Confrontation

by William Hayashi

  “It all started with that asshole Kaminski, the chairman of the joint chiefs was the one moving everyone around. I almost got pulled off of your project until President Bender put his foot down and shitcanned the general. But to answer your question, there’s still some die-hard bigots who simply can’t believe black folks built that place and developed all that technology. But no one important listens to them. You know, up until I met this lady I would have gladly gone with them if they offered me the opportunity. But now, as much as I’m dying to see all the advancements they’ve got, I’m pretty content hanging around,” Jim said.

  “Well good for you,” Martin said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Since the Jove mission left, I’ve had someone or another sending me an inquiry every few days asking how our research is coming, like we’ve been sitting on the means of duplicating their control of the fundamental force of gravity just for shits and grins. I’d give my you-know-what to figure out how it’s done. Sometimes, if I let it, it keeps me awake at night. If the FBI is to be believed, they made their discovery in the sixties, for Christ’s sake. Here we are fifty years later and we still have no idea how they do it,” Martin said, brushing back his hair in frustration.

  “I haven’t heard of them coming back in this direction since they left. What about near the moon? After all, those damn SEALs are living in their former home.”

  “Nothing, at least nothing that uses gravity technology. I would imagine that NASA has radar pointed in their direction too. I’m guessing they’re not the least bit interested in coming home.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Tell you what, let’s get down to brass tacks. Is there anything you need for heel-to-toe monitoring of the colony?” Jim asked.

  “Nothing I can think of. We could get by perfectly well with just this one detector, but with the other two in service we’re neck-deep in redundancy. Everyone’s well trained on the equipment, and the encrypted channels the army set up from here to NORAD lets everyone know exactly what we see down here,” Martin replied. “But see if you can swing me a hefty raise.”

  Jim got to his feet, pushed his chair under the desk next to them and said, “Come on, give me the walking tour. I want to see what’s changed since the last time I was here, and then you can buy me lunch.”

  “What a bargain!”

  The Captain spent the morning looking over Shelter 14, not finding anything he could recommend improving on. Over lunch they swapped funny stories of how the military high command had no idea how to treat civilians working within the branches of the military. When Ames left, he promised to invite Martin to Washington to brief the navy on the status of the project, so he could introduce him to his girlfriend over dinner.

  * * *

  Jove’s crew settled into a daily routine of shipboard maintenance, research, training and education. The hours after dinner were unofficially devoted to recreation, both each at their own pursuit or in groups. Their most popular activity was sitting around and talking about their pasts and speculating on what might happen once they arrived at the colony. When it was discovered that several members of the crew had brought sizable music collections along, someone’s music was often playing in the common area while people hung out.

  They were impressed with John’s extensive classic jazz collection, but he was quick to explain that one of his favorite hangouts was a jazz bar and the proprietor was the one who pulled the collection together. After a few days the crew was most likely to play classic rock from the sixties and the seventies, classic R&B, or John’s jazz. And John kept to his writing when he could, working up dossiers on each member of the crew.

  Chester Grier, black, 53 years old. NASA Medical, MD & Ph.D., mission shrink. Grew up in Brooklyn, N.Y., full ride scholarship at Columbia, trained at Johns Hopkins. Divorced, no children. Three shuttle missions under his belt and two tours on the IIS. Also, has a masters degree in engineering; just another example of why I’m the glorified janitor on this mission. His role in helping maintain our collective sanity is probably going to be tested somewhere along the line. In tonight’s bull session he also said he was along to help out Susan and Bianca in their communications and/or negotiations with the colonists. Tomorrow night we’ll get to see what kind of poker player he is. If Dave has to do any kind of surgery or repair here, Chester is the perfect scrub nurse, was supposed to be a medic in Vietnam but the war ended. Pretty calm, hard to get a read on him; can’t wait for poker!

  Poker night was a rousing success, with players rotating in and out to keep the table stocked at six players. As expected, John couldn’t see any tells in Chester’s play. And Susan obviously had some unmentioned experience in her past, or maybe it was a matter of being great with numbers. Between her and Chester, they managed to hold off the others and end up with about three-quarters of the table’s stakes. When Rachel took Susan’s place for a few hands, she was unexpectedly cutthroat in her play. She explained that she had hung out with a bunch of male engineers in graduate school and their poker nights completely paid for helicopter lessons and a commercial pilot’s license.

  When the game was over, John was proud of the fact that he was up a hundred dollars in chips, fully expecting to have lost his shirt with this crowd. Once the cards and chips were cleaned up, and a selection from John’s jazz collection was playing softly in the common area, he headed off to his room.

  Settled in at his desk, he did a quick profile on their copilot.

