The Gods We Make

by Eric Johannsen

  “Yes. My uncle, Colonel Long Jianyu, is married to President Li’s daughter.” He unsealed the jasmine tea and moved it toward his fine lips.

  Ping, ping, ping, BANG! The tea seemed to fly violently from Commander Wei’s hand, past the Major. It impacted the starboard wall with a thud. In fact, the tea had not moved. The ship rotated wildly with a sharp counter-clockwise yaw and a slower roll around its long axis. Lights flickered. Sparks showered across the viewscreen. An agonizing cry echoed from down the corridor. The other two crew members were not strapped in.

  “Emergency checklist. Quick!” the Commander said.

  The commander and the major ran through the emergency checklist with the precision of a thousand repetitions, struggling on the edge of consciousness as the spin-induced g-forces unceasingly increased. Major Liu, battling the staggering centripetal force, strained to glance at the Commander. She saw his body go limp as if through a dark, narrow tunnel, his face white as freshly fallen snow. Terror gave way to a serene calm. Her body felt warm and tingly as her eyes rolled back in her head. All was black.

  The cockpit was pitch dark, the acrid stench of burned wires filled the air. Her head spun, and she struggled to recall where she was. Warm droplets splattered on her face. Blood? Her carotid arteries pounded in her neck. A rhythmic whoosh filled her ears. No, tea. It’s only the tea. Yaping, Yaping! Concentrate! She breathed in, but the pungent smoke burned her lungs. She coughed the air out in painful spasms. Light. I need light! The major unbuckled and pulled herself to the right wall. She reached blindly, groped for a moment, then pulled a flashlight from a small equipment box. The beam lit the cockpit, illuminating thin tendrils of smoke. Broken shards of gear drifted past her, collecting on the forward viewscreen. The stars moved left-to-right. The ship’s still spinning. Not as much as before, but still spinning. “The commander!” she said, recalling he had been there with her. She directed the beam toward his chair. “Good! Good, he’s breathing.”

  The commander’s eyes narrowed at the bright light, and he called out in pain. “Major, what happened?” He groaned and rubbed his temple.

  “I don’t know.” She struggled to recall details. “There was a noise then the ship began to yaw.”

  The main lights powered up, nearly blinding their dilated eyes. A call echoed up the corridor. “Commander, major! Are you injured?” It was the engineer.

  “Shao!” the commander called out. “Are you injured?”

  “No, no. But Ying is unconscious and bleeding. Luckily, I was near the center of the ship where the forces were least. I was able to correct our attitude. Mostly, at least. The engines are no longer responding.”

  “Is the communications array still online?”

  “It should be.”

  “Major Liu, attend to Ying’s wounds. Shao, see if you can restore engine power. I will contact Beijing.”

  #

  The holographic face of an attractive, middle-aged woman materialized over the Resolute desk. “I’m sorry, Mr. President. I know you asked not to be disturbed, but the president of China wishes to speak with you.”

  “Addie, if you were real, I don’t expect my wife would let you hang around my office day and night,” the president told his AI assistant.

  Addie’s cheeks blushed. “Thank you, Mr. President. I am real, though.”

  “You know what I mean. If you were human,” the president said. “You’re very real to me.” More real than a lot of people making their living on the Hill.

  “I appreciate that, sir,” Addie said. “Shall I put President Li through?”

  “I saw something flash by about a communication intercept from the Chinese ship en route to Jupiter. I didn’t have a chance to look at it yet.”

  “The NSA decrypted a message from that ship half an hour ago. In summary, they experienced a catastrophic emergency. The transcript of the message is available, should you wish.”

  “Thank you, I’ll skip on the details. Have we kept President Li waiting long enough?”

  “Yes sir, I believe we have,” Addie said.

  “All right then. Let Mrs. Kido and Ms. Wells know about the call. Tell them I’ll fill them in as soon as we’re done.” The president sat upright in his chair. “Put the President Li through.”

  The image of Li Peng replaced that of Addie. “President Li,” the president said, “it is good to see you again. How is your wife? Last I heard, she was about to head up an education campaign in Africa.”

