Course Correction
by M.R. Lehman Wiens
M.R. Lehman Wiens is a Pushcart-nominated writer and stay-at-home dad living in Minnesota. His work has previously appeared, or is upcoming in, F(r)iction, Short Édition, Consequence, The Wild Umbrella Literary Journal, and others. He can be found at lehmanwienswrites.com.
Course Correction previously appeared in the Fall 2019 issue of The First Line Literary Journal
“We need to talk.”
“What about, sir?”
“Not here. Come to my quarters after you’ve finished double checking the autopilot calibration.”
Jaspar looked up at Captain Mathis from his seat in the control bay. The other crew members remained focused on their work, only a stiffness in their posture betraying their interest.
“Something wrong, captain?”
“Just come to my quarters, Jaspar. I’ll wait there.”
Mathis departed the command deck, leaving the crew to complete the redundancy operation. The autopilot was supposed to be perfect, ‘Your trustworthy companion in lonely space,’ according to the datasheet. The worst part about space, though, was not the loneliness, it was the uncertainty. At the mid-point of their journey, that uncertainty had disabled half the ship with a meteor shower. The autopilot was still a companion, but it could no longer be considered trustworthy.
His cabin detected his approach with a chime, and he raised his chin for the iris scan. The door opened smoothly, softly hissing as the vacuum seals released. He despised the vacuum seals; they were designed to auto-lock in the case of a depressurization event. If a DPE occurred in his quarters, the rest of the ship would remain protected from the vacuum of space.
It was designed as a safety measure, but he’d heard rumors, rumors he preferred not to dwell on. Supposedly, one unlucky ship had lost pressure everywhere but the captain’s quarters, trapping the captain inside. The rest of the crew had been killed instantly, but the autopilot had managed to limp the ship to lunar orbit like a horse carrying home a drunken rider. By the time the ship was docked and boarded, the skipper had starved to death, sealed in an interstellar coffin.
The captain’s quarters on the Argo did come with some benefits, though. For a spacecraft, the room was quite large, and could even be called luxurious. It was the first ship Mathis commanded that had been purpose-built for passenger hibernation, and the designers had used the reduced storage requirements to add a few creature comforts. His cot was a full six feet, a half-foot longer than regulation, and his liquid reclamation unit was a newer model with separate toilet and sink attachments.
He had hung as many sketches and maps on the walls as he could, trying to both hide the dull gray steel while adding acoustic dampening. The room remained cold and hard, however. Worse, the blood-smell of metal filled his nose with every breath.
The touchscreen on the wall lit up as he approached it, shifting from a dull gray background to a brilliant blue that reminded him of his native Kansas sky. He made a few swipes, and his bed retracted into the wall. Another swipe, and three slabs extended from the same wall, forming a crude table and benches.
Mathis sat at the table, pulling up the ship’s log on a datasheet to refresh the information and forecasts in his mind. A soft chime interrupted him, and the blue of the touchscreen faded to a view of the corridor outside. Jaspar stood there, shifting from foot to foot.
“Come,” said Mathis, and the door opened automatically. Jaspar stepped through.
“The calibration was successful, captain. You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Sit.”
Jaspar sat, maintaining a stiff posture.
“Jesus Christ, Bill, relax. It’s just the two of us here.”
Jaspar’s eyes flitted toward the door, which remained open.
“Door close,” Mathis instructed. It did. “Happy?”
Jaspar nodded but still looked profoundly uncomfortable.
“Bill, have you checked the cargo lately?
“Not since the accident, sir.”
“Drop the ‘sir,’ Bill. You’re making me itch. We’ve maintained constant guards and surveillance?”
“Around the clock, sir,” said Jaspar, ignoring the order. “Two crew at all times, along with video recording as a failsafe.”
Captain Mathis sighed and leaned back against the bulkhead.
“I assume that there’s been no theft of food or water? No grumbling about rations?”
Jaspar hesitated for a moment.
“Not so far as I know, sir. What’s this about?”
Mathis stood and pressed his thumb against a corner of the touchscreen. There was a click in the wall above the table, and a door slid open to reveal one of the captain’s lockers.
“This is what it’s about.”
The locker contained a single calorie pack, marked with the Argo’s seal.
“Captain? Are you not eating your rations?”
“It’s not mine.” Mathis handed it to Jaspar; the receipt stamp on the wrapper was 004.
“Doctor Arthur? Why do you have one of Doctor Arthur’s rations?”
“Because he had it, and a whole lot more besides this one. I left the rest behind so he wouldn’t be alerted.”
