Confrontation

by William Hayashi

  “Interdict and capture.”

  “And if neither option is available?”

  “Attack and/or destruction must be ordered by the highest civilian authority in the United States, which is the president. Standing orders for the military are to capture any spacecraft that violates US airspace. Similar orders have been dispatched in sixty-two percent of the other countries around the globe. The remainder have orders to shoot to kill, or have no orders on file should the opportunity present itself.”

  Christopher was silent for a few moments, then asked, “Given our current technological advantage in propulsion, combined with our shield capabilities, can you calculate the odds of a successful return to earth, the concealment of the spacecraft and then leaving earth’s surface safely with needed cargo?”

  “Without a specific mission profile to give the most accurate estimate, my best calculation is that there is a probable eighty-eight percent chance for success of such a mission. Do you have any additional mission details I may use to further refine my calculations, Christopher?” the A.I. inquired.

  “Not really. Pat’s department is requesting that we return for medical supplies that cannot be manufactured or harvested here. I’m having this conversation with you to see what the general risks of such a mission might be.”

  “Pat, does this mission have to do with interferon and macrophage research currently underway in your department?”

  “It does. However, if such a mission were to be seriously considered, I would suggest that we gather as much of whatever everyone else needs for various projects. But we could definitely use additional compounds, drugs, specimen and samples to fill out our lab’s stock. I for one would like to see us grow some of the more exotic medicinals, fruits and vegetables that we didn’t bring seed stock for before we left earth space.”

  “Come to think of it, Teaberry is always after me to get a much wider selection of hop and grape stock for his winery and micro brewery. This is going to be a problem,” Christopher said, shaking his head.

  “Why so? Oh, I see. If everyone finds out about a mission back to earth, it’s going to take one of the whales to bring everything people want back!” Patricia said, laughing.

  “There are eleven thousand items currently on the colony wish list. Calculating the amount of cubic footage needed to acquire every item on the list, it would require the rated cargo capacity of one whale transport to retrieve the cargo,” Genesis informed the two.

  “And with sending a couple of jumpers for support, three ships are definitely going to be interpreted as an invasion force. I doubt I can get approval from the council for that size mission,” said Christopher. “Although, if I suggest retrieving everything on the wish list, getting approval might not be too heavy a lift. That might just work!”

  “I’ll leave the council to you. The problem is, how can we get what we need? You can’t just go to Drugs And Specimen ‘R’ Us, fill up a cart and check out. We have to plan this out carefully, especially since Earth knows every single one of our names,” said Patricia.

  “That turns out not to be the case. When the message was sent back, though Sydney Atkins was included in the roll call of the inhabitants of this colony, Lucius Walker was not. I do not have the information recorded why he was left off the roster. In scanning all the data filed about this colony and its citizens on Earth, there is no mention of the name of Lucius Walker in association with any other person who resides here. It is most likely that he may be the only person who can use his original identification for commerce in the United States. Additionally, I can arrange for the proper orders to be made for the materials your department requires with no one the wiser, and arrange for drop shipping to pickup locations and make electronic payments that require minimal scrutiny of credentials,” said the A.I.

  “How much processing capacity can you devote on a mission such as this? I would like to include your monitoring capabilities on the mission,” asked Christopher.

  “There is ample capacity for me to clone enough of my core operating system to monitor our people and facilitate the mission up to and including acquiring control of military assets to prevent attack.”

  “Jesus, Genesis! I told you to never tell me stuff like that!” Christopher said to Patricia’s laughter.

  “Daddy, can I have another piece of pizza?” Ben called from the kitchen.

  “Coming up, Sport.”

  “Genesis, would a mission like this call for a combat profile?” Patricia asked.

  “Not at its core. However I would suggest that the best combat-experienced pilots be considered as primary and backups for the mission. Conceptually, the acquisition of laboratory materials is quite easy. I have the ability to generate orders for fictitious entities, transfer payment and facilitate delivery through subverting the various computer systems and network assets of Earth. The possibility of interception entering and leaving earth space are the primary risks the mission would face.”

  “I don’t want anyone getting hurt just to get lab stock. It’s not worth it,” stated Patricia.

  “Neither the council, nor Christopher would approve any plan that put someone at risk for injury, at least not without making sure that every contingency has been addressed. Should a mission to pick up your lab material be authorized, you can be sure that all such risks of life would be reduced to their lowest probability.”

  When Christopher returned, he said, “That ought to hold him for a while. Anyway, back to the collection mission. Let me talk to the council and see what the consensus is. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “That would be great. I’ll have the request and the inventory we want brought back transferred to your datapad first thing in the morning. If a mission is a go, we could really use an electron microscope. We aren’t having much luck building our own just yet. Thank you for your help, Genesis.”

  “You’re welcome, Patricia. Is there anything else I may assist either of you with?”

  “I don’t think so, I’m going to grab a piece of pizza before our bottomless pit makes off with it all,” Pat said, laughing.

