by Scott Rhine
Because Lou’s optic nerves had been burned out, he couldn’t see the black circles under her eyes. The current resident of the stasis chamber, Toby, had masterminded the ‘accident’ by switching the ship’s exit point too close to a sun and preventing him from leaving the alien interface. Oddly enough, the horrible experience had improved Lou’s personality, making him more sympathetic and less superficial. Red tried to sound chipper as she said, “Looking sharp, Lou! You’re up early.”
He whispered, “Can you do me a favor?”
His suave British accent made her want to say ‘yes.’ Instead Red rolled her eyes. “No, I am not changing the ship’s name from Sanctuary to Pellucidar.” Mercy was reading aloud the pulp novel by Edgar Rice Burroughs. It was about Tarzan in a savage world inside the hollow interior of the Earth. Lou had pointed out repeatedly that the name fit the alien-built spaceship perfectly. The aliens had crafted a two-kilometer diameter pocket under the fabric of normal space and filled it with dirt, water, and every type of plant the seventeen human astronauts would need to support themselves. They could see the vast, green interior from the control room’s ‘overhead’ windows.
“I’m over that,” Lou explained. “This is serious. Mercy plans out every minute and lays my clothes out for me like I’m three.”
Red smiled at the anal-retentive display of affection. “Her mother did that for her father. He was blue-green color blind and didn’t like wearing a watch.”
Interrupting his next complaint, Mercy bounced out of the room behind him, wearing a large T-shirt like a muumuu. She looked like she’d come straight off her private beach in Brazil, complete with her bikini bottoms and tan. Lou’s attention had made her blossom. Mercy seemed more comfortable in her own skin and with the mess that went along with life. Recently some of the men asked if she had started wearing makeup or if she’d always been that pretty. The newlywed launched herself like an acrobat toward the dining commons on the far side. “I’ll make you some eggs.”
Feeling the breeze and hearing the thump on the far side of the chamber, Lou shouted, “Slow down. You’re carrying a baby.”
Crouching on the wall, Mercy put her injured hand on her hip while hanging from a strap with her left. “You didn’t ask me to slow down last night. I believe you argued vigorous exercise would be healthy for both of us.” When Lou had no comeback, she wiggled saucily into the dining room and sealed the door behind her.
Red chuckled. “You can’t have it both ways, Lou. I warned you about those Smith women—stubborn as they are fertile.”
“Help me,” he pleaded.
“Z told me to never interfere in an argument between a man and a woman—both would beat me up. Besides, you have no room to complain. No one else in command center has someone poaching eggs inside a cute little hole in the toast.”
“Hey, Toad in the Hole is great. Grandma always made that for me.” Lou lowered his voice. “I worry about her. She runs down those steps to get to the chickens.” The stairs were a few thousand antigravity dominoes that could be programmed into almost any configuration, like remote-control Legos. Currently, they formed a spiral staircase that descended from the control saucer to the interior of the hollow, spherical ship. “She’s a bloody rocket scientist. Does she have to pull poultry patrol every morning?”
“When we’re not on duty, we all do chores. She loves those birds, and I swear they come to greet her.”
“Yeah, they also poop and scratch like crazy. Her hand could get infected. Worse, the drop is 120 meters. I’m afraid she’s going to trip, and . . .”
The appeal echoed her own sentiments for Zeiss, and Red considered. “Are you scheduled for next shift?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m over my interface hours, but Z wants us to start a minimum-fuel course for the jump point. We’re orbiting above the nexus already, so we just need to circle around to approach it from the proper angle and speed. Snowflake has the vectors.”
Lou had a gift for riding the curves, as he called it. Between his own page talents, sailing skills, and the gravity sense he gleaned from bonding with Mercy, he could steer the starship in-system better than anyone. He knew the solar winds so well by now that his instincts outperformed her computer plots. “No problem.”
“If you get that course started, I’ll talk to Auckland. Since Mercy’s not officially back from her sabbatical for the honeymoon, we could delay her return to duty pending a fitness review. Meanwhile, we’ll sign an order that all planners have to use elevator mode for safety’s sake.” Lou, Auckland, and now Zeiss already had to rely on this mode of transportation.
