by Casey Herzog
These would be the future captains, chief engineers, and navigators of the various space frigates and planetary mining facilities. Next to the rare pure breed Martians, they were the most prepared to survive the harsh rigors of extended space, and the least likely to fall apart psychologically. Even at thirteen years old, an Armstrong was likely to have more experience in any given situation than most other spacers would have by the age of twenty. Although a little grandiose, they were essentially demi-gods in comparison to other astronauts. The name alone commanded respect, and any order they gave may as well have been treated as Holy Scripture.
Alphred made a show of clearing his throat, green eyes looking down to his still extended hand. Peter, realizing he had stalled for too long, was hasty to bring things back on course. Taking his commander’s hand, he shook it vigorously, making Alphred flinch.
“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”
Alphred took a deep breath and bit his bottom lip as he flexed his fingers a few times. “It’s fine. I have not been down from orbit long, and my muscles are just a little weak at the moment.”
Peter frowned. “Wow, is it really that bad?”
“It won’t be on the Unity. The ship’s grav-sphere is the best of any ship ever made: perfect earth norm created in two centrifuges, each a kilometer to walk fully around. I can promise you we won’t feel the extremes of muscle atrophy. I’m only this way because I spent the last month on the old ISS. Took all the usual precautions, but there’s always a bit of wear you don’t quite expect…I’m okay though.” Alphred added the last part somewhat defensively
Peter took a deep breath and looked behind him to the corridor leading to the dorms, then back to Alphred. “So, is there something I can do for you, commander? I mean, I take it you’re not loitering outside the press hall by chance.”
Alphred nodded and began to walk forward, hands buried in his suit pockets in a manner that seemed just a little too casual to Peter. Even so, he followed in step. “I wanted to talk with you, as I believe you represent something of an anomaly compared to the rest of the Pluto Cohort under my command.”
Peter clenched his fists and his breathing became notably heavier. “You want to check if I am a poor fit for the mission? Worried I’m just a poster boy tacked onto the mission to serve as a focal point for the media, is that it?”
Alphred turned his head, green eyes remaining cool and calm, as he seemed to leisurely study his companion. “No. If I wanted to know that, I need only check your academic test sheets and practical simulation scores. I know you have the head for the mission, and that I can rely on you when it counts. What I want to know is how you think the others in the cohort view you. Pluto is six years’ voyage away, assuming we have an easy time unifying the other planets. I need my crew to be a family. There can be no outcasts or pariahs in our group.”
“Well, I don’t know what you expect me to do or say here. Candidly, most of them keep a rod up their backside when they have to work with me…well, with a few exceptions.” Peter thought back to the reluctant smile he had received from Nisha in the auditorium. “There isn’t much I can do about that though. I play nice with the others, so maybe you should speak to them if you have concerns…either that or talk to the Admiralty about having me replaced.”
“Would you like that?”
Peter looked at Alphred again. The boy’s face was totally deadpan. He shook his head vehemently. “No way. I’ve trained too long and hard to get on the duty roster for this mission. I’m just saying it’s something you could probably resolve as our cohort commander.”
Alphred’s lip seemed to curl upward ever so slightly. “Well, you might have slightly overestimated my reach on this mission. I have very little say on troop assignment, and that goes double for you. Much as I’m sure you’d like to ignore the fact: the military is going to use your status to its advantage.” Peter laughed and shook his head, getting a raised eyebrow from the commander. “Something amusing?”
“No, nothing sir. Just a little unsurprised to find the military are going to try and use me as some publicity screen for the media. Seems to be the story of my life.”
“If command deems your minor celebrity status valuable to the mission, I wouldn’t feel disappointed in it.” Alphred said. “It is just another way you are contributing to the Unity’s work.”
Peter was fast losing interest in the conversation. He didn’t like the way his cohort commander looked to his past like it was merely some tool to be used. “I’m here for the mission: go out into the outer solar system and help restore peace for humanity by ending the secessionist threat. What the commanders and the media want to do with it is their business. Now, will there be anything else, commander?” Peter couldn’t tell if Alphred had heard the note of insubordination in his voice and chose to ignore it, or if he was truly oblivious to it.
The commander smiled and stepped smartly to one side. “No, that is all for now. I might wish to address this matter again with you in the future, but you seem out of sorts. Perhaps another time.”
Peter nodded, not bothering to give a goodbye. He walked onward, looking back only once at the oddity that was his commander. The guy seemed like a robot still learning how to talk with real humans. Having talked to him for even a few minutes, Peter felt the myth of the Armstrongs being paragons of humanity had just lost some of its credibility.
