by Dom Testa
Bon blinked up at him. “What?”
“You heard me. Please, no arguing. Just hand it over.”
“I don’t have it.”
Gap lowered his hand and sighed. “All right, take me to that clearing and let’s pick it up. I could probably find my way there eventually, but I don’t feel like searching. Let’s go.”
“It’s not there,” Bon said with a puzzled look. “I thought you had it already.”
“Is this another game?”
“I don’t have it,” Bon said again. His tone, and the look on his face, convinced Gap that he was telling the truth.
The two were silent for a full minute, eyeing each other. Gap turned to look out the large window into the dome. “One of the workers, perhaps? Have you asked around?”
“It’s early; I’m waiting for them to show up. I would imagine that if one of them stumbled across it, they’ll bring it to me this morning.”
“And you’d rather not just send a mass e-mail to them?”
Bon shook his head. “Let’s just say I’d rather not advertise the fact that it’s missing.” He paused, then leaned back in his chair and said, “It’ll turn up.”
19
By late Friday afternoon the ship’s radiation shield had sputtered five more times, and the crew was visibly on edge. One of the failures spanned almost three seconds, and the general consensus was that a full-fledged collapse might happen at any time.
Gap alternated his attention between solving that problem and preparing for the final election forum. Hannah’s bruise theory had captured the imagination of most crew members, and it seemed that the election results might very well depend upon whoever came up with the best solution. Gap had climbed out of bed before six to start in again, and now felt worn down physically. But he remained optimistic.
Optimistic despite the disturbing post he’d seen when he logged on to his computer around noon.
Anyone could post to the community page, and had the option to do so anonymously. Occasional unsigned posts made their way to the main screen, usually to voice minor gripes or suggestions, but they were rare; the general feeling was that anonymous posts carried far less credibility. This particular post grabbed attention with its title: Exploring the Bruise.
Taking up almost two full pages, it allegedly had been submitted by Friends of Hannah, and began by recapping her description of the wormholes’ effect on space. What followed was grim. Several paragraphs detailed the damage that Galahad was experiencing, using terms such as critical, dire, and deadly. The post also went on to claim that the same destructive force was slowly attacking their own bodies, as well. One particular passage stood out:
Like an invisible cancer, the sheer corrosive power of the galaxy’s radiation is slowly, but inevitably, tearing down our protective walls. How much longer can we stand the assault? We need a leader who can not only find the answers, but keep order among a crew that is obviously unraveling.
Time, the post went on to add, was not a luxury at this point. The crew owed a debt of thanks to Hannah for quickly bringing the issue to their attention, and hopefully she would lead the charge to finding a solution. Otherwise, the authors predicted, both the ship and the crew would be atomically ripped to shreds.
Gap read with interest, aware that the writers—whoever Friends of Hannah might be—were responsible enough to close their post with a footnote that stated it was all simply theory. But, tucked quietly within the final lines, the disclaimer was all but lost in the white noise of fear.
He refused to let the post drag him down, even the insinuation that his lack of leadership was responsible for the violence that had broken out. Roc’s charge that he pull himself up from the doldrums and concentrate on finding a cure for the ship’s ills had rejuvenated him. Even when he overheard workers in the Engineering section talking about Hannah and her sparkling performance at the first forum, he used it as motivation. Now, as the time neared for his next opportunity on stage, he ignored the anonymous propaganda, put his head down, and bulled forward.
And it felt good.
With an hour to go before the forum, he finished the work in his office and rushed up to his room to spend a few moments in quiet meditation. Sitting in semi-darkness with his legs crossed and eyes closed, he drifted in the low sprinkling of traditional Chinese music that filtered through the speakers. For nearly ten minutes he regulated his breathing, inhaling deeply, holding it for several seconds, and then slowly exhaling. He allowed his mind to drain all of the stress and frenzied activity of the day, and soon he could almost smell the mixture of grasses and tree blossoms from the meadow in which he imagined himself.
Then, without a warning of any kind, the mood was shattered.
“Are there lyrics to that song you’re listening to?” Roc said. “You certainly can’t dance to it—not that I want you to, that would be devastating to watch—and it doesn’t seem likely to inspire one to amazing athletic feats, like running backward through cones, or juggling flaming bowling pins. I’m hoping that the lyrics mean something profound. Like ‘I Might Be Missing You, But I’m Really Not Looking That Hard.’ Something like that.”
Gap wanted to be angry for the interruption, but instead caught himself laughing. “I don’t think this one has lyrics. It’s meant to be soothing and relaxing.”
“Makes me want to slam my head in a car door,” the computer said. “Which would be outrageous on two levels. One, we have no cars on the ship, and two, I don’t have a head.”
“Let’s put aside the fact that I really don’t care if you like this music or not,” Gap said. “I’m sure there’s a legitimate reason for you to bust in like this, when you know I have a big presentation in—” He squinted over towards the clock on his desk vidscreen. “—in thirty-six minutes.”
“It’s completely legitimate. You asked earlier for some calculations, and I’ve downloaded them into your workpad.”
