T-Minus Two

by K. G. MacGregor

  Goose bumps rose on Mila’s arms and chest as she absorbed his inspirational words.

  Scientists laid the groundwork for travel to Mars over fifty years ago, and had built upon it with each successive program. By the turn of the century, technology had evolved that could transport astronauts across millions of kilometers of space and land their craft on the planet’s surface. Since then, the principal barrier to a Mars mission had been funding.

  The Tenacity Project was budgeted at forty-six billion dollars, two-thirds of which was provided personally by Sir Charles. He’d pooled his billions with several private corporations and a handful of wealthy donors who shared his fascination with space travel. Once the colony was established, they anticipated an influx of funding from governments, foundations and corporations all over the world to help it grow.

  “Let me offer my congratulations for your achievement, not only for making it this far in the selection process, but also for the contributions many of you have already made in your specialized fields. Space alloys that protect from radiation. Propulsion systems that convert sheets of ice to energy and breathable air. Cloning technology that ensures a sustainable, healthy diet. All of these advancements and dozens of others were achieved by people in this room.”

  Mila glowed with pride at the special mention of her work. Surely that gave her the inside track, even if she was sitting at the top of the room. Who needed a yarmulke when she had a bullet point like that on her résumé?

  “Indeed, you all are exemplary candidates for this remarkable expedition. I wish you the best of fortune as we determine the final four teams that will train for the Tenacity mission. The challenge before us requires many hands. Every person in this room possesses unique skills and expertise that can ultimately contribute to our success. Those of you who are not chosen to go shall be offered an opportunity to join the hundreds of engineers and scientists around the world already on board. It is my hope you will agree to stay on—perhaps even at our new project headquarters here in this island paradise—in order to help ensure the mission’s success. And there shall be more opportunities to join the colony as the project grows.”

  Mila had left Berlin with the clear expectation of moving wherever the project took her, as the training facilities and technology centers were located all over the world—Germany, Japan, Russia and the US. If her youth worked against her this time, she would try again for a seat on a future launch. She possessed the ultimate quality of an astronaut—tenacity.

  * * *

  Jancey Beaumont, seated in her alphabetically-assigned seat near the front of the theater, had no intention of hanging around if she were cut from the candidate pool. Her backup plan was a cabin off the beaten path in Sedona. If she couldn’t return to space, she might as well call it a career—at least when it came to working in someone else’s lab. Her years at elite universities and on the speaker’s circuit had paid well, leaving her plenty of money to get started toward self-sufficiency. It wasn’t as if she needed a lot, since her life’s work was a blueprint for survival on very few resources.

  “The greatest challenge you’ll face on Mars is an environment that is hostile to human life,” Sir Charles continued, “with only one other person to share the workload and provide companionship—perhaps for all eternity.”

  Companionship…the last thing Jancey wanted. If she had her way, this would be a solo mission like Guardian. Nothing would please her more than to step alone aboard a ship bound for Mars knowing she’d never return. She’d proven long ago she could survive in space without company or replenishment of supplies. As a molecular biologist, she knew how to feed herself, especially given a plentiful water supply like the one on Mars. Coupled with the technical skills she’d gained from air force and NASA training, she was by far the most qualified to undertake this mission.

  A glance around the hall confirmed her assumption that only a quarter of the candidates were women. The STEM fields—science, technology, engineering and mathematics—were notoriously biased in favor of men. Though she appreciated the project’s emphasis on equal opportunity during the application phase, there were no guarantees a woman would make the final cut. She’d have liked her chances more had there not been forty-some married couples among the remaining contenders, including three with one already a trained astronaut. Couples had been encouraged to apply under the rationale that they were well suited to a long-term life in close quarters. Single candidates like her would have to pair with someone and then prove they could live and work together, something the couples had already done.

  That meant Jancey had to take one of these dolts with her if she were chosen.

  It wasn’t fair to call them dolts, she conceded, not if they’d made it this far. Some, in fact, brought a lot to the party. An alloy that deflected radiation could add years to the lives of space travelers. Smart enough, but a metals expert was more useful in a laboratory on Earth than aboard a vessel, at least until the colony was established. The engineer who’d repurposed the propulsion system was far more serviceable. With her luck, she’d pair with him and he’d turn out to be a misogynistic jerk. Just what she needed for an eight-month trip in a mere seventeen cubic meters of living space.

  The university science departments where she’d taught since leaving the space program were full of men who thought they were better, smarter and more deserving than any woman. Ditto for the air force. The one place she’d always felt respected was NASA, but it wasn’t enough to save her from the budget cuts that gutted programs for long-term space flights. The ax had fallen on everyone.

  Sir Charles flashed a cheesy slide of frontier settlers chopping down trees for their log cabin. “Two centuries ago, pioneers set out across the Great Plains of America to make a new life in a barren land. Their days were spent in tenacious pursuit of their very survival, whatever it took to feed their families, to shelter against the elements, to draw from nature and bend it to their will. This is the life that awaits our colonists.”

