CHAPTER 7
Later, the crew of the Arkhangel held a brief, but spirited discussion on how to make things as safe as possible.
Should they send a probe ahead? It would seem a prudent thing to do, but their only recon probe had limited sensor capabilities and virtually no on-board intelligence. It would take quite a while to transit the entire length of the wormhole and how could they be sure the probe would be able to keep from plunging into the side of the wormhole? Would the negative energy screw up its navigation sensors?
Solo pointed out that there was a reason why a negative mass wormhole was on the rump side of nowhere. What would happen if positive mass, like the probe, touched the wormhole's side, would it blow up? Like antimatter?
Ernie spoke up. "That's different. Antimatter has positive energy, it's just the opposite of regular matter, that's why you get the explosion. Negative energy, on the other hand, added to positive energy, they just zero each other out. I-" she stopped abruptly at Solo's glare.
Horst asked "Why doesn't the wormhole just fly apart?"
The others looked to Ernie. She hesitated, then admitted, "Well, I read that normally mass is attracted to mass, but a wormhole exists because negative energy repulses itself. What I'm wondering, is it accumulating new negative energy from outside the compacting wormhole? Or is the wormhole in multiple dimensions and so made stable that way? Maybe cosmic strings? What will happen if positive energy goes through wormhole? Even without touching, will it collapse? Shouldn't there be an even larger amount of positive energy with this much negative energy? Why isn't there any sign of that around the wormhole?"
Solo snorted, but Qing interrupted before it could go any further. "Sounds like you have done your research, dear, but I don't think anyone really knows. Right now what we need is the most practical approach. I think we need to send our probe in just beyond the edge of the sphere to make sure it does not explode, collapse the wormhole, or cause anything else awful to happen. If it passes, so do we, right into the wormhole."
The probe accelerated away. Solo steered it right into the center of the sphere, the wormhole's mouth, by all appearances, a perfect circle a little less than five kilometers wide. They held their collective breath as the little probe crossed the threshold and kept going. Ernie flashed a laser message at the probe and it responded with its own message back, showing a visual of a featureless white tunnel.
Solo sent the probe a little more than two kilometers into the wormhole and then retrieved it without incident. "Time for the main event," he murmured.
"Almost," Qing corrected. "I could use a break to collect myself."
"Agreed," said Boris.
"First dibs on the head," he said as they started down the ladder.
"You bastard," Qing laughed.
The Captain gave the command and Solo started the Arkhangel forward into the wormhole. Qing leaned over the Captain's shoulder. "What's this, Boris? You shaved and put on a clean uniform? And, I believe you're actually smiling. I haven't seen that for a long time."
Standing only a couple of meters away, Horst chuckled. "The Flying Dutchman effect."
"What?" Ernie asked.
"The Flying Dutchman. Remember? We talked about it the other day. A legendary ship, doomed to sail forever. I have to agree with you, Captain, this is a better fate than handing the ship over to the moneymen."
"Ah, best of all, the decision is out of your hands. Your smile-and your vote-begin to make more sense, Boris," Qing said.
"Mark, T-minus five minutes," Solo announced as they slid towards the bright white circle.
The Captain tried to shake off his rippling unease. For some reason he recalled an essay he had written in college. It sang the praises of the wildcatters, their bravery, their necessity for expanding the sphere of human endeavor. Pure bullshit. It did not talk to the sheer, squalling terror of being the explorer, of going where no man had gone before. He really, really needed a drink right now.
"T-minus four minutes," Solo's voice intruded on Boris' thoughts. The white edge of the wormhole dominated the view to all sides. It felt not so much like a hole, but being swallowed by the worm itself.
"T-minus three minutes."
"I have the sensors recording and-hang on a second." Ernie punched in a last set of numbers. "I'm ready to release the beacon on your command Captain," she reported. It was part of their plan. Boris had directed Solo to program the beacon to activate after two weeks. If the Arkhangel did not return and deactivate it by then, the beacon would begin broadcasting the news of the wormhole and by implication, warning of its danger, and possibly summoning rescuers, although by the time any got here, Boris was certain it would be too late.
"T-minus two minutes."
"Eject the beacon, Ernie." His voice sounded steady, assured, exactly what a Captain's voice was supposed to sound like. Qing smiled at him. He noticed and shook his head with a wry expression.
"Beacon away, Captain."
"T-minus 90 seconds."
The entire view screen was a brilliant white. Ernie kept upping the strength of the filters to compensate, but it was still blinding.
"Engines, Qing?"
"Looking good, Captain. Everything's above the green line. We should have enough fuel to traverse the wormhole, take a quick look around, and then return. That's assuming we keep our thrust at 0.2 G, of course."
"Thanks, Qing."
"T-minus 60 seconds."
The bridge fell silent as the ship approached the mouth of the wormhole. The edges of the wormhole were much thinner than Boris would have thought. A drumming sound intruded on his thoughts. Boris looked over towards the source at the sensor station. "Sorry," Ernie stopped her fingers. Damn her giant hand, anyway, she placed it firmly in her lap.
"T-minus 30 seconds."
