by J J Perry
The door of the lift closed, and they smiled at each other for the first half of the ascent.
“Working lights,” Lucinda said, and the room lit up. She hurried to the pilot’s station and sat in the commander’s chair. She tapped and punched, activating voice commands. “List activity for Cyrus Paria in the last week.”
It produced a list of engineering functions, recreation, lists of data and pilot activity.
“Search pilot’s log.”
Savanna sauntered to the opposite side of the room as Lucinda tapped.
“What do you see, Lucinda?”
“I can’t look. It requires a password.”
“What?” Savanna hurried over to the screen and looked. “Scoot over.” She reactivated voice command and spoke. “Authenticate Commander Savanna De Clerq, Seven Iota omicron nu.” An oblong visor appeared. Savanna looked into it, both eyes wide until there was a green flash.
“Authentication verified. Proceed.” The computer spoke.
“Access pilot’s log for actions by Paria.”
The log appeared on the screen. Savanna studied it with furrowed brow. “Display hazard and plot current course.” A three-dimensional display appeared. Stars were displayed in various intensities, and an amber fuzzy band crossed the screen from the upper left to the lower right corner. A small blue circle was in the center of the amber zone. “Display hazard and previous course.” The blue circle changed to a line that pierced the outer edge of the debris field.
“Damn it! It looks like he changed course to go through the densest part of the tail. He is hell bent on killing us all.”
“I wish I had been wrong,” Savanna said. “Take another station and see if you can get a more accurate estimate of distance while I plot a turn.”
Twenty-two minutes later, the data had been collected and confirmed and a new course set. It would take over twenty-four hours to complete the first turn. The closest portion of the rubble was less than two days away.
“Do you think we caught this in time, Savanna?”
“We have a narrow margin. Hard to say.”
“If not, we’ll never know.”
Savanna looked at her for a clarification. Lucinda put her ten fingers together and simulated an explosion. “Poof!”
“Had we found this a few hours later, it would not be possible to avoid the entire debris field.”
“Now, Sav, why do you think Cyrus sabotaged the course correction?”
“He said he was going to be saved. Then he made some crack about group sex that was so off the wall that I couldn’t connect it to anything. Lola did and sounded the alarm.”
“It still makes no sense to me.”
“He said we were all going to die at least a dozen times. I think some religious notion that gave him a reason to end it now and save tension of waiting for destruction, probably that he’ll be saved in heaven, his imaginary afterlife, if he destroys us all. Or maybe if he ends the mission. Either way.”
Tears welled in her eyes. Lucinda summoned Ivanna, stroked her short, black hair and then hugged her. After a minute, Savanna sniffed up her sadness, straightened, and said just above a whisper, “We need to neutralize Cyrus, who is a proven danger to the crew and the mission.”
Lucinda looked at her locator screen, seeing Cyrus in Medical and Maricia and Raul appearing as one bright signal. “He is probably still recovering, maybe back at full strength. You should lock him out of all computer access, out of Engineering and floors five through seven.”
“I did that before I went to the mess.”
Ivanna entered. “You made another course correction, Commander. Is there a problem?”
“She had to correct an error made by Cyrus.”
“You summoned me here for psychological support, then?”
“I did.”
After a minimal pause, she waved her hand and moved toward the door. “You have it covered, Lucinda. I’ll get back to Medical in case Mr. Paria needs more restraint.”
“I think we should give him some bromazolam decothal,” Lucinda suggested. “That will enable you to analyze his thought patterns and do their psychiatric analysis. It will also keep him from a total rage. I really don’t want another Parambi debacle.”
“Agreed,” Ivanna said.
“He is now a prisoner to be restrained and not allowed any access to any hardware devices,” Savanna said.
“Yes, ma’am. Is that all?” Both women nodded. Ivanna left.
“I’m sorry, Savanna.” Lucinda paused with indecision. “Let me take the lead on this, you know, because of your relationship.”
“That would be good, Luc. Bring Maricia and Raul up to speed. I’m going to add some additional security to the pilot program to make certain he is locked out.”
8.0
LAUNCH + 184 DAYS
The next morning, the crew of five was seated in the dining area. Breakfast was well-flavored high protein and fat.
“I’m sorry I didn’t knock, you two.”
“It was a bit of a shock, Lucinda,” Maricia said. “You have apologized enough. I’m over it.”
“I have no idea how you guys got into that position.”
“Lucinda!” Maricia objected as Raul hid his face in a hand. Lucinda and Savanna laughed long and loud, joined by the couple, infected by the mirth. Cyrus showed no emotion.
“I would like to congratulate our medical team,” Savanna said, raising her glass of tomato juice. “They have successfully made seventeen embryos, now frozen and stored. Our goal was to have sixteen to twenty, and we are there. Let’s drink to their success!”
Four glasses were raised, clinked, and sampled. Ivanna gave Cyrus a drink from a polyacrylate unbreakable cup. He glowered, his hands restrained. He swallowed.
“The embryos could have been made before we left,” Raul said.
“Right,” Maricia answered. “But we had months of almost nothing to do on board. It was a good way of keeping us sharp.”
