“That sounds great,” Patrick said, a smile of relief brightening his face.
With the two of them working together, it didn’t take long to get Patrick all packed up. Melody wheeled the valet cart to the car while he checked out, and it wasn’t but a moment before they were off to the store.
They skipped the ice cream parlor and picked up dessert along with the two bags of groceries Patrick quickly gathered at the local food mart.
“I’ll bring the groceries in and put them away. You find the boxes you need to unpack to get your room set up. Also, find the boxes for the bathroom and I’ll start on it. Do you know where you packed the coffee maker?” Melody asked as she started for the door with the groceries.
“Already ahead of you. There’s half a dozen boxes just outside the kitchen door and on the counter. You’ll find it in one of them.”
“Great.”
An hour later, Patrick had his bedroom pretty much set up, and Melody had the bathroom done as well. They unpacked two bar stools and had cheesecake and coffee at the breakfast counter to celebrate.
Around midnight, Melody got ready to go home, both of them tired and having to work the next day.
When Patrick walked her to the car, Melody gave him a warm peck on the side of his lips and said, “I had fun. I’ll be by Saturday and I’ll help you finish getting moved in, okay?”
Patrick impulsively gave her a hug and thanked her for making his relocation so easy. When she drove off, he waved at her as she turned out of the driveway and watched the car drive down the street and turned out of sight.
Chapter 5
UNDER PRESSURE
The greedy demands of America’s population, born of the discovery of African Americans on the moon, colored both politics and culture in the United States.
The political realities had flushed a number of politicians from office and sparked demands of reckoning as extreme as they were impossible. The megacorporations demanded the acquisition of the technologies demonstrated and anything else discovered in the course of the government-sponsored investigations. Once the information filtered down to the general public that the former lunar inhabitants were blessed with far longer lives than their earthborn cousins, the demands for the government to “do something” were deafening. The federal government had allocated an unprecedented number of dollars for space technologies and gerontological research, but to date only incremental progress had been made on either front.
“Mr. President?” said a voice, breaking him out of his daydreaming.
Seeing it was his Dawkins, President Laughlin self consciously sat up, and began to straighten the papers on the desk before him.
“Yes, Debra? To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” he said, drawing a smile from her as she closed the door and approached his desk.
“Not much. I brought the briefing notes on the Jove personnel, at least NASA’s contingency. I was sure you’d want to take a look at them before you have Senators Charles and Lewis drop by for lunch,” she replied.
“Anything I really need to know?” he asked with a sigh.
“Well, NASA is committed to a mixed male/female crew for one.”
He raised an eyebrow as he looked at her over the top of his reading glasses.
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
Laughing, she asked, “You’ve got a problem with that? I had no idea you were so provincial, Stuart.”
“It’s not about me. It’s what everyone else is going to think. Almost two years stuck in that tin can together? Whose idea was that?” he asked.
“I’m sure it was vetted by Dr. Milton.”
“Give that to me,” he said, reaching for the folder. As she handed it over, he pressed the button on the intercom and said, “Sandra, get me Dr. Milton, at NASA in Houston.”
“Right away, sir.”
“Pull up a chair. You might as well listen in on this since you’ll probably have to answer any questions that come up later.”
“Dr. Milton on line one, Mr. President.”
“Thank you, Sandra.”
President Laughlin activated the speaker phone.
“Hello, Paul, hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”
“Not at all, Mr. President. Always happy to take your call, you know that.”
“I’ve got Debra sitting here with me. She just brought me the list of NASA candidates for the Jove mission, and I admit I’m more than a little surprised.”
“How so, Mr. President?” Milton asked, a trace of humor in his voice.
“Paul, you know what I’m talking about.”
“Stuart, we go back a lot of years. I must say I’m a little surprised you’d have a problem with a sexually mixed crew.” he said.
“Hey, buddy, you know I could give a crap. But how do you think this will play to the public?” Laughlin asked.
“We’re thinking that if we don’t make a big deal about it, most everyone else won’t either. Debra, what do you think about the idea? What’s your read?” Milton asked the Chief of Staff.
“Personally, I’m thinking it’s about damn time. As for any difficulties during the mission, all the studies by the military demonstrate that it’s the men who always end up being the problem with integrating women into combat and training situations. If I had any say at all, the entire crew would be female,” she replied.
“That’s not a bad idea. But why do you think so?” Milton asked, as the president looked on in mild shock.
“With an all-women crew the whole sexual tension crap wouldn’t be an issue, for one. And two, what better ambassadorial team could you send that wouldn’t automatically precipitate a big dick-waving contest with the separatists?”
“And you’re saying that as a woman, or a black woman?” asked Laughlin.
“Neither, as someone who’s smart enough to be the president’s chief of staff, regardless of her color,” she answered, laughing.
