The Resolute

by G. Weldon Tucker

Dr. Parker Henries was the Dean of Science at Yale University, before it was shut down by the Cyborgs. Now, he provided technical and psychological guidance, where needed. He tentatively cleared his throat, leaned forward and asked, casually, “I see we do not list the locations. But what happens if something happens to you?”

  “We are backed up, to several levels, across a variety of institutions, corporations and such. We will not be revealing the location of any particular plant except on a need to know basis, as we collect the products for the offload.” Meaning, of course, the offload from Earth to the moon.

  Parker, disappointed, but careful, subsided. The only Liberal in the room, he had to play it cautiously.

  Alice Graham, easily sixty and looking it in these trying times, raised her hand, as if she were in school. In this society, no one truly understood their position. Maybe there was a default program in people, as in women answering to men. Maybe not. The General motioned to Alice, giving her the floor.

  “I have the manual printouts for alumni from thirty-two major Universities. Doctors, lawyers, engineers, scientists, Officers in the services and whatever else we think we will need going forward on Abort.”

  “Operation Abort,” the somewhat tight assed Admiral reminded her. But then, she was not military. On the other hand, it was his naming, and to him, it mattered. In space as with anything on the water, the Navy ran the program. And he damned well would run this one, once they got off the ground. Space required ships, not planes, and he made that clear from the get go. He would run the final phases, staffing and such, the ships that would strike out in exploration.

  Ships.

  CHAPTER 3

  In the UE HQ, deep in that cave carved off of a silo, Alice ignored the Admiral’s admonishment about Operation Abort.

  Another women, much younger, probably closer to forty, asked, “Have we solidified that list? I mean, what are the basic criteria?” She did have a need to know. In the international structure of Operation Abort, Olga Onstadt was the head of personnel, human resources, and she was as detailed a woman as one could get… that was not a Cyborg.

  Alice said, politely, “I will let Dr. Ulstavok handle that. Sir?”

  Dr. Dogis Ulstavok was the second highest leader in Russia, before United Earth. UE came about because of the worldwide spread of Cyborgs that threatened total annihilation.

  His leanings were, at first, very much toward his homeland, but the others soon cured him of that. A day in the sun might straighten out anyone’s thinking, these days. But the Cyborgs had decapitated every country. If they had a leader, they lost him or her. In fact, they lost huge swaths of governing bodies.

  But Cyborgs did not understand the Hydra affect. Cut off one head and six rise in its place.

  He was now representing his homeland as General Washington represented America. They had learned to co-exist for, after all, mankind faced a common enemy and their own squabbles were immaterial.

  In nearly flawless English, he read from a list, prefacing it, slightly, “Please take notes. We have no copying systems we trust. They will be handled with care as follows:

  No one with less than a 110 IQ.

  No one under the age of 15.

  No handicapped or special needs.

  No pregnant females. Liftoff kills.

  No sterilized persons.

  No men over the age of fifty.

  No females over age thirty-five.

  No adult men less than a Bachelors

  No unbalanced pairs.

  No laborers. Teenagers will do.

  No Cyborgs. All screened seriously.

  Only American or Russian Military- Bachelors equivalent for enlisted, Masters equivalent for all Officers.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is just the list for the moon. We may get even more limited as the ships are developed and space becomes a premium. Questions?”

  There was silence, for a moment, except those entering the information in their non-wireless tablets or on paper.

  Alice started the questions with, why no women under 15?”

  The General took it, smiling, “Every woman will be required to help with building the population. We still have limits as to how young a girl is for prosecution in statutory rape. Seldom enforced, anymore, but the rules stand. But we are aware that there are damned few fifteen year old virgins out there. Younger than that also strains resources.”

  Olga asked, her brow wrinkled, “So, no men over fifty? They can be productive until their seventies, Dr. Ulstavok!”

  The good doctor replied, “Back to the initial lift off from Earth. There are extreme forces applied to the human body to get free of gravity. Whether in a standard rocket or a space flight unit, unless a man or woman has been training for this event, anyone in or above their middle years is going to have a very hard time surviving it without serious damage to their bodies. We do not need a fleet of cripples in this project.”

  Olga was not through. “I am over thirty-five, yet I am still productive. Why not me?”

  Dr. Ulstavok said, simply, “Four children that cannot spare you.” He did not mention the fact she was about as homely a mud fence.

  Olga subsided, but Alice stepped up to fill the space. “What the hell is an unbalanced pair?” Her life partner was an African American man, and she, quite white, was sensitive to it. In this day and age, however, really, nobody cared.

  Dr. Ulstavok, aware of that sensitivity, smiled. He said, “Not in race, hon. Our people will come from all countries, all races that remain, as long as they fall into the categories listed.

  Each brings something to the table in the way of evolved DNA contributions, survival instincts and so on.

  No, a mixed pair will be a non educated individual who is partnered with an educated person. They break up, or stay home. No exceptions.”

  Alice continued. “Yet you take smart teenagers! How do you plan to educate them?”

