The sense of déjà vu passes over him like a rain cloud. He swishes his fingers in the water and rubs them together. It feels like water, he thinks. But I’ve had this dream before. Always Whitsunday, the year before Kate died. Just float. You can stay as long as you float. Somewhere, a pleasant tone chirps twice, and a muffled voice speaks something unintelligible. A heaviness builds in his chest, and his back starts to sink. He was weightless, just foam on the waves, but now he has mass, increasing more with each moment, the water rising over his mouth and nose, his head submerging, and he’s struggling and slapping at the surface. The muted sloshing of underwater currents fills his ears as the saltwater stings his eyes. It’s as if a diving belt has been wrapped around his stomach, and he’s descending, the crepuscular sunlight rays shifting through the surface above him. He tries to paddle back, but it’s like swimming against a river. Kate watches him from afar, a curious smile, her figure shimmering in the lapping waves.
James gasps awake. Pressure is all around him, and he jolts, fighting it, but it is soft and unrelenting. Something large and firm pushes up against his back, and he’s not sure if it’s pushing him forward and taking him with it or if he’s sinking into it.
“One quarter gee,” a woman’s voice says.
I’m getting heavier. As he focuses his eyes, the navy wraps of his zero-gee sleep sack resolve themselves as the enclosing cocoon, and the large thing at his back is his bed. Wrinkles crease into the bed sheet as his body settles into it.
“One half gee,” the voice continues. He recognizes it. It’s Ananke’s.
James blinks and clears his mind. “Lights.”
His cabin illuminates a display off to the side of his bed, reading 05:45 - OCT 05 2094 LOCAL / MAR 12 2095 SOL / Mission Day 2. He rubs his head. He’s had his share of waking up disorientated when traveling, but that sucked. The bed continues to press up against him as if it were trying to eject him.
Ananke says, “Three quarters gee.”
Close enough. He unvelcros his sleep sack and flips it open, getting his hands underneath him. After swinging his feet over the floor, he stands and does a few shirtless stretches wearing only navy underwear. An illuminated galley is inset into the wall near his bed, and he grabs an orange juice from it. The citrus taste is potent and clears some of his fog.
“Standard gravity,” Ananke says. “Good morning, crew. It is mission day two, and we are one hundred and fifty-three light-days from Earth in the Oort Cloud. All systems are nominal.”
James pads barefoot over to the corner of his room, stripping, and steps into his shower, rotating the cylindrical frosted enclosure closed. As the hot water rains down upon him, he closes his eyes and mentally prepares himself for the day. He still needs to write Will's best man speech. Will just told him the day before last, but if he waits past today, it’ll be too late. In the wink of an eye, his best friend will be married. Fortunately, they learned the value of slow time during their Centauri mission, and for this flight, they’ll have six total hours of gravity time each day broken up into two-hour blocks corresponding with breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It’s not gravity but is the force from the ship pointed nose-down decelerating at one gee in standard space to bleed off the Riggs boost between jumps. It’s much easier to shower, eat, and exercise under gravity, and, as a bonus, the pause button gets hit on time dilation. So, for six hours today, he’ll be in one-to-one time with Earth, and he’ll need that time.
James exits and gets dressed after the shower’s drying sequence cycles, selecting a pair of khakis and a dark gray tee shirt with a Hayden-Pratt logo. An outfit hangs zipped up in a travel bag in his closet. It was an unusual choice for an interstellar mission, but he’ll need it tonight. He leaves it be and exits his room. The rest of the crew’s quarters are in this arced hallway, and the ambient lighting has been set to the warm orange glow of sunrise.
A coffee scent wafts from the direction of the Canteen combined with the synthetic beats of old rock music. James follows it. The wall plays a panoramic video of the Sun just breaking over grassy green fields to his right as he rounds the corner.
The Canteen has been overhauled since their last mission. In terms of real estate, it’s twenty-five percent bigger, but it looks like it’s doubled. The room curves down in a continuous arc along the forward wall, with screens replacing all surfaces. The screens have been configured to show an external view of the ship as if you were peering out a giant window. Right now, the Milky Way is aglow with colorful star lanes. The effect is like sitting in a cruise ship lounge. Several circular orange tables and chairs are clustered around the Canteen with an arch leading to the antechamber of the pantry. Hitoshi, Lin, and Isaac sit together at one of the tables. Like James, they are all in their casual clothes, and it’s good to see them relaxing in tee shirts and jeans.