Milton said, “She’s got you there, Stu. My advice is that maybe we roll out the crew in a big to do and emphasize the mixed compliment. Sort of steal anyone’s thunder who would make a stink about it. We’d be happy for you to make the announcement down here, show them off behind you during a press conference. What do you say?”
Laughlin thought about it for a few moments, then said, “Fine, you and Debra set it up.”
He flipped through the crews’ spec sheets.
“Wait. You’ve got an even dozen here. I thought there were only eight from your … okay, I get it. Some are spares, right?”
“That’s right. We wanted to make damn sure we had backups for our backups. Once they leave orbit, that’s it. But until then, we can slot in any of the understudies if anything should happen during training. With a proposed compliment of five women and three men, and the likelihood that the administrative picks will be all male, we’re anticipating launching with seven men and five women if all slots are filled.
“There’s actually some operational benefit with more women, they use measurably fewer consumables than men and long-term studies suggest they’re more stable than men in isolated conditions. There’s merit to Debra’s idea of a completely female crew, but even I wouldn’t try to sell that to America,” Milton said with regret. “If you come for a presser to introduce the crew, I want to have a conversation with you about the remaining four members of the expedition. I need to understand exactly what your expectations are regarding their makeup.”
“No problem, Paul. You and Deb get the arrangements squared away and I’ll make sure there’s time in there for us to have that discussion. Good enough?”
“Perfect. I have a meeting in a few minutes. You have anything else?”
Seeing Debra’s shake of her head, Laughlin said, “No, that covers it. I’ll be seeing you soon.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. Have a great day,” Milton
said.
“You too,” he replied, then disconnected the call. “So, an all women crew, eh?”
Debra laughed. “You know it. We’re a lot less trouble than you guys are, smarter too.”
“Okay, you got me there,” he said. “I’ll go through these and make sure none of the names will trip me up. Keep me posted on when we’re heading down to Houston.”
“Will do, chief. I will say this, with the racially mixed compliment Dr. Milton has settled on, you’re going to be saved a hell of a lot of grief. Can you imagine if the entire compliment was white? That wouldn’t fly no matter how you dressed it up.”
“True. The mission commander selection is going to make or break this whole deal. Keep me posted on potential candidates.”
“Will do. I have three now. Let me find a few more and then I’ll bring the whole lot to you for review,” she promised. “Do you want anything else before your lunch with the senators?”
“No, I’ll keep everything generic about the mission crew until we officially introduce them. Besides, I’m willing to bet that all they’re here to do is advocate for one or another of their friends or friends’ friends to be billeted on the flight.”
“If you do need anything, I’m down the hall for the rest of the day.”
“Thanks,” he said, as she left the office.
President Laughlin had met Dawkins through his wife Jessica twenty-some years prior, when they were roommates at Wellesley College. When Jessica married Stuart, Debra stood as maid of honor in the ceremony.
When Laughlin committed to run for President, having served as governor of New Hampshire for two terms, and whose credentials were surprisingly accepted by Democrats and Republicans alike, he chose Dawkins as co-campaign chair. Following him to the White House was unexpected, and her appointment to the position of chief of staff took everyone by surprise given that she was in no way a Washington insider. To hear Laughlin tell it, that fact made her job easier rather than harder because no one knew what to expect from her. She was no pushover, and served as President Laughlin’s surrogate without any complaints other than she could be a harsh bitch when pushed. Laughlin dismissed all such characterizations, stating for the record that any complaints of that nature were born of prejudices from white men who didn’t like having a black woman laying down the law.
He secretly rejoiced every time they were forced to eat crow when she had the task of disappointing their wants in his name. And despite his having chosen a black woman as his right hand of power, he enjoyed great popularity with voters who saw him as a moderate force for helming the country in a twenty-first century under very polarizing political circumstances. A question that he never spoke of aloud secretly intrigued him: how did the separatists miss recruiting Dawkins? If he had the answer to that question he felt could unlock much of the mystery of that group, how and why they recruited those who left to live on the moon and exactly how they kept their existence the greatest secret ever.
Now his two remaining mission headaches were the selection of the remaining members of the Jove crew compliment, and vetting crew members from the UN and GST respectively. The government, through its oversight of NASA, retained veto power over the entire Jove crew, but he had made an accommodation with GST allowing them to seat someone to their liking, as long as they passed government screening and NASA training. With the launch of the mission rapidly approaching, the additional crew members needed to begin their training soon.
* * *
“How was your day?” Christopher asked when Patricia arrived home.
“Fine. One of my staff is working on some very interesting immuno-boosters that are interferon-based. We’re having a problem with getting clean Type III Interferon samples in high enough quantity for them to run the preliminary tests they want. But we’re working it through.
“Hey Ben, helping daddy make dinner?” she asked.
“We’re making pizza! Daddy did the dough and I did the sauce and cheese,” Ben announced proudly.