CHAPTER 5
Peter imagined he was not the only one who struggled to sleep peacefully or continuously that night. He had his own room, tonight. This happened from time to time, and he had never grown accustomed to it. All through his youth, even before Sergeant Denver saved him, he had been used to sleeping with a group. He found comfort in hearing the creaking of cot beds next to him, listening to the soft rhythmic breathing of his companions and the occasional creaking of bed springs as a restless dreamer tossed and turned. When forced to sleep alone, Peter found the lack of noise more disturbing than restful. Quiet and silence were not natural and held connotations of isolation for him. The only time someone like Peter would hear silence, usually, was when they were put in solitary confinement, either as punishment, or as a test of their nerve during extreme survival training.
By the time the morning came, and a small alarm on the wall clock sounded, Peter was already awake and in the black uniform that the Unity crew would wear for the next six years, or more.
He stood by the window, looking out on the distant launch pads, where six rockets were already being prepared to transport the Unity’s crew to their new home. He had been watching the flickering lights swarming over the rockets, fancying they were small fireflies buzzing about soda bottles. When the alarm rang to tear him from his strange musings, Peter only had to extend his hand and press the button. The bell barely had any time to ring at all.
The cafeteria served the traditional breakfast made famous by one of Earth’s earliest pioneers. A generously portioned plate of steak and eggs were provided to nearly all the two hundred strong crew, except for the vegetarians, who enjoyed eggs, mashed potatoes and bread and butter. Tea was about the only drink available aside from plain water. Though up and dressed well in advance of his morning alarm, Peter found himself still halfway down the queue for food, sandwiched between two older boys from the Mars and Jupiter cohorts. These two shot him looks of contempt and carried on a conversation between themselves that Peter knew he was not permitted to be a part of. He looked instead at the rows of tables, trying to find a familiar face he might gravitate toward once he’d been given his meal. There weren’t a lot of options. Most in the cohort who tolerated him, including Nisha, were a ways behind him in the queue. About the only friendly face he could see already sitting was their cohort commander: Alphred.
Peter had misgivings about becoming too friendly with his immediate CO. He had enough image problems already as the media’s favorite story. Most of his companions assumed Peter enjoyed the attention he got as a very minor, accidental celebrity. Why wouldn’t they? He always had
to appear happy and smiling for the cameras. To go from the darling of the media to kiss ass trying to get in with the cohort commander, Peter knew it would do little to help his social standing. He tried to avoid eye contact with the boy, instead looking to the queue and shuffling silently along until he found himself presented with his own tray of food. Forced once more to look out on the rows of tables, he grimaced as he realized his lack of options had not improved much over the last ten minutes. There really were no better options.
Walking down the long row of tables, Peter tried to ingratiate himself as casually as he could with Alphred. He took a chair opposite, but not immediately opposite to him and concentrated on his meal. He wanted Alphred to make the first words of conversation.
“It’s a solid breakfast. However, I’ve become so used to having it that the novelty has worn off.”
“Still working on your conversation skills, I see.” Peter grinned at his superior and waved his knife in his direction. “Don’t worry; you’ll get there.”
Alphred, who had already finished his meal, took a long sip of his tea as he watched Peter eat. “You know, I wonder if some of the cohort’s attitude toward you is not a little bit of your own fault. Far be it from me to judge, but you have quite an acerbic manner about you that I am sure contributes to your lacking popularity.”
Peter scratched the side of his face, his fingers following the lines of the deep scars that lined his cheek. “Out of sheer burning curiosity, is this how you talked to the other Armstrongs? Did you all just sit in a circle psychoanalyzing each other and pointing out each other’s flaws?”
“No, not exactly. I will concede we often spent a good deal of time talking over problems put to us by our mentors and trading information and good practices we had learned in our studies. We were warned prior to taking on a command to expect our outfit of men to have a different approach to informal conversations in downtime.”
Peter nodded and popped another slither of egg into his mouth. “Well, you said you wanted to ensure your team were on good terms with you. I’d suggest it’s time you learned to talk at our level a bit. Let’s start with the boring stuff. How’d you end up on the Earth League’s adoption roll?”
“I’d call that personal stuff, hardly boring.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed. “So, you’re bitter about losing your parents then.”
“I am not. I have absolutely no reason to be. I never knew them.” Alphred’s answer was swift and sharp, and he seemed to realize only after speaking that he had probably proven Peter’s assessment correct. “Have you always been this quick a study of people?”
“One of the perks that comes from a life working with the media. You get a sense for bullshit after enough time giving interviews and learning to avoid leading questions.” Peter grinned, seeming to relish his unique gift and the ability to undermine his superior through it.
Alphred smiled back, the momentary flicker of emotion now gone from his face. “I think, Peter, this little gift of yours will suit my needs well.”
“Oh yeah? You’re hoping I can be your counselor? I’ll assess the rest of the team for you?.”
“Something like that, though I have a somewhat broader task in mind for you.” Alphred looked to the food line. Peter followed his gaze and noted a few more members of their cohort moving in their direction. “Perhaps we will speak more on this some other time. For now, I’d appreciate it if you could keep this discussion private.”
