Project Sail

by Anthony DeCosmo

  The four-hour session taught him two lessons. First, the maintenance crew on Oberon UVI did not fall for bluffs. Second, that maintenance crew could outdrink anyone, particularly if the beverage was Soju, although Hawthorne suspected it might have been rocket fuel.

  His roommate, Bill Stein, had left for breakfast but Hawthorne had stayed behind in favor of more sleep. Now he wondered if it would have been worth it just for the coffee: his head pounded. Then he realized the pounding came from the door.

  Kelly’s smiling face and emerald eyes bound into his quarters bearing a breakfast tray.

  “I heard about your poker game and thought you could use this.”

  She offered the Additive Food Processing Station’s version of bacon, instant scrambled eggs, and a mug of steaming black coffee. They sat on his bunk and he ate from the tray.

  “There might be a promotion for you because of this.”

  She laughed. He enjoyed hearing her laugh, he enjoyed answering her questions, telling her stories, and sharing breakfast with her.

  He recalled Dr. King wondering, ‘what does your new bunk mate want from you?’

  Perhaps she only wanted a man who saw her as a person. A better question would be what did Jonathan Hawthorne want from Kelly Thomas?

  Maybe he wanted someone to ask questions, someone to tell stories to, someone to share breakfast with.

  “Did you win?”

  “I am out a week’s pay and one of my cigars.”

  “It’s your own fault,” she mothered.

  “So what did you do last night?”

  “Me and Ellen—Dr. Kost--downloaded a great movie. It came in direct-feed and was about this space-Marshal fighting Martian terrorists.”

  “I thought you only liked the classics.”

  “Are you kidding? I have a military-grade implant,” she tapped her temple, “felt like I was right on Mars, blasting away bad guys. You should get an implant.”

  “I like my head how it is.”

  “Ellen doesn’t have them, either so she had to watch it on the boring screen. Oh, don’t forget the mission briefing in ten minutes.”

  Hawthorne skipped the eggs, chewed the last slice of rubbery bacon, and carried the coffee cup as they left his quarters for the meeting room. As they walked, he remembered something he needed to discuss with her.

  “I was in the cargo bay yesterday.”

  “Oh?”

  “Listen, Kelly…”

  “But the cargo bay is dark and lonely!”

  “It is a robot.”

  “His name is Larry and I disarmed his weapons and he doesn’t make a sound.”

  “Where is he?” She did not answer. “Kelly?”

  “Under my bunk.”

  “He can fit there?’”

  “Yes, he folds up tight in ambush mode.”

  They stopped and he touched her arm.

  “A military grade assault robot in ambush mode is hiding under your bunk? What does your roommate think of this?”

  “Dr. Kost put a hat on Larry’s head and—”

  Hawthorne held a hand up, begging her to stop.

  “Kelly—Lieutenant--if Charles, Henderson, or that dick Chambers find out that Larry—your assault robot—is in your quarters, they will bust you down a rank. Put him back with the others.”

  She stomped a foot and stiffened her lip before muttering, “Okay.”

  But she did not appear too upset. When they started walking again her mood returned to cheerful. It was as if…

  As if she wants someone to set boundaries for her. Like a father.

  ---

  Wren led Dr. Kost to a couple of chairs near Matthew Carlson and Dr. King. The former remained focused on his wrist computer, the latter went out of her way to smile and say hello.

  He returned her pleasantries and added, “God knows where we are going.”

  “Yes, I am eager to find out,” King replied.

  “No, I mean God knows so you should ask him for us.

  King’s eyes narrowed and she made a sound that might have been a growl.

  The room filled with familiar blue coveralls as well as Director Henderson. While Wren knew the little corporate snake, Fisk, was still on the station, he did not see him.

  Charles, Henderson, and the other corporate snake—Chambers--sat in the front row. Most of the flight crew—Stein, the Martian guy, and that chick with the fake arm—occupied the second. Just behind them sat the guy and the girl from engineering as well as King’s assistant; the one from the darkest part of Mexico.

  Commander Hawthorne and his groupie arrived, sliding in next to Kost.

  Wren leaned over and said to Ellen, “Help Thomas with the big words.”

  To his surprise, she shot him a disapproving look. Normally she at least forced a phony giggle.

  Of course, he wondered why he had sought her out to go with him to this briefing and why she sat next to him in the mess hall every day. They had been bunk buddies for the trip to Oberon but Captain Charles had already decreed there would be no sexual relations during the mission.

  Yet, they still spent time together, except when Ellen hung out with her blonde and dim-witted roommate.

  He found the situation puzzling but decided not to think about it any further. Wren avoided introspection; such deep thoughts usually led to places he did not care to visit.

  Professor Coffman entered the room, dimmed the lights, and walked to the front. However, Chambers stood and cut-off the Professor’s presentation before it could begin.

  “Attention. The United States of North America and Universal Visions consider today’s briefing classified information. Discussing this presentation or this mission with an outside party violates corporate and military law.”

  Chambers, Wren understood, just put everyone on notice that violating mission security could result in summary execution.

  Mr. Henderson stepped forward and said, “This type of thing must be stated for the record, you understand.”

