The Project Manager

by Terry Connolly

  As John floated in silence he mentally went through his to-do list for that week. He probably shouldn’t have, all it did was remind him that he wasn’t working right now and had less and less time to get urgent tasks done. Later that afternoon he had two important meetings lined up. The first was with the main engineers for the mounting of the engines. It was a virtual conference with the three senior engineers on the Zheng He, the three senior engineers for engine assembly, and the main engineer at the shuttle launch site. They had each prepared a detailed run-through for their part of the launch and assembly, and they needed to make sure that when responsibility was handed from one team to the next that it was done smoothly. John expected the meeting to last at least three hours, it was the third such meeting and a lot of the basics had already been covered. Things were very different from when it was just Graham and himself in their little office in Houston. Now John had a team of thirty project managers reporting to him on various aspects of the gargantuan task they had to accomplish, and each one of them had teams of at least five expert advisors. Yet somehow John managed to keep a detailed overview of everything, though as they began to reach one of their key targets he felt like he was barely clinging on to this overview with the overstrained neurons which made up his memory. The whole idea of him moving up to the ship was to make sure he would remain at the heart of the action. His second meeting, at about 9 p.m. would be less important to the project, but even more stressful for John. Harry Smith was getting value for his money.

  Once he was out of the tank John had an Electrocardiogram, gave a blood sample and went to his conference call. He was beginning to put on weight as he got older and all this sitting in meetings and conference calls really wasn’t helping, but the training was making him feel healthier than he had for months. His estimate of three hours for the call was right. There were some issues with the transfer process, as he had expected, but they found a potential solution so they managed to finish on time. John went back to his hotel, took a quick shower and was downstairs in the restaurant for 9 p.m. sharp. As always, Alexander Braun, with his dark hair, clear blue eyes and tailored suit was sitting waiting for him. Such a tall young man really shouldn’t dress so conservatively. At twenty one years old, Alex was John’s Ephrem appointed assistant, Alex was also the youngest son of Leon Braun. At first John resented having his shoulder looked over by the son of someone he knew was responsible, at least partially, for the murder of his wife, but then he realised that in order to infiltrate Ephrem’s inner circle perhaps this wasn’t such a bad development. Alex seemed to trust John, though it was taking a lot of effort on John’s part to get close to him; their personalities couldn’t have been more different. He was clearly well educated and ambitious but for someone who was so young he was far too confident and insincere. Still, John smiled along, there was too much at stake, and thanks to Graham’s early influence John had the experience he needed to be a good mentor.

  Alex stood up as John approached: “Hi John, how was the tank for you today? I nearly went mad with boredom.”

  Alex was going to be one of the five assistants accompanying John to the Zheng He so he was undergoing the same training. So far he seemed to be passing all the tests comfortably, though this is to be expected from someone in good health with so much physical energy.

  “Hi Alex, it was torture for me too, I’ve had a whole day of trying to catch up after it. Is that the latest compilation of profiles you have? It’s a bit thin looking.”

  John reached across and picked up the blue plastic folder Alex had left on the table next to his cutlery.

  “Nope, it’s the first draft organigrams for the second generation. The boys and girls in Milan have put together ten potential scenarios for forty years into the trip and the possible requirements at that point. They were emailed to me this morning and I prepared them for you to review tonight.”

  Despite Alex’s personality, he was a good assistant and had quickly learned John’s preference for old fashioned pen and paper.

  “Thanks. I wasn’t expecting these for another month. I guess they are getting nervous about the selection process?”

  “Yep. They think we have probably done enough to win, but they know the story of the tortoise and the hare and don’t want to rest until the UN Secretary General’s signature is dry on the paper.”

  “Well, that’s why Ephrem is a billion dollar company I guess. When do they want my feedback?”

  “Tomorrow morning if possible.”

  “Maybe I can do a quick read through before bed and give a verbal opinion but they will have nothing written by tomorrow. I am shattered after the tank today, as are you I suppose?”