Peter shrugged his shoulders. “Fine by me. I don’t really want people knowing the boss wants to use me as his own little snitch anyway. I have a bad enough reputation to contend with already, and I have no plans to make it worse for myself.
***
For those in the Uranus, Neptune and Pluto Cohorts, this was to be their first trip into orbit. They had all been subjected to extreme G force and had experienced periods of weightlessness on special Zero G flights. They knew exactly what to expect from the flights, but that did not diminish the importance of this first step into the great beyond. As the cohorts were led to the boarding ramp, Peter looked out of the window, noting the crowds who had come to see them off. As the mass of heads bobbed and weaved about, he noticed the sun glinting off cameras and film equipment. It gave him an enormous sense of relief and excitement to think that he would soon be beyond the reach of such things. He was more than happy to be leaving the nosy cameras and recorders behind.
As was only natural, Pluto Cohort was the last to be boarded onto the shuttle. It was a tight squeeze for the thirty-two members of the group. Each crew member was strapped into seat facing upward toward the sky and five abreast. Seated once more in alphabetical order, Peter found himself next to Nisha again. As she took her seat next to him, she seemed almost not to notice him at all. Her breathing was irregular, and Peter wondered if she might actually pass out from hyperventilating. He looked to Johnathon Hawkwood at the other side of her. He seemed preoccupied himself, and barely looked in their direction. Peter racked his brains for a moment.
“Do you know what I hate most about the idea of this shuttle ride?” Peter let his question hang in the air.
Nisha seemed to expect him to answer his question himself. When he didn't, she flashed him an irritated look with terrified eyes. “No, I have no idea. What do you hate most, Crater face?”
“Aww, now that's unfair, I think my scar is more like a deep ravine than a crater. You need to get your topographical formations right or you'll never hope to get a navigation officer's pip.”
“I don't want a navigation officer's pip. I was planning to major in medicine”
“Well that’s an even greater reason to be able to properly identify scars.”
“Is this going somewhere?” Nisha snapped, putting her hands up to the sides of her face, earning looks from those sat nearby. Even Alphred seemed to notice the exchange from the front.
“Well it would be if you'd play your part. Remember, I asked you to guess what I hate most about this shuttle ride.”
“Okay! Okay, what do you hate so much about this stupid shuttle ride? Please, I am dying to know.”
Peter took a deep breath and then shrugged. “Ah, I can tell you're not really interested.”
“What? For god's sake just tell me and stop pestering me, freak show.” Nisha was now thoroughly wound up.
“It's the diapers. I hate having to wear diapers. They should have given us lessons on how to piss ourselves and take a shit in our pants without feeling self-conscious about it.”
“Oh, God! Peter, will you shut up, please. The last thing I need is the image of you crapping your pants while we go into orbit.”
There was a long silence. Several others in the group were now watching them, including the two chiefs of staff and Alphred. Peter kept his focus on Nisha. “I mean I'm just saying it's a long trip. We'll be sitting in these seats here for twenty-four hours solid. It won’t just be me struggling to hold it in when we hit the fifteen-hour mark.”
“Okay, that's enough back there.” One of the chiefs, a particularly attractive female wearing the blue collar of a navigation officer, looked back, shooting them warning glares.
Silence overtook the shuttle once again, but that was all right. Nisha wore an impatient scowl on her face, and her breathing, though still deep, was far more controlled than it had been a few minutes earlier.
Peter had his own misgivings about his first launch. No one was going to try to help him through it, though, so he just closed his eyes, trying to force himself to sleep. If nothing else, bursting through the Earth's atmosphere at just under 30,000 kilometers an hour would be one heck of an alarm.
By seven am, the shuttles were all boarded and green lighted for takeoff. Since each shuttle required ample breathing room on launch, the Pluto Cohort was left in their seats for nearly two hours before their own shuttle was cleared for takeoff. As it so often happened, the waiting was the worst part. Once the shuttle was cleared for takeoff and the thrusters ignited, going up was no
different than an extremely overpowered rollercoaster. The shuttle shook, and Peter felt his body pressed into the back of his seat. It was as if an entire dojo of sumo wrestlers had suddenly decided jump on top of him. At its worst, he felt like his skin was being stretched, pushed further back than his muscles would allow. Too much more of it, and he felt sure his skin would just peel away like a zip up suit.
Then, almost as suddenly as it began, it was over. At the magic nine-minute marker there was a sudden shift. The engines cut out and the feeling oppressive weight evaporated into nothing. It was something like what Peter imagined death to feel like: a moment of sheer agony followed by weightlessness. All about him, the crew members were suddenly smiling and looking at each other as they floated upward, their straps the only thing now keeping them in their seats. Even Nisha, who had been scowling at him so fiercely not more than half an hour ago, was now showing her pristine white teeth as she grinned in his direction. “No matter how many times we go to Zero G it always feels so amazing.”
