by Dom Testa
“People won’t listen to him,” Dr. Bauer said. “There’s too much momentum with Galahad. We’re less than two months from—”
His comment was interrupted by a severe cough, followed by another. He grabbed his chest and bent forward. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Dr. Zimmer reached out a hand and gently touched his assistant on the forearm.
“Can I get you something, Fenton?”
“No,” Dr. Bauer said between heavy breaths. “It’s nothing, really. I just get a spasm every now and then. It’s already over. I’m fine.”
Dr. Zimmer knew that was a lie, but he let the incident pass without further comment. Dr. Bauer had been seeing the best physicians in order to stave off the encroaching Bhaktul Disease. He was slowly losing the fight, but obviously insistent upon maintaining his pride. A few reports had claimed Bhaktul would often affect the mental capacities of its victims, driving some to insanity. Zimmer was sure that this was his colleague’s biggest fear. Bauer’s entire career was built on the foundation of his adept mind. He could handle the coughing; an attack on his brain, however, would be unthinkable.
“Anyway,” Bauer said finally, “what I was saying was that we’re less than two months from launch. There’s not enough time for Scofield to rally enough people to stop us. He’s just a news story right now.”
“You might be right. But I still want to boost security. Nobody—absolutely nobody—gets inside this compound without clearance.”
“Understood,” Bauer said. “There’s some good news, by the way.”
“Please, anything!” Zimmer said.
“That report about the ship’s construction falling behind? Well, not true. I spoke with the Space Authority about an hour ago and they say the first payload of equipment and supplies is ready to be loaded aboard. They’ll launch the first sealed containers for the Storage Sections early next week.”
“And you’re sure you don’t need my help with those?” Zimmer said.
Dr. Bauer shook his head. “No, I told you I would handle the Storage Sections. You’ve got enough on your hands. Let me take care of those.”
He started to get up, then paused and looked across at the project director.
“Oh, and another thing. Roy Orzini wants to meet with us about that computer creation of his.”
“What’s up?”
Bauer shrugged. “Not sure. But I can guess. He wrote me a pretty stern e-mail yesterday.”
“About?”
“About shifting more control of the ship from the kids to … to—what’s it called now? Roc?”
Zimmer smiled. “And why is he unhappy about that? He tells me that Roc can handle anything.”
“Yeah, that’s what he tells me, too,” Bauer said. “But I think he’s starting to wonder if we’re putting too many eggs in one basket.”
“Meaning what? That we’re putting too much control in Roc’s hands, and that if there’s a problem—”
“—then the ship will be in trouble,” Bauer said. “Yeah, that’s what he thinks.”
“But you disagree.”
Bauer sat still for a moment, thinking about his answer.
“Listen, it’s not that these kids aren’t very bright,” he said. “On the contrary, we’ve picked the brightest of the bright. They’re brilliant. But they’re kids. We’re putting so much pressure on them, so much weight on those teenage shoulders, that— in my opinion—anything we can do to lighten that load will be critical. So, yeah, I’m afraid I have to disagree with the very excitable Mr. Orzini. He tells us that Roc can handle it; then I say let the computer handle it all, and let these kids mature into the responsibilities over time.”
Dr. Zimmer considered this for a minute.
“Well,” he said, “you make a good point. Tell Roy we can talk tonight at dinner. I at least owe him the chance to make his case.”
“Okay,” Bauer said. “And speaking of dinner, if you need me this afternoon I’ll be wrapping up the delivery of those seeds for Galahad’s farm. You’ll be relieved to know that so far every country’s shipments have been on time. Our little colonists are going to be eating quite well.”
Dr. Zimmer took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. “Well, delightful,” he said with a touch of weariness in his voice. “But I won’t truly feel relieved until these kids are gone. Away from Bhaktul. And away from Tyler Scofield.”
19
Triana sat at the desk in her room, biting her lip and staring at the piles she had rearranged twice without doing anything to eliminate the clutter. She had scribbled a few notes on her electronic work pad for this morning’s meeting, but had set it aside in favor of her personal journal.
The crew needs to be reassured that things are fine. We’re on course, all systems are operating smoothly. But I can feel a sense of panic starting to creep in. Just saying everything’s okay is a mistake. They won’t buy that, and I don’t blame them. Dad used to say “people will tolerate bad news; they won’t tolerate deception. Shoot straight.” So now I have to somehow break the news without spooking them even more.
She closed the journal and swapped her pen for the work pad stylus. It was time to get back to work, time to finish her speech to the crew. Looking at it now, she grimaced at all of the lines she had written and scratched out. Her communication skills were very good, but she was having a hard time deciding how to approach this. The stylus hung about half an inch above the work pad, waiting for some type of signal from her brain. Nothing was coming to her now, so she set it down.
“Roc,” she called out. “What am I doing here?”
The mellow voice of Roy Orzini answered her. “Are you writing an essay called ‘Why Roc Is the Coolest Thing in the Solar System and Beyond’?”