  By the looks of it, Jancey, at forty-three, was in the middle of the pack age-wise. Forty-seven at launch if she were chosen to go first. What she lacked in vigor—assuming she lacked anything—she made up for in experience. Plus she’d already proven her suitability, having spent an extended period in space with no ill effects.

  That also was true for Colonel Marlon Quinn, an African-American from Detroit who’d logged five months at the International Space Station. Several other NASA alumni had made the cut for Tenacity as well, but only she and Marlon had long-term space experience. Besides the risk of exposure to increased levels of radiation, the biggest threat from living in zero gravity was intracranial pressure that could cause brain damage, loss of vision or pituitary problems. For whatever reason—genetics, metabolism, luck—she and Marlon had been unfazed. If she had to go with someone, it might as well be him.

  Sir Charles glanced her way and smiled. “As I noted earlier, the Tenacity Project has already reached out to a number of experts across a variety of fields we deemed essential for success. Many of them sit among you, dignitaries in their own right. You’ll meet some of them today, as we’ve asked them to share their expertise in our overview. The first shall discuss some of the nutritional issues that must be addressed in order to survive on Mars. She made her first and only trip to space fourteen years ago aboard Guardian, setting the endurance record for American astronauts as a mere lass of twenty-nine. It would have been longer had she not deviated from her mission to perform a daring rescue…”

  As he droned on with his introduction, Jancey made her way to the stage, marching stiffly, a habit left over from her military days. From her speaking engagements, she was accustomed to public accolades, but humbled by the reception and eager to return to her seat. She’d never been comfortable in crowds. Yet another reason to go to Mars.

  “It is my distinct pleasure to introduce Major Jancey Beaumont.”

  She acknowledged the applause with a small wave and adjusted the microphone to h
er five-foot-five frame. “Thank you, Sir Charles, not only for that gracious introduction, but for recognizing the colonization of Mars as an idea whose time has come. Your legacy for all time will be that of a visionary, the man who not only dreamed but made it happen.”

  She stepped back from the podium and joined the other candidates in prolonged applause. It didn’t hurt to lavish praise on the man whose word likely carried more weight than any other.

  “I’ve been asked to give a brief overview of some of the challenges our colonists will face. It’s true that space travelers are like America’s pioneers, but with far harsher conditions. It will take extraordinary effort to sustain life in a place where you cannot count on the soil. Where the water you drink and the air you breathe must be reconstituted at the molecular level. Where failure to maintain equipment can cost you your life in a matter of minutes.”

  On her cue, the slide changed to a small flat of seedlings underneath an LED grow light.

  “When you entered the hall, you were given a newly developed tablet designed to boost energy levels. We’ll be taking metabolic measures this afternoon to evaluate its effects.”

  A rustling of cellophane suggested more than a few had failed to follow instructions, so she gave them a moment to comply.

  “Confession…those weren’t really energy tablets. They were vitamins formulated at the cellular level from the parts of plants we don’t generally eat—the pits, stems and rinds. The plants were grown in a lab using fertilizer made of human feces.” She paused for a collective groan. “And as you may also have realized, you washed them down with recycled urine. There is no such thing as waste in space.”

  Chapter Two

  Jancey Beaumont!

  Mila was bursting with excitement as she exited the lecture hall, craning her neck for a close-up glimpse. She’d just spent three hours in the same room with her all-time hero and hadn’t even realized it until she took the stage. Not only was the major obviously in Sir Charles’s inner circle, she also was a candidate for Tenacity.

  How stupid of her not to realize sooner that the major would apply for the project. In every interview she’d ever granted—Mila had her name on a Google alert—she’d said her goal was to return to space. She was an expert in long-term space travel, probably the foremost expert in the world. A couple of Russians had stayed longer in space at the International Space Station, but not in a solo craft where they grew and prepared their own food. Jancey Beaumont was the perfect choice for a mission to Mars.

  And Mila was the perfect choice to accompany her, or so she believed, since their skills were complementary. Beaumont was a molecular biologist. She could take the lead in food production while Mila handled the mechanical aspects—energy, life support systems and construction of the foundation for the colony. The perfect team.

  From her seat at the top of the room, it took nearly ten minutes of her forty-minute lunch break to reach the exit. So much for getting a better glimpse of Beaumont.

  “Mila…Mila! Wait up.” It was Andi Toloti, her assigned roommate in the dormitory. Toloti had an impressive résumé, having completed a post-doc in organic chemistry at NASA. She was in her early thirties, compact and muscular with wavy blond hair, and according to her profile, gay. A Houston native whose father worked at Mission Control, she was obnoxiously confident of her chances of making the final cut. “Let’s grab some chow before the line gets too long.”

  She’d noticed Toloti three seats down in the theater but deliberately ignored her in favor of Isaac so as not to be drawn into conversation. After only one night together in the dorm, it was clear the woman possessed most of the qualities Mila found supremely annoying in colleagues—she talked incessantly, waded too far into personal matters and seemed to think she was an authority on everything.

  “No time,” Mila answered. “There was an error on my profile sheet and I need to get it straightened out.” It was an outright lie for which she felt no remorse.