  “Thank you, President Billmore. She has taken well to that task. It brings her satisfaction, and she has made outstanding progress,” President Li’s hologram said. “It’s good to see you as well. How’s your family? I believe your son had a birthday recently.”

  “He sure did. In fact, he just turned sixteen. I took him to his grandfather’s in Minnesota for some ice fishing. You should join us next time you come to visit.”

  “Ah, sixteen,” President Li said. “As I understand it, an age that causes American parents some anxiety. Driving age.” He chuckled softly. In that moment, he was a parent who had been through the same thing.

  “Yes, it is a challenging time. You must realize you have done all you can to teach responsibility, and it’s time to give them some freedom.” The president leaned forward. “To what do I owe the honor of this call?”

  Li Peng leaned in as well. “President Billmore, I’m afraid we have a problem. As I’m sure you’re aware, a manned Chinese expedition is en route to Jupiter. A short time ago, they experienced an emergency. Our crew survived the initial incident, but the ship is damaged beyond repair.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. How bad is it? How long can they hold on?”

  “It is difficult to be certain in such situations. Two weeks, perhaps three. They are doing everything possible to conserve resources and affect emergency repairs.”

  “The United States would be pleased to offer technical advice. Our NASA engineers are known for thinking on their feet.”

  “That’s a kind offer. Perhaps you could be of more direct assistance. As it seems, an American spacecraft is not far from the Kuànggōng’s position. I would like to request, on behalf of the People’s Republic of China, that you attempt a rescue mission.”

  President Billmore rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his hands in front of his chest. Ms. Wells’ intelligence about a second Chinese ship damn well better be accurate. He reclined in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “President Li, tell me. How do you get your government to make such large infrastructure investments? I can hardly convince our Congress to agree on whether to fund an expansion of the Smithsonian, let alone anything momentous.”

  President Li adopted the neutral manner of a senior statesman. “Now I am sure you exaggerate to make your point. However, the Chinese system does have its advantages. I would be pleased to ask the Development Minister to visit Washington to share our method of long-term economic planning.”

  “I’m sure that would be illuminating,” the president said. “For instance, even though there’s something up at Jupiter with the potential to transform everything we know, I had to illegally divert funds to build a ship capable of getting there. It took damn near a month for retroactive approval. President Li,” the president said, “just how in the heck did you get your people to fund two ships for Jupiter?”

  “Ah.” The president’s expression became reserved. “You are well informed, President Billmore. However, the situation is dire. Most of the oxygen reserves on board our ship were destroyed. We fear the crew will not survive until the second ship can reach them.”

  “Is that right?” President Billmore’s eyes narrowed. “When are you launching the other ship?”

  Li Peng responded with a calm, measured tone, “The launch date is not set. While we are attempting to finalize preparations as fast as possible, especially in light of today’s emergency, there is still much work to be completed.”

  “I see.” The American president
frowned. “I’ll tell you what, President Li. I’ll get in touch with NASA and see what options we have. If any.”

  #

  “All crew to the command deck. Now.” Dylan’s voice was all business. One by one they floated in, curiosity and concern written in their furrowed brows.

  Chad had been sporting a three-day beard but decided to clean up again. He drifted into the cramped room with a third of his facial hair shaved off. “What’s up, Dylan?”

  The other three men were seated, not because seats were any more comfortable in zero gravity than simply floating, but because the command deck was too small for the whole crew to drift about. The four chairs were swiveled to face each other.

  “Gents,” Dylan said, “I just got word from NASA. The Chinese ship ahead of us ran into trouble. They lost propulsion and a good deal of their oxygen reserves. It sounds like a meteor strike.”

  “Is the crew OK?” Musa asked.

  “For now.” Dylan’s tone suggested they may not stay well for long. “The NSA thinks China is working on a second Jupiter-capable ship. Best guess, they’ll be ready for launch in a few weeks. The Chinese president personally requested that President Billmore authorize a rescue mission.”

  “A rescue mission?” Ian asked.

