Midshipman Henry Gallant in Space (The Henry Gallant Saga) (7 page)

“Thanks, Ed. You don’t know what a shot in the arm your support is,” said Gallant. “Do you know how Sam is doing?”

“Wellman is an astrogator on
Superb,
the flagship of the Mars Fleet. I got a message from him just a week ago and he’s doing well.”

“And how about you?” asked Gallant.

“I’ve been spending most of my time completing AI training courses and availing myself of the local restaurants and taverns. There are some fun entertainment spots on Jupiter Station. I’ve met some nice local girls. I can introduce you, just say the word.”

Gallant blushed, “Thanks Ed, but there’s someone on
Repulse,
that I kind of have my eye on.”

“Okay, I understand,” laughed his friend.

For nearly an hour, they chatted about their possible futures until finally, they found themselves saying farewell.

“Do you think we can get together again?” asked Stevenson.

“You can count on it,” said Gallant.

Outside the Officer’s Club, Gallant tapped his comm pin and asked directions to the medical facilities. He waited several minutes for a small taxi service to take him to the hospital.

When he arrived, a nurse greeted him as he signed in. She led him to a room for minor surgical procedures. He removed his uniform blouse. She removed his bandages and placed a sterile cover over each of his hands. The cover had a hole that exposed his burns.

“A little stick,” she said, and she plunged a needle into his hands, one at a time, and injected them with analgesic.

“You won’t feel any pain. You can watch so long as you keep your hands perfectly still while the surgeon performs the procedure. Okay?”

Gallant nodded as the doctor entered and began looking over the wounds. He didn’t feel any pain and watched in fascination as the surgeon peeled away his damaged skin. Then collagen and the new skin, grown from his stem cells, was grafted onto his hands and bandaged.

The doctor smiled, “A perfect job, if I do say so myself. Though, if you had had genetic enhancements, your stem cells would have produced a cleaner match.”

“Do you see mostly genetically enhanced personnel?” asked Gallant.

“Well, that’s a complicated question. All UP fleet officers are genetically enhanced because they are required to use neural interfaces either as pilots, astrogators, missile officers, or for general AI operations aboard ship. Hmm…, I see from your records that you’re the single exception to that rule.” The doctor paused and looked closer at Gallant. “On the other hand, I also treat UP enlisted personnel, station workers, miners, merchant fleet personnel, and colonists. They are a mixed bag of genetically engineered and non-engineered. As you’re no doubt aware, while Earthers have been making genetic engineering a routine procedure for several generations, colonists have been slower to adopt the practice. I’m not sure if it’s the pioneer spirit of individuality that motivates them, or if it’s just a lack of adequate medical facilities within the colonies.”

“Are the genetic enhancements pretty much the same for all people,” asked Gallant, curious to get specific details from a medical expert.

“Oh, no,” said the doctor. “Everyone’s DNA is unique, except for twins of course. So each DNA enhancement is a custom job. The doctor must take the DNA from the father sperm donor and impregnate an egg from his female partner. The DNA of the resulting embryo is then extracted and chemically altered by removing diseased or disadvantage genes, and then favorable enzyme and hormone production genes are turned on. The fertilized embryo is then implanted in the female’s womb and she carries the baby to term. The results are often good, but not perfectly uniform, hence the variation in performance of UP officers.”

The doctor’s face formed a puzzled look as he asked Gallant, “I don’t quite understand how you are able to use the neuron interface without the enhanced enzyme and hormone production capabilities. Tell me Mr. Gallant how has your performance, as a pilot, been?”

“Adequate, doctor," said Gallant uncomfortably. He asked, "How about my hands? When can I get the bandages removed?”

“You can remove the bandages in three days. There will be no scarring. By next week, you won’t be able to tell you ever had a problem.”

Gallant sat on the edge of his bunk looking at his touch screen tablet, trying to coax himself into studying his latest boring GridScape training assignment. The illustration of a complex system casualty was proving difficult for him to evaluate. His attention was diverted by a booming baritone voice entering his cubicle, “Heads up.”

