by Dom Testa
It was a topic that Triana felt she should address one evening as she rode the stationary bike in the exercise room. Lita was puffing along beside her as video images of a winding mountain road flashed on the wall before them.
“We’re a frightened ship, and I don’t like that,” Triana said. “The intruder is doing exactly what he wants to do: making us nervous and jumpy.”
“His tactics are obvious,” Lita said. “The damage to the crops wasn’t extensive, just enough to aggravate us. So he wasn’t trying to wreck our food supply. He just wanted us to know that he could.”
She paused to catch her breath, sweat dripping off her forehead. Then she added, “And psychologically that’s worse. I think his primary goal is to get us frightened and angry. He’s hoping the stress will make us turn on one another.”
Tree thought this over, biting her lip. “Well, in a way, it’s worked for him. The crew is itchy and irritable. They’re doing their jobs, but it’s almost like they’re waiting for something bad to happen. That’s no way to live.”
She turned the bike’s torque up a notch, then gave Lita an appreciative glance. “We’ve got to stick together.” A few minutes later, after grinding through two more miles, they both let their bikes coast to a stop.
Lita wiped her head with a towel and said, “Okay, a shower for me, and then an hour of piano practice. I’m getting it all done in one shot tonight.”
“I love listening to you play,” Triana told her. “I’ll pop in next time if it’s all right with you.” She waved good-bye and headed back to her room.
After a shower and a brief conversation with Roc—nothing new to report, he said—she tumbled into bed and clasped her hands behind her head. Within moments her thoughts turned again to her dad. This time she recalled their rafting trip through Brown’s Canyon in Colorado. It had been early summer and the water was running high, crashing into their boat as it hurtled them along the canyon walls and past immense boulders. At one point her dad lost his balance and nearly let the paddle slip from his hands as he lurched for something to grab on to. Tree had burst into a spasm of laughter, pulling her own oar out of the water as she doubled over in a fit of joy. Their raft captain, a large grizzled river veteran with no sense of humor, hollered over the roar of the rapids, “Paddle! Paddle! Paddle!”
When they reached a somewhat gentler passage of the river, everyone was able to take a break and recover their strength.
“You almost fell in,” Tree had said, poking her oar into her father’s life vest.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t worried about the water. But those giant rocks would have done a pretty good number on my head, even with the helmet.” Her dad had grinned back at her.
“I would have jumped in to save you,” Tree said.
“I hope not,” her dad said seriously. “In these waters you wouldn’t have a chance of reaching me. All you’d do is end up hurting yourself, or worse.” He put down his paddle and took a drink from his water bottle. “No, if I go in, you can try to reach me with your paddle, maybe give me something to grab on to. But if I’m sucked down the rapids, you have to save yourself.”
Tree had thought this over for a moment. “You don’t want me to try to save you?”
“Honey, you don’t understand. If I’m lost, it doesn’t do any good to risk killing yourself. Remember that, okay?”
Before she could reply, their captain had begun shouting orders again. They rushed into a new set of rapids, more deadly than the last group, and it was time to get back to work.
Now, three years later, staring at the ceiling in her room, Tree said the words aloud again. “I would have jumped in to save you.”
Turning to her nightstand, she picked up the picture of her dad. “I guess I couldn’t save you after all.”
She studied his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the strong chin, the smattering of gray hairs around his temples. She rolled over and raised herself up on one arm, looking across at her own image in the mirror. Then, casting a glance back at the photograph, she murmured, “I don’t look very much like you. I look like … her.” This troubled her. Softly, she ran a hand across his face.
“What did I get from you?”
A moment later she placed the picture back on the nightstand and lay back again, her hands behind her head.
“What exactly did I get from you?”
A faint beep came from her desk and broke her concentration. A call was coming through.
Arising with a sigh, she punched the intercom. “Yes?”
“Just thought I’d check in with you before hitting the sack,” Gap said.
“Well, still nothing,” she said. “I assume you’re talking about the stowaway?”
“Yes and no. I’m also wondering how you’re doing. You’ve seemed … detached lately. That’s the only word I can think of right now. I wanted to know if there’s something I can help with.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Tree said, smiling. “But everything’s fine. Just … missing my dad.”
Gap was quiet for a few seconds. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s part of your job on the Council to make sure I’m in good shape physically and mentally.”
“Well,” Gap said, “I’m not really asking for professional reasons. I care about you as a person as much as a Council leader, Tree.”
Now it was her turn to sit quietly. Finally she started to speak again. “Gap—”
“Listen,” he said, “no big deal. Just making sure you’re all right. I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Good night.”
He broke the connection before she could say anything else. She bit her lip and slouched in her chair. She had instantly reverted to her cold machine ways again, without even considering that someone might want to talk to her as a friend. Or as more than that?
She shot another quick glance at her father’s picture. “I know what I didn’t get from you, Dad. Obviously not your perception or people skills.”
Five minutes later she was back in bed, tossing and turning briefly before dropping off to sleep. The hallway outside her door was in night mode, the lights dimmed to a dusk setting. Without a sound a figure glided up to her door, rested its hand on her name panel briefly and then was gone.