  The normally pleasant Coffman flashed an expression that suggested frustration with the corporate suits, but found his smile as he addressed the group.

  “Hello, yes, glad to be with you again. Yesterday’s test run went perfectly and I hope the newest members of our team were suitably impressed. Now that you have seen what SE 185 can do, I imagine you are wondering what we plan to, well, do with it.”

  A holographic display appeared and presented a computer-generated star field.

  “Ah, here we are, the constellation Libra. Let’s move closer,” and the image zeroed in on a red dot that grew until it became a star. “This is Gliese 581, a red dwarf twenty-two light-years away and one-third the size of our sun.”

  Wren leaned to Kost and whispered, “Not exactly news; Gliese was discovered a hundred years ago.”

  Coffman told the assembly, “Let’s see what we have here.”

  The star shrunk again and then was circled by orbit lines.

  “As you can see, Gliese 581 has mothered six planets. We are interested in this fellow…yes…this one,” the projection focused on the fourth planet from the red dwarf, “Gliese 581g. Understand these images are computer generated.”

  Coffman’s projection depicted a planet with fuzzy white and red coloring.

  “This one exists inside the star’s habitable zone, so you can understand it would be of great interest. On February 19th, Probe 581 left this station equipped with an Alcubierre—Haruto drive.”

  Wren whispered to Kost, “They are really creative with the names around here.”

  The image changed to a tall probe with a barrel-shaped central core surrounded by round compartments and a pointed top that included a pair of concave slots.

  “It arrived at 581g in mid-March but the results, unfortunately, were disappointing.”

  Henderson—standing to the side—interjected, “I would not describe the results as disappointing. We hoped to find a habitable planet and while that is not the case, we believe valuable mine
ral and chemical deposits exist beneath the surface.”

  Wren tapped his leg and curled his hands into fists.

  UVI had pulled him from his work in England and flown him across the solar system because of rocks and chemicals.

  He struggled to control the urge to scream.

  The Professor told the audience, “581g has a mass four point three times that of Earth with surface gravity of one point seven gs, and is tidally locked to its mother star which results in temperature extremes on either side of the planet. An atmosphere of carbon dioxide, with traces of nitrogen, makes 581g uninhabitable by human beings, although it remains possible that microscopic life exists, most likely in the areas of twilight. The extreme cold has likely frozen off the atmosphere on the dark side.

  “We lost communication with the probe, unfortunately, but we received enough information on 581g to choose it as the destination for mankind’s first journey beyond our solar system.”

  Wren raised his hand and then stood.

  Coffman looked at him. “Yes?”

  “Just one question: Are you kidding me?”

  Captain Charles stood and responded, “This is a briefing, not a discussion.”

  “So this is not a joke? I can think of ways to put this project to use other than spending a month sailing to what sounds like a milder version of Venus.”

  Henderson clapped his hands together and in a voice laced with good nature, joined the impromptu debate.

  “Dr. Wren, you should know that this mission will have a ripple effect through each of our research projects. Take, for example, work that is near and dear to your heart.”

  For the first time in a long while, Wren felt off balance. Usually his anger could bull through any arguments but there was something in Henderson’s pleasant tone he found disarming.

  “Like Project Sail, your research in England is a joint venture between the United States and UVI, funded by our Earth sciences division. Noble work you are doing, trying to bring life back to a land that has suffered so much, but also expensive work. Some might see our involvement as a bad investment. After all, even optimistic estimates suggest ten years before the soil will sustain fundamental plant and insect life, let alone crops.”

  Wren felt a lump in his throat.

  “But I say it is the right thing to do, and the right thing is always a good investment. Unfortunately, we face budgetary realities.” Henderson pointed to the front of the room where the projector displayed 581g again. “The solution to such problems is right there. We might find minerals and chemicals that could revolutionize energy, ship design, and construction. Just as important, Project Sail will be a technological success that will strengthen our standing in the solar system and that will benefit every one of our investments.”

  Leo Wren felt his face turn red. Henderson held him above a barrel while sounding like a grandfather teaching lessons to a child.

  He sat down and refused to look at Kost.

  Henderson said, “Now Professor Coffman, what is the goal of Project Sail?”

  “Ah, yes, well, to send SE 185 to Gliese 581g.”

  “And once there?”

  “To study the planet, including landing research teams on the surface.”

  “Outstanding!” Henderson clapped again. “Did you hear that? One hundred years from now people will remember your names as the brave pioneers who ushered in a new era in man’s exploration of the stars. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Wren muttered under his breath, tapped his knee with his thumb, and the hair on the back of his neck stood straight.

  Yes, it’s fucking wonderful.

  ---

  As the crew of SE 185 filed out, Captain Charles approached Leo Wren.

  “Stay.”

  Although his voice was even, Wren saw that Charles was about to explode.

  “Dr. King,” Charles called to the medical officer as she followed the rest from the room, “stay behind for a moment.”

  King approached the two as if on assignment for the bomb squad.

  When the room emptied, Captain Charles played his hand.

  “You have been working in England, right?”