Gap straightened out his legs, leaned back into one of his favorite yoga poses, then pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the desk. He flipped through various screens on his workpad until he came to the file he was looking for. After a minute of concentration, he nodded.
“That’s great. Thank you, Roc.”
“How do you think the crew will take to your suggestion based on these figures?” the computer said.
“Oh…” Gap stretched again. “I’d say that a third will support it, a third will be skeptical, and a third will have to go and think about it. Pretty typical.”
“Well, good luck,” Roc said. “There’s an old theater custom on Earth to tell the actors to ‘break a leg.’ It doesn’t mean to literally break your leg, but in your case it might be a great idea. That way you could get pity votes, and after the other night you might need them. Look at Rico; he broke his arm doing something stupid like falling out of the bleachers, and the girls are still all over him. Can you break something in the next few minutes? Even a hairline fracture might be enough.”
“Lucky me,” Gap said, “to be traveling across the galaxy at near the speed of light with the world’s first electronic comedian. Why don’t you go compile a list of prime numbers for a few hours?”
“Don’t forget to comb your hair,” the computer said.
Thirty minutes later Gap walked into the auditorium. Once again it was almost full, with the only empty seats explained by the crew members who were on mandatory work duty. Hannah was in her same seat; she nodded politely to him, and in return he flashed a large smile.
Once again Gina climbed to the stage to address the crew. She stood at a small podium set off to the side of the stage.
“Welcome to the second—and final—election forum. Tonight we have a slightly different format. Our two candidates for the position of Council Leader will begin with prepared opening statements, but the remainder of the forum will consist of questions that I, as the moderator, have prepared for the evening. Afterward, the candidates will have three minutes to summarize their points
and positions.
“I think you’re all aware of the procedures for tomorrow’s election, but if you have any questions you’ll find the information available on your workpad or the vidscreen in your room. Please remember to cast your ballot on your vidscreen prior to three o’clock; no exceptions. Results will be announced at six tomorrow evening.”
There was a hum of conversation across the room, and Gina waited patiently for it to die down. “The candidates have agreed that since Gap went first the other night, Hannah would have the honors this evening. So please welcome our two crew members vying for the position of Galahad Council Leader: Hannah Ross and Gap Lee.”
They walked up the stairs and to their respective podiums together, each acknowledging the applause from the crowd. After taking two deep breaths—and, Gap noticed, aligning her workpad so that it was flush with the edge of the podium—Hannah began her opening statement. She addressed the need for unity, regardless of the outcome of the election, and vowed to remain an enthusiastic and productive member of the crew no matter what results were posted.
Gap noted that she made no mention whatsoever of the anonymous post, nor any mention of the theory that had electrified the crew only two nights earlier. Apparently she was content to wait until the inevitable questions from Gina regarding the possible solution. Her remarks were brief and to the point, and she finished in less than two minutes.
All eyes turned to Gap. He began with his head lowered, staring at an invisible spot on the podium. “It has occurred to me that what we’re asking you to do in the next twenty-four hours is predict the future. This thought came to me while I was thinking about the two crew members who began this journey with us, but aren’t here tonight.
“Alexa was blessed—although many times she felt she was cursed—with the ability to see the future. It frightened her most of the time, as it probably would any of us. Triana believed that she saw our future, too, and because of that she chose to risk her life to give the rest of us a fighting chance. And I think it’s a safe bet that when she plunged into that wormhole, she was frightened as well.”
Gap finally raised his head and looked out across the room. “You’re being asked to evaluate Hannah, and to evaluate me. Your job is to not only gauge what you hear from us tonight, but to also predict the future. One of us will soon take charge of this mission, and will be responsible for decisions that our lives depend upon. That in itself would normally make anyone frightened.
“But you know what? We’ve lived with fear too much in the last year. I don’t want to live that way anymore. I’m challenging all of you tonight to take the time to really consider what you’re going to hear from both of us tonight, and instead of making a decision based on fear, make your decision based on faith.”
He let the words sink in, and saw several crew members turn to look at their neighbors.
“In this case,” he continued, “I’m not talking about religious or spiritual faith, although many of you will call upon that as well. I’m talking about faith in yourself, faith in your fellow crew members, and faith in the mission itself. We all have to devote the next stretch of our journey to making positive steps forward, to solving our problems through cooperation and hard work, and to shoving aside the fear that has stalked us for too long. All of that will require faith that we summon from deep inside.
“And, when it comes time to predict our future, to predict which candidate will be best suited to lead this crew to Eos, you won’t be making your choice from a position of weakness, but rather an incredible position of strength. I, like everyone else, originally viewed this election with sadness because of the disappearance of Triana. But today I realized that we can use this election as a turning point, a red-letter day where we used the sacrifices of our missing comrades to climb higher and reach farther. Thank you.”
There was silence at first, then a rolling wave of applause. It was obvious that his words had sparked something within them, and they showed their appreciation.
