“Excellent!” He smiles with perfect teeth. “As you know, the Nova Star Initiative is a broad-ranging, inter-service quality control initiative set to bring all our services up to the quality control standards of industry and academia…”
Oh, no. It’s this damn thing. It’ll be reports filed on how other reports are filed, with everyone then having to do supplementary reporting on everyone else. All that time wasted that could be spent training. You’d think in an age of ubiquitous computing and artificial intelligence, we’d have done away with data work…but no.
“…this exciting new initiative will enable quality improvement through continuous feedback…”
He’s still going. I manage to keep my gaze level and attentive. Breathing exercises help keep me from yawning or my attention from drifting off. We’ve mental exercises to deal with fear, anger, fatigue and yes, even boredom. It’s especially useful for times like now.
“…and I look forward to your support on this vital initiative, Lieutenant,” he finishes at long last.
I nod. “Yes, Sir.” It’s an order, even if a stupid one.
“Dismissed.”
I’m glad to leave. It’s a good thing we’re up on our maintenance and training. You never know when disaster or bureaucracy will strike.
* * *
Message time.
We’ll be sending out most of our message traffic before the turn and burn. The reason is simply because every time a message is sent out by laser, we’re not maneuvering for a moment. Sure, we can and do link up laser communications within the fleet, but that’s short-range stuff under a million kilometers, so it’s easy to coordinate. Longer range signals across the entire solar system have to be stored up, and then sent in a burst to their targets. Part of the problem is the constant adjustment of the comm beam, but the ions from our drives tend to throw everything off, too. Still, we could get a signal out, even under combat maneuvers, it would just be less clear.
Receiving a message is a whole different deal. Sure, we can pick up or send broadcast radio any time, but laser signals have to be aimed. Any laser signal sent to us under maneuvers would miss us by kilometers, for the same reason that any gamma-beam or relativistic impactor would miss us—we’re constantly maneuvering. All it takes is a little bit of thrust here or there to keep us safe from long-range attacks from across the solar system. Even once in orbit, we’ll move the ships around a bit, so we can’t be taken out as sitting ducks.
The result of all of this is that we’ll only be sending out our message packets at the halfway point, when our engines are off, because the signal strength will be the most clear and undistorted. It also means that we can’t receive any tight beam communications until we’re next to a base that can take in the signals for us. The same physics that protect us from long-range, pinpoint targeting also keep us from getting signals while under maneuvers. Civilian ships don’t have this problem, of course, because they aren’t wasting fuel constantly jittering about on their flight path, so everyone knows exactly where they will be once the signal arrives. Also, civilians usually broadcast instead of tight-beam, since they don’t care if anyone intercepts their transmissions which would be a problem for us.
The first one goes out to my family, of course. I mostly make small talk about how I miss them and wish I was there with them. I have to admit, while I miss them, I love deep space, and would never dream of leaving this life anytime soon. I also send congratulations to my sister for getting into medical school—she’s the real brains of the family. Certainly a smarter career then strapping on a frame for deep space combat. What I don’t discuss is anything about the upcoming conflict, and not just for security reasons. I don’t want them to worry. They will anyway, but at least I can keep it from getting worse.
The next message goes out to my buddies at Phobos Base. A lot of us who got top marks in the Academy went into communications, systems design theory, or command tactics. Crazy ones like me went into Exo-Frame Flight School. Since Phobos Base is an important location for communications interception, intelligence, and is our most important base in the inner system, I know a lot of people who got assigned there. I talk about the old times and warn them again about getting in trouble with Martian girls, probably in vain. I try not to think about how Phobos is a giant sitting duck in space, not even a light-second from Saturn’s weapons on Deimos.
The only thing that could help them then is a prayer.
* * *
So I pray.
Pastor Leron Jones moves around the ships of the fleet, as do the various other Naval Clergy. That way, even though it might take a while, everyone can get an official service for their faith. Other days, you could tight-beam in for a counseling or to listen to a sermon. A lot of people wonder about following an ancient theology in an age of spacecraft and AI, but I figure we need all the help we can get, so I don’t miss out on what might be my last chance.
Lots of believers and unbelievers went to space once the State of Terra started cracking down with its thought police. Lots of Catholics and Buddhists went to Luna, Mormons and Muslims to Mars, Hindus and Neo-Pagans to Venus, and Saturn got a lot of the Transhumanist movements. None of these were mono movements; there were lots of other people that went to each planet. And Jupiter? We got a huge collection of faiths that all had one thing in common—they weren’t going to accept an oppressive state telling them how to think