  “In the Doctorate level will be many professors, teachers, and so on. We will have our own university, first of all on the moon, and subsequently aboard each of the ships, when they are finished,” Dr. Ulstavok assured them all.

  But this, of course, struck close to the matter at heart. As far as anyone knew, the ships had not yet come off of the drawing boards. And they were drawing boards. No computer could be trusted in this all important aspect.

  Maybe once on the moon where a disconnect from the Cyborg systems could be guaranteed. And once designed, they could be thirty to forty years in production. Worse, they knew no habitat had been set up for all the workers and the equipment.

  Parker spoke up, then, asking that very question, “Why the limits if the ships are not even built? They all will have grown out of the list by the time the ships are ready to go!”

  “Which is why we choose the list as if we were going onboard right away. You see, the moon may be the final bastion, the only remaining viable human species hideaway. We must treat it as a delicate petri dish, and fill the ships with the best people, even if drawn from the progeny of that select group. To introduce weakness is to schedule the program for failure. Though, truth be told, none of us, here, will live to see it fail.”

  One of the men, Dr. Robert Ellison, a Psychologist, only thirty-three, was already on the list. Unless removed by the current standards, he was a shoe-in. But he asked, “How the hell are we going to get all these people, and all that… stuff… to the moon? Under the Cyborgs’ noses? Won’t they be watching for something like this?”

  General Washington smiled, indulgently. Psychologists were far removed from engineers. Usually. On rare occasion, there have been crossovers, either way. The citizens had no idea. He said, “First of all, we have not used rockets since the main war. So, since Cyborgs work on observation and not anticipation, they will not suspect us until it is too late.

  “You know that stealth has come a long way since its early years And we have perfected it so that the computer that runs it has no access to outside influences. It is simply
an always on aspect, and the computer’s only function is to detect damage or deflect and mask it.

  “The ships that can lift initial people and supplies are going to be under terrific stealth. Cyborgs are good at reporting and preventing viewed actions by us, but they cannot predict us, yet. Barring unforeseen interruptions, we will be on the moon within ninety days!”

  Mouths dropped open around the table. Not one of them had even an inkling…

  CHAPTER 4

  Now, at Christine’s meeting, hardly ten miles away, there was a very different start to it. Among all the noise of people chattering, there came a sudden silence as Executive Officer Zeke Braughman stepped up onto the slightly raised stage. This had been the training room for head knowledge. Below them, several stories, a mammoth cave had been carved out for the physical training and testing of all personnel.

  But Christine knew this was far more important. Perhaps they would have to rush things. She waited, almost breathless, along with sixty four others in the room.

  The XO cleared his throat, then asked one question, “Anyone confronted with security troops this morning? Raise your hands.”

  Over half raised their hands, including Michael and Christine.

  He pointed to his left side of the room, saying, “Please exchange seats with those on my right side of the room, all who had security problems to the right. Your right, sailor!” he added, kidding one who looked a bit confused. The group chuckled, but they also obeyed.

  “How many were on duty last night? I have the roster, but raise your hands, please.”

  Another twenty raised hands.

  “Please move to the back of the room in your section. Everyone else on that side, move forward.”

  A tiny light donned in Christine’s head. Only five men were left in the front row on that side…

  It was said that the Cyborgs rendered a man or woman into almost a sheep-like state. Unable to think for themselves. In this case, it made capture very simple. The spy would not see it coming.

  “Commander Kript and Lieutenant Viche, please move to the back of the room. You were on assignment for me, all week, and I know where you were.”

  Christine thought that this might be the point where a spy would bring out a weapon and try to kill as many people as possible. She and Michael were at the far edges of the room, away from the three remaining people. But still…

  Then, she relaxed. The scanners detected all metals, and none of them wore anything more metallic than a wristwatch. If the spy carried a bomb, even an IED type, the firing mechanism and the battery would have defeated him.

  Now there were only three. All of them were NCOs, non-commissioned officers, Sergeants, and all well-educated men, studying to make the Officer grade. None of them seemed spy material, Christine thought, hoping she was right.

  Suddenly, one of them sagged in his chair, then simply rolled out onto the floor on his face! Foam gathered at the corners of his mouth, and very quickly, he died.

  She recognized it, immediately. A built in suicide process, put in by the Cyborgs. All it took was psychological pressure. Christine took careful note. It was a handy thing to know and understand.

  The XO was not disturbed in the least. It was as he expected, even if the one he thought might be a spy was still alive. So, to protect the group, he ordered the remaining two to the motor pool for a thirty day stint. They looked relieved, rather than angry, and that, too, might be a good sign.

  But Christine was certain those two just got excluded from the moon program. None of the rebels could afford to let their guard down.

  They called a break, and the group headed out to the cafeteria for coffee and whatever bakery goods made it in, to date. The talk was about suspicions, and suggestions, and none of it mattered. The spy was dead, a good thing. If the other two were okay, that was better.

  But deep down, something niggled at her brain. What if the spies were sharp enough to declare they had been met by security forces? Wouldn’t they all have had to fight their way to the base? She made a quiet call to upstairs, having it transferred to the General. There were ways to find out…

  The meetings began. It was done in pieces, with the proper people in place for the things that concerned them, then rotated out for the next group, until all had learned their part.