Gina raised her hands and brought the room back to order. She began the question-and-answer session by asking the candidates to explain their leadership styles and to outline their vision of the Council’s responsibility to the crew. Hannah and Gap each gave thoughtful responses. Gap wondered if Hannah would draw upon any of the comments he’d made during their conversation in the Dining Hall, when she had questioned him about his leadership style. But she steered away from that, forging her own way without any reference to that discussion.
The next two questions revolved around crew duties and departmental procedures, both of which were important, and yet not what the assembled crew had come to hear. It wasn’t until the fourth question that the crowd sat forward in their seats.
“Gap,” Gina said, “we find ourselves in yet another critical situation. Besides the space lightning that has erupted, our ship’s radiation shield has failed numerous times. Although it’s lasted no more than a few seconds, the potential exists for complete failure, which would ultimately spell doom for this crew. More than a few theories have surfaced as to what might be causing the problem, but I think it’s safe to say that many people feel strongly that Hannah’s theory of bruised space, caused by the wormholes, might be the leading candidate. If that’s the case, what steps would you take as the Council Leader to protect the safety of the ship and crew?”
Gap didn’t hesitate; a lull before his answer might give the impression that he was unsure, and he wanted the crew to feel the same confidence that simmered within him.
“I first want to acknowledge Hannah’s impressive work on this problem. Obviously we don’t know for certain what’s causing the radiation shield to fail, but her bruised space theory is a strong possibility. I’m willing to focus our energies on that angle unless, or until, a better idea is presented.
“It’s tricky, because we don’t know exactly how a bruise affects the fabric of space. We assume that it has caused ripples, or, to use a more descriptive analogy, old-fashioned speed bumps. Our ship is ignoring the speed limit through these speed bumps, which is wreaking havoc and causing major damage.”
He took a deep breath and for the first time looked at his workpad. “I believe that our radiation shield is fundamentally sound, which is why it has weathered the storm so far. However, it needs to be turbo-charged. My plan is to transfer energy from the ion power drive of Galahad and divert it into a new and improved shield, one that can withstand the shock waves associated with the wormhole’s bruise.”
Gap saw many of the crew members in the audience nodding their heads in approval. At the same time, out of the corner of his eye, he watched Hannah immediately take up her stylus pen and begin to make notes on her workpad.
“This power diversion, which can be done relatively quickly, will reinforce the shields, effectively tripling the magnetic force that precedes the ship through space. However, I will tell you up front, this diversion comes at a price. And it’s a heavy price.”
He once again had everyone’s full attention.
“Because of the loss of power to our system’s drive, our gradual increase in speed will deteriorate. We’re assuming that this will be temporary, even though we have no idea the extent of the bruise; once we’re in the clear, we should be able to once again revert to our original power output.
“All of this means that our trip will be extended by approximately … two years.”
There was an immediate reaction from the room. Gap stood back and pretended to scan his notes while loud conversations and arguments broke out. It took Gina more than a minute to calm everyone down. When she had done so, she asked Gap if he wanted to add anything else.
He gazed back across the sea of faces. “I realize that it’s not a popular choice, but it’s the one that I think gives us the best chance to survive the danger we’re facing. I’ll post all of the figures right after this forum, and you’re free to check them on your workpad or vidscreen.”
Another low rumble spread across the auditorium, an
d Gina held up her hands to prevent it from building. Once it was quiet again, she turned to Hannah.
“Per the rules of this forum, you’re permitted to address Gap’s plan, and to question him if you like. Then I’d like for you to present your own position, and Gap will be allowed the same follow-up.”
Hannah looked over the notes she had hastily scribbled. “I’m intrigued by Gap’s idea. However…” She paused. “I’m not sure an increase in power to the shields is the answer. As he stated, there’s so much we don’t know about all of this. But I tend to look at the bruise a little differently. I think of it as a disruption in the very particles that make up space; powering our way through that disruption might have the effect of actually speeding up the damage.”
She waited a moment, and then shook her head. “It’s an interesting suggestion, I’ll leave it at that. I’ve also given a lot of thought to how we might overcome this problem, and rather than turbo-charging the shields, I think our best solution would be to avoid the bruise altogether.
“Again, there are plenty of unknowns. But I think the damage to space could very well be two-dimensional. Consider a normal bruise on your skin: it has length and width as it extends across your body, but rarely lacks any depth. It doesn’t extend down into your body very much at all. I believe the wormhole has created the same type of injury to this portion of space. It likely has length and width, but not depth.
“Therefore,” she said, “I propose that Galahad be reprogrammed to drop out of the galactic plane, dip under the damaged space, and then resurface after we have traveled out beyond the scope of the bruise.”
There was a murmur from the crew as they visualized what Hannah was describing. Gap found himself doing the same, looking down at his hand and imagining a bruise, and how he might dip beneath it.
Hannah cleared her throat and continued. “Gap was up-front with you and told you that his plan might add two years to our journey. My solution also comes at a cost. Because we don’t know how deep this bruise extends, or how far along our path to Eos, we could potentially face a delay of perhaps one year.”
