Anthea s baby 1
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The First CommandChapter 4: Start At The Beginning free porn video
Eventually we got the seal figured out. The "button" was recessed and would not operate, we were assured, if pressed with gloves. It would only operate with a finger.
It was still possible for your buddy to murder you, but he had to take his glove off in vacuum to do it. If you are out in space and the guy next to you takes his glove off, it might be prudent to move away from him until you see what he is doing.
That led to another paranoia change. For your safety, if you were conscious, your helmet would only release with your finger. If you were unconscious, anyone could poke it to get your helmet off. How did the suit tell? It had an integrated brain, not smart enough to be called an AI, but smart enough for the AIs to program as needed and to know where all your fingers were and whether you were conscious or not.
That led to the next issue; I wasn't willing to put it on, even for a second, until I knew where the air was coming from. Apparently there was a small air regenerator built in to the helmet's saddle. It would sense CO2 concentration and convert it back to O2. Where the "C" part of the CO2 went was not clear, but the AI was confident that the power supply would last for a day or two, depending upon load.
Further, that air regenerator system was completely independent of anything else; if the air in a compartment became bad for some reason anyone could simply put one of these glass helmets on and get reasonably good air for a day or so. They wouldn't get any control of pressure, though, unless they were wearing the rest of the suit. Okay, that's enough for a short test.
We called back everyone who had gotten the suit. We ended up with about a dozen guys plus Diana, in almost as many colors. I thought that the Arctic camo suit was a bit silly, but if no one else cares then I don't either. Meanwhile the replicators had given us about twenty of these helmets and they all looked alike, so we made sure that everyone had one, did a quick training session on how to use it, and started the test.
While we were going over how to use the suits, Frenchy and I also went over what we wanted to do with the AI. We wanted to drop the pressure in increments, waiting a few minutes each time. We started by isolating the mess room from the rest of the ship, then reducing the pressure by 100 millibars for a few minutes while we made sure everything worked.
After everyone was satisfied that we could get up, walk around, sit down, and breathe, we went down to 500 mbar for about ten minutes. That felt kind of weird to me. The suit wasn't clinging to my body any more like a wetsuit; it was more like a normal suit that touched in some places and not in others. I could see that in others, too. The suit was ballooning out in places like our torsos, where there was enough extra fabric to do so.
I called a stop to the test at that point and had the AI raise the pressure back up until it could open the hatches to the rest of the ship again. Partly because of that ballooning, yes, but also partly because I had realized that it was getting harder to talk to each other in the reduced air. How will we tell the AI that we are done with our test, if there is no air in the room? No, it's time to stop until we get some more details worked out, like radios in the helmets.
Of course, when I said that I was quickly reminded by several of the participants that they used to have an implant that allowed them to speak with the AIs but they had been shut down for some reason. We -Frenchy and Diana and I- stayed out of that discussion. No, we don't know anything, either.
It works, sort of. Are we done? No, it needs some improvement. Will it save someone's life? Sure. Will we be able to work in these suits? In an emergency, yes. We have our emergency suits, and we can turn this project over to someone else who will continue developing the suits. Hey, what do I know about space? All my experience is under the ocean, with too much pressure.
Whoever it was that continued this, I was going to push for them to do their own testing. That's another US Navy tradition these people should have. You did it, you test it first before you ask anyone else to. If you don't trust your work with your own life on the line, why should anyone else trust your work with theirs?
I was never directly involved in suit development after that. I made some suggestions from time to time, we all did, but suit development got turned over to a research focus group with nothing else to do. I think that it was run by one of the few NASA people we had. He, at least, knew something about spacesuits!
We knew that what we had come up with needed more work, but we had the bare minimum for what we needed right then which was a way to keep us from all dying when something went wrong. Of course the aliens and their AIs knew all about spacesuits; they had apparently been running an interstellar polity for several hundred thousand years. All we needed was to adapt their solutions to the specific needs of Homo Sapiens.
I remember there was one time that the AIs told us all to get a new, improved suit from the replicators. What was new and better about it? Apparently someone had put some thought into this. The torso didn't balloon as much, it had better "armor" over the torso and all limbs, the gloves and boots were better, and they had done away with the glass helmet. Oh, the helmets were still available at airlocks and some other places, if you decided you needed them, but for simple survival they were no longer needed.
