The Far Shore

by Glenn Damato

  “Okay, Ryder will act as my safety checker.”

  Shuko frowns. What if Ryder panics again? But no one else volunteers.

  The warning panel goes nuts again. It flashes another red message:

  ERROR 419: OXYGEN GENERATOR UNITS 1 AND 2

  HIGH O2/H2 DIFFERENTIAL PRESSURE SHUTDOWN

  UNIT 3 IN BACKUP MODE 11:11:29 PCT 22 Taurus 53

  Which is a completely different error than the usual high electrolyte temperature shutdown.

  Ignore it and focus. It’s not an immediate threat. Oxygen still flows from the TMI into Liberty, and the O2 tanks are close to one-hundred percent full. The nav failure takes priority. If the GNC doesn’t work, all the oxygen in the universe will only keep us alive long enough to know for sure we’ll never land on Mars.

  ◆◆◆

  “We got a printer operating,” Ryder calls from the equipment bay access hatch. “I loaded the pattern for the star tracker.”

  Jewel de la Bora on Constitution helps me organize. I remember her kindhearted face from the hospital. Today, we don’t need nice; we need knowhow. “You’re going to use three special cables. The optimizer pattern will be ready as soon as we’re done testing a prototype with the new time format.”

  Alison sticks her head into the control center. “Tracker’s printing. Done in eleven minutes.”

  Our BioSuits, helmets, and life support packs are stored in a hygiene compartment locker marked Active Compression Garments. Each suit is labeled by name because they’re made to fit each person’s body within a couple of millimeters. Is that why my body was scanned at the hospital?

  I unroll the thin, silvery-white coveralls. Hundreds of blue threads crisscross everywhere—the shape actuators that will compress my skin and keep me alive in the ultra-low pressure of the Mars atmosphere.

  Or, if need be, the vacuum of space. And it needs be.

  Mikki does nothing but stare at the wall. “Cable fittings have to be checked for compatibility,” I tell her. “The star tracker takes a sixty-four channel line connected to one of the hard plugs outside.”

  She opens her mouth to respond but the master panel interrupts with a chime from Tess. “Jürgen Morita will speak to us.”

  Jürgen wears his little grin—at a time like this. Everyone stops. Alison whispers, “He’s going to tell us what to do.”

  What? Doesn’t she already know what to do?

  “I want to thank everyone for the work they’ve done on the guidance system. Eric and Darien briefed me on our options, and I’ve decided to keep our GNC’s offline. Since we don’t have the—”

  “Hold it,” I cut in. “You can’t do that.”

  Mikki blows out her breath. “The expert speaks.”

  Jürgen presses his lips together. “Since we don’t have the means to properly synchronize our time signal with the Earth standard, we’ll keep our current course and make final adjustments when we’re close enough to Mars for the GNC to laser-range—”

  “No!” I can’t control myself. “We’re supposed to make mid-course corrections. We need a fully-functional guidance system to make those corrections!”

  Jürgen does his thing. His silky-smooth calm spreads across the control center like a gentle musical note. “Cristina, I understand your feelings. But we can’t allow our emotions to control our actions. You plan to stake our lives on modified components jury-rigged together. The tech manual doesn’t allow that. We’ll be safer if we trust the trajectory the GNC already calculated.”

  Where’s Eric? If I yell into the com he’ll hear me. “Eric! Did you explain to him—”

  “Stop right there,” Eric responds, voice on the edge of a slight tremble. “It’s less of a gamble to keep the trajectory we know was good as of this morning—”

  “You told me we can’t land on Mars!” I’m too loud again, almost screaming.

  “Yeah, I made the mistake of not trusting my better judgement. I’m correcting myself here. We’re on a nominal trajectory right now. I made a mistake.”

  I twist toward Jürgen’s vid. “What did you say to him?”

