Hope

By Wil C. Fry IV

(Begun in 1995, in Cabot, Arkansas; Finished in 1998, in Gravel 
Ridge, Arkansas)

A novel of the human race's first attempt at expansion 

beyond the boundaries of the Solar System.

I - The First Chapter

Gliding smoothly through the emptiness that was interstellar 
space, Nadyozhda (Hope) was almost as silent as the vacuum it-
self.  The mighty banks of rocket engines were quiet now, and as 
cold as they would ever be.  The motors on the radio antennae 
made no sound, leaving the monstrous apparatus pointing forlornly 
at Earth.  Months had passed since any messages had been re-
ceived.  The armored covers on the hundreds of portholes remained 
in place; the hangar bay doors, the cargo bay doors and all of 
the airlocks were closed tightly.

*          *          *

Without warning, an airlock door began to open, sliding back into 
a hidden recess in the skin of the Nadyozhda.   The door was 
small, and no light came from inside so that any casual observer 
would not have noticed the movement.  Then a remote-controlled 
repair mechanism clambered out of the airlock, its exterior 
lights coming to life at the same time.  The machine was large 
enough to accommodate up to four humans for days at a time, but 
against the immensity of the Nadyozhda, it was only a pinprick of 
light.  This time, as at most times, the repair craft was empty 
of human presence, receiving its instructions from the great re-
pair control computer inside the mother ship.

Slowly, inevitably the machine moved along the surface of the 
'Hope', like a flea on some large bald creature.  Then it 
stopped, its spotlights locked onto a certain section of the 
mother ship's hull.  For about an hour, the efficient craft 
worked at repairing the damaged outer skin, and then slowly found 
its way back to the nearest airlock door.  Seconds after the last 
appendage had withdrawn into the safety of the airlock, the door 
returned from the hidden niche in which it had been resting, to 
make the outer skin smooth again.

*          *          *

Somewhere else in space; somewhere else in time: Objects composed 
of rocks, minerals and ice, and moving at tremendous speeds had 
collided.  Fragments had broken away, spinning off into inter-
stellar space at unimaginable velocities.  Most fragments had 
been captured by the gravity wells of large, established heavenly 
bodies.  Many of the giant gas planets had rings of these frag-
ments, interlaced with free-floating ice structures, the rings 
being tiny miniatures of the asteroid belts that surround many 
stars.  Most of the fragments found their fate here, trapped by 
gravity.

Others, by far the minority, had plummeted off into deep space, 
propelled only by the initial force of collision, but without de-
celeration.  Perhaps after hundreds or thousands of years, these 
lonely remnants of would-be planets would be trapped by some far 
distant star or planet.  Others would persist in their independ-
ent wandering.

As fate would have it, one of these chunks of debris from an an-
cient collision of planetoids, as it hurtled through the void, 
found that its path intersected that of something much larger, 
and much more capable.

The surprised computers on board the 'Hope' registered a blip on 
their radar screens that was quickly identified by spectral 
analysis as an asteroid fragment.  Without hesitation, another 
door - much smaller than the airlock door, slid open, revealing a 
minute portion of the craft's survival-defense system.  A blind-
ingly bright ruby light leapt from the side of the colossal space 
ship, precisely into the heart of the swiftly moving rock.  The 
shard of planetary material, a few yards in diameter, suddenly 
began to experience terrific heat, increasing too rapidly to ra-
diate off into space, or even to spread evenly through the boul-
der.  Within seconds, the heated material at the center of the 
rock had expanded too much for the infrastructure to hold to-
gether, and the quickly closing blip split into a thousand dif-
ferent ones.

Instantly, the computer calculated the trajectories of the two 
tiny pieces that could still puncture the hull, and bringing an-
other laser into action, the two pebbles were soon incinerated.  
The Nadyozhda sped on, hoping to enter the Banard's Star System 
within seventy more years.

*          *          *

That was about the extent of the action on the exterior of the 
mile-long vessel, coasting inexorably on toward the target, set 
on its course some eighty years before.  Inside, there was more 
action, but still it was quiet.  The artificial intelligence kept 
track of the humans who were so delicately kept alive in their 
cryogenic tanks.  In five different bays of a hundred tanks each, 
the human crew lay in suspended animation.  Low hums, along with 
an occasional click, or hiss, or thud, emanated from the delicate 
machinery, the expensive computer systems, and the ugly, methodi-
cal science robots that kept the equipment in good repair.

*          *          *

Many trillions of miles behind the Nadyozhda, the Sol System was 
in a somewhat controlled chaos.  Revolting asteroid miners had 
successfully blockaded the major spacelanes between the inner and 
outer planets.  Battered nitrogen miners on Titan and other moons 
were desperately trying to slip past the Belt where millions of 
Venusian and Martian farmers struggled with low-yield harvests, 
due to nitrogen-poor soils.  Thousands of prisoners on Phobos had 
carried through on insurrection threats and were holding off So-
lar Patrol shuttles.

Earth had been wracked with war for ten years running, and nerv-
ous generals in orbiting missile stations alternately extended 
and retracted threats of nuclear assault.  Six overcrowded cities 
on Luna's surface and seventeen packed space cities in Earth or 
Luna orbit struggled to control organized crime, government cor-
ruption and sabotage attempts.

Smaller domed or underground cities on Ganymede, Callisto, Eu-
ropa, Io, Titan, Rhea, and other outer gas giant moons struggled 
but survived, continuing to trade among themselves, steadily re-
cycling oxygen, while drawing more from chemical solutions avail-
able nearby.  Their advanced hydroponic farms and strict ration-
ing laws enabled them to stay alive, while new cultures were be-
ing established, unique among the Jovian moons and very different 
from that of Earth.

The frozen scientific outpost of Pluto had lost communication 
with the rest of the Solar System when the last comet had rushed 
through.

*          *          *

Time continued to pass, as it always had.  Planets with their 
moons in tow continued to circle their respective suns, people 
were born and people died, and the combined information of the 
human race outran all abilities to contain or digest it.

Then, one million three hundred and seven thousand hours after 
the departure of the Nadyozhda, something new happened.  When the 
radar systems on board noted that Banard's Star was only twelve 
light days away (still nine months away in travel time), the com-
puters sent new messages to the cryogenic bays.  Starting with 
Bay #1, the hissing and clicking increased greatly as tempera-
tures began equalizing and probes and sensors began to detect 
life signs.  The atmospheric pressure in the rooms began increas-
ing toward human-normal.

The robot caretakers of the cryogenic tanks, not realizing that 
their duties would be coming to an end soon, went from tank to 
tank, slowly pulling each one from its slot in the wall, allowing 
the human occupants time to thaw and then awaken.  Warm air from 
vents in the wall blew across the crew, as special liquid chemi-
cal solutions were sprayed over them, assisting in the defrosting 
process and making it less painful.

As predicted many years before, the women began to recover from 
this frozen state before the men, moving their limbs stiffly and 
slowly at first as the life-giving fluids of the body started 
flowing again.  One by one their eyes began opening, blinking as 
rapidly as possible, trying to focus on anything.  After several 
hours of blinking, focusing, breathing, stretching, swallowing, 
and anything else that seemed to help, the first woman sat up 
groggily from the place where she had lain for 149 years and 3 
months.

Still wondering where she was, her eyes focused on the strange 
looking form next to her tank.  "Thirsty?" it queried in a metal-
lic voice.  After she realized it must be a robot, she tried to 
remember what it was that the robot had said.

Again, the polite machine said, "Thirsty?"  It took a few seconds 
for her to decipher what that series of sounds meant and even 
longer to formulate a reply.

Shaking her head just a little bit, she opened her mouth and 
said, "Yes."

With a low hum, the robot's servo-motors cut in and a mechanical 
arm reached toward the woman, a bottle of water clutched gently 
in its pincers.  When the woman's fingers were wrapped firmly on 
the plastic, she managed, "Thank you," and the robot's arm re-
turned to its side.

While she sipped slowly at the cool, fresh water, the robot 
rolled away from her tank.  The woman's eyes tried to follow the 
machine, struggling to focus, and suddenly realized that other 
women all around her were struggling to sit up, and the robots 
were attending all of the humans.  As she continued to drink, she 
realized with a start that all of the other women now sitting up 
were naked.  A few seconds later it dawned on her that she too 
was unclothed.  A very faint memory slipped into her conscious 
mind; all of them climbing into the cryogenic tanks, completely 
nude.  It was necessary, the scientist had told her.  Dangerous 
things happened when the skin froze onto clothing.  Like the 
woman in Kiev, she thought.

Setting the water bottle down on the edge of her tank, she tried 
to pull herself out.  It was a struggle for her to recall the 
movements required for such a task.  Finally, she pulled herself 
up over the edge and set her feet down, standing groggily in the 
aisle between her tank and the one to her left.  Holding tightly 
to the handhold welded on the side of her tank, she looked around 
Bay #1A.  A glowing sign on the wall to her right said "DRESSING 
ROOM".  After taking a deep breath, Elizabeth Novgorod stepped 
carefully toward the door, and suddenly memories began flooding 
her mind.

*          *          *

On the other side of the wall, behind the head of Elizabeth's 
tank, was Bay #1B, in which the men were acting in much the same 
way as the women, stretching, breathing deeply, blinking and try-
ing to orient themselves.  One by one, they groped their way to 
their own dressing room, on the average half an hour behind the 
women.  Whenever one of the humans passed through the dressing 
room door, a faithful robot made its way to the abandoned 
tank/bed.  After quickly vacuuming the inside of any left-over 
moisture or dust particles, the robot closed the transparent 
cover, rechecked the switches and then carefully pushed each 
empty tank back into the slot in the wall.

In the dressing room were small lockers, each with a full name at 
the top, followed by a twelve-digit identification number and a 
somewhat faded photograph of the proper member of the human crew.  
Simple benches ran in front of these lockers, and all around the 
room.  At one side of each dressing room was a shower facility 
with full-body air dryers.

One of the first men into the dressing room was Petr Novgorod, 
the chaplain of the crew.  About six-foot-one and very slender, 
he stood in front of the locker, reading the name and number and 
glancing at the photograph of himself.  Funny how those freeze 
machines screwed up your thinking, he mused.  One could really 
embarrass oneself in front of these other people.  Fortunately, 
he could remember from his childhood that it was the wise man who 
held his tongue while the fool blurted out his folly.  That was 
from the Bible.  Suddenly it snapped into place!  He was a semi-
nary student - no wait; he had graduated - and there it was!  He 
was the Chaplain (actually one of five co-chaplains) of the 500-
person crew on mankind's first interstellar voyage.

When he looked again at his name on the locker's label, and saw 
"Novgorod", he suddenly remembered that he was a newlywed.  Where 
was Elizabeth?  Had she survived the trip?  Had she remembered 
him yet?  On and on the unanswered questions popped into his 
mind, and then he smiled to himself, remembering their recent 
honeymoon in New Italy.  No, it wasn't recent, he reminded him-
self; it was 150 years ago!

Shaking his head at the awe of it all, he headed for the shower.  
Minutes later, completely dry, he walked out of the shower cubi-
cle, and stopped at the ID machine, on a pole in the center of 
the room.  Pressing his thumb onto the print scanner, he said, 
"Petr Novgorod."  

A small voice said, "Recognition complete," and the locking 
mechanism on his locker clicked.  He then stepped over to his 
locker and swung the door open.  This action produced a very 
faint cloud of dust, which the long-dormant air conditioning sys-
tem soon whisked away.  Another ghost-like collection of airborne 
particles arose as he shook out the jumpsuit and undergarments 
that he found inside.  As he slowly put them on, with other 
groggy and naked men stumbling into the room all the while, he 
found that his clothes were somewhat loose.  That reminded him 
that he hadn't eaten since August of AD - what was it? - 2165.

After carefully slipping his shoes on, he began looking for the 
other door.

*          *          *

Freeze Bay #1 had been fully emptied and all of its previous oc-
cupants were eating in their cafeteria before Bay #2 began its 
"unloading" process.  Each bay took up to three hours to empty, 
and another forty minutes or so were required for the dressing 
room and shower facilities to be vacated.  Then, the robots went 
through, making sure nothing was left out of place.  All in all, 
just under 25 hours passed before the last man of Bay #5 had en-
tered the #5 dining area, and the last cryogenic bays were locked 
up.

The ship was on five time zones, each separated from the others 
by about five hours.  This put the Nadyozhda on a 25-hour clock, 
and in this way, all necessary stations could be fully occupied 
around the clock, without anyone losing unnecessary sleep.  It 
was now Monday, November 3, 2314 AD, and mankind's greatest mis-
sion to date was ready to commence.  Within hours of waking up 
from the long sleep, each member of the human crew would begin to 
fulfill his or her duties and prepare to colonize whatever suit-
able planets they found.

The fantastic little robots of each bay finished their prescribed 
duties and made their way to the refurbishing station where both 
robot and human mechanics waited to rebuild and reprogram the 
simple machines for other duties.

The Freeze Bays would remain empty and locked until the ship's 
commanding counsels decided that the star system they had ex-
plored was unsuitable, and the command was given to move on to 
the next most-likely star.  Of course, the Bays containing the 
livestock were still active, keeping the cows, chicken, pigs, 
sheep, goats, dogs, mice, earthworms, etc. intact until just be-
fore landing.

*          *          *

The Nadyozhda, for all its technological marvels, miniaturiza-
tion, and automation, could still have been designed more effi-
ciently.  There were service corridors tucked away in the walls, 
many of which were probably unnecessary, and definitely took up a 
lot of unseen space.  They were traversed at regular intervals by 
squat automatons covered on every side with arms, tools, and 
other appendages, keeping the maintenance of the ship out of the 
sight of the humans.

There were many rooms in the ship that could have been smaller, 
arranged more efficiently, or eliminated altogether, but these 
had not been considerations of the harried engineers who designed 
the ship.  As problems around the Solar System had escalated, the 
governments of the nations and planets had put somewhat unrealis-
tic deadlines into effect, making efficiency nearly impossible.  
With most of the funding coming from Earth, as usual, the project 
had proceeded at breakneck speed.  Because the human race could 
only afford one try, safety was the main concern.  Every compo-
nent of the ship had several back-ups, and even more possibili-
ties were contained in the cargo bay.

For ten years, the project had continued, in orbit around the 
moon, with all the planetary governments working together.  
Nearly all the building materials came from Luna and the Asteroid 
Belt, while the fuel came from the outer giants, and the manpower 
coming from Earth.  The more powerful nations on Earth, combined 
as the Terran Federation, cooperated with the Lunar Confederacy, 
Independent Mars, J.U.M. (Jovian United Moons), Titan and the 
other outer satellites, while Venus remained aloof, still operat-
ing as a neutral nation of Earth, only an honorary member of the 
Terran Federation.

For ten years, wars had subsided, business had run smoothly, and 
millions of people came together to put mankind's last hope into 
action.  The mile long spaceship had taken shape there in Lunar 
orbit, as hundreds of spaceships and dozens of space stations 
clustered nearby.  An entirely new city came into existence, made 
of thousands of home and business modules, all with corresponding 
airlocks.

For several reasons, the powers-that-be had decided to divide the 
crew into five separate, independent crews.  Each crew had been 
chosen separately and trained separately, then assembled together 
at Astropolis II, the nearest established space city to the con-
struction site.  Each crew had a Captain, a chaplain, several 
scientists and engineers, and nearly equal compliments of many 
other professions.  They had all taken basic courses in construc-
tion, agriculture, hydroponics, medicine, computer programming, 
mechanical repair, cockpit instrumentation, and even piloting.  
No one was taking a chance that some minor catastrophe would 
throw the whole project down the drain.  If one person or even 
dozens of people died in some kind of space accident, there would 
be others to replace them.  Every contingency had been thought 
of, discussed in detail, programmed into each crew member's on-
board PC, and added into the main computer system of the ship.  
All of the crew had been given tours through holographic models 
of the ship, so they would be familiar with the location of each 
compartment.  They had sampled food cooked by robots, they had 
used zero-G latrines, they had worn space suits on actual EVAs 
and moonwalks, and they had read, studied, practiced, simulated, 
exercised, missed sleep, and studied some more until the 500 crew 
members were ready to be frozen into their cryogenic tanks for a 
long time.

After the actual ship was complete, the crew toured it and stowed 
their personal gear in their private compartments.  Then the five 
crews had made their way to their respective Freeze Bays.  Crew 
#5 had been frozen first, after saying their very last and com-
pletely final good-byes to families and friends.  One by one the 
crews had been frozen, over several days.  The day after Crew #2 
had been put to sleep, a Dr. José Riceberger III had published 
his now historical treatise on anti-aging treatments, along with 
assurances that it had been proven to work.

Many thought that the Hope's entire crew should be revived and 
given the still-experimental longevity medicines.  No, the scien-
tists had said, for such an action would take too much time, 
throwing the trip permanently off schedule.  It was necessary, 
they said, for the expedition to pass the larger planets at just 
the right time in order to use their gravitational pulls for ex-
tra acceleration.

Then some had said to administer the treatment to only Crew #1.  
Sociologists in connection with the project said the unfairness 
of that would cause instability in the crew years down the line.  
So it was suggested that the ship's medi-labs be equipped to ad-
minister the dosage.  This bickering went on and on, as the sci-
entists watched their clocks and calendars.

Meanwhile, on Earth, Riceberger was making a fortune.  He had 
sold the treatment to the Terran Federation, with subcontracts to 
several smaller governments and medical corporations for enough 
money to live off for many centuries, with sub-clauses allowing 
him the money only if the treatments worked.  All over the al-
ready overcrowded planet, millions and billions of people began 
lining up at the doors of hospitals, new treatment centers, clin-
ics, and anywhere it was rumored that they could be treated for 
their aging.

Tensions between Venus and the nations of Earth began to rise, 
due to the Venusians' desire to be independent.  The United Moons 
of Jove (Jupiter), or J.U.M., and Independent Mars started get-
ting nervous.  To appease the scientists, many of whom were from 
Mars, the coordinators of the Hope project did not awake the al-
ready sleeping crews.  To pacify the colonization specialists and 
sociologists, the Hope's medi-labs were hurriedly equipped for 
the still-unproved longevity treatment, while at the same time, 
Crew #1 was frozen into their cryogenic bays.

Simultaneously, computer programmers finished running their 
checks on the masterpiece of their generation.  The Nadyozhda's 
master control computer (or M.C.C.) was by far not the largest 
computer ever assembled.  Several of the largest space cities in 
planetary orbit had larger computers for their climate control 
and ecology manipulation.  And it was said that Independent Mars' 
current chairman, Vargas Glover, depended on a computer the size 
of a city block to help him govern his twelve million citizens.  
But the Hope's M.C.C. was a marvel.  Every circuit and component 
had been produced, crystallized, tested, connected, and activated 
in a complete zero-g environment, and in total vacuum where nec-
essary.  The entire ship's library was contained in the M.C.C., 
as well as every bit of information the scientists could imagine, 
from bee-keeping to bar tending to boll weevil eradication.  This 
machine controlled every aspect of the ship's climate.  So also 
was the repair computer, the defense and safety system, the guid-
ance mechanisms, the power plant, the communications, the ship's 
clock, the history of the ship's crew, the maintenance robots, 
and every port or hatch or airlock.

But perhaps the most amazing thing about the M.C.C. was that 
someone fell in love with it.  Scott Hayford was one of the as-
sistant designers and chief programmer for the M.C.C. throughout 
the last decade.  From the very first, he had known he was in for 
the long haul.  He had sold his home and office complex on the 
170th floor of Tokyo's Bill Gates Tower and bought housing mod-
ules from Lunar Housing, Inc.  There were three modules, each 
over thirty feet long and fifteen feet in diameter on the inside, 
shaped something like a DazzleWater can.  At first, he had lived 
in these, commuting to the construction site in his short-range 
Jeep.  Shortly, he had paid for "Parking & Power" at the growing 
station next to the construction site.  At that time, Hope City 
was a mass of tangled docking tubes, power modules, solar cells, 
radar antennae, and housing modules.  Scott Hayford got assigned 
to docking tube #12, and a space tug pulled his three modules 
into position and the driver hooked him up.

