by A. G. Riddle
“Actually, contacting the Fornax is about more than just solving the mystery of what happened. It’s related to your point: drones. We,” I point to Harry and Emma again, “also feel that drones are our primary resource limitation. The Fornax should have drone components that we could transfer here. We know that without Harry they have no way of building drones themselves.”
Min passes my tablet to Grigory, who squints and taps at it. Lina is beside him and leans over to study the screen.
“How feasible is this?” she asks.
“Feasible,” Grigory says. “Will take some work.”
In the end, we decide that we will begin on that work: preparing to dock with the Fornax. Grigory and Min will lead the project. And we decide not to launch a drone to the Fornax for now.
The next launch will be a small, high-speed drone fleet sent to look for the second artifact. We entertain the idea of sending another high-speed drone to search for the first fleet of drones, but decide to wait.
When the meeting breaks, I don’t return to the lab immediately. I go to the med bay, where Izumi is head-down over her tablet.
“Iz.”
She turns to me.
“It was a good idea—breaking the meeting and the straw poll. We’re all stressed out, and we have to be able to debate ideas. That ups our chances of success.”
“It didn’t work.”
“That’s not the point. You tried your best idea, and I bet you learned from it, and I bet your next attempt will be better.” I motion out the small porthole. “That’s what we’re doing out here, every one of us. Trying our best idea and learning from it.”
“Maybe you should be ship’s doctor. You seem to know people.”
“Trust me, Izumi, I’m much better with robots than humans.”
On my way out of her station, I call back to her, “Chin up. You’re doing great.”
As I bound through the modules, on my way back to the lab, I’m struck by how hard Izumi’s job is. The rest of us have our field here on the ship and with the core mission—drones, propulsion, navigation, software, and first contact. Izumi’s focus is secondary and much more unpredictable. Her job is us. Keeping us functioning at optimal efficiency. I don’t envy her.
In the lab, Emma is strapped to the work table, legs pedaling the bike below, hands soldering a circuit board above.
“I feel like a hamster in space,” she says without looking at me.
“So is this a bad time to talk about a ceiling-mounted water bottle with a spout?”
She smiles. “Yes, it’s a bad time to talk about that.”
She studies the circuit board, seems to like what she sees. “How’d you think the meeting went?”
“Pretty good.”
She scrunches her eyebrows. “Really?”
“Really. Everyone on the ship sees the mission differently. That’s good. Min is right. We need to find one of the artifacts, and the one we’ve been chasing could be long gone.”
“You think we have a real shot at finding the other one?”
“I think we’ve got to try.”
Six days later, we launch the Icarus fleet, which consists of three ultra-small, fast drones designed to find Beta. We ultimately decided that if we’re going out there to search, we need to do it right: three drones can cover three times the area.
It’s a good plan, and the Icarus drones are an even better design than the Janus drones. But still, there’s little enthusiasm at the launch. On the whole, everyone seems to feel the same thing: we’re losing time, and we’re not even sure we’re on the right track.
At the next meeting, we debate dispatching a drone to Earth with news. The proposal is narrowly defeated.
Harry, Emma, and I continue work on the mother drone, which we’ve nicknamed Madre. Or sometimes Madre de Dronay. What can I say, it gets monotonous some days in the lab, so we entertain ourselves. Harry is the main instigator in that regard. Today, he suggested we rename it the drone father, then “the Godfather, drone edition.” He does a pretty good impression of Marlon Brando from the old Godfather movie.
His voice is gravelly: “As a drone, you never let anyone know what you’re thinking. You don’t broadcast. You keep your mouth shut. And you comm-patch what you know to your family. Family is everything.”
The more we laugh, the more carried away Harry gets.
“We’re gonna make the artifact an offer it can’t refuse.”
Sooner or later, the quotes cross over to other Brando movies, some I don’t even know.
“This drone, it coulda been a contender. It coulda found the artifact. But now look at it. A bum. A piece of debris floating through space, its fuel cell spent.” I’m told that the contender bit came from On the Waterfront, though I never saw it.
Harry moves on to a quote from Apocalypse Now: “This drone, it’s seen horrors. Horrors that you’ve seen. But you have no right to call it a murderer.”
From The Island of Dr. Moreau: “This drone, it’s seen the devil in its telescope, and it has chained him.”
And finally, back to The Godfather. “Look how the artifact massacred my little drone. I want you to use all your powers to clean him up. I don’t want the crew to see him like this.”
But one of his many quotes—he clearly knows these movies well—is quite timely. “Never hate your enemies. It affects your judgment.”
That’s good advice. Though if the artifact is connected to the Long Winter that’s killing the human race, I don’t know if I can keep myself from hating it.
Emma hands me a circuit board to inspect. It’s perfect, as usual. She’s getting better at building them. And faster.
“Harry, how do you remember all those quotes?” she asks as she pulls another board from the pile.
“Who knows. If my head were full of useful stuff like James, maybe we’d have already found the artifact.”
“Doubt that,” I mutter.