Midshipman George Gregory burst into the tiny room, his arms full of uniforms and personal items. He unceremoniously dropped his burden onto the upper bunk bed. He said, “Henry, how about giving me a hand?”

Gallant was so surprised he just sat motionless, looking back and forth between the nearly empty common room and his bear-sized intruder.

Finally, Gregory said, "The XO has assigned you as my wingman in Flight 4. So how about a helping hand?"

“You’re going to room with me?” asked Gallant, still slow to realize the import of the event.

“That’s the best way to develop teamwork. And from now on, we're a team, unless I’m not welcome?” asked Gregory, looking at Gallant, waiting for a response.

Gallant smiled. He hoped, he had a new friend, “You’re welcome Gregory. But uhh..., wouldn't you be more comfortable on the bottom bunk?”

“Now you’re thinking Henry. That would be great. And call me Red,” said Red extending his hand.

At the academy, midshipmen roommates shared a treasured bond of trust. Roommates always had each other’s back ... no matter what! Gallant’s roommates at the academy, Ed Stevenson and Sam Wellman, had become his best friends. By volunteering to become his roommate, Red was taking on a special responsibility along with the mantle of trust that went with it.

Gallant took Red’s hand and shook it enthusiastically, “I’d be proud to, Red.” He began helping Red stow his gear. The uniforms were quickly hung in his locker, or neatly folded in drawers. The shoes were placed along the locker floor. Red hung an image viewer full of pictures on the inside of the locker door. The image changed automatically every few seconds. Gallant could see they were mostly family photos along with a string of good-looking girls.

“Thanks for the help, Henry,” said Red when they were done.

“Uh ..., sure, glad to…”

“How about a game of chess?” asked Red.

“That would be great,” said Gallant. This was the first invitation any of the midshipmen had extended to him. He put his study tablet aside, vowing to make up the time after his next watch.

They went into the nearly empty common room and began setting up the virtual four-dimensional space-time chess set. The few midshipmen in the room glanced at them and then went about their business.

Behind his back, Red hid a white piece in one hand and a black piece in the other. He brought his hands forward for Gallant to select. Gallant picked the left hand and Red opened it to reveal a white pawn.

Gallant began with a Queen’s Pawn Gambit. Red wisely declined the gambit. As they played, the center of the multidimensional board became occupied with several high ranking pieces. The pieces created a heavier ‘effective-mass’ in the center. This stretched the virtual fabric of the board. The effect was that the movement of these pieces became limited. Instead of ranging the entire length of a diagonal path, the bishops, for example, were only able to move a few squares along the diagonal.

Gallant concentrated, trying to make a good impression, but it was clear, early on, that Red was a Master. Nevertheless, Gallant made one surprise move that caught Red off guard and for several minutes, he looked really worried. When he finally found a countermove, he laughed and slapped Gallant on the back.

“You almost got me there, buddy. Good job.”

After that, Red’s moves dominated the board.

“Red, were those family images in your locker?”

“Yes,” he said, as he opened the locker door and pointed, “See, these are my parents, brother, and sister at our home in Alberta, old-Canada. Dad runs the family lumber mill with Mom’s oversight. The business has been in the family for four generations and he has a dozen uncles, brothers, and cousins on the payroll. My brother, Richard, runs a construction company that builds houses with Dad’s lumber. My sister, Peggy, is a veterinarian. She’s married with three children of her own.”

Red shifted in his chair and continued, “Dad always wanted me to join him, but when I told him about my hope to get into the academy, he was very supportive. He even helped with getting recommendation letters for my nomination. I did very well on my competition exams. All that plus grades and football were enough for a ticket to Mars. We had a great party before I left. I miss them like crazy,” Red heaved a sigh. “What about your family?”

“I was lucky to get into the academy based mainly on my academic record and exam results. I didn’t play athletics in school. I had to work in data storage for UP Interplanetary Communications to help support my grandmother and me.”

“That’s tough.”

“Who are all those girls?”

“Admirers,” said Red, with a grin.

“All from your hometown?”

“They're from as far away as Earth, and as near as Jupiter Station," he laughed. "It’s something that defies explanation.”

