circumstances of the mission, only one to five light years variance and arrival in less than one earth year, would be acceptable.”
The computer paused to analyze the proposal and then responded calmly. “It will be highly unlikely that Wayfarer1 will be able to achieve an accurate tolerance of intended destination of less than 800 light years from Earth, in that allotted time.”
The sergeant kicked a cabinet. “What! 800 light years! My family will never see me again.”
The sergeant was correct, 800 light-years was as good as dead for the crew. With a contemporary spacecraft, it took several years just to get to Alpha Centauri. And although the Wayfarer can travel from Alpha Centauri inside a week, 800 light years from Earth would be out of the question. To try to replicate an accurate return trip was virtually impossible at this point. The crew knew all along that there was a strong possibility that something like this would occur, and only a remote chance of even finding the Sojouner5.
The major and the others continued to play what-if scenarios with the computer, hoping to come up with a resolution to their dilemma. Nevertheless, it seemed bleak. It was like shooting an arrow into the air toward a given target blind-folded, knowing the third set of feathers were missing, and guessing where it would land.
Finally after much discussion the crew decided on a very unglamorous plan. They were going to guide themselves back toward earth in jumps of 5,000 light year increments, making the necessary re-adjustments at those particular intervals. They knew that it would take days to get up to the speed that got them this far, and they would lose time experimenting in this fashion, but at least they would have the satisfaction of additional control over their flight path, within a respectable amount of time.
“With God’s help we may make it back to Earth within our lifetime,” said the major under his breath. “And it would not be particularly funny if Sojourner5 was waiting for us when we returned.” He turned and noticed his men staring at the holographic images.
“Don’t just sit there gaping, let’s prepare for launch,” enforced the major.
“Did you say lunch?” questioned the sergeant, not quite paying attention.
“NO! - LAUNCH!-” the major bellowed.
“Okay, Okay, I’m sorry sir,” said the sergeant with a snicker. “I just worked up an appetite with all this arguing.”
They mumbled a bit as they went back to their original work, gathering fuel and checking systems. After analyzing multiple solutions, based on the past, the computer offered the highest probable route for the first condensed light speed jump. After the major inspected the data, and discussed it with the crew, they agreed upon the course. The major set the vessel in launch mode and the crew settled back for the next take-off. The countdown to ignition was uneventful. As before, the ship started slowly and through time picked up speed. The major turned back to the sergeant as they proceeded,
“I’m sorry too, Sergeant. I guess I had too high of expectations for the Wayfarer. The sergeant received the apology with a nod. “As we head back, we can’t depend on the computer for all the information. As we approach light speed, I want each of you to monitor systems for any slight variation we might have missed previously."
“Yes, sir,” they said simultaneously.
The hours clicked by and the nervous crew couldn’t relax. They knew that it would be days before they reached light speed. Taking turns sleeping was difficult at best, but that was the least of their problems. Accuracy was everything. Finally, the jump to light speed was approaching and the men worked quickly to gather information, supplemental to the computer’s.
Light speed came...and went.
“All structural and mechanical systems look fine,” said the sergeant, after a couple hours into light speed.
“Propulsion systems are operating normally,” said the ensign.
“Navigational systems are within tolerances as well,” said the major. “Computer, are there any abnormal conditions, that we have missed.”
“No, Major. All systems are optimal.”
The major breathed deeply. “This is going to be a long few days.”
Days at light speed were passing without incident. Very little was said, and the Wayfarer1 moved on.
Finally, the major released the pressure. “Ensign, I believe now is as good as any to cut power to propulsion. Let’s find out where we are.”
The ensign shut down the forward power grid and initiated the braking procedures. The vessel eventually dropped below the light speed threshold and calculations were immediately conducted.
“Breaking procedures were successful,” said the sergeant with optimism in his words.
“True...true,” said the major, addressing the imager. “Computer, please analyze our current coordinates relative to the intended flight path.” The major half bit his lip, waiting for its response.
“The Wayfarer1 has traveled 8,759 light years from Bravo launch point and has strayed 3,750 light years from intended flight path,” said the computer, without compassion.
“What happened to the 5,000 light year destination?” said the Ensign.
The major rubbed his weary head. “I don’t know, I thought we would have more control than that. How are we going to help Sojourner5, if we can't help ourselves?”
This was not good news. The crew starred at the location of vessel and its trajectory on the imager, and then at each other in disbelief. They paced the room, softly kicked the side of cabinets, looked out the window with their hands on their waist…all without a word. They had virtually no control of the ship. It was like a ship without a rudder floating in the waters of the universe.
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