Launch Pad (27 page)

Afterward Antoine walked me home and in the darkness kissed me. I was full of tenderness for him but my brain remained disconnected from my body, zooming onward and onward.

11.

Dr. Hardy met with his superiors, and they agreed to let me recast my decision on the condition that I meet with a doctor about my alleged debilitating grief over J’s suicide. The doctor was a thin woman with dark red hair and eyes rimmed with dark pencil. We talked about J in a perfunctory way. I answered the way I’d practiced. I felt very much in control of myself. She asked me if I’d ever considered suicide. How casual a question. How politely professional. I thought about airlocks and culinary knives and the cotton belt of my skirt and the bitter white pills the infirmary gives out when you can’t sleep. I have a stockpile of those under my socks in the second drawer of my closet.

“No,” I told her. “What a waste, to end your life when there’s so much to live for.”

12.

Tomorrow we launch. All these months of planning, preparing, training, and troubleshooting will pay off in our transformation into little gods of spaceflight. I have said my farewell to Mother, who I will never see again. Once you go to the frontier you don’t return. I told her to paint a dot on her ceiling for Europa and imagine me swimming in its oceans, a merwoman finally returned to her home after being imprisoned far, far away. She doesn’t like it when I call Mars a prison. She and Father chose it, she said, to give me their only child opportunities I’d never have on Earth. She thinks they sacrificed their lives for me. I think I was the sacrifice, but there’s no use quarreling over it now.

A few minutes ago, Ted left my room. He is our mission commander. He is handsome and brilliant and I want to devour him whole. However, we have vowed not to announce our relationship until we reach Europa. He is exactly the kind of man I have always longed for: magnificent, towering, full of kindness for me. He supports me wholeheartedly. He respects my brain and body both. He makes all other men seem like shadows. Together we will raise Europa’s colonies and our family, and we will know perfect bliss.

I’m too excited to sleep. Too jittery with joy and anticipation. Tomorrow my whole life changes. For now maybe I will swallow one of these bitter white pills, and let dreams of the ocean pull me under.

***

Glitches

By Doug Farren

“That’s it,” Brian announced, sliding the keyboard into the console. Standing up, he rubbed his hands together as if to brush off some imaginary dust. “Xavier, do you agree?”

“I concur,” a male voice replied from the overhead speaker. “The ship is configured for cruise-plus mode. I have full control of all systems.”

Brian Sokolowski, the New Hope’s 36 year-old executive officer, turned to face the only other person on the bridge. “Well Captain, I guess it’s time for us to join the rest of the passengers and begin our long sleep.”

Captain Stan Holbrooke nodded in agreement. His head, as well as Brian’s, was shaved. The stubble had clear gaps in the front and top where no hair would ever grow. Although he was only seven years older than Brian, his hairline had been receding since his 30th birthday.

Stan headed for the door, his magnetic shoes causing him to walk in a strange, jerking motion. Each step he took emitted a double click, making him sound like a tap dancer slowly practicing his routine; the heal-plate hit the floor first, followed quickly by the toe-plate.

From behind, Brian said, “I can’t shake this feeling we’re forgetting something; like, maybe we left the stove on.”

“All appliances in the galley are powered down,” Xavier said.

The Captain chuckled as they reached the hatch. “You’re not one of those people who would turn around after an hour on the road because you thought you forgot to lock the doors are you?”

“No,” Brian replied stepping over the knife-edge of the hatch. “But this is different. We’re putting on the cruise control and going to bed for a 200 year nap.”

Stan paused at the hatch to take one more look around the bridge. Most of the consoles in the twenty-meter square room were dark and would remain that way until they reached their destination. “Xavier is much more than just a simple cruise control,” he said, closing the hatch.

Brian ran his hand over the top of his head. He used to boast a thick mass of dark, red wavy hair, a gift from his Irish-born father—now it was just a stubble. “It’s still a machine,” he replied.

“He,” the Captain corrected, spinning the handwheel to firmly dog the airtight door.

“He,” Brian emphasized the word, “is not human and therefore doesn’t have a gender.”

Stan waved his hand in the air. They’d had this argument too many times in the past and he was in no mood to get into it again. “Xavier will wake one of us if he gets into a situation he can’t handle. If you’re not comfortable with his abilities, you’re more than welcome to keep him company until you die of old age.”

For a moment, Stan had the wild idea that Brian was actually considering the suggestion. “No thanks,” Brian finally said.

The pair made their way down a long, wide passageway which ran from the bow all the way to the engineering section at the aft end of the massive ship. It could easily have accommodated four people walking abreast. Prior to the New Hope’s launch, this had been a very busy corridor. It was now empty and, except for the echoing clicks of their shoes, silent.

