The Other Things

by Jonathan Dransfield

  Suddenly a flustered group emerged from the connecting room and assembled on the stage. The twelve would-be astronauts faced them on the front-row seats, their families and mentors sitting behind.

  Checking his watch, Ford addressed them, glancing sideways to his colleagues on either side but with one notable absence: Stephen Dyer.

  ‘Hi!’ Ford shuffled his papers. ‘After a lengthy debate…’ Several of the group on the stage cleared their throats. ‘… the crews are selected! No time to lose… we’re behind on our programme and need to get to the launch pads straightaway. Crew one – Soraya, Eugene and Su-lin – step forward and follow Sharon.’

  The three looked at each other with surprise and hugged; then turning to the others high-fived them one by one, before leaving by the exit to the right of the stage.

  Mo watched as they were guided through the forbidding door and assumed they must the Mars crew and looked over at Felix and Virgil as the natural guys who would help them assemble the rockets in orbit. His automatic assumption was tempered with a nagging doubt. ‘Why’s Eugene going, if he’s still not fit, innit? Who gonna to take Elin’s mum’s role?’

  ‘Crew two.’

  To Mo’s utter astonishment, he suddenly heard his own name called, followed by Elin, Buzz, Xing and Enza. His mind was swamped with a flood of emotion and confusion. He stumbled forward with his friends, he didn’t even register that his father and the other mentors were being called as well. A group of ten filed out of the room, all looking at each other in disbelief.

  The door closed and in the desolation of the room, four lonely figures were left seated. The small auditorium felt vast and cold around them.

  Bheki stared at the spaces his friends had vacated. Having waited in vain for his name to be mouthed or signed, he felt tears welling in his eyes.

  It wasn’t that he would have been shocked or upset if none of them had been called, but to be left alone again! Seeing his friends chosen and whisked away was more than crushing, it reopened the void that had haunted him most of his life. His shoulders started to heave, until two familiar arms enveloped him from behind to restrain and soothe him. ‘I’m still here, little brother,’ said Zulu.

  Edward joined them, nominated to tactfully explain why he’d not been picked. He sat down next to Bheki. Disliking social interaction at the best of times, he struggled with the sensitivity required to gently let down this young heart. Avoiding eye contact he shuffled, straining to find the right words. Bheki was sitting head down with his brother’s arm resting protectively round his shoulders.

  Edward blurted out. ‘You can’t go because… you’re deaf!’

  Bheki did not move, totally oblivious to the unseen words. Edward waited a moment before turning to Zulu. ‘Does he understand?’

  Now Bheki could see his lips. ‘Understand what?’ he sniffed, adding, ‘I have to see you talk – I’m deaf, you know!’

  Edward stood up relieved. ‘Exactly, young man. I’m glad you understand.’

  Beyond the door, a whirl of excitement gripped the children who ran dizzily around, then Enza stopped and thought, ‘Dove si trove, Bheki?’

  Before the children could work it out, Yasmin asked them to sit down and started the briefing. But the children were distracted and in rebellious mood on hearing that Bheki had been excluded on health-and-safety grounds. They all stood up and Enza shouted, ‘No e guisto! You should’ve decided that ages ago.’

  Buzz was enraged. ‘We’ve all learned to sign. He’s our friend and we need him!’

  Mo chipped in. ‘I’m not going, if he’s not!’ Elin and Xing both sat down with arms crossed and lips pursed.

  Ford emerged through the connecting door, scratching his head in a spasm of anxiety. ‘Come on, what’s keeping you? We need to get going! Pierre is already waiting at the airport to take them to the launchpad at French Guiana and all the papers need signing.’

  There was a pile of papers on the table that each of the guardians had to sign on behalf of the children. The guardians stood stony-faced behind the children. It was obvious they were going nowhere.

  ‘OK. I’m really sorry about Bheki. If it were my choice, he’d be with you but Edward was adamant. He can’t read your lips with your helmets on.’

  ‘But he has taught us to sign!’ protested Mo.

  There was a long, pregnant silence, until Buzz piped up. He had to back his granddad.

  ‘Bheki’s my best friend and I don’t want to leave him, but he’d be more upset if we didn’t go because of him.’