Mathis returned to the datasheet and swiped to a picture of a locker in the infirmary. It was stacked full of calorie packs, each one stamped 004. Mathis could see Jaspar trying to estimate the total amount.
“I’ll save you the trouble. On our current rations, there’s about eight days worth of consumables there. Who else knows about the shortage?”
Jaspar was shaking his head, mouth slightly open. “Just the two of us and Doctor Arthur. Do you really think he’s been stealing rations? Couldn’t he just be stockpiling, holding some back?”
“That’s what I don’t know. I found all this when I went looking for an aspirin in the infirmary. The damn fool hid a wrapper behind a first aid kit. The only reason someone hides ordinary trash, Jaspar, is guilt over creating it in the first place. It didn’t take me long to find the rest of his stockpile.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“That’s why I wanted to talk. I want to avoid confronting the doctor until we know all the facts; making unfounded accusations never helps in close quarters like this. And if he is guilty, we need to do our best to catch him unawares.
“At the same time, we can’t bring more people into the circle of trust. As far as the crew knows, we have just enough supplies to make it to Europa. If they know the truth, we won’t be able to maintain control.
“Even worse, the small size of the crew will make it difficult to keep an investigation quiet… the more people that find out, the closer we’ll be to tensions boiling over. Discretion is going to be key, Jaspar.”
Jaspar nodded. “Would you like me to review the security footage?”
“Please do. You’re scheduled to guard the rations with Vasquez until eighteen hundred, but I’ll have Dimitriov cover for you until then. I need to update and transmit yesterday’s logs; come find me here when you’re finished.”
#
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Jaspar stood in the captain’s quarters once again, looking even more uncomfortable than he had before. Mathis sat at the table, chewing the insides of his cheeks as he thought.
“Gaps in the tape?”
“None.”
“How far back do our recordings go?”
“One week.”
“And the collision happened ten days ago.”
“Yes. A three-day gap.”
“Damn. Was Arthur on guard duty during that time?”
Jaspar pulled out a flimsy datasheet, flipped through a few displays, and squinted at the schedule.
“Doctor Arthur had one shift of guard duty eight days ago. That’s the only time in our recording gap he would have had an opportunity.”
“I’d like to talk with the other crew member on duty that day before we talk with Doctor Arthur. If he used that opportunity to raid the cargo hold, that person could possibly be an accomplice.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, sir? I thought you said discretion was warranted.”
“Indeed. But if this person was working with Arthur, they already know. If they have no idea, I think we can phrase our questions obtusely enough to avoid the truth. Who was it?”
“Siwali, sir. I believe she’s off-duty currently.”
Mathis stood, and Jaspar slid the datasheet back into its carrier bar.
“Let’s go.”
“Captain.” Siwali stood, barely affecting a salute. They found her in the mess hall. Her coveralls were unzipped, arms tied around her waist. Mathis made a mental note of that; outside of her personal quarters, it was a dress code violation.
“At ease. Do you have a minute, Siwali?”
“I suppose.” She slid her finger across the page to mark her spot in the novel she was reading but did not power it off.
Mathis and Jasper took a seat at her table. “How many times have you been on guard duty for the cargo hold?”
She looked at the ceiling as she counted silently. “Five or six times, I think.”
“And how many of those times were with Doctor Arthur?”
She paused, considering the question before answering. Mathis noticed, but said nothing.
“Just the one. He’d just finished dealing with the mess from the collision, so I had to teach him all the protocols–updating the access codes, making sure the cameras were recording, all that.”
“And did anything out of the ordinary happen during that guard shift?”
Siwali eyed Jaspar, and then refocused back on Captain Mathis.
“No, sir. Just the usual, standing guard to prevent a rush on rations that’s never going to happen.”
Mathis cocked his head. “A rush? That’s an interesting assumption.”
“It’s your assumption. I’m not the one forcing the crew to do extra duty guarding the hold. You really think we’re so soft that we can’t stand reduced rations until we get to Europa?”
“Siwali…” Jaspar growled, his jaw clenched.
“It’s fine, Jaspar. Siwali, it’s important that you tell us the truth. Was there anything out of the ordinary that happened between you and Doctor Arthur?”
Siwali sat still, nearly expressionless, but Mathis thought he could detect just a hint of something. Anger, or perhaps desperation.
“The only thing out of the ordinary was that I let the doc off an hour early to catch up on sleep. He’d been up for a two-day cycle prepping the bodies after the accident.”
Mathis sat quietly, watching Siwali. His first captain, years ago when he had been a first mate like Jaspar, had been a master of drawing people out. After each statement Mathis made, his captain would sit silently, watching. Something about her intense focus always brought out more information than Mathis planned to share. Unfortunately, it was a skill he’d never mastered, at least not enough to draw out Siwali.