Six days a week, Scott Hayford and his team of three other 
computer programmers spent at least twelve hours a day in the 
frame of the slowly developing starship.  Before the framework 
was wrapped in skin, the main elements of the M.C.C. were 
installed, and then that section of the ship was the first to be 
pressurized.  The team then began to live on board, to finish the 
assembly and begin the arduous task of programming the computer, 
while the rest of the ship grew around them.  Every time an 
airlock or radio or camera or any mechanical device was added to 
the ship, this elite team made sure that it was connected to the 
M.C.C., and that there was a failure-alert circuit tied in.

Scott Hayford did not take advantage of his privileged status.  
While each of the others in turn took their four weeks of paid 
leave every year, Scott would find recreation by watching one 
holo per week, spending the majority of his time with the M.C.C., 
or as he called her, "Hope".  From the beginning, the Russians 
had wanted the name Nadyozhda (nuhd-YOHzh-duh), or "Hope" for the 
ship, and no one had ever offered a strong argument to the 
contrary.  But Scott used the name to refer to the mind, or 
brain, of the ship, the M.C.C.

The rest of the team couldn't be sure, but they suspected that 
their computer responded more favorably to him than to the rest 
of them.  Ever since they had installed the voice circuits, they 
had talked to the computer of course, and as do most talking 
computers, it had a feminine voice.  But they could almost detect 
a smile or wink in the voice when it talked to Scott, even if 
saying, "Radio test for secondary backup radio in power plant is 
complete."

One day, only two years before the launch, one of the other team 
members - Marie Clark - happened to forget her tool kit in the 
computer maintenance office when she stepped out to her quarters.  
Normally, this would not be odd, but Marie was supposed to 
remember everything.  You see, she was to be the computer expert 
for the Nadyozhda, part of Crew #1.  But she had not forgotten 
the kit on accident.

When she stepped back into the office, she saw what she had hoped 
to find: Scott Hayford, draped across one of the chairs there, 
staring at a screen that Marie couldn't see from the doorway.  He 
was droning on, "No, Hope, it's just hard to explain the 
difference between good poetry and bad poetry.  In fact-"

Suddenly Hope's voice cut him off, "Scott, someone has entered 
the room."

Marie stepped in sheepishly.  "Sorry to interrupt, but I forgot 
my tool kit.  I'll be leaving as soon as I can get it."  While 
she was talking, she had edged around the desk, trying to catch a 
glimpse of what Scott was seeing on the monitor, acting as if she 
were looking for her kit.  Then she heard Hope's voice again, 
sounding a little irritated.

"Marie, your tool kit is on the desk to your left."

Marie looked at Scott, who shrugged, then she decided that she 
could afford a slight bit of irritation herself.  "All right," 
she said, "what goes on here?  How can I wake up at Banard's Star 
and do my job if you always act like I'm an intruder?"  She was, 
against her better logical judgment, addressing the computer.

Hope answered back, her very real-sounding voice saying, "I did 
not mean any harm, Marie, but Scott and I were discussing-"

"Hold on," Scott interjected.  "Look, Hope, maybe Marie's right.  
You two are going to have to get along for several hundred years.  
If anything goes wrong, Marie's going to have to fix it, right?"

Stubbornly, Hope said, "Nothing will go wrong."

"Hope!"

"Okay, Scotty, but I want you to come with me."

Marie's mouth dropped open, and she stared.  "Scott, are you two 
in love, or something sick like that?"

Scott grinned from ear to ear.  "Yes, Marie, I think we are.  
Although I don't think I could marry a computer.  What would the 
babies look like?"  He chuckled.

"But, Scott, it's a machine, for Christ's sake!"

"At least I'm not a human!" Hope spat.

"Hope, I'm warning you, you can't act like this.  Marie is my 
friend" -her eyebrows went up ever so slightly- "and if I want to 
talk to her I will.  And she's a damn good programmer."

*          *          *

Upon entering the dining room, the first thing Petr Novgorod did 
was locate his wife.  There she was, already wiping her plate 
clean, her eyes locked on the doorway through which he came.  
When she recognized him, her eyes lit up, and her mouth broke 
open in a joyful grin.  Petr began to walk faster, going around 
the end of the long table, as she rose and rushed to meet him.  
Then she was in his arms again, after 150 years of hibernation, 
soft and warm and exhilaratingly ALIVE.  He kept saying, "You are 
so beautiful, my love, so beautiful," while she said, "I never 
thought you would awaken."

She kept one hand clasped to his while with the other picked up 
her plate and silverware, and took them to the kitchen, where he 
picked out his meal.  The thought suddenly crossed his mind that 
they were all eating food that had been grown and processed more 
than a century ago.  Suddenly, he wondered what was going on back 
home.

"Darling, when will we receive news from our home system, do you 
know?"

As they sat down, she said, "I think Marie Clark had gone to the 
control room to begin looking over the accumulated transmissions.  
She awoke early.  I thought I was first, but when I began to eat, 
she came through to say 'hi' and that she had already eaten."  
Elizabeth turned to her husband.  "Petr, do I look older to you?"

"Nyet!"

All around them, groggy husbands were being reunited with their 
wives, and the few single people were gathered at their own 
table.  Most of the wives waited for their husbands to eat, but a 
few of them left after greeting them to begin settling in their 
cabins, or getting ready to assume their duties.

*        *        *

In the initial planning stages of the colonization effort, in the 
2140s, sociologists, ecologists, political scientists, and 
behaviorists had been assembled from the Terran Federation and 
the newly Independent Mars to discuss the crew size, long before 
a design for the vessel could be decided upon.  Many ecologists 
and some sociologists, especially from Terra, had stipulated that 
several thousands would be necessary for a successful colony to 
be completely independent.  A Martian1 political scientist 
mentioned that the first human outpost on Mars had only been 
composed of two dozen scientists and engineers.  It had then been 
pointed out that Mars was only half an AU2 from Earth, only 
months away even during the days of the original settlement, and 
now only weeks away, while Banard's Star was hundreds of years 
away from help, at the very fastest.  The argument went on for 
months.

When preliminary designs began to be submitted, a new factor was 
introduced.  Even the largest plan available - capable of holding 
10,000 humans - was a ship that could be piloted by less than a 
hundred people, if necessary.  The smallest ship design accepted, 
which would hold only 200 colonists, could have a crew of under 
20.  So a political scientist suggested the idea of "back-up" 
crews, each of 500 people, to fill a ship for 2500, thus being 
able to operate in shifts, leave some room for possible accidents 
in space, and, if the opportunity arose, colonize more than one 
planet.

Another stood and reminded the group of the Daniel Boone II, 
already in operation.  It regularly left Terran orbit with 2,000 
or more colonists for Luna and Mars, with a crew of only 50.  It 
would drop off hundreds at Luna and pick up valuable ores, then 
carry the rest of the passengers and the ores to Mars.  At Mars, 
the D.B. II would pick up foodstuffs and mail, carrying them out 
to J.U.M.  Its return trip would be a cargo run, carrying 
minerals and expensive nuclear fuels back to the inner planets.

Finally, the group's chairman submitted the final report to the 
colonization committee.  It stated that the ideal number of 
humans to start a colony on a completely alien world was around 
2,000, but that with enough supplies, a successful colony on a 
habitable planet could start from as little as one hundred and 
still expect to succeed.  So the Committee compromised, mostly 
due to budget pressures.  The Hope would contain 500 colonists, 
all willing to leave the ship in orbit and live on the planet 
they found.  In certain situations, however, smaller settlements 
could be left, in increments of 100, while the rest of the crew 
could continue on.  The various situations in which the crew 
would split up were detailed in a report titled "Policy on 
Colonization."  In its final form, the "Policy on Colonization", 
as released by the Hope Committee was 700 pages long, summarized 
for print on the market in 250 pages.

This report contained the committee's answers to every con-
ceivable situation or problem, and outlined plans of action to be 
taken by the colonist crew upon arrival.  It was full of 
guidelines, rules, procedures, and instructions that should not 
be taken lightly.  It was junk, thought Captain Cochran.

Captain James Cochran, commanding officer of Nadyozhda's Crew #1, 
sat in his stateroom, reading the "Policy."  He touched a key on 
his computer, and the useless words disappeared from his screen.  
Turning his eyes to the ceiling, he muttered, "Who did those guys 
think they were, telling me how to run a star ship?"

II - The Next Chapter

Scott Hayford finally took a vacation, during his last year of 
work on the starship.  No one could locate Marie or Scott for 
three weeks, not that they were needed of course; the M.C.C. was 
fully operational.  When they returned - on two separate shuttles 
and supposedly from two different resorts - they seemed much 
friendlier toward each other.

First one and then the other of the two remaining programmers 
were sent back to their old positions on Mars, while four new 
team members were added.  These four, along with Marie, were 
colonists, one from each crew, and began to learn the details of 
the M.C.C.'s operations.  The six (including Scott) lived on the 
Nadyozhda for the last six months, in artificial gravity of Ê 
Terran-normal, making absolutely certain the M.C.C. could survive 
and operate for 500 years if necessary, all of them learning to 
call her Hope, and speak to her as a friend.

In the 700-page "Policy", it was noted that in case of mechanical 
failure, one or more of the five computer specialists would be 
awakened, to deal with the problem.  Presumably, Marie would be 
the first choice, but by the time this last training was 
complete, any one of the five could handle most emergencies.

Sometime during that last six months, Scott Hayford sold his 
useless living modules to an elderly couple from Earth, and 
donated the money to his invalid sister on Venus.  He had a dark 
secret...

*          *          *

When Robert Gillespie Adams-Muñoz completed his "Anti-Gravity 
Device" back in 2112, he thought he had built a new type of 
propulsion device.  He had long dreamed of wheel-less cars, 
floating houses, perhaps even a weapons delivery system.  But, to 
his extreme disappointment, what he developed was merely an 
artificial gravity field that could be sustained only inside a 
network of newly developed composites - highly conductive 
composites.  He died a famous but desolate man, leaving all his 
great wealth to a degenerately wealthy hard rock band out of 
spite for what the world - and indeed the universe - had done to 
him.

By 2115, an existing space city in Terran orbit had these new 
composites networked into its skin, and the first non-
experimental artificial gravity field began its operation.  By 
touching a button and turning a dial, the gravity-field operator 
could take the gravity field from zero-g to 100-g, or higher, if 
the power plant could take it.  The gravity could pull in any 
direction he desired, at any strength.  The entire station had to 
be remodeled to allow for the new gravity.  The tiny space city 
grew tremendously during the next few years, and became 
Astropolis I.  Soon, other existing stations began adding the 
field, some buying more than one, to allow for different fields 
at different times in different parts of the station.

Rich colonists to Mars bought the gravity generators, so they 
always wouldn't be bumping their heads if they stepped too hard 
in the light gravity.  The government of Mars, a colonial setup 
at the time, equipped their city gym with a field, and other 
government buildings.  Rich people on Terra used the fields to 
ease the tiring effect of their home planet's gravity.  The 
Terran Federation used the generators to train their space 
pilots, and accustom colonists to the changes in g's in space.

But still, no means was found to use the device as a propulsion 
system.  Unless you consider the trains that ran in tunnels which 
were networked with the necessary composite.  These trains were 
expensive to build, expensive to ride in, but very, very fast.  
The tunnel - actually a tube, above ground for most of the trip - 
from New York City to Los Angeles took only forty-five minutes, 
which was faster than any airline.  The tunnel from Chicago to 
Mexico City took about the same length of time.

But what Robert Gillespie Adams-Muñoz had envisioned was a field 
that acted upon the gravity field of a body in space, such as a 
planet.  In his mind, a car would have its own mini-anti-gravity 
machine, propelling it against Earth's pull, thus traveling 
extremely fast.  He dreamed of wingless airliners, hauling 
thousands of passengers at a time, sailing effortlessly across 
the ocean.  He saw houses, each equipped with their own field, 
hovering high above the city, thus ridding the Earth temporarily 
of its population difficulties.  The inhabitants of the house 
would zip down to the city in their a-grav car.  Buildings could 
be supported with much less material, if a powerful field 
enveloped only the construction materials, causing them to be 
absolutely weightless.  But it never happened.  And so he died.

His son, a very cynical brat until his father's death, took up 
the work, to create the propulsion system, first working from his 
father's notes, then discarding them completely.  When the 
Nadyozhda project began to take place, He was pressured to finish 
before the mission began, but nothing inhibits genius like 
deadlines.

*          *          *

Production on the starship had not been rushed until the end, but 
had never had significant delays.  The politicians involved knew 
that the financial backing could not last forever.  Taxpayers 
would eventually decide that the project was the proverbial rat 
hole, where the government could pour all their money, with no 
responsibility.  The conglomerate corporations that were funding 
huge sections of the construction were getting wary.  And things 
in general were getting shaky.  The Luna Confederacy had survived 
a minor civil war, and bought Phobos from the Martian Government 
to use as a prison, equipping it with an artificial gravity field 
of 11/2 g's and a small atmosphere.

The Hope's cargo bays were slowly filled with farming supplies 
(solar powered tractors, hoes, rakes shovels, vacuum-packed 
seeds), construction equipment, mining tools, land rovers, and an 
enormous amount of backup supply for the trip.  Her shuttles and 
scouting probes were stowed in the hangar bays, after being 
rigorously tested and revised.  The collision-protection system 
was tested and proven more than satisfactory.  Ten colonists, two 
from each crew, volunteered and tested the hibernation tanks, 
feeling fine after a month in cryostasis.  The M.C.C. reported 
that the ship was ready and could commence fueling one month 
before the scheduled launch date.

Small chemical-powered tugs pulled the immense vessel to a new 
Lunar orbit, far from the now permanent construction station, 
newly dubbed "Hope City".  (The inhabitants, most of them having 
had a part in the building of the Nadyozhda, intended to sell 
surplus food to Earth in return for materials to continue 
building starships.) Once the first starship was fully 
pressurized and fueled, the Abe Lincoln and the Teddy Roosevelt 
shuttled the five crews over, one crew at a time.

Minutes after they were locked in their cryostasis tanks, the 
longevity treatment installed in the ship's medi-labs, Scott 
Hayford went on board one last time to initiate the launch 
sequence.  His small space Jeep floated near one of the forward 
airlocks, tethered by a thin line.  News vans from several holo-
networks were orbiting at a safe distance, the news crews all 
trying to get their telephoto lenses in place, to capture the 
most historic event of their generation, perhaps the most 
monumental moment in the history of the human race.  The leaders 
of all the human governments were making glorious speeches (some 
of them prerecorded) all over the Solar System, each making their 
part in the expensive venture seem the most worthwhile and the 
most prestigious.  The fact was, without the intense cooperation 
of all these governments, it is certain that mankind would not 
have sent the Nadyozhda when they did.

With all this fanfare, something unexpected happened.  The tether 
line that held Scott's Jeep to the immense starship came loose.  
Or maybe he just hadn't latched it properly.  Whatever the case, 
the Jeep began to drift away from the Hope, and the Launch 
Coordinator began sending distress signals to Scott Hayford.  
These messages were never given the satisfaction of a reply.  
Suddenly, the Jeep's retrorockets began to fire, pushing it 
farther and farther from the Hope.  An aide to the Launch 
Coordinator suggested that perhaps Scott had finished and had 
reentered his Jeep unseen by those observing the event.  After 
all, the Jeep was just a flea against the behemoth-sized outlines 
of the majestic starship.  The aide put his name on the 
unemployment listings the next day.

Then, right at the appointed time, the enormous banks of reactor-
powered rocket motors began to fire, the heat and radiation 
exhaust shooting out for miles behind the Nadyozhda.  The 
Confederate nation of Luna immediately launched two nuclear 
powered police ships, and the Terran Solar Patrol sent all six of 
theirs that were in the area, not far behind.  The effort was 
futile.  The M.C.C. piloted her ship as perfectly as planned and 
picked up momentum rapidly as the ship headed for interstellar 
space.  The outposts near Jupiter and Saturn were notified, but 
were impotent.  By the time the Hope cleared the asteroid belt 
and fell into Jupiter's gravity well, her speed was too great to 
be matched.  The star ship was traveling faster than any human 
craft ever had.  News correspondents on the Jovian satellites 
covered the "slingshot" maneuver as the interstellar craft 
plummeted almost straight into Jupiter, using the added 
acceleration of the fall to sling her toward Saturn.  Saturn was 
soon passed on the opposite side, and the mission was underway.

Within weeks, Pluto's orbit was passed, and still the ship picked 
up speed.  All communication with the M.C.C. indicated that Scott 
was not aboard ship and that the mission was going fine.  Every 
hour, the gap between transmissions was longer, as the distance 
increased.

In the media, Scott was called a pirate, a glory-hound, and other 
things (it was even stipulated that he committed suicide by one 
network, which had followed the path of his Jeep until it crashed 
on the far side of Luna), but his image soon faded from their 
screens.  Back home they still had the famines to worry about.

*          *          *

The crews aboard the Nadyozhda, still nine months from the 
Banard's Star System, took their time about getting to work.  
Even before they were awakened by the M.C.C., all the clocks in 
the ship had been activated and divided into five time zones.  
Each time zone was four hours and 48 minutes apart from the next 
one.  So, for example, the Captain from Crew #1 would get to his 
office at 08:00 by his clock.  When his watch showed 12:48, the 
Captain from Crew #2 would get there, their shifts overlapping.  
Then #1 would take his lunch break.  He would leave his office 
for the day when his watch showed 17:00.  If, however, he stayed 
late for some reason, at 17:36, he would see the Captain from 
Crew #3 coming to give #2 his lunch.  To inhabitants of Terra, it 
seems difficult, but they had already been living on this type of 
schedule for six months before the launch, in order to grow 
accustomed.

Hope had launched two of her scout probes while the crew was 
still in cryostasis, letting them get ahead of her, so they could 
send back information to chew on before the ship entered the 
System.  The human crew had approximately nine months to prepare 
for their arrival in the alien solar system, the first humans 
ever to do so.

Each cabin's onboard PC had been sent a 28-page news synopsis 
from the M.C.C., compiled from her transmissions received during 
the trip.  Upon turning on their PC for the first time, each crew 
member saw a flashing notice on the screen, advising them to read 
the bulletin when possible, and to enjoy their first day of being 
awake.

After their first meal, Petr pulled a piece of laminated paper 
from the pocket of his jumpsuit.  It was hard to imagine that 
this paper had lain inside this jumpsuit for so long.  The paper 
had a diagram of the ship on one side, in a very tiny scale.  On 
the other side was a larger scale diagram of the living quarters 
section, just forward of the hangar bays.  On this diagram was a 
highlighted path from the cafeteria to his cabin.  He had put it 
in his pocket before entering cryostasis, knowing that there 
would be some temporary memory loss upon awakening.

When Elizabeth saw what he was looking at, she grinned and put 
her arm around him.  "My dear, senile husband, if you can't 
remember how to get there, you could follow me."

Petr looked up into her eyes.  They were laughing at him.  
Smiling wryly, he answered her, "Elizabeth, what else have we 
forgotten during our sleep?"

"Petr, Petr!  You naughty man!  Follow me to the cabin and let us 
remember."

Minutes later, the Novgorods were in their cabin, checking 
everything.  There was one bed, just large enough to be termed 
"mini-queen size", a small desk with the PC and drawers under 
their bed for changes of clothes and other personal items.  There 
was a small door between the bed and the desk that led to the 
small bathroom they shared with the next cabin.

