Flower-of-Sands_The Extraordinary Adventures of a Female Astronaut

by Grahame R. Smith

  Venetia laughed happily. ‘By the way, is Anglesey still fat?’

  ***

  Had she not known in advance, she probably would not have recognized him. Broad shouldered, eyes deep set, hair black with a short beard, Anglesey was a fit, tall individual who bore no resemblance to the hulking, uncoordinated twelve-year-old who had so protected her as a little girl on summer physics camp. The only feature that linked him to his child persona in any way were his eyes that tended to roll about as if searching for his previous self, as if somehow, they yearned to return to the soft, nerdy preteen boy of yesteryears.

  Venetia stood on tiptoe to hug him. Of all places, they had bumped into each other in the gym where Anglesey maintained his impressive physical condition, keeping at bay the boy monster that had so endeared him to the ten-year-old Venetia.

  Something in the chemistry of Venetia and Anglesey overrode their outer changes, and soon they were sharing stuff as if time had stood still and they were back on summer camp.

  Over the next few weeks, they met often, between lectures, at mealtimes, in the gym and swimming pool, in the bar, and in the observation alcove that revealed the mystic image of Earth.

  ‘I love the sight of Earth,’ she said one evening as they watched earth’s hypnotic rotation. ‘It makes me feel at home somehow. There is something … I can’t think of the word.’

  ‘Perspective?’

  Venetia leant back on her friend. They had not become lovers, but often held hands and sat close – as brother and sister. ‘Perspective yes, but also intimacy, yes, that’s it, intimacy. Strangely, up here, looking down, it makes me feel part of humankind and Earth, nature, Gaia, everything.’

  ‘You’re an old hippie from ancient times, as well as being a maths genius.’ Anglesey thought he was being funny and chuckled smugly.

  Venetia screwed up her face thoughtfully. ‘Do you know anything about the Kuiper-Oort mission? Do you expect to be on it? Like me, you specialise in that area.’

  He looked at her sheepishly and hesitated before replying. ‘Actually, I am on the mission already. I was chosen last academic year.’

  She sat bolt upright. ‘So, the crew has been chosen after all. All this talk about six students from my year is just a myth.’

  ‘Not at all. There are still places to be filled, including the six from your year.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Venetia seemed upset and made as if to get up and leave. ‘You know how much I want to be on the mission.’

  ‘I should have, but it’s because you are so keen on the mission that I kept quiet. Frankly, I didn’t know what to do ... I am sorry, Vene. Frankly, I would rather you were on the mission than me. You were doing pioneering work in this field when you were ten. I want to see you on the mission, believe me I do.’

  She knew he was speaking the truth. A special part of their relationship was his belief in her; he would have no hesitation in placing her before him if the occasion demanded it. She squeezed his hand. It was good for her to know that someone besides Lex had her back.

  He read her thoughts. ‘Many people believe in you, Venetia. Lex is on the mission also, and on the committee. She will put in a good word for you, in fact, she already has.’

  Venetia turned to him swiftly. ‘Already has?’

  Anglesey realized his mistake. In his haste to put Venetia’s mind at rest, he had inadvertently revealed that her name had come up around the mission and that Lex had already recommended her. He could sense Venetia’s mind working. Why had there been questions around her presence on the mission? Had Sir Michael raised objections to her being on the mission?

  Anglesey back-pedalled rapidly. ‘Lex is a lecturer. It is obvious that she would recommend someone.’

  ‘Of course,’ she whispered.

  She was far from reassured. Despite her so-called ‘non-verbal learning difficulties’, she was aware that because she was a leading expert on the outer system her presence on the mission should be a given – as Lex had said, a no-brainer. In her heart, she knew that the mission would be using at the very least some of her calculations. She should be on the mission as a specialist, advisor, and not needing Lex to recommend her for it. Something was wrong and it had to be Sir Michael. What had she done to offend him? What should she do? Should she approach him and apologise? But for what?

  A voice inside her head said clearly, do nothing, it will only make things worse.

