Jim Baen's Universe Vol 2 No 3 by Eric Flint

Author:Eric Flint [Flint, Eric]
Format: epub
Published: 2009-10-01T03:00:00+00:00

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A Better Sense of Direction

Written by Mike Wood

Illustrated by R.Stephen Adams

We ran out of tinned spaghetti-in-tomato-sauce less than seven years into the voyage. For my daughter, Stella, it was a crisis. Stella had always hated space rations, but she was okay with tinned spaghetti. It was the only thing she ever seemed to eat. Stella was six years old, and anyone who has ever spent time with a six-year-old will know how fussy they can be with food. Stella's relationship with tinned spaghetti was more a fixation. She didn't just eat the stuff; she didn't just play with it; she communed with it.

The spaghetti crisis wasn't the first trauma to follow Stella's unplanned arrival on the crew list, but for Jodie and me, it was probably the most unsettling. Accommodation on a starship is cramped, and privacy is a scarce commodity, so a tantrum under these conditions, let me tell you, is a tantrum on steroids.

* * *

Stella was the first true child-of-the stars. She was conceived on the starship and she was born on the starship. Children had always been part of the mission plan, hence the low average age of the crew (Babes in Space, they called us). But it had never been part of the plan to have the first birth take place only nine months out of Earth orbit.

To be fair, a young crew is an impetuous crew, and Jodie and I, being scientists (of a sort), were drawn to experimentation. Our ship, Castor, had been suspended at L2 for the three days that were set aside for crew embarkation and provisioning. Jodie and I were amongst the first to board. We had just three days of weightlessness before the photon engines were due to fire-up, hitting us with the point-two gee of thrust that would be our constant companion for the next twenty-odd years; ten years accelerating then ten more years to wind it back down.

"Jodie," I said, "have you ever wondered what it might be like in zero gravity?"

"I don't need to wonder. This is zero gravity. It sucks. I've been puking for four hours."

"No, Jodie, you misunderstand. I'm talking about what it might be like. You know . . ." I winked. I worked my eyebrows up and down my face in a choreography of suggestiveness.

"Ah."

She got my drift.

"Did you misunderstand what I just said, Luke . . . about the puking?"

"Space-sickness is in the mind. All you need is something that will take your mind off it."

"And you reckon . . ."

"Undoubtedly."

"Well, okay then."

So we had three days—three days in which to explore the boundaries of science. Well, let me assure you, zero-gee-nooky is not up to much. It's tricky, it's horribly messy, and it is not a cure for space-sickness. Also, it is rife with unexpected dangers. I managed torn ligaments as well as a four-day concussion, while Jodie brought the whole, sorry experience to a close by dislocating her thumb. Then the engines powered-up. With the return of gravity the space-sickness sufferers perked up .

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