The Hole

by Brandon Q Morris

  Maribel stood up and said, “I can’t just sit around and wait three hours for an answer.”

  “This would be a good opportunity to invite you out to eat,” Millikan said. “Do you have time for it? The nearest decent restaurants are in Snowshoe, 20 miles from here.”

  Maribel calculated in her head. The chance of getting the answer in exactly three hours would be minimal, so they definitely had enough time for a meal.

  “We would be delighted,” she said. “Don’t you agree, Chen?”

  Her boyfriend nodded.

  “You are a nice couple,” the old researcher commented. “Have you been together for long?”

  “Three months,” Maribel spontaneously lied. She did not know why she said that. Chen squeezed her arm hard, but did not give her away.

  “Right now, Hoot’s Bar is the most likely that would serve food,” Millikan said. “It’s a typical burger restaurant for skiers, so it might be crowded.”

  “We’ll somehow find a place,” Chen said.

  “Before that, though, we have to go by my house, since I forgot my daily dose of pills,” Millikan added.

  Shortly after four they were back in the control room. Maribel found herself giggling much of the time, and she felt quite giddy. She really should not have accepted that shot of on-the-house liquor they were offered at the end. And certainly not Chen’s as well, when he claimed not to be able to handle alcohol due to his Asian roots. Plus there was Robert’s glass—he refused the alcohol because of the medications he took. That was a bit more booze than she was used to consuming in such a short period of time.

  Maribel now had to be careful not to bump into any tables. On the street Chen had already prevented her from running face-first into a traffic sign. Robert, with whom she was on a first-name basis now, had so many exciting stories to tell! The landing on Enceladus back the first time, the contact with the first extraterrestrial life form—or nonterrestrial one, as one said today. The history books seemed to contain only half the truth.

  “Shhhh,” Chen said and put a finger on her mouth. Maribel tried to bite it playfully.

  “People are still working here,” he whispered. Was she being too loud?

  Robert smiled and waved her over. He rolled to a desk near the wall and started up a computer. “Just a few seconds,” he said.

  Robert looked tired. Maribel suddenly remembered how sick he really was. She hoped he could handle the day he was spending with them. Her mood suddenly changed. They should have dropped him off at home first. The attempt to establish contact would fail anyway.

  Robert entered a few commands.

  Maribel noticed he was breathing more heavily. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “I am okay,” he reassured her. “I just need some more of my pills. But we will soon be done here.” He hit the Enter key with surprising force. Text scrolled across the screen.

  Maribel could not follow it quickly enough, but she saw that the corners of Robert’s mouth were drooping. “Nothing?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he replied in a flat voice. Then he visibly pulled himself together and said, “But we should give the creature time, at least until tomorrow morning.”

  “What do you think, Chen?” she asked her boyfriend.

  Chen turned his head toward the window. “It’s going to get dark soon,” he said, “and we won’t get far today. And if there is a reply tomorrow, we could try to decipher it right away.”

  “You should have no problem finding a room for the night in Snowshoe, as there are plenty of hotels,” Robert said. “But you must excuse me now.”

  “We’ll take you home first,” Maribel offered.

  “My wheelchair does that all by itself,” the researcher replied.

  “Still, it’s better if someone accompanies you.”

  “I don’t have the strength to argue with you, so I accept your offer.”

  February 12, 2072, Snowshoe

  Someone was knocking on the outside of her head. Maribel turned her face into the pillow and pressed her hands against her ears, but the knocking did not stop. Who was torturing her so? She opened her eyes wide, but no one was standing beside the bed. The room was dimly lit. Big, fat raindrops tapped on the outside of the window pane. The weather must have changed completely overnight, which meant the skiers would be disappointed. Snowshoe, the tourist town where Chen and she had spent the night, made its money from winter-sport tourism. Unfortunately, temperatures had risen globally over the years and one could no longer rely on ice and snow to occur ‘on schedule’ in these mountains.

  Maribel needed a painkiller. Had something happened last night, after the both of them had taken Robert Millikan home? She would have to ask Chen, who would surely know. Maribel reached across the bed, but his half of the blanket had been pushed away and the sheets were cold.

  She sat up. Where could Chen be? Then she remembered—they had rented a small cabin rather than a regular hotel room. She felt cold, so she pulled the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her body while walking into the next room. Chen was there, sitting in a chair that he had pushed closer to the TV. He must have heard her, because he turned around.

  “Good morning,” he said, greeting her with a smile. He stood up, walked toward her, and gave her a hug.

  “Good morning,” Maribel replied. “Why are you sitting so close to the screen? That’s bad for your eyes.”

  “I lowered the volume so I wouldn’t wake you up. Or did I wake you anyway?”

  “No. I have to use the bathroom and I need an aspirin,” she said. “What’s happening in the world?” On the TV screen she saw a crowd of people holding signs.

  “It doesn’t look good,” Chen replied. “In some countries, the crime and suicide rates have gone up twenty times. In several South American nations public order has collapsed, because a large part of the police and the military quit their jobs.”