  Anglesey put an arm around her and drew her to him. ‘Don’t worry, Vene, its months before the final crew is announced. Let it go, enjoy your life here at Uni. It’ll work out. So many people believe in you.’

  Venetia sniffed, looked up at his smiling face, and decided he was right.

  ***

  Six months later.

  Ithaca’s primary conference hall was layers of multiple curves of green and white. Situated on the side of the station facing the direction of the Earth’s rotation, panoramic windows presented breath-taking views of the home planet. Shifting panels filtered excess sunlight and continuously adjusted to the perpetual changes of Earth’s night and day cycle.

  Sir Michael sat at the head of a table that was almost circular, but with enough irregularity to allow him a prominent position. On either side of him and reaching double (sometimes-triple) rows around the table were scientists, technicians, advisors, and chosen crewmembers of the forthcoming Kuiper-Oort Mission.

  They had already been hours discussing and planning. Now the time had come for Sir Michael to announce the six additions to the crew that would come from the first-year students. Lex sat a small distance from him, a smile of anticipation filling her face.

  ‘I thought I would announce the new six rather than make it available electronically, or send it to those who have implants and other complex communications systems. (Here he laughed as if he had cracked a joke that only he understood.) I have discussed this at great length with committee, but as architect of the project, I reserve the right of final choice (the smile that had filled Lex’s face began to fade). After considerable analysis and soul searching, I have reached my conclusion. The addition to the crew will be: Sabetha Crowley, Geraldine Brown, Terence Maui, Amber Heseltine, Rachel Cohen, and Reginald Towers.’

  A polite silence followed, and then Lex’s spoke up. ‘Excuse me, Sir Michael, may I ask something?’

  Sir Michael gave an almost imperceptible flutter of irritation. ‘Of course, go on.’

  ‘I don’t understand, Sir Michael, why you have not included Venetia Woods. Although still a student, she is a leading expert on everything to do with the outer system.’

  Sir Michael smiled with exaggerated patience, which Lex experienced as condescending. ‘Lex, I realize she is bright, but …’

  ‘Bright! She is not just bright. She is off the scale. She foreshadowed much of the work we are doing here.’ Lex was losing control rapidly.

  ‘As I said, she is bright, but she is a troublemaker, not overtly, of course, but subliminally. She is not a team player …’

  ‘She most certainly is …’

  Sir Michael ignored her interruption. ‘She tends to upset people and cause friction. On a long mission that could have serious, if not disastrous consequences. For that reason, and others, I don’t want her on the mission.’

  Lex felt a tsunami of anger and was about to speak again, this time rudely, when Anglesey interrupted.

  ‘Sir Michael and Committee, I believe she would be vital to the mission. It is her life’s work, her passion, and she is a genius. If it’s a question of numbers, I am happy to step down and let her take my place.’

  There were intakes of breath from many of those present. Such a demonstration of friendship and loyalty was rare, even in these enlightened times.

  ‘I am happy to step down also,’ Lex said fiercely.

  ‘Step down, if you wish, both of you, but it won’t make any difference. This is a scientific mission and not a celebrity cult. Venetia Wood’s time will come when she is more mature
and is able to work better alongside others.’

  ‘But she is brilliant at working with others, Sir Michael,’ Anglesey said. ‘Much of her work involves collaboration.’

  Sir Michael shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, I have made my decision, and NASA, who ultimately are funding the mission, have accepted my decision. There will be Kuiper-Oort Cloud missions in the future for which we will consider her.’

  Lex could contain herself no longer. ‘Consider? If you think so little of her, why are you using her calculations in the mission flight plan?’

  Intakes of breath – this time from everybody. The sudden interest of all present was palpable.

  ‘That is preposterous. The Oort Cloud and trans-Neptunian objects have been my life’s work and the life work of those on my team. We created a flight template, worked on that, and arrived at the position we now hold – the existence in the belt and Oort Cloud of systems of dwarf planets or even planet-sized objects.’ Sir Michael was agitated and stumbling over his words.

  ‘Venetia came up with flight plans and mappings for the Kuiper Belt, the Scattered Disk, and the Oort Cloud when she was ten. The calculations she used have found their way into the flight plan this mission is intending to use.’

