Project Sail

by Anthony DeCosmo

  Although dazed, Charles heard the announcement and muttered, “What else did the probe find? What is he talking about?”

  Fisk said, “You are not cleared for that information. In fact, you are supposed to be dead.”

  “No,” Hawthorne insisted again.

  “I’ll do it if you want,” Kelly offered and that bothered him a great deal.

  “No executions.”

  “This is a bunch of lies,” Charles turned his attention to the three at the front of the bridge. “Leanne, help me.”

  Startled into inaction, Warner and the other two merely stared at the grim drama unfolding on the bridge.

  Hawthorne addressed them and the entire ship, “Look, I was shown evidence that convinced me of Charles’ guilt. He intended to use a coded message to signal the EA to send a warship here, and they would have killed every last one of us.”

  “That is crazy!” Charles raised his voice again.

  “So where the hell will we confine him?” Fisk asked.

  “In his quarters,” Hawthorne answered.

  “Fuck you,” Charles spat.

  Hawthorne reminded, “You heard Henderson’s message; I was supposed to kill you but I could not pull the trigger. But if try anything I will kill you. Kelly, open the door and check the corridor.”

  Before he left the bridge, Hawthorne ordered, “Return to your posts and continue our orbit.”

  Fisk stayed behind but told Hawthorne to, “Hurry back, you do not want to miss it.”

  Hawthorne did not know what that meant, but he focused on securing Charles. Kelly led them from the bridge, down the hall, and then to the Captain’s quarters, the only cabin on the command deck.

  They searched those quarters but found only official documents and personal items such as an old-style mantel clock engraved with “Best Wishes from the Department of the Navy.”

  “You are making a mistake,” Charles warned as they locked him inside.

  “Perhaps, but then again, the computer did pick me for command. It thought you were dead on the Niobe. Oh wait, you picked that day to visit a friend.”

  “Oh, so now I’m a spy for the Chinese, too? You think that’s possible?”

  “Right now, nothing would surprise me.”

  ---

  Hawthorne left Kelly outside the Captain’s quarters hoping she would deter any misguided attempts to reverse the mutiny, at least in the short term.

  He needed time to get himself under control and then to get the ship under control. He had faltered badly when he had legitimately inherited command of the John Riley thirteen years ago. Taking over in a coup posed a new set of challenges and he did not feel equal to the task.

  Fortunately, when he returned to the bridge he found his task had become much easier.

  Fisk had coaxed Stein, Starr, and Warner back to their posts and as Hawthorne closed and locked the door behind him, he heard Starr babbling excitedly from his navigation station.

  “That wasn’t on the chart a few minutes ago!”

  Fisk said, “Your computer was programmed not to see it until I loaded Henderson’s message. That is what we need to keep secret from the European Alliance, and everyone else. That is why we came so far.”

  Hawthorne looked outside and saw 581g orbiting underneath, still just a dark rock but the glow of a sunny horizon approached.

  Then everything changed. As they orbited around to the dayside, another body came in to view. A moon. A beautiful moon with a blue sky, white clouds, and frozen poles.

  Fisk regained a touch of his youthful optimism as he announced, “This is what the probe found before we lost contact, a moon with a thick atmosphere, continents, and oceans.”

  He stepped to Hawthorne who stood shocked into silence as he watched the gorgeous globe swing into full view.

  “That’s why we are here, Commander. Not rocks and chemicals, but the most precious resource humanity needs. Hope.”

  34. Loyalties

  Tommy Star remained at his post on the bridge, Andy Phipps stayed in engineering running a review analysis on the A-H drive, and Kelly Thomas stood guard outside Charles’ locked door. All three watched the gathering in the common room by video link, where nine other crewmembers confronted Reagan Fisk and Commander Hawthorne.

  “I did not want this, I did not want to go on this mission, but the company drafted me,” Hawthorne explained to an angry crowd. “I did not know about Captain Charles until after Chambers died when Henderson ordered me to kill Charles when we arrived here.”