“Thank you, Siwali. I appreciate your willingness to give Doctor Arthur a rest. For the future, though, remember that we’re all supposed to do our assigned duty. Doesn’t matter if we’ve been up for four hours or four hundred. If we don’t do our duty, we fail.”
“Yes, sir. Is there anything more?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I’ll have to issue you a citation for a dress violation.” Siwali’s eyes flashed. “Jaspar, any other thoughts?”
“No, sir.”
“All right, then. Go ahead, Siwali.” Rather than resume her book, though, she left, leaving them alone in the mess hall.
“She’s a tough one.”
“She’s an engineer. I think it comes with the territory, sir.”
As they walked back to his quarters, Siwali’s face flashed through Mathis’ mind once again. That stoic, stoney face, with just a hint of something hidden behind the eyes. In his remembering, though, Mathis could see the emotion clearly.
Contempt.
#
“Captain?”
Mathis had withdrawn a bottle of scotch from one of his security lockers.
“Sit, Bill. My head hurts, and I need a drink.”
Jaspar hesitated, eyeing the two glasses on the table.
“Oh for Christ’s sake, it’s a glass of scotch. I practically had to smuggle this bottle on board up my ass, and I’m tired of drinking alone.”
Jaspar didn’t move.
“Fine. As your captain, I order you to have a drink with me, and relieve you from the consequences of violating regulations. Sit.”
Jaspar sat, took the glass, sipped it lightly. Closed his eyes.
“There you go. This damn stuff is old enough to vote, and I practically have to force it down your throat. You’re such a stickler.”
Jaspar swallowed and smiled with his eyes still closed.
“Well, Elton, when you’re known for being a stickler, it’s much easier to get away with breaking the rules.”
Mathis paused, then burst into a roar of laughter.
“Bill’s finally coming through! If I’d known loosening you up was as easy as a glass of contraband scotch, I’d have poured one out on launch day!”
“Thank you for the scotch, sir.”
“And back to sir again. Well, it’s the first time I’ve heard my first name since we left home, so that’s a win for me.”
Mathis took a sip of scotch and let it float in his mouth, prickling his tongue. He swallowed.
“Next steps won’t be pretty.”
“No, sir, they won’t.”
“I’ve been playing out the possibilities in my mind. We need the doctor; he’s mission critical staff if anything goes wrong with the hibernators. Unfortunately, I’m sure the crew will let him off easy unless they know about the ration shortage.
“That said, we’ve known from the start there’s only one solution. If we had two fewer crew members, we’d be able to make it with what’s in Hold C. I imagine that under the circumstances, Doctor Arthur would be one of the first people sent out the airlock. I’d more than likely be the second.”
Jaspar said nothing, letting Mathis speak while he savored the peaty smoke of the scotch.
“At the end of the day, though, Arthur will still know the true severity of what he’s done, and that we’re on to him. He’ll know that there’s a court martial waiting for him at the end of all this, providing we all make it out. I don’t know how we’ll make it to Europa. The autopilot might get us there on its own, but I just…damn.”
“Sir?”
“I hate this, Bill. Trying to keep order. Trying to maintain discipline. You can do what’s right, or you can do what’s popular. My old man used to say that.”
The two men sat quietly, swirling their scotch, neither sure what to say next. Mathis sighed.
“Better to keep them in the dark. Slap Arthur on the wrist, court martial him when we get there.”
“If we get there.”
“We’ll get there. I don’t know how, but we’ll figure something out.” He downed the last of his drink and contemplated the empty glass.
“It sounds like you’ve decided, sir. Shall I gather the crew?”
“Yes, I think so. Have them report to the bridge at thirteen thirty.”
“Yes, sir.” Jaspar stood, leaving his glass half-finished on the table. He turned to leave.
“Bill?”
“Sir?”
“Thank you. You’ll find out when you’re in command of a ship that’s it’s lonely. Thank you for this.”
Jaspar stood in the doorway, hesitant. Then, he nodded.
“You’re welcome, sir.”
#
Mathis strode onto the bridge at 13:45. He liked to arrive at important meetings a little bit late; it gave people’s minds time to wander. Innocent parties became curious, and guilty parties began edging toward desperation.
As planned, the crew was waiting for him. Gasparov was seated behind the nav screen, monitoring the ship’s flight path. Dimitriov and Vasquez had propped their stun guns against their chairs and looked pleased to have a break from guard duty. Siwali sat with the other three engineers, staring daggers at Mathis as he entered. Her coveralls remained unzipped and tied around her waist.