The suit now had a "hoodie" attached to the back collar, and you could simply reach back, grab it and pull it over your head and down over your face. It would seal automatically the way the helmet had, and the regenerator in the collar would immediately put out a little air to puff out the hood. Without that, the hood would be limp and floppy and difficult to see through.
Once you had been wearing it for more than a minute or two, your voice started to sound funny. As near as I could tell from the AIs, the regenerator removed all nitrogen from the air in the suit, replacing it with argon. This would help prevent the bends if there were pressure changes.
The improved version also had pressure sensors that would maintain a very slight overpressure to ensure that if there were any leaks in a toxic atmosphere, the leaks went out instead of in. They also allowed the regenerator to lower the pressure if there was loss of pressure or a vacuum, both to make the suit easier to work in and again to help get rid of the nitrogen.
Actually that re-issue thing happened a couple of times, with each version a little nicer, a little sleeker than the previous. One of the upgrades included bands just above each joint; they were supposed to constrict and act as a tourniquet or seal if the suit found itself to be open below that band. Elbows, wrists, knees, ankles, all had bands just above them. I guessed that if we had a problem in our thighs or upper arms we were in trouble. At least there was no band at our necks.
Each time the AI told me there was a new, improved suit I would ask "Has it been tested?" The AI would say "Yes", and that's that. I still did my own private test later, when I had time.
I blamed the nanites for making me hungry again. Thinking of food made me think of Diana, who had been involved one way or another in every meal I had eaten since I retired six years ago. I mean, if I go out fishing by myself, I take the lunch she packed for me. "AI, where is Diana and is she busy?"
"Probably not, but what is the meeting about?"
"Someone mentioned that there are about a hundred of us up here. How many people does each ship need?"
"So, if everyone up here participates, we have enough to man six of these ships. How many are we getting?"
Obviously we were going to have to shift to a higher gear. We didn't even have enough people up here to put ONE man on each ship these guys were sending us. Ergo, the "Recruiting Department" meeting. "Can you ask them if it is a convenient time for them to break for dinner? One of our social needs is companionship, and Diana and I are a mated pair. Unless she is busy doing something that cannot be halted or delayed, I would prefer to have her company while I eat."
I was already in the mess hall, so I started looking over the menu. The "approved" side was pretty small. The 'complete' side was larger, but not by much. Still, I wanted something a bit nicer than another McDonald's burger so I asked for the Beef Wellington. I like it, but it always takes forever when you order it at a restaurant. I added a baked potato with nothing, plus a pat of butter. I didn't see any kind of greens that I wanted, so I just added a lettuce salad and submitted the order.
The AI informed me that previous requesters had specified how well done the beef should be, but that was not yet an available option. Now that I understood replicators, I could see that. The AI and replicator together had two options when something was requested. One was very simple: assemble the object from a previously stored template. As long as we had the template and the raw materials, and the object actually fit inside the work area of the replicator, you would get what you ordered within a minute or two.
The second option was far more complicated. The AI could assemble its "best guess" for what you wanted, doing the design and engineering work on the fly, and produce what it thought you wanted in, often, not too much longer than a standard item. Trying this with the complex biochemistry of a prepared and cooked food item was strongly discouraged. I would settle for whatever it had templates for.
While I waited, I looked around. Every table was completely bare. That was wrong; there should be a collection of various condiments at each table. They couldn't be objecting due to maneuvers; it has to be because they haven't thought of it yet. Hell, even the Navy's small wooden-hulled minesweepers have condiments on their tables, and they come pretty close to rolling completely around in any kind of heavy seas. They just put everything in a kind of small basket and clamp the basket to the table.
I started thinking of things that should be on the tables, and asked the AI to keep the list for me. Salt and pepper shakers, A1 Sauce, Worcestershire Sauce, Heinz 57, Soy Sauce (both La Choy and Kikkoman, people who like one invariably hate the other). What else? All the weird blue and pink and yellow sweeteners? Did we need them, or could everyone here just use sugar? We probably needed them; some people used them for weight control but other people actually liked them.
Texas Pete hot sauce. For some reason every US Navy ship had an endless supply of that stuff. Maybe the manufacturer had some kind of dirt on the Navy's supply people and made them buy it. I wouldn't touch it, I thought it was best used to clean grease off of deckplates, but a lot of people put it on everything from hamburgers to scrambled eggs.
There were a lot of other things that should be handy but needed refrigeration, like ketchup, mustard, and the like, but that may be too much trouble for now.