28
Mr. Scofield wants to know if he can have a moment with you.”
Dr. Zimmer barely contained a groan. He waited for a few seconds before answering the page from the front desk operator. Putting off Scofield right now would only make the next confrontation with him that much more unbearable. Besides, Galahad was mere hours away from leaving. What could Scofield do now? Dr. Zimmer cringed at the thought, then cleared his voice and spoke up.
“All right, put him through.”
He turned to the vidscreen behind his desk. This temporary office on the space station was cramped but had all the tools he needed to finish his work on the project.
The screen flickered for an instant before the haggard face of Tyler Scofield appeared. Dr. Zimmer noted that his adversary seemed to have aged a dozen years in the last two. He had also, like many who followed his belief of a return to a more simple life, grown a full beard. It did not, however, hide the weariness on his long, thin face.
“Hello, Wallace,” he said.
“Hello, Tyler,” Dr. Zimmer said. “I hate to be rude, but, as you can imagine, I’ve got my hands full right now. What can I do for you?”
“You have ignored my warnings, my advice, and my pleading,” Scofield said.
“And your threats,” Zimmer said.
“Your perception, Doctor, not my intent,” came the stiff reply. “Since the day you proposed this ridiculous plan we have fought to show you the foolish mistake you are making. Now I ask for just one final opportunity, one last chance to persuade you to stop this madness.”
Dr. Zimmer sighed. “Galahad will begin accelerating away from this station and from Earth in less than twelve hours. The crew is already aboard. Your
feelings regarding the project have been obvious, Tyler, but perhaps now you might accept the fact that it’s too late. Galahad will soon be gone. Why don’t you take this final opportunity to wish them good luck?”
Scofield ignored this last question. “If you won’t listen to our logical reasons for putting a halt to this, then why not consider the emotional reasons?”
“I’ve heard your—”
“You’ve heard, but you have not listened!” Scofield cried. “You have not listened to the cries of families who are losing their children at a time of personal tragedy. You have not listened to the anger and betrayal felt by millions of people who regard this folly as a sign that the human race has given up and is finished.” He paused, his eyes blazing and his chest rising and falling with tortured breathing. He slowly composed himself, then pointed a finger at Zimmer and continued, this time with an icy calm.
“You have not listened to the message my organization has presented for more than two years, begging you to consider the psychological impact your project is having on the people—especially the children—who are staying put and fighting this horrible disease. No, you have not listened to anyone. Your selfish, obsessive ‘vision’ is the only thing that guides you, blinding you to the wisdom of anyone who dares to cross you, who dares to question you, who dares to say ‘You are wrong.’”
Dr. Zimmer said nothing for a few moments while Scofield’s eyes stared through him. There were so many things that Zimmer wanted to say, so many fiery comebacks that were eager to spring from his lips. But he knew that would solve nothing. In fact, the things he most wanted to say would only make matters worse.
So he waited calmly, gathering his thoughts and his patience, measuring his words. When he finally spoke, his voice was strong and steady.
“Tyler, you and I were once good friends and colleagues. I have always held you in the warmest regard, which makes me very sorry that this tragedy has created such a deep chasm between us. I value my friendships, even more so during these last few years. Many things that seemed important before … well, they don’t hold the power over me they once did. Friendships, however, do.
“But you know I am also passionate about the truth, Tyler. I will never allow my personal feelings to cloud my judgment when it comes to the truth. And the truth in this instance is undeniable. Comet Bhaktul has delivered a death sentence to our civilization as we know it. The facts are unpleasant, and that has caused many people to deny the truth. I am not surprised nor angry about this. Denial is a common human characteristic when we’re faced with something we don’t want to deal with. It’s a form of mental protection. I understand that.
“And I understand why you are so strongly opposed to the Galahad project. To support this mission is to accept our own fatality. Few people are willing to do that.”
He kept his gaze locked on to Scofield’s. After a slight pause, his voice softened a bit.
“Tyler, I know what you are feeling. But we’re both scientists. We can both read the data. And we can both predict the outcome. I have chosen to act in the best interests of our species. That is a basic human instinct as well: preservation of the species. Nobody would like to see Bhaktul’s effects controlled and defeated any more than I. But the results are not there. And as each week and month passes, the window of opportunity closes a little more. Soon there will be no window at all. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen, even if it costs me a friendship I treasure so strongly. I have to face the truth, Tyler, regardless of the pain involved.”
For the first time Scofield’s fierce stare lost its edge. His gaze fell down to his hands, clasped tightly in front of him.
“You are right,” he said, “when you say that we were once friends. You were almost like a brother to me, and I, too, am sorry that we have grown so far apart. I suppose we were pushed apart by our own beliefs.”
Scofield looked back up. “But you are wrong when it comes to Galahad. You said it was too late to do anything about it.” He paused for one moment. “It’s not too late, my old friend.”
