by James Duggan
There were knowing smiles and glances passed around the room.
“No need to include kids on the trip then. With time on their hands they can make their own.” said Ringo, in matter of fact fashion.
His quip lightened the mood on what was actually a very sombre meeting before Sophia was invited to continue.
“The next tier of the pyramid consists of ‘Safety’. This includes such things as ‘Personal and Financial Security’ and ‘Health and Well Being’. Whether these can be satisfied or not is a very subjective view of one’s own situation.
As for personal safety, in spite of all the danger space travel has so far proved to be very safe. All space exploration deaths have occurred within our atmosphere or on the ground. The dangerous part has always been the actual launch and re-entry. Again we have Mister Ringo to thank for minimising that danger with his new technology.”
There was another pause as the seriousness of what they were all planning struck a collective nerve. But there were no other options on the table and the human instinct for survival told them all they had to at least try. It was Ringo who again put the risk into perspective.
“Whether the travellers get hit by a wayward asteroid or not is another matter, but in fact there is more likelihood of being killed by a bus. Space is a very big place.”
There were nods of agreement from around the table, but there was also recognition of the irony of the statement. It was after all a rogue dwarf planet from the asteroid belt which was forcing them to make these preparations to evacuate Earth. Sophia was anxious to move on.
“As for ‘Financial Security’, well it should become obvious there will be no need for money. It will eventually be remembered by all on the flight as the so called ‘root of all evil’. All their day to day needs will be provided for within the closed environment of the Cube.
That leaves us with only ‘Health and Well Being’. Our health will only be in danger from those ailments we take with us and every effort should be made to ensure no nasty contagious stuff is taken on board. It would be ironic for a nucleus of the human race to escape certain death by asteroid only to be wiped out by a self inflicted nasty little bug.
We should also ensure that the medical contingent allowed on board have a good spread of knowledge to tackle any ailments which do develop.”
Gambiadini was only too well aware of the requirements regarding the latter since NASA already had well established procedures for eliminating the risk of on-board infections.
“We’ll have to step up our screening systems to cater for so many people. The more we take the greater the risk. I’ll get my people on that straight away. What else is there Sophia?”
“The next tier is a bit more problematic. It involves ‘Love and Belonging’; with social interaction being a prime element. Again we will need to screen candidates for their psychological makeup. These people are going to be in close confinement for perhaps years on end. It wouldn’t do to have disruptive elements on board creating factions with conflicting interests.”
Gambiadini again confirmed NASA had that covered.
“What’s the fourth tier Sophia?”
“Well actually the fourth tier, together with the fifth, are kind of inter-related. ‘Esteem’ and ‘Self-actualisation’ are the feeling of wanting to give of the best you have and be recognised for it. We all want to be loved and respected, but we have to earn that recognition. So pick your people carefully for what they have to offer the community as a whole. The rest will fall into place naturally if you get it right.”
“Okay Sophia.” said Gambiadini, thoughtfully.
“Thanks for your input. We’ll bear it all in mind. I just hope we can work it out and get the mix right. It might prove to be the hardest part of all. There are no guarantees of success.”
“Well that’s a fact.” said Sophia, hesitantly.
Buck, who had remained silent as he listened to the Professor’s analysis with some apprehension, sensed there was more to hear.
“Sophia, I think Carl could be right. The psychological aspects of this venture might be harder to sort out than the technicalities. Is there some other way we might minimise the problem?”
“Well Maslow pretty much got it nailed as far as I’m concerned, but he was arriving at his conclusions based upon life around him. What we need to do is re-create as far as is humanly possible an Earth environment in space. I hesitated to raise this since I am not sure what is possible within the timeframe; or indeed the technology.”
Buck was intrigued. He respected her input so far and wanted to draw her out. If there was a way of improving the likelihood of the continuance of the human race he wanted to hear it.
“Well Ringo here has given us the opportunity of putting pretty much whatever we like up there; that is if he can make it work.” said Buck, glancing at Ringo.
“It’ll work…it’ll work.” interrupted Ringo, reproachfully.
“Yes, I must have more confidence in him. When he gets it working we can deliver whatever we want into space; subject only to the time available. Given an ideal scenario, what would you like to see included in the Cube?” asked Buck.
“Well, as I said, we need to re-create our earthly environment in space as far as possible. William Blake, whether he realised it or not, got it about right in his poem ‘Jerusalem’ when he spoke of ‘England’s green and pleasant land’.”
Buck, who came originally from the equally green and pleasant land of Ireland, recognised immediately where she was going with this.
“Of course! Kill two birds with one stone. Get some vegetation up there. Quick growing edible greenery has all sorts of advantages.” he exclaimed.
Sophia nodded and smiled at Buck’s quick grasp of what she was leading up to.
“It will also have considerable therapeutic value in the overseeing of its cultivation, not to mention the fact that green is considered to have a relaxing influence on the mind; especially amongst all those hard, shiny silver metal surroundings.” said Sophia.
