Solutions: The Dilemma of Hopelessness - James Gerard (novel books to read txt) 📗

only to drink more of it again.  Nevertheless, he figured the flight doctors knew what they were doing.

 

With the liquid swallowed, he floated over to the rowing machine that was waiting to tone what little muscle there was and to redistribute the inner fluids down through the arteries in bony legs.

 

After stroking the oars for so long, traveling for so many miles in an imaginary journey within a journey, the torso slowly puffed up as the computer gradually brought the wheel to a stop.  He managed to swallow down a bit more replacement fluid.

 

With the routine completed, Timothy went stumbling through the air to deliver the small vile to the medical facility.

 

How do you feel? the analyzer flashed.

 

“Nauseated.  Dizzy.  Just temporary conditions though,” he answered.

 

Do you require motion sickness medication at this time?

 

“Why you asking me?  You’re the so-called expert.”

 

The question remained.

 

“Naw.”

 

The analyzer still flashed: Do you require motion sickness medication.

 

Timothy laughed.  “No.”

 

Insert your arm in the slot.

 

He obeyed the command.  The analyzer was allowed to poke the arm with a needle to draw a blood sample, and like the efficient machine it was programmed to be, measured the pulse rate and blood pressure at the same time.

 

Insert the vile in the indicated compartment.

 

A small drawer popped open.  The vile was attached to its slot.

 

Like the east garden, the cubicle glowed with ever changing flashes of colored light.

 

While the analyzer determined the fate of current health, Timothy turned to the window to feel the eyes of someone watching him.  Either from the station or Horizon, he reasoned.

 

The food menu is being transferred to the clipboard.  Stand by, the analyzer flashed.  A copy of the menu appeared on the clipboard’s screen.

 

The stomach was still queasy, upset by the replacement fluid, and almost pleaded with the brain not to swallow further sustenance down to the belly.

 

He unstrapped himself from the grip of the chair then obtained permission to dispose the depleted samples of liquid, soiled pads, and probing needle held separate in the analyzer.

 

Since the new world was unlike the world of old, every end result of an action had to be dealt with promptly in order to avoid polluting and contaminating the delicate ecosystem that was the ship.

 

His first impulse was to just throw out the crud encrusted needle, but by doing so he realized there was a risk of contaminating the waste receptacle, which eventually could spread contamination throughout the ship.

 

With that in mind, he held the needle in between fingertips and let the force of the water streaming from the hand washing unit knock off the crud, allowing the accompanying airstream to capture the debris and exile it to the reclamation unit below.  Once there, it would be reduced to acceptable matter.  Only after that process was it allowed to reenter the system.

 

He repeated the process with the vile the analyzer had used for its diagnosis, then, once clean, inserted it into the mouth of an airstream which swooshed it to the solid waste receptacle.

 

The task completed, it was time to tend to the life in the terrariums.

 

From the beginning of his arrival, the onset of training, Timothy had wanted to change some of the labels of the various systems and subsystems and storage units and decks for some time, but Robert had convinced him it would be best to keep them as they were.  But Robert’s not here, he thought.

 

Timothy ceased the momentum with a push off the sleeping chamber and floated back to the medical facility.  With straps and belts holding him securely onto the chair, he turned his attention to the computer terminal.  It was time to begin transforming the ship into a home.

 

“Computer, display, headings, systems.”

 

The headings scrolled by.  A grimace suggested feelings over labels and technical verbiage describing the systems’ functions.

 

“Computer, highlight, terrarium, one, two.  Change, heading, garden.”

 

The computer did not respond.

 

Timothy figured Robert had been serious when he said to leave it be.  Will it accept manual commands? he reasoned.

 

Timothy tapped the delete key.  The computer complied.  “Very good.”

 

Fingers hovered over the keyboard.  “Now: G-a-r-d-e-n-space-o-n-e.”  He stared at the heading.  “Looks like a label off a blueprint.”  He laughed.  “Get it computer?  The letters are blue—blueprint.”

 

The computer did not respond.

 

“Not even a sense of humor.”

 

With a stroke of the delete key the new label was wiped off the screen.  Rubbing his chin, closing the eyes, Timothy thought of an appropriated term.  “Yes,” he whispered.  “When standing with the mountains to my left, left is west and right is east.”  Holding the directional reasoning in mind he looked in the direction of the mid module and keyed in: West garden.

 

He stared at the new heading.  “Wait a minute,” he said, “that would mean north is the aft module, and south is the command module.”  He deleted west and keyed in east.  “Yeah, that’s better.”  He then assigned the West garden to the terrarium for the vegetables.

 

Timothy stared at the new labels, which somewhat evoked a sense of home.  The new labels added some comfort and reality, but looking around told him otherwise.  This is an automated world run by a computer, he thought.

 

Turning his attention back to the computer he saw the new labels.  It was time to see to living gardens' needs.

 

Gaining a bit more control moving about, Timothy smoothly laid his body parallel to the floorboards, and with stroking motions hooked his fingertips on supports allowing him to swim through the air all the way to the mid module.

 

Light flooded the area and poured out illumination onto the scene.  The path to the east garden was made clear.

 

With a flip of a switch beams of overhead light flashed on.  The kaleidoscope of colored lights pouring out through the wall’s perforated surface ceased.

 

Better start using precaution, he thought, wincing at the idea of a headache pounding pain on the brain, prompting stomach muscles to squeeze and spew out liquid contents from within if too much carbon dioxide or methane gas was present.

