The Gods We Make

by Eric Johannsen

  “Push yourself,” Dylan said. “We only have… a few more days… of good ‘ole gravity. It’ll be… a heap more awkward… to keep in shape… during the mission.”

  Ian twisted his core, using his stomach muscles to throw his legs as far forward as they would go. He inched closer to Dylan.

  Chad overtook the pair. “Lovely day for a light jog.”

  “Light?” Ian groaned. Between labored breaths, he huffed, “Hey. Thanks again… for bailing… me out… with poker. I promise… I’m done… with it.”

  Chad’s stride was light and graceful, almost gazelle-like. “Don’t be done. Win. It’s a lot more fun.” He slapped Ian’s shoulder. “I’ll show you a few things.” He lowered his head and stepped up his pace, easily pulling ahead of his fellow crew members.

  They ran another kilometer before the first rays of sunlight pierced the patchy clouds along the shoreline. Dylan stopped outside quarters and stood, admiring the dawn. He stretched his shoulders then headed in for a shower. Chad was there, pulling on his flight suit.

  “Chad,” Dylan asked in a serious tone, “how have these last few days been?”

  “Like catching a ten-meter wave. I’m hyper focused, afraid to miss a detail because if I do, the wipeout will wreck me.”

  “Do you feel you’ll be safe on the mission? If my crew’s not ready, I’m obliged to tell the boss.”

  “I won’t be prepared. That’s not possible on this schedule. But I’m ready.”

  Dylan studied him. “I guess that’ll have to do.”

  The three took a light breakfast, joined by Musa a few minutes later. The crew was quiet, focused on the training ahead. They went to the simulator where they spent the day running through dozens of standard procedures and a dizzying array of emergency simulations. They powered through the lunch hour and tried to skip dinner, but the training officer insisted they take a short break for food and mental rest. They went to their gray-and-tan briefing room, an almost exact copy of the one in Houston, where a selection of their favorite foods was laid out on a side table. Their beloved coffee machine, which could fresh grind any of five different beans, was conspicuously empty except for the decaffeinated Sumatran blend.

  “We only have a few more hours,” Dylan said. “What should we focus on next?”

  The crew was silent. Exhausted.

  “Let’s run through the procedure for a sudden spike in Jupiter’s radiation field.”

  The others nodded. They swallowed their meal without speaking a word and washed it down with the richly aromatic yet ineffective coffee. The last rays of sunlight settled behind a stand of diamond oaks.

  Dylan picked up his mug and gulped down the rest. “We better get back to it.”

  The others nodded and followed.

  Back in the simulator, they ran through the radiation procedure. Then they ran it again. Dylan had each crew member pick a contingency, and they practiced each one twice. The flight surgeon ordered a twenty-minute power nap. Afterward, Dylan called up the launch abort procedure, the Scobee docking procedure with an inoperable thruster, and the Jupiter Express power-up sequence with a blown secondary generator.

  Shortly after midnight on December 23rd, 2044, Mission Director Roy Evans poked his head into the simulator. “Time for bed boys, big day tomorrow.”

  “Just a few more runs, Roy. We almost have it down,” Dylan said.

  “Nope. You best get some sleep. Launch call is in a few hours.”

  Dylan groaned. “All right, gentlemen. You heard the man. Time to hit the hay.” He sent his crew home then turned to Roy. “Big day’s right. You have the final OK from Pops?”

  Roy rested his hands on Dylan’s shoulders. “Pops says to tell you he gave the president his personal blessing that the ship will get you boys there safely.” Roy paused. “If you ask me, he’s still worried as all hell about this mission. We’re sending you further than any man has ever gone, in a ship planned and build in a quarter the usual time. He wouldn’t have given his OK if he had specific concerns about it, but he knows well as you and I that plenty can still go wrong.”

  “Yep,” Dylan said.

  “You go get some sleep yourself now, you hear?” Roy looked as worried as Dylan had ever seen him.

  #

  Just before 3 a.m., Ian strode into the launch pad’s cafeteria, eyes alert. He froze when he spotted Dylan sitting alone. The other astronauts were not up yet. He poured a tall mug of coffee, the good kind with extra caffeine, from a side table and joined Dylan.