“Three.” said Ringo, in corrective tone.
“Three…what’s three?” said Buck, slightly wrong footed in his thought process.
“Three birds mate.” said Ringo, vaguely.
“What three birds?”
“Well you said ‘kill two birds with one stone’ but you mentioned three.”
“Well yes. It’s just a figure of speech…mate.” replied Buck slightly irritated.
He continued his theme whilst wondering if Ringo was actually from this planet.
“If we use the rotary hydroponic system of cultivation it will maximise the use of space and increase crop productivity. What do you think Carl?”
“Sounds like a plan to me…mate.” said Gambiadini, smiling broadly at Ringo’s use of the title when addressing people.
Buck was catching on to the theme of Sophia’s reasoning.
“What else would you suggest Sophia?”
“Well the human mind is a complex organism. It needs constant stimulation. If it doesn’t get it, meltdown can be the result. That’s why people go stir crazy when placed in solitary confinement. If we really do have the ability to put up whatever we want I would suggest we include various means of entertainment.”
Eyebrows were raised around the table.
“Don’t you think we are getting a little carried away?” said General Armstrong.
Until now he had contributed little to the discussion, but in his opinion this suggestion was taking things a bit too far.
“Oh, I’m not talking theatres and shows and such like, but we have the ability to put virtually the entire Library of Congress on board in the form of digital books readable on all kinds of electronic devices. Every other country with similar facilities could do the same. That should keep the population occupied indefinitely, not to mention the preservation of human history and its way of life.”
“Why stop there?” said Buck, warming to the idea of the health of the mind as well as the
body.
“Surely the same applies to visual entertainment in the form of film and television. There must be hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of hours already available in digital form. I know if I was stuck up there I would want to have my mind taken off our predicament from time to time and wallow in some imaginary scenes from a bygone age. Whether it be drama, light entertainment or music it must surely be a beneficial distraction from their inevitable collective loneliness; a sort of sophisticated desert island discs solution.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” said Sophia.
She was pleased that someone other than herself had the insight to buy into her vision of life on the Cube.
“There is one other thing which I think we should consider. It requires minimal extra equipment and it will greatly enhance life in the infinite blackness of space.” she said, hesitantly.
“Tell us what it is. If it’s doable, we’ll do it.” said Buck, enthusiastically.
“Well it has to do with our body clocks. A day in the life of an astronaut in orbit is only about an hour and a half whereas deep space is interminably dark. There is no night and day out there and that in itself throws our general wellbeing and sleep patterns out of sync. If we could create the twenty-four hour cycle artificially with some imaginative lighting the benefits would be immense.”
Buck glanced at Gambiadini, who nodded.
“Sophia it looks like NASA can do that, so we’ll try and accommodate your idea on the Cube.”
She was pleased with the result and smiled graciously.
“I was reluctant to raise all these issues not knowing what was possible and what wasn’t.”
General Armstrong, still thinking about the more practical aspects of her suggestions, was clearly becoming exasperated and was beginning to voice it.
“For fuck’s sake, why not include a swimming pool and a gymnasium while we’re at it?” he said, with more than a little sarcasm.
Gambiadini latched on to his remark and voiced his opinion based upon experience.
“Well General, I think a swimming pool would be stretching Ringo’s abilities a bit too far.” he said, with a grin.
“But I see no problem with an exercise regime of some sort being included. After all we already have our astronauts working a treadmill to try and keep their muscles toned up and minimise bone decay. A more elaborate gymnasium sounds feasible to me. What do you say Ringo?”
“No problem there mate. A cube can contain whatever you want. In fact that’s exactly what they are…containers; a standard module for everything. It’s a one size fits all solution and that in turn should facilitate production. The only restraint will be the time available to include all this stuff before we’re all snuffed out.”
The room fell silent for a moment as Ringo’s remark reminded them of the impending doom. It gave Gambiadini time to reflect on Buck’s original idea for the Cube. Now that they were getting down to detail he felt the concept would have to be reviewed in terms of practical design.
“Buck I know your idea for our inter-galactic life raft was based upon the Rubik’s cube, but now that we’re getting a feel for what’s required I think we may have to reconsider how it all fits together. It seems to me we have three basic functions to plan for. The most obvious is the accommodation pods. The second is food production requirements and the third is the need for leisure and entertainment facilities.”
“That about sums it up.” said Buck, almost casually.
Gambiadini sat thoughtfully for a moment before voicing his thoughts further.
“Well I have the germ of an idea which should enable us to blend your cube idea with all these other extras. It includes housing them in arterial arms linking the accommodation pods to form a gigantic cube. All the pods are a standard size. The variation is in what they contain. Think of a square Swiss cheese with square holes and it will give you some idea of what I have in mind.” said Gambiadini.