 

He pulled out a stiff suit hanging in the hold of a compartment, and in one easy motion slipped it under feet and kicked the legs down into the boots.  Fists punched their way through the sleeves.  Fingers wiggled their way into the gloves.  And with the zipper zipped up, the mask securely strapped over the head, he was now shielded from the dangers of the gardens.

 

Timothy scanned the walls.  “There’s the nipple,” he whispered.  The suit’s hose was inserted into the oxygen tank.  A breeze of pristine air flowed about the confines of the suit.  With all safe and secured, a gloved finger stabbed a button that halted the wheel’s rotation.

 

“Sorry to disturb you guys,” he said.  “Just need to see how you’re doing.”

 

Timothy carefully dug into the soil with small cups making sure the gloved fingers attentively packed the moist, loamy soil tightly in place.  A compartment door, containing small berths, exposed the soil samples for the analyzer to probe and prod.

 

“Soil, samples, analyze.”

 

The analyzer responded quickly with flashes of lights bursting in no particular order—signals of its thinking.

 

While it was busy with its analysis, the analyzer prompted Timothy to begin entering the information vital to the diagnosis.  Using the electronic clipboard’s pen to tap in a set of observable conditions, Timothy noted the color of the leaves and position of branches.  Accessed through a controlled portal on the mask, he took a whiff of the air contained within each individual compartment and noted the air quality.  As best he could, the gloved hand pinched some of the nectarines nearly ready for harvest and noted their feel.  Though he knew that everything in the garden was fine since it was recently set up, the seven months of daily training at the station’s terrariums was a reminder that problems could be lurking behind mere appearances.

 

The analyzer flashed its diagnosis and prognosis of the health of both the trees and their respective habitat.

 

No changes required at this time.

 

“Tell me something I didn’t know,” mumbled Timothy.

 

Securing the trees once again to the privacy of their compartments, he stumbled his way to the west garden where the procedure was repeated for the vegetables.

 

The sight of spinach, broccoli, carrots, snow peas, and a variety of other vegetables resting in beds, each in varying stages of growth, evoked a bland thought.  Though he did not really have anything against the vegetables, he just found them to be unappetizing.  That, he thought, will have to change.

 

Timothy realized they were there not only to help filter the air and recycle the water, but, along with the rice and pasta, accounted for a significant percentage of the prescribed daily calorie count, as well as additional sources of vitamins and minerals.

 

He did not object to some of the varieties.  Lips smacked as remembrances of times eating tomatoes—yeah, sitting atop slabs of ground beef and smathered with melting cheese.  Potatoes—French fried, smothered in catsup and sprinkled with salt.  “Stop it,” he whispered, unable to wipe a stream of saliva dribbling off to the side from the corner of the mouth.

 

With the garden suit secured back into the hold of the compartment, Timothy momentarily turned his thoughts to the food menu, but the hunger pangs would have to wait.  The malfunctioning camera needed attention.

 

As he glided into the aft section, the glow from the mid module suddenly ceased and was replaced by darkness.

 

The problem camera was perched above.  With a gentle nudge of an arm off a support Timothy floated up along the wall.  A touch of a hand stopped the momentum.

 

“The connection seems snug,” he whispered as a hand tugged and pushed and twisted the cable.

 

He started to push off the support, but stopped and smiled.  The attention turned to the computer terminal some eighteen feet down and forty feet away.

 

A sly grin replaced a wry smile stretching across the face.  The opportunity to do something he had wanted to do was finally at hand.

 

Using his experiences of gliding and guiding and crashing about the station and the ship thus far, the soles of the slippers were set flat against a wall, the legs were cocked.  The crown of the head pointed at the heart of the distant computer.  Hands released the grip on the supports.  Legs kicked launching the body away from the wall and diving towards the terminal.

 

Careful not to move a muscle, he thought the launch appeared to be on target as eyes glanced at the terminal approaching fast.  But, just as all seemed well—crunch—crashed into the floor.  He laughed, “I have to work on that.”

 

“Computer, display, schematic, system, camera, interior.  Display, camera, twelve.”

 

The computer flashed only darkness as seen through the camera’s eye.

 

“Computer, camera, twelve, pan, right.”  The camera responded and abided by the computer’s command.  “Stop.  Power’s not the problem.”

 

Timothy grabbed a headset off the terminal and carefully maneuvered back up to the camera.

 

“Computer, camera, twelve, focus.”  Timothy watched and listened to the len’s movements as it searched for an object to focus on.  “Stop.”

 

The only thing Timothy could think of doing to pinpoint the problem was to swap its position with camera thirteen on the other side of the module.

 

“Computer, power, off, camera, twelve, thirteen.”

 

He detached both male plugs from the power and video ports, unclamped camera twelve.  A single hand pushed the support on the wall and sent him gliding to camera thirteen.  He performed the same procedures once the cameras’ positions had been successfully traded.

 

Eyes squinted at the distant monitor which flashed a picture caught by the eye of camera twelve in camera thirteen’s position.  And camera thirteen's eye was now blind while in camera twelve’s position.

 

Curious, he thought.  The computer flashed an order to repeat the request.  “No, I’m not talking to you.”  The headset was switched off.

 

It has to be the camera itself.  Something the computer can’t determine, he concluded.

 

To make sure his conclusion and suspicion was valid, he darted back and forth to the other cameras in the aft section, the mid and command modules with camera twelve in hand, switching positions to shed any possible light on the problem but the effort was met with no success.  It’s not that big of a deal,