  “Thank you, Genesis. That will be all for now,” Christopher answered.

  Chapter 6

  STAND BY ME

  “Okay, everyone pair up and sit across from each other. In the center of the table there’s a bunch of games and puzzles, don’t fool around with them yet. My name is Earl and I’ll be your trainer today for the high-altitude simulator.”

  The sixteen trainees sorted themselves around the long table inside the cozy chamber as the thick airlock door closed them in. They each had a respirator attached to their belts, with the masks hanging from their necks by adjustable elastic straps.

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen, in a minute the oxygen is going to slowly be removed from the room. In addition to experiencing the effect of oxygen starvation yourslves, you are responsible for observing your partner across the table. When you think you’ve reached your limit and need oxygen, you are to put your mask over your face and tighten up the straps.”

  Earl paused to make sure everyone had eyes on him, listening to his instructions. “Now all of you are going to be observed by our crack medical staff via the cameras located around the room, and should anyone get into difficulty, Suzanne and I will be here to assist you. Are there any questions before we start?”

  The trainees shook their heads, having read about the test the previous day. Some were apprehensive; a couple were really cocky, already playing with the puzzles running down the middle of the table.

  “Okay, the test begins … now!” Earl said.

  The trainees selected and began to complete the dexterity and written puzzles, waiting for some sign of effect or impairment while Earl and Suzanne circulated, masks in place. After seven minutes some of the trainees’ movements were over exaggerated, just slightly off, resulting in some giggles. Those who were copying text on
paper were having trouble making their letters stay in line and a consistent size.

  At nine minutes, several of the trainees were laughing uncontrollably. Suzanne and Earl paid closer attention to a few who were singled out by the observers outside the chamber.

  Patrick, paired up with a fellow engineer named Randy, was concentrating on assembling a wooden block puzzle back into its original cube shape, slowly and carefully moving his hands in an effort to maintain motor control. He was completely absorbed in his task, forgetting to watch his test partner across the table. Randy, for his part, was just inscribing a circle on the paper before him, over and over and over again.

  “How are you feeling, Patrick?” Earl asked, his voice slightly muffled by the oxygen mask. He had to ask three times before Patrick tore his eyes away from the wooden pieces in front of him, but his only response was a blank stare in Earl’s direction.

  “Okay, that’s enough for you,” Earl said, securing Patrick’s mask to his face while Patrick feebly tried to bat Earl’s hands away. Earl then held both of Patrick’s hands until the trainee stopped struggling.

  “You straight?” he asked.

  “Yeah! Wow, I really thought I was fine,” answered Patrick as he took in the bizarre behavior of the others around him.

  Earl and Suzanne then busied themselves securing the masks on the rest of the group, everyone’s perceptions returning to normal as they began to breathe regularly.

  “How’s everyone feeling? Raise your hand if you’re feeling like yourself again,” Earl requested. He waited until everyone’s hand was raised, some taking longer than others.

  “Okay, everyone take a look at the screen on the wall,” he directed.

  The large screen at the end of the table lit up with all sixteen trainees, each in their own little box. As they watched themselves become more erratic, Earl said, “As you can see, not one of you felt the need to put your mask on, even when you were having obvious difficulty completing the simple tasks before you.

  “As you read yesterday, if you did your reading, what you experienced was the result of oxygen deprivation, or hypoxia. Some of you may have a slight headache now, maybe some fatigue. But the most dangerous effect from hypoxia is the euphoria you experienced, where you were not intellectually in control of yourself, not even to the extent to putting on your masks presumably to save your life. Do you get my point? If you experience a severe drop in oxygen to your brain, damn few of you will have the presence of mind to help yourself, if that’s even going to be possible.

  “I want every one of you to think about that. I’m not the least bit put out to be the one to tell you to be afraid of everything, everything that you do and everything that can happen to you, because there may be times when your vigilance, even your paranoia, may be the only thing that saves your life.”

  Earl paused to gauge his words’ effect on his charges. “Now Suzanne and I are going to have you take your masks off again, and this time I want you to concentrate on your condition. And pay attention to your partner. You’re going to need every single person around you to make it if you want to survive. Okay, on three, remove your masks. One, two, three …”

  The trainees slowly loosened the straps holding the masks to their face and let them dangle. They looked at each other for a few moments, and then turned to the various tasks before them.

  Earl laughed to himself as he watched how cautiously everyone was moving, each closely watching those around them.

  Patrick disassembled the wood pieces and shuffled them around with his eyes closed. When he was done mixing them up, he opened his eyes, first checking out Randy who appeared to be writing just fine. He then began to try to fit the pieces together back into a cube. After a couple of minutes, he succeeded and pushed them aside. Grabbing a sheet of paper with several sentences typed on it, he picked up a pen, and began to write the same words below those printed on the paper. After having no problem with the first five lines, his hand stopped. For a moment he was confused; then he continued, his engineer’s penmanship becoming outsized and ragged. When he finished the sixth line, he dropped the pen and frantically pulled his mask to his face, pulling the straps tight.