  One by one the children uncrossed their arms. With heavy hearts, they agreed to go without Bheki. There was a flurried signing of papers before they were whisked onto the waiting coach.

  Los Angeles was enveloped in a heavy haze, the watery sun unable to burn off the moisture in the air. The freeway signs flew by as the city gave way to suburbs, and finally the open ground of the airport unfolded before them. The coach took the first exit and pulled into a vast parking lot.

  There were no security or customs for them. They just had to give the authorisation papers to Pierre. On the tarmac was an ESA airbus, bearing the logo ‘Zero-G’ on its airframe.

  ‘Bonjour, mes amis! Are you all ready? We have no time to lose!’

  Pierre had just been informed that ‘The Other Things’ had been chosen to go to Mars, but surveying the group counted only ten: five children and their five mentors.

  ‘There should be twelve, non? Who’s missing? Have we, as you say in NASA, a problem?’

  ‘Bheki’s been excluded on health-and-safety grounds!’

  ‘In Europe we are very hot on these topics. What grounds exactly?’

  ‘Because of his disability – he’s deaf,’ explained Yasmin.

  Pierre looked shocked. He had worked with all the potential astronauts and had been particularly impressed with how seamlessly Bheki communicated, despite his lack of hearing.

  ‘We are even hotter on the discrimination! I will have to make a call. This is definitely a problem.’

  He stood a little away from the crowd to consult with Toulouse.

  After Ford had made his fond farewells, he needed to tie up loose ends before setting off on his journey to mission control.

  His composure was ruffled: first Stephen storming out of the briefing and then Edward’s insensitivity with Bheki. He was furious with Edward’s obstinate stance to exclude Bheki.

  Ford couldn’t understand how the man could stick his neck out by supporting the kids to go, then to be so punctilious about leaving Bheki behind. Little did Ford know the working of a singularly linear mind.

  A call came through on his cell phone as he packed his computer into his travel bag.

  ‘Hi, Yasmin, what’s up?’

  ‘Oh, Ford, I don’t know what to do! Pierre’s gone all technical on us – he says we can’t get on the plane!’

  ‘What do you mean, technical?’

  ‘Well, he’s talking, like, European legislation and discrimination things. He got kind of animated!’

  ‘Animated?’

  ‘Yup, he’s waving his arms around and shouting in French. How we’d, like, discriminated against Bheki. He says they’re taking off on French territory and American health-and-safety legislation don’t count. Apparently you just can’t discriminate against anyone in Europe!’

  ‘So, what’s happening?’

  ‘He won’t let us on the plane!’

  Looking at his watch, Ford’s guts suddenly loosened with the gravity of the situation. The timings were tight enough without further delays.

  Clutching his bag, he rushed through the centre just in time to catch Zulu and Bheki leaving the foyer for an uncertain future. He slid to a halt across the polished terrazzo floor and shouted, ‘Quick, Bheki, I’ve made an executive decision. You’re going!’ Then looking towards Zulu said, ‘Can you drive? A cab won’t take you onto the runway and I’ve still got critical things to do.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Ford. I’ve just passed m
y test!’

  ‘OK, here’s my keys – get that boy to the airport!’

  Ford pointed to a pale-green VW camper parked 50 yards way.

  ‘I’ll set the route on your phone, but be quick!’

  The boys whooped with delight as they made it to the veteran vehicle.

  ‘Hey, bro, what’s this?’

  ‘It’s a gear stick, you idiot! Just like Mr Herman’s Land Rover,’ answered an incredulous Bheki.

  ‘OK, OK, I learned on an automatic, man.’

  There was a grinding of gears. Bheki pointed to the floor. ‘There’s a clutch, you warthog!’

  Zulu depressed the pedal and bunny-hopped along the bays until they turned out screeching into the unsuspecting city roads.

  Ford was on the phone. ‘It’s OK, Pierre. Bheki’s on his way. Can you let the team on the plane – it’s touch and go!’

  ‘So, there’s no discrimination?’ quizzed Pierre.

  Ford explained he’d taken an executive decision to override the safety concerns and respect ESA’s constraints.

