Gliese 581

by Christine D. Shuck

  No more screaming grandchild, no more drunken collegiate son, no more hunger, just rest.

  Tens of Tens

  “It is not clear that intelligence has any long-term survival value.” – Stephen Hawking

  Date: 04.04.2097

  Earth – Cape Canaveral, Florida

  Dr. Anthony Vogt bowed his head and rubbed his temples. The conference room table was strewn with coffee cups and stacks of folders and the room was in an uproar. It was the third meeting for the Selection Team in charge of weeding through the list of applicants to crew Calypso. The first week had gone smoothly, but last week and this week had devolved into arguments over religion. More specifically, the question of whether there should be a minister or priest in the contingent.

  The room had divided itself into three factions, those of faith, the atheists and agnostics, and those who felt that there was some kind of compromise to be made. Dr. Mendez was of the first variety, Dr. Lowenstein was quite clearly in the second camp, and Anthony found himself in the third. As for the other five members of the team, two had left in disgust moments ago, and the other three were positioning themselves on either Mendez or Lowenstein’s side of the argument.

  Sal Mendez and Oren Lowenstein stood toe to toe, red-faced and shouting.

  Sal looked as if he were courting a coronary. His eyes bulged and his large beefy hands were curled into fists. He was tall, as well as wide, and looked as if he could stand to lose a good fifty pounds. His black hair bristled, and sweat flew from the tips as he shook with rage at the suggestion Oren Lowenstein had just made. From his neck up, he was bright red, except at the forehead which was actually starting to look purple.

  “We are nothing without God!” he shouted at Oren.

  Oren was slim, also dark-haired and despite the size difference, he did not look afraid of the larger man in the least.

  “Oh yes, and whose God do we speak of? Hmm? The God who’s Jews killed Christ? Or perhaps the Muslim’s Allah, or Falun Gong?” His eyes snapped with anger, “Better yet, perhaps we should send the Mormons?”

  Anthony tried to intervene, “If we could just...” Neither man paid any attention to him.

  Mendez was a good man, but he was also a devout Catholic. And he had been known to argue, rather vociferously, for hours in support of the duality of faith and science. Lowenstein, whose father had been an Orthodox rabbi, was an atheist to the core and unafraid to call others, especially his fellow scientists, fools if they professed any sign of faith or belief in a higher power.

  “God will judge the godless!”

  “Do you believe in the tooth fairy and Easter bunny as well?”

  “To send man out into the stars without faith to guide him is sacrilege!”

  “Perhaps we should also bring hexes and make sure everyone knows how to ward off demons!”

  “Blasphemer!”

  “Idiot!”

  “ENOUGH!” Anthony’s bellow cut through both men’s shouts and startled the rest of the room into silence. The abrupt silence allowed Anthony some respite from his pounding headache, but he knew he had very little time before it started up again. “We will show each other respect, and that includes all faiths, or lack thereof.”

  The folder that had started today’s argument was that of Jacob Carter, age 44, a brilliant and respected psychotherapist who also held a doctorate in Ethnobotany. He was one of the handful of “over forty” age applicants, yes, but it was his recent conversion that had sparked controversy. Applicants were given extensive physical and psychological tests as well as essay-type questions designed to elicit as much personal information about the applicant as possible. Under the Personal Beliefs section, he had candidly written about his decision to attend seminary and become an ordained Methodist minister five years before.

  “It is my dream that I may take the word of God to the stars, as a comfort to those of faith in the darkness of space.”

  A man who not only professed his faith, but was interested in proselytizing? This revelation had raised Lowenstein’s fur, and he had said something disparaging about religion, setting off Mendez.

  “Look,” Anthony continued, ignoring Mendez’s labored breathing, the man looked closer to a heart attack than he was comfortable with, “This is about choosing the tens out of the tens.”

  Oren responded, “Jacob Carter is a ten out of ten,” he snapped, “despite being a...” He frowned slightly, “Methodist.” He rolled his eyes.