After a few minutes of newlywed-type romanticism, Petr sat at the 
desk, and began scanning news, reading the most interesting items 
to his wife, who was looking through their personal possessions.  
This is what she heard:

"Well, we were right dear; the Venusian colonies finally declared 
their independence from Terra, right after we left...There was a 
war, for two weeks, until the Treaty of 2166.  Venus and Terra 
join to form the Solar Federation and the Solar Patrol - I guess 
that's some kind of Space Police

"Wow!  By 2200, Mars had a population of over 50 million, in a 
dozen cities and thousands of settlements.  Their atmosphere must 
be getting better.  'Mars is financially independent.'

"Mars and Ceres form a joint republic... Ceres has a population 
of over 5 million, with artificial 1/2-g of course... They trade 
minerals for food, still buying fuel from J.U.M.

"Terra tops 13 billion in 2223, and surface wars continue.  
They've started populating the oceans, it seems, with both 
surface and underwater colonies....

"Population in Terran orbit exceeds 25 million... Wow!  I wonder 
if our colonies will produce such great numbers....

"Mars-Ceres joins the Solar Federation in 2247, still importing 
more from J.U.M. than from Terra... All the other outer moons 
form their own nation: The "Outer Satellites Republic", or OSR, 
and then join the Federation with J.U.M. in 2252... J.U.M.'s 
population is over 10 million, and OSR has nearly 4 million..."

Elizabeth joined him and began looking over his shoulder.  They 
read about the revolt of the asteroid miners - not including 
those working out of Ceres - and the Phobos insurrection, and the 
famine on Ganymede.  The outpost of Pluto was recovered after 15 
months of silence, the eight survivors were made heroes.

The last transmission received, which was now more than six years 
old, showed the Solar Federation encompassing all the populations 
of the Solar System, except that of the Phobos Confederacy and 
the "Fifth Planet's New Republic", which is what the asteroid 
mining companies now called their new nation.  Venus and Mars 
could combine their populations to total one billion, and the 
orbiting stations around the four inner planets boasted another 
combined billion.  Earth's last war had given some population 
relief, bringing her total down to 12 billion.  Adding Phobos, 
the FPNR, J.U.M., and OSR (now including Pluto) claimed another 
half billion.

After a light supper and a short Bible study, the Novgorods re-
consummated their 150-year-old marriage and then went to sleep.  
Even then, other Freeze Bays were continuing to thaw, on other 
time zones.

*    *    *

The next morning, Petr awoke to hear a quaint beeping noise.  
Looking up at the screen of his PC, he saw the message alert 
signal.  Rolling out of bed, careful not to disturb his sleeping 
wife, he sat down at the desk and touched the screen with a 
fingertip.  The message appeared, reading like this:

The Captain (Crew #1) requests the presence of his executive 
officers in Meeting Room 2 at 1200 hours today.  Please bring any 
pertinent information that you wish to brief the others on.  
Don't be late.  This means YOU!

Captain Cochran

Petr stored the message for his wife - she was also a member of 
the executive board - and touched menu icons on the screen until 
he had the general "road map" for the ship.  He downsized the map 
until it would fit on two pages, and printed.  Twenty-five 
seconds later, the paper stopped moving, but Petr was in the 
shower.  Within five minutes, he was showered, shaved, dressed, 
and stepping out the door, map in hand.

The Nadyozhda was just less than one mile in length, about 5,000 
feet, with the radar in the bow, and the rocket engines at the 
stern.  It was 750 feet deep at the largest bulge - the cargo bay 
- and at the same place it was almost 1,000 feet wide.  From the 
power plant all the way to the control room, was one corridor 
through the exact center of the vessel, only five feet wide at 
the power plant, enlarging to twelve feet in width at the cargo 
bay, and only narrowing again at the bow.  It was this passageway 
that Petr found, and followed all the way to the power plant.  

There, he found a young engineer from Crew #5 looking over all 
the dials and readouts, having been awake only a few hours.  The 
ship's computer had of course already turned the ship to allow 
the proper amount of deceleration as they entered the new solar 
system.  Petr glanced around, noted the door to the Chief 
Engineer's Office, then headed back toward the front of the ship, 
leaving the muted roar of the rockets behind him.  Without 
stopping, he noted the Recycler, where the ship's air and the 
humans' waste was treated, and made into useful substances.

When he got to the first Cargo Bay entrance, he entered, letting 
the door slide closed behind him.  He found himself in one of the 
intersecting passageways.  The Cargo Bay was really a series of 
Bays.  Near the core or center of the ship, where he stood, there 
were a lot of closets, or storage rooms, for smaller items.  The 
seeds, tiny replacement parts for all the larger machines, space 
suits, oxygen masks, and other things were on shelves, in 
cabinets, or in boxes.  Petr followed the branching passageway 
past the storage for these smaller items, through an open airlock 
into the section for larger items.  Here he found spare tires on 
racks, shovels and other tools wrapped together tightly, and 
fastened to the floors.  Here also were the smaller vehicles, the 
land rovers for two people and extra battery packs for them, the 
jet backpacks for EVAs, and small boats.  Through a large, double 
airlock, he found himself in one of the three large Bays.  There 
was one on each side of the ship, and one at the bottom, each 
with its own set of giant doors.  He was in the Port side Bay, 
and could see large 20-man boats, 15-man land rovers - able to 
operate in a complete vacuum, large crates containing dismantled 
mining machinery, and the solar powered tractors and other large 
farm equipment.  There were also, he remembered, many fruit trees 
suspended in cryostasis, as well as many farm animals.  
Satisfied, he walked back toward the central passageway.

A little further down the main walkway, Petr saw the hangar bay 
doors.  To enter the double airlock there, he was required to 
give his thumbprint on a screen, and say his name into the voice 
identity scanner.  Only the members of the executive counsel and 
the one hangar boss from each crew had their identities recorded 
here, since at least one of them had to be present when the doors 
were unlocked.  Petr stepped through the portal into the largest 
single room in the entire Nadyozhda. 

While the cargo bays constituted the largest section of the ship, 
they were actually several rooms, dozens in fact.  But the Hangar 
Bay was one single, cavernous hollow in the center of the ship, 
about 800 feet long, 600 feet high, and 850 feet wide.  From 
where Petr stood, on a catwalk, he could see all of the auxiliary 
craft that the mother ship possessed.  He knew that the Nadyozhda 
had several gravity field generators, the main one being for the 
entire ship, holding the crew at an easy 7/8 g.  But here in the 
hangar bays, only the catwalks had that luxury.  The rest of the 
space was held at zero-g, to keep the smaller craft from 
buffeting one another during the trip.  Of course, they could 
have been carefully attached to the walls, thus requiring more 
heavy machinery, or each one snugly tucked into its own chamber, 
like the lifeboats on the Daniel Boone I, the passenger liner 
that ran the Terra-Mars-Venus circuit once every month.  But with 
the advent of the artificial gravity fields, more efficient use 
could be made of hangar space.  Now, not only were the walls, 
floors and ceilings of the hangar bay able to store extra craft, 
but every cubic yard.  Slender but strong catwalks ran through 
the largest on-board hangar facility ever made, imitating a 
spider's web in their intricacy.  

Everywhere that there was room, a ship was tethered to a catwalk.  
Nearer to the doors were the tiny automatic space probes, two of 
which had already been launched.  Then there were the dozen or so 
modified Jeeps, used to inspect or repair the hull of the mother 
ship, or even the other auxiliary craft.  Next were the small 
shuttles, ten of them, which resembled compact sports cars in 
relation to the shuttles of earlier space exploration.  These had 
first been used to patrol the surface of Luna, and then in the 
exploration of the outer satellites, and the newest model as of 
2165 had been included in the repertoire of the Nadyozhda.  Able 
to be flown by only one man, they could hold up to five, and a 
few days' worth of provisions; they were meant for short range 
observation, and were very fast and comfortable.  And finally, 
closer to where Petr walked the catwalk, were the five full-size 
shuttles.  These could transport up to forty people at one time, 
or enormous amounts of cargo, with wings for an atmospheric 
landing, or retrorockets for a straight vacuum landing.  All of 
these craft floated serenely in their zero-g environment, which 
Petr was tempted to experience by stepping over the rail.  But he 
wanted to tour the rest of the ship before his meeting at 12:00.

He wandered back through the living quarters area, greeting a few 
other people in passing, most of whom he only recognized faintly.  
'Well,' he thought, 'if they are from my Crew, I'll know them 
well enough very soon indeed.'

He looked in briefly at the cryogenic storage areas, where now 
only animals slept.  It looked very cold and lonely to him in 
there, but he was grateful for the technology that had allowed 
him to make the 150-year voyage and still be only 32 years old.

Without deviating too much from the central walkway, he noted 
that his map showed the living quarters to be slightly longer 
than the hangar area, about 900 feet, and about the same height, 
but narrower.  He knew though that there had to be enough room 
for five hundred people to avoid being claustrophobic.  What if 
the cryostasis machines went down?  And what if there were no 
suitable planets in Banard's Star System?  There had to be enough 
room.

When he passed from the living area and entered the science 
section, he saw that his new watch said 10:45.  The laboratories 
for planetary research were in the cargo bay, ready for insertion 
in the cargo sections of the larger shuttles, but any other 
research would take place in the mother ship's laboratories.  Any 
information that could be gained from the search of the Banard's 
Star System would be entered in the M.C.C. and studied in the 
science labs, even if no settlement were left on any of the 
planets, with all of the results eventually sent back to Sol.

Not understanding most of the processes that would take place 
there, Petr quickly passed the lab area, and entered the bow of 
the ship, the narrowest, smallest section, where the central 
passageway narrowed again.  On his left were five meeting rooms, 
and on his right were large storage rooms for maintenance and 
cleaning supplies. Above and below him, he knew, were the vast 
memory banks of the M.C.C., which mysteriously controlled most of 
the ship's functions.  Next, he passed the library on his left 
and his own office on the right.  The Captain's office was just 
ahead of his own, with the M.C.C. office across the hall from 
that, and at the very end of the passageway was the control room.  
Forward of the Control Room were only the radar and other 
sighting devices, mostly inactive at the moment, since the bow 
was now pointed back at Sol, the massive rocket engines slowing 
the ship for entry into the Banard's Star System.  

He ducked into one of the library's viewing rooms, where he 
accessed some old books on the viewing computers, and began to 
read, clicking from screen to screen every thirty seconds or so, 
until 11:58.

*    *    *

When Crew #1's executive counsel was seated at the table in the 
meeting room, Captain Cochran spoke.  "Ladies and Gentlemen, the 
first order of business is health.  Dr. Massaan, I assume that 
everyone is successfully awake?"

The Indian Medical Doctor smiled, his white teeth contrasting 
handsomely with his almost-black skin.  "Yes, Captain, they are.  
And the longevity treatment?"

"My next sub-order of business under health, good Doctor.  I 
guess that we are aware of the general confusion regarding that 
subject, just before we left.  The other crews may have read 
about it in their synopsis of Human History, but we need to have 
everyone treated as soon and as fairly as possible.  Doctor, are 
you aware of how to administer the treatment?"

Massaan smiled again, and Petr wondered if the doctor ever 
started a sentence with any other expression.  "Yes, Captain, I 
followed the research very carefully, even during my practice on 
Terra, and in Astropolis I.  Probably by the end of the week, 
everyone can be treated."

"Good.  And the last medical issue is this.  I want you to give 
everyone their mandatory physicals at the same time as the 
treatment, so we all won't have to see you twice.  No one is 
exempt from this physical, understand.  I'll just have to find 
time."

"On the contrary, good sir, you will be the first.  I cannot 
allow the mission to proceed unless you visit me directly after 
this meeting.  Our Captain must be certifiably fit for his 
duties."

"Uh, okay.  I guess you're right.  Next order of business is 
work.  As most of you know, we're on a kind of communist system 
here, where everyone works, and everyone eats and gets medical 
attention.  If anyone refuses to work, or wants to shirk their 
fair share of duty, or tries to consume more than their fair 
share of necessities, you are authorized to speak to them for me, 
and if they still persist, to report them to me.  Although we 
were selected very carefully for this mission, someone may try to 
take advantage of the situation, and assume that we won't do 
anything about it.  But we will, won't we?"

The others nodded their heads.  "According to Policy, sir?"  Petr 
asked.  

"First of all, Pastor, call me James, like you used to.  Second 
of all, the Policy was written 150 years ago, and 36 trillion 
miles away.  For you scientists, that's about 387,000 AUs.  Many 
of our policies will have to be arbitrary, or whatever works to 
accomplish our mission.  There may be changes to the way the 
Policy is carried out.  Of course, we will have to agree on 
changes.  If I say something in one of our meetings, and none of 
you vocally disagrees, I will assume you agree.

"Now, as I was saying.  Right now there's not much work to go 
around.  But all of us can find things to do.  And Guv'ner here 
will assign work duties to everyone, according to how he sees 
fit.  Okay?"

No one vocally disagreed, so he went on.  "Okay, the M.C.C. has 
sent out the two probes that the Policy called for, and within a 
few weeks, we'll be receiving information from them, telling us 
more about the system we're entering.  But from here, we can 
detect four planets, with a possibility of two more on the other 
side of Banard's Star."  He paused while everyone celebrated.  
There were cheers, and a small applause, and a 'Slava na Boka' 
from Petr.  "Yes, friends, we've hit the jackpot.  Now we've just 
got to pray that one or more of these babies can support our type 
of life.

"We're still not receiving any signals of any kind from the 
system, and it is not apparent that there is any kind of 
technological race extant here. We-"

Petr, being on the linguistics team, interrupted, "Sir, uh, 
James, while it is true that there may be no space-faring race 
there, does that mean that there will be no intelligent life of 
any kind?"

Cochran was about to answer when Marie cut in, "Reverend Doctor - 
or is it Doctor Reverend? - this star system is known to be 
millions of years older than our own.  Don't you think that if 
life were to develop here, it would have done so long ago?"  She 
appeared irritated by his question.  

Before Petr could defend his question, Cochran stated, "Please, 
Dr. Clark, it must be considered as a possibility.

"Now, do any of you have anything you wish to brief the rest of 
us on?"  He looked around the table, waiting.

Dr. Marie Clark, the diminutive and exquisitely beautiful 
computer programmer, sitting to the Captain's left, shook her 
light brown curls lightly, and offered, "Well, in case anyone's 
curious, all systems are "go" as far as the M.C.C. is concerned.  
Our ship's brain couldn't be in finer shape if she were human."

"Thank you, Dr. Clark."  The Captain, short and wiry with dark 
hair cut like a wire brush, let his dark brown eyes move on to 
the next member of the Counsel, the very dark and always-smiling- 
before-he-spoke Dr. Massaan.

The highly respected and highly capable Indian doctor smiled 
again, as if he were sincerely smiling.  "I have inspected our 
clinic and medi-labs, Captain - may I please call you Captain 
until we are more familiar? - and I find everything in order.  I 
will have my computer send a message to every cabin, announcing 
each person's appointment, before the end of the day.  So far, no 
one has suffered ill-effects from the long sleep."

"Okay, Doctor, and I'll be down as soon as this meeting is 
adjourned.  Right?"

"Correct."

The next person was Mr. Ortega, commonly called "Guv'ner" by his 
friends.  He had been the first elected head of the Lunar 
Confederacy, and had stepped down after twenty years of 
reelections to join this enterprise.  He smiled a little polite 
smile, and said, "Well, the work schedules that were printed 
before we left will suffice, with only a few adjustments.  I 
think we should add more time for personal exercise and 
education, but besides that, I think we'll be fine.  Once 
everyone's on schedule, my job should be fairly easy until we 
arrive.  If anyone needs me, I'll be on the 'south 40'."  He 
grinned at his left-hand neighbor, Mr. Davidson, who spoke next.

"And it's prob'ly a good idear fer all y'all ta stop by the farm.  
Ya know, after we git all settled on our new planits, y'u'll need 
ta know how it's dun."

Marie laughed out loud.  "How in Nature's Great Universe did you 
graduate from college with speech like that?"  She grinned her 
prettiest cheerleader-type smile at him.

"Football scholarship, ma'am." He shrugged, his immense shoulders 
rippling as they moved, and grinned back at her.  "But farmin' 
wuz always what I's good at."

This time, it was Cochran's turn to chuckle.  "I'm glad to hear 
that you're better at farming.  My report says you were the only 
fullback to take the Heismann Trophy in 80 years.  We'll be 
eating well, friends."

Davidson grew red in the face, and then said as if he had almost 
forgotten it, "Oh, they's som'thin' straynge about mah farm."

"And that is...?"

Petr noticed Marie look a little nervous for a second, before she 
recomposed herself.

"Well, suh, part of it was already growed up when I first got 
there."

Cochran's mouth moved slowly from side to side as if he had a 
toothache while he thought over this new information.

Marie settled it for them.  "I should have mentioned it sooner, 
Captain, but it didn't seem necessary.  Once or twice during the 
trip, the M.C.C. woke me up to discuss certain things.  
Apparently she was lonely.  So, I took the time to grow some 
food, so I wouldn't use up the supplies."

Several whispers and other curious sounds began, and were cut off 
abruptly when the Captain smiled and replied, "Yes, young lady, 
you should have mentioned it, but I can understand how such an 
intelligent machine would have such feelings.  Are you sure 
that's all you have left unsaid?"

"Sir?  I'm not sure what you mean..."

"I'll speak to you a little later, Dr. Clark."  He thought to 
himself for a moment, then sighed.  "Well, it seems as if 
everyone needs to say something.  Dr. Novgorod, anything unusual 
about our power plant?"  Cochran glanced grimly at Marie.

Elizabeth answered, "Not that I've noticed, James.  Uh, actually, 
I haven't been there yet; I just woke up."  She blushed 
beautifully.

Cochran glanced at Petr hurriedly, then back to Elizabeth.  
"Doctor, I certainly understand your fatigue-" he looked at Petr 
again "-from such a long trip, but please, first thing after the 
meeting, go check everything.  We must keep the human element 
involved here.  Got it?"

"Yes sir, James.  I'm very sorry."

"No need to be.  Pastor?"

Petr smiled at the memory that word brought upon him.  Captain 
Cochran, all during his rise through the Terran Federation's 
space program, had attended the small church Petr pastored in the 
great space city of Armstrong.  Only a struggling seminary 
student at the time, Petr had held together a curious 
congregation of all types of religions, mostly spacemen and their 
families, although occasionally tourists would drop in.  Cochran 
had slipped in, usually late, every time he was docked at Arm-
strong.

"Well, Jim, all I have to say is that services will begin in the 
dining area this Sunday at 10:00 hours, and on Friday nights, I 
will hold informal religious forums at 20:00 hours in the hall 
outside our cabin, unless too many people show up.

"In my capacity as architect, we'll just have to wait and see, 
won't we?"

"Okay," Cochran said, "See you all in a few days.  Get busy, and 
good spacing to you all."  To Marie, he said, "I'll see you in my 
office after lunch, Dr. Clark."

*    *    *

Scott looked up as Marie entered his cabin, her lips pursed with 
frustration.  "What is it, sweets?"

She sat on his bunk beside him, and put her head on his shoulder.  
As he put an arm around her, she said tiredly, "Scotty, the 
Captain knows you're on board.  He says for now he won't say 
anything to anyone, because he hasn't decided what to do about 
it.  Oh, Scott!"

He squeezed her shoulder gently.  "Look, Marie, honey, the 
Captain and I are both reasonable men.  We both know I'm a 'space 
pirate' by definition, and by the Treaty of 2075, I should be 
thrown out the airlock when apprehended.  But we also know that 
on a mission like this, everyone can be of help.  And besides, we 
have a bargaining chip; he needs Hope, doesn't he?"

Hope spoke up, "Scott, I assume you joke when you infer that I 
might be useful as a bargaining chip.  However, I was created to 
carry out the mission of this ship, and I intend to do so, even 
if the Captain is inclined to follow the procedures ambiguously 
outlined in the badly written Treaty of 2075."

