Terminus Project: Mars (Dystopian Child Prodigy SciFi)

by Casey Herzog

  Finally, Peter was free to make the walk down the parade: the one part of this little scene that was real, that he cared about. As he walked at a steady pace toward the Monument of Pilgrims, he drowned out the noise of the crowd. He ignored the round figure of the general on his right, determined not to notice Sergeant Denver holding his hand as they walked together. These things were flimsy illusions, part of a great tapestry of fiction that was his life. Peter was determined to look past it and focus only on the truth. He was now an astronaut. He would swear his oaths, disowning country and creed. From this day forth he represented humanity as a whole.

  As they passed through the marble arch at the entrance to the Monument and passed the statue of Neil Armstrong, who stood as sentinel, the general and Sergeant Denver let their facades drop. Out of the public's eye they moved to a corner, leaving Peter to make his way to the Monument Stone where engravers stood waiting for him.

  Taking a moment to himself, Peter looked up at the title plaque:

  THE UNITY. PLUTO COHORT.

  There was a list of twenty-nine names below, with a gap left between Edwards and Goswami for his own entry. He looked at two unfamiliar names who were not part of group brought up from Little Vegas.

  1st in Cohort: Alphred Armstrong

  2nd in Cohort: Minerva Tharsis (M)

  It was not surprising that their chief of cohort was an Armstrong. The Unity's mission was one of the most significant missions into the solar system humanity had undertaken in years. There could be no screw-ups. As his eyes looked to the other cohort leaders for Mars, Jupiter, Uranus and Neptune, Peter noted that each of these was also an Armstrong.

  The engravers didn't seem to share Peter's awe and sense of ceremony. As he gazed at the great stone tablet and read the names engraved in tiny letter print, one of the engravers coughed. “Hey, kid. You're the last name we need to engrave before we can clock out. It's 32 degrees.”

  Peter blushed and moved forward, feeling a little hurt to have his moment curtailed by some upstart workman. “Peter Gabell of the Unity, Pluto Cohort.”

  The engraver didn't say anything else, just turned to the open space on the wall and began the work of chiseling out his name. Peter stood in place, back straight, determined to eke out the respect and poignancy this moment of his life deserved.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Aldrin room, a massive auditorium on the west wing of the Space Center's offices, was the site of the first occasion the crew of the Unity was brought fully together, in one place. Everyone was there: all six cohorts, as well as the chiefs of staff, who were to be teachers and mentors to the crew.

  Also in attendance were representatives from the key national leagues, as well as the President of the One Earth League, Mr. Masato Nakamura. It was customary for a representative of the One Earth League to be in attendance at these briefings, but it had been years since so many dignitaries sat in on the occasion. Their presence served as a further reminder of the weight of their mission.

  Befitting his rank and station, Mr. Nakamura was first to address the crowd. He was a short man, and Peter had to stifle a chuckle as an aide was forced to scuttle over in order to lower the podium's microphone to the president's level. Those next to him didn't seem to see what was funny, and Peter flinched as he felt Nisha elbow him in the side.

  After a long, dramatic pause, the president began to speak in halting English. “Go back five years, and humanity stood tall and proud. Our influence extended out to the farthest reaches of our solar system. Through the efforts of brave, incorruptible cosmonauts like you, humanity was allowed to enter a new dawn of plenty. Through the mining of other planets and moons of our solar system, we were able to end the burden we placed on Mother Earth to support our existence. For the first time since we began to consume the world’s resources on an industrial scale, we were able to give our world room to breathe. The great gouges and holes we had left in her were permitted to heal. Species of animals, all but extinct, were brought back from the brink; their habitats returned to them as our need to consume our planet’s rich bounty dwindled. The future of our species was assured, and it seemed nothing could stand in the way of this glistening new renaissance.” As the president trailed off, a few dignitaries at the front began to clap, the crew of the Unity eventually joining in too.

  “Vigilance is the price we must all pay in order to safeguard the new dawn. To my shame, I admit that we had grown lax and too secure when the calamity that now darkens our entire species fell upon us.”

  “Here comes the history lesson,” Peter whispered under his breath. This earned him another fierce nudge from Nisha, but he thought he detected a smile on her face this time as they were forced to listen to the story they had heard countless times.

  “It was a cold November morning when former President Gessen was awakened by a private communication from the planetary commander of Pluto. The message was short, simple and brutal. The message was this: 'After much deliberation, the governors of the outer planets have decided to declare their secession from Earth rule.' With a mere eighteen words, our brothers in the outer planets had drawn a curtain on the peace and prosperity our species had enjoyed for nearly one hundred years. Through one act of selfishness billions were condemned to live in a state of deprivation not seen since the darkest days of the twenty-first century. We of the One Earth League were responsible for this. Yes, we were...”

  “Yes, you were; now here comes the part where you ask us to clean up your mess for you.” Peter was ready for Nisha's elbow this time. He turned his head to look at her, pleased to see that her smile had now erupted a full-blown grin. This did not stop her from striking him though.

