“Hey, let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill,” Christopher said, holding up his hand. “I said we were just talking about it. I haven’t been outside since I got back from Earth and frankly I’ve been getting a little restless. Besides, what could happen? We’re taking the biggest space station ever built along with us. Aunt Annie is going to supervise the collection of the water stores, she thinks that the algae tanks will be operating by the time the hab returns. But nothing is written in stone, as you can tell from your mother’s reaction.”
“You got that right!” Patricia said.
“Sorry, babe. Chuck and I discussed the possibility, once. But what would be the harm?”
“Well then, maybe I should go too. Just in case there’s an accident and the mission needs a medic. I may not know quite as much as Doc Long, but I’ve been working under him in the infirmary for years now,” Patricia said defiantly.
“Whoa, everybody. This is not a pissing contest. Ben, I understand why your team wants to go. And Pat, I will respect whatever decision you make. Maybe we should all think about going, and not to cramp your style, Ben. I think you’re ready and able to make all decisions about your life. I think your mother and I raised you to be independent, smart, and careful. I think designing and running your own missions is just fine with me. I wouldn’t say that I’m not concerned for your safety, but since Riley’s accident I’ve come to realize that I simply cannot control the unexpected. So you have my blessing. Now your mother is another matter, you’re going to have to see what she thinks on your own,” Christopher said, winking at his son.
“I trust your judgment, Ben. I know you’re going to be careful, but you’re still my son, my only son, so I do worry. It’s a mom’s prerogative. But you have my blessing. As for you,” she began, jabbing a finger at Christopher, “we have a thing or two to discuss—later.”
Nitty Gritty
The next several weeks flew by for President Wilcox, and before she knew it, the Navy was about to commence the RIMPAC exercise in the Pacific.
The CIA had also completed its top-secret survey of the area surrounding the Icelandic lake where the colonists had landed. Deputy Director Ash Norton was briefing the president and her chief of staff on the search for a connection between the colonists stationed in orbit and anyone around Iceland’s Lake Þórisvatn.
“Madam President, we have found zero indication that the colonists are in contact with anyone in the area. And the brevity of the visit suggests either dropping someone off or picking someone up. We were able to re task a spy satellite twenty-two minutes after the ships departed and there were no boats visible on the lake’s surface. We were able to get two agents there from Germany in six hours, posing as tourists. They have found nothing. And not to sound racist or anything, there aren’t that many dark-skinned people who are Icelandic natives, those who are mostly immigrants or descendants of immigrants.”
“Understood. What else did your people find?”
“We downloaded the database from Iceland’s Department of Immigration…”
“Do I want to know how your people accomplished that particular little goody?” Wilcox interrupted, smiling.
“Probably not, ma’am. But once we scanned the data, there were no suspicious Americans who were in-country, let alone African Americans who traveled there in the last ninety days who weren’t accounted for. A survey around the lake turned up several people who owned boats. There is no real fishing industry per se and like I said, as soon as we had the satellite focused on the lake, there were no boats out on the water at that time of night. Ma’am, we have come up with absolutely nothing.”
“But why two ships? Why do you think they were there, and what were they doing, Deputy Director?” Wilcox asked.
“One thing I wondered about was whether someone had left a delivery for them to pick up: a sort of dead drop. If that was the case, it would have to have been fairly substantial for them to need two ships to perform the pickup. That’s what our analysts say could account for two spacecraft.”
“Supplies? What could they possible need from Earth? Medicine? Exotic—esoteric whatever?” Slade asked. “There’s some doubt that the colony is completely self-sufficient. There are a lot of scientists and logistics people who have been running simulations on the colony and the people who immigrated there. NASA scientists who are experts in closed systems believe that no matter how well their environmental systems operate, it’s highly unlikely that they completely recycle everything they use. There’s also speculation that some of the newer drugs may not be available to them and that they would have to periodically stock up on compounds only available from Earth. According to the reconnaissance photos from the moon, they were extracting water from the asteroid and pumping it into the colony. Maybe they were picking up livestock or medical samples in Iceland. Hell, we’re never going to know unless we stumble across who they may have met or supplied whatever they picked up. But the consensus of our analysts is that those ships picked up someone or something that must be vital to the colony, Madam President.”
“I need to know what and from whom, if that is, indeed, the case. I suggest you continue to gather data, something is bound to turn up. Remember, it was a serendipitous traffic accident on the street that led to the capture of two of the colonists. I want no stone unturned, Mr. Norton. Understand?”
“Of course, Madam President. We’ll continue digging,” Norton said, getting to his feet and exiting.
“So, what do you think?” she asked Slade, once the door closed.
“They have no idea. But the guess that it must have been important is exactly what I’ve always thought. Look at their tactics, landing far enough away that we couldn’t get eyes on them before they left and where no one nearby even knew they were there. That’s exactly how an insertion mission or high value personnel pickup is done,” replied Slade.
“It might have been a good idea to have held onto one or both of those colonists and told everyone there was an unfortunate accident,” mused Wilcox.
“Really?” Slade raised an eyebrow. “You would have taken that chance in light of their technological capabilities?”