  Leanne Warner shouted, “You expect us to believe the company let a spy command this ship for the entire trip?”

  The way she stared at him through those icy blue eyes made him think she might club him with her artificial arm.

  Fisk came to his defense, “You saw Mr. Henderson’s message and the transfer of command functions from Charles to Hawthorne.”

  While Dr. King’s associate—Rafael Soto—was not as loud as Warner, he made his point through grit teeth that suggested he was just as skeptical: “Maybe you two are alliance spies.”

  Sheila Black spoke as she paced, “Typical bull shit from the states, can’t trust the likes of you; you are all a bunch of snakes.”

  Wren protested, “Don’t lump me in with them.”

  “You’re all the same.”

  That led to a nationalist tirade by Wren at the same time Stein protested her insult of Americans that occurred simultaneously with Warner accusing everyone who had joined the mission from the Virgil of conspiracy.

  Meanwhile, Carlson sat with his head in his hands, Kost stood still and quiet, and Dr. King whispered a prayer.

  As the cross talk intensified, Hawthorne’s eyes drifted to the observation window. He saw the beautiful blue moon out there, the one with the complex atmosphere that included an ozone layer and a nitrogen-oxygen base; a rocky moon with water, landmasses, and a diverse topography. The greatest discovery in human history, standing backdrop to an argument over politics, power, and prejudice.

  Then one man cleared his throat loud enough to rise above the shouting. It was Professor Coffman, who had remained silent in a corner away from the chaos.

  He stepped forward with his arms folded and his thumb scratching his chin. Coffman’s voice always carried a hypnotizing rhythm, and while he did not speak loud, everyone listened.

  “It seems our choices are limited. We can accept the explanation provided by Commander Hawthorne and Mr. Fisk, or we can remove them from command and release the Captain.”

  Warner and Soto murmured approval.

  Coffman’s thumb moved from his chin to the top of his balding head and scratched.

  “So what should we do?”

  The professor walked among the crew, touching Dr. King on the shoulder and then patting Carlson—who still sat with his head in his hands—on the back.

  Warner said, “We could lock them up.”

  Black suggested, “We could turn around and head for home.”

  Cross talk threatened to erupt again, but Coffman held his hands aloft. Hawthorne envied the authority the mild-mannered professor wielded. They had confidence in him, perhaps because he was the only one not yelling.

  “We cannot run this ship with more people confined in their quarters and returning home is not an option. Besides, we only have an illusion of choice; Commander Hawthorne is the only one with command access, isn’t that right?”

  Fisk answered, “Yes, you are right, so get into line. He can override any computer instructions.”

  At this point, Jonathan realized he had contributed nothing to the conversation, no proposed resolution, no calming of fears. Yes, the computer gave him control but it was no different from holding a gun to the crew’s collective heads; blackmail, not command.

  Then he understood what he must do.

  “I will give Professor Coffman full access to command controls.”

  “You cannot do that!” Fisk protested.

  Hawthorne told the gathered,
“That is the best I can offer.”

  The professor waved his hand dismissively.

  “That is not my point.”

  Bill Stein said, “I can’t think of a better idea.”

  Muted enthusiasm came from Black and Soto while Wren chuckled again and Warner nodded.

  Hawthorne said, “Sounds like the crew is drafting you, professor.”

  “I do not want this,” Coffman protested, to which Hawthorne replied, “welcome to my world.”

  ---

  Captain Charles sat at the end of his cot because he had tired from pacing. While it only took four steps to walk from the locked hallway door to the toilet built in the opposite wall, he had made that trip a thousand times in the four hours since his imprisonment.

  With each sortie from wall-to-wall, he pondered his plight and concluded that without help from the crew escape did not seem likely. He had no means of opening the door and, in a moment of self-candor, Charles accepted that fighting was not his strength, either hand-to-hand or even with a weapon. He had not fired a gun since his last trip to the range five years ago.