  Eric snarls, “Any new optimizer we print has to be perfectly synced to Coordinated Universal Time on Earth, synced to within the GNC standard of one microsecond per year. Plus, you want to alter a proven design to use a non-standard time format that no one has ever used to successfully navigate a spacecraft. My engineering judgment is to stick to the trajectory the GNC gave us.”

  He’s done.

  But I’m not done, not even close.

  I twist toward Shuko and Paige. “We need the airlock configured so I can open the outer hatch and mount the tracker. Get the procedure ready.”

  But they don’t move. Something in their eyes tells me no.

  “Eric makes a lot of sense,” Paige whispers.

  My blood races. This is worse than awkward. It’s dangerous, and so wrong. “We’re working around the problems right now,” I say to Paige and everyone else. “We can do this if we try.”

  “I think we should listen to Jürgen,” Alison tells us. “He’s our leader.”

  They’re convinced it’s somehow safer to do nothing.

  No words are enough for this mierda. “Really?” is all I can get out. Jürgen watches me on vid. We stare at each other. How weird to see him not talking. But he’s being smart. They’re on his side. He doesn’t need to say a word, just wait for me to be Idiota with my mouth alone. “Here’s what I think,” I answer Alison, slowing my words so I sound sure, just as Jürgen does. “We left home because we had no control over our lives. We had to obey the Autoridad. But the Autoridad isn’t here. We’re in charge. All of us. The nav system is broken. It can be fixed, but there’s not a lot of time.” I turn back to Jürgen. “Let’s vote on this. Let’s talk this out and we’ll all decide.”

  They say nothing. I get it. They believe him. They trust him. Jürgen is in charge. I’m alone, and I can’t do anything about the tracker alone.

  ◆◆◆

  I close myself off inside my sleeper. There’s nothing else to do. I need about ten churros, a hug from Faye, and twelve hours of sleep.

  There’s a text, just two strange lines.

  Alexis de Tocqueville: Nothing is more wonderful than the art of being free,

  but nothing is harder to learn how to use than freedom.

  Alexis de Tocqueville? Is that someone on one of the other spacecrafts? The text links to a request from Vijay Mehta, flight director aboard Resolute. He wants a private conference, no explanation why. I flick a response and Vijay appears in his own sleeper, his thin, chestnut-colored face simultaneously tough and delicate. Hair combed perfectly in place, even after weeks in space.

  “Senorita Flores, thank you for meeting with me.”

  Fancy grammar! “Call me Cristina, okay?”

  “Cristina, you made a simple and powerful statement earlier. We’re in charge.” He stops as if contemplating the best way to express his thoughts. “Our tiny clan is in disarray. No one is sure what to do.”

  “They know what to do. Jürgen screwed it up.”

  “Cristina, why do you think Jürgen appointed you training Sergeant-at-Arms?”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “I believe it is essential to our survival to establish a basis of fundamental law, a frame of government. Jürgen has been thinking along those lines, too. He appointed you as a step in that direction. Furthermore, I think there’s a reason you haven’t jumped into this duty with gusto.”

  “What gives him the right to tell us what to do? Who put him in charge?”

  Vijay smiles, closes his eyes, and nods his head three times. “You are a free woman, Cristina Flores. You’ve possessed freedom in your heart all your life, I can see it. You learned to abide the rules of Global Harmony as a matter of survival. Now the pressure is released and your mind is running in every direction. Am I right?”

  This hombre reminds me a bit of Paco.

  “Why do they follow his every wor
d?”

  “Cristina, Jürgen is what we Hindu refer to as a bol bachan. A smooth talker. He can be inspirational, highly credible, charismatic. Such a person can accomplish much benefit, and much damage. He can be exasperating. Don’t let that keep you from doing your duty.”

  “Such a brilliant leader, why doesn’t he supervise technical training himself?”

  “People need a guiding figure, but at the same time they don’t want to be bossed around. Jürgen sees himself as a true leader, and as such he must be remote, hard to get to, almost like a god. But the supervisor, the Sergeant-at-Arms, watches everyone and makes sure we do what we don’t want to do.”

