As squirts of compressed air slowed its descent, the craft landed upright with a determined jolt, then appeared to break apart before their eyes.
‘Oh dear, those poor astronauts!’ cried Wilma, almost forgetting it was just a model.
‘No, no, come look closer!’ shouted Dong Dong.
The thin dust had settled as they approached to see that the lander had not broken but deployed six symmetrical curved panels to reveal the neat skeletal shape of its hexagonal core sitting on three splayed legs.
These would house all the solar panels, kit and systems they would need for their sojourn on the surface. ‘Wait, sir!’ shouted Stephen, stopping the small crowd in their tracks.
Dong Dong joined them, controller in hand.
‘We’re not finished yet.’
A trill emanated from the model as remaining compressed air lifted the central body clear of the outspread clutter and landing gear, simulating the eventual take-off and return to a distant home.
Luther broke into enthusiastic applause. ‘You’ve been having fun, Stephen! And I thought you hated the project!’
For Wilma, this godforsaken windswept plain was no substitute for the Great Wall or the Forbidden City and she tagged along grumpily as they were shepherded into yet another hangar. ‘When do we finish with the boys’ toys and get to some real culture?’ she hissed in Luther’s ear.
‘Boys’ toys?’ responded Luther with a knowing smile.
She stopped in her tracks as they entered. ‘Oh my goodness, that’s beautiful.’
Lander in Hangar
Before them was a tall and exquisitely elegant edifice, the sort of spacecraft that elves might fashion. Gleaming gold bells of the rocket motors sat beneath a shining lattice of jet-black carbon-fibre tubes and gilded connectors. Within the delicate cage were nine towering red-and-black cylinders with a matrix of pipes spiralling down towards the motors.
‘Gorgeous! My God! It looks like it’s designed by Fabergé!’
Dong Dong gestured towards a small fine-featured woman bent over a large silver computer, who, looking up, wiped her hands on her overalls before stretching one out to shake.
‘Hi, I’m Ivy Cheung – call me Ives. Everyone else does.’
‘You didn’t design this, did you?’ questioned a surprised Luther.
‘Yes, sir, with Rocky!’
‘Way to go, Ives!’ Wilma beamed. ‘Hey, forget the Wall.’
The president was making his thanks and farewells to his hosts as he prepared to leave. He was upbeat and experiencing a welling contentment about the project’s progress. Stephen had other thoughts and was trying desperately to put his spanner in the works. He almost tripped up the attentive Chinese host as he attempted to get Luther’s attention. It was all to no avail. He’d been ignored, and Stephen saw his chance slipping as the mighty rotors of the Chinese state chopper whirred into action.
Luther stopped abruptly, calculating the length of the flight, his age and viewing the spartan helicopter. He needed an ally. He beckoned to Stephen, who rushed over, hopeful that the president had finally decided to hear his wise council.
In conspiratorial tones Luther mouthed, ‘Where’s the john?’
It was not the advice Stephen was hoping to give but he stole his chance and guided the president to the restrooms. A serried rank of white porcelain urinals stood like a tropical naval parade. Luther was disconcerted as Stephen not only followed him to the urinal, but stood beside him as if to relieve himself too. The president stared at the cracks in the wall as he tried to pee under close surveillance. ‘I’m sorry, Stephen, but you’ll have to find your own patch – you’re putting me off!’
Stephen moved two along, still desperate to air his complaint. ‘Sir! I had to talk… You know those dorks in LA are still contemplating putting a bunch of kids in this thing? They even sent the special seats for them.’
Luther was a captured audience so just said in low, slow tones from the side of his mouth, ‘So.’
‘It’s an insult. You gotta tell them to drop it. There’s no way the press or your successor will stomach it. It’s a political nightmare and a waste of time and resources.’
Luther gave a little shake and reorganised himself.
‘My politics have been about turning nightmares into dreams. Anyway, from what I hear the smart money’s on the women. Anything else?’