James glances at the source of music. An old two-dimensional low-resolution video plays on the wall screen. In it, an oddly dressed band sings a song against a blue background. A fuzzy block of white text in the lower corner reads Hold Me Now, Thompson Twins, 1983, Into the Gap. It seems Hitoshi was first in the Canteen this morning.
“Hey, boss!” Hitoshi says, scooping up some scrambled eggs with his fork.
James sets his hands on his hips. “Morning, all. Have to admit, this is pretty nice in the morning. Feels like a sunrise.”
“Yeah, right? It’s like our little restaurant at the end of the universe.”
James eyes the music video. “Interesting choice of music.”
Hitoshi not-so-subtly points at Lin.
She’s spreading cream cheese on a bagel and replies, “What? Don’t make me cue up The Cure.”
Ava and Willow enter behind James. They both wish everyone a good morning before continuing to the pantry and selecting trays. Ava makes eye contact with James as she’s fetching a tea bulb, and she smiles with a soft nod. He hasn’t exactly figured out how to act with her around the crew yet despite everyone knowing that they are dating, so they’ve agreed to keep it professional while in public.
Beckman arrives wearing gray shorts with the U.S. Navy Logo, a black athletic shirt, and running shoes. He makes a beeline for the pantry and retrieves a bottled water. On his way back, he stops next to James. “You send anything yet for Will’s wedding?”
James hesitates but relaxes. Of course, Beckman knows. Beckman’s almost as close to Will as James is. “Working on it. Tonight, during slowtime.”
“Look, I, uh, know you got your own words for Will but figured we could also do something together.”
“You got it. Nineteen hundred, my quarters.”
“Good deal.” Beckman heads out, turning left towards the gym.
Julian enters, full of energy, clapping his hands together. “Bonjour! Is this not a beautiful day?” He wears a deep blue button-down shirt with black pants. “First morning of a great voyage.” He approaches James and joins him, walking to the pantry. “Did you sleep well?”
“Sleeping part was fine,” James says. “Got to work on the waking.” He grabs a coffee bulb and twists the cap. In a few seconds, it’s steaming hot.
“I suggest for you, tonight, some chamomile.”
James nods. “Beckman swears by it.”
“Of course, if you need something more, I can help. But first, the tea.” Julian grabs a grapefruit, tartine, jam, and a coffee bulb. “I hope you are having more than coffee, my friend. I would not want you falling asleep in my class this morning.”
James grabs a grapefruit. “Doctor’s orders.”
The rest of the day is a blur of different activities. There’s the morning kickoff where they review Ananke’s night logs and the schedule for the day, then two hours of duty tasks followed by a two-hour cross-training topic led by different crew members each day — today Julian is teaching basic first aid — then two hours of slowtime allocated for lunch and any tasks that require gravity or normal space. The remainder of the afternoon starts science-heavy but transitions into social dynamic
s. These exercises are designed by Willow and are always fun, putting the crew in different problem situations that they need to coordinate with each other to solve. It’s a bit like team building but with a specific strength to develop, and it’s meant to keep their minds engaged during the long haul of extended space flight. Finally, slowtime in the evening is for exercise, dinner, and recreation. They’ve got social events planned there, ranging from movie nights to virtual athletic competitions in the ship’s gym. Tonight, James has a meet-up with Beckman.
It’s seven p.m., and the travel bag that housed the outfit in James’s closet is now opened on his bed. James wears the tuxedo it had contained. It was a bit of an indulgence using some of his clothing allotment for something he would wear once, but it was worth it to be there for Will, even if only virtually. A few minutes ago, he’d stood in the center of his cabin, set his comms recorder to virtual mapping mode, and recorded his tuxedo-clad self as a hologram delivering Will’s best man speech. With a bit of help from Sarah back home, his holographic recording will appear at Will’s reception, a little like how Ananke can now appear in Promise.