"But, Hope," Scott whined, "I thought we were friends?"

"Remember, human, while I greatly enjoy your company, we agreed 
at the outset that your decision was dangerous.  And I hope you 
don't intend to manipulate me as you would an emotionally 
disturbed human female."

Marie looked up at the monitor where Hope's false image was.  The 
almost gaudy curly locks of golden blond hair cascading over 
shapely bare shoulders were offset by a pair of crystal blue eyes 
set in prominent but softened cheekbones and sharpened by very 
dark eye shadowing.  Marie wasn't sure where Scott and Hope had 
come up with the image, but she was sure it wasn't a respectable 
source.  But it had a very convincing effect when Hope 
manipulated the screen to show movement, and it looked just as if 
they were using a vid-fone back home.  The image was only a head 
and shoulders shot, but it gave the impression that the rest of 
the figure was nude.  Marie wondered what Scott saw on the screen 
when she wasn't there.

"Scott, Hope is right about her mission, and you're right about 
the Captain.  I know he's a reasonable man, and I'm sure he'll 
find a way to utilize your talents... Maybe he'll let you help us 
set up the computer system for the colony or something."

Hope's features on the screen took on a hurt expression.  "But 
you'll always come back to me, right, Scotty?"

Marie, very smug about the way she had just tricked Hope, said, 
"Now who's the emotionally disturbed female?"

III Another Chapter

Those sociologists and political scientists who had argued for 
the colonists to number in the many thousands had been blinded by 
a detrimental practice found in their own Terran and Martian 
societies: specialization.  In most human societies, if a man is 
a plumber, that was all he knew.  The same applied for engineers, 
doctors, cooks, soldiers, holovision broadcasters, mechanics, 
computer programmers, etc.  The key to keeping the crews so small 
on the Nadyozhda was generalization.  Almost everyone knew more 
than one field very well, and they were aware of the basics in 
all fields.  And on board ship, they all rotated through many 
jobs.  Examples: Harley Davidson, chief hydroponicist of Crew #1 
was also the athletic director, in charge of formulating exercise 
routines for the crew, to restore fitness after the 150-year 
sleep.  Petr Novgorod, chaplain of Crew #1, was also an 
accomplished general architect, sharing the responsibilities of 
designing and directing construction of the colony when the time 
arose.  But they both shared kitchen and cleaning duties with the 
rest of their crew.

Almost every member of the crew was "chief" or "head" of 
something and employed the help of other "chiefs" and "heads" to 
accomplish his task.  But only seven from each crew had actual 
"offices" outside their living quarters.  These were the 
Executive Counsel members, holding the responsibility with the 
Captain for the smooth running of the ship.

*    *    *

Day 3 (November 5, 2314 AD):  (Petr)

I rolled out of my bed groggily, gently removing Elizabeth's arm 
and placing it softly under the sheet beside her. Grunting, I 
stood up and switched off the alarm, stretching mightily at the 
same time.  I touched my toes a few times, then picked up my 
dumbbells.  As I began doing my curls, I tried to remember which 
books I had sacrificed in my personal weight allowance to bring 
the weights.  Oh well, all those books are on file, and I need to 
be fit for the rigors of colonial life.  I hurried through the 
rest of my fifteen-minute routine and stepped into the shower.

Five minutes later, smelling clean and having shaved, I returned 
to our cabin and pulled on my jumpsuit.  Leaning over my wife, I 
whispered into her ear, "Kraseevy, wake up."  Her eyes - those 
beautiful eyes, even in the morning! - opened halfway, and I 
gently shook her.  "They'll be needing you in a little while, 
dear....  I've got to go."

After sliding on my non-slip boots, I left the cabin, quietly 
closing the door behind me.  Soon my steps had taken me to the 
dining room and into the kitchen.  There I saw what I assumed was 
the largest man on the ship.

"Dobryeh Utrah, comrade.  My name is Petr."  I held out my right 
hand, my left pulling an apron from the rack.

The huge, dark-haired man in front of me grasped my hand gently, 
and replied, "Forrest Harmon, glad ta know ya. What d'ya do?"

"Chaplain, architect, cook, farmer, et cetera.  And you?"

Forrest smiled.  "Now that's good question.  I was 2nd alternate 
for some other guy who turned chickin' at the last minute; that 
'u'd be centuries ago by now.  The first alternate was deathly 
ill, so I came.  So far, I farm, and help Mr. Davidson with 
athletics, cook, and move heavy things.  But when we get on the 
ground, I'll be chief mineralogist.  

"Well, let's get cookin'."

Soon, we had the microwave ovens going full steam, thawing items 
from deep freeze while the grill warmed up.  I turned on the 
drink dispensers, and Forrest began to brew some real coffee, 
just as the Captain walked in.  The noise startled me when a 
heavy fan kicked on above my head, apparently taking the excess 
heat away to heat the running water and the farm.

"Good waking, Pastor," Cochran said.  - I had learned long ago 
that in space, you couldn't really say "Good Morning" anymore, 
since morning was only a phenomenon observed on a planet, when 
the star appears to rise above the horizon.  Several different 
replacements had been tried, but "Good Waking" had stuck among 
the Terran Space Corps. - "And to you too, Forrest."

"Yes, sir, Cap'n.  It'll be about two 'n' a half minutes for 
breakfast."  Forrest was drawing the Captain a mug of coffee 
while saying this, and then handed it to him.  "What can we get 
ya?"

The Captain sipped carefully out of the steaming mug.  "Whew!  
Uh, make it Eggs - three, please, and toast, bacon and milk."

I said, "At your service, Cap - I mean James," trying to get 
involved in the work too.  It appeared to me that the Captain and 
Forrest got along better than they should have, for a starship 
captain and 2nd alternate mineralogist, but I didn't think too 
long about it; others were starting to arrive.

They came one by one or two by two through our line, fueling 
their bodies for the day's work.  Another man and a woman joined 
Forrest and I behind the counters, helping to serve, and keep 
food coming.  In slower moments, I glimpsed a view of the excess 
grease draining off the grill, where I knew it went into a 
powerful filtering system, to be used again.  The chunks that 
were filtered out were transported to the recycling plant in 
engineering, separated into their component elements for use all 
throughout the ship.  The same applied to the dishwater.  All the 
dishes were cleaned to be used again, and even the sweepings from 
the dining room floor were taken to the "Recycler".

When the cooking was finished, I tossed my apron and gloves into 
the laundry chute, washed my hands and headed forward, to open 
the Chaplain's office, or relieve the #5 Chaplain, if he had gone 
to work.  Forrest followed me, probably heading for the farm to 
meet Mr. Davidson, leaving the other two to clean the kitchen.

Just after I entered the passageway, Forrest caught up to me, and 
drawled, "Say, Rev'ren', what's yer creed?"

I stopped and looked at him.  Many people do not inquire of 
another's religion, especially out in space.  I have heard of 
many quarrels starting this way, which ended in someone taking an 
exit through the airlock without remembering to wear a spacesuit.  
But by his accent - a little sloppy, but somewhat European - I 
judged that he was either fresh up from Earth, or a Venusian 
colonial, and a lot of them are really free about what everyone 
believes.  So I decided to answer.

"Technically, I'm New Revised Interplanetary Calvinist 
Pentecostal.  Personally, I try to interpret the Christian 
Scriptures to the best of my ability, and help people get right 
with the God of those Scriptures... if they choose to believe in 
Him.  You?"

"Huh?  Oh, I guess ya c'd say I'm a Heinz 57 - a mix, that is.  
But you read a Good Book.  I'm sure I'll see you again, either 
here or there, or on the ground."

"Thanks, Forrest.  I'll be looking forward to it."

He took the branch in the passageway that led to the office of 
Mr. Davidson, just as I assumed, while I followed the same route 
I had taken the day before, straight through the heart of the 
ship, all the way to my office.  

On the door, the label read: Office of the Chaplain.  Underneath 
it had my name and degrees in somewhat smaller letters, then the 
names of the other four chaplains, in tiny script.  I decided to 
have that changed, if I could.  I can not stand for anyone to 
have any reason to gossip about me, or to make me look bad, and 
besides that, I'm no closer to God than those other ministers.  I 
just happened to get the luck of the draw.  In parentheses, 
behind each minister's name, it gave the name of the organization 
that held his or her credentials.  I noticed Reorganized Martian 
Muslim Churches For Christ, which gave me a start.  I had 
apparently not kept up with the expanding and constantly changing 
religious world of which I had been a part.  I did remember 
something about one of our crews having a Muslim minister, 
because of an unusually high number of Islamic families, but I 
did not remember this strange mixture of Christian and Muslim 
faiths.

I let that thought slide, and glanced at the other creeds: 
Whitfieldian Mathematical Christian Scientist-Adventist, Southern 
Baptist of Venus (now that was original!), Assemblies of God-
World Pentecostal Fellowship, and The Martian Orthodox Jewish 
Assembly.  What a concoction! I thought, I hope we never have to 
explain how all of this stuff is true, yet completely separatist 
and contradictory!

With a thumb- and voice-print, I was allowed into my office, or 
actually into the small anteroom before the office.  I had 
forgotten about this, but suddenly remembered my last-minute 
suggestion to provide a place for people to wait or pray or read 
while waiting for someone else to exit the actual office.  I 
noted the shelves, holding the only real, bound books outside of 
the cabins.  Glancing over them, I was pleasantly surprised to 
find some of the titles that I had sacrificed in favor of my 
dumbbells, but also many other books, and a twelve volume set 
that outlined the statements of faith and basic structure of 
every known religion in 2164 AD.  Goodness!  I wonder how many 
creeds exist in 2314?  Maybe this volumed set's new edition has 
expanded to three hundred volumes.  

When I reached the door to the main office, I noticed the status 
lights on the frame.  There were three words that could be lit, 
in combinations or individually, either by a manual control 
inside, or automatically, by the M.C.C.  The "Chaplain In" was 
glowing softly, but the "In Prayer" and "With Someone" were dark.  
With my thumbprint again, I was allowed to come in, and I heard 
the speaker inside announce in a soft feminine voice, "Rabbi 
Joseph, The Reverend Petr Novgorod is here."

The Jewish minister from Mars looked up from a large book that 
was open on the desk.  "Well, Reverend, I have heard so much 
about you."  His voice was weak and sounded tired, but his eyes 
looked healthy to me, and his hair was not completely gray.  His 
beard, trimmed short for the cryostasis, was also gray, and he 
looked very much like an authentic Jew, although I have always 
doubted how many actual descendants of Jacob really had kept the 
blood pure.  "Come in, sit down.  No, no, have your seat.  I've 
got to get some lunch, my watch shows 12:50.  Of course, no one's 
been here yet, seeking counsel, but I know they will, when we get 
closer.  This will be very traumatic for all of us, don't you 
think?"

He seemed to struggle slightly when he first arose, and my first 
thought was because of his age.  Then I remembered where he was 
from.  "Gravity giving you a problem?"

Smiling, he answered, "Yes, son, even after that last six months 
at three-quarters.  But I shall grow accustomed to it over time."  
As an afterthought, he added, "I hope we find a light gravity 
planet here in the Banard's Star System."

Then I remembered his question.  "Yes, Teacher, this whole 
mission will surely be very traumatic for all of us.  This will 
be the human race's first contact outside our solar system.  But 
enjoy your lunch, sir, and don't hurry back, remember, I'm 
already on my third day."

"Of course, Petr - may I call you Petr?" - I nodded - "but I have 
many things to look over today.  And then tomorrow, I must 
receive my longevity treatment.  I'll be back."

When Rabbi Joseph returned, he took the corner desk in the inner 
office, in deference to my position, and reopened his thick book.  
I had not had a chance to notice the title, so I kept my 
curiosity to myself.  I spent the day thinking of Elizabeth and 
my sermon for Sunday, and jotting a few notes concerning Friday 
night's open dialogue.

I spent my lunch hour with my wife, and directly afterward went 
to Dr. Massaan's clinic to undergo my rejuvenation treatment.  I 
awoke at almost 16:00, feeling slightly dizzy, but still able to 
resume my duties.  After receiving a bottle of medicine to help 
the dizziness, I returned to my office, to speak with the 
minister from the Reorganized Martian Muslim Churches for Christ.

When the minister from Crew #2 had showed up at 12:30 (my time), 
the first thing I noticed was the fact that she was a she.  That 
accounted for the "Reorganized" part of her Church's title.  But 
I had left quickly, and then returned at about 16:15.  When I 
walked in to the anteroom, I noticed all three lights were lit on 
the inner office doorframe, so I waited for a while, spending the 
time looking up the RMMCFC in the encyclopedia of religions.  
Just about the time I found it, the door opened and a man walked 
out about the same time as two of the indicator lights stopped 
glowing.  So I went in.

Reverend Kristie Jurabi was a tall but very slim woman, obviously 
born on Mars, or at least she had lived there since she was very 
young.  And she was very dark, probably of Arabic ancestry.  
"Good afternoon, Number One Chaplain," she said.  She was already 
in the process of standing, to move to the corner desk.

"And good morning to you, number two.  Someone having spiritual 
problems already." I sat down at the main desk, casting a 
questioning look in her direction.

"You could say, maybe, sir.  But more likely a psychological 
problem.  The man came to tell he is fearing the open spaces of 
the planet that we choose.  Lived he has in space stations and 
vessels all the life."

I was finding it difficult to follow her English, since I myself 
still think in Russian from time to time, translating all that I 
say and hear.  It was obvious that she was doing the same, from 
one of the Arab languages, or possibly the Martian lingo of 2165, 
which was a mix of Russian, Arab, Chinese, English German, and 
(some claimed) actual ancient Martian languages.  But when I 
understood what she had said, I realized that I would have the 
same problem.  I had never, as far as I could remember, set foot 
on the surface of a planet.  I had been to Luna several times, 
and once to Mars, but both visits kept me safe inside pressurized 
chambers.  And I had lived most of my life in Armstrong, one of 
the first actual Space Cities.  

"I think I understand the man's problem," I commented.  "I will 
probably encounter the same feelings when I first step outside of 
the shuttle.  I have never breathed air that was not contained 
and maintained by mechanical devices."

"Then maybe you will come to pray with me?" She smiled quickly, 
then let it disappear.

"Maybe."  I thought for a second, then plunged on in.  "Reverend 
Jurabi, what is the significance of the title that your church 
holds?"

She did not smile this time, but her eyes did.  "Thought I you 
would ask.  People times of many can not reason the mysteries of 
our religion at glance first."  She seemed to have learned her 
English from a cross-lingual dictionary, rather than a teacher or 
class or exposure.  "But will I explain try it to you?"

"Uh, yes, please."

"Reorganized means now that female people can ministers become.  
Martian means we that are from Mars.  Muslim applies to moral 
code and customs ours, it known being that of us many Islamic 
children were.  Churches means 'group of people meeting to 
indulge in religious practices,' plural form implies more than 
one.  For Christ means that intellectually and spiritually - if 
there is a difference - we have been persuaded to believe in the 
atoning death, empowering resurrection, and delivering Second 
Coming of Christ.  You will now ask about Muslim moral codes and 
customs ours.  We believe the Prophet - Mohammed, that is - had 
of a purpose in mind to purge the existing Church of his time of 
Sin, to make it pure more.  So, as it must be all over known, his 
moral code was stricter much by far more than that of most what 
you and me call Christian Churches.  We follow his code."

My mind reeled.  Outwardly, I nodded, which was merely a token 
promise that I eventually planned to understand what she was 
saying.  I let her get back to her work, while I rewrote the 
outline for Sunday's sermon and scribbled another question for 
Friday night's open forum.

*    *    *

Day 3 (Nov. 5, 2314): (Harley)

I sat down in my office, just in time to hear a man larger than 
me entering the farm area.  I knew it had to be Forrest Harmon, 
since no one else on the ship was heavier than me - as far as I 
knew.  I looked at my desk, wishing there were papers and forms 
to rustle through.  How can you call this an office when it's so 
clean?

Forrest leaned into the doorway, a questioning look on his face, 
apparently awaiting my instruction.  Then I realized that he was 
probably wondering how both of us could fit in the cubbyhole that 
was called an office.  "Let's talk outside," I said, as I stood.

Now, I make most men look thin when I stand beside them, even 
though I'm short.  It seems all of the early cosmonauts had been 
small, wiry fellows, and even the majority of the early colonists 
were a light bunch, because of fuel considerations and maybe 
health concerns.  It was only early in my generation that heavier 
people had spaced - except for those very wealthy people, or 
members of NAAFA, the National Association for the Advancement of 
Fat Americans.  Yet next to Forrest Harmon, I felt like a ballet 
dancer.

I offered, "Breakfest wus good.  Ya cook much?"

When he shrugged, it seemed to me that the ship's course was 
slightly altered.  Maybe the man's a miniature planet in 
disguise.

"Not really, Mr. Davidson.  Just McDonald's as a kid.  What'd'we 
doin' today, Boss?"

"Well, the number five shift will still be here a while.  Why 
don'ch ya take a gander and see what we got.  Don' ferget yer O2 
mask."

"Sher thang, Boss."

I went back to my office, thinking hard, while Forrest walked 
through my pride and joy, the farm of the Hope. There were 
endless aisles of tanks, where sprouts were beginning to grow.  
To most people those sprouts all look alike, but I can tell them 
apart, by their leaves, their root structures, even the stems 
have different configurations.  As Forrest walked down each 
aisle, I recited in my head all the plants we had.  Asparagus, 
artichoke, blackberries, blueberries, beets, broccoli, cabbage, 
corn, cauliflower, cucumbers, carrots, cherries, apples... 
Basically, every kind of fruit or vegetable or grain imaginable, 
all the way up to watermelon, yam, and zucchini.  On the tanks, 
there were tiny plastic cards posted, detailing the chemical 
solutions best suited to the growth of that plant.  I noticed 
Forrest reading some of them carefully, ignoring others 
completely.  He looked up at the CO2 vents and the controls that 
regulated the flow to different sections of the farm.

Every pressurized section of the ship was connected by vents to 
the farm, where we had a miniature 'cycler under the floor.  
Every person's exhalations contained valuable Carbon Dioxide, and 
other non-breathable compounds.  Certain ones, especially CO2, 
were separated out and sent into the farm for plant consumption.  
The plants in turn produced oxygen for human consumption, along 
with valuable sugars, starches and proteins necessary for the 
crew's survival.

After a few minutes, I bored of watching my new trainee, and 
thought about him instead.  Now here was a man at least six foot 
six, and probably weighing in at around 275, on a space ship, 
assigned to the farm, when he obviously didn't know too much 
about it.  Yet he seemed to have great powers of observation, for 
I saw how his eyes moved slowly and confidently from item to 
item.  And he obviously could read chemical solutions, or there 
would've been a very confused look on his face when he read those 
little plastic cards.  And from his accent, I'd say he was from 
the East Coast (of North America, that is), or possibly Venus.  
And it sounded a little like an accent that I'd heard in an old 
movie once.

Out of curiosity, I decided to pull up his file.  There wasn't 
really a need, since as long as he could do the work, I didn't 
care where he came from.  Yet, something bothered me about his 
manner.  So I flipped on the PC at my desk, selected the main 
menu icon and clicked, general info - click, personnel - click, 
files - click, and "by name" click.  Then I typed in "Forrest 
Harmon" and hit 'return'.  All the computer said was "No File for 
'Forrest Harmon'."  So I tried it last name first, and with only 
one "R", and then several different spellings.  Each time: "No 
File...."

Reaching to the wall beside me, I tapped the intercom switch, and 
tapped in the code for the Captain's office.  "Chief 
Hydroponicist.  Is the Cap'n in?"

A rumbling baritone answered, "This is Captain #5.  Captain 
Cochran is in the control room.  Is this an emergency?"

