Confrontation

by William Hayashi

  “Stand by. Burst in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 … fired. The engine is in motion.”

  “We read you, Barnes. Your video shows ion unit closing at approximately half a centimeter per second. Advise you halt forward movement at 10, say again 10 centimeters,” advised mission control.

  “Roger that. Stand by. Slowing forward progress … final check, all umbilicals clear? No foreign objects?” Barnes queried his EVA team.

  Receiving the all-clear, he radioed, “Stand by, mission control. Proceeding with attachment.”

  Patrick, along with the rest of the mission control staff and the spectators in the viewing gallery, watched as the engine moved painstakingly slowly toward the attachment point on the spacecraft. The helmet camera views of the other five engineers supervising the attachment gave those in Houston an almost three-dimensional view of the action from their positions around the engine.

  “We’re at 5 centimeters … 2 centimeters, halting forward motion. Touchdown!” Barnes radioed. “Stand by. Okay gang, let’s get her hooked up.”

  The camera views all began jittery moves toward the engine as the men attached cables to the engine and threaded them through openings in the spacecraft around the engine mount.

  After a few moments, Barnes inquired, “Everyone hooked up? Count off …”

  When the other five indicated they were ready, Barnes radioed, “Okay Mission Control, this is it.

  “On zero gentlemen. 3… 2… 1… 0, execute.”

  The six astronauts triggered the spring-loaded tensioners that applied a carefully measured pull on the positioning cables.

  Everyone in space and on the ground held their breath as they watched the engine creep toward the mount.

  There was no sound when the engine mated to the preliminary attachment points, but when a half-dozen green lights lit on Patrick’s console he jumped up and shouted, “Yes!” startling those closest to him.

  “Barnes, be advised that you’ve got one happy engineer here, Jensen’s doing an Irish jig around Mission Control. Congratulations, everyone, let’s get her buttoned down and secured,” radioed Levy.

  “Roger that! Be advised that we should have the mounts secured in sixty, that’s six-zero minutes. We’re some very happy folks up here too!”

  Everyone in mission control settled down and resumed monitoring the astronauts while Patrick began a comprehensive series of diagnostics on the newly attached engine’s control systems. His console showing the results of the tests performed on the propulsion system’s controls.

  “How’s it looking?” Levy asked. “Hey!” he said, poking Patrick in the side, when he got no answer.

  “What? Oh yeah, sorry. So far everything is in the green. The ship’s still in low-power mode so it’s only the control system’s tests I’m running now. It’s going to take about 12 hours for the full diagnostic to run.”

  “Can you just let it go and check the results after the run?” asked Levy.

  “Maybe. But I’m in it for the long haul.”

  “Then have at it. Don’t mind me,” Levy said, clapping Patrick on the back.

  “Yeah … sure,” answered Patrick distractedly, already buried in the results scrolling across his screens.

  The screens displaying the helmet camera views of the six astronauts showed the progress of the work to secure the last engine to the craft’s hull. And, as additional control cabling was attached, Patrick’s console alerted him to each subsystem as it came online.

  After a couple of hours the gallery had cleared and the only people in mission control were the late-shift technicians and Patrick. When Levy’s relief showed up, he made a quick trip to the cafeteria and brought back a tray containing a light dinner, figuring that Patrick would be at it until he came back on duty.

  As the control systems for the engine were mated to those of the spacecraft, Patrick was directly in contact with Barnes and his crew, monitoring their progress. The only hiccup was one of the control cables apparently was crimped, damaged in transit, and had to be replaced. That put Patrick’s diagnostic run a little over 60 minutes behind while a spare was brought out to the ship from the supply module in nearby orbit.

  Once the engineers were back inside of the orbiting crew modules, Patrick was able to work undisturbed and the time passed quickly. He was surprised when Levy showed up with breakfast when he returned to duty in the morning.

  “I figured you’d still be here. How’s the testing going?” Levy asked.

  “Other than a bad cable, everything’s checking out okay. The guys finished up well before the spacecraft went dark, and I have to admit that the satellite network has performed flawlessly; there’s been no break in communications, even when they swung around to the other side of the Earth.”

  “At first we were worried about that, but the cost of getting everything into geosynchronous orbit was way too high. How’d the guys do?” Levy asked.

  “They were great. Other than the cable thing, they finished up right on time.”

  Just then Patrick’s mobile phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “So, how’d the mission go?” asked Paul Milton without even saying hello.

  “Just fine, sir. It was spectacular, almost like I was there,” Patrick replied.

  “You been there since they started, son?” he asked, mild concern in his voice.

  “Um, well yes, sir. I wanted to keep an eye on the diagnostics and run the control simulation we wrote. So far everything’s perfect,” Patrick said excitedly.

  “How long before the sim is complete?”

  “About ninety more minutes. I promise I’ll go home and get some shuteye.”

  “Good. Do me a favor and transfer the results to me so I can look them over once they’re done.”

  “No problem. I will.”

  “All right then. Congratulations, Pat. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow and we can go over the results together.”

