The Jovian Run: Sol Space Book One Read Online Free PDF

Getting around means literally climbing the walls.” He grinned at his own joke.
    “But what about the bridge, um, sir?” Quinn inquired, consternation still plaguing his face. “Do they have to climb up to their seats? And if they do, isn’t that like lying in a bed all the time?”
    Templeton pushed off from the wall and intercepted the floating table as it drifted back his way. “They can do that if they want, but the whole cockpit tilts. We call it the cockpit. It tilts ninety degrees. The whole nose of the ship does. The upside of that is that you get to sit normally when we’re thrusting. The downside is that, well, you gotta look up through the skylight to see where you’re going. Doesn’t matter much; we don’t steer by sight too often.” He expertly pushed off the far wall and grabbed a handbar on the aft wall, swinging the table into place with his other hand. “Here, one of you help me clamp this down. Parsells?” Parsells moved over to him somewhat awkwardly. Their resumes said that the men had a few years of zero G experience, but it also said that it had been a few years since they had been in space. It was evidently a bit more difficult for Parsells than hopping back on a bike. “Quinn, you grab that chair and bring it over here. Look,” he said to Parsells, “see that thumb latch on the table leg? Just press it against the wall and hit it like this.” He flipped the switch to demonstrate. “It doesn’t matter where. Once we’re thrusting, you can rearrange it wherever you want.”
     
    Still yawning, Captain Staples walked into the mess hall in search of some light breakfast before the morning shift. The room was occupied by two burly men who sat next to each other, each with a plate of eggs and potatoes about half-eaten in front of them. They looked up at their new captain, and the smaller of the two smiled awkwardly.
    After a moment, Parsells spoke up. “Good to be aboard, Captain.” Quinn nodded at her.
    Staples smiled in welcome. “It’s good to have you both aboard. Do you have any questions that I can answer?” She began rummaging through a refrigeration unit.
    Quinn looked at his friend, who faced her in turn. “Yeah, actually. We wanted to have a real beer with dinner last night, to celebrate our new jobs and all. Can’t drink a toast with lemonade.” He gestured towards his cup.
    “I don’t allow alcohol on my ship, Mr. Parsells.” This news clearly did not sit well with the two men, who looked at each other as if the horse they had chosen to bet on had just broken a leg. She carried her yogurt and a spoon over to the table and sat down. “Travelling between planets is not dissimilar to how many describe war: long periods of boredom punctuated by brief moments of terror. In my experience, boredom and alcohol mix poorly, and terror and alcohol even worse. We have movie nights, poker nights, a plethora of board games, a small gymnasium, and somewhere between two and four billion stars to count in this galaxy. The day-to-day running of the ship will take some of your time as well.” She tried for a genuine smile and suspected that she had pulled it off.
    If Parsells had further thoughts about the dry spaceship, he did not share them. Instead, he said, “If you’re here, who’s running the ship right now?”
    “No one, actually.” Parsells’ eyes grew wide with concern.
    “But someone’s steering, right?”
    She took a bite and shook her head.
    “What if we hit something? What if we go off course?” Quinn was beginning to look alarmed as well.
    Her voice was reassuring. “There’s not much to hit. The average density of space is about one atom per cubic centimeter.” She held the thumb and forefinger of her right hand about a centimeter apart to demonstrate. “Most of space is just that: space. It’s aptly named,” Staples offered. “As for course corrections,” she continued, “we’re pointed at Mars. The computer can handle things for a bit while we