  Once his mask was secure, Patrick breathed deeply, looked around, and saw he was the only trainee to have secured his mask. Randy was now just scribbling lines across the paper before him. Patrick stood up and leaned over the table to grab Randy’s mask and push it to his face. Randy looked at him in confusion, letting Patrick do as he wished. Patrick tried to pull the straps tight but couldn’t quite get them right. Seeing that Patrick was having some difficulty, Suzanne helped pull the straps tight and patted Patrick’s hand.

  In moments Randy regained his faculties and gave Patrick a thumbs-up.

  At the same time, a handful of other trainees began to pull their masks to their faces. As each trainee secured their mask, they turned to another who was not aware of hypoxia’s effect beginning to overtake them. After five minutes, everyone had replaced their masks and gave Earl and Suzanne the thumbs up signal.

  Earl waited a few moments, then removed his mask as the chamber’s oxygen level was brought back to normal. “Very good. How does everyone feel?” he asked as the rest also removed their masks.

  Getting a round of “good’s” and “fine’s,” he continued.

  “I’m not just being a hard-ass riding you about paying attention and watching out for your fellow astronauts. It’s built into all of us, and by the time you leave, for those of you who are actually lucky enough to go into space, these survival skills and habits will be so ingrained that you’ll find yourself automatically doing the right thing, sometimes even before you know why you’re doing it. Are there any questions? Yes?” he said, pointing to a hand raised toward the back.

  “Have there been any astronauts who have died or suffered permanent injury that we never heard about?”

  Both Earl and Suzanne laughed, much to the chagrin of the woman who had asked the question.

  Earl held up his hand, forestalling an angry retort from anyone.

  “I apologize. The reason the question is funny to us is that we know exactly how much scrutiny we’re under here at NASA. You can barely sneeze in the astronaut corps without the press, congress or the myriad detractors of NASA’s mission saying “Gesundheit!” Our failures have all been quite spectacular, and are all the more tragic for being so public. The families of those who have been injured or killed during NASA missions are subjected to the worst possible attention from the press, in many cases reliving a tragedy over and over and over again due to the obsessive nature of the media. And the finger-pointing when politicians get involved doesn’t serve anyone. Most of them couldn’t change a lightbulb in space, let alone pass any kind of substantive judgment on what we do here. Most of them are just barely competent enough to get reelected and little else, in my humble opinion. Look at the state of the economy, and how even our allies have a hard time stomaching the nonsense Washington wastes its time on.

  “Imagine being a family member or close friend of one of the Challenger’s crew. Do you think any of them turned on their televisions for weeks, maybe even months after that disaster? That’s why Suzanne and I laughed. There are literally thousands of NASA and contractor personnel who are dedicated to keeping you alive out there in space, and returning you home safely; so far we’re doing a hell of a job.

  “For example, our budding star here, Mr. Jensen, has designed a brand-new propulsion system for Project Jove, as most of you well know. Its maiden voyage will be the actual mission itself. Try to imagine just how much work is going into making damn sure nothing goes sideways with that system and other thousands of systems needed for this mission. Once that spacecraft leaves earth orbit, if anything happens on the trip out, the only resources the mission specialists will have at their disposal are whatever spare parts are on the spacecraft, and more than likely you folks and the rest of
the support staff here.

  “For those of you who are in the final work crew, by the time you are on the launching pad all of what we’re putting you through will be second nature to you; otherwise, you ain’t going anywhere. Are there any more questions?” he asked. “All right, that’s it for today. Some of you have headaches, right?”

  Seeing several nods, Earl smiled, then said, “Everyone get a decent lunch and take the afternoon off. What you just went through takes a lot out of you whether you know it or not. Before you leave, the med staff outside will check you out, then kick you loose. We shall meet again, ladies and gentlemen.”

  The trainees rose and started for the door, many laughing about their antics from the first go-round. As they left the chamber, Earl and Suzanne shook hands with each trainee, handing them off to a med tech who led them to curtained areas for standard blood pressure readings, heart rate and blood draws.

  On the way out of the lab building, Randy caught up with Patrick. “Thanks for the assist, Pat. I had no idea what I was doing. I’d completely forgotten about the masks, oxygen levels, or anything else I guess.”

  “Me, too. I was just lucky that I remembered to do up my mask. Even thinking about being in space and something going wrong scares the living crap out of me. I just don’t see me making it up there for any reason.”

  “You never know. I’d be pretty excited to go, scared or not. NASA’s got a great track record. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I’m going to grab a bite, how bout you?”

  “I don’t think so. I still have to get my house squared away. Rain check, okay?

  “You bet. When are you going to have a housewarming?”

  “Hadn’t really given it much thought. Once I get moved in and enough furniture for everyone to have a place to sit, I’ll invite the department over. Maybe we’ll grill out.”

  “Cool, keep me posted,” Randy said, clapping Patrick on the back as he headed off.