  “Yes, I can barely keep my eyes open, that on top of the jet lag. How have you managed it so long?”

  “I cut off technology at 9pm every night, otherwise I would have been permanently tired for about 15, no, 16 years now. The short weekend breaks every so often help too.”

  “You won’t be able to turn off the Zheng He when you are on it?”

  “No Alex, I won’t, but that’s why I’ve people working for me. As much as I’d love to do everything myself, I can’t.”

  The waiter arrived, looking as cheerful as if his pet cat just died, so his normal self then. They had learned the first night not to bother ordering in English, the waiter had informed them that they must practice their Russian, after all, there would be many Russian engineers working with them for the outfitting of the ship. They put in their order for goulash and polenta for both of them to be washed down with Pinot Noir, and for desert: two neat Vodka’s…each. The training might be mentally tough and the waiter rude, but the food and drink more than made up for it.

  As they waited for the food to arrive John flicked through the first couple of pages in the blue folder. He didn’t want to deal with this right now. The presence of the waiter had reminded him of the visit he paid to the pre-assembly area for the internal fitting of the Ship. The plumbing, wiring, plastering etc. wouldn’t begin until the ship began to rotate and artificial gravity, or more accurately centripetal force, was established. “Alex, do you remember the pre-assembled living room we saw in St. Petersburg?” Alex put down his tablet; he had been emailing his on-off girlfriend to meet up with her next week.

  “Yep, it didn’t look too bad, why?”

  “It was eggshell white. I know it’s a neutral colour but could you imagine living in that for your entire life? Also, there’s an assumption that the ship will be some sort of sterile glistening white futuristic clinic.”

  “You told them it agreed with the specifications?”

  “Yes, but those specifications were old, and more for the designers than for the end users. Here’s something that Ephrem might want to include in your tender, maybe to accompany the organigram for the second generation, how do we allow the colonists to modify the Zheng He as time progresses?”

  “I still don’t get you. Is it that big a deal?”

  “I don’t know. Ephrem’s remit is to select the colonists in such a way that a viable and healthy population will reach the destination planet. My remit is to get the ship ready to launch on time and to be capable of carrying the colonists. So far though, necessity has required that we go beyond our remits from time to time. Is the Milan office taking things like individuality, fashion, expression, and culture into account?”

  “John, we have no control over these things, the UN won’t give us the contract for going beyond the brief in our submission to them. Our competitors are sticking to the brief.”

  “Surely an annex wouldn’t hurt. I know a few anthropologists from the early stages of the work back in ’27, they can put it together pretty easily. Worst case scenario it at least sparks a better debate on the issue.”

  “What issue? The décor? I’m still not getting you.”

  “Alex. Imagine you are one of the second generation colonists in this blue folder” John pointed at the page open in front of him “take this person: “colonist
43 b- Junior Navigational Engineer and senior cycle Math’s teacher,” now, you have accurately described his jobs here, but what about the other things in his life?”

  “You mean, his family? We have taken that into account, if you read ahead you will see we have increased the number of healthcare staff in the second generation just as they begin to enter the third, so they should be able to take care of the aging colonists: their parents.”

  “I have no doubt the scenarios planned here are good Alex, Milan knows what it’s doing, but no I don’t mean his family. What if he, or indeed she, likes to paint? What if they want to design new clothes, or write new music?”

  “Won’t they be getting that information via delayed signal from here?”

  Just as John was about to reply, the wine arrived. As serious and professional as Alex tried to look when John went off tangentially into these almost philosophical conversations, he still couldn’t hide the excitement. The difference between other people in bars, staff rooms, TV panels, and radio shows talking about these topics is that when John and Alex discussed them, there was a shiver that went down their spines, because even if they couldn’t make their ideas come true directly, they had a greater probability than anyone else to indirectly influence the future for these colonists, these future inhabitants of a new society.

  Once the gloomy aura of their waiter had gone John took a sip from his generously filled glass and continued: “That’s part of the problem Alex, the signal will be delayed, nothing can be done about the limit of the speed of a signal, they will always be years behind culturally. So perhaps, we should let them develop their own culture.”