“The team hasn’t approved the final flight plan yet,” Lou noted.
“Minutes count when hitting a launch window this narrow. We’ll still have another day to fine-tune after the vote.” When he seemed reluctant, she added, “I can arrange the new rule while you eat breakfast.”
“Deal.”
“Just to clarify, this doesn’t mean that you won the argument,” she said as she hopped toward the med-lab door.
Lou held up both hands. “I admit this isn’t about logic. Thanks for humoring me.”
She smiled. “No, Lou. Thank you. You take care of Mercy. That girl is becoming the sister several of us never had.”
“The bossy, older one who always knows best?” he said more loudly to cover the increased distance.
“I heard that!” came Mercy’s muffled voice from the dining hall.
****
In the medical bay, Auckland dozed in a chair beside the cot where Zeiss slept. Red kissed her husband on the forehead before prodding the doctor. “Hey, Doc. I’m almost ready for the meeting. Sojiro said he’d help me with the visuals during the presentation.”
“Z wanted me to warn you about Rachael and Yuki. They can still cause trouble for you.”
Red nodded. “I have a distraction lined up for them that will hit two birds with one stone. I’ll arrange for Herk to drop the bombshell so they don’t suspect a setup.”
“Are you taking over?”
“No, I’m just buying us some time. We’re going to reach Oblivion to complete this test if I have to carry the whole damn ship myself.”
Chapter 2 – Robert’s Rules of Order
By e-mail, Red changed the location of the team meeting to the large storage area in Olympus, where she could manage things easier. In requesting the change of venue, she reasoned that everyone should be able to attend. The control saucer had to be manned by three crew members, while the enormous ecosphere didn’t need anyone on guard. Only Yvette declined the invitation. With Toby in the suspended-animation chamber, the fifteen remaining astronauts gathered to watch Red’s presentation in the storage room. Seated on the first of three benches, Zeiss handed Red the gavel. Auckland, Mercy, and Lou helped block access to their under-the-weather commander.
Red paced at the front. She couldn’t afford for Zeiss to answer questions because he still had trouble locating words. She also couldn’t let the opposition ask how long the ecosphere would last once they reached Oblivion.
As sergeant at arms, Herk brought the meeting to order and opened the log recording with the date, time, and the list of those present. With his mussed black hair, stocky build, and all the sun he’d been getting, he looked more Polynesian than Polish. The shorts and short sleeves on his shirt helped add to the casual illusion; however, the Rescue Corps tattoo on his forearm hinted that he could turn serious in an instant.
As secretary, Mercy hit the highlights of the previous meeting, ending with, “Point of order, due to her medical disability, Yvette has entrusted her proxy to me. The meeting is now open. Madam Chairwoman?”
Red’s whole strategy revolved around the rule limiting team meetings to one hour. She couldn’t talk that long, but others could. If she could end with no time for discussion, she’d win by default. To that end, she had Mercy arrange a few worthy topics guaranteed to generate lots of rabbit holes and controversy. Red announced, “I’ll beg
in with old business by committee. Chair recognizes Mayor Pratibha for the committee on public works.”
Since Toby’s capture, the mayor was in charge of the nanofabricators—the alien technology to extrude, print, or weave materials at nearly the molecular level. Although they worked best merely reshaping the raw materials dumped into them, like linen or nylon fibers, they also could print complex, multi-layer structures like computer chips. Under her administration, she had converted fabricator time into a form of ship’s currency.
The Indian woman stood, displaying her new sari. Her nut-brown skin was highlighted by the gold accents in the green cloth. “We have a petition from Yuki to increase the manufacturing priority on her prosthetic arm. The committee looking into it reported that there are 150 sensors in the design. Those are the hardest parts to create. Each one takes a full day—a citizen’s allotment for weeks. Even if we skip the sensory feedback for now, it will still need 100 sensors.”
