Judgment Day (50 page)

CHAPTER 103 FACT-FINDERS

Man evolved on this planet over 50,000 years ago, but only in the last decade or so has his technology advanced to the point at which he can communicate with the stars. Time will tell if his faltering technological civilization will destroy itself or allow him to live out his full time on Earth.

—
UNEXPLAINED:

MYSTERIES OF MIND, SPACE AND TIME
, PETER BROOKESMITH (ED.)

C
hristy had flown in Fellowship shuttles many times, but only Roland Symes, sitting next to her, had some experience. Simon Ash, in the aisle seat in their row, was ashen. Meaghan Slater, president of the Womyn's Congress, was across the aisle. With her closely cropped hair, work boots, jeans, and flannel shirt, she looked like she was ready to farm, not journey to another world. Ms. Slater's jaw was set and she worked at showing no emotion. Next to her, Senator Peng exuded nervous excitement. Archie Cox was seated next to the window on the other side of Peng, eyes glued to the glass. As the representative from NASA, Cox had helped others to fly into space,- now his turn had come.

"Thanks for getting me on the team, Christy," Roland said. "After some of the columns I've written I didn't think I'd ever get this chance."

Christy had recommended Roland as media representative when President Crow called and asked her to be part of the team. Mark had not been pleased, finally agreeing only because Christy asked. While Mark was uncomfortable with Symes, he was furious over Crow's selection of Tobias Stoop. Stoop and his extremist friends had kept up a steady barrage of lawsuits against the Fellowship, single-handedly soaking up millions of dollars needed to support the fledgling colony. Only when the deal looked like it might fall apart had Mark agreed. Tall and wiry, Stoop was a bundle of nervous energy, his face as tightly drawn as his nerves. With sharp features and no body fat, Stoop was a walking skeleton.

"It was either a muckraker or a yellow^ journalist," Christy said.

"Which am I?" Roland asked.

"You capture the essence of both," she said, smiling.

The loudspeaker system announced their arrival at New Hope station and the pending loss of internal gravity. Christy took the sudden lightness of her stomach in stride, but most of the others fought back a rising gorge. Simon was white, perspiring. Roland leaned toward him.

"Simon, if you have to use the barf bag be real careful," Roland said. "In zero gravity the vomit can bounce off the end of the bag and come right back at you."

"Please stop talking," Simon said.

"The vomit forms into globs—little barf balls," Roland added.

"Stop!" Simon said, bringing the bag to his face.

Christy elbowed Roland to shut him up. She wasn't seasoned enough to control her own stomach if Simon's puke started floating around the compartment.

A bump announced docking, a minute later the gravity came back, stomachs gratefully settling. When the hatch was opened they shuffled into New Hope, carrying one suitcase each. The severe limitations imposed by the Fellowship forced Christy to pack as if she were leaving for a long weekend, not a five-month voyage.

Floyd met them at the hatch and led the fact-finders through the corridors of New Hope directly to
Crucifixion
. The ship was fully loaded and would depart as soon as they were aboard. Christy knew some of those in the side corridors and they smiled or waved to her, ignored the others and glared at Tobias.

Once through the airlock,
Crucifixion's
exterior hatch was closed, the clang reverberating through the ship. Roland took Simon by the arm.

"That sound gives me the creeps," Roland said.

"Why?" Simon asked innocently.

"That hatch won't be opened again for five months. There's no way out of this steel coffin."

Trembling now, Simon followed the others into the bowels of the ship.

"Why are you tormenting that poor man?" Christy asked.

"He's the president's toady and I don't like toadies."

"I'm not fond of him either, but if you turn him into a raving lunatic you'll have to put up with it for five months."

"Good point. But he's such an easy mark."

The atmosphere in
Crucifixion
was thick with human smells. Few people could be seen in the corridor, most were in their compartments preparing for departure. Everything inside was steel, the walls, the ceiling, the floor steel grating covered with rubber mats. The sounds of life reverberated off the hard surfaces, the thousands of voices merging into one voice, the voice of the ship. To Christy that voice was a song, to Roland it was a whisper of secrets, to paranoid Simon the voice was speaking of him.

The ceiling was a maze of pipes and cables, each color-coded, and through the floor grating more pipes and wires could be seen. Large ventilation ducts ran the length, with occasional grates pumping out cool air. Light fixtures were nothing but fluorescent bulbs in aluminum holders, with plastic covers. The interior of
Crucifixion had
all the warmth of a water treatment plant.

The faces peering out of doorways were black. Smiling and nodding at those they passed, most smiled back. Christy, Meaghan Slater, and Congresswoman Swanson were assigned to a compartment near the drive end of the ship. Grandma Jones was there and fourteen other women. Bunks were stacked three high, six racks to a compartment, with only a few feet between the bunks. Every other available space was storage—cabinets, barrels, steel tanks. Netting hung between bunks holding personal belongings. One stack of three bunks was empty.

"Take the one on the bottom, Christy," Grandma Jones said. "That way we can talk."

Meaghan Slater took the top, climbing up in her work boots, banging her head on the ceiling.

"There's not much room," Meaghan complained.

"That's for sure," Grandma Jones said. "They call them racks. It's a submarine term. They're only eighteen inches wide."

Christy dropped her bag, then sat on her bed. She couldn't sit up straight. Instead, she lay down, the bunk above her a foot from her face.

"Zero gravity in two minutes," the loudspeaker announced.

"Better buckle in," Grandma said to Christy. "We'll have plenty of time to talk later."