“I mean, what am I doing here? On this ship? In this position of … of …”
“Leadership?” Roc said.
“Well, yeah,” Tree said. “Why did Sela have to back out? Why didn’t they choose Gap as her replacement? Why not Bon, for that matter? He seems to know everything.”
“He certainly seems to know how to push your hot buttons,” Roc said. “Pardon me for saying this, Tree, but don’t you think it’s time you quit pouting?”
“Pouting?”
“You’ve been pouting since the day we left. First, you couldn’t seem to leave fast enough, and now that we have left you’re acting like you don’t want to be here at all. You’re pouting. And it’s very unbecoming.”
When Tree didn’t respond, Roc continued. “You know, a lot of people thought that it took a long, long list of qualifications in order to be considered for this mission. There were a lot of people who never nominated their children or their students because they thought the odds were too tough. But the truth is, Dr. Zimmer really had just two main requirements. Would you like to know what they were?”
“Gap says we were picked for our brains and bravery,” Triana said.
“Gap fell on his head a few too many times when he was a gymnast,” Roc shot back. “That would be the simplest of answers, and maybe what someone else might have searched for. But not Dr. Z.”
“So what was he looking for?”
“He would pull my plug if he knew I was telling you this. But I think you should know what made you pass the test. First, you had to be not just smart, but quick to absorb new ideas and new solutions. A genius with a closed mind is worthless on this trip. Worthless in general, some might say. I should know; I’m a genius.”
Tree thought about that for a moment, biting her lip again. “And second?”
“Second, complete confidence in your own ability. Dr. Zimmer wanted young people who believed in themselves and believed that they were special. Not cocky, but confident.”
Triana sat still, staring at her desk without seeing it. What Roc had said was true; every kid on Galahad was sure they belonged on the mission. She believed it, too. This was her place, her time, her calling. This was what she was born to.
So why the doubts now? Why the confus
ion? Was this one of the defining moments of her command? Of her life? And was she up to the challenge?
Roc broke the silence. “Your father knew that you should be here.”
Tree looked up with a start. “What are you talking about? My dad didn’t even know I was selected—”
“That’s right,” Roc said. “He died before the selection process was finished. But he knew you were a candidate.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because he sent a personal data disc directly to Dr. Zimmer and the Galahad committee. It was all about you. Your courage. Your loyalty. Your intellect. It was one of the last things he did before going to the hospital.”
Triana’s eyes started to fill with tears, but she let Roc continue.
“Your father had no idea what the criteria for selection were. But he knew his daughter, and knew what was inside you. When he and your mother separated, you spent time with both parents, but made your own decision to live with your father. Your mother consented without argument.
“When faced with choices in education, you didn’t hesitate. You chose the most demanding classes in the most demanding school. You knew you would succeed, and you did.
“When your father fell ill, you chose to sacrifice your sports, your hobbies, and your free time to attend to him. Other families requested special assistance; you believed you could handle the responsibility, and you did.
“So you’re going through yet another difficult time,” Roc added. “I don’t believe anyone else on Galahad is better equipped to handle it than you. Dr. Zimmer felt the same way. And so did your father.”
Triana remained still and quiet. One solitary tear had started to make its way down her cheek, but it never had a chance. She wiped it away and picked up the stylus pen from her desk.
Bending over and resting her head on one hand, she began writing again on her work pad. After a silent minute of concentration she said, “Thank you, Roc.”
“You’re welcome. Now back to work. And remember, it’s not just ‘coolest in the solar system,’ it’s ‘coolest in the solar system and beyond.’ ”
20
There were two weeks left before the crew of Galahad would leave their home planet and enter the Incubator orbiting as part of the space station. Their training was about as complete as could be expected. As Dr. Armistead put it, “We could work with them for another two years and still not prepare them for everything they’re going to encounter.”
Wallace Zimmer didn’t want their last two weeks on Earth spent in training. Instead he sent each of them home. He gathered them all together for a final briefing before they scattered. “Soak up everything you possibly can,” he said. “If you love the beach, spend hours and hours on the beach. If you love the mountains, climb every one you can. If you want to walk in the forest, inhale every fresh breath of pine that you can. Come back with your sensory organs overloaded. Stock up enough memories to last you five years.
“And one other thing,” he added as he watched their eyes begin to mist over. “Embrace your loved ones. Tell them everything you’ve ever wanted to say to them. Show them how much you love them.” He tapped his chest softly. “Let them know that you will carry them with you on your journey, that they will never be far away. Comfort them, and let them comfort you.”
He looked out among the many faces, the faces from dozens of countries, each representing a unique history and outlook. The faces of Eos, staring back at him, making him proud.
“I want to tell you to have fun,” he said, “but I don’t expect you to. Good-byes are never easy. I suspect that most of you will grow up more in the next two weeks than at any other point in your lives.”