A good Captain would have some immortal words, a pithy phrase upon the occasion of the first humans entering a wormhole. Boris' mind went blank. "Hang on," he croaked.
"Five-four-three-two-one, zero," Solo counted. There were a few moments of silence as nobody breathed. "Instruments show we are a half-klick inside the wormhole," he announced.
Ernie chimed in. "I confirm that. Here's the view from astern." The view screen changed, showing a set of familiar stars and a white ring encroaching from the edges of the screen. Boris forced himself to breathe again.
"Yeah! We made it!" Ernie did what looked like a victory dance while remaining seated at her station.
Qing squeezed Boris' shoulder. "Well, we still have a long ways to go."
"Two days one way and another two to get back," Horst said.
"If we come back," Sean muttered.
Boris instituted a system of two hour watches, essentially dog watches around the clock. He also mandated that anyone not standing watch get some downtime off the bridge. Otherwise everyone would have spent the whole time staring into the dark spot at the end of the white tunnel. The unending whiteness and the one-fifth gravity due to their reduced thrust quickly tended to make an observer disoriented. At first they switched the view screen to show the view astern, but the steadily receding end of the tunnel had its own unwelcome effects on their state of mind. Eventually, they turned the view screen off entirely with only a check at the top of each hour to make sure they were still flying straight down the middle of the wormhole. Nobody wanted to see what would happen if the ship ran into one of the walls.
The crew remained on edge, even with the short shifts. If anything, the tension seemed to ratchet higher with each shift change. Currently, Boris was eavesdropping on Solo and Ernie arguing. That did not surprise Boris. What was slightly surprising, was that they were arguing in the privacy of Solo's cabin. The bigger surprise was they were arguing after a session of energetic sex that only the young can aspire to. Boris felt like a peeping tom, but could he really be a peeping tom if he only listened?
"You know you could treat me better, like I'm your girlfrie
nd and not just some cheap whore you picked up in the tunnels of Makemake."
"Sorry, baby. You know I can't do that. Captain has a policy of crew members not fooling around."
Boris frowned at this. He had no such policy. Solo was not even being terribly original, just a jackass.
"Since when do you care what the Captain thinks?"
Boris nodded. Good point, Ernie.
There was the sound of a zipper, probably Ernie getting dressed. "Even if you won't admit I'm your girlfriend, you could at least treat me nicer."
"Then everyone, including even our oblivious Captain, would suspect. I think Qing does already."
Ernie grumbled something inaudible and then left, slamming the door to Solo's cabin on the way out, not an easy feat with the heavy hatch cover. Solo started whistling off-key as soon as the hatch shut.
Boris turned off the microphone and sat pondering for a minute. As far as he knew Qing was unaware of this little affaire de coeur, but maybe it was time she knew.
"Damn, this is awkward," Qing said across the workbench that separated her from Ernie. She had asked the girl to join her in the engine room and now that she had, Qing's carefully rehearsed lines seemed just that, rehearsed.
"What's awkward?" Ernie frowned.
"This conversation. You sleeping with Solo. Take your pick."
"Oh. That."
"Yes, that. Ernie, you can do better."
"But he's smart, talented, and really, really, handsome," Ernie protested.
"He's an asshole," Qing snapped, before seeing the tears in Ernie's eyes. "A smart, talented, handsome asshole," she amended. "Like I said, you can do better." She moved around the workbench, reaching out, but Ernie moved to keep the workbench between them.
"Out here? Not likely," Ernie's lower lip quivered. "Besides, he promised me-he, never mind, you wouldn't understand."
"Oh, Ernie."
Ernie wiped away tears. "How did you find out, anyway?"
"I didn't. The Captain did. You know there actually isn't a policy against crew members fooling around."
"I know, I've read the ship's charter, front to back."
Qing raised an eyebrow at this.
"How can you follow the rules, if you don't know the rules?" Ernie asked. "Um, the Captain found out?"
"The Captain did. Don't ask me how he knows stuff like that. He just does. Point is, you can do better, Ernie."
"Well, it's my life and I can do what I want. What would you know about it anyway?" Ernie stormed out of the engine room.
Qing sighed. "More than you think, child."
After about a day and a half, they were close enough to the end of the wormhole that they left the view on the screen. The white ring slowly retreated towards the edge of the screen and a black space, sprinkled with white pinpoints grew.
"They look like normal stars," Horst observed. He had been the one who suggested the wormhole might lead to a different universe, maybe even one with different physical laws.
They were all on the bridge again, as Solo began his five minute countdown. Even the cat, who had been bothered by the white glare from the transit, had deigned to make an appearance.
Boris was not sure what he was expecting when the Arkhangel at last emerged from the wormhole. Trumpets? Cymbals? Applause? What he got was a large belch from Horst. "Sorry. What do you expect when we've been eating nothing but reconstituted snowballs for weeks." The purser patted his stomach. "First thing when we get back I'm going to have a real steak. A scorched steak, a twenty-year-old whiskey, and a thick slice of cheesecake."
"Shut up, you're making me drool," Qing swatted the back of Horst's head.
Boris interrupted. "Out here you're more likely by far to get a twenty-year-old steak and a scorched whiskey. Enough already. We only have ten days to record everything and then head back."