The microwave "dinged" while I was compiling that list, so I got my dinner and ... huh? I forgot my drink? "AI, please show the choices for coffee."
I couldn't tell if the menu was part of the wall, or just in the air in front of the wall, and I decided that I could experiment with poking my fingers at it some other time. "I'll take two twelve-ounce McDonald's coffees. Can I get four creamers with that?" Something else to work on, and, yes, the tables should have sugar and Mini-Moos, too. That went a lot faster, certainly less than a minute, and I had my entire meal.
About the time I was sitting down with my tray, Diana walked in talking with the Admiral and our recruiter. I picked up my tray again and waved it at them. "Hey, honey! I got mine!"
I tried my coffee, but it was too hot so I just abandoned my tray and went to Diana. That suit she was wearing made it pretty clear exactly what was under it, and it looked pretty good. I did not publicly fondle my wife, but I came pretty close. Checking to see how firm her bottom was becoming doesn't count as fondling, does it?
She gave me a hug and a kiss, then asked "What did you order?"
"I'm going to try the Beef Wellington. It just came out, the coffee is too hot."
"Oh, if you are trying that then I'm getting the Steak Diane." She ordered that and a Sprite, and when it came out I carried her tray to the table for her. Dinner was a combination of a half-dozen different conversations: the food, my list of condiments, their manning list, and so on.
I thought my Beef Wellington was horrible, and badgered Diana until she took some and shared her steak with me. She thought my Wellington wasn't that good, certainly not up to nice steakhouse standards, but she didn't want to grade it as horrible. She said the same about her dinner.
Her Steak Diane, on the other hand, was very good as far as I was concerned. Maybe not 'excellent', but far better than just 'edible'. We agreed that the Steak Diane should be moved over to the approved list with a couple of notes about it being maybe a bit dry or re-heated, and my Beef Wellington should be moved over to the approved list with a warning that we could do better.
I brought up my condiment list. Robinson added one to the list, in a terrible fake-English accent: "If you hooligans forget my tartar sauce, I shall scream! A nice piece of fried fish needs a good tartar sauce! Same for my fried prawns!"
"Okay, tartar sauce. Does that stay here on the table, or does it need to be refrigerated like the mayonnaise?" Me.
"Dear, tartar sauce is mayonnaise with some extra ingredients, like chopped pickles. It needs refrigerated." Diana, of course.
"Do we even have refrigerators up here?" The Admiral and Robinson looked at each other. They didn't answer my question. "AI?"
"Please wait. I must consult with my dietary assistant." With that I made a flourish with my hands and told Diana "This one is on you. What-all should we have out that should be refrigerated? My list was just mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard, and milk/cream/half&half."
Diana talked with the AI about how fast food would spoil in the ship's sterile atmosphere. I heard some discussion about how filthy and parasite-laden us humans were, and how impossible it was to keep a room sterile if humans even walked through it. Meanwhile, I asked Robinson if he ever went to Fuddruckers up in DC.
"George. Now that you've been ensnared in my trap just call me George. No, I don't think so. It's a fancy hamburger place, isn't it?"
"I think it's a chain, but I don't know how big. Anyway, we had hamburgers for lunch here earlier, and they were reheated McDonald's stuff. I asked the AI about other kinds and it said that you could eat at a restaurant and scan in some dishes as they came out of the kitchen. I was thinking that maybe we could do this after work each day."
"Good plan, except that you're dead."
I had to think about that for a minute, but I didn't see any good responses. "Well, hmmm. Perhaps this being dead isn't that great a deal after all." All I could do was smile. "Who do we have who isn't dead?"
"That we trust? Just me, George Smythe, and Randy Everett."
"Doc Sorenson." The Admiral, reminding us about the doctor.
"I don't know if I trust Army guys to get food right. They're the guys who scanned in the cold french fries, aren't they? Well, George, you're a corporate recruiter, aren't you? Maybe that should be next. Hire a couple of assistants who aren't dead."
"I understand that we have basically unlimited funding, courtesy of the UN and the Government. Why can't we just hire an executive search company?" That was Diana.
George jumped on that. "We should do both. Direct hires for specific needs, but also hire a personnel management company to do our general recruiting for us."
The Admiral put his two cents in. "You'll have to recruit at least a couple of people in whatever company you hire, to make sure they keep this quiet. We can run them through Roger's test before sending them back down to continue their day job."
Nanette
- 21.04.2022
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