The spacecraft, New Dawn, had left its Tridon orbit three days ago. The New Dawn was the name the Space Operations Directorate gave to the ship. On every mission, the spacecraft bore the mission name. It was standard practice, but usually, they named a spacecraft with something clearly related to the purpose of its mission. No one knew why it bore this name.
Retepin, the Senior Pilot, glided into the Command Center with swim-like motions – the usual way everyone moved in the weightlessness of space.
Light from the three large monitors on the front console cast flickering shadows on the cabin walls. Tiny lights on the walls near the floor and ceiling cast a soft, dark blue glow. Three seats, positioned just behind the console, were reserved for the commander, a navigator, and a pilot.
Overhead panels angled toward the three seats within easy reach. They held rows of tiny lights and switches. Back behind the console seats were five rows of unoccupied crew seats. Finally, at the front of the compartment was a large screen that could display video from any of the ship's cameras.
“Gergin, how's the MDC going?” Retepin asked.
The dark silhouette, partially blocking one of the console monitors, turned. Gergin, despite the low light, could easily see his friend.
“Nearly done. The modifications to our ship added more to review,” the Senior Navigator replied.
At the departure of every mission, the crew recorded instrument readings and checked everything that monitored the ship's systems. Most important was the alignment of the six gyroscopes to a defined direction in space. The ship's orientation was always relative to that direction. All navigation data – angles to stars – was also related to that reference direction.
A senior officer reviewed the MDC checklist to ensure the departure procedure was complete and hadn’t raised any red flags. Gergin had done this tedious procedure at the start of many missions.
“I’m glad you’re doing the MDC,” Retepin said. “These long checklists are the worst part of being an astronaut. What's our flight status?”
“We’re still on the computer-generated departure course. Fuel consumption and velocity are nominal. All flight parameters are within their normal range.”
“No surprise there. Hey. What's with all the secrecy about this mission?”
“I don’t know. The Directorate classified this one at the highest level. That's never happened before.”
“Some dratsabin down there must be on a power trip. They wouldn’t let anyone but the Commander participate in the planning, and they always screw up something,” Retepin grumbled angrily.
“This whole mission is strange! Every order ends bluntly with the words, “Security Level Extreme- Crew Eyes Only.” But their orders never explained the mission. And we haven’t had the usual Mission Launch Briefing,” Gergin replied.
“Crocit. Those Directorate desk-sitters couldn’t open an airlock. And they made all the modifications to our ship with minimal testing! That violates long-established protocol.”
The entire crew shared the officer's frustrations. There had never been so many major modifications to a spacecraft done so quickly with so little testing. The ship was nearly triple the size of anything ever flown before. Everyone was on edge.
“I trust the Commander, but I don’t feel good about this mission. Am going down for a cold dianoma. Want one?” Retepin offered.
“No. I’m good. Are all those civilians still wandering around?”
“The Medical Specialists are starting them in sleep mode. Heard there were some cute ones.”
“Yeah. Nerrawin couldn’t stop talking about a girl that got his attention. We’ll have to keep his mind on navigation!”
“Good luck doing that.” Retepin glided out of the Command Center
Gergin was absorbed in finishing the MDC when his communicator sounded, “Enaida here.” He was abruptly jerked back to reality and remembered she was working his shift – they had arranged that when the officers set the schedule.
“Gergin here,” he replied.
“All our payload is doing well. All vitals in the normal range.” Her voice sounded devoid of emotion, no indication of their relationship. Their training dictated emotionless communication no matter the situation.
“Noted, Enaida.”
There was a pause, and he heard, “Permission to come up? My assistant will monitor the sleep capsules.”
Gergin thought the strict radio protocol was too formal and stiff for routine matters. On some flights where the crew knew each other well, they had been more informal. But he knew this flight was different.
“Permission granted.” Gergin took a deep breath. He needed her company.
He remembered back to the day they learned who would crew this mission. This crew was several times the usual size, including many who had not served together. In addition, the large number of medical specialists didn’t make sense at the time.
While in orbit around Tridon, the crew had been on their best behavior. There was a palpable fear that someone would complain to their superiors about some indiscretion. That could end a career.
Enaida had experienced the same tension and shared her feelings with him. The anxiety worsened when they learned “civilians” would be on the flight. No previous mission had ever included civilians. She was sure some would be judging them and reporting back to the authorities. She didn’t know that, but no one completely trusted the ruling class.
Gergin waited for Enaida. Then, when she floated through the open passageway bulkhead, he felt an instant sense of relief. Her beauty pushed all worries aside. She smiled as she saw him. As she approached, he felt a tinge of emotion, and his pulse quickened. They pressed their cheeks tightly together, expressing their affection.
She floated to where Gergin was seated, propelling herself by a pull here and a push there on whatever was within reach. Tridonians had huge, round eyes shielded by an overhanging brow. Her expression told him immediately she desired to be with him just as much as he needed her.
“Getting those people in their resting capsules was exhausting,” she sighed. “We gave them several days to adjust to the ship and didn’t start putting them down until the day before yesterday. Complaints, excuses, questions – I needed a laser prod!”
“Didn’t they train for sleep mode on the ground?”
“They sure didn’t act that way. Several insisted they were special and wanted to speak with the Commander. One guy actually said he was in charge.”
“How did you handle him?” Gergin grinned.
She uttered fluttering vocables, the Tridonian way of showing amusement.
“I explained the Commander had given strict orders, no exceptions. And I told him there would be an opportunity to meet with him later in the mission.”
“What are the civilians like?’ he asked.
“They are from the three classes. Some Mamlaka. They are very arrogant and bossy. More Rabizuts. Mostly teachers, doctors, nurses, and engineers. The largest number are Amilikut, the underclass.”
“Amilikut? Really? That's surprising since the governing Mamlaka are paranoid about controlling upper-class genetics,” Gergin observed.
“They must have figured they would need a lot of workers.”
Gergin squeezed her three fingers and said, “Did you learn anything about our mission?”
“Most of my group were very nervous and didn’t say much. One woman bragged that they would be colonizing another planet. But she didn’t know where. That's all she said.”
“Well, that explains the shipload of civilians. How will you handle so many travelers?”
“Most will be in sleep mode. We get a small number up daily. They get three full days for exercise and extra nutrition. The first cycle is just five days, so we can be sure they aren’t having a bad reaction. Then, they go down for the regular sixty-day period. It's a lot of work at the beginning. There are four passenger modules, and two of us on duty in each one,” she explained.
“Well, now we know why there are so many medical specialists.”
Then he pulled her closer. He liked to feel the soft fur-like hair that poked through her open collar and covered most of her body. Pressing cheeks together enabled them to smell each other's warm breath – exhaled from openings below their ears.
Finally, he whispered, “We only have a few moments, but I had to hold you. We have to find a place to be together.”
She looked into his eyes, enjoying the press of their bodies. Then, giving him her I-know-what-you-want look, she said in a hushed voice, “I’ll check around. “
“OK. You better head back.” After another long press of their cheeks, she floated out.
The ship's crew worked in shifts on long flights. When not on duty, crew members would be in a coma-like state called sleep mode. “Crews had used it for years to make time pass more quickly. Medical specialists periodically monitored vital signs and returned their charges to a conscious state on a preset schedule.
On this flight, the crew would work 30 days and then spend 60 days in their sleep capsules.
The 30-on-60-off schedule required three flight crews: a pilot, a navigator, a flight engineer, two maintenance engineers, and a medical specialist. But, on this flight, there were four medical specialists and four assistants for each shift. That, plus the Mission Commander, comprised the entire crew of 40.