The Methuselan Circuit (10 page)

Passing from the open spoke to the interior of the Methuselan ship was a marked contrast in environment. From the bright immensity of space, they walked into to the strange interior of the alien ship. The corridor was slightly concave, made of seemingly raw steel hexagonal plates fused together. The bulkhead walls were held up by huge looping arches of steel. Power couplings were bolted onto the framework, and Alexander could imagine the living energy traversing the ship through these conduits, glowing with the fire of every imaginable color—energy streams in the open instead of cables and conduits.

“They must have used magnetic fields to control the energy streams, I see burn marks by the couplings,” Lisa said.

Alexander saw what she was talking about. Near a group of damaged power coupling the bulkhead was twisted and buckled. The neutral gray color of the metal was charred black. Treya nodded, and said, “The containment fields failed during the battle. The resulting energy release on the interior of the ship killed the vast majority of the crew. It was a significant design flaw. The Methuselans had no concept of what kind of power a Terran battleship or dreadnought could bring to bear. This ship was disabled by a single broadside from the
Missouri.
”

They continued down toward the center of the ship, trying to guess the function of the pieces of equipment or where a side corridor led or why the corridor suddenly opened up into a wide gallery and then closed again. It was very exciting to be inside an actual alien ship from the core of the galaxy, but nothing prepared them for what they were about to see. The Methuselan ship was vast. It was a mile long and a thousand feet in diameter. It was no wonder the Methuselans discounted a Terran battleship! After walking a hundred and fifty yards into the Methuselan ship the corridor ended. It ended abruptly, and the cadets crowded at the edge of the corridor wide eyed with their mouths hanging open.

CHAPTER 9: Zoots, Zoards, Zikes, Zanks and Zoot Suits

Alexander had never imagined anything so big and empty in his life. Even space didn’t seem so big. Maybe it was because space was too immense to comprehend, but this space, on the
inside
of the Methuselan ship was mind bogglingly big. It was what looked to be a hollow cylinder running through the center of the ship. It was about two hundred yards wide, or so he guessed, and it ran the entire length of the ship—over a mile from end to end.

The sheer immensity did make Alexander somewhat queasy, but what gave him even more trepidation was the fact that the space wasn’t really empty. There were literally hundreds of people in the space. Some were engineers and scientists working on the ship—they were always discovering knew things about Methuselan technology—most however were cadets. Cadets could be seen jetting through the ether presumably on their way to and from classes. They were also riding or driving various vehicles, but most interesting were the groups of cadets competing at various games as far as the eye could see. There was one group just to their right playing on a spherical “field” with a net in the center. Around the net swarmed two dozen cadets in red or white uniforms. To Alexander’s surprise everyone carried Lacrosse sticks. It was soon clear to Alexander they were simply playing a zero-gravity version of lacrosse! He played lacrosse, but not like this. The cadets zoomed around in jet boots, playing in a spherical set of boundaries instead of within a set of lines painted on a field of grass. Still, he could hardly wait to try it.

“Well cadets what are you all standing there gawking for?”

Five instructors jetted over to the hundred and sixty cadets standing on the edge of space. One was out in front of the others; he wore the eagle insignia of a centurion. He was a brooding, glowering, menacing officer with flaming red hair, brows to match and a long handle-bar mustache—it was Centurion Fjallheim. He put his hands on his hips, gritted his teeth and thrust his lower jaw out so far it looked as if he’d dislocate it. He turned a slow corkscrew before stopping perfectly in front of the cadets, albeit upside-down. “Welcome to your first zero-gravity class. Welcome to the largest zero-G facility inside of space itself. Its designation is the Central Methuselan Axial Zero-Gravity Training and Docking Facility, but we call it the Tube. Got it?”

“Sir, there must be some mix up, we’ve got this period free—our schedule says so,” said one bold cadet, showing him her schedule. There were various nods and assents from other cadets, including one who added, “We’re all covered with throw-up, we need to get in clean uniforms.”

Centurion Fjallheim looked at her in mock surprise and addressed his fellow instructors. “What on Terra could have happened? Could we, the instructors, actually be wrong?”

Alexander grimaced, girding himself for what he knew must happen next, nor was he disappointed.

The Centurion’s face grew beet red, and he shouted, “In all my days of commanding you lackluster so-called cadets I’ve never heard the like! Never, I tell you! Such cheek, such blatant disregard for authority; I’m glad my father isn’t alive to see what’s become of this man’s Legions! You’re all on probation—no—you were on probation, I say ship the whole lot of you back to Terra and have you raking muck the rest of your lives!”

Some of the cadets had no military background whatsoever. They were shaking in their boots, white as ghosts. Even Alexander, who recognized the set up, was dismayed. Then one of the other instructors jetted over to Centurion Fjallheim and whispered something in his ear. Fjallheim nodded, but he looked mightily put out. Grimacing, he addressed the shaken cadets in a more moderate tone of voice. “I’ve been reminded that I can’t send you back to Terra as of yet because no transportation is available. You’ll just have to stay and we’ll be forced to work hard to make something out of you.” He clasped his hands behind his back and began to slowly jet back and forth, up and down, side to side, sometimes addressing them upside-down or while turning slow corkscrews.

