The Triton Disaster: Hard Science Fiction

by Brandon Q Morris

  “Fraser?”

  It would certainly be the first time that the ginger-colored cat answered to his name, but he could give it a try.

  No answer.

  Nick checked the litter box. It appeared to be completely clean.

  Well, Fraser, did you leave me too, you traitorous pal? Honestly, I don’t blame you.

  5/27/2080, Socorro, New Mexico

  A polar bear was moving with no apparent destination across a frozen landscape that reminded Nick of the freezer compartment in their fridge. On the television, a seal was sitting on the edge of an ice floe, grooming its fur, just like Fraser. That traitor! he thought. Nick filled up the bowl with fresh food every day, but the cat still hadn’t returned. The polar bear approached the seal as if it just happened to be in the area. The seal raised its head briefly, did an about-face, and dove into the black water. The polar bear sat up on its back legs, its face showing no emotion. The polar bear, that could be me, thought Nick, switching to another channel.

  Nature documentaries, boring. Talk shows, the same. He kept switching. The selections seemed endless. He could get his own personal program arranged, but he’d have to know what he wanted, which he was simply unable to decide. Linear television had been created for people like himself. He took some comfort in the thought that he was not alone in his total misery. All over the world there were men—and certainly also women—with a can of flat beer on the table, clicking mindlessly from channel to channel.

  An old woman was pleading in her own defense before an austere, black judge. She had been feeding pigeons, which was illegal in her town, and hadn’t been able to pay the fine, so now she had to go to jail for a week. She thought this was unfair, but the TV judge swung the gavel as if at an auction and sent her off to the slammer. The audience in the courtroom grumbled.

  What crap! Why am I watching this?

  Because he had nothing else to do. Fine, he could tidy up the kitchen again, vacuum the house, mow the lawn. But why?

  There was a ringing sound.

  “Alexa, reject call.”

  “Reject call.”

  He could at least ask who’d been trying to reach him here. “Alexa, who called?”

  “The caller is listed as Bill Asshole in your address book.”

  So it had been his boss calling. What could he have wanted? Had the company changed its mind? Had the kid who’d replaced him been unable to handle the passengers? Some experience was needed to turn Midwestern housewives and car salesmen from Illinois into astronauts.

  “Alexa, call back Bill Asshole.”

  “I’m calling back Bill Asshole.”

  “Alexa, change the address book entry to Bill.”

  “I’m changing the address book entry to Bill.”

  Nick heard a connection signal, and then his boss answered. “Hi, Nick. Thanks for getting back to me. How are you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine.”

  “I heard about your wife.”

  So word had gotten to Truth or Consequences. Nick wasn’t especially surprised, since Spaceport America and the VLA, as the only two high-tech employers in this region, were quite well-connected.

  “Yes, she’s gone. But it was foreseeable.” That was a lie. Nick had been caught entirely by surprise. But saying it was expected certainly made it sound better.

  “Still, it must be a shock. If you need someone to talk to...” Bill’s voice trailed off.

  Sure thing. The prick probably felt complicit somehow, and now he had a guilty conscience. Nick realized he was being unfair. He kneaded his hands together to calm himself down. Bill wasn’t all that bad. He was just doing his job. He himself was a danger to the company. What had become of him?

  “Thanks, Bill. But I don’t think you can help me. I may have to revisit some of my old dreams again. Did I ever tell you about the winery?”

  For a while, Nick had dreamed of retiring as a winemaker. Of course Rosie had played an essential role in this future, but did he really need her for this?

  “Winery, no,” says Bill. “It sounds crazy, and that’s why it suits you. I just can’t imagine where you expect to get the millions from.”

  “Yes, that’s the problem. Maybe I’ll rob a bank.”

  “Shh, don’t say anything else. A criminal’s first rule is no confidantes,” Bill said with a laugh.

  But Nick had already thought it through, including how to escape with the spoils. But the chances were minimal. He needed another way.

  Ding-dong. It was the doorbell.

  “Nick, your neighbor is on the doorstep,” Alexa announced.

  “Bill, I’ve got to go, I’ve got a lady visitor,” Nick said.

  “Chin up, kid. My offer still stands.” A pleasant sound signaled that the connection had ended.

  “Alexa, please let the visitor in.”

  Nick looked down at himself. He was reasonably presentable. He quickly closed the door to the kitchen. The chaos in there was nobody’s business. He opened the living room door and went into the hallway. The outer door was open, with the neighbor standing just outside. She was whistling a song he didn’t know.

  “Come in, Mrs. McIntosh,” he said.

  She smiled, revealing a row of shiny white teeth. How old could she be? Her face was as wrinkled as an 80-year-old’s, but she walked with the energy of a young woman. She made no move to enter his house, but extended a dish towards him.

  “I baked you a savory pie,” she said by way of greeting.

  “That’s really nice. What’s the occasion?”

  “Well, it’s clear you need something. Your wife moved out and you hardly leave the house. So you probably lost your job. You seem to be in crisis.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Listen, I have nothing to do but look out the window, so of course I notice. By the way, your cat is also with me. So you don’t have to worry about him.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind, Mrs. McIntosh.”