I missed this: working. And with people I like. Sure, I worked in prison, but I wasn’t using my mind. Mental work is like a vitamin a person needs every day. A muscle that otherwise atrophies with disuse.
In truth, I had worried about my ability when Fowler first briefed me; I had been out of the lab for eleven months. I’m thankful that it came back to me so quickly. Harry has been a huge help. Not for the first time, I wonder if that’s why NASA sent him to the Pax: they had second thoughts about my ability. Despite having little to show for our efforts, I think we’re working at peak efficiency. It feels good to be building something again.
With the Icarus fleet’s lack of contact, we’re more aware, with each passing day, that our time is slipping away. I feel as if we’re sailing past a new land we were bound for, but an unfavorable wind has blown us off course.
Madre is almost done, but we have no idea where to send her and which litter of drones she should repurpose.
I worry more and more about Emma’s bone density. The exercise simply can’t keep pace with the deterioration. It’s a progressive condition: the more bone mass she loses, the quicker she’ll lose it. Izumi is concerned too. We’ve discussed it several times, in private, but arrived at no solutions. Neither of us has said anything to Emma. I don’t know if she’s aware of the severity of her condition. I hope not.
The secret meetings between Izumi and me aren’t the only ones occurring on the ship. Harry has been slipping off to meet with Grigory and Min. More often lately. He says it’s about Madre’s propulsion, but the meetings are too long, and they all stop when I float into the nav module, as though they’re talking about me. I like Harry. I trust him. But I feel that something is going on. I’ve told no one else about my suspicions. But I’m close to confronting him about it.
I’m asleep in the lab when a hand shakes me awake.
Emma’s face is inches from mine, smiling.
“Come on.”
We float hand-in-hand out of the robotics lab, through a series of supply modules, and into the bubble. Half of the crew is he
re. Grigory is smiling—a rare occurrence.
Harry slaps me on the back, the force muted in zero-g.
“We’ve got it, James! The artifact!”
“Which one?”
“The second one. Beta. James, we’ve done it.”
Chapter 29
Emma
Locating Beta has given this crew a much-needed morale boost. Everyone feels a renewed sense of purpose, that we’re on the right track, and that we’re going to figure this out, one way or another. Any team, no matter what you’re doing, can’t go too long without a win. Finding the artifact is a big win for us. But this isn’t close to being over.
Yesterday, we launched Madre to seek out the Janus fleet. It will refill their fuel cells and redirect them to Beta, which is much closer to the Sun than we expected. In fact, the Icarus drone that found the artifact had a far-out search vector, at the edge of Min’s projections. He believes the artifacts are solar-powered, and that their acceleration increases rapidly as they approach the Sun.
If he’s correct, there are several implications. For one thing, we’re pretty sure the original artifact did accelerate beyond our search grid.
The discovery has forged consensus among the crew on several issues. Yesterday we launched comm drones to Earth and the Fornax. The drones are loaded with all of our data and everything we know so far. We’ve also altered course to intercept Beta.
When I asked Grigory if we could reach it, he was cagey. “Possibly.” He shot Harry a look, then went into a long diatribe about the artifact’s unknown acceleration capacity, variable solar output, and the effect of gravitational pull.
Something’s going on. I know Harry, Min, and Grigory have been meeting in private. I suspect it’s about me—they change the subject every time I get near them. And they’re not the only ones meeting in private. I’ve spotted Izumi and James whispering in the med bay. And I know that’s about me. Specifically, my bone density. It’s bad. My gums are receding and my grip strength is waning. My fingernails are brittle too, and I’m getting cramps more often, especially at night. I feel as if I’m aging at an advanced rate, like someone in a time warp, literally disintegrating. But the fact remains: besides exercise and mineral supplements, there’s nothing anyone can do.
And this is a far better fate than dying back on the ISS or in that rescue capsule. I’ve had a chance to be part of something—an incredible mission with some of the best minds and the best people whom I’ve ever known.
None of us will stop fighting for this mission.
Madre dispatched one of the scout drones from the Janus fleet back to the Pax to report. The mother drone found the fleet, powered them up, and has them en route to Beta. They’ll arrive in two weeks. I’m counting down the days.
Because Beta is behind us and moving fast, we’ll reach it long before we would have reached Alpha. That’s the good news. The bad news is that Beta could be going so fast it zooms right past us before we can intercept.
The clock is ticking. We’ll know soon.
Harry, James, and I are working in the lab when Grigory drifts into the hatchway.
“Bubble meeting.”
His expression is blank. I sense bad news.
In the bubble, when everyone is present and tethered to the conference table, Min says, “The comm drone is back from the Fornax.”
The fact that the Fornax is out there is a relief. From Min’s expression, I’m guessing that’s the extent of the good news.
“I’m going to read their return message verbatim,” Min says, staring at a tablet. He clears his throat. “Be advised, Fornax compromised. Six capsules never reached assembly point.” Min holds the tablet up. “There’s a list. Grigory and I already looked it up. One was Harry’s capsule, of course, and four were supply capsules. The sixth was Oliver Karnes. The other aeronautics engineer.”