“Okay, maybe not. But we got no intel from the Jove Mission other than a demonstration of their vastly superior space technologies. I’ve been over the recordings of that cop talking to his former girlfriend in the colony and there’s nothing of use to be learned from the conversations. We know nothing about the colonists other than their names and the jobs or schooling they had before they immigrated. We have no idea of their governmental structure. We have no idea how they make decisions. We definitely have no idea what their true level of technology is. All we know for sure is that they can control the direction and force of gravity, and that they have shield technology right out of a science fiction space opera.”
“That’s all true. And we must face the fact that it’s all due to the treatment blacks have suffered in this country for over four hundred years. I can assure you that whatever the colonists have over us technologically speaking, they will never share that tech with us. Nor will they ever share their breakthroughs in medicine with us either. And they have killed any notion of white exceptionalism for good; they live in space for Christ’s sake!” Slade exclaimed.
“And you’d still go if they invited you?”
“I honestly can’t say for sure,” Slade smiled. “I don’t think so. The consideration that makes me say no is most likely I would not be able to bring my family along. The reason why I think that’s likely is in looking over the roster of colonists, there was only a single couple who made its way there. So no, I’m staying put, Madam President.”
“Well, that’s a relief. It still scares the hell out of me imagining anyone other than us getting hold of their technology. The shift in the balance of power on Earth would be swift and devastating. And that’s the main reason I want to know what happened in Iceland. What in the hell were they doing there? This is serious, Na
te.”
“When the CIA comes up empty, I am at a loss for the next step. Since the discovery of the colonists on the moon, every law enforcement agency of the government has been dissecting the lives of everyone living there. What they found were extraordinary people, blacks, who suffered prejudice, being treated worse than whites, of earning less and on and on; the slights were legion. This country sucked for nonwhites, still does in far too many ways. The bottom line is that racism drove the best and brightest completely off the planet. Unless we find some extraordinary means to directly communicate with them, we’re liable to never know their motivations for what they do, except for actions like this embargo from space,” lamented Nate.
“What still grinds my ass is that the FBI hasn’t found a thing monitoring the country’s cream of the crop blacks in science, medicine, industry, research or any other bastion of exceptional thinking,” Wilcox lamented. “I guess their one black undercover agent is just too overworked to get it done.” she said sarcastically.
Slade chuckled. “It’s been years since the last colonists fled Earth. The chances anyone today is in contact with them, let alone being recruited, are most assuredly nil. And yet, their ships landed in Iceland; that’s a pretty white country. I don’t think we’re going to ever find out what happened on our own, Lauren,” Slade said gently.
“Yeah, that’s a pisser. I need a drink,” she said, getting up and going to the liqueur cart. “Can I get you anything?”
“Bourbon, please. Thanks,” he replied.
“This country really screwed the pooch after the Civil War. There was no real emancipation of blacks and even today we still haven’t learned from our mistakes. And thanks to the Russians, we’re not going to even have the opportunity to meet the colonists in space for the foreseeable future,” she said, handing Slade his drink.
“Thank you. What’s the latest from Ambrose on the disarmament of Israel?” asked Slade.
“Slow. No one official from their government is talking to the committee and I’m done trying to get anything done through back channels. I hope the Israelis aren’t missing our $60,000,000,000 in aid every year,” Wilcox said cynically.
Slade just sipped his drink, shaking his head. “And they just don’t give a damn that they’re keeping everyone on the planet out of space. I understand the need for them to feel secure, but when there’s been no aggression from Israel’s neighbors for over a decade, it’s more than a little paranoid to cling to the belief that retaining their nuclear stockpile serves a purpose. I also have to wonder what kind of reception we’ll get when we do return to space. Will anyone from the colony deign to speak with us?” Slade said as he drained his glass.
“I seriously doubt it. It’s my gut feeling that anything we eventually learn about them will have to be obtained strictly through observation,” she replied as she drained her own glass, “I’ll forward the CIA’s report to you. Let me know your thoughts once you go through it, maybe another set of eyes will see another way forward.”
“Will do. I’ll touch base this afternoon before I leave,” Slade said, then left.
Once she was alone, Wilcox picked up the folder she was working on before the Deputy Director arrived and got angry all over again reading the Navy’s deployment plan for the RIMPAC exercise later in the month. Senator Annette Murphy, a fellow Stanford Alum, was scheduled to be one of the many official observers of the exercise. Wilcox was certain Murphy could keep an eye on things and be counted on to report back confidentially. Murphy was one of Wilcox’s staunchest supporters, helping to raise the needed funding for a presidential bid, as well as a tireless surrogate on the campaign trail. If Senator Murphy could get aboard the USS Ardmore, that would be ideal, Wilcox thought as she reached for the phone.