  Dylan sipped his own coffee and continued reading through the pre-flight briefing.

  “Look, Dylan, I’m sorry.”

  Dylan pressed his lips tight and swiped to read the next page.

  “I messed up. I let my gambling get out of control.”

  “Yep.” Why am I this upset? Sure, he made a mistake. We all do. He jeopardized the mission, this mission. Is that it?

  Dylan pushed the pad aside and turned to Ian. “You’re a NASA astronaut. That means something to me. It should mean something to you.”

  “It does. I just… I made a mistake.”

  “If you lie down with the dogs, you get up with fleas. You brought your fleas back home, and they put us all in danger.”

  Ian lowered his head and stared into his cup. “You’re right. I have no excuse.”

  “Thank your stars that Dr. Tanner bailed you out. Lord knows why. You better pay him back from your book royalties.” Dylan reached for the pad and resumed his reading.

  “That ship’s sailed. There’s hardly a trickle of money from that anymore.”

  “I guess you’ll have to write another damned book then.” Is that it? Am I so pissed because he took leave from NASA to write that book about Mars Station? That he commercialized his service? Dylan stood and refilled his coffee.

  Musa entered looking fresh as if he’d had eight hours of sleep and a predawn run. “Good morning, gentlemen. Ready to make history?” He looked at Dylan and Ian then tilted his head, his lips forming a frown. “Who died?”

  Dylan chuckled. “It’s nothing, Musa. I didn’t sleep much, and I’ve thinking about the mission.”

  Musa smiled, apparently satisfied.

  “Where the heck is Dr. T-” Dylan asked.

  Chad stumbled in, stretching and yawning.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Dylan said. “Here, sit. I ordered you some steak and eggs.”

  “Steak and eggs? I don’t really eat meat.” Chad tentatively sniffed the meal.

  “You do today,” Dylan said. “It’s tradition.”

  Chad sat and took a tentative bite. He began nodding. “Not bad. I might need to rethink this vegetarian thing.”

  Dylan studied each of his crew members in turn. All were quiet, contemplative. I sure as hell hope this isn’t our last meal. But if it is, it ain’t bad. Dylan finished his last bite and washed it down with a sip of warm coffee. “OK boys, it’s go time now. Our country needs us to succeed. Stay focused on the mission. Let your training guide you.” He looked at Chad. “We’ve got your back, Chad. You’re one smart cookie, but if the shit hits the fan, stay out of the way and let us do our jobs.”

  “You’re the experts, Dylan. I’m only along for the ride until we get there.”

  An Air Force technical sergeant stepped into the room, stood at attention, and addressed Dylan. “Sir, there is a call for you.”

  “A call? Now?” Dylan shoved another bite of steak in his mouth.

  “Yes, sir. It’s the president.”.

  Dylan swallowed down his steak. “Well, then. Excuse me please.” He pushed back from the table and followed the Sergeant to a small room down the hall. Inside, a hologram of the president’s head floated over a tidy desk. Dylan stepped in and shut the door. “Mr. President, it’s an honor.”

  “The honor is mine, Commander.” President Billmore focused on Dylan. “That’s not the politician in me talking. I mean that, man to man.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

 
; “I’m well aware of the danger this mission represents, and I know you and your crew are, too. Believe me, I did not order it lightly. We were already losing the economic competition with the Chinese before they developed fusion. If we can’t catch up in a hurry on the energy front, we risk becoming irrelevant on the world stage. For most of my donors, hell probably for all of them, it’s about keeping our economic standing. Commander, there are more important things at stake. This mission is about our ability to spread our morals and values. Our country is founded on the very principles of individual liberty and freedom. We stand for that freedom not just at home but around the world. Look at both world wars, Iraq, Somalia. We even risked going to war with China after Seoul was nuked. In each case, granted, there were Americans looking for personal gain. Most fundamentally, though, we intervened around the world because we believe that life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are not just words written on the Declaration of Independence, but are truly, as our founding fathers said, inalienable rights of all persons endowed upon them by their Creator.”

  Dylan nodded. “I couldn’t agree more, Mr. President.”