"Not really."  I could feel the lines on my face deepening, as if 
a year's crop had been destroyed by a drought.  "Will ya be there 
fer a few minits?  I need ta come up."

"Come up if you feel it necessary.  Are you sure this can't be 
discussed over the phone?"

I'm goin' ta smash his God-damned skull when ah git up there!  I 
touched the "end call" button, and stood up.  I strode angrily 
into the hall, wishing that I could slam the door shut behind me, 
but it slid quietly shut as it always would.  I opened the door 
into the farm after taking a deep breath and shouted to Forrest, 
"Don' fergit ta milk the cows!"  I hoped he would realize it was 
a joke - all the animals were still in cryostasis.  Then I headed 
for the Captain's office.

When I got there, I stepped in through the open door, only to see 
a very familiar face, but before I could even think about who it 
was, Cochran spun on me.  I hadn't even noticed he was there 
until his barrage hit me.

"Now what is so fucking important that you can't discuss it with 
Wilson here?"  He jerked a thumb at the familiar face I had seen 
and continued.  "Look here, Davidson!  I realize you've got an 
important position here in this ship.  Now YOU must realize that 
you're supposed to be able to handle these little things that 
come up.  I-"

"Cap'n, I-"

"Shut up, Davidson, and tell me what your problem is."

I can say that when that little man started to swear at me, with 
his veins all puffed out and his face getting red, my first 
thought wasn't What a poor, overworked man.  My first thought was 
about how I could beat the crap out of him.  And I'm sure I could 
crush him in a split second.  Then I realized who "Wilson" was.

"Okay, Cap'n.  I - Well, hello, Robert!"  I had suddenly 
recognized the quarterback from my freshman year.  "Well, sirs, I 
planned on discussin' it with Wilson here, but I couldn' say 
nothin' over the tube."  I hesitated a little.  "It could be 
somethin' ya don' wan' gettin' out."

Cochran was looking a little more subdued now, like the stuck pig 
who just realized he was really stuck in the barbed wire fence 
and decided to stop screaming.  "Go ahead, Davidson."

Wilson, my old friend whom I didn't have time to have a reunion 
with just then, saw Cochran heading for the chair, stood quickly, 
and headed around the desk to one of the two chairs.  I took the 
other one.  As I sat down, I looked back at the open door, 
wondering whether or not anyone outside could hear me.

"For crying out loud," Cochran muttered, and touched a button on 
his desk.  The soundproof door slid into place, leaving the three 
of us in seclusion.  I felt a little more secure.

"Sorry, Cap'n, it's jest - well....  Are you aware that they's a 
feller on board our boat who's got no file?"

Cochran's eyebrows shot up and a very worried expression clouded 
his face.  That was the expression I was hoping I would cause 
with this piece of news.  Wilson looked back and forth between 
the Captain and me.

"That's the goddamn truth, Cap'n.  I got a Mr. Forrest Harmon in 
my farm who's got no file in our computer."

Then Cochran made an expression I did not expect at all.  His 
eyebrows went back to their normal positions, and he laughed.  
"Oh, well, I thought you meant.... well, never mind."  He 
suddenly grew serious again.  "And so what's the problem, Mr. 
Davidson?  Is Mr. Harmon causing you any trouble?"

"Well, no sir, uh, he seems to be a mighty fine feller, but I 
thought that all of our shipmates was in that there Em-See-See, 
and that each chief was ta be permitted to check 'em out, if need 
be."

"Well, you see, Mr. Davidson, I believe that this Mister, uh, 
Harmon was substituted at the last minute for one of our single 
men who became sick just before launch.  As I understood, deathly 
ill.  If his file was not uploaded, we'll just have to deal with 
the situation.  Why don't you ask your new friend about the 
information you need to satisfy your curiosity.  If his answers 
are not satisfactory, you can send him to see me, immediately.  
Understood?"

Actually, I felt as if I'd been brushed off, but apparently it 
was a successful brush-off, because I answered, "Of course, 
Cap'n.  Sorry I bothered you."

"Forgotten."

I got up to leave, and the door slid open.  Suddenly Robert 
Wilson jumped to his feet and held my arm.  "Just a sec, Harley!  
Captain Cochran, if you will excuse me, sir.  There wouldn't have 
been a problem with uploading.  As you know, all the files for 
all alternate selections were already in the M.C.C."

Cochran inhaled sharply, and pushed the door control button 
again.  It slid shut, and I turned around, to face the two 
Captains.  Cochran breathed once, deeply and slowly, then said in 
a quiet voice, "If I say that this problem is not a serious 
problem, then it becomes a minor problem, therefore one to which 
my attention need not be called.  Am I clear, gentlemen?"

Robert and I answered together, "As a bell, sir!"

IV - Yet Another Chapter

(Petr)

For those who think that the Chaplain of a starship crew doesn't 
have much to do, I have a few words.  Not only were there many 
people who were very emotionally disturbed about the whole idea, 
and many people with religious problems, which took up much of my 
time as we drew closer to Banard's Star System, I had many other 
jobs.  I cooked, cleaned, sorted supplies in the cargo hold, 
exercised, loaded scouting shuttles, farmed, and even prayed for 
someone's personal computer.  

And for those who believe the history books when they tell of our 
busy weeks just before arriving in orbit around BS-3, I have a 
few words.  Those weeks were no busier than any of the other 
weeks.  The schedule that was set for us by the Committee For 
Colonization regulated our lives steadily through the hand of 
Manuel Ortega.  Our "Governor" handed out duty lists predictably 
every morning; usually they were on our desks or PC screens in 
the mornings.  I don't know how he did it, but he kept us in a 
fair state of organization, and no one went without work.

Except for Scott Hayford.  Yes, we found out about him.  Two 
weeks after we woke up, in mid-November, Captain Cochran told us 
about our stowaway in one of our normal meetings.  Apparently, he 
had known about it the whole time, and just wasn't sure how to 
break it to us that we had 501 colonists aboard, instead of 500.  
We had been a little surprised.

Mr. Davidson interjected, "Cap'n, if yer sayin' that somebody 
jest went an' stole our ship, ah don' think ah understand 
correct."

"Look, Davidson, there's no way he could have stolen the ship.  
The M.C.C., whom he calls 'Hope', is completely aware of her 
mission, and has no choice but to carry it out.  But Mister 
Hayford had made friends with her while the programming was going 
on, and she begged him to come along."

Dr. Massaan asked, after smiling whitely, "Am I correct in 
assuming that this Mister Hayford has lived on our ship for one 
hundred and fifty years, while we all slept?"

"Yes, Doctor, that is what happened.  He was given the longevity 
treatment by Hope, although occasionally, he slept."

Massaan spoke again, "Do you mean he was in cryostasis?  There 
were only five hundred tanks."  He had not smiled before saying 
this, so I knew that he did not always smile before talking.

"Look, Doctor - everyone, a lot of things happened while we were 
in cryostasis.  Marie here" - she had been sitting quietly this 
whole time, having known in advance that Cochran was about to 
release this information - "married Scott just before we left, 
after she was made aware that he was to stowaway.  Just after our 
departure from the Sol System, he underwent the longevity 
treatment, and then got to work having Hope build him another 
'sleep tank.'  She did so, from materials within our cargo bays, 
so he could extend his life span for years to come.  While he was 
awake, he occasionally woke Marie, to keep him company, and they 
used our hydroponics department so they would not use too many of 
our supplies.  Only limited parts of the ship were pressurized 
during this time, and everything possible was recycled.

"According to the now extinct 'Terran Space Code', Scott Hayford 
could be tried as a pirate, a thief - not only for the ship, but 
for the supplies he used while living here - and for treason."

At this, I noticed Marie perk up.  "Treason, Captain?  I think 
not."

Sternly, he raised his hand and she quieted.  "Yes, Marie, 
Treason.  We were sent to establish a new and completely 
independent planetary government, and his presence here makes 
that difficult.  But as I was saying, he could be tried for these 
crimes.  What I propose is this: Since he and Marie and Hope 
recycled everything they could, and since they outfitted our 
scouting probes with the new a-grav drive, and even saved the 
seeds from the plants they grew, Scott should be abdicated of 
these charges, and made a temporary member of our crew.  

"Wait until I'm finished!  Upon reaching a habitable planet, 
Scott will be sent away from our colony into exile, as soon as we 
can afford to give him a few weeks worth of supplies and a small 
land rover.  Marie will be given the choice of joining him or 
divorcing him and staying with us."

They had argued and argued while I kept my mouth shut.  Finally 
Captain Cochran had persuaded everyone to accept his plan, and 
they announced his presence to the rest of the crew.  That was a 
mistake.  For days, we could not get anything accomplished 
because many people were constantly crowding the forward 
passageways, trying to get in touch with Cochran, to express 
their opinions.  He had not given them a chance, since he stayed 
shut up in his office until they went away.

Forrest Harmon's prime talent had been revealed during that time: 
crowd control.  The Captain had authorized him to use "whatever 
force necessary" to clear the passageways and restore order.  He 
had recruited help.

I heard the buzzer go off at the cabin door and instantly awoke 
from a sound sleep.  The clock on the PC screen showed that it 
was 01:27.  I stretched mightily, not even disturbing my soundly 
sleeping wife.  I climbed out of the bunk, and pushed the button 
to unlock the door; it slid open.

Filling the doorway was my breakfast companion, Forrest Harmon.  
"What can I do for you," I queried, sleepily.

"Well, I need to know, Petr, do you have any military 
experience?"

"Huh?"  His question startled me.  It is not something I'm 
normally asked as a minister, unless a soldier is trying to help 
me understand his or her particular circumstance.  "Well, yes.  
Why do you ask?"

He looked down for a second, then his eyes met mine.  Cold, dark 
brown eyes.  "I need your help.  Mister Davidson told me to shove 
off, as he doesn't like me for some reason.  Yours was the next 
door on the hall, and you've always seemed very athletic; quick 
reactions, strong for your size, cool-headed.  There are people 
all up in the forward hall, blocking the Captain's office.  He 
said he would've called me sooner, but he thought they would go 
away.  Now some people from the other crews are up there 
complaining."

"About what?"

"Huh?  Oh, surely you know.  Scott Hayford."

I was flabbergasted.  I thought the Captain's decision had been 
right, and that everyone would simply accept it.  Now it seemed 
we were headed for mutiny.  Quickly, Forrest explained to me that 
some people were upset about their rations being eaten, their 
supplies being used, and their unique status being betrayed by an 
outsider who had not been selected for this mission.  And when 
the critical mass of complainers had been reached, an uproar had 
resulted.  No one was sure what anyone was saying, but they were 
all saying it loudly, and profanely.

"And Mr. Davidson told you that he would not come?"

"That's right, Rev'rend."

Seconds later, with my jumpsuit on, I was buzzing at Mr. 
Davidson's door.  Perhaps a Chaplain should not behave in this 
way, but I really was not thinking about it.

When he opened the door, I let him have it.  "For the love of 
God, Mr. Davidson!  Our Captain is being attacked on all sides 
for making the best possible decision under the circumstances, 
and you want your beauty rest?  You should be ashamed of 
yourself!  Here I am, a man of God, with a mission to save men's 
souls, and I'm going to do my duty to the ship.  How can you have 
respect for yourself, lounging in the bunk like that..."

After a few minutes, he came with us, looking a little sheepish.

Cochran made an announcement over the P.A. telling everyone that 
Forrest was his representative in this matter and that he was 
behind Forrest's activities.  This did not help much, but 
Forrest's loud voice did.  When he finally got their attention, 
he bellowed,  "Now listen to me, everyone!  If you have a 
complaint, file it in the proper file on your PC, and it will be 
read.  For now, you must stand by the Captain's decision.  Now 
clear this hall!"

One man, about my height, but thicker, faced Forrest.  "Wait a 
minute, mister.  If you think I'm gonna listen to you just 
because you're bigger than me-"

He quickly became quiet, mostly because the edge of Forrest's 
hand had connected with the side of his neck.  As the man went 
limp, Davidson and I stepped forward and caught him, lowering him 
easily to the deck.

"All right!  Anyone else got a complaint?"  One woman started to 
speak, thought better of it, and walked past us, toward the 
living quarters.  The others followed, one by one.  Mr. Davidson 
and I waited until they were all gone, and turned to Forrest.

He said, "Hang on a minute, boys," and stepped to the Captain's 
office door.  It slid open, and Cochran came out.

"Well, boss, can we go back to sleep now?"

Cochran looked at us, then turned back to Forrest.  "I thought I 
said to get Mr. Davidson here.  Where did the Pastor come from?"

Forrest and I started to speak at the same time, but Davidson 
overrode us.  "Cap'n, let me explain.  Ah was bein' a tad lazy, 
so Forrest had ta git the rev'ren' here ta he'p 'im.  But 
rev'ren' here says ta stop by mah door, an' wake me up.  Well, 
through a little sermonette, he convinced me o' mah duty.  Mah 
apologies, sir."

"Hmmm," Cochran said, then looked at the man on the floor.  "What 
happened here?"

This time I got to answer.  "James, the man was behaving in a 
mutinous fashion.  Mister Harmon was forced by the circumstances 
to defend himself and reestablish order in the ship.  Should we 
take him to the clinic?"

Forrest said quietly, "He'll be all right.  Just pop him into his 
cabin, and leave a couple of painkillers on his desk.  Tell his 
wife not to worry.  Just have her keep him from doing anything 
crazy."

"Where's 'is cabin?" Davidson wanted to know.

"Crew number two, cabin 217, last name of Gallagher," Forrest 
answered quickly.

I looked up sharply at him, but kept my mouth closed.  This 
incident helped me to see what I had suspected days earlier.  
When I had noticed how well they knew each other that day at 
breakfast, and when Davidson had come to me a few days later, 
telling me that Harmon had no file, I had been suspicious.  What 
this man knew about mineralogy, I do not know, but he was 
definitely part of a bigger picture.  The only way to know by 
looking at a man what his cabin number is, is to know him.  I 
assumed at that point that Forrest Harmon had studied every file 
on the ship and knew all about all of us.  Well, it made me feel 
a little more safe.

Davidson apparently did not suspect anything by this quick 
answer, although he might think about it later.  He hefted 
Gallagher onto his shoulder and walked aft toward the cabin 
areas.

I turned to the Captain.  "James, sir, I understand my commitment 
to my faith and my position here in the ship, and the respect my 
position holds.  However, that in no way conflicts with my 
ultimate duty to my Captain.  Sir, if you are ever in danger, or 
if the ship is ever in danger, please to do not fail to consider 
me.  I have more skills than just 'throwin' tahgedder a good 
surmun.'"

He grinned.  "I know, Pastor, but of course you can see what a 
mob we had here, and I wanted the biggest, strongest friends I 
could muster."

"Of course, Captain, yet surely you can see the advantage of 
having the Chaplain publicly and visibly on your side?"

He nodded, and turned to Forrest.  "You made a good choice."  
Turning back to me, he added, "Petr, I understand that you had 
some military experience?"

I blushed, which I do not do very often.  "Well, that's what I 
told Forrest here.  Actually, I was just a member of the 
Armstrong militia for two years, which paid my way through the 
seminary on board the station.  No actual battle or conflict 
experience."

"Hmm," he said again.  "If I remember correctly, Armstrong 
teaches their militia recruits judo, and zero-g aikido.  Is that 
correct?"

"Yes, sir, it is.  Of course, it also came with the training 
about the sacredness of such knowledge, and the proper 
environment for its use.  I've never had to use it outside the 
gym except for once, when some poor lug tried to mug me in 
Section 8, about six years before we launched."

"What happened to him?" Forrest asked.

"Eh?  Oh, the mugger?  Well, I'm not sure.  I was never too aware 
of the Armstrong hospital system's ability to reattach a person's 
limbs."

It soon became known around the ship that Forrest Harmon was the 
Captain's "Sergeant-at-Arms" or Bodyguard, or Chief of Police, or 
something.  Some people resented the fact that they were forced 
to obey this "brute", but most acquiesced.  But no one liked 
Scott Hayford.  It was hard for me to understand, because the few 
times I met him, he seemed like a soft-spoken, intelligent, and 
very capable man.  I guess it is true that your sins will find 
you out.

Then, he refused to work.  Governor Ortega had sent a work 
schedule through the M.C.C. to Scott's cabin - not on the 
blueprints - but Scott wouldn't show up for work.  He usually ate 
in his cabin, as he had during the long trip, only occasionally 
making an appearance in the dining rooms.  Mr. Davidson reported 
that he had never shown up for work at the farm, nor for 
exercises.  Mr. Gallagher, who happened to be a shuttle pilot, 
was also in charge of the cargo bay areas and never saw Scott 
there, either, where he was supposed to help with inventory.  
Even Marie stated that he wasn't really helping the mission when 
he talked to Hope, either.  She had come to Cochran's office one 
day, and complained, saying now that Scott's presence was common 
knowledge, he had become depressed, angry, bitter, and a lot of 
other emotions common to people who are rejected by every single 
human within six-light years.

So, the Captain called me, and I showed up at his office, 
noticing that Forrest and Mr. Davidson were already there.  The 
inner door slid open, and the three of us went in.  The Captain 
was standing behind his desk, and just behind him, the small-arms 
locker was standing open.

Before any of us could say anything, Cochran spoke, "Gentlemen, 
if you don't agree with what I'm about to say, please wait until 
I'm finished, then return to your cabin.  We've got a situation 
here that is similar to many I've faced before.  One man, who 
refuses to obey orders, who refuses to pull his fair share of 
duty, but still wants the privileges of being on the crew.  Well, 
it won't happen, not under my command.  Is that clear?"

We nodded in unison, "Yes, sir."

"Okay.  I had decided to let Scott work with us for the remainder 
of our flight, and then as soon as possible, send him away from 
our colony into exile.  Well, now he doesn't even want to 
experience the best part of his deal.  So I'm going to settle 
this once and for all.  Let's go."

None of us went back to our cabins.  He stood up and turned to 
the small-arms locker, and held up a Nelson Stun gun.  "Mr. 
Davidson, do you know how to use one of these?"

"Yessir!"

Cochran handed the weapon and its holster to the ex-fullback, who 
quickly strapped it on.  Cochran looked at me next, so I said, 
"If my hands and feet are not adequate, then I have no place 
here."

He agreed with a nod, and turned back to the locker.  This time 
he pulled out a Rolstein needle gun - not one of the tiny, 10-
round models that wealthy females carry in large cities, either; 
this was the secret service version, with at least fifty rounds 
in the magazine.  It would have been a heavy handgun for me, but 
in Forrest's hand, it looked quite normal, even a little small.  
He swung the safe's door closed, and turned the dial at the 
bottom.

Without a word, he walked past us, and turned left in the 
passageway, heading aft.  Forrest stayed on his heels, while 
Davidson and I kept up the rear.  We turned in to one of the 
meeting rooms, and the Captain stepped back while Forrest removed 
one of the access panels from the wall.  Then he stepped back and 
allowed the Captain to enter the corridor first.  There were many 
different ways to get to any part of the ship, we had learned, 
after Scott's presence was revealed.  The service corridors ran 
throughout the ship, between cabins, under the dining room, over 
the cryostasis tanks, even in the hull of the ship surrounding 
the hangar bays.  It was somewhere in this maze that Hope had 
allowed Scott and her robots to construct a cabin, without 
damaging anything.  I wondered what numskull had designed a 
spacecraft with that much extra space, but I had not dwelt on the 
thought very long.

Arriving at Scott's door, the Captain pushed the buzzer.  The 
door slid open, and Scott launched himself from the cabin, taking 
the Captain with him.  Before the knife in his hand reached 
Cochran's skin, Scott's entire body went limp, and Cochran caught 
the knife by the handle as it fell.  Forrest and Mr. Davidson 
returned their weapons to their holsters, and helped the Captain 
to his feet.  I had not even moved, it was over so quickly.

