by Robert Kuntz
The juice of the orange is a sweet freshness in my throat. I can almost feel Earth’s sun shining on me and warming me to the bone. Then I have another one of those thoughts that are not my thoughts. I hear the twelve seeds on the bench call to me, We’re stronger than anything in the Beta. We’re stronger than death.
SINDAS has no data from Beta. Her circuits are cut off, but I can imagine murky, bloated number 6s, scattered stems of 557s, splintered 49s. I’ll find the ocean too low, dead coral and rotting fish bloated at the water’s edge; carcasses of goats, methane gas, the smell of rotting crabs, the mess from low gravity, foul air, electrical shorts, fire damage. The ring will be full of destruction like a ruined city after war.
As if they’re speaking to me, the seeds say, That’s temporary. We’re life. After the volcano erupts, we overcome. After earthquakes, mud slides, tidal waves, we overcome. I remember Uncle Ralph and pick up the little fellers. Each of them holds a tree and years of harvest. And each harvest holds an orchard and generations of fruit, with each new orange holding more seeds and orchards.
And suddenly, the thought comes to me that I’m a seed, that the One who made everything filled me with the same unconquerable life.
I call to the poodles and we head down the corridor to the side passages. I pull open the door. Ahead of me is one of the locked doors. In tribute to the first Biospherians, it’s a brilliant orange, like the jumpsuits on the Gal.
Before I unlock the door, I come to my senses. I can’t take Ginger and Mouser into the Beta. They’d root in carcasses and ingest who knows what decay-borne diseases.
I turn back into Two. In the decon-lab, I put on the white protective suit, sling the O2 pack over my shoulder, pull up the hood and slip on the mask. With a touch to the air controls, I’m breathing the stale packaged air. I lock the pups in the lab and head back to the sealed door.
Before I can think about it, I unlock the door and pull it open.
The corridor is undamaged, an older gray tile underfoot. At the corners, the walls are scarred from bots scraping against them or people inadvertently rasping an armload against the edge.
I steel myself and open the door to the ocean. Across the band of sand, waves shuffle in to the shore. There’s no dead fish floating on the water or pushed up on the sand. There’s no algae build-up on the coral. The sand is scuffed and several coconuts rest like contented 8s near the base of a palm tree.
I can’t go in. I slam the door shut. Stumbling awkwardly in the protective suit, I make my way down the corridor to the mangrove swamp. I wrench the door open and peer inside. The trees are like sturdy 27s, taller and thicker than the trees in One and Two. I see gentle ripples in the stream as it rounds the twists and bends of the swamp. A pygmy kingfisher flashes by overhead. Bees dart among the foliage. Everything is green, alive. There are no turtles or crabs flung about, no mess of leaves plastered against the wall. The sensors are clean. The systems are functioning.
I slam the door shut and turn around. No need to check the savannah and rainforest. I head toward the ag biome.
Billy Jepler, you rogue, you Einstein of horse traders, king of connivers. A surprise, you said. A failsafe redundancy. Something no one else had thought of. Jepler, how in the world did you pull this off? They should put you in jail for this. They should give you the Nobel Prize.
Outside the ag biome, I take off the mask and hood and strip off the protective suit, letting it fall in a heap on the floor. Then I yank open the door to the ag. I hear goats bleating and chickens clucking.
I rush into the biome, shouting, “Where are you?”
My stomach is full of laughing green 3003s. I can’t believe this. It’s impossible. It’s amazing.
Jepler, you’re a total lunatic. You’re the smartest man at NASA. You’ve pulled off a thousand deals, but you’ll never top this.
Across the path, a hummingbird flits towards a clump of bee balm. “I know you’re here,” I shout. “Jepler sent me.”
The first to appear is a woman, a short Asian with black hair. She’s a little thin, as if she hasn’t had enough to eat. The moment I see her, the 3003s fizz and burble inside me and now I’m laughing. I can’t believe it. Jepler sent people. I’m not alone.
She steps closer and I recognize her. “You’re Lucy Ming, the engineer on Galileo’s back-up team.”
“It’s Lucy LeTours now, Grant.”