  Christine and three other Commanders were heading up the first construction teams. Michael was coming on the last flight of the same kinds of people, but with better equipment.

  Christine had taken the proficiencies for Captain, and sat through the orals only a few weeks before. Sometimes, in this Navy, promotions came slowly, but she was well qualified, she knew. But they were sending up Sr. Commander Harmen to run the show. He, too, had passed his exams. In a tie, she knew, the award goes to the man all too often. But, she would be patient. There would be much more room for improvement in rank, off world.

  So, she and the three other Commanders sat in with the others on most of the informational scheduling and descriptions. It was going to be a rather scary first flight, as the Cyborgs knew about rockets, and they ‘assumed’ no human had access, anymore. But we all know what assumptions do, right?

  Even to Cyborgs…

  CHAPTER 5

  During the afternoon round of the highest level meetings, they took another break for coffee and stale doughnuts, provided from the store of frozen foods they had salvaged from the Cyborgs. Not because the Cyborgs needed them. They just hoarded all food to keep it from humans. In that case, even stale doughnuts were a treat.

  As they regrouped, General Washington called them to attention to begin instructing them of the plans, to date.

  “People, logistics are everything in an enterprise this complex. And yet, we had to be sure that every calculation, every compilation was run on ancient computer systems that have no access to the internet, or even, for that matter, to each other.”

  “No leaks, then?” someone asked.

  “Exactly! No wi-fi, no internet, no nothing. So, several standalone units ran the numbers to death, independently, in about an hour. All of the logistics matched.”

  “How do we know nothing was leaked?” Alice asked, ever the cynic.

  He replied, “Heavily shielded IT rooms, no access to the outside, not by wire nor wireless. Plain, old fashioned, one box units.”

  “But, what can go wrong, will go wrong, right?” Alice was still not assured.

  General Washington agreed, saying, “Murphy’s Law. Been around for several centuries. Let me lay out our thinking, including our basic worries, people!” He held up a splayed hand and counted them on his fingers.

  “Room for a quarter million people in the habitat for the buildout? Check. Room to double that population in ten years? Check, but they will be moving to the condos on the ships, by then. So, double again in ten more? Check.

  “Then, of course, it begins to get tight, but the plan is to have two thirds of them, children and all, into the completed housing sections of the four planned, massive space ships. Hydroponics, water, air, climate and all will be functioning in each unit as we complete the outer layers, bridges, engines and navigation system. Basically, each ship will be one hell of a big hotel resort… albeit armed to the teeth.”

  Everyone was nodding, so far.

  He continued, “Room on the outskirts of the habitat for four hundred million tons of titanium steel? Check. Portable functioning foundries to work the steel, two foundries for each ship? Check. Complete air handling, climate control, benign computer systems and development? Check, check and check. So far, we have life support and mechanics covered, right?”

  The attendees nodded. He continued, “Food and supplies to support the first quarter million for two years? Check. Hydroponics and animal husbandry quarters, enough for not only the habitat, but for each of the ships? Check… mostly. Some things are not carved in stone. If one part fails, we will need to get creative as hell, damned fast. Questions?”

  “But, what about even getting the
re?” Alice persisted.

  General Washington, continuing with his fingers, one by one, responded, “So, the possible failures. One, the liftoff of the first teams of people and a hundred million prefab tons of habitat could fail. That would set us back a month, but we have backup systems in place. Besides, until the Cyborgs shut us down, we have not had a launch failure in a hundred and fifty years. We have that down to a science.

  “Two, the habitat, once functional, could fail. That is a matter of repair of the unit and replace the people. Coldly logical, but doable. And though the habitats are sealed together, they also contain individual components that prevent the loss of all with the loss of one. Still, like any modern space age equipment, one learns to fix almost anything, at any time, quickly and properly. We have experts ready to go, and they will be stationed there. So, unlikely.”

  There was a pause, while people figured out what all that meant to them in their respective personalities and functions.

  “Anything else?” this time from Olga.

  “Yes, there are. Three, and most important, by the third lift off, the Cyborgs figure out something is going on.” The General smiled, pausing only a second or two, then said, calmly, “We will have our space based laser system online and functioning, under our own control before the first lift off. They will know nothing about it… until we need it. We are commandeering unit after unit of our Star Wars system, and all of those should be totally under our own control, shortly.”

  Admiral Morgan looked astonished. “How on earth did you get away with that?” He knew, of course, that these were not mass destructive devices, but they could certainly take a plane or a rocket out of the air in a blink.

  General Washington grinned as he said, “Lasers are as deadly to the Cyborgs as they are to us. Once they shut them down, they basically have ignored them, believing us incapable of initializing them. Coming in by short range digital signals, we woke them up, but killed their reporting mechanisms, immediately. The units we are controlling them with are like your old iPads… without the long range capability. From our only remaining part of the International Space Station that we can control, we have systematically turned on over half of the units as we cross paths with them. So far, no reaction, so the premise holds true. They do not know.”