“The reason you are scheduled for a free period is to demonstrate the concept of disinformation; that is, we want you to think every time you do something. Just because you’re told you have a free period doesn’t make it so. You need to put away the teachings of Aristotle; instead, Non-Aristotelian, Null-A, thinking goes, “The map is not the territory, the belief is not the fact.” In other words, accept reality as it is, not as you think it is or want to think it is, and adapt to the situation. During your time at the Academy you will train to adapt instantaneously to the requirements of any and every situation no matter how far- fetched it may be.” For some reason, Centurion Fjallheim looked directly at Alexander when he said this. It wasn’t by chance. He whipped himself around and looked right at him. “
You
must train yourself to accept the requirement of the situation and act on it!” He turned back to his former manner, his tone becoming more congenial. “There is another less nefarious purpose for you being here directly after Professor Cantor’s infamous space physiology class. The most important physical training you will receive at the Academy is zero-G training. Whether you go on to the Legions or to the Fleet, zero-G training will form the foundation of your survival in space and your ability to fight anywhere in the galaxy.”

He smiled and laughed. “Of course it’s a new environment for your body, so if you’ve got anything left in your stomachs you’re about to lose it! No sense in having you go clean up when you’re going to get messed up again is there?”

Alexander laughed nervously as did most of the others.

He rubbed his hands together in glee, beaming, “From now until the day you graduate the only way to get from one pod to the next will be through the Tube. As you can see, there is no gravity here. Gravity itself is simply energy transmitted in the form of gravitons. Gravity can be generated through mass as with any celestial body or conglomeration of matter; mechanically through centrifugal force; or artificially by the generation of gravitons. The floor you’re standing on emits gravitons of a certain polarization creating an artificial gravity field. The gravitons allow us to bend space in any way we want by altering the spin. We could just as easily generate that field from the wall or the ceiling. Everything is relative.” Again he looked at Alexander. “The floor is only the floor because that is where the gravity field is generated; the floor could just as easily be the ceiling.” He looked away again, and it struck Alexander forcibly. His father used that analogy, in fact, his father often talked of the Non-Aristotelian way of thinking. He said exactly the same things to Alexander as he grew up.
Dad, how can you be a cowboy one minute and a spaceship captain the next? Son, I am what I need to be according to what the situation dictates—I adapt.

It was too strange to be a coincidence, but what on Terra could it mean?

“Now, you will adapt, and soon zero-G will become second nature to you. You’ll see why presently. Let’s start with the basics. Cadets, put on your gloves please.” Alexander took out his pair of black gloves tucked in his belt. He put them on. They were soft and malleable, like the softest suede gloves he’d ever seen on the farm—no good for hard work. These had long cuffs climbing almost halfway up his forearm.

Centurion Fjallheim nodded and held up a hand. “There are jets in your gloves that fire when you squeeze your hand into a fist.” He made a fist with his right hand. There was a sharp puff of gas and he started to wheel away from the direction his hand pointed. He opened his hand and steadied himself by making his palm flat. A reverse jet fired and he reversed his direction and then stopped.

“Now you try it.”

Alexander made a fist with both hands and jets of air obediently puffed out of the knuckles of the glove. He flattened his hand and the jets came out of the cuff at his wrist. There were lots of “oohs” and “aahs.”

“The jets in your gloves are stabilizing jets. Your primary source of propulsion is in your zero-G boots or zoots for short. You activate them by pointing your toes.” He did so and began to move upward. “The more you point your feet the more thrust you get, but the tricky thing is that there’s no reverse. To stop, you need to bring your legs forward like this and hit the brakes!” He tucked like a diver doing a reverse gainer and thrust his legs out in front. The jets roared to life, slowing him down to a stop and then propelling him back toward them.

“That’s basic zero-G maneuvering, which you will start momentarily. During your probationary year and your first year you will be restricted to zero-G maneuvering via zoots. So let’s get started. Everybody out here, come on, on the double!”

No one moved. Despite the obvious fact that Centurion Fjallheim and the other instructor’s weren’t falling, to Alexander who stood uncomfortably close to the steel edge it sure looked like a cliff. He knew there was no up and there was no down. His senses and his experiences as a land-locked sentient being all told him there was an up and that was fine, but there was also a down and that meant bad things. He tried to tell himself that this was the exact thing his father talked to him about, the exact circumstance that Centurion Fjallheim reminded him of.
The map is not the territory; the space is not a fall. I’m not going to fall!
He couldn’t move.

“No takers eh?” Centurion Fjallheim laughed. Inexplicably he jetted over to Alexander. “How about you Cadet Wolfe; you look like the adventuring type. Come on, take a step away out here and try it out.”

Alexander had no choice, he couldn’t even hesitate. Screwing up his face to look as unconcerned as possible he took a step out. He expected to fall at least a little. Instead, his momentum carried him out and away from the edge of the corridor. His left foot landed on nothing, it was like pedaling a non-existent bicycle. His foot, however, was programmed to reach for the ground, but when it found nothing a burst of adrenaline shot through him—fear. Even though he wasn’t falling, his body knew that he must be falling because he wasn’t in contact with terra firma. Alexander automatically looked down and the feeling of fear grew worse. There was nothing below him for over half a mile. Even the knowledge that he wasn’t falling wasn’t enough to make up for his bodies instinctive reaction to the new environment. Still, he didn’t panic. He wanted to, but the chuckles and laughs from the other cadets steeled him to the task. His abortive first step had him turning a slow somersault and drifting forward. That meant he should fire one of his glove jets—
for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. I hope Newton was right!

Carefully, Alexander fired his left glove to try and stop the somersault. It stopped the somersault alright, but he began to twist around to his left.
Of course, I have to fire both gloves otherwise I’m firing off my center-of-axis, so that’s what Doctor Strauss meant in science class!
He fired his right glove and slowed to a stop. That left him cockeyed. Slowly and very methodically he maneuvered himself upright again and jetted over to Centurion Fjallheim.

“Don’t be afraid to use your zoots, just use your gloves to stabilize your flight!”

He did so, and for some reason it felt very right.

“Outstanding,” Centurion Fjallheim applauded. “You’re a natural!” He waved at the other cadets, and called, “Everybody out, come on!”