Then two men approach from around the goat shed. One is a burly African-American, DeShawn Jameson, with PhDs in physics and electrical engineering, back-up pilot for the Galileo. The other is a fit, balding man with a thick moustache that reminds me of pi.
Billy Jepler, you genius of schemers. What did you trade to make this happen, the Rocky Mountains, the gold in Fort Knox?
Jameson smiles and his deep bass voice booms, “Grant Chapman, glad to see you.” He nods to the balding man beside him, “This is Daniel LeTours, medical doctor, veterinarian, goat whisperer, and gourmet cook.”
On my right, a maintenance door opens. Two women enter the biome. A pair of miniature collies dance around them. One of the women is like a long number 17, a tall, large-boned woman, her straight brown hair gathered in a pony tail. I’d seen her at NASA, Kate Koblilarchok, a mechanical savant who can fix anything.
The other one looks familiar. She’s short and auburn-haired. She reminds me of 33, just like Marsha. Then I realize it is Marsha. I stumble. It feels like the Galileo is wobbling beneath my feet.
Jepler, I can’t believe you did this. You didn’t send just anyone. You sent her.
The words burst from my mouth. “Marsha! It’s you! I thought I’d never see you again.”
She smiles. “Billy Jepler…”
“…asked you to come because you’re a biochemist.”
“No, Grant. He told me you never talked about anyone the way you talked about me. I came for you.”
Her words stun me. As I look at her, another 3 joins the 33 and I’m filled with a glowing number 12. It’s like a new sun has risen, shining warm and yellow down on me. I feel awkward, unsure what to say.
Kate laughs. “Look at him smile! For sure, Captain Chapman’s got a honey.”
Marsha blushes.
The five of them gather, standing side by side. Kate gives a hand signal to the collies and they sit beside her feet. I think about what this team has been through, the risk they took going along with Jepler’s plan, their helplessness when the SPPT’s failed.
They smile at each other. I see their strength, how comfortable they are with each other. They’re a team, an eager, confident team. “Why didn’t anyone know? Why were the doors locked so you couldn’t get into One and Two?”
Jameson nods as if he approves of the question. “Things were tense when the Gal launched. Billy was afraid news about us would backfire and the ship would be ordered back to Earth. So he arranged for a post-launch ‘emergency.’ SINDAS shut the Beta off from Rings One and Two. Billy figured the task of putting things right would appear too immense to the crew and they’d concentrate on keeping One and Two in good shape. He told us to conceal ourselves until the ship was six months from Earth and it was too late for the Galileo to return.
“When we were cut off from SINDAS, we regulated the Beta with its old computer. Our only contact with the other rings was eavesdropping on your communication with Earth. So we knew about the cold radiation, that you were the only one left. But Billy did too good of a job of cutting us off. There was no way for us to reach you.
“We kept waiting for Billy to tell NASA about us. I’m guessing he didn’t tell them at first because he saw an opportunity to send another ship after the Galileo. And we didn’t know, until Ferris told you, that Billy was fired and ridden out of town on a rail.
“We aren’t much.” The way Jameson says it tells me he thinks they’re the best team in the universe. He squares his shoulders and clears his throat, “Captain Chapman, your crew is reporting for duty.”
I’m comfortable with SINDAS callin
g me “captain,” but I’m not sure how I feel about these nauts looking up to me. Then I remember what Dr. H said about me running things. And, I realize, I have been running things. I feel a shiver of joy at the thought.
Marsha reaches out and takes my hand.
Her touch jolts me with its warmth. My throat gets thick and I can’t talk.
Her red hair shines in the light and her smile is as warm as her touch. “Can we meet your pups?”
****
22:09 GMT.
I’m too impatient to wait for the holo-vision circuits to warm up. I flip on the audio and look around the Tri-Comm. Kate’s reddish-tan collies, Tesla and Eisenhower, sit by the door, ignoring Ginger and Mouser as the poodles sniff and nose them.
Daniel and Lucy crowd in at my elbow waiting to talk to their families on Earth.
Across the room, Kate leans back against DeShawn. He wraps an arm around her, supporting her with his strength. He says, “We’ve done it. We’re headed to the stars.”