She ruffled Ben’s hair and gave him a kiss on the cheek, saying, “That’s fantastic! How long until dinner’s ready, Hon?”
Ben pointed to the countdown timer on the oven and said. “Eleven minutes. Don’t forget to wash your hands!”
Patricia laughed as Christopher kissed her on the neck, adding an affectionate pat on her backside.
“Easy there lover boy. I’ve got my marching orders.” To Ben she said, “When I get back, I’ll set the table, okay?”
“Thanks, Mom!” he said, watching the cheese bubble through the window.
When she returned to the kitchen, Patricia caught Christopher and Ben peering into the oven through the glass front panel.
“How’s it looking, boys?”
“The cheese is really bubbly! It won’t be long now!” Ben replied, excited.
While she was setting the table, she caught Christopher’s eye. He left Ben to watch the pizza and timer, then went to see what was up.
“Yes?” he asked, arching his eyebrow with a sinister look.
“My department may want a huge favor from you and the council.”
“Oh really? What’s that?” he asked, intrigued.
“Well … ” she began, then hesitated.
“Look, just tell me. The worst they can say is no, you already know that,” he prodded.
“Yes, but this is big, really big.”
“You need your own laboratory space station?” he guessed.
“No, think bigger.”
“Wait, don’t tell me. You need your own moon?” he guessed again, raising the ante.
“Not quite,” she said, chuckling.
“Okay, it’s smaller than a planet … ” he paused, thinking. Not coming up with a good guess, he finally said, “Okay give, I got nothing.”
“We would like to see about the possibility of getting some Type III Interferon from Earth. Even though our retrovirus extends our lives and prevents most every type of cancer we’ve been able to test, there are some intriguing properties we want to research. We haven’t been able to conquer the common cold, but there are some treatments in Europe that appear to be effective in reducing the severity of some kinds of rhino virus infections in humans. Another group is doing some serious research into the cellular basis for limb regeneration working with macrophages. They could do with some samples we simply don’t have out here. What do you think the chances are of mounting a mission back to earth?” she asked hopefully.
“Whew! You don’t pick the easy ones, do you?”
Christopher started pacing back and forth, keeping an eye on the oven timer.
“I know … ” Patricia began, but stopped when Christopher held up his hand.
“Five, four, three, two, one!” Ben counted down, then jumped off his chair when the oven timer dinged and pulled it out of the way.
Christopher pulled on oven mitts and opened the door, the smell of fresh-baked pizza filling the kitchen. He slid the pizza off the metal sheet onto a large platter on the kitchen table. Picking up the pizza cutter, he asked, “What do you want, Sport, triangles or squares?”
“I want triangles, daddy. They’re bigger!”
“Triangles they are!” he said, efficiently making four cuts. “Whoa there, Sport. That’s very hot,” Christopher said as Ben reached out to grab a slice. As fast as he had reached out, the young boy quickly pulled his hand away.
“Daddy, would you put one on my plate, please?” Ben asked, holding out his plate.
Christopher slid a slice onto Ben’s plate, then covered the rest of the pizza with foil to keep it warm.
“Here, you can watch your favorite show on sharks while you eat. Mommy and I are going to talk about her work for a few minutes. Call me when you want another slice.”
“Okay!” Ben replied, as Christopher called up an episode of the Discovery Channel’s Shar
k Week television show.
“So just how important is getting this stuff for your people?” Christopher asked when they were out of earshot of Ben. “Is there any other way to produce it locally?”
“That’s what we’ve been working on for the last few weeks. There are just some things that we cannot produce on our own yet and as you know, animals we simply can’t grow. Don’t get me wrong, for all practical purposes we’re self-sufficient—they’re not something we absolutely need—but they would go a long way to furthering our research,” Patricia explained.
“Genesis, private mode please, just me and Pat.”
“Yes, Christopher, how may I be of assistance?” the A.I. replied, sounding like is was in the middle of their heads
“What’s your latest assessment of the monitoring and tracking ability of our spacecraft by those on earth?” asked Christopher.
“The United States military has three devices capable of pinpointing G-wave-based propulsion systems. All three systems are manned twenty-four hours a day and all positional data on the G-wave-equipped vehicles is recorded for analysis and transmitted in real-time to NORAD.”
“As far as you have been able to determine, is there anyone on earth close to discovering the underlying principles behind the G-wave technology?”
“There is not. The counter intuitive discovery that is the basis for your original work has not been hinted at in any publication, nor is it the basis for any public or private research that I have been able to monitor.”
“What are the chances that someone is close to duplicating my work without your knowledge?” asked Christopher.
“Given that I have been able to penetrate every science and military system connected to earth’s networks, I calculate that the chances of someone duplicating your research without my being able to detect it are almost nonexistent.”
“What are the US Military’s standing orders should one of our spacecraft attempts to land on earth?”
Confrontation Page 8