  ‘Merci, Monsieur Harris. They’d better not be late or we’ll have to leave without them!’

  Ford was confused. ‘I thought you couldn’t leave without Bheki.’

  ‘Only if he’s been discriminated against!’ replied the Frenchman. ‘If he’s late, he’s late. C’est la vie!’

  ‘Vive la goddamn difference,’ muttered Ford.

  Zulu was getting used to the VW’s peculiar ways, even second gear. There was a large verdant park to be circumnavigated before meeting the freeway. Zulu glanced down at the threatening clock in the middle of the dashboard. He looked over at Bheki. ‘Shall we go African style?’ he mouthed at the boy, who gave a thumbs-up, and with a broad smile gave permission for a minor safari across the well-watered sage. Softballers and dog walkers yielded and scattered in all directions to the roar of the mighty flat four as they headed full tilt across the lawns.

  Once on the freeway the drive seemed plain sailing, apart from the distraction of the flashing red lights in the distance.

  The poor old crate couldn’t do much over 60mph, but that was as much as the traffic allowed, and by the time Zulu and Bheki dropped down the slipway, they felt confident of reaching the airport in time. Like most who have just passed their test, Zulu made extravagant use of his mirror. Unfortunately, the red lights were getting closer and the wail of a siren now filled the air.

  ‘Hey, bro, we’ve got company. Maybe they didn’t like our shortcut?’

  Bheki scrutinised the map and thrust his arm across Zulu’s vision. ‘Turn left, then left again,’ he gestured. The van wobbled as it cut the corner and nearly rolled on the second turn around a scrubland under the viaduct.

  ‘Behind that hedge!’ shouted the navigator, as Zulu glided to a halt in the lee of a screen of tangled bushes.

  Amid the scent of honeysuckle and dust they waited while two ardent patrol cars shot off like hounds that have missed their quarry.

  Pierre had settled the party on the plane and completed the inevitable paperwork with the ground staff. He glanced nervously at his watch, then his phone blared, with Ford’s creased face glowing from the screen.

  ‘Are they there yet? They should be!’ quizzed Ford.

  ‘Non, mon ami. They are… notable by their absence. We have to go!’

  Ford knew airport procedure back to front, and more importantly, how to make up time.

  ‘Taxi the plane up to the runway and wait. It will save at least 10 minutes queueing and it’s closer to the access road.’

  Ford hurriedly dialled Zulu’s number.

  The map on Zulu’s phone was suddenly interrupted by Ford’s face. ‘Where are you?’

  Bheki turned the phone around and Ford immediately recognised the long perimeter fence and the avenue of palms fringing the sidewalk.

  ‘Great! Go through Gate 7 – it’s where I park my plane. Tell Zulu to put on my hat and they’ll waive you through. Ignore the signs, go straight onto the tarmac, and look for a big plane with “Zero-G” on its body.’

  Pierre’s watch ticked insistently to its deadline, but there was still no sign of the boys.

  ‘Que sera, sera,’ he thought to himself, as he began to close the doors.

  Turning round to look beyond the stark whiteness of the empty interior, he could see the children buckled in the stern, staring intently through the porthole windows. He hadn’t told them about Bheki.

  ‘Look, look, it’s Ford!’ shouted Buzz, instantly recognising the outline of his grandfather’s grey-green van hurtling across the hot tarmac – with a posse of flashing yellow lights following at a distance. Pierre glanced through the window and, with a shrug, darted across the starchy white mats to the rear door. He flung it open just as the camper screeched to a halt below.

  Immediately, he could see the hole in Ford’s great plan. With no ladder or passenger steps, the two boys were way below with no hope of reaching the door. Even if they stood on the van’s roof they would still be 4 feet short. The fleet of airport security cars were almost upon them. ‘So near, yet so far,’ thought Pierre as he saw Zulu disappear back into the van.

  Suddenly, with a hydraulic whoosh, the candy-coloured stripes of the pop-top roof raised itself towards the heavens. The two boys deftly clambered up into the grip of Pierre’s long, toned, outstretched arms and tumbled into the plane. An astonished gasp and then cheers filled the cabin as the children slipped their belts and clambered along the aisle to hug their friends.