“And avoiding dangers of transport,” Savanna said. More aimless chatter animated breakfast for a few moments. Durgon Kushman wheeled furiously about, delivering orders spiced with insults. “Ms. Fischer, Lucy Goosey, just to make a liver pate for you, I killed a goose. For my next act, I will goose a killer.” He jerked toward Cyrus, who startled.
“Durgon!” Lucinda scolded.
He bowed his head and teetered off in shame. Ivanna offered food to Cyrus, but he refused.
“I would like to offer another toast,” Savanna said. “To Lucinda for finding the hazard ahead so we could avoid it.”
Four glasses were raised again. Cyrus sat still, hands restrained, eyes unfocused. Ivanna gave him another drink, which, surprisingly, he swallowed. All had expected him to spit it out. They had agreed to have him join breakfast, an attempt at rehabilitation and reconciliation as they administered the medication spiked in his juice.
“Raul, any news from COM?” Savanna asked, ignoring the remark.
Raul babbled about inconsequential news items for two minutes or so. Maricia extended the report by another couple of minutes by asking for clarifications. By this time, Cyrus was listing and wobbling.
“Cy?” Lucinda asked. He made an attempt to respond, eyes unfocused and mouth open, drool starting from the corner of his mouth. Lucinda dabbed the saliva with a napkin and pulled his face to look at her. “Cyrus, talk to me.”
“OK, what do you want?” was probably what he tried to say, but it came out as a slurred phonation devoid of consonants. Everyone smiled.
Lola entered the room. Together the med-bots picked him up and placed him on the stretcher outside the mess and glided him into the lift and away to Medical.
“This is distressing,” Maricia whispered.
“Now what?” Raul asked.
Silence answered first. Lucinda and Maricia ex
changed looks before Lucinda spoke. “The bots are going to combine and conduct an analysis. They then prognosticate about recovery or repair. That would normally take about three or four days to be complete.”
“Options?” he asked.
“Around this point of the journey, the rules get pretty harsh, especially if rehab is needed. We have only a couple of weeks until we get to the final phase of prehibernation. At that point, we can have only the healthy.”
“And that’s where I come in,” Kushman announced in New Jerseyean. “Perfect nutrition, precisely proportioned, deliciously prepared, and attractively presented.” He slapped a scoop of dirty rice on Raul’s plate.
“The mission protocol cut point is tomorrow,” Savanna said as the chuckles subsided. She moved to the vacant chair next to Lucinda.
“So we don’t have four days?” Lucinda declared.
“I hate this,” Maricia whispered again.
The inevitable decision smothered them in a penumbra of gloom. The gravity of thoughts was too intense to let speech escape. The pragmatic and harsh orders made the room smaller and the air heavier.
Raul squirmed, stood with effort and began to pace. Eventually, two small puddles formed on the table below Maricia’s bowed head. Lucinda pulled Savanna and Maricia close and put an arm around each. “I love you two,” she said ever so softly. With those words, life was breathed back into the chamber.
“With so many things,” Savanna said, “the most painful part is making the decision, less so in carrying it out. Marriage, divorce, buying a house are all like that. Bringing life into existence and taking it out are not.”
“He doesn’t have to die,” Raul objected.
“I wish that were true,” responded Lucinda.
“Emotionally, I find the rules objectionable, maybe even immoral,” said Maricia as she turned to Raul. “Objectively, I can’t argue against them because, in this case, all of our lives are at stake.”
Twenty minutes later, the mess hall was empty. Lucinda and Maricia were in Medical, watching through a large window as Dr. Jekyll mentally dissected Cyrus. Raul and Savanna were in COM, working on a report about Cyrus.
8.1
MISSION DAY 185
“Another delicious breakfast, I see,” Raul said as he joined the ladies. “Shit on shingles.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” responded Spoon. “Scatological references about my food are unacceptable. This reference you made about my creamed chipped beef on toast is impolite and, therefore, should be protracted.”
“Sheeeeeeet on sheeeeengles. How’s that for protracted?”
“Nicely done, although I teed that one up for you nicely.”
“You were up early this morning,” he said to Maricia as he leaned over and gave her a kiss.
“I got up early to exercise. Then Luc and I checked on Jekyll and the progress on Cyrus.”
““The bane of the sane is that pain is vain. May I pee in your coffee, sir?”
“Terminate humor algorithm,” Savanna barked.
“But what I said wasn’t funny.” Durgon wheeled a few feet away.
“Now that everyone is here, what do have to report about Cyrus?” Savanna asked.
Maricia and Lucinda both began to speak at once. They exchanged looks and Lucinda bowed her head and gestured with a wave that she yielded. “Cyrus’s father died not of an accident as we had thought but in a guerrilla attack against government forces. His mother was killed by his uncle for consorting with infidels.”
“What a load of bull,” Savanna said. “He said nothing about that ever.”
“He fooled you and the psych screeners. Cyrus has assumed, or maybe resumed, his father’s fight and adopted a fundamentalist dogma that has been around for centuries. Jekyll projects it will take months to complete a therapy that might decrease the probability of relapse to less than 10 percent. Or maybe not work at all. He sees himself as a martyr, bent on destruction. Something unleashed immense hatred.”