Grigory’s counterpart on the Fornax. That’s bad.
There’s a long silence. As someone who never met the original crew and has gone through losing people in space, I’m probably able to process this a bit faster. I try to make my voice neutral. “I expect that explains why Harry’s capsule was sent to the Pax rendezvous point. Once Karnes’s capsule was lost, meaning there would be no aeronautics engineer on the Fornax, mission control must have felt that Harry’s skills would be underutilized there.”
“That’s an understatement,” Harry says. “We’d be lost without Grigory.”
The Russian shrugs. “The truth finally emerges.”
There’s controlled laughter around the room. It’s a weak attempt to conceal the disappointment we all feel. And responsibility. The mission truly falls to us now.
“The message continues,” Min says. “The crew of the Fornax favors transferring our drone stock to the Pax. Be advised: our delta payload is intact.”
“Delta payload?” I ask.
James leans over and responds. “The only thing that was different on the two ships’ supply manifests: they had a nuke, we got more drone parts.”
“And one crewmember was different,” Charlotte says. “Me and Dan Hampstead.”
“True,” James says.
“Final line of message,” Min announces. “We are altering course and preparing for rendezvous and docking. We await further orders from Pax.” Min looks up. “End message.”
After a pause, he says, “let’s talk about our options.”
“I need a minute,” James says. “I need to think about this. We all do before we make this decision.”
In the lab, James pulls me aside.
“You’re getting sicker.”
“I know.”
“But you don’t know how bad it is.”
“I do know, James.”
“We—Izumi and I—can’t treat you here. You’ve got to get to a real hospital and to stronger gravity soon.”
“That ship has sailed. We both know it.”
“Not necessarily. We’re on a rocket ship. And we’re about to have another. One with no real purpose other than to release a nuke and then fly back to Earth, double fast.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“No, I’m not going. You’re not putting me on the Fornax and sending me home. I’m staying here and working. You know we need the Fornax in the hunt for the artifact. If for no other reason than to observe and relay findings to Earth in case the Pax is compromised. You can’t waste that ship on hospital transport back to Earth. We’re all expendable.”
“We’re not.”
“We are. End of discussion.”
“Do you have any idea what your deterioration and death would do to this crew?”
“This crew is strong enough to take it.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Are you speaking for yourself or them?”
“Both. Please, Emma. Think about it.”
“I don’t need to.”
He throws up his hands. “You’re nuts, you know that? Nuts! And you’re driving me nuts.” He barrels out of the lab. It’s a good thing spaceships don’t have gravity or slamming doors, because he would have been stomping away and rocking the hatch off its hinges as he shut it.
I believe I’m doing the right thing for the mission and everyone on Earth, including my sister and her kids. I feel miserable about it.
An hour later, we reconvene in the bubble and make the decision: we’ll rendezvous with the Fornax and transfer all drone components to Pax. James is still sullen, either from our conversation or the weight of the decisions upon him. His plan isn’t elaborate, and there’s no mention of my going over to the Fornax or of the other ship turning back. But I wonder if he’s planning it.
In the lab, James, Harry, and I discuss what to do with the new influx of parts. It will almost triple our available stock. Most importantly, we’ll get more engine parts.
I voice my first reaction. With the exception of the contentious conversation I just had with James, the lab is a safe zone, where we are free to throw out ideas, and
debate is civil and productive. It reminds me so much of the ISS.
“We could take more readings. Send a fleet ahead of the artifact, see how it reacts after our encounter with it.”
“True,” James says, eyes on the table. “But we need to consider the big picture.”
“Attaching my wide-view lens,” Harry says jovially.
That gets a chuckle out of James and me, but neither of us looks at the other. He’s still mad at me. That sort of makes me want to be mad at him.
“We’re out here for more than these two artifacts,” James continues. “Our mission is to get Earth the data they need to survive.”
I cock my head. “I don’t follow.”
“Think about it: two artifacts on the same vector. Think about what that implies.”
It hits me then. “A mother ship.”
Harry pinches his lower lip with his fingers. “What are you proposing?”
“A massive drone search fleet. Sent along the artifacts’ vector. Running silent, collecting their findings. Another mother drone, larger than Madre, to coordinate the other drones and send comm bricks back to Earth with the data.”
Harry smiles. “A mother mother drone? You should have led with that, James. You had me at ‘We’re gonna need a bigger drone.’”
“You’re so shallow, Harry.”
“Size matters. E equals mc squared.”
It’s got to be the nerdiest joke I’ve ever heard. But I laugh, and so does James. He glances over at me, and I can tell he doesn’t really want to be mad at me. And I don’t really want to be mad at him. We’re fighting, essentially, because he cares about me and I care more about the mission.
In the bubble, we present our plan. To my surprise, the crew is pensive. Maybe it’s because we’re technically going outside of our mission objective, which is to find and assess the known artifacts.
