The Last Voyage of Commander Jenkins

The Last Voyage of Commander Jenkins

Lawrence M. Bates

I open my eyes. It’s light out. Then something that sounds like a Chopin nocturne starts ever so softly to intrude upon my still half-awake, still half-asleep consciousness. I begin stretching to get the kinks out only to find my elbows banging against the side of my crypt. Oh, yeah. Right. I’m Joshua Jenkins, the captain of the starship Montmartre on a colony prep mission. All the hoses and med devices and such have been retracted from my body and the lid to my pod has been popped open by Rosslyn. Hallelujah!  That means we’re in orbit around Kiroki 3 and it’s time for me to snap into action. It also means, as the realization suddenly dawns upon me, that I’m still alive.

The revival protocols kick in and I sit up to self-check for brain fog and atrophied muscles. The Advanced Life Support Hibernation Module (ALSHM), aka crypt, aka pod, is supposed to handle all the biological necessities for us while we’re in stasis. It must’ve worked, because I actually feel pretty good. This must be my lucky day. I step out of the crypt without any wobbling and sure enough, over in the corner right where I left it hangs my captain’s uniform. It’s a red jumpsuit with an insignia that reads “Commander Jenkins”, but by my lights a starship is still a sailing ship and I’m still this ship’s captain.

After getting dressed, I finally notice it. According to protocol, we’re all supposed to be reawakened at the same time in case something goes wrong and someone needs help, but the pods of my three-person crew remain unopened. I walk around the crypt room and inspect each pod. They seem to be operating normally with all vitals showing in the green. Something must be wrong.

“Rosslyn.”

“Yes, Commander Jenkins.”

I can’t resist. “Would it kill you to call me Captain Jenkins instead of Commander Jenkins? You know I hate that.”

“No, Commander. Calling you Captain Jenkins instead of Commander Jenkins will not result in my death or in any way disrupt my power supply. Did you enjoy the Chopin-themed revival procedure? That was one of the last orders you gave me before entering stasis.”

“Ah, yes, that was fine.”

“Good. That means that that aspect of me is still functioning properly.”

What the hell? “Rosslyn, why did you revive me and not the others? Aren’t we in orbit around Kiroki 3?”

“No, Commander. I encountered an anomaly which requires the Commander’s attention. Please proceed to the bridge. I have a briefing waiting for you there.”

“Ok, on my way.” Wow. A problem that needs human intervention. Scratch that. Commander intervention. As I walk down the corridor, my mind starts racing as to what kind of anomaly would short-circuit a ship mind. It’s supposed to be able to autonomously handle just about any contingency that the universe can throw at it. I’m used to Rosslyn and her eccentricities, but now I’m starting to get a little nervous.

I reach the bridge doors and am admitted by Rosslyn. “Rosslyn. As you can see, I’m here. What’s going on?”

The main viewing screen pops into life and shows a simulation of the Montmartre as it travels through space from Earth towards Kiroki 3, a journey of some 320 light-years. As the Montmartre gets to about 20 light-years from its destination, the simulation freezes.

“For six months”, Rosslyn begins, “the voyage of the Montmartre has proceeded without any significant incidents. Then two days ago the ship attained zero velocity and remains immobilized with respect to this sector of the observable universe at the location indicated by the red pulsing dot on the screen.”

“That’s impossible,” I say. “You can’t just stop in space.”

“Agreed. What has happened to the Montmartre is impossible. I have spent the last two days checking my systems for faults, but have found none. All my instruments report optimal functionality. I have tried using the attitudinal thrusters to maneuver and change our position, but to no effect. I then tried restarting the Leyton Drive on low power to see if that could get the Montmartre moving, but our position remains unchanged. Somehow, we have been frozen in place, and I have been unable to formulate an explanation let alone a remedy for this phenomenon. In a case such as this, default protocols demand that I revive the Commander and seek human assistance.”

I’m so shocked by this that I almost fall over backward before managing to recover my balance. Now I need to recover my emotional balance. Two months behind us is the Red Swan carrying thousands of colonists expecting to wake up and move in to a makeshift habitat that we’re supposed to have already prepared for them. Will they get stuck here too? My psych profile says that I excel at inhibiting panic and focusing on problem solving. That’s one of the reasons why SpaceLab made me a ship captain. More importantly, my psych profile also goes on to state that I’ve been evaluated out as a high-IQ, ultra-rational sociopath who doesn’t interact well with other human beings in what is classically referred to as a mentally healthy manner. This serves to amplify my predilection to make decisions based on mission priorities and not personal relationships. In other words, SpaceLab made me a starship captain because I’m a first-rate asshole, and everyone knows it.

“Rosslyn, something must be wrong with your sensors. This just can’t be happening.”

“Yes, Commander Jenkins. Either I am broken, or the universe is.”