With a few closing instructions from Dr. Armistead regarding their return and what items they could and could not bring, the group stood up slowly and filed out of the room. Triana lingered behind, which was not surprising to Dr. Zimmer. He waited until the room had emptied before he came to sit next to her.
“Dr. Armistead tells me that you’re staying here for these two weeks,” he said softly. “Is that right?”
Triana fidgeted in her seat for a moment, biting her lip. “Yes,” she said. “I don’t really have anywhere to go.”
“You still have no interest in seeing your mother? We can fly you out to Indianapolis this afternoon.”
Triana shook her head. “No, thanks.”
“What about Colorado? It might do you good to see some old friends and do a little hiking in the hills.”
“No, but thank you. I don’t …” She paused for a second. “My memories of that stuff are with my dad. I think that’s how I’d like to leave them.”
Zimmer took a long, deep breath. “Tree, you have become very special to me over the last year and a half. It sounds very corny to say, I know, but you are the closest thing to a daughter that I’ve known in my life. When you have excelled in your studies, I’ve been proud. When you’ve struggled with the responsibilities that come with leadership, I’ve secretly cheered you on.” He put his arm around her. “And when you hurt, I hurt a little bit, too.”
When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m ready to launch right now,” she said. “The only person I needed to say good-bye to was my dad, and they wouldn’t let me do that.”
“I understand,” Dr. Zimmer said. “It’s your decision, of course. I won’t tell you how to spend your time before you head up to the Incubator. But I’d like to give you something to think about for the next two weeks, if that’s okay.”
She sat quietly, staring ahead, so he continued. “Every person deals with grief in their own unique way. Some people break down into intense crying fits. Others cling to their friends and family, leaning on them for support. I think the fact that you’re angry about it is fine, Tree. You have a right to be angry. The closest person to you in the world was taken away, and the rest of your world is being turned upside down at the same time. I don’t blame you for wanting to run away. Galahad is your getaway vehicle, in a sense.
“But I think you’ll discover something for yourself before too long. You can’t ever run away from your pain. It’s like your shadow, Tree. It will drag along behind you no matter how far you run. Leaving Earth will not magically disconnect your feelings and your anger about your dad. When you arrive at Eos you’ll feel the same sense of loss that you feel today.”
She was still quiet, but he could tell that she was listening, absorbing what he was saying. That was one of her qualities that he appreciated the most. Triana never seemed to make snap judgments without weighing all of the information. Her decisions were firm, but at least they were well considered.
“You’ll have a lot of people on this ship who would love nothing more than to be friends with you,” he said. “If you give them a chance I think you’ll find that they can help you. Not just with the duties of running the mission, but with your life, too.”
Triana nodded slowly. “Okay,” was all she said.
He patted her on the shoulder, then stood up. “And in the meantime,” he said, “please don’t be so anxious to leave everything behind. A day will come when you’ll wish you had these two weeks back again.”
He smiled at her, then turned and walked out of the room. She sat alone, biting her lip and drumming her fingers on her knee.
21
By eight fifteen, the Learning Center, or simply School, as it was usually called, was buzzing. Essentially an auditorium, it had 250 seats curved in a half circle facing the stage. Rows of stadium seats ascended high enough to provide everyone a good view. Galahad’s ongoing educational courses would take place here, with Roc providing the lesson plans and tutorials. A giant vidscreen hung behind the stage, a window into the giant warehouse of knowledge stored within the ship.
The room was also the natural meeting place whenever an assembly of the crew was required. This morning, of the 251 crew members, forty-five were obliged to be on duty, carrying out the tasks necessary to keep the ship running sm
oothly. The majority of those were at the Farms, tending to the fragile resources that provided a hungry crew with nourishment for the long voyage. Others were handling the maintenance chores that kept Galahad clean and in top condition.
The remainder of the crew, however, were finding a seat for this first meeting called by Triana. A smattering of nervous laughter could be heard while greetings and waves were exchanged. One by one the Council members walked in and quickly made their way to the front of the auditorium.
Triana stepped inside at precisely eight thirty. Galahad’s video cameras picked her up as she stepped to the podium, her image and voice ready to be transmitted to the ship’s monitors and the working crew who couldn’t attend.
The large group facing her quieted down as she peered first at her notes on the work pad before her, then at the assembled crew.
“Thank you for being here on time,” she began. “I promise to have you out of here before nine o’clock, because as you probably know by now, I’m not very gabby.”
A ripple of laughter spread across the room. Lita, who was sitting in the front row with the other Council members, gave her friend a look of encouragement.
Triana cleared her throat and continued. “Let me first say that you’ve all done remarkably well during this first week. All of the work has been finished on schedule, all of the departments are in perfect shape, and no one has been hurt. Well …” she cracked a faint smile. “Not counting three Boarding injuries. Lita says two were just bruises and scrapes, one was a broken finger. Thank you for at least wearing your helmets.”
“With these three guys, helmets wouldn’t matter!” Channy yelled from the first row. “There’s not much bouncing around in those thick skulls to get damaged.”