  The atmosphere was tense. People were shocked, yet at the same time curious. But a woman rose from across the table and glared at Lex. Her name was Rosanna, and she was head of Lex’s faculty and an executive of the mission. She was furious. ‘Alexandra, I must ask you to desist from this insubordinate and insulting behaviour.’

  Lex’s face was red. ‘I will not desist. Venetia Woods is a genius and someone is side-lining her. Why?’

  ‘Alexandra, I repeat. Desist immediately.’

  ‘Shelved, after the mission has ripped-off her valuable work!’

  ‘Enough! I must ask you to leave the conference room and report to me tomorrow at 09.00. I warn you that you will be subject to disciplinary action following your extraordinary and unprecedented behaviour. Apologise to Sir Michael at once and leave the room.’

  Lex realized that she had overstepped herself by accusing Sir Michael of doing the worst thing that a scientist could ever do: take credit for someone else’s work. Yet she had no real proof. When it came to it, she was inferring, or rather insinuating, without evidence.

  Realizing that she had probably blown her position as a mission crewmember, she turned to Sir Michael and whispered an apology.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir Michael. I got carried away. Venetia is a valued friend and pupil. I allowed my feelings to dictate my behaviour.’

  Sir Michael raised his arms in conciliation. ‘Please Lex, I accept your apology. Venetia is, after all, your prodigy; we understand that you want the best for her. Sit down, and let’s forget the whole thing. We still have much of the mission to discuss.’

  Lex, who had been preparing to leave the room, slowly returned to her seat, feelings of regret flooding through her. She had lost her temper and made matters worse. Nothing she had said would get Venetia on the mission. As for herself, despite Sir Michael’s conciliatory manner, she knew that her chances now of being on the mission were somewhere between remote and zero.

  Chapter 4

  Outer Solar System: Pluto-Charon system

  Venetia lay on her bunk looking up at a ceiling that permanently depicted the image of Pluto in holographic high resolution. She was tired. It had been a long day of research and lectures. She had missed dinner and was now starting to feel hungry. Maybe, if she went to the canteen, which was probably closing, someone would take pity on her and allow her a sandwich or, at least, an energy bar.

  Earlier, she had been too depressed to eat; despondency had overcome her and sent her to her bed. And she had good reason. She was a world authority on many astronomical disciplines, including the outer reaches of the solar system, and here she was, marooned on Pluto’s moon Charon, admittedly an interesting place, but marooned. Following Sir Michael’s decision to deny her a place on the Kuiper-Oort Mission, the University’s executive had sent her to finish her studies at the University’s new subsidiary on Charon, where Sir Michael insisted she would be able to continue her research into trans-Neptunian objects. Well, despite how it appeared officially, it was retribution.

  Lex was here too. After her outburst at the mission conference, the university executive and so-called authority, notwithstanding Sir Michael’s apparent forgiveness, had removed her from the Kuiper-Oort Mission.

  As compensation, and to make it look respectable politically, the university had ‘promoted’ her to head of faculty at the university’s outpost on Charon; she and Venetia were troublemakers and the university establishment was getting rid of them. Earth may have abolished war, but it had not abolished professional jealousy and politics. Lex was a victim of speaking the truth and daring to suggest that the Kuiper-Oort Mission authorities had stolen Venetia’s work and covered this up by excluding her from the Mission, claiming that she was a troublemaker.

  Neither Lex nor Venetia could deny that the Pluto-Charon dwarf-planetary system was interesting, a gateway to the Kuiper belt and the outer system, but the Charon university complex was a permanent building site. Like many construction sites of the twenty-first century, the work never seemed to get finished. Instead, an industry had grown up around the impermanence; hotels, restaurants, recreation facilities, seemed to thrive on the impermanence, nesting like parasites on the vast, crawling mass of semi-completed structures.

