Expendable - James Alan Gardner [20]
Of course, you could only use the pot for one beverage at a time.
On board the Jacaranda, we had three complete engines in case of breakdowns. We had two spare Sperm-field generators and five redundant D-thread computers.
We only had one pressure pot. And it was always dedicated to coffee.
If you took the time to brood about that, the chocolate just got colder.
Planning (Part 2)
“You’re the ranking Explorer,” Chee said to me. “It’s your show.”
We sat casually around a table…or perhaps I should say we sat expansively. We were flagrant in our nonchalance. Chee leaned so far back in his chair that the springs squeaked every few seconds; a heavier man would have broken the clamps that attached the seat to its tracks. Yarrun sprawled sideways across his chair, one elbow on the table, the other hand toying with a napkin. I had both arms on the table, hands cupping my mug as if I were drawing heat from it. In fact, I was hoping my hands would warm the chocolate up.
“All right,” I said, “we’re agreed the planet is temperate?”
Both men grunted a yes.
“And it’s relatively Earthlike?”
“Don’t assume it’s too Earthlike,” Chee said.
“Eighty percent of an Explorer’s training is aimed at stamping out such assumptions,” I replied. “The specifics of each planet are different, but there are usually some general parallels. For example, do we think Melaquin has flora and fauna?”
“It must,” Chee answered. “If it’s an official exile world, it has to be able to sustain human life. Otherwise, banishment to an exile world would be as good as murder, and the League of Peoples would condemn Outward Fleet laws as non-sentient. No…there’s got to be a reasonable chance for survival on any exile world—Melaquin included. It must have breathable atmosphere, drinkable water, and edible food.”
“So Melaquin has all the comforts of home,” I said. “Why is it so deadly?”
“Microorganisms?” Chee suggested. “A planet with life must have bacteria, and thousands of diseases for which we have no immunity.”
“Unquestionably…but we’ll breathe canned air and wear the usual protective gear,” I told him. “The skin of a tightsuit can’t be penetrated by the smallest virus we know; and the pressure inside is kept higher than atmospheric pressure outside, so any microbe that comes close to penetrating the suit’s skin is blown right back out again.”
“What about organisms that can digest tightsuits?”
“There are five different kinds of tightsuits,” Yarrun explained, “each made from a different material. Standard procedure is for each party member to wear a different type of suit. It’s extremely unlikely that microbes would eat through each material at exactly the same rate, so if one of us gets a suit breach, the others should have some warning before their suits go too. And of course, death by disease is not instantaneous; even the most virulent bugs we know need at least an hour to multiply to lethal levels. During that hour, our suit sensors would surely notice some sign we’re in trouble—loss of suit pressure, spread of alien organisms through our bodies, deterioration of body functions—not to mention we’ll know we’re getting sick without any help from the electronics.”
“By then it could be too late,” Chee said.
“Almost certainly,” Yarrun agreed. “But we would still have time to communicate with the ship and describe the problem. Sickness is a valid reason to demand immediate pickup; and then we’d only have to hold out another five minutes before we were back on the ship. Even if we died on board, our bodies must be sent to the Explorer Academy for examination, at which point the whole secret would come out.”
“Not if the High Council suppressed the information,” I muttered.
Yarrun shrugged. “Secrets are flimsy things—spread them among too many people, and they get torn. Maybe the council could suppress