  Still, he did have one card to play.

  A raised voice and the sound of scuffling feet gave him momentary hope the crew came to free him. But when the cabin door slid open, he saw Hawthorne standing there with Lieutenant Thomas a step behind brandishing a side arm.

  Charles stood and spoke first, “Last chance, Commander. End this craziness and we do not have to say a word to anyone back home.”

  “The people back home wanted me to kill you.”

  Charles thought about issuing another threat but reconsidered, thinking that instead of intimidating Hawthorne such threats might lead to him carrying out his order of summary execution. As bruised as his ego may be, Donovan Charles did not want to die.

  Dr. King pushed between the two visitors and stepped into his cabin.

  “Captain, I am sorry about this.”

  “Unless you act to free me, you are a co-conspirator, and the punishment for mutiny is death.”

  Hawthorne said, “Listen to her; she is trying to make this easier.”

  “Captain, I have convinced the Commander to allow supervised exercise breaks to the cargo bay and some meals in the common room, but we are still talking about weeks of confinement.”

  “I suppose I should be thankful considering Jonathan could have murdered me instead.”

  King winced at the mention of murder, as if the word caused pain, but she recovered and offered a proposal

  “I could put you to sleep for the duration of our mission. Instead of staying in here for weeks, you would close your eyes and wake up back in our solar system.”

  “I want no part of that and if you try to force me, I will fight you.”

  “Relax,” Hawthorne called from behind, “Dr. King already told me that forcing you would be unethical. Look, I don’t like this so we will leave it as is, unless you give me any trouble. Then I will personally stick the needle in you.”

  “Or shoot me dead?”

  Hawthorne did not reply.

  As they turned to leave, Charles said, “Okay, I am locked up in here, so tell me, what is the big mystery?”

  Dr. King smiled and told him, “Gliese 581g has a moon, Captain, and it is habitable.”

  “And that’s as much information as you need,” Hawthorne said. “Your intercom still works and your computer link is rigged for access to the ship’s entertainment programs.”

  “If you change your mind,” Dr. King offered, “just let me know.”

  He nodded and they withdrew. Charles then slid across his bed to the antique mantel clock that, according to the engraving, had been gifted to him from the navy.

  This phony gift had one purpose, and thanks to Dr. King, he knew the time had come to use it.

  Charles opened the glass cover and turned the clock hands to midnight. An electrical charge went through the device, manipulating a tiny cache of electrons. While the pincushion on the bridge was large and full of particles to send complicated codes by quantum entanglement, the mechanism inside his clock was small, needing only to send one message.

  Charles sent that message now and it crossed twenty-two light-years instantly thanks to the mysterious spooky action of quantum entanglement. By changing the rotation of one electron, he sent a signal that translated into one word.

  “Execute.”

  35. Discovery

  Tidally locked to its star, Gliese 581g continually baked on one side and froze on the other. At the terminator circling the planet, the sun hung on the horizon for eternity, like a photograph of dawn.

  SE 185 orbited the planet, spending half the time in the crimson glow of the red dwarf and the other half in darkness.

  Each of the four corners on the ship’s underbelly sported large circular hatches. One opened and a capsule-sized pod fell out, dropping from orbit. Quick bursts from maneuvering thrusters and retro-rockets fought the planet’s strong gravity and adjusted course until landing on a rocky shelf barely a kilometer into the dark side where the gaseous atmosphere froze away.

  Compartments on the pod popped open and a team of robotic explorers invaded Gliese 581g.

  A meter-long centipede crawled over rocks taking surface samples and finding patches of hardened hydrocarbons mixed among fields of feldspar. A four-wheeled drill bore into the ground and extracted bits of magnesium and aluminum. Bipedal metallic midgets erected environmental monitoring stations and seismic sensors.