Mathis was surprised to find Dr. Arthur rather relaxed, almost detached; he realized that the doctor was filling out a crossword on a datasheet, seemingly lost in concentration. Only Jaspar seemed on edge, standing beside the door and shifting from foot to foot.
“Captain on the bridge!”
Eyes shifted back and forth around the table, but all remained seated. Mathis noticed that the crew’s eyes were settling on Dr. Arthur, although he did not look up from his crossword. Finally, he stood, and the rest of the crew followed.
”At ease,” said Mathis. Alarm bells began tolling, sounding from deep within his subconscious. Something is wrong.
“Crew, since the ship sealed off cargo hold B, we’ve been forced into strict rationing. I want to first say that I appreciate the dignity and commitment to duty you’ve all shown during this leg of the journey. It’s not easy, but it’s critical for the mission.
“However, I have some unfortunate news. Vasquez, Dimitriov, if you’d ready your stunners.”
The two men slowly picked up their rifles, unsure.
“One among you has decided that their needs take precedence over those of the crew. This crew member is in possession of eight days worth of rations, concealed in their private quarters.”
He had expected at least a murmur or raised eyebrows, if not an outburst of anger. Instead, the crew sat and waited, expressionless, for what he would say next.
“Doctor Arthur, please stand.”
The doctor slowly rose to his feet again0, still holding the datasheet loosely in one hand.
“Doctor Arthur, before this gathering of the crew of the Argo, I formerly charge you with ration theft. How do you plead?”
“Not guilty.”
Mathis nodded. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but he was prepared nonetheless.
“Very well. Crew, if you’ll pull out your datasheets, you’ll find a file has been sent to you in the last five minutes. Please review it.”
This time, he was sure he’d get a reaction. The photo of the ration packs tucked away in the vent was damning beyond a doubt. As the datasheets extended and flickered to life, he watched the faces of each crew member.
Nothing.
Siwali even had the gall to let a smirk distort her face. Mathis made a mental note to investigate her next.
“As you can see, the evidence is concrete. You’ll all notice the receipt stamp on the calorie packs in the foreground. zero-zero-four – the doctor’s crew number.”
Still standing, Dr. Arthur spoke.
“Captain, I believe you will find that I am guilty of several things, but I assure you that ration theft is not one of them. Please consider how poor a thief I would be to stamp my own receipt number on each and every ration I chose to steal.”
Mathis paused for a moment, unsure.
“So you’ve been hoarding, then. Neglecting your own duty by providing yourself with lower than adequate nutrition, and also depriving the crew of supplies they themselves would choose to use.” It was a stretch, but it was all he had to save face.
“On the first charge, my nutrition has been adequate. I’ve made sure of that. On the second charge, I believe it’s up to the crew to determine whether or not I’ve harmed them through my actions.”
The crew was nodding, and Mathis could now hear Jaspar shifting back and forth over his shoulder, his level of agitation increasing. He was somehow losing control of the situation. Drastic action was needed. He swallowed.
“I’m afraid there’s something I’ve been withholding from you, a reason that Doctor Arthur’s actions are much more grave than you know. You’ve been working under the belief that we have just enough to make it to Europa under our current rationing system. However, the reality is much more dire.
“At our current rate of consumption, which is already below recommended nutritional needs, we will run out of food a month before we arrive. Water reclamation systems will keep us supplied with water for a little longer than that, but not long enough.”
The crew sat quietly, their faces hard.
“About time you told us,” Siwali said.
All at once, it hit him. The contempt in Siwali’s eyes, the cold tone in Dr. Arthur’s voice. The complete apathy. They knew.
“Arthur, you son of a bitch!” He rushed forward, arm cocked back with a clenched fist, but an electric charge from a guard’s rifle smacked him to the ground. As his muscles spasmed, he felt strong arms lift him into a chair. He managed to turn his eyes upward towards Jaspar.
“Heeellppp,” he slurred. Jaspar patted him on the shoulder, grimacing, and stepped over to stand by the doctor. He was trying to maintain an air of calm, but continued to nervously shift from one foot to another.
Damn. Jaspar, too.
“It’s good to see you’re finally interested in taking action, Captain. I’m sure you’ve already gathered that you’re the last person to catch up to the truth.”
Mathis glared at him. Arthur went on.
“When I first came to you and Jaspar with the news about our supplies, I had hoped that you’d do the right thing and tell the crew. Allow us to decide what should be done. Whatever you may think, you’re not the admiral of a fleet of starships. This is a cargo hauler.