  “Sure thing. Bye …”

  Levy looked over and said, “Sounds like good news.”

  Patrick nodded, grinning.

  “I’ll leave you to it then. Congrats, man.”

  “Thanks, Sam.”

  Patrick continued to monitor the simulation. While he was doing so, he aggregated the test results from the post-installation diagnostic run and sent it off, along with the summary, to Dr. Milton’s email address and copied them to the engineering server.

  Once the simulation completed its run, Patrick also sent the results to Dr. Milton, cleaned up around the console and said goodbye to Levy, happy to be off for some well-deserved rest.

  Chapter 10

  IF YOU WANT IT, HERE IT IS, COME AND GET IT

  “Please, come in and have a seat,” President Laughlin said, steering Dr. Susan Roscoe toward one of the couches in the Oval Office. He and Debra waited until Roscoe was seated before sitting down.

  “Coffee, tea, or maybe even something stronger?” he offered.

  Smiling, she replied, “Coffee would be fine.”

  Getting nods of agreement from the president and Dawkins, the steward placed filled cups on the table before them, as well as various sweeteners and small pitcher of cream before withdrawing from the office.

  Roscoe took a sip of coffee, waiting for the president to begin the meeting. The summons to the White House was quite the experience. She was picked up by limo outside her home and taken to Logan International Airport where she was spared the unnecessary airport security nonsense that regular passengers suffered through. She was escorted to the Boeing C-32 normally reserved for the vice president when he traveled.

  “So, you’re probably wondering why I called you here today, Dr. Roscoe,” Laughlin began with the standard joke opening.

  “Indeed I am. The only thing that I could come up with was something to do with the commission I served on under President Bend
er,” she replied.

  “In part, that is correct. Debra here has been doing extensive research about someone as close to perfect a candidate for a job that is one of the most important tasks undertaken by this or any other administration. Debra could find fewer than a dozen candidates, of which I further narrowed down the possibilities to one primary, and two others who are far less qualified for the job.”

  Roscoe put her cup down and leaned forward. “That sounds very serious, Mr. President. It’s hard to imagine exactly what kind of mission-critical job you’d need a mathematician for in this day and age.”

  “Interesting choice of words,” Laughlin said with a chuckle.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I apologize for being obscure, doctor. The reason you’re here is to ask you to lead the Jove Mission out to the asteroid belt.”

  Both Laughlin and Dawkins watched Roscoe closely for her reaction.

  The shock was plain on her face. When she didn’t speak for more than a few moments, Debra reached over and softly touched Roscoe’s arm.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Roscoe shook her head. “I’m sorry. If I lived a hundred years, I never would have guessed that’s why you invited me here.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I figured that there might be another commission on the separatists given that Jove’s departure date isn’t that far off. But mission commander? I never would have guessed. Why am I even on the map for the post? I have no military or NASA training, I’m just an academic.”

  Laughlin cocked an eyebrow to Dawkins, signaling her to explain.

  “What you call deficiencies are actually your strengths,” Dawkins began.

  “How so?”

  “Look what happened when the former chairman of the joint chiefs ordered the SEALs to deploy to the moon. I don’t think anyone could have made a bigger blunder, sending armed soldiers to confront people who had extraordinary capabilities. And, since the mission crew consists of both men and women, your inclusion isn’t an anomaly in that way at all,” Dawkins said, pausing to give Roscoe a moment think about what she had just said.

  “Plus, given the people recruited for their colony, frankly I’m surprised you’re here and not there. They obviously respect intellectual endeavor, and they have made it clear they want to have nothing to do with white Americans.

  “We are sending a representative from the United Nations along at their request. Let’s just say that Madam Secretary was very persuasive. But to have you as mission commander is an unmistakable statement about the tone of the attempted communication,” Dawkins said.

  “I happen to know that this mission is one of the most expensive projects this country has undertaken. But isn’t this just a complete waste of time? How do you know that there’s anything positive to be accomplished by this mission?” Roscoe asked.

  “Dr. Roscoe, that is the sixty-four thousand dollar question, actually the half-trillion dollar question,” Laughlin began, then shrugged his shoulders, saying,.“We don’t know what kind of response Project Jove will elicit from the separatists.”

  “Have you had any contact with them? Something that you haven’t let on to the public?”

  “We have not. You saw, along with the rest of the world, their farewell message. We have no idea what kind of reception the mission is going to receive, and yes, there is the possibility of danger. Any travel through space is dangerous. But I believe the possible benefits well outweigh the risks. If I may ask, what do you think about leading the mission, at first blush?” Laughlin asked.

  Roscoe sat back and thought in silence. Moments later she said, “It’s like this: I never gave any thought to being an astronaut, so there’s that. Second, when I served on President Bender’s commission I found out firsthand how dealing with the military, I guess the government even, was a huge pain in the ass,” she said, drawing chuckles from the others. “But institutional racism in this country is endemic, it’s part of the fabric of our culture and has only gotten worse since those people left the moon. Excuse me for saying so, but you’re going to catch a boatload of shit if you let people know you want me to lead the mission,” Roscoe said, shaking her head.