Marsha, standing behind me, squeezes my shoulder.
The circuit lights flash that we’re connected to Earth and I plunge in, “Houston, we have a surprise.”
17
June 4, 2052 (Launch plus 136 days),00:07 GMT.
I’m the last one left in the Tri-Comm. The others are cooking up a fiesta in the Beta hab, a celebration, Daniel said, that will include three kinds of salsa, roasted carrot and red pepper soup, chicken stir-fry, garlic-rice, breadfruit-cheese bake, sopapillas, and coconut ice cream with chocolate sauce.
Jepler still hasn’t arrived at NASA. They looked for him for over an hour before they found him at the Astros ballpark working on who knows what kind of deal.
“Dr. Chapman,” Ferris says, “word’s leaked out and we’re getting bombarded by media requests. Dr. Jepler will be up all night giving interviews.”
“Do you ever talk to them, Ferris? The media?”
“Don’t want to, Dr. Chapman. They pressure you and twist your words. I don’t want to talk about what you’re doing. I want to be out there with you.”
“I wish you could be.”
“Thanks.” Ferris pauses a minute to listen to someone in the background. “Dr. Jepler will be here in a few minutes.”
“Dr. C.,” His voice gets quiet, as if he’s speaking so I’m the only one who can hear him. “What would I have to do to be on the next FarSpace ship?”
The answer comes to me, one of those thoughts that’s not my own. “Become an expert on the pulse comm. Not many people know how to build and fix them. Every FarSpace ship will need someone to do that.”
“I’ll do it.” I hear a new ring of steel in Ferris’s voice. “Judy can apply as an ag-tech. She knows all about plants.”
“I hope you both make it, Ferris.”
There’s a moment of silence. What Jepler’s done is starting to sink in. He broke who knows what kind of regulations to send five more nauts. And he picked Marsha because he was thinking of me. I’m glad she’s here. Laughing yellow number 6s bounce in my stomach. They jump and spin and turn the color of Marsha’s red hair. How can I thank Jepler for what he’s done for the mission and for me?
“Grant!” Billy’s booming voice interrupts us. “You finally went to the Beta. I got the last signature I needed on a baseball tonight. Now it’s signed by the last seven World Series MVP’s. Of course, I got a dozen other balls signed, but this one’s a real bargaining piece.
“But what’s a million dollar baseball compared to your news? Here’s what you need to do right away. First, bring Beta back on line with SINDAS. The techs here can tell you what’s needed. In a minute, I need to talk to Jameson. He’s got some decisions to make...”
Indistinct 26s blur through my mind. “Jameson?”
Billy hardly misses a beat. “The new Captain of the Gal. After serving as a Navy pilot, he got a degree in management and personnel. He was commander of flight operations in the Navy. Grant, they all look up to you because you saved the ship, but he’s the best leader. Trust me, Grant, you don’t want it.”
I swallow an angry reply. This is the wheeling, dealing Billy Jepler. He’s an avalanche of 54759s crashing down a mountain slope.
Jepler doesn’t stop talking, “I’ve only got a couple of minutes before the press conference. We’ll get weeks of great headlines: ‘NASA Failsafe Procedures Avert Tragedy.’ ‘Galileo Mission Continues Toward the Stars.’ ‘Two Marriages in Space.’ I’ll need you all for a conference tomorrow…no, today, at 13:00. That will get us great coverage in the evening news. Grant, no more of this audio-only stuff. You’ve got to use the holo-vid.”
His ballpoint clicks furiously and, even on the Gal, I can hear Billy’s mind whirring. “I’ve got five deals that have been waiting for this moment. There’s a senator who’ll get a new manufacturing plant in his district. A museum in San Francisco will get a Brodraddy sculpture. A trucking company in Canton will get a new government contract. Perth, Australia, will open bids on a new sports center. And four reporters get exclusive interviews with the Gal’s married couples. You won’t believe the votes I’ll get for the Galileo II from those deals.
“I want you and Marsha to wait two months before you get married. Just when this breakthrough becomes old news, we’ll hit them with another wedding in space, one they can watch. I’ve been planning for this for months, Grant. Before the dust settles, Congress will approve funding for the Galileo II. Everything’s in place, scientific conferences, media interviews, and not a few of Jepler’s magic deals.
