by Dom Testa
He closed his eyes and felt a wave of despair wash over him. This was a foolish waste of time, an exercise in futility. Alexa was dead, her body knifing through the void of space. Triana was gone, swallowed by a wormhole, and while the crew hoped for the best, the prevailing mood was that she was gone forever; Gap had gone so far as to begin the steps to replace her as Council Leader.
There was nothing he could do.
Or was there?
He sat up, leaned to his left, and shoved a hand into his right front pocket, grimacing as he raked the damaged skin of his knuckles. He pulled out a small metallic ball, studded with four rounded spikes that protruded from various points along its surface. He rolled the ball in his hand, staring at it through the gloom, wondering.
A minute later he was once again stretched out in the dirt, the ball lying beside him. His breathing turned deep and steady. Soon he was asleep.
3
The last thing Gap wanted was to walk into the auditorium after everyone was seated. In his mind it would seem arrogant, with an almost regal touch to it, and that was not the impression he wanted to make. Instead, he made sure he was the first to arrive for the meeting. With the large room to himself, he sat quietly in the first row, contemplating what the next hour would bring. It was the first full crew meeting of Galahad without Triana at the helm, and it already felt awkward. He was sure that it would remain so for quite some time.
His mind raced through the quick outline he had sketched. The talk would be direct and to the point. Given the crew’s uneasiness, it could easily drift into an endless circle of speculation, with questions that sought reassurance more than detailed facts. It was his job to keep things on track and to deliver a measure of confidence that things would be okay.
But would they be? During its first year en route to Eos, Galahad had stumbled through its share of trouble, flirting with disaster several times. In some ways, the unnatural was a natural way of life for the crew. Now their Council Leader had disappeared, swallowed by a hole in the fabric of space that not even the ship’s computer, Roc, could completely understand. And, compounding the shock, news of Triana’s jump through the wormhole came before the crew had recovered from their first funeral.
And it was Gap’s job to make this crew feel … confident?
He sat forward in his chair, elbows on knees, and stared at the floor. Now he understood firsthand the responsibilities of leadership. Triana had shouldered those responsibilities from the first day, with no whining, no wavering. In fact, it was a heavy feeling of responsibility that had driven her to climb inside the metal pod and venture into the unknown, at the risk of her own life.
Gap’s task, he realized, paled in comparison.
A door to the auditorium opened, admitting a half dozen crew members and shaking Gap from his thoughts. A moment later Lita walked in, spotted him in the front row, and took the chair beside him.
“Need help with anything?” she said.
“Not that I can think of, but thanks.” He sat back and looked closely at her. “You look pretty beat.”
Lita laughed. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.”
“Oh, c’mon, you know I didn’t mean it that way. You just look like you could use some sleep.”
“Like most of us, I think. Plus, the stress of these last few weeks is starting to show up in a way I haven’t seen before with this crew.” She spent a minute catching him up on the fight in the Dining Hall.
Gap nodded grimly. “Everyone’s stressed out and tired, no doubt. But we can’t start falling apart.” He forced a hopeful look. “Who knows, maybe the fight let off some steam and things can settle a little bit.”
“Maybe,” Lita said, but there was a tinge of doubt in her voice. They both fell quiet for a moment and watched as the door opened and a dozen crew members strolled into the room.
Gap used the distraction to change the subject. “Have you given any thought to…” He paused, then finished in a low voice. “To who might take Alexa’s spot?”
A crease appeared across Lita’s forehead. “A little bit. On one hand I feel like I should tap someone pretty soon, just to keep a sense of order, you know? But then I wonder if maybe that wouldn’t show the proper respect for Alexa.” She shrugged. “There’s no real reason to hurry; we’re handling everything we need to so far. I think the crew on duty in Sick House are more worried about how to act around me. I don’t like the feeling that everyone’s walking on eggshells.”
Gap nodded. He glanced over his shoulder to watch more crew members file into the room. The background noise picked up, which, in a way, put him more at ease. He looked back at Lita. “The way I figure it, the sooner we can get back into something that at least resembles routine, the better. Acknowledge the issue, answer the questions we can, and let the crew know that the mission doesn’t stop, which means we don’t stop.”
Before Lita could respond, they were greeted by Channy, wearing what was likely her most subdued T-shirt. She took the seat on Gap’s left.
“Where’s your little furry friend?” he said to her.
“Stretched out across my bed like Cleopatra, sleeping. She probably won’t move more than two inches before I get back.”
“At least someone’s getting some sleep around here,” Lita said. “I’m jealous.”
The room was now filled almost to capacity, the only empty seats caused by crew members on strict duty schedules. They would monitor the meeting through the vidscreen system throughout the ship. One of the last people to walk into the auditorium was Bon. He took a seat beside Lita, with merely a nod to Gap; he seemed to ignore Channy, who looked the other way.
“What happened to your hand?” Lita said, moving to lift Bon’s hand from his lap.
“It’s nothing,” Bon said, pulling his arm away. “Part of the job.”