Another woman took their bags and stowed them in a compartment. Congresswoman Swanson climbed into the middle bunk, her weight pushing it even closer to Christy's face. Pulling the straps across her middle, Christy buckled it like a seat belt. Feeling distinctly claustrophobic, Christy looked around. On the wall next to her was a long thin cabinet, like something from a bathroom. There was a mirrored door that slid open to reveal an empty space with a toothbrush holder. On the other side she discovered a curtain that she could pull, closing off her bunk, creating a tiny bit of privacy, something she knew would become precious as the weeks rolled by. There was a light above her head, hanging from the bunk above. They were allowed only one book besides a Bible, but she knew that meant there would be thousands of books on the ship to be circulated.

Suddenly Christy felt as if she were in an elevator, her stomach unsure of up or down. When gravity was gone the great ship vibrated and groaned, put into motion by the invisible forces that drove it. Now there was forward thrust and she was pushed toward the edge of her bed. The combined voices of the ship became anxious; children were crying.

"How long will this go on?" Congresswoman Swanson asked.

"Weeks," Grandma Jones said. "But they'll give us breaks. It'll be another hour or so before we get the first break."

"Weeks?" the congresswoman said anxiously.

"They'll just keep pushing the ship faster and faster until we're going faster than light itself. Once we get up to speed we'll have a few months when they can leave the gravity on all the time."

Lying in that tiny space the word "months" made Christy's heart pound. She wondered if she could go that long without a look at the sky, without the sun warming her face. Spring was coming to her home on Earth and she had been looking forward to a break in the Oregon rains, an end to the gray winter skies. There would be no garden in her yard this year, no petunias planted along her walk, no fresh strawberries from her patch. Her journey was off to a poor start.

Crucifixion's
crew mimicked day and night in the ship with lighting, and that helped with sleeping. Christy developed her own routine, lining up for the bathroom early to avoid the rush, although on many nights the early bathroom trip necessitated another middle of the night trip. After her turn in the bathroom, while most of the women waited in the long lines for their turn, Christy would lie in bed reading, her curtain pulled, her reading light on. Informal rules of courtesy had developed and when a person's curtain was pulled no one spoke to them and no one peeked inside. Privacy was protected jealously.

The monotony of life on the ship wore on everyone. Most of their food needed only to be microwaved, so little time was spent in food preparation and there was little to clean up. Clothing could be washed, but seldom since water was rationed. Bathing was limited, hair washed but once a week, and sponge baths replaced showers. Rooms were cleaned incessantly since there was little else to do. The corridors were used for walking during morning and evening hours—walking clockwise mornings, counterclockwise in evenings. Joggers hit the corridors between five and six A.M. The rest of the days the corridors served as the community square, people meeting to gossip and plan their new life.

Strangely, what Christy missed most on
Crucifixion
were chairs—there were none. The mess had the only seating, tables with benches and precious few of these. There wasn't enough space to sit up on the bunks and only occasionally could you sit on the floor without blocking someone's path. Days were spent standing or lying down and nights only lying. Sometimes Christy would get up in the middle of the night and sit on the floor of the corridor, back against the wall, trying to get the feel of sitting in a chair—the corridor wall was a poor substitute.

As the weeks passed Christy became obsessed with thoughts of chairs, much like a starving man obsesses about food, planning the meals he would have when food was available again. Christy thought of chairs often. There was a wooden rocker on her porch that held a special place in her thoughts—and her kitchen chairs, how could she forget those? They had rollers and you could move around the kitchen without ever getting up. Her chair fantasies were silly, she knew, but satisfying.

Her relationship with Mark got her special privileges and one day he took her to the flight deck where she sat in a pilot's chair, the feel almost a forgotten sensation. She would have enjoyed seeing the stars but the naked eye could not see them at the speed they traveled, the ship navigating by the gravitational signatures of the stars. Most evenings Mark would come for her and they would do the evening walk, counterclockwise, with the rest of
Crucifixion's
passengers. Round and round they would go until bedtime, then with a hug or a brief kiss, they would part, always with commentary by those nearby.

Sundays and Wednesday nights were exciting and anticipated because of worship. The song of the ship on those days was gospel, and the ship rocked with thousands of voices raised in song. Senator Peng attended services with Christy in the dining room when it was their turn, but the other fact-finders refused to participate in "superstitious rituals." If they had participated they would have seen a people alive with faith, unafraid to show the joy their religious beliefs brought them.

Long hours with nothing to do brought out the ingenuity in people and they organized themselves into groups. Chess was popular since it was absorbing and time-consuming. Card games were played widely but Grandma Jones strictly forbade gambling, even for matchsticks. "New habits start now," she said when she stopped the first poker game. Instead, games were played for points and tournaments held. Christy learned to play bridge, partnering with Roland. They held their own in the tournaments, placing as high as fifth in the first month.

Bible studies were common and there was an approach for every type.

Some groups engaged in raucous debates, others were like-minded believers who agreed on every interpretation. One ambitious group set out to memorize the entire Bible using visual images as mnemonics and was making good progress.

Children went to school, classes taught in the dining hall, children rotating in and out every hour. Christy volunteered as a teacher and worked in compartments with children on assignments, correcting papers, tutoring, testing, encouraging. Children were best able to adapt to space travel. Few were claustrophobic, most playful and mischievous like children everywhere. They made up games, playing tag in the corridors, hide and seek in compartments, and blind man's bluff. Paper was a rare commodity, but chalk was plentiful and the children decorated the walls continuously, driving some of the adult passengers to complain about the chalk dust. It was allowed to continue, however, after the children agreed to clean the walls regularly, and admiring the drawings was part of daily walks.

At the end of the sixth week of the voyage there was a wedding. Claris and Tom, sixteen and seventeen, were married in the dining room, a ship-wide party following. After the ceremony, the bride and groom circulated through the ship, the bride wearing one of four wedding dresses brought on the voyage. Worried that they were too young for marriage, Christy felt obligated to warn Grandma Jones about the poor success rate of teen marriages.