“Grant, the only thing that will top interest in your wedding will be the first child born in space.”
Orange 47s are simmering in my stomach. I grit my teeth, but can’t help interrupting him. “You had this all planned. You knew the nauts would marry.”
“Grant, don’t be thick-headed. NASA won’t admit it, but we select the crews with that in mind. We knew Ihor would never marry, but Bronson and Ushamla dated in training. Naomi and Vicente were an obvious pair, and we vetted Carmen and Thommas, so we knew they would have been a great match.”
Hearing their names, a wave of sad gray 8686’s washes over me. I start to tell him to have more respect for the dead, but Billy presses on. “Get real, Grant. It’s a twenty-five year trip in space. Of course the nauts will marry. And have families. Earth will go crazy over the first baby born in space. Jameson is conservative. He’ll want to play it safe, so I don’t expect a child for a year or so.”
Jepler’s voice is soaring, “Congress will approve Galileo II. That first baby’s my guarantee of continued interest and more votes. We’ll expand the size of the Galileo II. We’ll fund research on what additional plants and animals to include. We’ll start plans for further expansion of the Galileo III. It’s not one mission, Grant. We’ll send out six or eight Galileo’s before you return.”
The orange 47s threaten to boil over. I stammer, “How long have you had this planned?”
“A long time. But you were the key. When you went to space, I knew we were going to have more missions. Then the nauts died. That was a setback. If Carmen had taken them inside and prevented that cold radiation tragedy, we’d be building Galileo II now. But I knew when you found Marsha and the others, the good news would overcome the bad publicity and we’d be back on track.”
The orange 47s burn a hole in my stomach. This is the wheeler-dealer Jepler I don’t like. I’m more uncomfortable with him than I’ve ever been. I need to talk with Dr. H about it.
“The best thing would be if you and Marsha had the first child,” Billy muses. You’re the hero of the Gal. Earth would go crazy. Think about the things Congress would approve.”
Suddenly, I’m seeing flaming orange 47s smashing through glass windows. I clench my teeth. “Billy, let me get DeShawn for you.”
“Great. Grant, I’m really glad it’s you and Marsha. From the moment Weppler was disqualified, I wanted both of you in space. Don’t forget to talk to the techs about bringing Beta back on line with SINDAS.�
��
“I’ll get DeShawn.”
As I pull open the door to the Tri-Comm, Billy is saying, “He’ll need to do the first conference, to talk about how all three rings are healthy and how this puts the mission back on track. He’s a natural before the cameras.”
I leave him talking to himself.
****
June 8, 2052 (Launch plus 140 days), 10:54 GST.
Marsha and I stand beside the short potting bench in the small germination room in the Beta hab. The wooden bench is stained, the slats worn. The Beta is the oldest ring on the Gal. Captain Jameson is talking about us moving to Ring One. In a nomenclature that could only make sense to NASA, it’s the newest of the three rings.
“Everything is an adventure up here,” she says. “Even the normal things, gathering eggs, running enzyme identifications, analyzing blood chemistry. I’ve been caught in the wonder of space for five months, and now here I am excited about showing you seeds.”
Marsha leans across the bench and opens both doors of the deep cupboard above it. “Most of the seeds Jepler sent for you are in here.” She slides out one of the seed drawers. Stuffed in the narrow drawer are a long row of small sealed plastic bags, each one with a stark white label lettered in blue capital letters. She picks up a bag, points at the label which says “MARIGOLDS,” and opens it. She takes a deep breath. “They smell like Earth.”
I inhale and follow the scent. It’s like Louisiana farmlands on a windblown day. I lose her words for a moment, and then I hear her say, “I don’t know how many we’ll be able to plant, but it will be nice to have flowers in the ag and on the table.”
I remember on the farm, how often I saw Aunt Clara fill a vase with fresh-cut flowers. She would hum and smile as she slid the flowers into place. Once, when I was fifteen, Uncle Ralph came in unexpectedly. She didn’t hear him for her humming. As he stood and looked at her arranging the flowers, his face softened and his eyes grew moist.