“That would be the whole camp’s quota for fourteen weeks,” Red noted. “We need chips, survival gear, and weapons to get ready for the next landing.”
“That’s with only one of the three fab units active,” Yuki said. She had a dancer’s hard body and black hair so perfectly straight and shaped it could’ve been a geisha wig for clubbing. She also showed off her legs in a blatant effort to sway as many of the male votes as possible.
Pratibha shook her head. “We have to keep the other units as spare. Without replacement parts from Earth, fabricators have an expected lifespan of twenty years each. If we use them all up now, our children won’t have anything.”
Realizing Yuki was half her core opposition on the push toward Oblivion, Red threw her a bone. “Motion for any allotment spent on the current highest medical priority to count double. Auckland will decide the highest.”
“That will still mean dividing the pie by another share, lowering everyone’s output by about 5 percent,” the mayor warned.
“I could live with that, knowing I’d be taken care of if I took a hit for the team,” said Herk.
After a moment of silence, Red called for a vote and the measure passed.
Yuki snorted. “Thanks. If I don’t buy any luxuries like clothes, I can earn my replacement arm in a couple years.”
Things had wrapped up too quickly, so Red signaled Mercy with a stretching motion. Mercy popped out of her chair. “Madam Mayor, the chapel exploratory subcommittee is ready to give a report.”
Pratibha nodded. “Ah, yes. I remember that memo. To remind the crew, Mercy collected signatures for converting that round niche in the spinward wall into a meditation chapel. I yield the floor to Ms. Smith.”
“Mrs. Llewellyn,” corrected Lou.
The room went silent for a moment, and then people swarmed the couple to offer congratulations. Herk stood to establish order again, but Red shook her head. She needed this to drag out. When the noise died down, Mercy stood before the group. “I wanted to build this chapel not only because we all lost someone in the bombing of Alcantara Space Center, but also to express thanks to a higher power for our good fortune so far. All labor and materials would be donated. I’m offering these three benches, while Risa and Herk volunteered to build a simple hexagonal roof. Sojiro has offered to paint the ceiling and wanted to show us all his vision.”
The Japanese artist was dressed conservatively with a pressed uniform, short hair, and impeccable nails. He appeared younger than most of the other astronauts, as if he were still in his late teens, although he was actually two years older than her. She’d heard that people who both looked younger and loved their work lived longer. If so, he’d outlast them all. His eyes sparkled as he brought up a presentation on Raphaelite paintings.
As it loaded, someone noticed the numbering on the left side. “523 slides?” The crowd groaned, and eyes glazed over.
Red grinned. The stalling tactic would work.
Suddenly, during the first cherub detail shot, Rachael shouted, “Objection. Religious discrimination. Christian bias.” She had light-brown eyes and curly, dark-brown hair. Her eyebrows were plucked thin to accent the feminine aspects of her face. In contrast, she wore her Israeli military uniform.
A stultifying discussion followed where they agreed the memorial could be built as long as they called it a barn.
The meeting had half an hour left, and Red could only talk for ten minutes. She broadcast desperation toward her friend. Mercy blurted, “Point of order. Red is going to discuss aliens, and that’s too vague for me as secretary. Before she can begin, I need to be able to distinguish one race from another.”
Red expected a flurry of discussion, but the lecture on papal ceilings had bludgeoned the crowd into a stupor. Only Sojiro was still alert. “Maybe the first ones we encountered can be helpers or mentors.”
“Too vague, and if we fail, we can’t call them that anymore,” Mercy replied.
“We just had Christmas, so I’ll go with that theme. Since they were wise men bearing gifts to our people, we could call them the Magi.”
People muttered opinions, but Red couldn’t follow who said what.
“It fits because their technology seems like magic.”
“They told us to follow the star.”
“What will get us to the cookies faster?”
“Seconded,” said Rachael.
Frustrated, Red shouted, “What? You object to cherubs and chapels, but you promote the Magi?”
“I’m an O. Henry fan,” replied the Jewish woman.
“No more discussion?” Mercy tried.