  “Please call me Daisy. If you need someone to talk to, just come and pay me a visit. And here, take this dish. Be careful and just touch it along the rim on the top. It’s still scorching on the bottom.”

  Mrs. McIntosh extended the dish towards him, and he took it from her gently. The rim was cool. Though he’d been expecting hard plastic, it must have been ceramic.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Enjoy your meal. Life goes on.”

  Mrs. McIntosh turned with almost military precision and headed back towards the street, waving at him again from the garden gate. He brought the dish to the kitchen and the front door closed behind him. He searched for a clean plate and utensils, then brought everything to the living room.

  He removed the lid from the dish. It smelled delicious. He piled about half of the contents on the plate and ate. There was pastry, small chunks of meat or tofu, and vegetables. It was al dente and she’d seasoned everything, so the ingredients hadn’t lost their flavor. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten so well. He reached for the bottle of beer and smelled it. He took it to the kitchen and got himself a glass of water.

  It was early evening and there were no dirty dishes left in the kitchen. He had vacuumed the whole house and even cleaned the bathroom. He really hated such chores. If he’d still had his job, he could have paid for a housekeeper.

  Nick collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted. He looked for the remote control, which he found hiding in a crack. He pressed the power button, then changed his mind and turned the TV back off.

  “Alexa, can I buy a vineyard?”

  “Shall I search vineyard listings for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “There are precisely one hundred and eighteen vineyards and wineries in the United States for sale. What criteria should I use to list them to you?”

  “Cheapest first.”

  “A winery in Minnesota. Round Lake Vineyards, for a hundred and twelve thousand.”

  That was suspiciously cheap. “Is there a description?”

&n
bsp; “Yes, Nick. I’ll read it to you. Due to a serious fire that destroyed both the vines and the buildings, unfortunately our beloved winery must—”

  “Alexa, stop.” He could get maybe $150,000 for the house if Rosie gave up her half. He’d need it, since a new building on the winery wasn’t included.

  “Alexa, how much is the cheapest winery that has hours of operation available?”

  “Nine hundred and fifty thousand.”

  So more than a million with taxes and fees. For the moment, nothing would come of his dream. He needed a different plan. Maybe he could hire himself out for a few years on an oil rig? People had made good money in the oil industry. But was that still the case, now that most of the oil fields had been depleted?

  “Alexa, look for a job that fits my profile. Access to my personal data granted.”

  “Which fields should I search?”

  “Intergalactic fields. Ha!”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Search all over the world, without any restrictions for location.”

  “Okay. I have found seven descriptions that match your qualifications. What criteria should I use to list them to you?”

  “Highest salary first.”

  “The RB Group is looking for a pilot for a long-term mission.”

  “And the salary?”

  “It is equivalent to seven point four million dollars.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It is equivalent to seven point four million dollars.”

  “Display the offer on the television.”

  Alexa answered with a pling, and the television turned on. Nick soon saw a lion gnawing on a gazelle, and then the text of the job offer appeared.

  Experienced pilot wanted for long-term mission

  Do you have stamina and extensive experience controlling spacecraft of all kinds, with standout performance in extravehicular activities? Are you physically healthy, with an extremely high level of psychological stability and no family ties? Are you available immediately and for at least four years? If so, you (m/w/x) are our ideal candidate.

  We need somebody to pilot one of our modern spacecraft who is technically savvy but can still thrive during long periods of isolation. We offer extraordinary pay for this extraordinary assignment. In addition, there will be food and lodging for the entire duration of the assignment, as well as medical care, insofar as is possible within the scope of the job.

  Please note that it is technically and legally impossible to terminate the assignment before it has been completed. The contract is concluded in accordance with Russian labor law. The RB Group, a world leader in asteroid mining, is a private conglomerate with headquarters in Akademgorodok, Russia. In an anonymous survey, our employees praised our working conditions as outstanding.

  If you are interested, apply online immediately with the standard documents.

  Nick leaned back. $7,400,000! He wouldn’t just be able to buy a vineyard, he could live out the rest of his life comfortably if he budgeted adequately. Who paid a pilot so much money? This job had to be one unlike any other. There must be something else to it. Was the mission especially dangerous, perhaps? Well, he’d probably be gone for a while, but that wouldn’t be a problem for anyone right now. Even the cat had moved to Mrs. McIntosh’s. Mentally stable? Well, when your wife runs off after so many years, shouldn’t you suffer from a little shock? Otherwise, he had pretty much come to terms with himself, though strangers had been annoying him all his life. So why not? Even four years would go by eventually. He’d spent a whole year longer than that with the Marines, and it hadn’t been especially exciting—but it had passed.

  “Alexa, put my records together and send an application to the RB Group.”

  “Would you like me to read the other listings?”

  “What’s the second highest salary?”

  “One hundred and thirty thousand dollars a year, limited to six months.”

  “No thank you. I’ll be applying for the RB position.”

  5/28/2080, Socorro, New Mexico

  “Nick, there’s a call for you.”