  “How do we plan for that?”

  “We don’t, but we don’t plan on purpose. Instead of fixing the furniture in place we let them move it around. Instead of leaving the walls eggshell white we put some cans of paint into one of the storage rooms, instead of giving them playlists we give them musical instruments.”

  Alex nodded at that “It might help solve the cultural question. We have been focusing on how we keep everything neutral so that no one culture dominates. You know the UN, they won’t want spending money if one group benefits more than the others.”

  “Exactly, instead of trying to suppress all cultures we should do everything we can to let the colonists develop their own. In reality, with at least three generations of families before they get to Gliese 451, they’re going to develop their own unique identity anyway, we may as well admit it and factor it into our designs now.”

  “That could be a clincher for the contract, it will be hard to sell it clearly though. I guess dad or Harry could sell sand to an Eskimo, they can do it.”

  “Snow Alex.”

  “What?”

  “They could sell snow to an Eskimo. Sand to an Arab is the other version, you’re mixing metaphors.”

  “Oh” Alex gave a short laugh “I guess that’s a case in point. Three generations inside a rock, they won’t know what snow is, that metaphor would be meaningless to them personally”.

  “You’ve got it” John smiled encouragingly “If we can prepare for obvious yet unthought-of scenarios like that then your daddy will be a much richer man very soon!”

  Alex loved praise, but then all young people do: it’s how their confidence grows. John continued: “I mean, the religious arguments have being going on in the media for years now about whether we send Atheists or Christians or Muslims or some mix of everyone. You should read some Carl Sagan, he went into this argument a lot about fifty years ago, I can’t remember what his position was. Still, perhaps the question is meaningless; maybe they will create their own religion.”

  There it was. Alex stiffened and he broke eye contact. Not much, and only briefly, you had to be looking for it as John was, but it happened. John had dropped religion into conversations before and always the subject changed. Now it was time to challenge it straight on. The waiter came with their goulash and placed it in front of them, but John wasn’t distracted.

  “I’m sorry Alex, I forgot myself, I know religion is a topic which makes you uncomfortable”.

  Alex straightened up immediately and took a second to try and look relaxed “why would you say that? I just don’t talk about it as a rule; I was taught to never talk about sex, religion or politics at the dinner table, that’s all.”

  “Oh come on, everyone know those are the only things worth talking about, and in this job it’s practically negligent to ignore them. Are you religious?”

  Alex sighed, to make a point, “as a matter of fact yes, but I didn’t think that was important to you?”

  “No, of course it’s not. Relax, I was brought up a Belgian catholic, so while I don’t follow the rules I still believe and I still pray from time to time.”

  John didn’t pray from time to time, and he didn’t believe in God. He still believed in revenge and for that that he needed Alex to trust him. He hated lying, but when dealing with Sophie’s killers he managed to justify it. The next words to cross his lips was one of his best lies yet: “You know, I haven’t told many people this, but when my wife died the only thing that got me through it was prayer.”

  Alex looked genuinely surprised “Really? But you always struck me as an Atheist.”

  “Like you, indeed like most people, my religion is personal. You know, you don’t need to hide it around me. If you need time alone or anything you can feel free to ask me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Anyhow, I guess you may have a point, it’s not a topic for the dinner table so we will leave it at that. I’ll tell you what, all this imaginary social planning is a bit ambitious for now, but maybe, if you hint at the annex idea in Milan, and I’ll get my anthropologist contact in Oxford to have a think about it and draft something, at least we can come prepared with a well thought out idea.”

  “Ok, I’ll talk to dad.”

  That’s what John wanted to hear, hopefully he would “talk to dad” in depth and mention how he was a good believer too.

  The conversation returned to general work issues as they finished their main course, schedules, appointments to set up, tomorrows gruelling sessions in the centrifuge where the rocket launch conditions would be simulated. As they downed their desert of vodka, and before they went to bed, John took a five thousand ruble note from his pocket and laid it on the table “You know how the name of the destination planet will be announced next week after the public vote?”