  “When President Gessen announced he was stepping down from office, I moved at once to take his position. After my election, I looked to one thing: Unity. Uniting the cosmos back for humanity. ONE EARTH, ONE HUMAN RACE!” Another round of applause followed. “With shipments of material and supplies from the outer planets blockaded, we were forced to look to our own planet once more. Over three years we were able to put together the greatest feat of human engineering ever undertaken: The Unity. We also began to select candidates to go out to the very limits of space to secure peace for mankind. Thus, the Terminus Project was born.” The President was really enjoying the sound of his own voice at this point, and he paused again to give the audience a chance to applaud.

  Over the next half an hour, Peter and his fellow crewmates were subjected to a tired procession of tired speeches from representatives of the National Leagues. The President of the United American Continent was particularly long-winded, and all seemed to repeat without irony the same facts and sentiments as those who came before them. If someone had simply recorded President Nakamura's speech and played it on a loop five or six times, the experience would have been more or less the same.

  By the time the Minister of the African Triumvirate had his turn at the podium, most of the crew were slouched in their chairs, minds blanketed by a haze of boredom and drowsiness. The announcer who introduced each speaker seemed aware of this, and made a special effort to add feeling into his next words. “And now I would like to introduce the Captain of the Unity and your commanding officer: Rear Admiral Michael Philip Gayle.”

  This was enough to win back the flagging attention of the audience, and the entire auditorium rose to their feet. Some clapped, others saluted, and a brave few cheered. If this reception in any way moved the admiral, he didn't let it show on his face. He marched to the podium and stood like a steel rod, hands clasped behind his back as he waited for his new crew to settle down. It took a while. The clapping continued for almost three whole minutes, and Peter smiled as he watched the jealous look on the other dignitaries’ faces. None of them had garnered such sincere praise.

  At the two-and-a-half-minute mark, only a few were still clapping and Peter liked to think they were now playing a game, daring each other to continue. By two minutes fifty, Peter was locked in a one on one battle with someone fro
m the Neptune Cohort. Whoever he was facing, they had a little more nerve and got the last clap in at two minutes fifty-six. Peter didn't dare push past this, and was rewarded with a whisper in his right ear.

  “Smart move, my elbow's getting sore keeping you in line, crater face.” Peter ignored the predictable insult, happy to find Nisha even willing to tolerate his antics. Perhaps his best chance of finding a genuine friend was here, amongst his cohort. He had not spoken to her much in their training over the last month. Still, she was less inclined to insult him needlessly and never seemed to mind when she was tasked to work in the same group as him. It wasn't much, but it was start.

  Turning his attention back to their commander, Peter was pleased to find him to be everything they could realistically expect and want. Here was a military commander who had not been permitted to take his foot off the gas. His face was heavily wrinkled and weather-beaten. His eyes, even from this distance, seemed wide and alert. His gaze seemed to rove about the whole auditorium, taking in each member of his new crew in turn. If someone so much as burped without his consent, he would know it, and there would be hell to pay. This was a pleasant change of pace for Peter. All the generals, colonels, and officers he had met in his various press tours over the years had all been of the fat retired type, like General Lindsey. It was comforting to know that his commander, the man whose orders he would follow for at least the next six years, was different.

  “Troops, tomorrow at 0500 you will be awake and filing down for boarding operations. Launch will take place at 0700, and docking with the Unity will be between 2100 and 0700 the following day. Once all crew are aboard, we will begin putting the Unity through her paces and begin preparations. As soon as I am happy with the cohesion of the crew, we will move to Earth gate to take on final supplies, and then, our mission will begin in earnest.”

  Peter liked Admiral Gayle already. There were no frills or platitudes to the man, just the bare and necessary facts. So short was his speech that none were even sure whether he was finished. It was only as he stepped silently off the podium that they realized he was, indeed, done. A hurried and embarrassed round of applause ensued, and the general once again seemed to give it no mind.

  The sun was just beginning to give up its place in the sky when Peter was finally given the opportunity to have some time to himself. The others in his cohort had all been granted down time the moment the briefing was concluded. Peter, however, still had one more round of interviews with the press to sit through. For an additional hour, he was made to listen to questions posed by various news networks, and continued to listen as a team of generals deftly answered the questions for him. This was the way these things usually went. Others would be his mouthpiece through the most difficult questions, and near the end, Peter would give his signature speech.

  He would start by recounting some horrible memory, then a contrived fiction of how Sergeant Denver had found him and rescued him from the brutish, muscle-bound slavers who kept him chained to the walls of some rock face. Pause. Give the audience time to imagine his plight, and let them think he was struggling to keep some deeply rooted heartache in check. From there, all he had to do was express his undying gratitude to Sergeant Denver and the people of the One Earth League Peace Corps. For the final touch, he would add that it was his hope his service aboard the Unity would be enough to pay back the tremendous debt he owed to his rescuers. It was the same speech he had repeated over a hundred times, and he was surprised the media had never called him out on his insistence on regurgitating the same old thing every time he was interviewed.