“It looks gnarly. Stop by Sick House and let me swab some disinfectant on it, okay?”
Bon looked away and leaned back, his body language insisting that the conversation was at an end.
After allowing the room to settle, Gap stood. Lita gave his forearm a brief squeeze and mouthed to him, “Good luck.” He climbed the steps to the stage and, grasping both sides of the podium, looked out over the crowd.
“Well…” he began, then paused for a few seconds. He felt a single drop of perspiration form along his brow, but refused to wipe it away. “I’m sure there are ten different flavors of the facts spreading around the ship, but here is the situation as it stands at the moment.
“As you know, the vultures, as we called them, fled the ship when we administered an oxygen blast to their leader. Rather than simply circle our ship, they left this part of space through an opening that we believe is a wormhole. Some might say that the vultures were summoned by their creators; we don’t know for sure, but it seems the likely explanation.”
He shifted his stance and looked back and forth across the room. Nobody moved or made a sound.
“What followed next is now clear. These … creators … opened another wormhole in our path. Why? We don’t know for sure. But Roc speculated, and Triana agreed, that it was an invitation. An invitation for us to plunge through and pop out … somewhere else.”
For the first time there was a stirring in the crowd. Gap saw crew members exchange looks, and knew that more of an explanation was due.
“We’ve all heard theories about wormholes, but we’re the first humans to actually witness them. You can think of them as shortcuts across space, and perhaps across time. It’s taking us years, using the most advanced technology ever devised on Earth, to travel a relatively short distance. With wormholes, travel across the galaxy, or across the universe—or maybe even between universes—would be instantaneous.
“Triana obviously believed that if we did not steer Galahad into this particular wormhole, there was a chance that something would eventually come out after us. Given this belief…”
Here, Gap paused again and collected himself
before continuing. “Given this belief, Triana made a decision on her own, without consulting the Council, Roc, or anyone else. She gathered the corpse of the vulture that we had brought aboard … the one that was responsible for Alexa’s death … and loaded it onto the pod we recovered from the Saturn research station. Then, she climbed inside, launched the pod, and took her cargo into the wormhole.”
He looked down at Lita, who, although seeming on the verge of tears, offered him a supportive nod.
“That was almost three days ago. Since then we’ve scanned every bit of space around us, and there’s no sign of the pod. And, since the wormhole closed up soon after Triana’s launch, we are now convinced that this is indeed what happened. She’s gone.”
Now Lita wasn’t the only one in tears. Gap could see several crew members dabbing at their eyes. He steeled himself and continued.
“We’ve called this meeting for three reasons. One, to make sure you understood exactly what’s happened; two, for us to discuss what happens next; and three, to answer any questions you have. Before we discuss our next steps, are there any questions so far?”
At first there was little response. The assembled crew members looked around, wondering who would be the first. Finally, from the middle of the room, a boy stood up.
“Yes, Jhani,” Gap said.
“Do we have any idea if Triana could even survive going through a wormhole?”
Gap took a deep breath and weighed his answer. “We can’t know anything for sure,” he said. “However, I’ve had a couple of conversations with Roc about that very question, and he believes the answer is yes. He bases that on the limited data that we were able to gather from the captured vulture. Its physiology was obviously quite alien, and mostly artificial. Yet it also contained an organic brain—or, at least what we assumed was a brain.
“So,” he continued, “if the vultures are able to navigate their way through wormholes unharmed, without any special protection that we know of, then we can assume that Triana would do the same. The pod that she was in is pressurized and very strong, at least as strong as the body of the vultures, which would hopefully provide the protection she needs.”
Another crew member stood up. “Angelina,” Gap said.
“Any ideas about what might be on the other side of the wormhole?”
Gap shook his head. “That, unfortunately, is something we couldn’t even begin to guess. Our first thought would be the home planet of the vultures’ creators, but who’s to say they even live on a planet? Or that they’re anything like us? And, if the wormhole comes out in a completely different dimension, we can’t begin to guess about the laws of physics there. But, again, simply going by the physical makeup of the vultures, we would hope that it’s at least habitable.” He paused, then added, “I, for one, am counting on Triana coming back to tell us all about it.”
This was greeted with hopeful smiles from around the room.
“Are there any other questions before we move on? No? All right, then let’s talk about what comes next. Specifically, what do we do about the Council? As I said, I would very much like to believe that Triana will come back and everything will be fine. However, we also think it would be irresponsible to not take steps in case … well, in case she doesn’t make it back anytime soon. We’re in a tough spot, and it’s crucial that our leadership be in order.
“As I’m sure you remember from your training and studies, according to the ship’s bylaws, should Galahad’s Council Leader be unable to fulfill the duties required—and that would be the case here—then the Council, in an emergency session, will meet to name a temporary Council Leader. That has happened, and, for the time being, the Council has asked me to assume those responsibilities, and I’ve agreed. However, it is temporary. The bylaws also state that an election should be held to replace the Council Leader, as quickly as possible.”