A few minutes later, Forrest stepped back into the ship, closing 
the inner airlock door behind him.  When he got his helmet off, 
the Captain said, "Well?"

Forrest continued to pull the rest of the pressure suit off, as 
he spoke.  "Well....  It's done.  I don't think you'll have any 
more problems, Captain.  Not from the crew anyway."

Fortunately, Hope - the computer - knew exactly what was going 
on, and agreed that Scott had been getting a little psychotic 
lately, so she continued her functions as outlined in the Policy.

Anyway, as I was saying, no one went without work.  Exercise, 
eating, working, sleeping, preaching, praying, reading, 
copulating... everything continued in a steady rhythm as the 
months passed.  All couples had been told before the launching to 
use every possible form of contraception, because if Banard's 
Star System contained no habitable planets, there would be no 
hibernation tanks in which to put newborn babies, for the next 
jump.  

Then we found out that the next jump would not have to take 
nearly as long as our first one had been.  My darling wife 
discovered this.  She had been poking around in the power plant, 
where she worked, and peering through the shielded glass at some 
of the reactor components, when she noticed something strange.  
She had been about to don a rad-suit when the chief engineer from 
Crew #2 had come in and reminded her of her status as Crew #1.  
Janie Fowler had stood by the Policy, which said that any of the 
crews were expendable to a greater extent than the first crew.  

So, minutes later, Janie was in the rad-suit, sneaking around the 
inner workings of the power plant.  That evening, my wife had 
told me all about it.  Janie had found modifications in the 
reactor that conserved our fuel greatly.  The much more energy 
efficient reactor had used only 30% of our power source for the 
trip, when it should have used just over 50%.  So Elizabeth 
looked up the news file from Terra - the whole file, not the 
synopsis we had read on our first night awake - and found some 
very interesting things which she had relayed to us at the next 
executive counsel meeting.

Elizabeth ran a hand through her almost black hair before 
beginning.  "Due to modifications made to the power plant, 
reactor, and recycler while en route, we now have 70% of our 
original power, rather than the 50% predicted."  Some eyebrows 
went up.  "And with information received from transmissions from 
Terra, we are experimenting with new technologies.

"For example, a mass converter operating on the E=MC2 principle 
was built on Mars just over a decade ago, and we may be able to 
convert our ship's power plant, once we arrive in orbit around a 
planet here in the Banard's Star System.  Also, gravity 
technologies have changed tremendously.  When we left, the only 
applications of Dr. Adams-Muñoz' work was artificial gravity 
fields, like the one we use here on the Nadyozhda.  In 2280, the 
good Doctor's son, then 180 years old - due to the success of the 
longevity treatments - finally created the anti-gravity 
propulsion system, known as 'a-grav' back home.  He is now one of 
the richest men ever, at a decrepit 214 years.  These a-grav 
motors can use the gravity of any body in space to work against, 
but the bigger and closer the better.  Our two probes that Hope 
launched while we slept and are now sending us all this 
information-" she held up the pamphlet that Marie had passed out 
earlier "-about the Banard's Star System are now equipped with a-
grav propulsion systems, powered by solar panels.  All of our 
other probes, shuttles, and missiles are still being modified.  
And by the time we are ready to leave this system, we may not 
have to use rocket engines at all."

She paused for breath, and to let this soak in, then continued, 
"One more thing, Captain.  Remember 'Hope City', in lunar orbit?  
According to the news we received, the workers there have 
launched three other colonial ships in the last 150 years, 
heading in other directions.  They've also expanded their farming 
modules and are continuing to sell billions of bushels of food to 
Luna, Terra, J.U.M., and OSR.  Anyway, the ship after ours, the 
Mayflower, was powered much like ours is, but was much larger, 
holding just over two thousand people.  It was headed toward Tau 
Ceti, leaving in 2209, with an ETA in 2345.

"The third ship launched from Hope City - in 2260 - was modified 
much the way our ship is now, allowing it to carry less fuel per 
mass, allowing more room for colonists.  Called Hercules, it is 
the same size as our ship, holding 1,000 people, with an ETA in 
2510.

"The fourth one had rockets only as a backup, being powered by a 
mass converter and using a-grav for propulsion.  The Exodus 
launched in 2302, using the gravity fields of Sol, Jupiter, and 
Saturn to 'push' against, heading for a star 19 light years from 
Sol, and planning to arrive in 2340.  Gentlemen, that makes her 
average speed half of the speed of light, or 93 million miles per 
second, the fastest ship ever.  And the kicker: the Exodus 
carries 10,000 people."

Cochran's eyes widened, as he spoke.  "That means she'll get 
there before ships two and three reach their destinations, even 
though they were launched decades earlier!  Wow!  So what you're 
saying is this: if we choose to move on from this system after 
exploring it, instead of another 175 years of sleep, we'll get 
there in, what, fifteen years?"

"About eighteen, to be exact, Captain.  That is, if they don't 
invent something else in the meantime."

Davidson butted in, "Ah'm glad ah'm way out here with all y'all 
Rip Van Winkles than back there in that System.  Jest think of 
all the new probl'ms they must've invented along with the 
technol'gy."

Marie grimaced at his murderous use of the King's English and 
then said, "Captain, Hope can do these new modifications herself, 
but it would be much faster with the help of a human crew, 
besides the fact that the engineers will need to know the setup 
in case of an emergency."

"Yes."

As soon as the two automated probes got close enough to Banard's 
Star, whose gravity they were reacting with to fly in closer, 
they began sending back information.  As soon as we woke up, the 
Captain had told us that there were at least four planets in the 
system, maybe two or three more.  A few weeks later, we knew 
there were six in all.  Marie had Hope print us all pamphlets 
that described as much as we knew about the system, with more 
specific reports for certain people who needed them.

The outer planet, BS-6, was larger than Terra, but colder than 
Pluto.  It would be no use to us, except for possibly a place to 
orbit an unmanned radar station, to be the last defense for the 
system.

The next one, for now called BS-5 since we would save naming the 
planets until later, was a gas giant about the size of Uranus, 
but with no ring.  A dozen or so tiny moons whirled about it, in 
irregular orbits, none of them on the elliptical plane of the 
system.  Perhaps one or two of its moons could be colonized, or 
at least have a manned station, to conduct mining of fuels from 
the Jovian-type atmosphere of the planet.

BS-4 was currently on the other side of her orbit, too far to be 
specific about anything, but we could tell she was another gas 
giant, with several moons, about the size of Neptune.

Then there was an asteroid belt, much larger than the belt 
surrounding Sol, sometime called the Fifth Planet. There were at 
least two dozen planetoids in this belt the size of Ceres, 
meaning that this group of rocks might actually have enough mass 
to form a "Fourth Planet", which the asteroid belt of our home 
system did not.

We were too far out then to tell, but BS-3 and BS-2 appeared to 
have climates somewhere in the Venus to Mars range, and were both 
in that size range as well.  BS-2 was also on the far side of 
Banard's Star, so we would swing through the outer planets, still 
decelerating, and enter a tight parking orbit around BS-3, to 
engage in further exploration.

During the nine months of deceleration, which we couldn't feel 
because of the a-grav field inside the ship, we became a fully 
functional space crew, not just a bunch of passenger-colonists, 
like those in the Daniel Boone II, who just went along for the 
ride, until they got to their destination.  We scrubbed and 
polished the interior of the Nadyozhda, we grew food, we had 
Church, we discussed possible government setups for the colony, 
depending on how many of our crews we dispatched on each planet.  
There was never a dull moment, at least for me; if my life ever 
started becoming dull, my precious wife helped me to find 
entertainment.

By the time we passed the orbit of BS-6, Mr. Davidson and his 
helpers had produced the first tobacco crop, and everyone who 
used to smoke, took it up again, and even a few others who said 
it helped them feel less homesick. Jonathan Gallagher, who turned 
out to be an good man after all, rigged a still in one sector of 
the cargo bay area, with the Captain's permission of course, and 
began producing alcohol.  Then Hope said she could do it easier, 
and soon, many types of liquor were available to those who wanted 
it, and soon, each dining room became a pub after hours, in each 
time zone.  Limits were set as to how much could be consumed by 
each person, and Forrest saw that it was enforced.

Of course, Elizabeth and I abstained from such behavior, not 
necessarily because we thought it immoral, but because certain 
activities can soon destroy all respect for a minister, no matter 
what society thinks is moral for everyone else.  And a minister 
needs the respect of his parishioners if he is to properly 
influence them toward God.

At first, we had had a kind of socialist setup on the Nadyozhda, 
with each person getting their fair share of medical attention, 
food, and services, as long as they worked their assigned hours, 
and did not disrupt the schedule. Of course, like most space 
ships, it was also a military-type organization, with the Captain 
at the head, and everyone expected to obey his orders, if he 
chose to give them.  Yet, in a way, it was a democracy, since 
each person had a voice, with which to offer suggestions or 
complain as the case may be.   So we were a Monarchical De-
mocracy, with a socialist economy.  But that soon changed.  
Almost all of us had lived our entire lives in some kind of free-
enterprise economies, with varying degrees of laissez-faire 
incorporated into them.

So we invented money.  This project gave Governor Ortega many 
headaches, and he delegated these headaches to his assistants on 
the project.  First, the Captain had to be persuaded, which was 
not too difficult, because he had been used to paying for 
everything with cash all his life.  Then the debates had to go on 
and on about what would cost how much; should we use dollars, 
rubles, pounds, crowns, credits, francs, marks, or some new kind 
of cash; what services, if any, would be free; and many other 
uncertainties.  Finally, a system was worked out.

We would use "credits" as our monetary unit - not the Solar 
Credits used by Armstrong and other space habitats, but our own 
"Galactic Credit."  Hope printed out what we would need to get 
going, and a pay scale was set up.  Level one on the scale was 
for those crew members who just had one position, and would only 
serve as general labor in any other job.  Level two was for the 
rest of the crew, who held two or more positions.  Level three 
was for the Executive Counsel of each crew, and Level four was 
for the four "backup" Captains.  Level Five was the highest on 
our primitive pay scale, and was for Captain Cochran alone, the 
best paid man on the ship.

Payday was every Saturday, and the money was handed out at the 
meeting rooms in the bow, by each crew's Political Officer, who 
also became Paymaster.  Within two weeks after this all started, 
every one of the Paymasters had "hired" Assistant Paymasters, to 
get a little extra money each week, just for sitting in a chair 
and handing out money.

All food had a cost after that, whether you bought it at the 
dining room - which we came to call the 'restaurant' - or had it 
delivered to your room or office at other times.  Delivery cost 
extra, because it took up the time of the little robots, or 
kitchen workers.  Alcohol and cigarettes cost, and the only 
places to buy them were the restaurants, and after dinner.  
Unless you bought the tobacco straight from the farm, or the 
alcohol straight from the distillery, which was considered legal.  
Laundry was free, repairs done by robots were free, and the 
library was free.

Repairs done by humans were paid to the M.C.C., which in turn 
paid the salaries of the repairmen.  Monies collected at the 
restaurant from food sales were funneled to the farm, from where 
they were sent to the cargo bay, for seeds, or to the power plant 
for more CO2, which in turn went to the M.C.C., to pay the 
salaries of the engineers, cargo bay workers, and farmers.  Money 
from the sale of cigarettes went to the cigarette factory, who in 
turn paid the M.C.C. for paper and the farm for tobacco.  And so 
on.  

At least at first, Hope was the ship's Paymaster General, since 
she supplied the cash for the payroll, and collected most of it 
back before the week was over.  Elizabeth and I saved a little 
here and there, since we didn't buy alcohol or cigarettes, but 
there wasn't much else to use it for, except extra food, or a new 
jumpsuit every now and then.

But it was decided that we would continue this same basis for 
economy when we got on the ground, so maybe our money would come 
in handy, a few months from now.  Soon, Manuel Ortega was 
appointed Paymaster General, by Hope, and was moved from pay 
Level three to a new level, invented by Hope, Level 3.5.  He 
opened the "First Interplanetary Bank of Banard's Star", and 
began loaning money at good interest rates, for those who drank 
too much, or smoked too much.  He also let some of us open 
savings accounts at somewhat lower interest rates, with the 
warning that interest could not be paid until one year after we 
grounded on our new home.  For two months after that, only the 
Chaplain's and their spouses could afford to save money.  Then 
several Captains began saving some too.

For weeks after our new system started, prices fluctuated widely, 
while the proprietors tried to figure out how much they could 
charge for certain things, and still get their money.  It did not 
take long, however, for the "economy" aboard ship to settle down, 
and for most people to realize how ridiculous the whole thing 
was.  We were the crew of the ship, therefore, we were entitled 
to food, repairs, et cetera; why should we have to pay for such 
things?  But no one really complained except those on the lowest 
pay grade who also drank and smoked.

Then I began to pull in a little extra money from chess matches.  
When the Captain from Crew #5, Wilson, found out that I played 
chess, he started meeting me a couple of times a week, to play.  
I think that maybe he is a better player than I, but he is unable 
to focus his mental energies on the game.  Others eventually 
found out, and the oldest game in existence began to be my source 
of extra income.  Every time I played, my opponent and I would 
each lay five Galactic Credits on the table, and the winner would 
collect the ten credits.  Since I rarely lost, and usually only 
to Cochran, my extra money began to pile up.  

The engineers of the Nadyozhda spent a lot of time studying the 
new a-grav technology, trying to understand it.  Only one made 
the jump in reason necessary to grasp the concept, according to 
my wife, and that was Janie Fowler, from Crew #2.  Even so, the 
other engineers did not find it necessary to understand the 
technology, as long as they could reproduce it - in much the same 
way, a preacher did not need to understand the Bible to preach a 
moving sermon.

So they began to reproduce the technology, fitting our ten 
remaining unmanned probes with the equipment used to manipulate 
gravity fields for propulsion.  Then they moved on to the five 
full-sized shuttles.  And finally, just before arriving in orbit 
around BS-3, they began to work on the ten small shuttles.  The 
space jeeps were not fitted with the a-grav motors, since they 
were only for use around the hull of the mother ship, and had no 
significant gravity field to act upon.  Of course, if we had been 
in orbit around a planet, the motors could act on the gravity of 
that planet, and move in relation to the Nadyozhda, when they 
needed to repair it, but the piloting skills necessary for such a 
flight would be a long time in developing.  All of this addition 
to these craft was done by using materials from our cargo bay, 
units that had been spare parts for the artificial fields of the 
ship, which with slight modification became a-grav motors.

I preached, and read, and prayed, and talked, and listened, and 
worked at the various odd jobs that Ortega assigned to me.  Every 
Sunday, I held a morning service at 10:00 in our dining room, in 
the grand traditional Christian fashion.  Usually I led the 
singing, since there were not too many people on board who had 
been schooled in the great hymns of the Christian Church, some 
dating back to the 19th Century.  Usually, I had the lyrics 
projected behind me on a screen, so those in attendance would 
have some basis for singing along.  For two weeks, we sang a 
cappella, until I found that Hope had over 600,000 published 
songs in memory.  All she had was what would amount to sheet 
music, but with the help of Marie Clark and some altered voice 
circuits, Hope learned to play music.  After two more weeks, she 
(Hope, the computer) suggested to me that the music would sound 
better if she were allowed to sing the other vocal parts.  Marie 
insisted that she had not instigated Hope's interest in music, 
but she added that Hope was much more intelligent than most 
humans, at least in her capacity.  She just needed people to love 
her and talk to her, so she could "grow up."  I had refrained 
from laughing in Marie's face.

After three or four grand hymns, with beautiful music and 
wonderful three and four-part harmonies, Cochran would stand to 
give some announcements about the ship's schedule for the next 
week, or discuss briefly any problems that were present among the 
crew.  Then I would return and preach a short sermon.  I will 
admit that I am inclined to short sermons.  Perhaps it stems from 
my childhood back in the Dohr Habitat, when I was forced to 
attend the Assemblies of God Church in our tube, and the 
preachers who visited there, as well as the pastor, all seemed to 
believe that the longer a sermon was, the greater your chance of 
getting into Heaven.  I remember being disgusted by their 
ignorance of the Scriptures, or their inability to stick to a 
central theme - I guess I'm a purist of some sort.  Anyway, after 
I had defected to Armstrong, and went through the militia 
training there, I began to feel my Christian roots again, and at-
tended the seminary on the "college bonus" from the militia.  
Even though this seminary was not Assemblies of God (it was 
"Independent Calvinistic Baptist"), there was still the tendency 
toward long, rambling, meandering sermons that did little or 
nothing for my spirit.

When the time first came for me to mount the pulpit in the 
seminary chapel, it was already well known that I was intending 
to get my credentials through the new and still-struggling New 
Revised Interplanetary Calvinist Pentecostal denomination, so 
everyone was wary enough as it was.  Then when my sermon was only 
seventeen minutes long, I was almost expelled.  The meeting I had 
with the board of directors did not discourage me though.  They 
tried to explain how a sermon that short could not contain enough 
"meat" for the congregation.  There was not enough time to fully 
expound the scriptures.  Church would be over before lunch.

When allowed to speak, I explained that my sermon was only a 
copy.  I told them how I had taken the most responded-to sermon 
from the year before, both transcript and recording, and doctored 
it.  From seventy-one minutes, I had pulled everything that 
related to the scriptures and to the central theme, and copied 
it.  They had not recognized the sermon, because it was 
organized, powerful, void of vague reminisces about past 
revivals, empty of cute but meaningless jokes about organized 
religion in general (but of course not about the Ind. Calv. Bapt. 
Church), clean of references to holovision shows or computer news 
services.  When they grudgingly allowed me to show recordings of 
both sermons, my point was made, or so I thought.

The recording of last year's sermon was by a dignified but 
extremely aged professor.  All throughout there been smatterings 
of applause, very unusual at that seminary.  Then, during the 
recording of my sermon, it was breath taking to watch the other 
students gasp with delight, or intensely scribble down pertinent 
notes from what I had said.  Toward the end, when entire rows of 
students and professors alike were jumping and shouting with 
tears streaming down their faces, the board member in charge of 
playing the recordings shut it off with a grimace.  "That ain't 
the kind of religion I'm int'r'st'd in.  Hype!  Crowd 
Manipulation!  It looked like a circus to me," he had growled.

But a few of the others, who still had tears in their eyes from 
watching, reminded the angry one about his past as a revival 
preacher, and how that God's presence needed to be felt again in 
the school - indeed in the whole city of Armstrong.  After that I 
have never preached longer than twenty-five minutes.

Anyway, with the crowd that I had on the Nadyozhda, I could not 
go on for too long since they were not "religious people".  So I 
took basic themes from the Bible, illustrated if possible with a 
crisp retelling of a First Testament story, and grounded solidly 
in a few other passages, to be sure to explain the subject, then 
applied the moral to a current life situation.  Other times, I 
addressed popular misconceptions about the Church, the Bible, 
God, etc.  For instance, many non-Church-goers use this excuse 
not to attend: "Why should I go to Church when the Christians 
can't even figure out what they believe?  There's hundreds of 
different denominations, who all think they're right, and the 
rest are going to hell!"

This is not true.  There are of course, some groups who insist 
that only the small number of people in their membership will be 
saved, but for the most part, Christians are accepting of their 
brethren from other Churches.  And many of these churches 
maintain their distance from one another, not over doctrinal 
differences, but over how to run the Church, or other secular 
matters.

Still, I had plenty to go over, throughout those nine months of 
deceleration, and my crowd grew from three the first day to 118 
the Sunday before we arrived.  The Captains of Crews #2 and #5 
had reluctantly given a small number of their people permission 
to adjust their Sunday schedules so they could attend our 
service.

What else can I tell of our descent into the gravity well of 
Banard's Star?  We saw pictures of the two outer planets we 
passed, and a rough map of the asteroid belt.  We worked, and 
slept and ate.

And I should not record what happened between Marie and I, in 
order to protect her reputation.  No sin was committed.  No harm; 
no foul.