His door chimes, and James says, “Come in.”
When it opens, Beckman looks so different that James does a double-take. Beckman wears a black suit and tie with a white button-down shirt. “I know,” Beckman says. “I don’t own a tux. Got this suit that I dust off for funerals and weddings. Figured it would do.”
James composes himself. “You look…great.” He looks down at his tux. “Guess we think alike.”
“One of us is rubbing off on the other. Not sure which, yet.” He crosses over to James and pulls a slate out of his jacket, handing it to James.
James reads it curiously. After a few seconds, he reads some of the text aloud. “Isla, you are an amazing, charming woman who deserves the best husband life can offer. And I promise I won’t rest until I’ve found out what’s gone wrong here.” A smile creeps across James’s face. “If any of these jokes aren’t funny, it’s James’s fault. After all, I’m only the second-best man. You get what you pay for.” James looks up at Beckman, laughing. “Beckman, these are jokes! These are funny.”
Beckman bobs his head. “Eh, not my strong suit. Could use some help. Figure you and I could do a back-and-forth for these.”
James raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, definitely.”
Beckman leans in, pointing at the bottom of the list. “Also, there’s a toast. Quote from that song that Will always racked up first thing at a bar.”
“Best Days, yeah, that’s the song. That brings back memories. Good call.”
“Thought we could do that one together.”
“You got it.”
“Thanks,” Beckman says, sincerely. He takes a deep breath and adjusts his tie. “Let’s get to it.”
07:40 - OCT 08 2094 LOCAL / JAN 18 2096 SOL / Mission Day 4
The Sunroom is keyed to local time, its virtual sky tinted the warm blue of early morning. The Sun itself gleams a quarter of the way up the sky. It’s a trick of technology, a construct that moves within the pretend clouds of a projected Earth sky, but it’s real enough to give you a sunburn if you stay here beyond your allotted time. The room has been nicknamed Ava’s Garden, and it looks the part, brimming with colorful flowers, variegated grasses, playful shrubberies, and small trees. A wooden park bench rests on cobblestone pavers set in actual soil. The walls are a bit of an illusion, displaying video of a virtual park that makes the place seem downright cavernous. The first time she came here with Hitoshi, he gleefully said, “Whoa, it’s bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.” Like everything Hitoshi says, she’s pretty sure it was from some movie or book, but it was accurate.
Ava wears a cream sunhat and snips at a shrub with a pair of pruners. Willow is beside her, measuring a row of sprouts and recording the numbers in her slate. The Sunroom’s original purpose was for crew health, but it’s since been expanded to be a full-fledged botanical research lab. After all, if they find their second Earth, at some point, they’ll need to plant things, and Ava, as the astrobiologist, is their part-time botanist.
“These little guys are getting big,” Willow says. “All twelve are within range.” She records their heights on her slate.
“That’s good,” Ava says. “Our control group is healthy.” She sheathes her pruners. “Let’s see how the augments are doing.” A short, narrow paver path leads behind the cascading green foliage of a Weeping Viridis tree. Behind it, a six-tiered plant stand is cloaked by an animated tarp that cycles through the same animation as the room’s walls. Ava reaches down and lifts the tarp. Inside, each tier has a plant bed with a grow light like a miniature sun. The top grow light is a warm white. Each subsequent light becomes redder and dimmer until the last light is a red ember. The sprouts are a mix of greens, teals, purples, and blacks, depending upon which tier they inhabit. A placard in the warm white level reads Tau Ceti, Type G, 5344K. The next, slightly orange Sun reads Epsilon Eridani, Type K2, 5000K. The bottom red tier is Luhman 16A, L7.6, 1350K.
Ava places a probe in the soil of each as Willow images the tiers. “So far, so good. A surprising amount of growth from the Luhman bunch, considering they get the least amount of energy.”
Willow leans down next to her, inspecting the sprouts. “This is fascinating work. How fun would it be to grow a garden on another world?”