Silence. Pratibha took over the vote, which passed, and control was returned to Red. She delayed while Mercy caught up on her air-typed notes and Sojiro loaded her charts in the projector.
The first slide read ‘The Path to Oblivion.’ Red made eye contact with each member of the audience, ending with Zeiss. “Together, we’re undertaking the farthest mission ever attempted by the UN.”
She clicked the button to advance to the second slide, showing the star chart and subspace highways—like creases in a bedsheet—between major gravity sources in their area. “Based on the extreme range, we must spend at least 62.5 days under Einstein’s Rubber Sheet, below normal space. The fewer the hops and the less correction we have to do, the more water we save. Z knocked himself out getting it down to just two hops.” A few eyebrows were raised at this feat. “The first one is a simple jump to here,” she said, pointing, “taking only 14.5 days.”
Rachael burst in. “That means the second jump will be thirty-eight days, twice our record. We can’t do that. Last time, we had to prepare for winter.”
“We will again,” Red admitted. “But we can use our water reserves as a thermal battery if we raise the average daily temperature to 90 degrees Fahrenheit.”
Yuki chimed in, “Looks like I won’t be needing clothes after all. Whoo-hoo. Beach party!” A few male heads swiveled her way, already picturing the new wardrobe. Women frowned. “If you don’t want to see it, find a way to use the gravity differentials to generate heat for our homes. If Sanctuary were a car instead of a starship, we would be able to tap some part of that incredible energy with a cigarette lighter adapter.”
Park scribbled a note on his computer pad. “I’ll investigate.”
The volunteer action robbed Red of another potential rathole to waste time. Why didn’t meetings go this fast when she wanted them to? “We’ll have time to plan because the secret to the fuel savings is not chasing the nexus as it moves through this solar system, but waiting for it to reach us. It will take about six months for the jet-stream entrance to intersect our orbit.”
Red switched slides again to the Oblivion solar system. “Then we need to accelerate and time our entrance to the second. We’ll be going into the system at high velocity because there are two suns circling each other. Our exit is more or less between them. We’ll need to close all the shutters for the first day so we don’t boil off what’s left of our water, but then we should be fine.”
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br /> “Wait,” said Rachael. “Didn’t Z reject Alpha Centauri because entering a dual system was too complicated?”
Nodding, Red said, “He’s written a general solution since then. We can enter safely for a narrow window every eighteen months, when the suns are at their apogee and solar flares are at the low point in their cycle. Exiting the system when we’re done will be our real problem.”
“Worse than becoming popcorn?” asked Johnny, Rachael’s boyfriend. He was the only man on the crew with hair past his shoulders. His greatest virtue was the ability to make even the most bizarre raw materials into a dessert.
“Z has worked out every aspect of the approach, and we all cross-checked several times. We’ll be perfectly safe. The rest is only a matter of patience. The only exit from the Oblivion system requires an astral conjunction that won’t happen for six Earth years past our arrival. Unfortunately, that particular back road leads us temporarily away from Earth.”
When Rachael began objecting, Lou interrupted. “The wind isn’t Red’s fault. The prevailing cosmic current goes one direction, and we just have to tack against it. Sailors do it all the time. We can all wait a little longer to get home safely. Right? I mean, how long are we talking?”
Red admitted, “Getting home again will take over seven additional years and may require multiple fuel stops.”
The crowd’s buzz was deafening, and Herk had to shout for order. Red hollered, “I’ll take questions when the presentation is complete. The arc you see is the minimum-fuel approach to the second planet in the Oblivion system. Sensei has directed us to the fourth moon. We’ll orbit B4 for a month while Yuki does a complete topographic and mineral map.”
Although her presentation was over, Red tried to pad. “We’ll get Sanctuary as deep in the atmosphere as we can and launch a satellite from the shuttle bay. Hopefully, visual, IR, and radio scans will tell us where there are concentrations of intelligent life. Nadia can sense power sources for any technological society. If we can’t find cities that way, Z can use his skills with Collective Unconscious to locate native populations.”