  ‘Attendez!’ shouted Pierre. ‘Belt up, we have to go. Vite! Allons-y!’

  Zulu turned to interrupt the hasty closure of the door. Poking his head out he tossed the camper keys into the path of the running figures closing in from the now parked security vehicles. ‘Please give these to Mr Ford!’ he called, before Pierre pulled him in.

  The great jet juddered into taxiing speed. Quickly they left behind the van and the huddle of uniformed guards, buffeted by the engine blasts and looking lost and forlorn in their wake.

  Chapter 29

  Lift-Off

  Section through Rocket

  The world had watched in awe as the three intrepid astronauts blasted off from Cape Canaveral. It held its collective breath for each successive stage to ignite and push them further up and away into the gods. A silent immense sigh of relief echoed round the planet when they attained their orbit. The architect of this grand enterprise stood like a proud father on the distant viewing platform, waving majestically as the great thrusting flame disappeared into the heavens. Then, in his own engaging way, Luther earnestly addressed the world – explaining how this was just the start of humanity’s greatest mission. He lauded the intrepid three for their bravery, skill and fortitude.

  Although he touched the hearts and minds of most, there were dissenters. High in a Chicago penthouse, a brooding Victor Relish sank further into his white leather sofa and stirred his tea, while watching the show unfold on the Pure News channel. Unable to contain himself during Luther’s speech he bellowed to his wife Delilah in the kitchen, ‘Come watch this, doll. Look at the man! He’s up to something, the sly old fox. It’s not what he says but what he doesn’t say.’

  Delilah came through in her coral silk dressing gown and settled by his side. ‘It’s probably another hoax like the moon landings, darling.’

  Victor grinned conspiratorially and clinked his cup to his wife’s Martini. ‘He’ll be gone in a few days and the gloves will be off. Madame President has invited me over next week to help sort things out! The end of eight years of nonsense.’

  With a nonchalant click of a button he changed the channel to the Pure racing channel. ‘Huh! Definitely something fishy,’ Victor muttered to himself.

  Delilah scrutinised the paper. ‘Sorry, darling, Something Fishy is not on the card. You’ll have to choose another horse.’

  Victor drew a long breath and lay back on the cerise cushions. ‘No, I’d back that one any day! There’s always another card w
ith crafty old Luther.’

  In Houston, mission control was heaving with activity. In a touching homage, the serried ranks of technicians and mission planners were all wearing white waistcoats, each with a lapel badge: ‘Failure is not an option’. After the euphoria and relief of getting the first crew up, the tricky task of co-ordinating the second flight and its rendezvous was taxing every one of them.

  After his own breakneck journey, Ford was buzzing around in the background when the call came through from Luther. The great man was uncharacteristically on edge and he nervously asked about ‘The Other Things’. Ford did his best to assure him and after recounting the debacle around Bheki, he joked, ‘You’re going to have to get me a presidential pardon, if I’m ever going to get my van back!’

  ‘We’ll all need one when we’re done with this!’ the president replied with a hollow laugh. ‘Look, we’re going to keep “The Other Things” under wraps until the world is ready.’ Then, with a more genuine chuckle, ‘Hey, trust me! I know about the best time to release information. The world is very happy with our intrepid three astronauts in orbit at the moment.’

  The second rocket’s capsule had been like a Formula One pit bay, as the technicians feverishly fixed the diminutive seats in place and stuffed the last stores into its cramped confines. The last-minute discovery that Stephen had thrown away the children’s specially moulded seats for the Mars lander had sparked a panic, until the training set were purloined and flown in from the simulators. It had been a long, long flight and in the sultry heat of the South American night, the children and their mentors sat fanning themselves in the newly equipped changing rooms.

  It was only when their diminutive space suits appeared that the first real frisson of excitement erupted. They would not only be the first children in space, but the very first astronauts to blast off from these sprawling ESA facilities.

  ‘Allora! Look at this!’ Enza was the first to be squeezed into her suit. She pirouetted to show off her name and the red, white and green tricolour proudly embroidered on her sleeve. Soon, one by one, they were all strutting the catwalk in front of their nearest and dearest. Pierre burst in, accompanied by a hot blast of air from the outside.