  I fold my arms. “This supervisor won’t be loved.”

  “Not loved, maybe even disliked, but perhaps respected. Jürgen may prefer them to be angry at someone rather than dwell on their fears.”

  “I’m supposed to be the new queen bitch?”

  “You don’t really want to be loved, do you, Cristina? Not the way Jürgen and most people want to be loved. Jürgen sees you can step on toes. Perhaps you enjoy doing so. This is a natural role for you. You are the Enlightenment, the reason for the first amendment.”

  What’s the first amendment? “Is that why you wanted to talk, to convince me to get off my ass and do my job?”

  “One minor reason, yes. More importantly, we need to begin thinking about a framework of self-government, a simple foundation of law.”

  Didn’t David talk about making rules and law?

  “Laws? We didn’t come out here to make another Autoridad.”

  “Of course not. I meant a simple and concise basis for our leadership structure and our decision-making process. We need a single elected leader with specific powers, a small governing assembly, and a formal expression of our lawful rights and responsibilities.”

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “Cristina, it has occupied my full attention for the past two days.”

  “How do you know about these things?”

  Vijay’s eyes soften. “I am a graduate of the National Law University at Jodhpur, and I am a member of the Bar Council of India. Although it may seem contradictory, the basis of liberty is the law. Harmony subjugated the United States before we were born. They eradicated almost all information on the history of the western nations that codified principles of due process and limited government. These ideas were never taught to you. Even where I come from, censored history must be laboriously uncovered . . . a dangerous undertaking. I made the mistake of discussing some wonderful ideas with a few trusted . . . friends . . .” He looks downward as if embarrassed. “Cristina, I apologize for rambling like a crazy man.”

  What did he just say? “Our own government. A method to reach our own decisions instead of always looking to Jürgen. We need that now.”

  Vijay squints and pats his hair.

  Our own government. Those words make my heart pound. “Our government. Not a new Autoridad. Our rights. Our responsibilities. Everything you said, plus a single leader elected by all of us.”

  He waves his hand. “Please do not jump ahead prematurely. This is a matter for we flight directors to consider over the coming weeks. Our survival must take priority.”

  “Survival! That’s exactly why we need this now.”

  I let the words sink in. Any leader would be better than Jürgen; three critical problems so far, and Jürgen either ignores them or makes a poor decision and persuades everyone to go along. Vijay should lead, or maybe Indra. They won’t want me, because I’m disliked and they consider me bossy.

  “Cristina, we must learn to walk before we try to run. Sudden freedom requires adjustment.”

  “The framework has to come first, right? Because the framework has the process of election and other details, decided by everyone together, correct?”

  His lips turn upward slightly. “Of course. The election must be fair and open so it will be accepted as legitimate. We have plenty of time to decide all this.”

  “What if we don’t have plenty time?”

  Vijay nods. “You’re thinking of the navigation situation?”

  “Will you help me?”

  His eyes narrow; he doesn’t like it much, but he understands.

  ◆◆◆

  We do it together, Vijay and me. The rest of them shake their heads in bewilderment as I pull them into the control center. We contact the other spacecraft and set the vids so they can see both of us.

  “We have a proposal,” Vijay informs everyone solemnly.

  I center my face on the screen. “Vijay has discussed some ideas with me that I think everyone should hear and consider.”

  Tess rolls her eyes. “Don’t wet the bed.”

  Am I supposed to take the bait? Instead I get to the heart of it directly. “We propose to create a simple government framework to organize our efforts and our rights.”

  They don’t utter a word, but they’re watching. Every one of them.

  Vijay says, “Cristina and I believe we should have a written foundation for decision-making, a charter.”

  “One elected leader with specified powers.” I look to Vijay; am I saying this right? “And a governing assembly, and a formal record of our rights and responsibilities.”

  Jürgen overrides the vid. “I agree with all that. I’ve scheduled a meeting for that purpose, tentatively set twenty-eight days after landing.”