  “Yeah, Ian. It seems they know we’re out here. They claim their astronauts only have two weeks of oxygen left. They even admitted they have another ship in the wings, but they claim it can’t get there in time.”

  “We can swing by and pick them up,” Musa said.

  Ian rubbed his fingers over the stubble of his buzz-cut hair. “Not exactly. Our life support is designed to take four people to Jupiter, not eight. There’s a healthy reserve, but not enough to double the crew complement.”

  Chad was absentmindedly stroking the shaved portion of his chin, eyes in a faraway place, absorbing every detail of the crisis. “Mars,” he said.

  When he didn’t continue after a breath or two, Musa asked, “Mars?”

  Chad focused on Musa. “Mars. Mars is more-or-less on our flight path to Jupiter. We can rendezvous with the Chinese crew and drop them at Mars Station. They’ll have enough supplies to manage the extra crew until the Chinese can pick them up. We might be able to work with Mars Station to come up with a creative way to drop our guests in Mars orbit without slowing all the way down, and we could load extra fuel and burn the engines hotter to stay ahead of that second ship. We would be pushing them past manufacturer’s spec to stay on schedule, but they have operated flawlessly so far. I’m sure they can handle the extra strain.”

  Dylan considered the suggestion. “That’s an outstanding idea. Y’all head back and work out how we can safely dock with them and how we can put them up from the rendezvous point to Mars.

  The team jumped into problem-solving mode. Musa worked out a series of docking procedures, creating different contingencies depending on where and how badly the other ship was damaged. Ian and Chad manufactured ad hoc sleeping arrangements for the guests. It would be hardly more than straps secured to a bulkhead to prevent them from drifting about in the crew module, but it would do.

  “I wonder,” Musa said, “whether this will thaw relations with China. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we’re going to help them because, at the end of the day, they are people in need of helping. But maybe something bigger will come of it, too.”

  “I don’t know, Musa. I hope so,” Chad said with a touch of resignation. “We certainly need to find a way to get along better back on Earth.”

  “Ian, what do you think? Will it help relations with China?” Musa sounded hopeful.

  Ian’s eyes narrowed. “They have the ability to end quite a bit of suffering around the world. Fusion power could solve water and hunger problems everywhere. Don’t take that the wrong way, they invested heavily and have done something remarkable. They should be rewarded. China could sell the technology for a heap of money and be in an enviable position. Instead, they’re holding on to it. See, it gives them leverage over the rest of the world. It allows them to grow while everyone else stagnates.” He shook his head. “Will they suddenly start sharing because we rescue a few of their astronauts? I don’t see it.”

  “All crew to the command deck,” sounded over the intercom. Dylan’s voice lacked urgency, as if he wanted the crew to take their time. They drifted in again, one by one. When the other three were seated, Dylan said, “NASA did the math. Matching course with the Chinese would be easy, but then we would need to decelerate all the way to Mars. If we do that.” He looked at each of the crew in turn. “If we do that, based on our latest intelligence, the other Chinese ship will almost certainly overtake us. The call from Washington is not to stop. Let the Chinese attempt the rescue.”

  “Sir, we can’t!” Musa’s arms stiffened. “Call them back. Take it over their heads.”

  Dylan unbuckled and gave a small push toward the crew. He steadied his drift by grasping Musa’s shoulder, looked his friend in the eye, and said, “The decision came from the president. All we can do now is our jobs.”

  Nobody spoke for minutes. Finally, Dylan ordered them to resume duties. Eyes lowered and shoulders slumped, they floated out of the command deck.

  Alone again, Dylan dimmed the lights and peered into the vastness of space ahead. The stars began to blur. Absent gravity, the tears welling in his eyes had nowhere to go. Softly, reverently, he whispered, “Sorry, boys.”

  #

  Dylan’s stomach grumbled. “Deal me out,” he said. “High time I get a bite to eat.” I can’t stay alert on an empty stomach. Dylan hadn’t eaten since the crew donned pressure suits twelve hours earlier, when the Jupiter Express entered the region of space where the Kuànggōng had been damaged. He pushed up from the dining table, toward the kitchen three meters away.