  Sergeant Denver's pre-made speech was indeed tear jerking to the point that Peter almost found himself wishing it to be true. Believing it was true helped work up the necessary emotions needed for the camera. His lip quivered, and his eyes watered. He did not allow himself to cry, but he showed he was suitably moved by the whole thing. At the end of the interview, Peter would have to pose for one more round of pictures with his “savior” the two hugging and grinning to the camera. First though, he had to listen to the inane questions from reporters who didn’t understand at all the kind of life Peter and the rest of the Unity crew were about to enter.

  “Mr Gabell, The Unity is considered a state of the art military vessel, the first of its kind deployed in space. I have a list here of the weapons held aboard: spears, cross bows, swords, shields. Wouldn’t you rather be given a gun?”

  Peter internally rolled his eyes; this stuff was basic. Externally, he smiled and even let out an amused laugh. “You forget that in space a bullet never fails to hurt somebody. If I had to shoot someone on the Unity, even if I missed my target, I could likely end up killing both them and myself. Space ships are still fragile and delicate machines. We’ve come a long way since the times of Neil Armstrong, but ships are still costly to build. Remember, all it takes are a few holes and buckles, and an entire ship could lose its oxygen. In the vast spaces between planets, that can be fatal. You see a sword or a spear and say its primitive, but for us it means precision and the sure notion that we can engage our enemies without endangering the ships and stations we fight for.” His answer was straight out of the field manual, and a few of the generals and staff who sat on the panel nodded their approval at his answer.

  “We have time for a few more questions,” the coordinator of the interview said. Peter took a deep breath, not relishing the prospect of more face time with these clowns.

  “Mr Gabell, the One Earth League adoption program sends hundreds of people, orphans like yourself, into space each year. However, this is the first time any group has been sent into space as a militarized force to fight. Do you feel scared at all, being made a soldier at the age of fourteen?”

  This question was tougher, and Peter did not have a script for it. The generals and others on his panel looked uncomfortable, but didn’t try to intervene. He would have to answer. “You…You have to remember that I am a member of Pluto Cohort. The journey to Pluto will take six years, and that is assuming our operations run smoothly. By the time I reach the planet I have been tasked to defend from the secessionists, I’ll be nearly twenty, and six years of training on ship will have me more than ready to deal with anything the secessionists might throw at us.” This answer earned a round of applause, one enthusiastic reporter whistling and cheering his admiration. Very patriotic. Only one more question and freedom was his.

  “Mr. Gabell.” A sterner looking woman in a smart, almost severe, suit now stood. “You have touched briefly on fighting the secessionist forces who have destabilized the outer planets. These people, like yourself, are mostly orphans who came out of the same One Earth adoption program. Do you feel sympathy for the secessionist cause? How do you feel about their motives in declaring independence from Earth and cutting the flow of resources?”

  Peter froze. He had no idea how to answer this question and looked to the others on the panel. One of the generals gave a shake of the head. Peter bit his lip and turned back to the woman in the suit. To his surprise, she was being led out of the facility by a member of the security. One of the generals leaned into a microphone as the other reporters sat silent and still. “I’m sorry about that. We have just had word that she was not a member of the preapproved media teams. I am afraid, for security reasons, we must bring this interview to an end. Thank you for your time.”

  When he stepped out from the small interview room, Peter breathed a sigh of relief. At last, that part of his life was behind him. No more gaggles of press raising their hands to ask the same old questions, no more Sergeant Denver and their make-believe special bond. It was odd though, that final question and the woman being led away. Peter couldn’t help but wonder what was happening to her right now.

  As Peter walked down the corridor in the direction of the dorms he muttered to himself, “In space, no one can corner you for an interview.” Eager to have some time to himself, Peter could not help but let out a moan of disappointment as a voice called after him. “Peter. Peter Gabell.”
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  Turning, Peter frowned as he found himself looking at a boy a few inches taller than himself. This kid had to be part of the Unity crew. Since he did not recognize the face, there was only one logical conclusion that he could draw. “I guess you are my immediate superior on the Unity?” Peter didn't straighten up or salute. Until he knew for sure who this person was, he didn't want to show unnecessary deference.

  “That's right. I’m first in Pluto Cohort, Alphred Armstrong. It's a pleasure to meet you.” The boy extended his hand, the movement very precise and military. Peter didn't immediately take it, instead taking in who this fourteen-year-old officer was.

  Alphred’s light brown hair could have been blond if it were just a shade lighter. His green eyes were the color of lush grass and his skin could have been cut from marble or fine porcelain. Though it was impossible see properly through his fatigues, Peter could well imagine Alphred's body to be a temple of physical perfection. All astronauts were required to be at peak physical fitness for their age, but among the exclusive ranks of the Armstrong's this expectation was pushed to the absolute limit. The Armstrong name was given specifically to those very select few who demonstrated from the youngest ages the most promising levels of IQ. This special breed was raised at the Armstrong Space Center where these unique individuals were given the best education necessary for life in the void. Before their tenth birthday, it was rumored that an Armstrong would take no fewer than fifteen trips into space, and spend at least a full earth year on Lunar, or at the Gate.