  “Then you understand how critical it is, not only to our way of life but to the world, that your mission succeed.”

  “Yes sir, I do. I intend to succeed at this mission.” Come what may, the Chinese are not getting there first. They can’t.

  “I better let you get to it, then. Please extend my thanks to your crew.”

  “I’ll do that, Mr. President. Thank you for your call. We won’t let the country down,” Dylan said. The hologram dissolved. No, indeed, we won’t let the country down. Dylan stood and returned to the breakfast room. All eyes turned to him.

  “Well?” Musa fidgeted in his seat. “What did he say?”

  “He called to stress how important the mission is and to wish us luck,” Dylan said. Hell, maybe I should have voted for him.

  The Sergeant whispered, “Roger,” in response to an unseen communication then in a loud and confident voice announced, “Gentlemen, the Astro-Van is here and ready to take you to the launch pad.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Dylan said. “Gentlemen, let’s do this.”

  #

  The flight crew, strapped into their orbital resupply rocket, stared straight up through a thick windshield. Dylan darkened the already dimly lit cockpit. The Milky Way was a bright band splattered across the clear and cool predawn sky. “There it is. Space. You ready, Chad?”

  Chad sat in the second row, on the right behind Dylan. Oh man, those eggs might have been a bad idea. “Excited. I’m not sure I could ever be ready for my first space launch.” He strained his neck to peek out the side window. A soft blue light, a thin sliver above the horizon, heralded the new day.

  The radio squawked in the astronauts’ ears. “ORR-1214, Mission Control. T minus two minutes, thirty seconds. Close and lock your visors, initiate O2 flow.”

  “Copy T minus two minutes, thirty seconds.” Dylan flipped a switch. “Y’all ready? Anybody gotta pee?” he asked deadpan.

  Chad snickered aloud. I just went half an hour ago. It’s nerves. “I think I can hold it until we make orbit.” He groaned and grinned anxiously.

  Musa sat to Chad’s left. He said straight-faced, “I think I have a Gatorade bottle back there somewhere in case you can’t make it.” After a second or two, he flashed a toothy smile. “You’ll be fine. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Slow and deep. Breathe in, breathe out.”

  The radio calls continued with different controllers announcing their updates.

  “T minus two minutes. Securing second stage LOX. Vehicle hydraulic pressure verified, four thousand PSI.”

  “T minus 90 seconds. Second stage LOX secure at flight pressure and flight level. LOX ground support equipment secure.”

  “T minus 80 seconds. Securing second stage LH2. Range reports go for launch.”

  “T minus 50 seconds. Second stage LH2 secure at flight pressure and flight level.”

  “T minus 45 seconds. Launch enabled on. Main power turned off.”

  “T minus 25 seconds. Solid rocket motor thrust vector control system blowdown.”

  “T minus 15 seconds. Launch vehicle igniters armed. Radially outward firing initiators, ignition.”

  “T minus 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5…”

  The main engines ignited, and the ship began to sway. Chad’s meditative breathing turned into a series of shallow, rapid gasps. His face became cold and clammy.

  Musa’s booming voice said, “Breathe Chad, breathe! Slow and deep. Breathe in, breathe out.”

  “4… 3… 2… 1… We have liftoff”.

  In seconds, the rocket accelerated to two hundred kilometers per hour, pressing the astronauts into their seats. The craft shuttered violently, like a tuning fork trying to play several notes at once, as it pushed into the atmosphere. Sunlight flooded into the cockpit as they escaped the Earth’s shadow. Chad forced himself to breathe calmly again as the rocket streaked toward space.

  Yes, definitely, for sure. Eggs. Bad idea. The astronauts were now three times their usual weight, and so was Chad’s breakfast. Less fuel, less weight. More acceleration. How much more? Chad strained to look out the starboard window. Florida vanished faster and faster underneath. Another thirty seconds? Forty? “Why is there an invisible Sumo wrestler sitting on my stomach?” he asked. Why did I have to become an engineer? I could have been an artist. Or a poet. Anything that doesn’t get you shot into the night sky in a metal can with tons of burning fuel under your butt. With a faint ping, the rocket motors cut off. The astronauts, with no external forces pushing on their bodies, were suddenly weightless. Just as suddenly, Chad lost it. He violently heaved his breakfast, splattering the inside of his helmet.