  Anthony jumped in quickly, “Yes, he is. He fits into our needed skillsets - his addition will make five total individuals with degrees in the various areas of botany. And Jacob is the only one with an ethnobotany degree. His abilities as a psychotherapist are well known as well. He has served as a crisis counselor during the Narine conflict and has passed all of the physical and psychological tests with flying colors.”

  His eyes ran down the summary page, then flipped to the back half, “Family history is negative for any mental illness, early death, or inherited diseases. His bone structure is optimal and his heart is good.”

  “Dr. Carter has also expressed an interest in studying Oceanology and assisting Fuller in exploring the anomalies reported in the Decca Strait and while he does not have any children, is fully functional and willing to either pair and reproduce with a suitable partner or adopt from an unrelated source carried by a surrogate.”

  He looked back at Mendez and Lowenstein. They had both slipped back into the plush armchairs that lined the long conference table and seemed to have settled down. Mendez was still pink and Lowenstein pretending indifference as Anthony read aloud to them.

  Anthony continued, “Let’s put him in the final 400 and move on, shall we? All in favor?”

  The five men and women present each voted for Carter, even Lowenstein, who couldn’t resist adding, “At least he’s a Methodist,“ he stared dismissively at Mendez, “which means he is relatively reasonable.”

  Mendez’ face flushed red all over again.

  Anthony sighed. Next on the agenda were the couples and young families who had applied to join in the quest to Zarmina’s World, including twenty gay and lesbian couples. After such a ridiculous fight over religion, Anthony was dreading the inevitable conflict over gay marriage.

  He opened the first folder, “Jack Dunn and Kevin Edmonds, married ten years, one four-year-old adopted son. Jack is a videographer, historian, author, and experienced sailor. Kevin is well versed in communications and has studied extensively in Africa and South America on native building materials. It also notes under education that he has a minor in entomology and he has expressed an interest in cataloging new species once we are on-planet.”

  A murmur from the far corner of the room had begun immediately after hearing the names. It seemed that the homophobic contingent were about to rear their ugly heads. Anthony sighed in resignation and turned his attention to the elderly female board member. Might as well get this over with now.

  Guiyang Gone Bad

  “This body is wasted, full of sickness, and frail; this heap of corruption breaks to pieces, life indeed ends in death.” – Friedrich Max Muller

  Date: 02.06.2099

  Earth – Guiyang City, China

  In the days after Edith Hainey’s visit, Shen Luong, prematurely gray at thirty-five, was beside herself. Shen was in charge of facilities management at Dà Zhū Farms. A position she had been incredibly proud of until recently.

  Her assistant, Xe, had called her the night before with troubling news. “The waste lagoon appears to be draining on its own!”

  Shen had rushed to the site and discovered that they were indeed draining at a steady rate of one centimeter per hour.

  This was not a good sign.

  Dr. Hainey’s visit to the CAFO pig operation outside of the city a mere five weeks prior had set the management scrambling in the days before her arrival. Shen had been instructed to accelerate the sewage lagoon venting schedule and lower the levels of the main lagoons to at least two feet b
elow their current depth. The lagoons threatened to overflow on a daily basis, and regularly did during the rainy season.

  “Seeing them at capacity may alarm the American doctor and threaten the farm’s contract with EcoNu.” Shen’s manager had said. “Get the level down or we will all be looking for work.”

  That was the last thing Shen needed. Her husband had lost his job a few months earlier and they desperately needed her income.

  The machines the farm manager had ordered used to dig deeper into the soil and enlarge the capacity of the pit, had caught and torn out an edge of the reinforcing base. Just a few inches of damage had quickly grown to a full foot, the foul sewage forcing its way from the lagoon through the fissure before dropping down, and then down yet again, following the line of gravity.

  Shen surveyed the lagoon, thinking about the tragically short history of clean water in her country. Her assistant Xe chewed nervously on his already short, ragged fingernails.

  “It’s draining into the Nanming River.” Shen said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. They were far too close to the river.