  “No doubt. But getting Madam Secretary to endorse you will go a long way toward getting a healthy chunk of the rest of the world’s folks on my side. After a while, most will see the sense in your selection.”

  “That is, if I agree,” she reminded him.

  “Of course!” Laughlin said, smiling.

  “How long do I have to think this over? And if I do accept, there’s so much that has to be done before I go, as well as arrangements I need to make for while I’m away,” Roscoe said, thinking about the complexities of essentially going on sabbatical for several years.

  “Should you decide to take the mission commander post, we would make sure your home was secure, bills paid and whatever else may be needed,” Dawkins offered. “We can have a conversation about the specifics if it will help you to decide.”

  “Please give it some serious thought, doctor. For so many of reasons, you are the best candidate we’ve been able to find … I’m not exaggerating,” said Laughlin. “Salary, benefits, whatever questions you may have, do not hesitate to ask Debra here.”

  “If you would be so inclined, perhaps we can have dinner together?” Dawkins suggested. “The limo driver can take you anywhere you’d like to visit in the city here while I finish out the day. And if you happen to stay overnight, we can have accommodations made available for you as well.”

  “But I didn’t pack for overnight… ” Roscoe began.

  “Say no more. Whatever you need will be provided; after all, I invited you. And should you accept my offer, you will be doing the country an invaluable service,” said the president.

  Roscoe turned to look at Dawkins and asked, “Does he always lay it on this thick?”

  “Every time he really wants something. He pulled the same trick on me, now look where I am.”

  President Laughlin threw his head back and laughed. A moment later both women joined him.

  Laughlin got to his feet, and warmly shook Roscoe’s hand when she stood.

  “Please give the offer serious consideration. I’m not exaggerating when I say that the job of mission commander will make or break this mission. I have no idea what the likelihood of success is, hell I have no idea what success could be! But I will tell you this, the position is no place for some political hack, not for anyone associated with the military, and certainly no one stupid—or let’s just say someone who isn’t the sharpest tack in the box. I would be honored if you do decide to take the post because so much is riding on this mission.”

  “I’m overwhelmed by the offer, Mr. President. And I won’t question your judgment, even though I don’t feel like the best candidate for something as important as this. But I do promise to give your offer the utmost consideration, sir.”

  The three walked to the door, with the chief of staff escorting Roscoe to the driveway where the government limo waited.

  “Is there somewhere the driver can take you, doctor?”

  “I would like to go to the Smithsonian and the Lincoln Memorial.”

  “Just let him know. I’ll check in with you around six o’clock and see how things are going. If it’s all right with you, we could meet for dinner around eight. How’s that sound?” Dawkins asked.

  “That’s perfect. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Once in the car and off the White House grounds, Roscoe informed the driver where she wanted to go. He recommended that she see the Lincoln Memorial after visiting the Smithsonian, because it looked spectacular as the night’s darkness fell.

  Roscoe’s wandering through the Smithsonian campus was a great joy. The visit to the Lincoln Memorial—her first time—was as inspiring as she had anticipated. The few other visitors were all silent or speaking in muted tones.
She had a strong, visceral reaction to standing before the sculpture of Abraham Lincoln, a stirring inside as she read the words carved into the wall. She laughed when she saw the famous misspelling of the word “future” carved into the wall.

  When she returned to the car, the driver opened the door for her and said, “It still gets to me when I bring the family here, ma’am.”

  “It was special. Thank you,” she replied, getting into the car.

  “To the restaurant, ma’am?”

  “That would be fine.”

  The ride through the streets of the nation’s capital and into Georgetown was short, the car stopping in front of what looked to be a fairly upscale restaurant.

  Dawkins was already seated when Roscoe arrived. Once she was settled Dawkins asked her, “How was your afternoon?”

  “It was great, and call me Susan. After all, it’s after hours.”

  “Then you can call me, Deb. I don’t expect you’ve had an opportunity to think over the president’s offer have you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” Roscoe said, smiling. “The offer is overwhelming. I remember when President Bender invited me to serve on the commission. At the time I didn’t really believe half of what we were told about the people discovered on the moon. But as the data from the FBI rolled in, and then when we saw the tracks in the lunar surface, I’ll level with you, I was quite upset that I hadn’t been offered the opportunity to join the community there.

  “We still don’t know how they were recruited, more than two thousand of them, right under the noses of every law enforcement agency in the country. That was a crime in itself; several thousand blacks just disappear off the street with no one noticing? That says more about the value this country puts on nonwhites than anything else. It’s been close to ten years now and all I see are entitled whites screaming for the government to get the technologies those people have, but nothing about addressing the underlying reasons why they abandoned their families, their communities and this country to be off by themselves in the first place. And by any measure they’ve done a damned good job of thumbing their noses at us just by virtue of the fact that they live in outer space, for heaven’s sake!” said Roscoe.