  “No shit? Lemme see what they did. Maybe I oughtta come along and help explain it in case they have trouble understanding ya.”

  Toloti had a distinctive drawl, and a tendency to drop both vowels and consonants. A southern US tendency, and one of the many dialects spoken among the candidates. Just because English was the international language of scientific literature didn’t mean everyone spoke it with the same inflections.

  “Why would they have trouble understanding me? I speak perfect English.” She knew it as well as she did her native Bulgarian. Along with German and Dutch, and enough Russian to get by. “Do they speak something different in administration? Texan?”

  Toloti laughed, oblivious to the fact she’d just been insulted. “Nah, I reckon you’ll be okay. But just so you know…Texan’s not a language.”

  Mila bloody well knew that, and the idea that Toloti thought she was stupid enough to believe otherwise made her want to scream. She’d pass on going to Mars if it meant sharing the rest of her life with such an idiot. No, she’d put up with her until it was too late to return to Earth and then push her out the airlock.

  The Tenacity Project was temporarily headquartered at the University of Hawaii–Hilo. With most of the students gone for the summer, they had the run of the campus, including the cafeteria, for the two weeks needed to whittle the group down to thirty-two. Their first cut—to one-hundred-twenty-eight—would come in only three days.

  Satisfied with her sinister plan, she detoured toward the administration office until she saw Toloti join another woman from their dormitory suite. Then she doubled back and got into the cafeteria line, which was moving quickly. The reason became clear when she reached the front and realized the menu wasn’t à la carte—the food trays were prefilled by cafeteria workers in an assembly line. Everyone was given exactly the same lunch.

  “Excuse me, what is this purple stuff?”

  The Polynesian woman behind the food counter, wearing a white flower over her ear, smiled brightly. “It’s called poi. Made from taro, a root vegetable. It’s one of our favorite foods in Hawaii.”

  The woman was so obviously proud, Mila didn’t have the heart to tell her she had no intention of putting something so gross-looking in her mouth.

  Tray in hand, she scanned the room in search of Toloti—so she could sit as far away as possible. To her astonishment, there was an empty seat across from none other than Jancey Beaumont.

  Did she dare? Of course she did. She might never have another chance to rub shoulders with someone so…so heroic. So iconic. So captivating. “May I join you?”

  The major never stopped eating, just nodded toward the open seat.

  Mila took it as a yes and sat, marveling at her luck. It would take all of her self-restraint not to blurt out how excited she was. That had it not been for the major’s mission on Guardian, she might never have realized her passion for space.

  Up close and in person, the major was stunning, especially her eyes, the deepest green Mila had ever seen. Her dark brown hair was cut short in variable lengths, giving it a ragged, carefree look, a perfect style for zero gravity.

  Even more astonishing were her forearms. The bulging muscles were out of proportion to the rest of her slender body.

  “I have to admit, Major, you got me with your energy tablet trick. For a minute there I think I even imagined myself feeling more vibrant.”

  “Good thing there wasn’t an actual assessment afterward,” the major said, the husky timbre of her voice sending a ripple up Mila’s spine. “You might have been disqualified for your inability to provide accurate self-reports.”

  Taken aback by the no-nonsense response, Mila felt her face grow hot. The last thing she wanted was to appear incompetent to Jancey Beaumont, who was important enough that Sir Charles had invited her to speak during the introduction. What if she shared that stupid remark with the selection committee?

  “I’m sure I could have performed a factual evaluation if I’d concentrated on the effects.”

  As a teenage
r embarking on a career in space science, she’d fantasized about a chance meeting like this with the woman who’d inspired her. They’d have a collegial discussion and the major would be impressed with her brilliance, so much that they’d become friends. Then someday the major would fall in love with her…since it was, after all, a fantasy.

  None of it was playing out that way, she thought miserably as she downed her lunch. The sooner she finished and got out of there, the sooner she’d stop making a fool of herself.

  The major peered across the table at her badge. “Todorov…Russian?”

  “Bulgarian, but I grew up in Berlin. Studied in the Netherlands. Astronautical engineering.” She was talking too much, just like Toloti.

  “Delft, I assume. About the only decent option in Europe.”

  “That’s right. I studied with—”

  “Why not in the US? All the top programs are here. Stanford. MIT. Purdue.”

  Mila couldn’t very well say she’d chosen Delft because it was close to home, not when she was competing for the chance to go to Mars. “Delft was the best place for me at the time. When I look back on my accomplishments there, it’s difficult to think I could have been as successful anywhere else.”

  This was turning into a disaster. She should have sucked it up and eaten with Toloti where she belonged, instead of inviting herself to join one of the most accomplished space travelers in the world. It was depressing to recognize the gulf between candidates like Jancey Beaumont and common grunts like her. No way would she make the grade against competition of that caliber.

  Suddenly self-conscious, she pushed back her chair and gripped her tray. “Thank you for letting me join you.”

  “You haven’t eaten your poi.”

  Mila swallowed air, noting the major had cleaned her plate.