* * *
Duty at the space station in lunar orbit was boring, punctuated only by the excitement of chasing down rockets launched in the futile effort to try to bypass the colonists’ embargo or attempting to kill them. The crew made the best of their time studying, researching, or just watching current events around the world via the Genesis clone’s monitoring of news and information sources. That’s not to say that movies, music and literature were left out of the mix. The crew always brought back the latest when they rotated home, which was always appreciated. The colony had no movie industry, in fact there was little in the way of an entertainment industry at all. They had an orchestra, and several members did dabble in the creation of animated videos, mostly for educational purposes. There was a dozen or so who created original comics available on the colony’s network since most of the colony’s precious paper supply was carefully hoarded. But the children there gained proficiency in the digital arts very early on in their education.
Those serving on the Earth station were rarely at a loss for something to do. Crew members often worked toward improving the station, in some cases rebuilding or reprogramming control consoles. Today, Jonathan was reworking the upgraded visual sensors, extending their range into the x-ray band. This would allow astronomical observations to be made from the station far better than any installation on Earth or the remaining research satellites in orbit. With their gravity-based attitude control, the space station could be oriented in any direction and maintain that orientation for as long as required. Seeing into the x-ray bands of the electromagnetic spectrum of light wasn’t particularly helpful in observing Earth, but above the atmosphere there was little interference in observing objects throughout the Milky Way.
With Jonathan’s latest upgrade, the space station had the ability to see out into the galaxy, and beyond with greater clarity and definition than all the ground-based installations and satellites available to Earth’s scientists. And with Peanut probably on the verge of achieving faster than light travel, mapping the local neighborhood of the galaxy was going to be essential in choosing destinations. With the help of the station’s Genesis clone, Jonathan set the upgraded visual sensors to begin charting known x-ray binary stars to check the accuracy and resolution of the upgrade.
“G2?” Jonathan called out.
“Yes, Jonathan. How may I be of assistance?” replied the A.I.
“How long to calibrate the new x-ray band sensors?”
“Forty-eight hours for full calibration at maximum resolution.”
“Will this interfere with your normal monitoring of Earth?” he inquired.
“It will not. As you saw fit to upgrade all the optical sensors at once, I have better than adequate coverage in all directions. The station does not have to maintain any fixed orientation in order to calibrate the x-ray band sensors and maintain coverage of Earth.”
“G2, what is the resolving power of your visual sensors toward Earth’s surface?”
“From lunar orbit objects as small as twenty centimeters can be resolved by the cameras.”
“And what’s the resolving power of the cameras in the x-ray band?”
“I have already detected several x-ray sources outside the boundaries of the Milky Way galaxy, Jonathan.” After a brief pause, the A.I. asked, “Is there anything else I may assist you with?
“No. That will be all, G2.”
As he was finishing up the conversation, Rachel strolled on deck. “Still working on the sensors?” she asked.
“Finished a little while ago. G2 is calibrating them against known x-ray binaries in the Milky Way. G2 informed me that it could see known binaries outside the galaxy, too!” he replied excitedly.
“Congratulations! You’ve done a great job. What’s next?” she asked.
“I was thinking about creating a high-resolution map of this part of the galaxy for Peanut’s people to use when he gets the FTL drive ready to test. They will be able to use that same map to decide where to go once they reach the exploration phase,” Jonathan explained.
“You have any interest in exploring the rest of the galaxy? Got any wanderlust in your soul?”
“Maybe a little. But there’s so much in thi
s solar system that we know so little about, the rest of the planets and moons are all unexplored. There are missions to Ganymede and Europa already on the books, looking for life under their crusts. What if there’s life on Jupiter proper? If there is, we’re going to be the ones to discover it. Those mopes on Earth have nothing even close compared to our space tech. We have Mars, hell, I’d even like to take a look on the far side of Mercury, the sunny side is a little toasty for me, though. And truth be told, I want to explore the depths of the oceans on Earth. I had a minor in ocean biology before I immigrated here.”
“Really? I had no idea. Is that where you got your experience messing around with cameras?” Rachel asked.
“That, and as a film photographer before everything went digital. I specialized in nighttime photography. I won a couple of industry awards. Night was a magical time for me even when I was a kid. Everything seemed possible and being able to capture the colors of the night, the people, the streamers of headlights, of taillights, and the windows of the skyscrapers in New York was ethereal,” Jonathan said wistfully.
“My goodness, the heart of a poet,” Rachel said, making Jonathan blush.
“Unlike with me, a stroll through the ocean of most men’s souls would scarcely get your feet wet,” Jonathon said, cracking them both up.
“Did you ever think about taking pictures of all the moons, planets, stars and galaxies from here or home? Maybe you could design your own satellite with camera, stabilizing hardware and whatnot, then shoot pictures of the universe around us?”
“Not a bad idea. I suppose I could do that in my down time. All I seem to do is work when I’m back home because everything we’re doing is so new and exciting. Even picket duty here is more fun than boring, although sometimes I feel guilty watching so much entertainment from Earth,” Jonathan confessed.
“Why’s that?” Rachel asked. “It’s not like we’re supposed to hate everything from the U.S., it’s just that there was no way we could chart our own destinies as long as white folks were running everything. But art, music, literature, whatever, has value, it’s the lifeblood of a culture. It's the best indicator of what’s important to a culture or at least what’s on people’s minds. Movies too. You ever notice how movies come out in clumps?”
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