  Sybil Woodson, white, 5' 7”, 42 years old, single, backup pilot & electronics engineer. Incredible set of hands, during one of the drills took apart the communications console, diagnosed and repaired a board-level fault in less than ten minutes. Test pilot for Northrop Grumman, built her own jet from a kit. Almost seems to have an inbred electronic affinity for computers and control systems. Never been in space before, perfect scores on the shuttle simulator, loved the Vomit Comet. Cool in a crisis, reserved. Rumors in Houston, she has a woman partner. BFD. No history of military training, civilian contractor to NASA before being tapped for the mission. She’s a cool customer in a crisis, at least the ones they threw at us during training. Hard to read her, friendly but reserved. Found out from Dr. Roscoe that Sybil speaks conversational Spanish, French and Russian. Peter tossed her his messed-up Rubik’s cube and she solved it in less than a minute. That’s a mind always running on all cylinders.

  Settled into their routine, hopefully untroubled by future mishap, the crew was getting to know each other well socially. They took turns making meals and choosing the evening’s entertainment if they decided to gather as a group. During the few times John skipped socializing, he continued his studies of the ship’s systems and his evaluation of his crewmates.

  Rachel Cole, 5'2”, white, 49 years old, propulsion engineer, married with a teenage daughter. Worked directly with Patrick Jensen on the final design. She led the engineering crew in orbit for two six-month stretches. Supervised the attachment of the engines to the ship before Jensen arrived in orbit. Rumor has it she knows the engines even better than he does. Glad to have her along if anything should go wrong. Doesn’t seem much for casual socializing. With all the time away I wonder what kind of relationship she has with her daughter. Unfailingly polite, but somewhat aloof. She’s due to perform an EVA in the next few days to inspect the attached construction crew module. She offered to take me along. I can’t wait; the better I know my suit, the better I feel about this whole outer space thing.

  John noticed his little profiles were becoming more of a journal, which didn’t particularly bother him. He knew that were he to spot something untoward, he would automatically focus his attention on whomever it might be; his prior training serving him well.

  The next night, after he had a stint with the algae tank and air recirculating systems, he continued with his ever-briefer summaries.

  Phyllis Barnes, white, 37, divorced, about 5'7”, redhead, an environmental systems engineer. No children. Start
ed at NASA right out of school. Masters in engineering from Carnegie Mellon, apparently had a full-boat scholarship from NASA. Designed the air system for the ISS and the huge ammonia pumps that keep the ISS cooled down. Has several patents under her belt and is independently wealthy. Seems to be good friends with Rachel.

  John was surprised when he realized that these people were turning out to be his friends. It was a powerful realization, especially so for someone who had essentially cut himself off from the rest of humanity ever since Sydney had left. Pete had known it when he made John take the job as bartender at the lounge, knowing that John had not kept up any friendships he had with his fellow officers. The bitterness he felt over losing Sydney, and the resulting slights from the police force higher-ups, managed to remain under cover, never revealing itself behind the bar or in the casual discussion with Pete.

  Being on Jove, sharing time and space with such extraordinary people was an unaccustomed circumstance for him, at least since he served in Vietnam. As he thought about it, it was almost exactly like being in a war zone. You had to rely on those around you for protection as you did everything possible to keep them safe as well.

  John couldn’t find fault with any of his crewmates. They were all brilliant, they were all overachievers, and quite confident of ensuring a successful mission, if you measured success as getting back to Earth safely. And he couldn’t find a single instance where they were less than genuine with him.

  David Carpenter, 51, white, divorced, medic and botanical scientist, graduate in agriculture from the University of Wisconsin. Trained as a medic for the mission, still taking courses online. David is probably the friendliest member of the crew. He’s always willing to give someone a hand with their own work. Some of the herbs he’s growing we’ve actually been able to use at dinner. He’s also got about 100 square feet of stacked hydroponics tanks filled with hybrids that will revolutionize local food production in long-term habitats. Does two video lectures a week and sends them back to NASA. Is an expert in classic rock songs from the 60s and 70s, not a big fan of jazz, but knows a lot of music history.

  John lived with a measure of concealed guilt, knowing that in all likelihood the only member of the crew with a hidden agenda was him. He was using a false identity, and was there for two reasons, one of which appeared to be a waste of time. He wasn’t able to discern anyone who acted like anything but what they were. He had discussed the prospect, before he started training, of speaking to Sydney if offered the opportunity. He was under little illusion that his presence on the mission was going to make any difference at all in how the colonists treated them upon arrival.

  Judith Smith, 34 years old, black, single, 5'6”, very striking green eyes, mission doctor, nutritionist. Graduated summa cum laude from Stanford Medical School. Both parents died in an automobile accident when run off the road by a drunk driver when she was eleven years old. Raised by her maternal grandparents, obviously an overachiever. Very open and friendly. Her grandparents must have been extraordinary to have helped her through losing her parents, and provided a supportive environment as far as her education was concerned. More often than not, very upbeat, always looking at the bright side of life, to borrow from Monty Python.

  He had some unexpectedly fun discussions with Judith; she reminded John of Sydney. She was the youngest member of the crew, and as a black woman her experiences going through medical school were no picnic. Her racial wounds were the most recent. However, she had a wicked sense of humor and a real talent for telling stories about the crap she put up with going through school.

  All in all, John was beginning to feel like an integral member of the crew. The one thing that constantly nagged at him was what the fallout would be when he was forced into revealing his true identity.