The hibernation prep-room had been built to accommodate twenty people at a time. Two pods stood waiting, their clear plastic clamshell covers open as if inviting someone to lay down inside. Two of Xavier’s humanoid robots were also in the room.

Pulling his shirt over his head, Brian said conversationally, “They claim you don’t dream in hibernation.” Casually tossing his shirt to the nearest robot, he began working on removing his pants. “If that’s true, then as far as we’re concerned we’ll be arriving in another star system in a few minutes, even though nearly 200 years will have passed.”

The Captain pushed his pants down to his ankles and stepped out of his shoes leaving them stuck to the metal deck. He grabbed a handhold before gently pushing off the floor. He executed a slow-motion ballet into the waiting hibernation pod. “I’ve heard some people do dream,” he said, sliding his legs into the tubes designed to accept them. “See you in 189 years.”

The clamshell closed, cutting off all further conversation. Stan saw Brian mouth a reply as the robot began gathering up his discarded clothes. They would be cleaned then carefully folded and vacuum-packed to keep them fresh until needed again. A slight hiss marked the release of the anesthetic gas and a moment later he was asleep. A thin sheet was pulled over his limp body up to his neck. A slight vacuum caused it to tightly adhere to every square inch of his exposed skin. The sheet contained thousands of tiny sensors as well as electrical stimulation points to keep his muscles from atrophying during his extended sleep.

The pod’s computer waited until it was satisfied that its occupant was completely unconscious before moving itself into what the crew referred to as the meat locker. It traveled along a light rail system until it reached its destination where it was locked in place, joining the other 100,000 colonists already in hibernation. The air inside the pod was infused with a mixture of exotic gases as the temperature was slowly lowered. The Captain’s heart rate slowed to a single beat every 15 seconds. His breathing became shallow and very slow as his metabolism entered a state of chemically induced hibernation.

The New Hope was a gigantic spaceship. Funded through a combination of private and government donations, the ship had taken sixteen years to build in lunar orbit. The main part of the vessel consisted of two groups of five cylinders, each one 800 meters long and 200 meters in diameter, stacked together like giant pencils around a sixth. A huge, half-meter thick erosion plate was mounted on the bow. The habitat section was coupled to the engineering section at the rear. The engineering component was half again as large as the habitat section, most of it consisting of fuel.

Four months ago, the New Hope’s mighty antimatter-enhanced VASIMR engines had ignited, propelling the ship out of the solar system at a steady acceleration of 0.1Gs to achieve a speed of 3.389% the speed of light. Two days ago, the last of the fuel tanks, along with the VASIMR engines themselves, had been jettisoned, ending the boost phase. The more efficient but less powerful ion engines would continue to accelerate the ship at 0.011Gs for the next ten years—the cruise-plus phase. Following the shutdown of the ion engines, the cruise phase of the journey would begin with the ship coasting along at 26.07% the speed of light for the next 156.5 years. Xavier would then spin the ship end-for-end for the final phase—cruise-minus, where the ion engines would run continuously for 23 years to decelerate the ship.

Xavier’s electronic presence roamed the empty, silent ship as it glided through space. His primary mission was to protect the colonists tucked away in the meat locker and to ensure the ship made it to their destination, a star designated as 18 Scorpii. They were heading for the fourth planet of that system. A planet believed to be much like Earth.

O O O

Captain Holbrooke opened his eyes to see one of Xavier’s robots looking down at him. Reaching up, he stroked his chin and suddenly came wide awake. When he had climbed into the hibernation pod his chin had been smooth and freshly shaved. It was now covered by a heavy stubble. If he had been in hibernation for as long as expected he should have had a full beard by now. “What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up.

“I have lost communications with all group 11 hibernation pods,” Xavier replied. “Six robots have been stationed in the area to monitor the local indicators. The troubleshooting algorithms have been unable to locate the fault.”

The Captain gently launched himself out of the pod. “How long have I been in hibernation?”

The robot backed away as Stan performed a graceful somersault to the floor. “Eleven years, three months, and nine days. I have prepared a solid meal for you. You should eat as soon as possible.”

Although his body had been fed liquid nutrients during his slumber, his stomach was empty and the mention of food triggered a sharp pang of hunger. “Let me get dressed first,” he said taking the pants the robot was holding out for him. What have you done so far to try to restore communications?”

“Diagnostics have been run on the communication hubs in both the primary and the backup channels; everything appears normal. All of the pods will respond to a ping on both channels yet none of the group 11 pods will transmit any data. A visual examination of all associated circuits has failed to identify any abnormalities.”

Stan had managed to put himself into a slow spin while dressing. He grabbed the extended arm of the robot and pulled himself to the floor where his shoes were stuck to the deck. “Sounds like a network or electronics issue,” he said, tightening the straps of his shoes. “Let’s wake Kum-Ja Kwang.”