  “They want to have fun for a few months, instead of working. That’s understandable,” Maribel said.

  “In Europe, people are demonstrating in the streets because they don’t hear anything from their politicians,” he added.

  “But what are the politicians supposed to say? Should they promise them pie in the sky?”

  “I know, Maribel, it is difficult. We need something to give people hope.”

  “You think that would be enough?” she asked. “After things stayed so calm during the first days, I hoped people would be reasonable enough to accept the inevitable.”

  “The fact that our end is near—that it’s true—took a while to sink in, it seems,” Chen said.

  “Wouldn’t it be a great task for the world’s religions? To give people hope, I mean?”

  “The churches, temples, and mosques are fuller than ever, but they only reach a part of the population,” he said. “The others need a project which ensures some kind of survival.”

  “I know what you are hinting at, Chen. The Ark.”

  Her boyfriend nodded and hugged Maribel again. She slipped out of his embrace.

  “I have to use the bathroom,” she said quietly, without looking at him. She could not accept this job, particularly because of him.

  “Millikan called,” Chen announced when Maribel came out of the bathroom.

  “And?”

  “He apologizes for not being able to come today. Yesterday must have been very stressful for him. And he has bad news. No answer has arrived from Enceladus.”

  “Oh,” she said with a measured disappointment. She felt like going back to bed. She had obviously expected more from this attempt than she had admitted to herself. If a being millions of years old had no answers for them, then the end of mankind was truly near.

  “And what are we going to do now?” Maribel asked.

  “You have to make a decision,” Chen replied.

  “Me? I can’t do that.”

  “People need a ray of hope, Maribel, something like the Ark.”

  “And what does this have to do
with me? Let them build their ship. I can’t help them with it. I am an astrophysicist.”

  “It has to do with the image of the Ark, its effect on the public,” Chen explained. “If four super-rich people build an escape ship, that would not give people hope. Quite the opposite. It has to be a project for all of humanity.”

  “But they only want me as a token,” Maribel said. “They are only concerned with what things look like. I am supposed to create an illusion for the people.”

  “That’s no excuse, Maribel. Make your demands. If they agree to them, you can really achieve something. If not, you can decide against it. But don’t refuse the offer outright. You have a unique chance to have some real influence on the future of humankind.”

  Chen pulled Maribel onto his lap. She leaned against him and did not reply. Maybe what he said was correct. But when was the ship supposed to start? In two months? At that point she would have had to say goodbye to Chen, and four months later she would have to watch him being killed by a gigantic eruption of radiation.

  The communication orb’s monitor screen indicated that someone was trying to reach her. Maribel quickly stood up to get a bathrobe from the bedroom. Chen accepted the connection.

  “It’s Zetschewitz,” he called to her from the living room. Maribel hurried to get back to the living room.

  “I am sorry to disturb you this early,” her boss said. “I’ve got an exhausting day of negotiations behind me. My Russian was rustier than I thought. No answer from Enceladus, I assume?”

  “Unfortunately not,” she said.

  “That’s what I expected, but it was worth a try. But I am bothering you for a different reason—something very interesting!”

  “Did the Russians find out something we don’t know?”

  “Not yet, Maribel. Not yet,” Zetschewitz replied. “My old friend Nikolai Shostakovich, the man behind the RB Group in case you don’t know, seems to have another ace up his sleeve. He is a really sly guy.”

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” Maribel said.

  Her boss continued, “He makes tons of money from asteroid mining and uses it to finance his private research. I was allowed into his labs once. That was about five years ago, and he wanted to buy me. But his private researchers are forbidden to publish anything. Therefore it was out of the question for me, even though I would have earned three times what I make at IAC.”

  Typical for Zetschewitz, she thought. All of his stories are ultimately about him. She couldn’t fight off a yawn.

  “Oh, I am boring you,” Zetschewitz interrupted himself, and Maribel was surprised to see this flicker of self-awareness from him. “I am getting to the point,” he said. “Shostakovich has a crew of three on 2003 EH1, an asteroid with a high orbital inclination. These people are not on his payroll, he says, but for some reason they listen to what he says. Anyway, they can use their ship to reach Object X in the near future and examine it then. What do you have to say about that?”

  Zetschewitz looked at her like a little boy waiting for a reward.

  “I don’t know,” Maribel answered evasively.

  “Just imagine, we could examine a black hole from a point in its immediate vicinity! That’s sensational!” her boss said excitedly. “The next black hole we know of is ten thousand light years away. We’ll never again get a chance like this one. We can check everything about these objects which we so far could only deduce!”

  “I don’t want to rain on your parade, but this knowledge will be very short-lived,” Maribel said.

  “Don’t be so pessimistic, young lady!” Zetschewitz said with a hint of admonishment. “You don’t know what we might find out. Maybe we can cheat death after all.”

  “You really believe so? Nothing indicates that...”

  “Science has come across many surprises. What we know about quantum physics today would have been considered fairytales 200 years ago. This encounter will advance physics considerably. By the way, congratulations on your new function!”

  “New function?” What does Zetschewitz know about it? wondered Maribel.