Stephen was not to be stopped. ‘Well, you need a stronger leader than Ford. JPL are an organisational shambles. Look, where the hell’s the chief engineer? He should’ve been here today.’
A whirl of dust pervaded the air as they walked back to the silver bulk of the waiting chopper.
Chapter 26
Training Continues
Lavinia on Rock
Elisabetta raised her voice above the rattle of pans. ‘Time to call Enza.’
She left the kitchen to follow the ancient walk to the top of the old town. It was her favourite spot, where she could get some peace and a decent mobile signal. The swifts were skimming over the bushes as she made her way up. She found the old rounded rock, smoothed by generations of bottoms as their owners surveyed the fabulous vista over the ruins.
Elisabetta settled herself as the setting sun cast a blush over the landscape and the Mediterranean twinkled in a deep red swathe to the hazy line where it met the evening sky. She and Giulio took turns to make the evening call to their daughter.
Enza missed her parents terribly, but she didn’t let it spoil her excitement over her grand adventure.
Tonight she bubbled over. They’d been up in the ‘Vomit Comet’, a zero-gravity aeroplane, and Enza had experienced her first hint of weightlessness. The long days stuck in the desert pods and the ‘Mars walks’ were over and all the candidates were working hard at their astronautical and specialist skills. Her current task was learning how to sketch while wearing space gloves.
‘Non è giusto,’ she then complained. The kids still had school work to do after training, when the lazy adults could just relax.
‘You must be doing very well,’ her mother interrupted. ‘I shall be joining you next month as your mentor. They’re taking you all very seriously.’
Enza was so delighted she even forgot to ask about the fortunes of the restaurant and the minutiae of the daily menu. ‘Oh, giorno felice!’ she trilled.
By the time they ended the call, the sun had set and the evening stars were blinking into action in the darkening sky. Mars and Jupiter shone clearly, bright evening visitors among the western constellations. Elisabetta picked them out. She had become fascinated by the heavens and astronomical news, such as the discovery of six new planets around Kepler 11, a sun-like star 2,000 light years away.
Kepler 11, Cygnus
2,000 light years away
G Type Star – 96 per cent of the mass of the Sun
Six planets
8.5 billion years old
The age of this star means that any civilisation is either extraordinarily advanced, or died out a long time ago.
It sparked her imagination, and in her mind’s eye she pictured some sentient alien sitting on a rock like herself, contemplating their own view of the night sky. The light from our sun would be just another pinprick star in the cosmos and it would have started its journey when Pompeii was in its prime. If this advanced species had extraordinary telescopes, they could be watching that disaster unfolding as if it were today.
Everything in the starry dome is not just separated by space but time. The present does not exist out there. Every twinkling star or smudge of nebula lies somewhere in the past – a star map is really a history book. Tragically, even if a sophisticated civilisation existed around that distant star system it would take their messages or offers of help 2,000 years to arrive and then another two millennia for a response to come back, perhaps saying, ‘Sorry, we’ve got over that, but could you help us with…’ It makes the twenty-minute delay with Mars seem like the blink of an eye.
As Elisabetta viewed the ski
es that sultry night, she felt sad to think no one will ever know what glorious secrets are hidden among the stars stretching out across the heavens. There may be many civilisations out there, but effectively we’ll always be alone.
Elisabetta sought out the constellation of Cygnus, trying to discern that particular faint star, whose light started its own epic journey a hundred generations ago. At which time, curiously, Lavinia had been sitting on that very same volcanic rock. Its surface was then fresh and rough, only recently deposited with the thick grey layers of ash that had enveloped Pompeii. Lavinia used to come here to be close to her old friends, home and most of all her beautiful cat, all entombed by the disaster.
It was a quiet place to ponder sad thoughts. Lavinia lived in an age where the stars and planets represented the heroes and deities of her time, and the mysteries of the universe were limited within the bounds of humanity.