*****

I instruct Rosslyn to try slowly revving up the engines to full power. We don’t move either backward or forward. In fact, alarms go off as the engines start overheating. “Commander Jenkins. I must turn off the engines or they will explode in 17.3 seconds.” A Leyton Drive explosion is not anything you want to be around. I wait another few seconds just to make sure, but nothing changes. “Rosslyn, power down the engines.”

“Yes, Commander Jenkins.”

I then order Rosslyn to revive my crew mates and instruct them to assemble in the dining room in two hours’ time, giving all of us a chance to settle into wakefulness. Arriving a little early is Padak Remanotra, a physicist. Tall, lanky, even regal in bearing, he grabs himself a coffee and sits down at the table. An attempt at small talk is made while we wait for the others but is soon abandoned. Oddly, when we talk physics, we get along just fine.

Thankfully, a few minutes later Susan Orman and Lee Sung wander in together chatting amiably. After all, they’re expecting this to be a pre-planning session for exploring and colonizing Kiroki 3 and are excited about finally getting the opportunity to do just that. Orman specializes in exobiology and so is by nature a bit quirky and somewhat whimsical. That’s ok with me. SpaceLab must consider these desirable personality traits in a person that you’re expecting to be able to communicate with alien beings.

Sung is a planetary scientist. Her disposition sours as she takes a seat and realizes that she must put up with being in the same room as me, at least for the time being. Understandable. Deep space exploration is not kind to fools, and back on Earth during training I rode her pretty hard while I took it relatively easy on Remanotra and Orman. She noticed, and at one point she just flat-out said that she hated my guts. In my standard charming style, I responded “Lots of people hate my guts, so don’t think you’re anything special for it.” Sung just harumphed, obviously unimpressed with my wit. As long as she does her job and follows my orders, then I don’t have a problem with her. We’ll see.

All three possess multi-disciplinary scientific skills and all three of them are a lot smarter than I am, and boy, do I need their expertise now.

Padak speaks first, asking “Where’s Kiroki 3? I didn’t see it on any on my screens. Shouldn’t we be in orbit around it?” At that point I explain to them the nature of our predicament. As expected, a chorus of “That’s impossible!” resounds through the dining room. Then I sit back and wait for the information to sink in and for them to start ideating.

Susan asks “Did you check Rosslyn’s logs?” “Yes”, I say. “Not in detail, but I didn’t offhand see anything unusual. One minute we’re cruising along at Leyton 12, the next minute we’re at 0. At least, according to Rosslyn. Rosslyn’s been running diagnostics for the last two days and hasn’t found anything wrong. That’s why she revived me – she doesn’t know what to do and neither do I.”

Padak starts thinking out loud. “Ok, assuming that Rosslyn is right, here’s a few ideas that could explain the stoppage. One. We’ve entered a black hole. Two. We’ve entered a void, a nullity, a region of non-universe where there’s no space for us to travel through. Or three, and this is a long shot, maybe this region of space is the result of two inflaton fields from two different universes intersecting each other resulting in a patch where the laws of physics that we’re used to no longer apply.”

Rogue black holes are a real problem in deep space, akin to the icebergs that our Earth-bound sea-faring ancestors had to contend with. I said “Rosslyn is designed to detect gravitational anomalies and asteroidal debris and make the appropriate course adjustments. As I said to Susan, a review of the logs contains no indication of any significant course corrections or major incidents encountered during our journey. As for a space-void, that’s something we’ll just have to find a way to test for.”

During this back and forth with Padak, Orman and Sung have been whispering to each other. Now apparently satisfied, they look at me and then each other, deciding which one of them is to present the material. Of course, it’s Orman who does the talking.

“Here’s what we think. It could be flypaper. Or a spider web.”

That’s a bit much, even for me. “That would imply that some creature is going to come along at any moment and eat this ship along with us in it. I reject that explanation because one, it’s too far-fetched for me, and two, if it is true, we’re done for. I don’t see how the Montmartre can fend off some gigantic galactic starship predator.”

Orman continues without missing a beat. “Ok, if you don’t like that explanation, how about this one? It’s a border wall, or perhaps a border sphere. Some alien race likes their privacy and this is their cosmic ‘Beware of Dog’ sign.”

Huh. I never would have thought of that. Leave it to an exobiologist to come up with an anthropomorphic interpretation.

“Or it could be asteroid protection” adds Padak, even though there are no planets anywhere near here that would need protecting. Still, who knows?

“All that sounds plausible” I say. But if it’s an asteroid protection shield, why are we stuck here? And if it’s a border wall, are they studying us? Vetting us before allowing entry?”

We continue in this vein for another hour or so. One option of course is to just go back into stasis and wait to see if something ever comes along to either eat us or collect us for an alien museum. Even if the wall is a naturally occurring phenomenon subject to dissolution over time, that may be ongoing for millions of years. Everyone, including myself, agrees that going back to sleep without knowing what’s up is a non-starter. Besides, we sign up for these missions because we want to explore, not sleep.