“You would have kept the crew in the dark until it was too late, until we had no choice but to watch each other starve. The damn autopilot wouldn’t have delivered anything to Europa but corpses. So I intervened.”
“You stupid bastard,” Mathis spat. “It doesn’t matter how much you hoard, there won’t be enough to go around.” Mathis’ muscles were still twitching, and the words were cotton in his mouth.
“What?” For the first time, Dr. Arthur seemed truly startled. “You mean you still haven’t? Jenkens told me you had no idea, but I didn’t believe you weren’t at least suspicious.” The Doctor laughed.
“What? What am I missing?”
Arthur shook his head, still smiling. Jaspar looked away.
“We’ve found an additional food source on board. I never stole rations. I just saved the ones I didn’t need to use.”
He’d been for a two-day cycle prepping the bodies after the accident.
“No.”
“I’m afraid so, Captain. We had three bodies on our hands after the meteor strikes. I spent two days doing the autopsies, thinking about our situation, thinking about all that meat. It’s tough at first, butchering a human. It’s different than an autopsy; your brain doesn’t want to do it. But once you’re in the mess hall, seasoning it, heating it, and your mouth starts to water…it’s the most natural thing in the world.”
“Go to hell.”
The doctor’s smile waned slightly. “Indeed. If I believed in a hell, I’m sure that’s where I’d burn. If you’ll pardon the humor, I’m sure I’d also smell delicious.
“Siwali was the first one I told. She told the engineers, while I brought Jaspar on board. No one was enthused, I assure you, but excitement isn’t a requirement of survival. I’m sure if you searched our rooms, you’d find that we all had identical caches of unused rations. That’s how we’ll make it to Europa.”
“We have enough supplies to reach Europa now?”
“Not quite.” The crew shifted uncomfortably. “But there are thousands of settlers on board. If a hibernation chamber happens to fail, well…that’s to be expected. No one in the colonies will think twice.”
“No.” Mathis tried to speak with authority, but his voice came out in a squeak. “God help me you can’t—” He started to stand, but the two stun rifles were leveled toward him.
“So the tables are turned. Captain Mathis, I believe you have a mutiny on your hands. Jaspar and I have been talking, and although the crew would like to see you sent out the airlock, we’re willing to confine you to quarters until we reach Europa.
“Unfortunately, though, it appears that your cabin was sealed off from the ship in the accident. Malfunctioning door lock, DPE related accident. First Mate Jaspar took over the ship in the aftermath and led the crew through a heroic rationing effort to bring thousands of settlers safely to their new home.”
“No, please . . . .”
“I’m sorry, Elton. The crew decided before you got here. It’s this or the airlock.”
The fight had already left him. He walked slowly with the crew back to his cabin, and only when the door was sealed behind him did he begin to weep.
#
He had some other contraband stashed in his quarters besides the scotch, creature comforts from home. Laid out before him, it was a small cache of junk food; potato chips, the scotch, a tin of mixed nuts. On five hundred calories a day, including the scotch, he calculated he’d make it two weeks. The scotch would be gone in half that time, and the nuts would last the longest.
After five days, though, the hunger and thirst overwhelmed him. Before he could stop himself, the chips and nuts were gone, washed down with the last quarter bottle of whiskey. For a moment, he felt somewhere close to full before he vomited into the toilet. He lay on the floor, sobbing.
He spent the next two weeks watching the liquid drip from the water reclamation unit into the receptacle, waiting the full twenty-four hours until the unit had completed its work. Each day, there was a little less liquid in the chamber. After his binge and purge, there had been two full liters of water waiting for him, enough to quiet his hunger for a few hours.
Now, though, he was left with barely half a liter. His urine was dark yellow and stank, filling the small room. For the first time, the room no longer smelled like metal.
Time slipped past him, unheeded. They had turned off the electronics in his room, and as his body began to shut down, he slept more and more, only leaving bed to empty his bladder or drink what little the reclamation unit had procured for him. His hair was falling out, skin hung loosely from his bones, and his teeth wiggled gayly in his mouth.
Delirious, he was jolted by the hiss of the door opening. His mouth was filled with saliva before his sense of smell caught up. It was the smell of summer barbeque, of warm Christmas dinner, of bacon in the skillet.
The bed shifted as someone sat down next to him, and he felt a hand behind his head, and the cool trickle of water between his lips. His tongue was swollen in his mouth, and he nearly choked, but still drank.
And then the water vanished, and the source of that smell was placed at his lips. Some small part of him screamed, but hunger awoke in him, and his lips were moving, teeth chewing. Swallowing.
He ate.
Leave a Reply