  Without glancing back, Dylan switched the intercom to crew-only mode. “Chad, we have six hours until we dock. Go ahead and remove your helmet. Slow and careful. Musa can help you get cleaned up.”

  How did he know? “Thank you, Commander.”

  “Still glad you came?” Musa asked bright-eyed and inquisitive.

  “Yeah… Yes. Great to be here.” Chad moaned. He removed his helmet and cleaned up with a kit Musa provided. As the engineer in Chad slowly returned, he reflected on how weightlessness works. Earth’s gravity was still acting on him almost as much as on the surface. It’s just that the rocket, without the motor burning, was falling back toward Earth, but also circling the planet just fast enough to constantly miss it. Most people struggled with this concept. To him, it always seemed natural. His stomach began to settle, and his face felt warm again.

  Chad closed his eyes and meditated while Commander Lockwood worked with Mission Control on the lengthy process to position ORR-1214 for docking with Scobee Station. He had no duties during the maneuvering procedure, so he used the time to visualize his post-docking tasks. After what he thought must have been an hour or two, Musa poked his shoulder.

  “Hey, wake up. Man, how can you sleep through your first space launch?”

  “I wasn’t sleeping. I was thinking through my-”

  Chad was interrupted as Musa pointed, excited, out the front viewscreen. “There it is! There’s the station.”

  #

  The station commander welcomed the astronauts aboard Scobee Station. He offered them lunch with the station’s crew.

  “Thank you, sir, but we’re anxious to settle into our ship,” Dylan said. “We would be honored to join you for dinner.”

  Dylan led his crew to the Jupiter Express assembly chamber. “Pops,” Dylan called to the assembly foreman, “how’s my ship? Is she ready?”

  Pops’ expression was serious. “Mostly, Dylan. All the core systems are good to go. We still need a day to finish integration testing and to replace the toilet. You did bring up the replacement john, didn’t you?”

  “What replacement john?” Dylan asked.

  “There was an accident with a plasma torch. The assembler fell asleep after thirty hours on dut
y. We tried to print up a replacement here, but the material we use with the printer doesn’t seal right. NASA was supposed to send up a custom job with your ship.” Pops’ words reverberated through the assembly dock, and his face was cherry red.

  “Well, I guess we hit another SNAFU. They didn’t load anything for you,” Dylan said. “There’s no time to fix it now. I suppose you’ll have to pack us some Ziploc bags and a bunch of wet wipes after all.”

  “And fiber. Lots of fiber,” Chad said. “And no Mexican for the Commander.”

  “I promised you a quality john, and that’s exactly what you’ll get.” Pops thought for a minute then laughed like a man that hadn’t slept in quite a while.

  “I know you’ll work something out,” Dylan said with a gentle smile. “Thank you, Pops, for all you and your team have done.”

  “You are very welcome,” Pops said. He turned his attention to Chad and extended a powerful hand. “Don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure, son. Name’s Wayne Bosko, but you call me Pops. Seeing as how you’re one of us now.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Pops.”

  “Hold up now, that reminds me.” Dylan reached into a pouch in his launch suit and produced a strip of Velcro-backed blue cloth embroidered with golden wings. “Chad Tanner, it is my great honor to present you with the NASA Civilian Astronaut Wings.” He attached the wings to the patch area on Chad’s left chest.

  Chad’s face went blank. He touched the wings and said, “Wow. I’m an astronaut.” His eyes dampened. “Thank you, Dylan. Thank you.”

  “Now don’t go getting all emotional on me. But Pops is right. You’re one of us now.” Dylan shook his hand, followed by Musa and Ian.

  Chad returned his attention to Pops. “Hell of a job you and your team did building our ride. Mind if I look around?”

  “Sure. Let’s all go for a tour.” Pops nimbly directed his get-around through a hatch in the Jupiter Express. “We still need to figure out a solution for your lavatory situation. Baggies won’t do. We’re not dumping your waste.” He banged on the side of the ship. “We’ll pump it into the walls.”