Sung finally finds her voice. “You know that you have to notify the Red Swan and tell them to go back to Earth.” “Yes,” I reply. Being overall Mission Commander gives me the authority to override anyone and anything. I could just advise the Red Swan of our situation and order it back to Earth and dump the problem back onto SpaceLab’s lap. “I’ve refrained from contacting them yet because I don’t want to have to abort the mission until we’re positive that we have no other choice.”

Eventually, we agree on a game plan that hopefully will lead to our getting out of this mess. Meanwhile, the Red Swan is still barreling head-long towards our position. Are they doomed to suffer the same fate as the Montmartre?

*****

We spend the next three days running tests. If it is one of Padak’s voids, then I can’t take the risk of exposing someone to this unknown environment. So first, we have a robot shove a probe out of the airlock. Surprisingly, the probe is able to maneuver around the vicinity of the ship freely. Also, we are able confirm some cosmological constants such as the speed of light via the probe and Rosslyn’s instrumentation as well. So, it doesn’t appear that this is some kind nullity.

Feeling adventurous, we next try extending the probe’s radius of exploration. We extend the range to a few 100 kilometers in all directions: up, down, left, right, backward, and especially forward. No problems. Padak suggests that the wall is mass-sensitive. To check this out, I take the shuttle out for a spin, just in case the wall is life-form sensitive. My spacesuit stays on in case the shuttle gets stuck and I have to hitchhike back to the ship. I take the shuttle out 1,000 kilometers in all directions and encounter no difficulties. The germ of a rescue plan begins to form in my mind, but I’m going to need Rosslyn’s help first.

I return to the ship, go to my cabin, and lie down.

“Rosslyn.”

“Yes, Commander Jenkins.”

“Is there a way for the shuttle to rendezvous with the Red Swan before it gets stuck here as well?”

“No, Commander Jenkins.”

“Why?”

“A message to the Red Swan ordering it to shed velocity will take approximately 4.4 weeks to arrive. That gives it approximately 2.5 weeks to match the shuttle’s velocity for docking and then set a course for return to Earth before getting stopped by the wall. There is no way the Red Swan can slow down enough or the shuttle travel fast enough to meet the Red Swan at that critical point.

Now it’s my turn. “Rosslyn. If the shuttle is located a safe distance away, would the shock wave generated by a Leyton Drive explosion boost the shuttle to the velocity needed to be picked up by the Red Swan and also leave enough time for it to reorient itself on a course back to Earth before hitting the wall?”

“Ahhh,” purrs Rosslyn. She spends a few moments performing astronomical calculations. “Yes, Commander Jenkins. That is possible. The optimum scenario has a Leyton Drive explosion that would actually propel the shuttle past the oncoming Red Swan as it slows. This gives the Red Swan ample time to turn around, build up speed, and recover the shuttle on its way back to Earth. Another pause. “Commander Jenkins, you understand that in order to detonate the Montmartre by overheating the engines, you must be physically present in the bridge to override my safety protocols.”

“Yes, Rosslyn. I understand.”

*****

I assemble the crew once again in the dining room and explain to them my plan. They shuffle uncomfortably in their chairs for a moment and then Padak says, “To be truthful, Commander, the three of us have also come to the same conclusion. We just never believed you would approve it.”

“Well, consider it officially approved. You have one hour to pack the shuttle with your personal belongings along with a couple of weeks’ worth of food. The sooner you launch, the better the odds are of your rescue. Get moving.”

While the crew is off busily packing, I make my way to the bridge. Rosslyn pre-programs the shuttle’s flight path. I send a data packet to the Red Swan’s ship mind. It orders the revival of Commander Strausburg as well as containing all the maneuvering instructions needed to avoid the wall, rendezvous with the shuttle, and return to Earth. There’s nothing to do now except wait for the crew to finish loading the shuttle.

The intercom crackles. “Commander Jenkins, we are ready for launch.”

“Very well,” I tell them. “Rosslyn. Launch the shuttle. Let me know when they’re in position.”

“Yes, Commander Jenkins.”

The intercom crackles once more. It’s Sung. “Commander, I just wanted to let you know that I still hate your guts.”

I can’t tell if she’s being serious or getting sentimental on me. “Good,” I reply. “That means you won’t experience any psychological damage from this incident.” The connection goes dead.

I’ve got some time to kill, so I kick back, relax, and put my feet up on the console. “Rosslyn. Play the Chopin please.”

“Yes, Commander Jenkins.”

I try imagining what it must have been like for sea-faring explorers of the past, like Cook and Columbus, sailing off into uncharted waters and unknown dangers. After some time, Rosslyn interrupts my reverie.

“Commander Jenkins. The shuttle has now reached a safe position.”

It’s time. Oh well, the captain always goes down with his ship. “Rosslyn. Disable all safety protocols. Bring the engines up to full power.”

“Aye aye, captain.”