  What did she say? Nick rolled to his other side.

  “Nick, there’s a call for you.”

  Leave me alone, Alexa, his brain commanded. He knew it would do no good, but he pulled the pillow out from under his head anyway and put it over his one free ear.

  “NICK, THERE’S A CALL FOR YOU.”

  Now she was turning up the volume. Nick flinched. The pale light of the streetlamp was filtering in through the blinds. It’s still dark outside!

  “NICK, THERE’S A CALL FOR YOU.”

  “Yeah, I heard you, Alexa. Who’s calling so early in the morning?”

  “The phone number is not in your address book and cannot be traced. I only recognize the country code for Russia.”

  “Why didn’t you say so? It’s someone from the RB Group. Answer it, fast!”

  Nick jumped up and opened the closet. He needed a fresh T-shirt, underwear, and clean shorts.

  “Good morning, Nick,” a female voice greeted him in English. There was no hint of an accent. “I see you wanted to show us what good physical shape you’re in. Very admirable.” The woman sounded amused.

  Nick quickly shut the closet door behind him. “Alexa, turn off the camera,” he shouted. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I did not mean to shock you.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Abrahams. You aren’t the first naked man I’ve ever seen. And it wasn’t such a horrifying sight.”

  The Russians seemed to be cut from a different cloth. If a potential American employer had caught him like that, his chances of getting the job would have instantly been zero. Nick quickly put on underwear, T-shirt and shorts, and went into the living room. The TV was already on, with an elegant woman in her early 50s on the screen. Her style was conservative, a blouse and skirt, but something told him that this didn’t match the woman’s character.

  “Alexa, turn on the lights and the camera,” he said, taking a seat on the sofa.

  “I’m Valentina Shostakovna,” said the woman. “Nice to meet you.”

  Alexa had heard, and beneath the image of the woman his digital assistant displayed the information that she could find out from the name. Valentina Shostakovna was apparently the daughter of the company’s founder and had taken over as the owner. This was certainly no ordinary job.

  “A pleasure. Nick Abrahams, but you knew that already. I was expecting a call from Human Resources.”

  Valentina smiled. “I have to apologize for disrupting you so early in the morning. But I have an appointment later, and then it will already be nighttime. Mr. Abrahams, you have applied for the position that we advertised. I assume that you’ve read it through and meet all the requirements.”

  “Correct. Do you need any additional documents?”

  “Not at this time. Of course we’ve checked your background, which is more efficient than exchanging documents. You can already tell that this isn’t your average trip that we’ll be sending you on. The payment is so liberal because we expect unconditional confidentiality. Half the sum is therefore paid to you as an interest-free loan, which is due immediately if you violate the confidentiality part of the contract. So that you have some peace of mind, we’ll pay you one million dollars before you leave.”

  “That only sounds fair,” said Nick. “You need security, too. But what is it all about?”

  “I’ll have to ask you to turn off all recording devices.”

  “Alexa, sleep mode.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Abrahams. You will have to visit one of our installations, which isn’t working as expected. Your job is to find out the reasons why this is the case and to restore its functionality.”

  “The description mentions a duration of four years. So the installation must be very far away?”

  Nick quickly calculated some distances. With the current technology, it wasn’t possible to travel to Uranus and back in four years. It had taken the ILSE two years to fly to Saturn.
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br />   “Correct. But details can only be revealed after you’ve signed the contract at our facility in Akademgorodok.”

  “Understood. What makes you so sure that I can fix the mistake? Although I’m no slouch when it comes to fixing things, I don’t have any special training in space technology.”

  “We don’t think you need such training. What you need to know, we’ll teach you. What’s important to us is that you’re a professional, and you’ve proved that with your 2,267 launches.”

  “But 2,254 of those were with tourists in space.”

  “You alone were responsible for the state of the spacecraft for 2,254 days. That’s a good six years. You’ll be traveling for just four years.”

  “That’s not a problem for me.”

  “I hope so. Anyway, the ship we provide is equipped with all the amenities.”

  “Sounds good. So what’s next?”

  “You’ll understand, Mr. Abrahams, that we need to protect ourselves. Therefore I need a power of attorney from you so we can view all your private data—bank accounts, medical reports, et cetera. As long as we don’t find anything that works against you, my assistant will send you the plane tickets for the job interview. But it’s all just a formality.”

  “Got it. How much time do I have to take care of everything here?”

  Valentina looked down and tapped something, then looked back up at him again. “The next flight leaves Albuquerque tomorrow at 9:38 AM. You’ll be with us about twenty-four hours later. Or is that too soon?”

  Nick rubbed his eyes. Tomorrow morning—that was fast! Rosie could take care of the house, and perhaps she’d even want to live there while he was gone. He’d have to pack some personal belongings in boxes. Nothing else sprang to mind, though wouldn’t he need a visa to visit Russia?

  “I can do that. My wife is... never mind.” The RB Group would find out when they reviewed his records anyway. “What about the visa?”

  “No problem, Mr. Abrahams, we have good relations with the authorities. Your visa will be entered electronically when you arrive.”