  The machines and the equipment transmitted data to Matthew Carlson’s project room aboard SE 185, where Commander Hawthorne peered over his shoulder.

  “The ground station is operational,” Carlson reported as he used his implants to interface with the main console in the small room. “But I could use a bird in orbit to map the surface.”

  “Look, Matthew, our mission priority has changed; the best we can do right now is launch an observation drone to circle the planet. Don’t worry; I’m certain your robotic pals will find some interesting rocks and the drone can start mapping terrain.”

  Carlson nearly pouted as he pointed out, “I will need to go down there eventually.”

  “Not a problem. The moon is only two hundred thousand miles away, close enough for you to take a capsule. But for now, the moon with the air and oceans is a bigger priority than the ball of rock.”

  ---

  Hawthorne felt strange sitting in the Captain’s chair, a feeling multiplied exponentially each time a crewman looked in his direction, eyeing him with suspicion and contempt. As had been the case on the John Riley, he found himself with an unwanted command.

  “We are settling into orbit at an altitude of three hundred miles,” Stein announced from the helm as SE 185 started around the moon.

  “Okay, so what have we got?”

  Professor Coffman had left engineering in the hands of Black and Phipps and sat at the XO’s station.

  “G-Moon has a circumference at the equator of thirty-eight million kilometers and a surface area of four-hundred eighty-five million kilometers. We can also detect a thick ozone layer, a strong magnetosphere, a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, twelve distinct major landmasses, one large ocean, hundreds of smaller lakes, and rivers. Visual scans and the first temperature readings suggest various climate zones between two polar caps. Temperature ranges from minus fifty to seventy-three degrees.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Stein said. “I was born in Minnesota.”

  Coffman continued, “I calculate surface gravity at .987 gs. Now, as you can see, G-Moon is tidally locked to the planet giving it outer and inner faces. The outer face has the most diverse day-night cycle, receiving maximum sunshine from the Gliese star when between the planet and its sun. The moon completes an orbit of 581g in eight hundred and forty hours.”

  Stein said, “A moon tidally-locked to its mother planet that is tidally-locked to its parent star. Everyone in this solar system is staring at each other.”

  Ignoring Stein, Tommy Starr
said, “So half that time the outer face is getting sun, the other half it faces deep space?”

  “Exactly, and that should make for some extreme temperature variations. G-Moon is on an ecliptic plane with 581g, meaning a lunar eclipse for roughly fifty hours during each orbit.” Coffman considered and added, “That must be a breathtaking sight.”

  Starr asked, “So the inner face is significantly colder?”

  “It receives less direct sun which would suggest a lower average temperature, but atmospheric circulation and the ocean will likely mitigate the difference.”

  Fisk stood at the back of the bridge and asked Coffman, “How long until we have all the details on this moon?”

  “Depends on what you mean. After thousands of years of living on our home planet, we still do not know everything about Earth. This moon is a puzzle that will take a long, long time to solve.”

  Hawthorne approached Warner’s station. She slid over in her seat, as if squirming away from something gross. He chose to ignore the attitude. After all, if the roles reversed he would not feel comfortable, either.

  “Okay, Air Boss, time to do your thing.”

  Leanne Warner used a combination of focused thoughts through her implant and pointing with her fingertips to work her station. Activity broke out around the ship.

  Another hatch opened on SE 185’s underbelly and a cylinder came spiraling out. Once it cleared the ship, boosters pushed it into a higher orbit where struts unfolded revealing antenna and powerful photographic equipment.

  Warner reported, “Mapper in orbit and beginning its run. Expect rudimentary GPS capabilities over select regions in two hundred hours. The LiDAR module is online already with Light Detection and Radar imaging. Stand by for the second bird.”

  Another hatch opened, another satellite fell from the ship and then rocketed to an orbit over five hundred miles above the moon.

  “M101 now assuming polar orbit for weather data collection.”

  Hawthorne asked, “What’s the next package?”