There was a ripple of movement throughout the room as these words sank in. Just days ago it would have seemed unthinkable that they would be electing a new Council Leader. There were more glances and pockets of whispered conversation.
Gap raised his voice to refocus their attention. “I’ll let Roc discuss the bylaws which govern this decision. Roc?”
The computer’s voice, which eerily mimicked that of his own creator, Roy Orzini, spilled out of the room’s speakers. While humor and sarcasm often dotted his speech, for this occasion he came across as all business.
“The bylaws for Galahad’s Council include sections that deal with emergency changes. In normal circumstances, members serve three-year terms, after which elections are held to either re-elect Council members, or install new ones. The Council was specifically set up to not resemble a hierarchy; no Council member automatically assumes the position of Council Leader should that Leader be incapacitated or otherwise unable to fulfill the duties. In this regard it’s similar to the Supreme Court of the United States, where a new Chief Justice is appointed rather than having one ascend to the top.
“However, given the circumstances, this election also essentially falls under the category of a temporary fill-in position, although it could potentially last two years until the next general election. That means should Triana return in one month or six months or one year, she would resume her role as Council Leader, provided that she was able to fulfill the duties as established by the other Council members. Are there questions at this point?”
There were none, and Roc continued.
“The process is fairly simple. Nominations are submitted during a twenty-four-hour period via ship-wide electronic posting, either by the candidates themselves or by another nominating party. Then there are public forums over the next six days where the candidates may address the crew, and the following day an electronic election is held. No minimum percentage of votes is required; in other words, the highest vote-getter is named the new Council Leader.
“This new Leader will assume the role until the following general election, at which time they may run for re-election if they wish. Assuming no other problems, those elected two years from now will see the mission through its arrival into the Eos system.”
From the stage Gap watched his fellow crew members absorb this information. He saw Channy lean over and mutter something to Lita, who nodded. Bon sat with a stony expression across his face.
After about a minute, Gap thanked Roc and once again addressed the crew. “We will open the nominating period tomorrow morning at six. It will last twenty-four hours. We ask that you take this responsibility seriously, and give it strong consideration before you randomly submit a name. Please speak with that person before doing so, to eliminate any discomfort or confusion. Once the twenty-four-hour period ends we will post all of the nominations.
“If there are any final questions, now would be the time before we close this meeting.”
A low rumble spread across the auditorium as crew members spoke to their neighbors. Then, from the back row a girl stood up.
“Yes, Kaya,” Gap said.
“I think most of us are under the impression that you have a good chance of moving into the top spot. Hypothetically, if you were the only person nominated, would there still be an election?”
Gap smiled. “Believe it or not, we would still have to have a formal election to install a new Council Leader. So, yes, even if only one person is nominated, we would all still need to vote. But let’s not make any assumptions right now; there are obviously many people who would be well-suited to take over Triana’s duties, and you should consider each person thoroughly.”
He shifted again. “There are two things I’d like to add before we dismiss. First, keep in mind that you’re electing someone who will have tremendous responsibilities heaped upon them. This is not a popularity contest, but rather an election to find the person we feel could best lead in times of trouble.
“But secondly, I’d like to point out that this crew is strong. We have overcome every obstacle thrown into our path, and will do so again. Our mission is to take
this ship to Eos, to let nothing stand in our way, and to battle through any crises that may occur. We didn’t train for almost two years in order to handle smooth sailing; we trained in order to confront, and overcome, any problems that came our way. Dr. Zimmer insisted that we be prepared for emergencies; well, that’s exactly what we’re facing now.”
He took a deep breath. It was difficult to tell what effect his words were having upon the crew, whether or not they were encouraged and motivated. At the very least he knew that he had their complete attention.
“It’s imperative that we pull together,” he said. “You no doubt have heard about an altercation that happened this morning. That’s the last thing we need. Emotions are wearing thin, but we need to think before we act out. We all have our assigned responsibilities, but this would be a good time to look around and see if we can lend a hand in other areas. That might very well help to relieve some of the tension. Please continue to find time to relax and decompress, but also keep your eyes open for ways you can help out. Thanks very much.”
With a respectful silence, the room began to clear out. Gap stepped down from the stage and stood beside the other Council members.
“I thought that went very well,” Lita said to Gap. “Thoughtful questions from the crew, and you handled it all very smoothly. Good job.”
“Thanks,” Gap said.
“And Kaya’s right,” Channy said, lightly punching his arm. “You’re sure to get nominated. In fact, I’ll be the first to do it tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks again,” Gap said. “But I don’t believe I’ll be the only one. There’s been enough turbulence in the last couple of months that I’m sure someone else will step forward. But that’s good, it’s the democratic process at work.”
“We’ll see,” Channy said. She leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, waved good-bye to Lita, and sprinted up towards the door. She had again completely ignored Bon, which Gap noted. He could tell from Lita’s expression that she had as well. The Swede didn’t appear to react at all, and, with a grunt of good-bye, trudged away.