  “Shostakovich told me you were asked to lead the Ark project,” he said proudly. “That’s extremely clever! You have already agreed, haven’t you? You only get a chance like this once in a lifetime.”

  “I... don’t you want to do this, considering your reputation?” she asked.

  “That’s very nice of you, but it’s not suitable for me. I am too old, and I also promised my wife to spend a lot more time with her during the coming months. I must admit I am looking forward to it. I would have never thought so, but sometimes you need an extraordinary push. You are perfect for this job, and if they had asked me, which for some inscrutable reason they never did, I would have recommended you without any hesitation.”

  “Thank you, Dieter,” Maribel said.

  “I am sorry we won’t see each other again anytime soon,” Zetschewitz said. “I mean, who is going to finish the galactic dynamics model for me? I would have liked to have presented the paper in May.”

  “Hasn’t the convention been cancelled?” she asked.

  “No, why should it? Some colleagues have bailed out, because they want to enjoy life for the very last time, but most of us live for our research and would get bored without it.”

  “Good, then I don’t want to keep you from your work any longer.”

  “I always have time for you, Maribel,” Zetschewitz reminded her. “If you ever need a voice of reason while working in your new job, I am available anytime. But please keep the information about 2003 EH1 secret for now. We don’t need this piece of good news quite so urgently yet, but it looks like that might change in a few days.”

  “I understand,” Maribel said. “Thank you very much for the information.”

  The image of her boss disappeared. Her former boss, she should probably say now. She could not turn back. Should I drive up to Pico del Teide every day, park my car, lead tourists around and act as if nothing had ever happened? That is impossible. What do I want? Maribel pondered the question. I want to spend time with Chen, that much is certain.

  “Would you travel all over the world with me?” she asked him.

  “What… just so, at random?” Chen said, looking at her face.

  She tried to read his thoughts, but failed.

  “No,” he said then, “not now. You are still needed. I would gladly do it in two or three months, when there is really nothing left to do.”

  Then it would be too late, because the Ark would have had to start already in order to stand a chance. But... who said she had to be on board? If she accepted this offer, she could make her own rules. She would decide to stay on Earth, but not only that, she would also choose who would represent humanity in the Ark. She could prevent it from becoming a lifeboat for super-rich and privileged people.

  “That is right,” she said. “But you are also still needed... by me, for example. Let’s fly back to Seattle. There’s work waiting for us.”

  February 13, 2072, Kiska

  Sebastiano was tossing and turning. There was no way he could sleep. Doug’s snoring was even louder than the racket of the machinery, and would definitely keep him from falling asleep again. But if the cook got up now he might wake the others. Sebastiano’s back hurt, and his digestive system was not working so well right now, because the peristaltic movement of his intestines was not used to gravity anymore.

  Then there were the large bruises on his legs. Because he felt no pain there, he did not move them often enough in his sleep. Watson, who took over the role of ship doctor, was worried that the bruises might lead to blood clots. Therefore, once a day Sebastiano had to inject a drug that was normally used after surgeries. He longed to be back in zero gravity, but they were only at the halfway mark of this torturous journey.

  His bracelet vibrated. It was time for the ISC—the intermittent self-catheterization—in order to empty his bladder. All Sebastiano needed for this task was waiting for him in the WHC. He unbuckled his safet
y belt, pulled himself to the sliding plate, and undid the brake. The metal sliding plate ran on tracks that were on the floor of Kiska. This allowed him to move through the command module without exerting too much effort. The toilet was one level lower, yet he would manage it. Below him was a hole with a ladder reaching down to the floor of the next module. In zero gravity he would just push off gently and float downward, but now the acceleration wanted to pull him down with 1.3 times his weight.

  Screw you, gravity. Now all the training of his arm muscles finally paid off. Sebastiano pushed his lower body into the hole and held on tightly with his hands. Then he went down, rung by rung. He started to sweat. His arm muscles hurt, but he enjoyed the pain once he noticed he was up to the task.

  Five minutes later the cook reached the floor of the second module, where the WHC was attached to a wall. He did not have much space in there, but he pulled himself up by the handles and sat on the closed space toilet. Then he reached into a compartment next to him and pulled out the catheter set. If Earth really was going to die, this would become his greatest problem—the ISC sets on board the asteroid would last a maximum of three years. Even if he sterilized them himself he could not use them indefinitely.

  Sebastiano pulled down his pants and began disinfecting himself. Then he lubricated and inserted the catheter. Here in the ship the crew had catheters for one-time use only, while on the asteroid he cleaned them for multiple uses. His urine flowed into a pouch directly connected to the catheter. It felt good, even though he did not feel the sense of relief he remembered from earlier days.

  After his accident he initially refused to learn the ISC procedure, but by now he could basically do it with his eyes closed. He was glad his digestion functioned well otherwise. In that regard, life had been merciful to him. He still might have made it into space, this much he knew about himself. Would he, though, have survived the first weeks? He shivered when he thought of the humiliating times during rehab, so many strange hands touching his body’s private orifices! He was very glad he could get along independently now.