  “Sure, I caught some engineers placing bets in the canteen this afternoon, Eden, Amrita or Arcas”

  “Well here’s five thousand roubles on Arcas: Son of Zeus, just as the colony will be the offspring of Earth. Care to bet against me?”

  “Eden doesn’t stand a chance, it’s to clichéd, but there are too many Greeks in the sky. I’ll take your bet, five thousand roubles on Amrita: the Sanskrit word for "immortality" which no one will be, but we will have doubled the survival chances of the human race.”

  “Well, whatever the name, at least we can stop calling it “destination planet” or “new Earth” or whatever.”

  Alex raised his glass “I’ll drink to that!”

  “Nostrovia!”

  One week later Alexander Braun claimed his winnings. Destination: Amrita.

  Chapter 12: 2043

  John’s back was still giving him the occasional problem. He wondered what it would be like if he hadn’t gone through the training course back in Russia. The g-forces during launch had been unpleasant but it was the low gravity environment that meant he kept overexerting himself. Perhaps he was just getting older, he was turning forty seven after all and even though he felt less and less like celebrating his birthday, Alex had arranged a cake and video call with Abby. She was growing. His parents were able to take care of her in his absence but they were getting older and so a good boarding school, although a concept from the last century, would soon allow them to enjoy their retirement with a little peace and quiet.

  The interior was fully pressurised. For now ca
nisters of air were being shipped up and carbon dioxide scrubbers kept it breathable but the long term idea was that the forests in the central cavern, that huge empty space, would act as natural scrubbers during the intergenerational flight to Amrita. John had been there for the initial concept of the farms and gardens that would sustain the colonists. He had imagined the scale of it, asked the architect to draw up the plans, and even now a team of his was still figuring out how to get the topsoil up in the most cost effective way. But it would all have to wait until rotation began and artificial gravity established. On his first day aboard he had stood at the entrance to the chamber and stared at the tiny figures moving within that colossal space. A sense of awe had run from his shoulders, down his spine, and into his being. He had felt both small and great simultaneously.

  John’s office on the Zheng He was basic. Without the engines running they relied on solar energy from the surface to power everything apart from the large drills which were finishing off the last of the storage areas. The furniture was fixed to the floor of the room and anything that wasn’t furniture was fixed to it or to the walls. Even though there was a tiny amount of natural gravity from the mass of the Zheng He itself, it wasn’t much and on more than one occasion John had found himself bouncing off a wall while chasing after a pencil. It was a large office, about 35 square meters, though it felt cramped because apart from John’s desk it accommodated a meeting room table for ten people, and in one corner it contained John’s bed. Since his living quarters weren’t ready yet he had taken to sleeping here for now; an arrangement which was working out quite well considering how little time he had for sleep. The two attractive features of the room were the natural stone walls and the large plasma screen that acted as a TV, an internal communications unit, and as an artificial window with a view of the Earth from one of the cameras on the surface of the ship. He found himself staring at it when he was feeling tired, there was something reassuring and solid about seeing the Earth, like seeing your front door after a much too long day. The natural rock walls were fascinating in themselves. During the excavations of the accommodation a team of geologists had been present to learn all they could about the inner workings and hence the history of the asteroid John now called home. There were large interlocking crystals where the rock had once cooled slowly from liquid. This was partly the reason this asteroid had been chosen, its solidity would provide protection to the precious cargo it would carry. A century ago it would have been too tough for conventional drill bits, but by flash heating and then freezing the rock, it had been prepared it for the latest diamond headed drill bits to eat through it like butter. In storage areas and corridors the rock surface had been left rough, but here, as it would be in all offices aboard, it had been polished to bring out the natural beauty of the stone yet remained matt enough not to reflect much light, except where it bordered features such as the aluminium door or the plasma screen, there it shone like precious stone. The overall effect was quite pleasing.