Dr. Zimmer’s spine stiffened. The two men stared at each other, and just before the image faded to black, Scofield raised an eyebrow and repeated, “It’s not too late.”
29
Roc was cheating. Cheating, that was, as much as a programmed machine could. It was nine o’clock in the morning and he was engaged in his weekly game of Masego with Gap Lee.
The game had become very popular with the crew during their months of training. Nasha was a fifteen-year-old from Botswana in Africa who had fought her homesick feelings by teaching the game to a handful of crew members, and it quickly spread. Translated to English, the word meant “good luck,” which was exactly what a player needed, as well as a razor-sharp mind.
The object involved moving three small marbles across various twisting paths on the board, then working them back one at a time without touching any of the spaces used on the initial trail. At the same time you had to block your opponent’s return trip and force him onto a square forbidden to him. Each game was unique and exciting, and often led to whoops of celebration when someone claimed victory. An average game of Masego could run almost an hour, challenging your mind and testing your memory. Dr. Zimmer and Dr. Bauer had both loved it as a training tool; the kids loved it for the sheer competition.
Gap fancied himself to be one of the better players aboard Galahad. Nasha would smoke him regularly, but, as Gap was quick to point out, she had been playing since she was six or seven years old. So Gap always seemed to find himself playing against his favorite rival: Roc.
Once he had been “taught” the game by Nasha and programmed by Roy Orzini, Roc was supposed to play without using all of his computational skills. That was supposed to level the playing field against his human opponents. But, once again, too much of Roy’s spirit found its way inside Roc. He loved to win. He also cheated. Gap was suspicious, but plugged on against the computer anyway with a weekly game. Gap would touch the screen with a finger to indicate his moves, and Roc would respond by lighting up his choice on the board.
Now, in the Conference Room, Gap sat in front of the vidscreen, his dark eyes fixed on the image of the playing board, his well-tuned mind racing through the possible combinations of the game.
“Your turn,” Roc said.
“Mm-hmm,” Gap mumbled.
“Would you like a suggestion?”
“No,” Gap said. “I know how to play.”
“Just trying to help. You’ve been sloppy in your moves today.”
“Sloppy?”
“Sloppy,” Roc said. “I picked up three spaces on your last move alone.”
“Just let me play in peace,” Gap said sullenly. “Nobody likes a gloater.”
He was reaching out with a finger to place his next move when Roc piped up again.
“Are you sure about that?”
Gap pulled his finger back from the screen and instead jabbed it toward Roc’s sensor.
“You know, you’ve gotten a little cockier since we left. Don’t think just because Roy or Dr. Zimmer’s not here that you can go wild. I know how to pull your plug, too, you know.”
“Gap, what an awful thing to say.”
“Just let me play. If I make a mistake, I’ll learn from it.”
“Hmm,” Roc said. “If that was true you would be a Masego Grand Master by now.”
Gap looked back at the board. “I’m not listening to you,” he muttered. Then he quickly punched his selection onto the screen.
Without a second of delay Roc immediately lit up his next move on the board. Gap shifted his gaze back and forth across the layout, then sat back and sighed. His last move had opened up a new path for Roc that he hadn’t noticed. Within three or four moves the game would be over.
“Care for another go?” Roc said with just a hint of sarcasm.
“Tomorrow,” Gap said. “I don’t like you very much right now.”
He stood up and walked across the Conference
Room to fill a glass with water. At that moment the door opened and Triana walked in.
“Thought I might find you here,” she said.
“Yeah, well I wish I was somewhere else, actually,” Gap said.
“Oh,” Tree said. “I think I know what that means.” She turned to the glowing red sensor. “Roc, why don’t you let him win once in a while?”
“He says that losing helps him learn more,” said Roc’s cheerful voice.
“That’s not what I said,” Gap fumed. He looked at Tree with frustration etched on his face. “I’m not sure I can handle five more years with this box of attitude.”
Tree couldn’t hold her laughter any longer. In a way she felt sorry for Gap, who hated to lose. But at the same time she couldn’t help laugh at the way Roc pushed Gap’s hot buttons. Roy Orzini was most definitely alive and well inside his creation.
“Maybe you two should wait a while before you play Masego again,” she said with a grin. “You don’t play well together.”
Gap didn’t answer. He drank his water to camouflage his pouting. Roc, of course, had no problem responding.
“That might be best,” the computer said. “I think all of the learning that Gap has done in our last ten games has clogged him up. He needs to let it drain a little.”
Gap shook his head and looked at Tree. “See what I mean?”
Tree laughed again as the door opened and Bon, Channy and Lita walked in.
“What’s so funny?” Channy said.
“Oh, just watching two boys poke at each other,” Tree said.
The Council members all took seats around the table for their weekly meeting. After receiving updates from each and planning some new work schedules, they turned to new business. Nothing important, it seemed. A few crew members were requesting new roommate assignments.
“We figured that would happen,” Lita said. “It’s one thing to pick a roomie during training. After you live with them a few weeks you learn a lot more. I’m surprised there aren’t more requests like this.”