She would look across the devastated plain to the long horizon of the pristine sea and dream of the wonders that might lay beyond. She’d heard the stories of monsters, amazing beasts and extraordinary cultures whose sophistication could match even that of her own mighty Roman empire. She lamented that for all the extraordinary achievements of her time – central heating, running water, the roads that could touch the extremities of their known world – they still had no control over the vagaries of nature or the will of the gods. Taking out a small flask of wine, she’d pour a libation on the steaming rock and in the rising heady vapour, would whisper a prayer that her city might rise again and her progeny would flourish and live in a world free from the malice of nature.
On the isolated continents of that far away time, each of the children’s ancient ancestors must have asked the same perennial question. Not what lies beyond the depths of space, but what lay beyond their own unyielding forests, mountains or the oceans of their own worlds.
Everything changes, yet nothing is different.
Rocky had always taken time out to indulge the children and when it was proposed to show the candidates how the Saturn V was taking shape in the cavernous Vehicle Assembly Building, he made sure they were given VIP treatment. They knew him as the benevolent friendly bear, who patiently showed them his designs on their trips to the JPL. When they spotted him across the hangar they all ran over, vying for his attention.
As their mobbing abated, the other recruits joined them. The impromptu crowd dwarfed within the edifice. At 160 metres high and a volume of almost 4 million cubic metres, the building is gargantuan enough to form its own weather systems on humid days. Filling the space was the object that it was built for, a partially assembled Saturn V rocket towering above them. It sat solidly on the platform that would inch it to the launch pad.
Rocky felt a small, rough hand grip his. ‘Ich! It’s like being in giant land, Mr Rocky.’
Bheki’s drawl was unmistakable. Rocky looked down and saw two bright eyes gazing up in wonder.
‘You’ve gotta let me go on that thing, Mr Rocky!’
The greying engineer smiled. ‘It’s not my choice, young man. Anyway, you might miss home!’
‘I’ve never had a real home, Mr Rocky. That’s going to be my home!’
They finally moved on, leaving Rocky examining the colossus. The sound of footsteps on the concrete floor heralded the approaching figure of Milton.
‘Your phoenix arises!’
Milton modestly wiped his hands.
‘It’s not mine any more, it’s ours!’
Squinting up into the gods he quipped, ‘The pointy end’s still missing?’
Rocky laughed. ‘Don’t get technical on me… Yep! It’s on the drawing board. 4 tons too heavy, and we need that for the fuel. We keep stripping things out, but if we can’t solve it… no mission.’
A New York accent broke into their discussions. ‘Don’t mind me for earwigging, mister, but it ain’t that thirsty.’
They turned to find Soraya adjusting her mission cap.
‘Thirsty?’
‘You know, desperate. Just find something that’s 4 tons and adios! Simple.’
Rocky laughed. ‘Yeah! We can get rid of the cosmic ray shielding or the water, but you might not appreciate it after day three.’
She looked hurt. ‘Just tryin’ to be helpful, mister, but “Madame Kirsten Resourceful” can really pack a tent and she don’t take nothin’ that ain’t got two uses. What’s with the shielding stuff anyhow?’
Rocky humoured her. ‘Well, it’s a special composite made of layers of plastic, lead and carbon fibre which envelops the crew’s quarters and keeps them safe from space radiation.’
‘Thanks, man, very thoughtful! And I suppose we might just need the water!’
Rocky’s metaphorical bath overflowed – a eureka moment. He whispered, ‘Shit!’ then, ‘Soraya – you’re a genius! The water, oh, the water! We can use the freakin’ water! It absorbs cosmic rays.’
He got out a notebook and made a sketch of the crew quarters and a calculation of the volume of the double skin now filled with water instead of the shielding – 4 cubic metres, thus 4 tons.
‘We keep the water around the crew for protection and get rid of the water tanks. Brilliant’.
‘Hey, don’t spoil us, mister!’ Soraya grinned, then she whisked off to catch up with her friends on the endless gantries and ladders.
‘Any time you’ve gotta problem!’ she called over her shoulder, tapping on her name badge.
The Earth was making another great circle of the sun, as it had 4 billion times before. This orbit was no more significant than any other, except in the lives of its inhabitants. Even then, it was merely the last year in office of the 48th President of the United States.