  Wren answered, “Yes, Captain, I am an Englishman by birth. If what UVI wants is to build an Empire, you brought the right guy along; we wrote the book on Empire-building.”

  “You were there during The Cut?”

  Wren saw the direction this headed. For the second time today, a man who always stood up to a fight felt a wobble in his knees.

  Charles turned to Dr. King.

  “I understand the bacteria that spread across England in 2096 fused with human DNA, did it not?”

  King hesitated, first glancing at Wren before answering, “The bacteria remade Schwann cells into stem cells, which were then reprogrammed into harming the host.”

  Wren tried to sound tough but his voice cracked as he asked, “What the fuck are you getting at, Captain?”

  Charles asked King, “Is it true that during the outbreak many people living in England were exposed to the bacteria and survived?”

  “The germ evolved and adapted, changing into several varieties, some harmless, some even more lethal.”

  Charles faced Wren but spoke to the doctor.

  “The bacteria infected some who remained healthy, but it left behind permanent damage to their DNA and traces of The Cut.”

  “Yes, in cases where the Schwann cell transformation failed.”

  “And doctor, these traces can be extracted from an affected individual and--now what is the word? Help me here, Leo.”

  He muttered, “Weaponized.”

  “Dr. King, take another sample of Leo’s DNA and examine it for any abnormalities.”

  “Captain, he has passed the necessary screenings.”

  “You will take another sample. If you find anything abnormal, you will tell me, and if you do find anything, it may exclude our resident quantitative biologist from Project Sail. Of course, his dismissal might affect future employment opportunities. Don’t you think, Dr. Wren?”

  He stood there, not moving a muscle, although Wren assumed he would be moving for the next shuttle home soon. He had pissed off Charles, but he had pissed off King even more during the ride from Titan. She would look long and hard for any abnormalities.

  Charles said, “Funny Leo, you don’t normally have trouble speaking up, but you are as quiet as a mouse now.”

  25. Team Building

  Never once did Leo Wren regret speaking out during the mission briefing. He never considered he had gone too far or that his bellicose attitude was anything other than a personal drive to challenge bullshit and take authority to task. If the United Kingdom’s last Prime Minister had shown that type of backbone when confronting proposed bombing to contain The Cut, then England would not be a charred heap of ashes.

  He knew his approach intimidated people. His pugnacious personality frightened away colleagues, friends, even relatives. But the fault lay with them, not Leo Wren. They were too timid, too stupid, or too blind.

  That still held true as he sat in sick bay waiting for Dr. King to evaluate the latest test results. Someone had to call this mission what it was: a waste of valuable resources when places like Mars, South America, and—yes—England needed those resources to solve real, immediate problems.

  Nonetheless, an ache formed in the pit of his stomach as he considered the ramifications of his latest crusade for truth.

  He welcomed leaving Project Sail; there was nothing on Gliese 581g for Leo Wren. While he had willingly left England after nearly killing a countryman he mistook for a looter, he now wanted to return, if only to right that wrong.

  But when King found evidence of The Cut in his DNA, Captain Charles would terminate his employment with UVI then share the reason for his termination with potential employers. Wren figured he might find a job in external dome repair on Mars, or perhaps radioactive waste storage on the moon.

  Having traces of the bacteria nicknamed The Cut was c
ommon among those who lived in the United Kingdom during the infection. Such traces posed no danger to Wren or anyone around him; they were genetic scars. However, sometimes those scars left enough of the bacteria’s fingerprint that an unethical geneticist might use it as a blueprint for biological weapons.

  Going through with these genetic tests and using the results as justification to end his employment was retaliation for pissing off authority. Broadcasting those reasons was a punitive measure.

  Making it known that Leo Wren carried The Cut would be like telling the world of the 1990s that a person carried HIV; the mere mention of it would send any bearer into isolation. In this case, The Cut’s genetic scarring was not even a threat to Wren’s health, but it carried the stigma of a country-killer.

  The Cut conjured images of bodies in piles on London streets, soldiers gunning down refugees storming a channel ferry, and atomic fire slaughtering hundreds of thousands in the hope of annihilating a Petri dish of bacteria.

  So as Dr. King moved away from her computer and approached the two men waiting for the results, Leo prepared for the worst.

  She glanced at Wren and he sensed gloating in her eyes. While Charles was the instrument of his destruction, King would have her revenge by playing the role of messenger.

  Before she delivered the results, the door opened and Commander Hawthorne stepped into the room.

  “What is going on here? Why wasn’t I notified?”

  Charles snapped, “Commander, there is no reason for you to be here. Go back to your quarters and play poker or drink.”

  “Captain, as your XO I am charged with overseeing crew discipline. I should be handling this.”

  “I say otherwise, Commander, now stow it. Doctor, what did the tests find?”

  King unfolded a page of e-paper featuring photos taken with a high-powered microscope. She held the paper so Charles could clearly see the images.

  “I did a thorough evaluation using both the tests we ran today and the tests that Dr. Wren has on file with UVI medical. These images are close-ups of his Schwann cells at a magnification of—”

  “Doctor, I want a simple answer.”

  “Captain, I found no abnormalities in the DNA of Dr. Leo Wren.”