  Two weeks into their journey, the crew gathered together to watch the departure of the Svoboda mission which was being transmitted from Earth. The interviews, coverage, and spectacle surrounding their exit from Earth’s orbit didn’t quite compare with America’s wall-to-wall network and cable extravaganza, but it was interesting as well as entertaining.

  In Houston, Patrick Jensen was watching with several members of his engineering team and Dr. Milton in one of the conference rooms. They had just received the published technical specifications of the Svoboda spacecraft, including its revolutionary nuclear propulsion engines.

  While the coverage ran on the big screen of the conference room, Patrick and Dr. Milton were looking over the data on the ship.

  “It really does look like they copied the look of the Discovery in 2001,” Milton observed.

  “It doesn’t say here that I can find, but I wonder what kind of radiation that thing pours out?” Patrick said, pointing to the engine housing at the rear of the ship.

  “They’ve got a lot less living space, too. But there’s only, what, five of them? If these engine specs are right, they have a good chance of beating us to the colony.”

  “Maybe. But do they really want to?” Patrick wondered aloud.

  “How so?” asked one of Patrick’s team.

  “The colonists don’t want us there, they don’t want to be bothered. What for? We’ve got nothing to offer them but prejudice and whatnot; they made that clear. And remember, the last time we sent someone to meet the neighbors, we sent soldiers.”

  “You think they’re going to do something to our people?” asked the engineer.

  “I have no freakin’ idea. But I’m damn happy I’m here and not on Jove.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you said about working in orbit,” Randy reminded him.

  “Hey, we came in under budget and three days ahead of schedule, thanks to my being there,” Patrick said with pride.

  “True. Not only that, but you got to share a bunk with that cutie comm engineer up there too!” Randy said, the whole room erupting in laughter.

  Blushing, Patrick shot back, “Will you shut the hell up? I thought what happened in orbit, stayed in orbit.”

  “You didn’t mention having to share quarters while you were in orbit, Patrick. Was your module short on space?” Milton asked, twisting the knife, amused at Patrick’s obvious discomfort. “I would have thought you’d have learned your lesson, young man.”

  “Something we should know about, doc?” one of the women on Patrick’s team inquired.

  “It’s just that young Pat here is particularly popular with the ladies he meets. Okay, let’s hold it down, they’re going to interview the crew and I want to see whom they drafted for the mission,” Milton said, sparing Patrick further embarrassment.

  The assembled watched as the crew was introduced, broadcasting from the Svoboda spacecraft as it made its final orbit around Earth. Milton paid particular attention to the mission commander, Colonel Levkov, having received a confidential dossier on him the week before.

  “What’s your impression of him?” Milton asked Patrick.

  “Military, no nonsense. Not someone I would have picked for contacting the colonists. And what’s up with that one African? Seems kind of cynical to me to have him along, and the only person of color in the entire crew. And why no one from the UN on their mission? Too many questions about their overall agenda.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning, is their expedition really a military mission at heart? If you ask me, those SEALs got off easy in every way possible. The shuttle could have been destroyed; they could have been killed when they dropped to the surface of the moon; that outpost could have been left an empty hole in the rock; anything. The separatists grabbed the Apollo 13 command module and lunar lander right out from under our noses—well under your noses, I wasn’t even born—and no one saw a damn thing.

  “How come no one saw them snatch them right out of the sky? And to leave them sitting just inside the door of the only atmosphere the SEALs had available to them? Talk about sending a message. If those colonists really want to thr
ow a monkey wrench in the works, all they have to do is move their space station somewhere else. Neither of these missions could go chasing after them all over the solar system. But what I think is that they’re going to somehow let us know in no uncertain terms that they had best be left alone.”

  The room was quiet, everyone mulling over what Patrick said. Finally, Isabel, the team’s lead chemist, said “So what are you suggesting? They’re going to kill both crews when they get there?”

  “No, if they were like that, those SEALs would be dead instead of just wishing they were, stuck on the moon for ten years now. They’ve been living in lunar gravity for all that time. They’re not going to be able to stand up on their own when they get back; that is if they all don’t have heart attacks or strokes the moment they’re back on Earth,” Patrick answered.

  “That’s not necessarily true, Pat,” Milton said. “If they’re careful, we should be able to get them in good enough shape to at least have a normal life. Although our doctors and life sciences guys are chomping at the bit to get them home to see what extended low-G did to their bodies, especially their bone density. However, to Pat’s point, I don’t think the missions are in any kind of mortal danger from the colonists, but ‘flicking the tiger’s nose’ is a very apt description for sending these missions out there. Let’s hope the Russian/EU mission is on the up-and-up.”

  They watched the rest of the coverage of the departure of Svoboda in silence, and when the various talking heads began checking in with their speculations, Milton turned down the sound and they began to systematically go through the Svoboda specifications. Patrick was particularly impressed with the design of the nuclear engines. At one time he had considered designing a similar system for Jove, but thought the technology too untried, too risky. But in looking over the engineering of the Svoboda, he was respectfully impressed with the thought that went into the design, even coming up with several ideas he hadn’t considered.