  “Did you study your history, Xe?” Shen asked, almost conversationally. She was staring at a disaster of epic proportions and couldn’t help but think of her environmental studies in college.

  Her assistant just stared at her. Perhaps he was wondering if she was going to blame this mess on him.

  Shen continued, not waiting for Xe to reply, “As late as 2015, shortly before The Collapse, our country was still struggling to provide their citizens with reliable clean water. By 2030, the wealthier provinces began implementing new, more stringent water controls. But here in one of the poorest provinces, it has always been a different story.”

  She thought of her family, a large extended one thanks to her parents’ generation. Mama was one of five children and Baba was one of seven. Shen had cousins, along with countless nieces and nephews, scattered throughout the sprawling city of Guiyang. They all drank the water from the aged aquifers, all of them fed from the Nanming River.

  “Did you know, Xe, that the Nanming River was once considered one of the most polluted urban rivers in all of southwestern China? It improved though; enough that people began to trust it again. And now this.”

  Shen felt sick. At this very moment, toxic waste from thousands of swine, which had been brewing and bubbling for weeks, was seeping into the aquifers that supplied all of the city’s more than seven million inhabitants with water.

  This was her fault. No matter that she had been ordered to do it by her superiors, she knew it was a gamble when she ordered it. Now thousands would pay the price. This wasn’t a small leak, it wasn’t a small amount of toxins. This would sicken children, adults, and the aged alike and Shen was to blame.

  The virus, already shed and passed to the workers of Dà Zhū Farms, now found itself spreading through the open waters of the aquifer, waiting, replicating, and finally making its way en masse to the doomed city.

  Shen had no idea what to do.

  Far from Shen and Xe, in an impoverished neighborhood on the east side of Guiyang, Cheng’s aunt Wang pursed her lips at the sight.

  “You bury your mother in a basket?” She asked, staring at the coffin, a woven wicker affair which was guaranteed to be as green as possible and break down in the rich earth within in just two years.

  “You decided against the cypress or thuja wood?”

  Cheng Liu had ordered the coffin three weeks earlier, when the progression of the cancer made it apparent that his mother would die soon. As the only child, all funeral duties fell to him.

  Cheng stammered as he answered. His aunt had always made him nervous. “It, it, wa-was the most eco-friendly.”

  His mother’s sister said nothing, just sniffed in disapproval at the sight of this simple, and unorthodox, coffin before her.

  Cheng shoved down the hard roll of revulsion in his guts as his aunt removed the lid, exposing the yellow cloth which covered his mother’s face and the light blue cloth that covered the rest of her body. His aunt had already burned the rest of his mother’s clothes, just four outfits, in accordance with custom.

  “What are you doing?” He asked, trying to sound authoritative and failing utterly.

  “Making sure it is your mother. These progressive funerals, you can’t trust them to get anything right.” Wang said, staring inside.

  “Mother don’t be silly, of course it is Auntie.” Jia said, coming to Cheng’s rescue. “Here Cheng, help me cover the last mirror.”

  Cheng joined his pretty cousin, draping the fabric over the last of the mirrors while Wang returned to finish covering the statue of the Jade Emperor with red paper.

  “And here is the gong, put it on the right side of the door.” Wang ordered, her tone imperious.

  Already the white cloth had been placed over the doorway.

  Cheng glanced back at the woven wicker coffin. It sat on two low stools in the cramped front room, open, his mother resplendent in blue silk.

  A part of him hated to do it, but he took the beautiful black wooden comb with inset mother-of-pearl his father had given to his mother early in their marriage and broke it in two, his aunt watching his every move.

  “You must place one half in the coffin, and the other...”

  “Yes Auntie, I know. The other half will go home with me. He tried to stand up to her, “I do know the customs.”

  “Humph, one look at that coffin and everyone will be certain you have forgotten all of our ways.” She gave him a stern look, “As if anything you have ever done has not been in complete disregard for custom.” She turned away, heading for the tiny kitchen.