  I jab the button. “What gives you the power to make that decision? You’re the flight director of your spacecraft, nothing more. These are decisions we should all make. Let’s vote on this now, today, all of us together.”

  Jürgen opens his mouth but an Asian girl on Independence cuts him off. “Did you say rights?”

  “I did!”

  “As in, the right to criticize whoever I want?”

  I glance at Vijay. He’s grinning. “Yes!”

  “This is Lane Jong. I think we should do that, the sooner the better. I’ll tell you this now. I have the right to say what I want. I have the right to be heard. Are we going to do that?”

  Ryder smiles. He even stops eating.

  I answer her, “The right to criticize. That’ll be our first guaranteed right.”

  My ears explode under the racket of everyone trying to talk at the same time.

  TWENTY-TWO

  It’s called a deliberative assembly, and once unleashed no one can restrain it, not even Jürgen.

  Thirty people can’t speak and be heard at once, but they can try. Vijay’s firm words cut through the chaos. “Order! We must have order, or we get nowhere!” The clatter diminishes and he continues. “Do I have consent to act as moderator? Yes? Then our first item is simply this. Do we wish to begin now or wait until after dinner?”

  A rowdy explosion of “Now!” settles the question.

  “Very well. I call us to order, our first deliberative assembly. We have earned this. So let us begin.”

  One blank doc appears on the net: Provisional Transit Charter. Someone mirrors a copy to the master panel of all five spacecraft. Vijay tells us, “The key is simplicity. It is not our purpose to write a comprehensive set of laws at this moment. Today we focus on the fundamental framework and a leadership structure.”

  Paige points a food bar at the panel. “We vote on this!”

  I answer for Vijay. “That’s a given.”

  Mikki stops chewing long enough to speak. “You better not be planning to run our lives!”

  Vijay takes this one. “We all retain our sovereignty. The governing powers we grant will exist by the consent of the governed, which is all of us.”

  Sovereignty? I’ll figure it out later. They’re all screaming again. Everyone wants something, and they want to see it listed right now.

  Our texts stay private from everyone else.

  Nobody can stop us from meeting together and talking about anything we want to talk about.

  We each decide what’s the most important to us.

  I touch the bump in
my right chest pocket, the rosies. “Nobody can take our possessions away from us.”

  “No secrets!” barks a male voice. The stubble-coated face fills the vid from Resolute. “No lies, no hiding, we all have the right to know!”

  “We can’t very well protect against lying,” Vijay responds. “All legislative docs and the minutes of all policy meetings shall remain public and unlocked.”

  “This so-called leadership structure, it better leave us alone. No one controls my life anymore!” says Jessica, also on Resolute.

  Vijay tells her, “Our Charter will limit the powers of the government. We will be free from meddling, free to choose what’s best for ourselves.”

  The idea of free expression comes up again and again. “Get that part in right now!” Paige shouts. “Nobody takes anything off the net, and we can say and write anything we want!”

  “Freedom of expression,” Vijay assures her, “Is now codified in Article One, Section One.”

  The Charter lists articles, each article organized into sections. Vijay supplies details for each suggestion, combining some points and responding to changes and disagreements as they occur. His mental stamina never falters. We take short breaks, but Vijay never lets up.

  The Charter and the Articles within it apply to everyone. No special cases.

  Once ratified, the Charter cannot be changed without holding a special assembly, a convention, and that requires a two-thirds majority vote.

  There will be a single leader, a captain, elected or re-elected annually by vote. The captain can be removed by a two-thirds majority. The captain can appoint up to three assistants, each with specified duties, each subject to a two-thirds majority confirmation.

  An order from the captain carries the weight of law, except that the captain alone cannot alter or violate the terms of the Charter.

  The captain can issue an emergency decision at any time. But matters of planning that affect everyone will be addressed in an open forum, the time for which must be announced twenty-four hours in advance. Anyone can attend. We each get a minimum of ten uninterrupted minutes to voice our opinion.