V - The Arrival

For a century and a half the hundred-odd viewports around the 
ship had been solidly covered with metal plates that fitted flush 
into the hull, keeping the windows safe from incoming rocks.  
Instruments and computers had done all the sightings; not even 
the Captain had opened the covers on the control room's windows.  
But once we were in orbit around BS-3, Cochran announced that it 
was safe.  Hope had scanned the surrounding skies during three 
consecutive orbits, and reported that any meteors headed our way 
would be taken care of.  And so, at 12:00 hours on a Sunday in 
August, Time Zone #1, the covers opened.

Every room that bordered the hull of the ship had a viewport, 
including the forward offices.  The designers had arranged the 
living areas so that most of the cabins were adjacent to the 
hull, for optimum viewing, with the clinics, dining areas, and 
other rooms taking up the inner spaces.  The cabins on the port 
and starboard sides each had a port above the bunk.  The cabins 
on the top and bottom of the ship had viewports on the ceilings 
and floors, respectively.  The five Captain's suites had two 
ports each.  Only the cabins further inside the ship - on the 
middle decks - had no port holes, but there were not too many of 
these - mostly single cabins.

Hope had put us into a tight parking orbit around BS-3 - 
necessary because of our great speed entering the system - then 
bumped us out a little further with her retrorockets, to give us 
a six hour orbit.  Then, she fired short, exact blasts from 
certain steering rockets, giving the ship a slight rotation about 
her central axis, causing the ship to roll over every two hours, 
allowing every viewport a chance to face every part of the 
planet's surface every few hours.

Suddenly, just after Church, every speaker in the parts of the 
ship where people were awake blared into life: "This is your 
Captain speaking.  For all of you in a compartment with a 
viewport, you will notice that the covers are slowly moving back 
from the windows.  The rest of you should know that we arrived in 
orbit around The Third Planet from Banard's Star just over two 
hours ago.  We are now in a six hour orbit, and the ship is 
rotating every two hours."  There were surprised looks on several 
faces around the dining room where I was.  The Captain continued, 
"The reason you did not feel the rotation start is that the 
ship's artificial gravity field has remained steady, making void 
all motions from outside.

"So now I would like to announce that everyone on the ship has 
been granted a twenty-four hour vacation, to enjoy the view and 
relax before our landing effort begins.  If you wish, I would 
advise you to go to your cabins unless your cabin has no view 
ports.  In that case..."

People were already leaving the dining room while the Captain's 
voice continued to list compartments that had viewports besides 
cabins.  I was watching the people dissipate when Elizabeth 
grabbed my hand, and yanked me away from the podium where I had 
been standing.  Through her hand I could sense her excitement, 
without even seeing her face.  I let my wife drag me through the 
passageways until we collapsed onto our bunk, breathing heavily.

Sure enough, the port cover was nearly out of sight, and I held 
my breath.  Elizabeth gasped and squeezed my hand more tightly, 
if that were possible.  We pressed our cheeks together so we 
could both see at the same time.  I felt her excitement course 
through my body by osmosis, and I knew that adrenaline rush would 
be normal for all of us for the next several weeks, even months.  
Our new home!

For my entire life I had watched Terra - the planetoid of my 
ancestors - from viewports in the Dohr habitat, and later from 
Armstrong, admiring the colorful beauty, but always afraid to 
visit because of the violence, pollution, disease and the crowds 
that packed Terra so fully.

This was different.  This was wonderful.  For those first 
beautiful moments while we watched BS-3 for the first time, I 
felt no fear.  A completely alien world floated before our eyes: 
blue oceans, white clouds, green plains and forests, majestic 
snow-capped mountain ranges - a world void of man.  Of course we 
expected new diseases, untold dangers and unforeseeable 
difficulties, but - OUR MISSION HAD SUCCEEDED!

"It's beautiful!"

I was startled out of my reverie by Elizabeth's emphatic whisper.  
"Yes, my darling wife, it is.  It is the frontier we have been so 
diligently seeking for all our lives."

I looked into her eyes as she turned to me.  The blue-green I saw 
there reminded me of the oceans of our new world, and suddenly 
she blurred in front of me as tears dimmed my eyes.  She leaned 
into my arms and I held her tightly.  As I smelled the sweet 
fragrance of her hair and felt the softness of her cheek on my 
shoulder, I was suddenly more euphoric than ever that I had never 
given in to Marie's advances.

Elizabeth raised her head off my shoulder and brushed her lips 
against my cheek on the way to my lips.  As we kissed, it all 
came back to me.  She pulled me down on the bunk, closing her 
eyes, and I began to unzip her jumpsuit.

Within hours, Hope had produced a map of the new planet.  There 
were four small continents and uncountable islands, with most of 
the planet being covered by water.  Two of the continents were 
relatively flat, and sat gracefully on the poles.  The other two 
formed distinctly alien shapes in between, covered by mountains, 
jungles, lakes, and even desert belts near the equator.

While Hope's first two probes continued their exploration of the 
solar system, two more descended into the atmosphere of BS-3 for 
a closer exploration.  First, they just hovered arbitrarily over 
the surface, sending back hundreds of photographs.  Then, during 
our second day in orbit, the probes took many temperature 
readings, atmosphere samples, soil samples, mineral samples, 
water samples; located the magnetic poles; measured the gravity 
at many different surface points; and performed other various 
scientific observations that could be done by an automatic un-
manned probe properly equipped with a-grav motors.

As all this went on, and with our one day vacation finished, the 
crew stepped up to the mighty task of preparing for manned 
exploration.  Elizabeth, with the help of the other engineers and 
mechanics and several of Hope's robots, worked to equip our small 
shuttles with the new a-grav technology.  Mr. Davidson and his 
crew began stocking the shuttlecraft with foodstuffs.  Others 
made sure that the craft were fueled (in case of a-grav failure, 
the chemical rockets would be needed, and frankly, we were not 
really ready to trust the new propulsion systems, since none of 
us had ever used them.)  Still others stocked the landing craft 
with p/r suits (pressure/radiation), scientific measuring and 
recording devices, and the other various tools necessary for 
exploration.

Those of us not directly involved with the preparation of the 
landing effort worked mainly in the kitchens and the farm, and 
tried to stay out of the way of those going to and from the 
hangars.  The medical staff from Crew #5 was kept busy doing 
last-minute physicals on their select landing crew.

I was stuck in the kitchen, which was fine, since I was becoming 
quite a chef.  Forrest was with me, and a few different people 
who switched on and off the shift as they were needed in the 
hangar from time to time.  We made sure that all of the workers 
had food available all day, whenever they could break free.  The 
other kitchens did the same, overlapping with us to cover the 
rest of the hours in our day.

Time after time, I pushed carts down the passages, laden with hot 
food, cold food, snacks, drinks, cigarettes, to the hangar bay 
and back, but did have some free time to chat with those in the 
kitchen and dining room.  That is how I finally found the time 
and opportunity to confront Forrest.

We were sitting by ourselves at a small table near the kitchen 
door, waiting for the next food rush or call from the hangar.  I 
was idly munching on some toast and drinking from a glass of 
simulated milk, while Forrest gulped down about sixteen scrambled 
eggs - also simulated, toast, sausage, bacon, waffles, and four 
glasses of orange juice - freshly squeezed.

When we were both done eating, and still sitting there sipping 
our drinks, I decided I should at least ask.  "Forrest-" he 
looked up sharply "-I simply must ask.  You were not always a 
mineralogist, were you?"

With solemn eyes he gazed back at me, and I noticed his huge bulk 
tensing, then relaxing again. "Rev'ren', I think I see what 
you're driving at."  He glanced around the empty room, then 
looked back at me.  "I trust you, as I think everyone does, so 
I'll tell you.  I need to get it off my chest.

"I'm on this ship because the Cap'n owed me a favor.  He pulled 
more strings than his position allows, getting me here.  Now I'm 
in his debt."

"What do you mean, debt?  For what, if I may ask, did he owe 
you?"

"Well, here's the story.  As you may know, when the first space 
city was populated back in 2041, the mob went with it.  In fact, 
what you may not know, is that the mob paid for a lot of it.  And 
that first city, Boyd, is still run by organized crime 
syndicates, in the biggest cooperation they've ever had.  Well, I 
come into the story in 2129, when I was born in New York City."

My eyes widened.  I couldn't imagine someone as polite and 
friendly as Forrest being born in the cesspool that used to be 
North America's greatest city.  Ever since the United Nations 
moved their headquarters to Buenos Aires in 2022, and the Twin 
Towers of the World Trade Center were completely destroyed a few 
years later, the city had degenerated into a war zone between 
organized crime groups and smaller street gangs, to the point 
where many decent industries and businesses had left.  And when 
the Stock Market had moved from Wall Street to Dallas, the "Big 
Apple" was no more.

Forrest saw my surprised expression and smiled.  "Yes, I was born 
there.  Because of my size, I was inducted into my first teenage 
gang at the age of ten.  By the time I was eighteen, I ran the 
most powerful posse in the city.  No, I wasn't the leader, I was 
the head sniper.  I refused leadership because I wanted to be 
where the action was.  But Jayson, the leader, let me in on all 
the big decisions.

"Anyway, we were about to decimate the second largest gang in our 
district, when Hugo Marxa, head of the Marxa clan contacted 
Jayson and me.  It turned out that he was the supplier for the 
other gang, and wasn't going to let us wipe them out.  He paid us 
big bucks to leave them alone.  Then the family that supplied our 
chemicals found out about the deal, and decided to cut us off.  
So we took them on.  Fifty-two teenagers against one of the 
largest families the mob has ever known.  We lost, but we 
crippled their operations, and Hugo Marxa took us in as a second 
subsidy, even though only eighteen of us were left.

"Within two years, I had moved up to the Marxa clan and they 
moved me to Boyd to protect me from retaliation by our former 
suppliers.  It didn't work.  So I went undercover, moving from 
station to habitat to city, doing dirty work for Marxa until I 
met Cochran on Armstrong.  The next day I got the message that he 
was my next hit.  Why?  Well, surely you remember the 'pirate' 
vessel his cruiser captured in 2150?  It was a Marxa cargo ship.  
Yeah, so I was supposed to wax him.  But I had already made 
friends with him, and respected him.  When I got the word that he 
was my next mark, I refused, and resigned from the Marxa Clan, 
automatically signing up to be the next hit.  But I was beginning 
to rethink my life's work, and I broke down and told the Cap'n 
everything.  He believed me, and thanked me.

"Then I realized that the hit was still out on Cochran.  He was 
stuck on Armstrong for two months at the time, between flights, 
so I protected him.  By the time he finally shipped out, I had 
taken out four snipers that were after me, and six that were 
gunning for him.  I managed to let Marxa be convinced that I was 
dead, and so he gave up on me.  But I had to do something to 
fight against my troubled conscience, so I kept ahead of the mob, 
not just Marxa, but the others too.  Every time I found out who 
the mark was, I took out the hit man.  And especially, I watched 
out for Cochran.  Whenever he came to port, I tried to be at that 
port first, to shadow him, and keep him safe.  By 2160, I had 
taken out over three hundred expert hit men, and all the mobs 
were figuring out who I was and that I was still alive and 
kickin'."

Cochran managed to let me stowaway in one of his ships, and snuck 
me to Luna City, where I was stuck into cryostasis, at his 
expense.  He never told me what he was going to do with me when 
he let me wake up, or even if he was going to wake me up.  The 
next thing I knew I was being hustled onto the Hope, and taking a 
crash hypno course in mineralogy.  The day after I woke up for 
the second time, nine months ago, Cochran took me to his office, 
and explained what I was doing here.  By the way, I wouldn't be 
telling you this if he hadn't said you were the only other person 
that he really trusted on the ship."

I didn't get a chance to respond, since the door slid open about 
that time, and large numbers of hungry workers began pouring in.  
The communicator beeped at the same time, informing us of the 
need for food in the hangar.  We jumped up and humped through the 
rush.

After two weeks of testing, exploration and observation, all done 
by Crew #5, with only minimal help from the other crews, Cochran 
and the other Captains had agreed to begin the permanent colony, 
and named the planet "Bliss".  So the large shuttles had begun 
their trips, bringing down the mining equipment, the rovers, the 
boats, communication equipment, etc.

Our manifesto (Policy), written by the Committee for Colonization 
had set up guidelines for the entire colonization effort, 
including how many crews were to be left on each planet.  And 
here was a "Catch-22".  Supposing that the most likely planet in 
the Banard's Star System had not been ideal, the Policy 
recommended we leave only one crew and go on, since they did not 
want to risk all five crews on a dangerous or non-supportive 
planet.  The problem was that for worse conditions, a greater 
number of colonists would greatly increase the chances of the 
colony's survival.  Conversely, if the planet were perfect, as 
was Bliss, we were supposed to send everyone down, since the 
Committee was willing to place everyone on the same planet if 
there was a high chance of success.  Again, the problem is that 
if the planet were so nice, it wouldn't take as many people to 
colonize it.

Bliss was perfect, by all our preliminary tests, with a gravity 
of 0.81-g, and an atmosphere much like Terra's had been before 
the Industrial Revolution.  There was a very low salt content in 
the oceans, a tropical climate over much of the surface, and 
plenty of native plants that produced edible food, even in their 
wild forms.  Even the animals we had found so far were edible, 
and many were probably tamable.  So, by the Policy, the entire 
crew should be set down, even though one crew could easily 
survive.  But by a vote of all five executive counsels, we 
decided that only Crews 3, 4, and 5 should be let down, while #1 
and #2 went on to BS-2, and then on to our secondary system, if 
BS-2 was not satisfactory.  Of course the two crews that were 
moving on would still have a chance to see the planet's surface.

So the three "lower" crews had all joined in, helping to set up 
barracks at first, in which to live, while the permanent building 
programs got underway.  For the time being, the political officer 
of Crew #3 was the planetary head of government, until a vote 
could be had.  And after seven weeks in orbit (late in September 
of 2315), those of us from the other crews began to visit the 
surface in rotation.

My skin crawled as I felt the alien atmosphere breeze in around 
me.  The airlock door slid back into the hull of the shuttle, 
exposing the beautiful landscape before me.  Vertigo began to 
creep up on me as I stared out at the surface of Bliss.  The 
grass and other foliage were green, just as in the pictures I had 
seen of Terra, and the sky was a soft baby blue.  But it was so 
BIG!  The ground stretched away in all directions, seemingly 
forever, until it hit the sea, and that is when I passed out.

  We had sent all the gathered information on a tight laser 
communication beam back to where Terra would be in six years, 
addressed to Hope City, since the Committee no longer existed.  
Our latest news flash from Terra had told of widespread financial 
panics, famines that had tripled in strength, and a "small 
nuclear war" in Asia.  The 143-year old Solar Federation had 
crumbled, leaving Terra to fend for herself.  Only the Dohr 
habitat had sided with Terra, since her owners still lived on the 
mother planet.  Most other space cities and habitats had either 
become independent or joined with other planetary nations.  
Confederate Luna continued to remain aloof, being the only 
government that had never joined the Solar Federation.  Hope City 
became one of the richest independent nations, because of their 
sales of foodstuffs to colonies all over the system.  The Mars-
Ceres Republic had become an "Empire", and bombed Venus into 
submission, thus, the beginning of the "Martian Empire".

Epilogue

Mr. Forrest Harmon, Senator (2385 to 2405 AD), Republic of Bliss, 
Banard's Star

There are a few of us left.  The First Ones, I mean.  The planet 
is crawling with humanity, civilization, and even some resident 
aliens from Farla, our nearest planetary neighbor, but of the 
First Ones, there are only a few.

We arrived ninety years ago, the first known humans from Terra to 
land on any planetary body outside our own star system.  We left 
three hundred colonists here, and the other two hundred continued 
on to Farla, then known as BS-2.  That is where we found the 
Farlans, another intelligent yet... - I am sorry, that's another 
story.

In order to keep from interfering with the Farlans, we returned 
to Bliss, to join our other comrades in the colonization effort.  
Within months permanent buildings had been erected and a city 
planning committee had forecast the growth of our first and 
capital city for the next hundred years.  They were wrong.  The 
city now looks nothing like their plans said it would, and we've 
still got ten years to go.

First City now boasts a population of over a million, while our 
planet contains something like six million.  It's hard to tell, 
though since we really don't hike out through the virgin 
wilderness looking for the hunters, loners, and other people who 
are out there.  This planet's a big place, and we've all got 
plenty of room.

It was only four years after our arrival here that the next 
colony ship came.  Well, it was more like a sardine tin, with 
10,000 refugees packed in it.  They brought almost nothing 
besides the clothes on their backs and a few supplies.  And they 
populated our planet quickly.  But most of them were nice, 
hardworking people, as were the next 10,000, five years after 
that.

Then the ship from Farla arrived, bringing ambassadors from our 
neighboring planet.  Trade began, and the exchange of knowledge.

It is nothing like Terra or the New Terran Federation (NTF).  In 
fact, I haven't thought about Terra in nearly thirty years.  Of 
course we get radio messages from them that are six years old, 
and we send them news briefs that get briefer and briefer.  And 
they send us 10,000 or more "colonists" every two or three years.

Petr still lives on Bliss, but I haven't seen him or his wife for 
a few years, ever since they retired, leaving their church in the 
care of their very capable grandson, Alexander.  Marie Clark grew 
old badly and still lives in the wealthy but dark side of First 
City.  There might be a few others, but I can't think of them 
right now.   I'm considering returning to Terra in my former 
capacity, to maybe clean up that government's act, but I'm 
getting a little old for that sort of thing.

Character List for Nadyozhda

Elizabeth Novgorod:				Chief Engineer; wife of Petr N.

Petr Novgorod:					Chaplain, linguistics expert, and 
architect; husband of Elizabeth N.

Scott Hayford:					Chief Programmer and Assistant 
Designer of M.C.C.; husband of Marie C.

Marie Clark:					Computer Programming Expert; wife of 
Scott H. (officially single)

Captain James Cochran:			Captain

Dr. José Riceberger III:			Inventor of first true longevity 
treatments; died 2292 AD

Governor Ortega:				Chief Political Scientist;

Dr. Haank Massaan:				Chief Doctor; married

Harley Davidson:				Chief Hydroponics Expert (Farmer); 
single

Hope:						English name for Nadyozhda; given name 
for M.C.C.