His frequent calls to Ford had an increasing sense of urgency, born out of the likely success of his political antithesis; the no-nonsense Peggy Tyler. She was waltzing ahead in the polls and had made it her aim to rid the state of all unnecessary spending. Luther’s cherished mission was in her sights. They even dubbed her Peggy ‘Crosshairs’ Tyler on account of her political targeting and unruly mop of red frizz.
‘We can’t drop the ball now, Ford. When our train’s left the station it don’t turn around.’
Ford asked the president if he’d read his last progress report.
There was a ‘humph’ on the line. ‘Listen, I’m too old to read reports – my desk is creaking with them. Tell me straight.’
‘OK, sir…’
‘Call me Luther!’
‘OK, Luther, the Saturn V is complete in Florida and awaiting the crew quarters and capsule. The French have delivered and assembled the boosters in Guiana and the landing module is being shipped from China as we speak.’
‘What’s the delay on the crew quarters and capsule?’ the president demanded.
‘The capsules are ready except for the final fitting-out. We had problems with the weight of the quarters, but we’ve resolved it.’ Ford had spent a day preparing his report and here it was, pared down to a few sentences.
‘What are we waiting for then?’
Ford took a deep breath. ‘Testing, fuelling, testing, fitting-out, testing and choice of the crew.’
Luther continued the grilling. ‘OK, who’s going to be the crew?’
There was a pause. ‘Mmm, we are still evaluating. It’s a tough call.’
‘You still limited to 200kg, whatdayacallit, “human payload”?’
Ford scratched his hair. ‘Sure, a bit less, if you count any samples.’
Luther was in a decisive mood. ‘Choose the best team and do the science on the planet. Forget about the rocks, they can test them there.’
Ford was scratching madly now. ‘That’s the trouble. They are all hanging in there, sir, er, Luther. By the way, we’re having a party for them if you want to give them your regards?’
If a smile could come through the phone, it did. ‘My pleasure! Hook me up on video. I’ll give ’em a bit of inspiration.’
Jane enjoyed parties. Her blood coursed with excit
ement as she manically prepared for the evening. Ford’s stomach was a leaden weight as he tried to help, moving furniture, poaching the salmon and working on the playlists. His only inspirational input was the theme for the party: ‘Retro space adventure’, echoing the TV dreaming of his youth.
‘Shall we give them all a Cinzano cocktail on arrival, honey?’ he ventured.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, cariad! Juices for the kids and dry Martinis for the rest. Have you stuffed the olives yet?’ she asked, in her officious voice.
‘Isn’t life too short to stuff an olive?’
It promised to be a balmy night, so Ford busied himself setting out a dozen faded deck chairs around the pool. The garden and pool were down a level from the cantilevered balconies. The bleached concrete paving framed the deep blue rectilinear pool and led to a pine-lined games room.
He paused as an evening breeze rustled the heads of the clustered palms. Little had changed in the house since its heyday and, returning to the den, he was intrigued to find a hidden shelf behind where the chairs had been stored. On it he discovered the sleek, rounded shape of an old projector and a library of still boxed celluloid films.
Excitedly his finger tracked across the handwritten labels, and alighted on two classics. The Wizard of Oz and several episodes of Lost in Space. ‘Well, that will sort the kids out,’ he assured himself. He set up the kit and aimed the beam at the empty white wall opposite the worn leather sofas.
‘You’ve been ages – there’s still the avocados to mash!’ Jane scolded when he eventually returned to the steam of the kitchen. The sycamore worktop was strewn with salad.
‘Mmm, that smells nice, almost good enough to eat,’ Ford whispered as he gently kissed the back of her neck.
‘It’s the Chanel No5 you gave me, my sweetheart.’
Ford distractedly bit into cocktail carrot. ‘No, it’s the quiches. By the way I’ve set up some cool entertainment for the kids.’
He excitedly told her about the old projector. She was not as impressed.
The Other Things Page 31