  Because of the mutual tidal locking of Pluto and Charon, the one thing that never changed was the face of Pluto. Not so the space port. Snug in the long flat area at the pole, always under reconstruction, every part of it temporary, it was a nightmare for pilots arriving with provisions, construction vehicles, massive mining tools, and fresh students, wide-eyed, pale, and fascinated by the remote landscape.

  Venetia sighed, slid out of her bunk, pressed open her door, walked into a long dimly lit corridor, and took a lift to the refectory. To her surprise, it was open; a newly arrived group of technicians huddled around a corner table, sipping coffee, and questioning a holographic debrief android.

  Some distance from them, hunched over her slate, was Lex, who looked up and waved her over.

  ‘What’s happening, Lex?’ Venetia said when she reached her friend and mentor.

  ‘Vene, I was just going to call you. There is a party on Pluto. Fancy going?’

  Venetia sat down and spoke into a holographic menu for coffee. ‘Gosh, really. A party? On Pluto? What sort of people are they?’

  ‘Nice. Nicer than here, anyway. A new research crew will be there. We should meet them. NASA is planning a space station on Makemake, and possibly beyond the Kuiper. There’s a scouting expedition prior to a formal proposal, and they are on Pluto now. Maybe we could get on it. What say you?’

  ‘I say you are optimistic about the scouting expedition. How will you get away? You are head of department.’

  ‘True. But I know one of the men in charge, Harrison Standard. I could swing it. Get someone to fill in for me here. No probs. Anyway, no one is looking at us, Venetia. No one cares. We’ve been side lined, in case you haven’t noticed.’

  A robotic tray on elegant legs with attached roller skates slid towards their table carrying a steaming mug of coffee. Venetia took the coffee and said nothing. Lex looked at her pensively. ‘Nothing to say?’

  ‘Yes, we are side lined, and you are right, no one cares. So, for starters, let’s party.’

  Lex took one of Venetia’s hands and squeezed it. ‘I thought you would agree. Shuttle leaves in 30.’

  ‘Now she tells me,’ Venetia rolled her eyes mockingly and laughed.

  It was not her first time on Pluto, but Venetia had a moment of apprehension as the shuttle passed over the Ice Plains towards the dark, rugged mass of the Hillary Highlands where the space station and NASA Corporation buildings wove and twisted through valleys and cliff faces. Unlike Charon, construction on Pluto had quickly reached fruition as large c
ommercial enterprises invaded the strange eerie planet. As the shuttle landed across a strip of whiteness, Venetia noticed dawn throwing pale-blue light across the misty landscape where remote methane clouds hovered high on the horizon like lost high altitude balloons. Strange, awesome, and scary.

  Venetia and Lex adjusted the gravity applications on their environmental suits and stepped through an umbilical transit tube onto a ground shuttle. Through the transparent sides of the umbilical, they could see the unreal whiteness of the landing strip. Venetia longed for a cup of tea, or coffee, or anything to give her a sense of reality, to protect her from the alien nature of the Plutonic environment.

  They found soft, plush seats which wrapped around them as they strapped in. The shuttle lifted off and moved swiftly forward. The short journey was smooth and comfortable and technically straightforward. Out here on the Plains or in the Hillary Mountains, all that went wrong was in the head. That was when you ran for cover, when your head started up, when you began seeing things along the desolate white plains, or lurking in the shadows of cliff faces.

  Venetia shuddered. She needed a good party, or a massage, or a long swim, or all three, to distract her and ease the growing tension in her neck and shoulders. A cluster of large, transparent bubble-type structures came into view and the shuttle slid noiselessly beneath one of them. It was difficult to see how it all worked. Distorted perspective, the alien landscape, and the looming presence of Charon, contributed to a growing sense of disquiet that over the last few days had entered her mind and nestled there.

  Stepping out of the shuttle, they walked down a long ramp at the end of which a group of people in party gear waited. One of the men stepped forward. ‘It’s fancy dress,’ he said as he removed a silver mask revealing an aquiline, handsome face. ‘Come, we have costumes for you to choose from.’

  There were seven in the group of revellers, all of whom seemed slightly drunk. One of the women held a stick that emitted a subtle fragrance. She held it to Venetia’s nostrils.