Forrest Harmon:				Chief Mineralogist; secretly Chief 
Bodyguard to the Captain; single

Robert Wilson:					Captain of Crew #5; Quarterback at H. 
Davidson's college; married

Robert Gillespie Adams-Muñoz:	Inventor of artificial gravity 
fields

Robert Gillespie Adams-Muñoz II:	Son of [above]; inventor of anti-
gravity propulsion systems

Vargas Glover I:				Chairman of Independent Mars, 2160-
2206; originator of Mars-Ceres Republic

Janie Fowler:					Chief Engineer of Crew #2; married

Mishael Joseph:					Rabbi of Martian Orthodox Jewish 
Assembly; Chaplain of Crew #5; married

Kristie Jurabi:					Minister of Reorganized Martian 
Muslim Churches for Christ; Chaplain of Crew #2; single

Jonathon Gallagher:				Shuttle pilot and cargo bay 
worker, Crew #2; married

Crew #1

Captain James Cochran

Computer Officer Marie Clark

Medical Officer Haank Massaan

Political Officer Mauel Ortega

Hydroponics Officer Harley Davidson

Engineering Officer Elizabeth Novgorod

Chaplain Petr Novgorod

Mineralogist Forrest Harmon

Mrs. Cochran

Mrs. Massaan

Mrs. Ortega

Crew #2

Reverend Kristie Jurabi

Engineering Officer Janie Fowler

Chief Shuttle Pilot Jonathon Gallagher

Mr. Fowler

Crew #5

Captain Robert Wilson

Mrs. Wilson

Rabbi Mishael Joseph




Future Timeline in Use for "Hope"


2022: United Nations moves headquarters from NYC to Buenos Aires

2026: Twin Towers of the World Trade Centers completely destroyed 
by local terrorists; NYC declared a federal disaster area

2027: New York Stock Exchange (NYSE) moves to Dallas, to be 
renamed DTSE

2041: Boyd, the first space city, begins accepting applications 
for inhabitants

2043: First permanent habitat on Luna established; quickly grows 
into a small city

2049: First manned landing on Mars; 25 people land, explore, 
leave 20 there, in sealed dome, doing scientific exploration

2050: Regular trips from Terra to Luna take colonists on the way 
out, bringing raw materials back with them

2059: First colony ship heads to Mars, bringing 200, establish 
first city there, called Marsport

2062: Prospecting begins in Asteroid Belt; Permanent habitat on 
Ceres

2066: Space Station built in Venus orbit, manned by fourteen 
scientists, and four astronauts; studies focus on the feasibility 
of transforming Venus' atmosphere into a breathable one

2075: Nuclear Reactors first used in space propulsion systems; 
long-range effects: space travel becomes much cheaper, and travel 
time is cut by fifty percent

2080: First humans reach Jupiter's orbit, begin exploring her 
satellites, looking for a site for a scientific outpost

2081: Ganymede is selected, and a base is built; scientists 
immediately request that mining equipment be sent

2082: Lichens and other simple plant life has taken hold on the 
surface of Mars, freeing oxygen, nitrogen, etc.; atmosphere 
project goes forward full speed

2086: First human walks on Venus' surface without a respirator; 
he immediately gets sick, so the respirator rules remain in 
effect; however, the atmosphere project proceeds with full 
confidence

2087: First landing on Saturn's moon, Titan

2092: Third ship to Titan continues on to explore outer planets, 
manned by 30 humans

2099: First manned landing on Pluto; scientific outpost is built 
and left; scientists and equipment are scheduled to arrive in 
2106

2100: Dr. Adams-Muñoz has first son, Robert II

2102: Luna's population tops 100,000; Second city built on Mars, 
atmosphere is growing, first outdoor farms successful; Respirator 
law on Venus revoked;

2112: Dr. Adams-Muñoz invents artificial gravity fields

2115: A space station installs the first a-grav field, is renamed 
Astropolis I

2120: First train tunnel utilizing a-grav field is complete, from 
Washington, DC to Los Angeles; takes only forty-five minutes

2129: Forrest Harmon born, March 17, in NYC Federal Disaster Area

2133: Petr Novgorod born, June 20, in Dohr Habitat

2142: Planning begins for first interstellar voyage

2145: The 800 inhabitants of Jupiter's moons declare themselves 
independent of Terra, becoming the first planetary inhabitants to 
do so, calling themselves JUM, the Jovian United Moons

2148: Dr. Adams-Muñoz dies, his son takes over his research

2149: Petr defects to Armstrong City

2150: A Captain Cochran of the Terran Federation captures the 
most elusive pirate vessel known to the Solar System (it actually 
belonged to the Marxa Clan of NYCFDA 

2150: Petr joins Armstrong Militia

2152: Petr enrolls in Armstrong ICBS

2154: Petr becomes "Reverend", through New Revised Interplanetary 
Calvinistic Pentecostal Church - had to return briefly to Dohr to 
get credentials; plants new church on Armstrong City;

2155: Building of mankind's first starship begins, in Lunar orbit

2161: Crew selection begins for Hope

2165: (July) Hope is completed one month ahead of schedule

(August)  Dr. Riceberger III releases longevity treatments

(August)  Hope is launched

(November) inhabitants of construction station rename it Hope 
City, and decide to continue building starships

2166: (March) Venus declares independence from Terran Federation; 
there is war for two weeks, until Treaty of 2166;

    (April)  Terra and Venus join to form Solar Federation and 
Solar Patrol

2167: Luna becomes independent as well: Luna Confederacy; 
population tops one million, mostly in underground cities

2180: Citizens of Mars (independent from inception of Marsport) 
can now walk the surface with only respirators; good used 
pressure suits are sold to TF trade ships

2189: Venus' population tops 50 million

2190: Ten-year study shows that humans living anywhere besides 
Terra have an average lifespan of 120 years; Terran lifespan has 
dropped drastically, due to famine, etc., to 65 years; factors: 
no wars, no famines, high health and intelligence requirements 
for space travel, less gravity, almost no diseases

2199: Ganymede atmosphere project begins, planned to take two 
hundred years

2200: Independent Mars' population tops 50 million, in over a 
dozen cities and thousands of settlements; Mars is financially 
independent

2209: 2nd starship launched; holds 2,000 people, destination: Tau 
Ceti (14 light years away); trip should take 250 years

2213: Independent Mars and the Nation of Ceres form a joint 
Republic (Ceres pop.: 5 million); Ceres is now almost completely 
hollowed out from mining ventures; the interior of the asteroid 
is quickly filling with habitats

2223: Terra's pop. tops  13 billion; Terrans began populating the 
oceans, with floating cities and underwater cities

2224: Terran Federation outlaws longevity treatments, except for 
people migrating off-planet, scientists, politicians

2225: TF collapses; war covers the planet for a decade, until the 
nations form the NUN (New United Nations), and rejoin the Solar 
Federation in 2235

2230: Population in Terran orbit exceeds 25 million

2247: Mars-Ceres Republic joins the Solar Federation

2249: Governments from all outer satellites (not including 
J.U.M.) join to form the Outer Satellites Republic (OSR)

2252: J.U.M. and OSR join the Solar Federation; J.U.M.'s pop.: 10 
million plus; OSR's pop.: 4 million

2256: Asteroid mining unions revolt, successfully blockade most 
space traffic from inner to outer planets

2257: Prisoners on Phobos mutiny and hold off Solar Patrol for 6 
months; declared the Phobos Confederacy

(December) Famine on Ganymede; lasts until June 2259

2259: Pluto's scientist reestablish contact after 15 months of 
silence; resulting when the last comet came too close

2260: 3rd starship launched by Hope City; holds 1,000 people, 
reactor has newly discovered modifications; destination: 20 light 
years away; trip ETA: 2610

2280: A-grav propulsion finally invented by Dr. Adams Muñoz II, 
at the age of 180; he creates a company that sells both the 
product and the technology to build  them; becomes filthy rich 
overnight

2302: (January) First Mass-Converter built, on Mars

(December) 4th starship launched by Hope City, powered by mass 
converter, propulsion system: a-grav; holds 10,000 people; 
destination 19 light years away; ETA: 2340

2304: crew of Tau Ceti starship (launched in 2209) is awakened 
after 95 years of travel, to make modifications: nuclear reactor 
improvements, mass converter, gravitic propulsion; new ETA (with 
only 9 light-years left to travel): 2318

: same procedure is followed for ship launched in 2260; they have 
17.5 light years to go; new ETA: 2323

2308: Earth's population down to 12 billion because of World War 
V; Venus' and Mars' combined total population: one billion; the 
orbiting stations around the four inner planets total one 
billion; the Fifth Planet's New Republic (FPNR), J.U.M., and OSR 
(now including Pluto) total another one half billion

2309: World War Five-B ("small nuclear war" in Asia); the rest of 
the Solar Federation expels Terra from their ranks; the Dohr 
habitat sides with Terra, thus leaving the Federation; Most other 
Terran-orbit space cities withdrew from the Federation, and 
became independent; Mars-Ceres Republic is overthrown in a 
violent coup detat, becoming the "Martian Empire"; ME bombs Venus 
into submission, to expand the Empire; Hope City becomes rich, 
selling foodstuffs to starving colonies and even Terra

2309: Hope City launches their fifth starship, this one heading 
out behind Nadyozhda; destination: same as Nadyozhda, unless 
nothing good is found there; then it will continue on past; 
holding 10,000 people, most in cryostasis

2315: Hope arrives at Banard's Star System; finds two inhabitable 
planets, one race of intelligent, humanoid life

2316: Terra again falls from the inside, historians call it World 
War VI; the anarchy lasts for four years

2317: Republic of Bliss is formed, a representative democracy

2318: Dr. Robert Gillespie Adams-Muñoz dies at 218 years of age, 
so far, the oldest man alive until his death; the next oldest man 
is 207, not counting the crew of the Nadyozhda, or anyone else 
who has been in cryostasis

2318: Starship arrives at Tau Ceti, finding two inhabitable 
planets, colonization ratings: 62% and 88%.  Planets named 
Carolyn and Newhome

2319: Second ship arrives at Bliss, Banard's Star

2320: Dohr, the oldest space city, brings Terra to its knees with 
the new particle beam technology, forms the New Terran Federation 
(NTF), controlled from orbit; all government offices for the NTF 
are in Dohr

2323: First contact with the "Farlans", intelligent inhabitants 
of Banard's Star's second planet; their ship arrived in Bliss 
orbit, and a treaty of mutual respect was born

2324: Third starship arrives at destination: 200 people are left 
on a planet with a 41% colonization rating, name it Exile; the 
other 800 go on to their next destination; ETA 2342

2330: After ten years of rebuilding from WW6, the NTF is once 
again allowed to send men into space, but only after a careful 
selection process; Terran population is down to 10 billion, but 
rising again

2332: The Martian Empire, now 23 years old, begins to take over 
the FPNR, taking the mining bases one by one; at the same time, 
Martian warships head out toward JUM, and OSR, attempting to gain 
control of the entire solar system.

2337: All of JUM, and most of FPNR have been enveloped by Mars' 
Empire; OSR remains independent - they had a lot of time to 
prepare defenses, besides, the distances involved for the 
invaders was vast

2338: Hope City, now by far the richest government outside of ME, 
unites with Luna, to begin preparing massive defenses, in the 
event that ME tries to take them; The space cities in Terran 
orbit - excluding Dohr - form the United Terran Orbiting Cities 
(UTOC), for the same reason

2340: Hope City, with a population of over 10 million, has for 
years been charging every outgoing colonist a large sum, and has 
been the largest exporter of foodstuffs for over a century; not 
only that, any starship returning from the distant colonies would 
dock there; HC joins with Phobos (which has remained ind. from 
ME) and OSR and Pluto to form the New Solar Federation.

2340 (August): starship launched in 2302 arrives at its 
destination system, finding one planet with a colonization rating 
at 94% (as good as Terra before the Industrial Revolution); 
planet is named Sovyershyenstvo ("Perfection" in Russian); name 
is shortened to Sovyersh for English colonists

2341: First trade ship arrives from the Republic of Bliss, 
docking at Hope City; Scientists from around the solar system 
arrived to look over Hope, to study the effects of high speed 
travel through the distances between the stars

2341: When Hope heads back toward Bliss, several delegates are on 
board, from the New Solar Federation, to talk about setting up an 
interstellar Federation of human-occupied planets, and to talk to 
the Farlans

2342: Third starship arrives at second destination, finds 91% 
colonization planet; names it Terra II

2344: The NTF, still under the control of Dohr, is finally 
allowed to join the NSF, as long as they agree to the strict 
guidelines controlling emigration

2346: The Martian Empire takes Phobos, and attacks Hope City; 
within months, the Luna/Hope City armada had beaten the tired 
Martian fleet; asteroid miners resume their Fifth's Planet 
Republic, Phobos joins with the new Free Mars, The Republic of 
Venus sends six ships full of raw materials to Hope City out of 
gratitude; all the new nations join the NSF

2350: Hope City (the capital of the NSF) is now building 
starships faster than they can find crews and colonists.  99.7% 
of the colonist candidates come from Terra; and 95% of the 
selected candidates come from Terra; requirements: small chance 
of hereditary illness, perfect or correctable vision, perfect 
hearing, good fitness, education, money (to pay the high 
emigration charge), ability to bear children, etc.; every time 
enough candidates pass the tests, Hope City sends out another 
ship, or fills up a ship returning from the colonies; about one a 
year, average colonist load: 10,000

2350: POPULATIONS:

Republic of Venus:	750 million

NTF:		11 Billion

UTOC:	1.1 Billion

Hope City:	11 million

Luna Confederacy:	3 million

Free Mars:	700 million

FPR (now inc.Ceres):	20 million

JUM:		12 million

OSR:		6 million

Pluto:		500

TOTAL:	13.7 Billion

2350: LIFE EXPECTANCIES:

UTOC, Luna, JUM:	270 years

Republic of Venus, Free Mars, JUM:	250 years

Hope City, OSR:	242 years

Pluto:		194 years

New Terran Federation / Dohr:	151 years

Terra II, Farla:	185 years

Bliss, Carolyn, Newhome, Sovyersh:	181 years

Exile:		148 years

2376: First radio messages reach NSF from Terra II, thirty-four 
light years away; by that time, the colony has already survived a 
two-year plague (2344-46), and has grown from 800 to 2,100 people

2380: Jose Riceberger VI, in conjunction with Hope City, starts 
the "JRB Trading Company", building five brand new starships, the 
five largest ever built

2383: The five ships depart the Sol System, headed for the five 
known inhabited systems, each bearing items needed for those 
particular locations; and ordered to bring back whatever would 
sell back home; the crews were not placed in cryostasis, since 
because of time dilation the trips would seem much shorter to 
them (the pilot to Bliss would only experience a year or so of 
travel, even though in real time the trip would take almost eight 
years.)

2401: Bliss' population reaches one million in First City (the 
capital), and 6 million overall

2429: Forrest Harmon, Senior, ex-Senator of Bliss, reaches 300 
years of age, the first to do so (although 150 of them were spent 
in cryostasis aboard Hope.

2430: Terra once again begins a starship program, constructing 
the largest ship ever, in orbit next to Dohr, using materials 
mined from the ocean floors, and taken into orbit using a-grav

2431: Hope City is now sending out more than 40,000 colonists per 
year, each of them paying a year's wage for the privilege; 
Terra's ship, called The Exodus, leaves Earth orbit, carrying 1.2 
million colonists, all heading for Newhome and Carolyn, ETA 2447

2440: JUM and OSR merge to form the Republic of the Outer Planets 
(ROP)

2441: the FPR joins ROP; ROP remains a part of the Solar 
Federation

2447: The Exodus reaches Newhome, where the inhabitants force the 
Terrans to undergo strenuous medical examinations before landing; 
only 600,000 of the 1.2 million colonists are allowed to land; 
those remaining on the ship fly on to Carolyn; only 300,000 are 
allowed to ground there; the remaining 300,000 travel on to 
Exile, arriving in 2060

2451: Terra launches the Exodus II, heading for Bliss, holding 
almost 2 million people

2455: Hope City copies Terra, and begins building much larger 
ships, using materials shipped from ROP, but still maintains the 
very strict requirements

2459: The Exodus II arrives at Bliss, where none of the colonists 
are allowed to land; the ship goes to Farla, where the same 
refusal is offered; frustrated, the Terrans launch missiles on 
the Farlans; an orbiting defense station destroys the Exodus II

2460: Exodus I arrives at Exile, where the remaining 300,000 
colonists are allowed to land.

2461: Terra receives the message from Exodus I, about their 
treatment on Newhom and Carolyn, and complains to Hope City; Hope 
City tells Terra to find her own colonizable planets, if they 
don't want to screen their colonists

2469: The next starship to arrive from Bliss in the Sol System 
gives Terra the ultimatum: send no more ships to Bliss, unless 
the colonists have been more thoroughly tested; no other planet 
or habitat wanted Terra's sick, poor, and disenfranchised

2480: Dohr celebrates 150 years of keeping Terra from a major 
war, and the success of their population control measures

2500: Starship from Hope City arrives at a new solar system, 32 
light-years from Sol, carrying a million colonists; half land on 
Paradise, and half on Kracyvy (Russian for "Beautiful")

2504: Beginning of First Interstellar War; Six Terran warships 
arrive in Banard's Star System, begin bombing Bliss and Farla; 
Farlans are the biggest part of the defense; Bliss uses the 
defense systems aboard the Hope and other starships to fight off 
the Terrans

2505: NTF takes on Hope City, half of which is destroyed; Luna 
comes to the rescue, chasing the NTF ships back to Terra; Dohr is 
completely destroyed, and hundreds of nuclear missiles are fired 
at Terra's surface; particle beam weapons are also used

2507: Terran warships return to Bliss and Farla, after spending 
three years hiding among the outer planets of that system, 
repairing; this time they are met in space, and two are 
destroyed; a third is chased out of the system by the Farlans and 
captured; the other three flee into space at high speed;

2508: Terra attacks Luna and Hope City; this time, ships from 
Venus and Mars are on hand to assist them; the Terran fleet is 
defeated again, but more than half of Luna's population is wiped 
out, as well as more of Hope City

2509: The Solar Federation blockades Terra, shooting down any 
ship that lifts off, and using the particle beam to destroy space 
ship construction sites on the surface; UTOC participates 
completely

2525: The three Terran warships that fled Bliss find a new solar 
system, and colonize New Mars and Apollos; because of limited 
quantities of females, a polygamous society develops, with women 
in charge of everything but the military

2530: Bliss builds her first starship, a trader; begins regular 
trips to Hope City, along with Hope.  

2540: Hope City is completely rebuilt, but Luna is the new 
capital of the Solar Federation; oldest human ever dies in Luna 
City, at the age of 340 - she is survived by eleven generations 
of descendants

2550: Terra's population reaches two billion again, many are 
mutants, alive only through the use of drugs

2552: A JRB trader is destroyed between solar systems by a speck 
of dust;

2559: work begins on a "ramjet scoop", a magnetic field ahead of 
the starship which will gather up stray atoms from space, to use 
as fuel, and to protect future ships from collisions

2560: A pilot from JRB Trading Company retires after180 years of 
running between planets - he was one of the originals; due to the 
effect of time dilation, he is only 80 years old, subjective 
time; 

2575: First ramjet ship is completed, the New Breed; she is 
launched toward Terra II, carrying 15,000 passengers;

2588: Improvement on the longevity treatment gives each person an 
average of 35-40 extra years

2609: New Breed arrives at Terra II, making it the fastest trip 
ever between the two solar systems, averaging 99% of light speed; 
the crew only spent six months on the 34 year trip

2612: After secretly building starships under the oceans, Terrans 
launch one last attack against the Solar Federation; Twenty sleek 
warships ravage the Sol System for three years; Stations in 
Terran orbit have had enough; Terran life is bombed out of 
existence

2615: The last Terran warship is tracked down and destroyed

2631: The last of the UTOC stations moves out of Terran orbit; 
UTOC is dissolved, splitting into UMOC, UVOC, and ULOC

2640: Oldest living human dies on Ganymede at 389 years

2641: Newhome becomes first of the colony worlds to surpass one 
billion in population

2644: Bliss also surpasses one billion; only Venus and Mars 
contain more humans than these two colony worlds;

2645: New Breed returns to Sol System with a load of cargo, and 
300 tourists from Terra II; after six months of sightseeing, the 
ship returns to Terra II, with 20,000 more colonists, most of 
them from Luna

2646: Venus withdraws from the Solar Federation; Mars follows 
suit; 

2647: The Republic of the Outer Planets withdraws from the SF, 
leaving only the orbiting city Federations, Hope City, and Luna; 
trade comes to a halt in the Sol System, although all the 
independent governments continue to trade with the Colonies

2650: After 125 years of isolation, Terran colonists on New Mars 
and Apollos launch their own ramjet - developed separately from 
the ones in the Sol System - toward their home system

2674: Second Interstellar War begins when the T.S.S. Babylon 
arrives in the Sol System

2674: Last known full-blooded Farlan dies of old age; all others 
have interbred with humans

2675: After wreaking a year of havoc in the Sol System, the 
Babylon heads back to Apollos, thus the end of the SIW

2678: Seismic shifting on Paradise causes earthquakes, volcanoes, 
and tsunamis, killing 80% of the inhabitants