“Might I suggest waking Frank Halpin as well,” Xavier said. “He has an electronics background.”

“Good idea. Do it.”

“Here,” Xavier said. The robot was holding a food tube in its hand. “I hope I have made a good choice for your first meal after hibernation.”

Stan took the tube and turned it so he could read what it contained—a western omelet. “Let’s just say that I dislike this choice less than the others,” Stan said. After sucking a bit out of the tube, he added, “I swear they put a tiny bit of diesel fuel in every one of these.”

“I can analyze a tube if you wish.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. It might just be the smells in the air.”

“The air quality appears to be optimal. Is there something wrong with my analysis?”

Stan looked at the robot. He wished it had been a model capable of expressing emotion. Xavier actually sounded worried. “No, not at all. The air purifiers simply can’t remove the smells that tend to build up inside an enclosed environment. I’ve gotten used to it, but if I were to spend a few hours in fresh air I would say that this place stinks to high heaven when I returned.”

“I am sorry. Perhaps …”

“Xavier, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Acknowledged. Would you like me to heat up some coffee?”

“Sure. Is the bridge warm?”

“I have restored the temperature to the areas of the ship you will most likely need to access.”

Two hours later, Frank and Kum-Ja, accompanied by one of Xavier’s robots, joined the Captain on the bridge. It was as if two people from opposite ends of the human spectrum had entered the room. Frank, the New Hope’s network specialist was a tall, very dark-skinned black man. Kum-Ja, the ship’s IT manager, was a petite woman from South Korea.

“Sorry to interrupt your sleep,” the Captain greeted the new arrivals. He was strapped to the seat at one of the two engineering stations. “Has Xavier briefed you on the problem he’s encountered?”

“He did,” Kum-Ja replied. “We were discussing it on the way here. I can’t say I’ve ever encountered a problem like this before. Waking Frank was a good decision.”

“Xavier suggested it,” Stan replied. Looking at Frank, he continued. “Any ideas yet?”

Frank played with his earlobe. “Well,” he said after a moment, “I only know what Xavier has told us. Right now I’m as stumped as he is. I’d like to head down to the pod monitoring station to gather more data.”

“Certainly,” Stan replied. “I’m going to stick around here and check up on the ship’s condition.”

While Frank and Kum-Ja worked to ferret out the problem, Stan busied himself with checking on the ship’s status. All systems appeared to be working perfectly. Spinning the chair around, he surveyed the bridge. The two engineering stations took up the entire port side of the bridge. These stations could access everything from the sewage pumps to the fusion reactors. Damage control, if it ever became necessary, was also handled at these stations.

The forward part of the bridge contained the helm and navigation stations. The starboard side held the science station which would tell them if their new home was going to be a paradise or purgatory. All the readings from Earth promised a planet with a breathable atmosphere and a temperate climate but there was always some amount of uncertainty in the readings. Next to the science station was the small communications console followed by the emergency pressure suit lockers. In the center of the room sat the command chair. Stan had promised not to sit in it until they reached their destination.

“Have you found everything to be in order?” Xavier asked.

Turning to the robot, which had insisted on remaining with him, Stan nodded. “I have. You’ve done a good job.”

“Thank you,” the robot replied in a tone suggesting that if it could have done so it would have smiled.

Stan completed his checks, ran a few diagnostics, and then went down to check up on the troubleshooting. The pod monitoring station was a small room packed with computer terminals arranged in a semicircle around three chairs.

“Any luck?” Stan asked from the doorway.

“Nothing so far,” Frank replied, sounding a bit perturbed.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Not really,” Kum-Ja replied. “This might take a day or so.”

“I’d better have Xavier warm up our quarters then.”

Stan hovered in the doorway for a few minutes, listening to the two technicians babble at each other in technical terms he could not understand. Bored, he made his way back to the bridge.

“Would you like to play a game of chess?” Xavier asked.

Stan looked around and shrugged his shoulders. “Why not? You’re running the ship and the others are busy trying to fix the problem. I’m pretty much useless right now.”

“White or black?”

Stan periodically checked in with Kum-Ja until he was firmly but politely told to leave them alone. He occupied himself by playing chess, reading, and watching recorded movies. After two days of near total boredom he was very relieved when Kum-Ja called a meeting on the bridge.

“It’s fixed,” Kum-Ja announced as the Captain entered the bridge. Her eyes had dark circles under them and she moved as if she hadn’t slept in days. Frank looked just as tired and kept rubbing his wrists. There was a sheen on his forehead and he exuded a strong odor as if he had been working out.

“Neither of us have ever seen anything like it,” Frank told the Captain. “Pod 11-182 was replying for every pod in the group but refused to send any realtime data. That’s why Xavier thought he could communicate with them all. Over time, we think this somehow corrupted the routing table of the switches causing them to route all communications to 11-182 exclusively.”