Gallant smiled at the redheaded giant and returned to concentrating on the chess match.

It didn’t do much good however, because in three moves, Red forced him into a mating position.

“I yield,” he said, surrendering his king.

“Not bad, but would you mind some advice?” asked Red.

“No, I’d appreciate any pointers,” said Gallant.

“You demonstrated good instincts and a keen mind. Your play was aggressive, but not reckless. However, your strategic viewpoint is weak,” summarized Red.

“Strategic viewpoint? What do you mean?”

“Think of it, this way. Both white and black start the game with exactly the same pieces, in exactly the same position across a symmetric field. The only difference is that white move first. It is the initial advantage of the first move that gives white an edge. Black must counter each white move effectively to diminish that advantage while simultaneously looking for an opportunity to create his own advantage.”

“Sure,” said Gallant.

“You shouldn’t think of the opening moves as an immediate thrust to victory.”

“Oh?”

“The opening moves are all about creating a new configuration on the board that is no longer symmetric and equal - one where you have gained a leveraged dominating position. Your opening is merely a stepping stone to set up the tension that could eventually lead to a decisive mate. It’s a matter of patience and timing.”

“Thanks, Red. I’ll try to do better next game,” said Gallant.

“Great, that was fun. Now, I need something physical. I’m heading for the gym. What about you? Want to come?”

“That sound good to me,” Gallant said enthusiastically.

They quickly changed their clothes and went to the ship’s gym. Red immediately began on the weight machine while Gallant started jogging on one of the many treadmills.

As he began working up a sweat, Gallant looked around the large compartment.

To his chagrin, he noticed Kelsey and Neumann off to one side, walking on neighboring treadmills, chatting away amiably. Every time Kelsey’s laugh erupted, Gallant felt a pang, though the couple remained oblivious of him.

“I think, I’m going to call it quits early. I’ve got to get cleaned up for my next watch,” he said to Red.

“Okay, Henry. I’ll see you next cycle.”

Over the next few weeks, along with his fellow midshipmen in Fighter Squadron 111, Gallant developed his advanced fighter pilot skills. In addition, he studied and trained to qualify as Officer of the Deck. And all the while, Chief Howard guided him to meet his responsibilities as Communication Division Leader.

During his studies of the squadron’s Eagle fighter, he learned about the latest antimatter engines. They shot antiprotons into the nucleus of uranium atoms, which caused a release of energy that broke the nucleus apart just like the fission process in a conventional nuclear reactor. However, even a small number of antiproton reactions could start a chain reaction that would otherwise have required a much larger mass of uranium to sustain. With antimatter catalyzed reactions, only one gram of uranium was required along with a microscopic amount of antiprotons. However, the antiprotons had to be kept isolated in plasma bottles surrounded by powerful magnets coils.

Gallant enjoyed flying stunts in his Eagle in order to get a feel for its capabilities. He found the engines capable of great acceleration. They could reach 0.01c and maintain it for ten hours before powering back to cruising speed of 0.004c. They were even capable of long independent trips of several weeks under reduced environmental conditions. As a pilot, he wore a pressure suit for normal ops and a shielded armor suit in combat. During target practice Gallant fired the high energy pulsed lasers and antimissiles. Using the neuron headgear, he was able to interfaced with the fighter’s weak AI computer, and when in range, with GridScape.

A critically limiting aspect of the neuron headgear was that it required young pliable minds to effectively fine-tune to the synaptic interface. Each pilot was trained to concentrate his mental energy into a meticulous focus and hold that attention for a protracted period. Consequently, pilots were 'burned-ou't within a few years, requiring them to be reassigned. However, this synergetic neuron relationship between pilot, fighter and GridScape, allowed close coordination of maneuvers and weapon systems producing a highly effect weapon's platform.

For Gallant, the demands of the neuron headgear were particularly onerous. He often suffered migraine headaches after long and difficult training sessions. But he kept his pain to himself and none of his shipmates noticed his problem. By meeting his qualification schedule and online test requirements, the XO and other senior officers were placated. Gallant didn’t let on about the toll this was taking on him.