“And it wasn’t you, Savanna,” Lucinda hastened to clarify.
“What can be done with a week of therapy?” Savanna asked.
“Nada, as Raul would say. Most of the efficacy of treatment is seen after two months or more.”
“What about continuing his treatment for four to six months?” Raul asked.
“You know that is impossible, Raul. We need to be in hibernation at the time we cut the engine and lose gravity, or our bone density drops too fast.”
“Surgery?” Savanna asked.
“Doesn’t work,” Lucinda answered. “Unless we render him to the IQ of a carrot.”
“I reread the protocol. I know what it says, and I don’t like it. What do the physicians think?”
Maricia and Lucinda looked at each other and said nothing.
“We can’t just kill him!” Raul raised his voice.
“Give me an option, Raul,” Savanna said sadly, “and I’ll be happy to take it.”
He stirred in the pale gravy, deep in thought. He went to speak a couple of times as they ate in silence but stopped before a sound emerged.
“We went over this all day yesterday, Raul.” Lucinda broke the silence. “Control had debated and studied this for years. We are out of other viable options because we are out of time.”
“It’s heartless,” Maricia said.
“The system will carry out the act,” Savanna said.
“What does that mean?” Raul asked.
“It means that we don’t need to do anything with respect to Cyrus. Bitelzebub will do it all.”
“That makes it so none of us has blood on our hands. How convenient!” Raul spat out the last two words.
“Psychologically, it is healthier for us,” Maricia said. “The burden of guilt is lighter.”
“Red rum, anyone?” Spoon was back, holding a jar of juice.
Raul lifted a small panel and flipped a switch. Spoon lost power except to motor to a nook where he was stored. “The frigging robot from hell,” he muttered.
“He is right at home here,” Maricia murmured back.
“We can’t execute Cyrus for his beliefs,” Raul stated.
“If they were without harmful actions, that would be a different circumstance,” Lucinda answered. “This decision has nothing to do with his faith or whatever it is—it has to do with elimination of an existential threat.”
“A preemptive act, then.” Maricia said.
“Technically, no.” Savanna spoke softly. “He struck first, sabotaged the ship in an attempt to kill us all.”
“One strike and you’re out?” Raul asked.
“If a man intends to kill you and you stopped him, would you give him a second chance?” Savanna asked. “At the end of this game, that’s the rule.”
“I don’t like it,” Maricia said.
“Neither do I,” agreed Raul.
“No one likes this.” Lucinda argued. “It’s easy to disagree, to find fault or object. It’s another thing to come up with a workable solution. Hell, we all object. Come up with something.”
“Can’t you burn something in his brain and make him an atheist?” Raul asked.
“We went over that, Raul. He would be docile and worthless, a burden,” Maricia said as she squeezed Raul’s hand.
After another long period of introspection and stillness, Raul uttered an almost inaudible whisper, “I can’t come up with a thing.” He and Maricia got up and left the room in tears.
Lucinda and Savanna sat alone. After a lengthy silence, Lucinda spoke. “I have a personal question, Sav. How is it you and Cyrus married? To me, you’re very different.”
“I was on the rebound from another relationship—one I left because I wanted to see more, to shop around, to experience other things.”
“Was it a bad relationship?”
“It
was the best thing in my life, and leaving was a huge mistake. Had I stayed with him, I wouldn’t be here. I would be happy.” With that, she put her head on the table and wept. “Sasha,” she said over and over again.
Later in the evening, Savanna went to the five cents booth and cued up her farewell presentation from Schaefer Station. Her speech rang out from the past. “We share one objective: don’t kill each other. Humanity has been fickle, self-centered, irrational, torn, and distracted like you as well as intelligent, kind, caring, and generous like us. It has been fooled by great speakers and advanced by deep thinkers, or perhaps it’s the other way around. Sometimes I’m not sure. While our mission is not the last to leave, it will be the last to arrive. We will not land for eight thousand years, an impossibly long time to remember, to remain stable, politically, geographically, and physically. Of course, we will be snoring for 7,998 of those years. Look back!” She pointed to the rear of the hall. The camera caught Leila leaving. “You don’t see eight thousand years of recorded history. Six thousand years ago, civilizations were crude, harsh, and with little art, philosophy, or knowledge, much like the legislatures of today. Mathematics was in its infancy. Superstition, magic, and mystery guided people and nations then and the government now. So much will happen as we traverse intragalactic space. We depend on the unborn to remember, to listen, to care as do we. We lay our hopes on future leaders, competent or not, worthy or not to wake up from their drunken stupor every now and then and pick up the messages. Thank you.”
Three days later, a memorial service was held, and Cyrus’s body was dispatched to engineering, joining the other half of the crew.
8.2
LAUNCH + 215 DAYS
It was nine o’clock in the morning, and the four members of REAP 23 gradually straggled into the mess. Spoon zipped around, bringing each one a green, thick liquid drink. “God Morgan, Maricia. Hvordan har du det i dag?” Good morning, how are you today? He spoke in a pleasant, soft voice today.