Ava smiles, glancing at her. “I would love that. When I worked at Cayman Rise, we had this amazing underwater garden in the hydropolis, full of all these intense, nearly neon colors. I always thought it was like something from another world.” She stands, resetting the tarp, and the two walk back around the tree, the buzz of bee drone distracting them as it meanders through some nearby peonies. Ava looks off to the side, thinking, and scrunches her eyebrows a bit.
Willow reads her perfectly. “It probably feels like a lifetime ago.”
Ava stops near the peonies, their sweet scent tickling her nose. “I know. It’s only been three years since James came to Cayman…well…three of our years. I guess 2082 was ten years ago for everyone else.” She catches herself and throws up her hands, a bit exasperated. “That’s not even right. Today, it’s what…2096 back home?” She shakes her head. “I can’t be the only one who gets a headache when trying to talk about time.”
Willow nods sympathetically. “Trust me. You’re not alone.” After a pause, she adds, “Is that where you and James first met?”
Ava’s face brightens. “Yes. I remember being a little starstruck when he stepped off his hydrofoil. It was like having a movie star come to see you. I told him he was taller in real life, and he joked that he was just tiny on people’s watches.”
Willow leans in a bit as if confiding. “Did you like him back then?”
Ava brushes back one of her hair strands, smiling, her cheeks feeling a bit warm. “I liked him before then. I used to watch his speeches, and I always thought he was so handsome and adventurous. He was like a fantasy, and then one day, he showed up, offered his hand, and invited me on one of his adventures. When he said, ‘So, you want to do it?’ I remember saying, ‘Oh, hell yes.’”
Willow chuckles. “Well, I’ve always thought the two of you would make a good match. You complement each other nicely, and you both have this same passion and curiosity for adventure.”
“Well, thanks. I was always worried that I was too nerdy for James.”
Willow seems amused, dabbing a finger in her direction. “You are not a nerd. And I think your intelligence is one of your many traits that James finds so attractive.” Ava graciously accepts the compliment, a moment of silence passing, then Willow adds. “You know, it’s probably not easy being in a relationship while we’re on a mission. Anytime you need someone to talk with, I’m here.”
Ava gives Willow a gentle nod, the two women surrounded by blooming pink peonies abuzz with mechanical bees, and they turn, taking a moment to enjoy the splendor of her garden.
14
Rendezvous
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br /> 22:25 - OCT 09 2094 LOCAL / SEPT 11 2096 SOL / Mission Day 6
Hitoshi has modified his nightstand’s light cube to simulate a lava lamp with pulsing orange globules spilling amber light across his quarters. His wall screen is on, streaming a black-and-white episode of the 1960’s Lost in Space. Lin is here, wearing powder-blue underwear and a dark gray tank top, floating, stretched out as if sunbathing, in the middle of his cabin while watching the show. Hitoshi is also in his underwear and a tee-shirt, holding a tether near the ceiling. Promise is in warp for the night, and everyone sleeps in freefall, so there’s no particular up or down at the moment. Beneath Hitoshi, two side-by-side sleep sacks are tethered to the bed. The thing about sleeping in zero-gee is that you can’t actually sleep with someone, as your bodies will pinball off each other all night, so the best you can do is sleep near someone in identical secured sacks. Some nights they sleep in Lin’s quarters and some in Hitoshi’s.
“Oh!” Lin says. “This is the one where Robbie the Robot fights the Robot. Sweet!”
Hitoshi squints. “The Forbidden Planet robot was in Lost in Space? You sure?”
“Uh, yeah. Which one of us has the B9 shirt?”
Almost on cue, the television show’s B9 Robot waves its arms frantically and says, “Danger Will Robinson!” The music swells while the camera dollies on Will Robinson as he backs up and collides with a deactivated Robbie the Robot. Lin smiles and winks.
“I should know the error of my ways by now,” Hitoshi responds. “Did you have that same robotics course in college where they covered robots in movies? I remember they had both of these guys in it.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I did! R2 and the Terminator. It’s kind of cool how these old shows made the templates for what a robot should look like, and engineers were all, like, yeah, I could totally do that.”
“I have to admit, Star Trek Next Gen inspired some of the stuff I put in Promise.”
Bernard's Dream: A Hayden's World Novel (Hayden's World Origins Book 8) Page 12