“Carl, I don’t really care what it looks like as long as it does the job. My original cube idea was an effort to keep it simple for ease of construction. We don’t have the time to fanny around with fanciful shapes and pretty appearances. As long as it’s functional that’s all I care about.”
“Leave it with me.” said Gambiadini, confidently.
“I’ll get my people on it and come up with a working system ASAP. As I said once before, we already have the docking technology. It’s just a question of what’s practical.”
There was general agreement around the room that a lot of progress had been made that day. Life on the Cube had been mapped out. Now it was just a question of waiting for Ringo to wrap up the advanced science.
As the gathering left the room Buck drew Gambiadini to one side.
“Carl, see if you can find room for a seed bank on board. I think it might be useful if ever they come across a suitable planet for habitation.”
“I’ll try.” said Gambiadini, soulfully.
“I’ll try. Are you sure there’s nothing else you’d like to order up?” he added, grinning broadly.
“If I think of anything I’ll let you know.” said Buck, returning the grin.
“I think we’ll find all the things we said today will probably cover most of it though.” he added, as they parted company.
***
THE PURSUIT.
SLIM McCoy Was a hard man to track down especially when he didn’t want to be found. As a trained astronaut he had a superior intellect, natural technical knowhow and an animal’s instinct for survival.
However, this was one disaster neither he nor anyone else was about to survive; other than some of those directly involved in the exodus project. His way of dealing with the remaining three years of his life was to embark upon a hedonistic lifestyle funded by ill gotten gains.
His astronautical career had been brought to an abrupt end by an ill conceived attempt to climb the face of the Mount Rushmore Monument in Dakota alone and without the usual climber’s apparatus. He had just about reached the point where he could pick Lincoln’s nose when he lost his grip on an uncooperative overhang. In the fall which inevitably ensued he broke a leg, an arm, lost an eye and suffered severe concussion. It left him with a legacy of unpredictable blinding headaches; often leading to blackouts.
He was a thrill seeker from childhood finding it impossible to pass a tree without climbing it to get nearer the heavenly stars. It was basically what led him to become an astronaut. How much closer to the stars could he get by any other means than that?
The loss of his astronaut status hit him hard and temporarily turned his mind. He slipped into a life of booze, womanising, fast cars and thrill seeking. It was the latter which was to be his eventual downfall.
All the efforts of the FBI to find him had been in vain. He seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth; ironic in the circumstances. The leaders of the search were becoming frustrated. Gambiadini more so since he felt a man like McCoy was born to do the job he had in mind for him. There were others, but none with the devil-may-care attitude to life he had. Mike McConnell was embarrassed that an organisation of which he was the head was proving to be so impotent.
Buck waited impatiently while the search continued. If McCoy was the man for the job, then he needed to get him on board while there was still time for him to be trained in what was expected of him.
Finally the all important call came through.
“We’ve got him.” said McConnell, excitedly and without introduction.
Buck was momentarily wrong footed.
“Got who?”
“McCoy…McCoy. We’ve got him locked up in a cell in police headquarters in Vegas.”
“What’s he locked up for?”
“Card counting. The casinos don’t like it. They think it puts their unfair advantage at risk and it’s outlawed in every gambling joint in Nevada.”
“How can that be a crime? Surely if a man is cute enough to be able to memorise the deal then he should be
allowed to do so.”
“Yeah, well that’s another story. The fact is we’ve got him.”
“How did you find him after all this time?”
“Well it was more by luck than judgement. When he was picked up he wouldn’t give his name so they fingerprinted him and ran the prints through the national file. They couldn’t find a match at first because he hadn’t got a criminal record. They were stuck for an answer until some bright young rooky thought he recognised him from the bills we’d been handing out. He asked Gambiadini to run the prints through the NASA personnel base; hey presto, Slim McCoy.”
“Well I need to speak to him…and soon.” said buck, urgently.
“We can only hold him for another twenty-four hours. They’ve had him for six days already. Then we’ve got to let him go.”
“Don’t lose him. I’ve just got to speak to him. Hold him for spying if you have to, but find a way.” said Buck, sharply.
“See what I can do.” said McConnell, as the line went dead.
The next day Buck was on a plane for Las Vegas.
***
The sheriff’s office was buzzing with activity. The news media had got wind of their celebrity inmate. Everyone was aware the search had been on and the pursuit had finally ended here after nearly four months. The media were running out of angles on the day to day approach of Ceres and were looking for fresh material. They wanted to know what role this maverick astronaut had to play in this impending tragedy.
Buck approached the desk sergeant.
“I want to see one of your residents.”
Without looking up the harassed official simply snarled.
“Name?”
“McCoy.”
The officer slowly raised his head.
“Not him son…your name. Everyone and his great aunt wants to see him. Nobody is to get near McCoy until some guy by the name of Buchanan has first shot at him.”
Buck was slightly amused at being called ‘son’ by someone who was clearly younger than himself.
“Well Pa, Buchanan’s here. Take me to your man.”