  Jia placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Don’t mind her, cousin, she rarely follows customs herself, she just likes to spout them to others. Sit down, sit down, I promise we will feed you terrible food and make you long to be back in Hong Kong again.” She winked, patted his cheek, and then followed her mother into the kitchen.

  Hours later, clothed in black from head to toe, Cheng sat at his mother’s left shoulder as custom dictated, and listened to his aunt and cousin wail.

  Aunt Wang’s cooking, which had rendered the Buddha’s Delight oily and overly salty, and the rice dry and tasteless, was more revolting than usual. He forced himself to swallow another bite when the time came to eat.

  Jia leaned in, “I tried to stop her, but she insists on using far too much oil, and salt, at least you and I get to keep our girlish figures.” Jia was irrepressible, and Cheng loved her for it. She was the one thing he missed, the only family member who had accepted him, and his choices, without any hesitation.

  Despite the taste, Cheng’s aunt, and many of the visitors were putting away massive amounts of the greasy food. Cheng forced another bite down, despite the grim visage of his mother’s cancer-ridden remains beside him.

  Just one day of mourning, it is unseemly,” muttered Wang loud enough to be heard, “My father’s funeral lasted for three days.”

  Cheng ignored yet another glare of disapproval from his aunt, saying nothing as a neighbor nailed the coffin closed and helped to adhere the yellow and white holy papers to the outside of it. It was custom, after all, and the family gazed away while the coffin was sealed. Cheng couldn’t help but think that his aunt should have been born a century earlier, her entire life was steeped in superstition and the old ways.

  After that, the coffin had been transported to the side of the road where additional prayers were offered, along with more slips of papers, before it slowly made its way to the cemetery, Cheng’s head pressed firmly against the hearse for the entire journey.

  As the joss stick burned, the coffin was lowered into the ground. Cheng, his aunt and cousin each tossed in a handful of dirt and then walked away from the grave on the steep hillside.

  Cheng could see that his Aunt was still furious with him. She muttered under her breath as they slowly walked home. It didn’t seem to matter to her that the family’s fortunes had dwindled sha
rply once his father had passed and his mother had slowly begun to fade. Cheng did his best to ignore her.

  “What of the house, Cheng?” Jia had whispered as they walked away from the graveyard.

  “I have made arrangements to offer it for sale. I hope it will be enough to cover the funeral costs.” Cheng replied, quietly. Wang glared at them.

  The simple structure held nothing for him. His life within it, a childhood and adolescence spent growing up within its walls, were framed in sadness and disillusionment. Always they had wanted from him something he was incapable of.

  From the expectations they had of his future, “You must go into business or finance,” his father had insisted in face of his desire to cook with his mother in the kitchen.

  Later, when his mother had noticed him staring for too long at a handsome neighbor boy, she too had let her displeasure be known. The house was a reminder of disappointment and repression. He had left the moment he was able, fleeing to the glitz-covered, forward-thinking metropolis of Hong Kong.

  “Anything left inside is for you and Auntie.”

  Jia smiled at him and then looked sad, “You are leaving today?”

  Aunt Wang had begun to complain loudly about the location of the grave, which apparently did not have the panoramic view she thought it should have.

  ‘Cheng nodded, tilting his head towards his aunt and wrinkling up his mouth.

  “I’m on a flight departing at eight tonight. I just can’t take much more of this, you know? I don’t know how you stand it.”

  The burial location Wang had suggested had cost twice what this one did. Cheng struggled to balance showing respect to his mother and wondering how important it really was to have a panoramic view of the smog-covered city while buried six feet under the earth.

  Jia sighed. “It’s bad of me, I know, but I’m counting the days until I can leave for college. Even if it is medical school.”

  Cheng slipped an arm around her. He knew that his pretty little cousin dreamed of being an actress, something her mother violently opposed. Aunt Wang was determined that Jia go to university and study medicine. The thought of Jia, who spent her days acting out scenes from her favorite movies or re-creating their costumes being sent to medical school, was such a deep disconnect that Cheng found himself filled with a profound sadness.