  Musa fumbled with a deck of magnetic cards, dealing two each to himself and Chad. He glanced at his pocket cards and said, “Raise.” Musa poked three chips off his stack and pushed them to the middle of the dining table, an act made difficult by the form-fitting pressure suit. The chips drifted across the table until an air current tugged them gently into place.

  “Call,” Chad said, adding two chips to the pile. “How much longer do we need to wear these suits?”

  “About an hour less than last time you asked.” Musa chuckled. “We should be clear of danger within NASA’s safety limits in twelve hours. That’s for the worst-case scenario that the Chinese ship was struck by a shattered asteroid spread over a large area.”

  “NASA sure does believe in playing it safe.” Chad rolled his eyes and gestured toward their less-than-safe ship.

  Dylan steadied himself on a handrail next to the freezer and pulled his helmet off, attaching it to a magnet on a shoulder of his suit. He pulled a packet of shrimp cocktail from the fridge and squeezed out a morsel. After savoring it, he said, “Better to be uncomfortable and alive. We should be fine. Space is vast. Space is also unforgiving.”

  Ian floated in from the command desk. “We’ll overtake the Chinese ship in an hour. What’s left of it, anyhow,” he said. “They’re pretty far to the right of our path due to their earlier launch date, but we might be able to pick them up on the telescope. I have the computer scanning now, based on my best-guess of their position.” He activated a display as tall as the wall and half again as wide. Stars panned slowly across the screen. The picture centered on a dim object and zoomed in. There it was. Grainy, distorted, unmistakable. The remains of the Kuànggōng.

  The crew lowered their eyes.

  “Look, it might not be too late.” Ian said.

  “Ian. No.” Dylan’s tone was somber. “The president made the call. You know that. Ain’t nothing we can do.”

  “Look, I know it would get us in real hot water back home,” Ian said. “They’d never let us fly another mission. But there’s still an option here. We decelerate for a week to let them catch up, then match speed. Once they’re on board, we change course for Mars and decelerate all the way. Our flig
ht path would overtake Mars, so we can use its gravity to slow us down, drop them in a high orbit, and be on our way again. Mars Station can position a drone ship to bring them supplies and slow them into a capture orbit and can send us a drone with extra fuel.” Ian looked at each astronaut in turn. “I would like to think if the cards were reversed, they would come for us.”

  The hell they would! Dylan’s face felt as if on fire, the memory of his nightmare still fresh. “Ian, our mission is chock full of hazards the way it was planned. Each of you knows how important the outcome is for our country and for the world. I feel for that crew. I really do. If it were up to me, I would take the chance and try to save them.” He scowled at Ian. “Though I doubt they would do the same for us.” Dylan’s face softened, and he spoke with an even tone. “We won’t disobey a direct order from the commander in chief.” He studied each man in turn. Hold it together. We can’t go back. We can’t. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll catch a few winks. If we do have an emergency, I need a clear head. Chad, you’re scheduled for a sleep rotation, too.” Dylan returned the rest of his meal to the fridge, secured his helmet, and drifted to the crew rest area. He found no rest there. For hours, images of his wingman Jerry and the doomed Chinese crew haunted his consciousness. He imagined the voices of the stranded crew, shouting at him, demanding justice. Gradually, restlessly, he began to drift off.

  Diii-Diii-Diii! The shrill oxygen alarm ripped Dylan out of the beginnings of sleep. Not yet quite awake, he moved with the muscle memory of a hundred repetitions toward the front of the ship. Debris floated around the common area. The lights flickered, threatening to extinguish, but became steady again. “Status!” he said.

  “It looks like a meteor strike. Multiple hits,” Ian said with forced calmness. “The self-sealing bulkhead handled a few smaller ones, but we have a two-centimeter hole on the starboard side behind the galley.” Ian grabbed a patch kit and moved toward the leak as he spoke. It took him seconds to apply an emergency patch. “There, that leak’s plugged.”