Missing: The Lost Colony Series, Part One Page 3

  "Dewarping in ten seconds," came another male voice from the cockpit.

  "This is it!" Sally said, giving Morgan's hand a squeeze.

  "Here we go!" came the voice of the African-American Darius Centra, seated on the right hand side of Sally.

  "Three, two, one…” The magnificence of the Milky Way suddenly appeared all around them as they left warp. The star Constantine blazed from above, illuminating the surface of the roughly Earth-sized planet far below. To the crew, it appeared to be about the size of a beach ball held at arm's length. Epsilon was almost all blue, covered with a very Earth-like swirl of white clouds. Right below them was the planet’s one and only landmass, named Tectonia. The continent was roughly the size and shape of Argentina.

  "Well, will you look at that," Darius said, awestruck.

  "Dewarp successful," the pilot, Dexter Ward, said. "We are confirmed to be within five kilometers of our target position. The weather at Serenity Bay is a pleasant twelve degrees Celsius, and the local time is 13:10. We’ll commence powered descent in a few minutes." Any spaceship coming out of warp flight did so with no velocity relative to the celestial bodies around it. So had Hercules wanted to enter orbit around Epsilon, she would have had to fire her reaction engines with a high level of thrust in order to gain enough lateral velocity to enter orbit. In this case, however, a simple fall from 20,000 kilometers sufficed. The ship would be in free fall for twenty-four minutes, until she was 10,000 kilometers from the surface. Then, she would begin to propulsively brake using downward facing rockets.

  Sally’s grin was as broad as a Cheshire cat’s. “Last few minutes of weightlessness!"

  "I can't wait to get down there," Morgan said.

  "Same," Darius said. Similar babbles of excited chatter went on around them. As the entire inside of the passenger compartment was one giant window, all the seats and their occupants appeared to be floating in space.

  "We've got to be picking up a lot of speed in our descent," Darius said, "though it's not perceptible yet." Tectonia looked brown and gray, similar to a typical continent on Earth when viewed from space. It was summer in the northern hemisphere, so the continent was streaked only by thin, wispy bands of cloud. Morgan raised her head to shield her eyes from Constantine’s light, and squinted somewhere above the heads of the crew members in front of her for several seconds. Then she pointed. "Look! There's Diomede!"

  "Yep," Sally said, looking up. Epsilon's only satellite, a chunk of rock roughly two kilometers across, moved slowly against the background of stars. This was partly due to the rapid plunge of the ship towards the planet's surface, but also due to Diomede's movement in the eternal circle it made around Epsilon at the height of roughly 24,000 kilometers. Diomede was a mere dot, set against the backdrop of the magnificent band that was the Milky Way.

  “That’s odd,” the ship’s navigator, Faith Locke, said. “Radar’s showing a large metal object about 12,000 kilometers away.”

  “It is?” the captain, Craig Martelle, said.

  “Yeah. It’s nearly as big as we are.”

  “There was nothing anywhere near Epsilon on the surveys except Diomede.”

  “It’s in a perfectly circular orbit, too. That rules out its being some kind of metallic asteroid captured by the planet’s gravity; its orbit would be highly elliptical otherwise.”

  “What the hell is it?” the Dexter asked.

  “I… have no idea,” Faith said. Morgan, Sally, and Darius exchanged concerned looks.

  “Can we get a clearer radar image?” the captain asked.

  “Negative. That fuzzy outline is as good as we’ll get from this far away,” Faith said.

  “Then send commands to one of the orbiting telescopes to zero in on it.”

  “Yessir.” Faith turned around. “Chris?”

  “Yes?” the astronomer replied.

  “There’s a UFO out there. We need one of the orbiters to try and get an image of it. I’m sending you its orbital elements now.”

  “Uh, okay. That’s going to be tricky; they weren’t designed to take pictures of other orbiting objects.”

  “Nuts to that! They were taking pictures of spacecraft entering Mars’ atmosphere from orbiting cameras as far back as the 2010s. Make it happen!”

  “Will do.”

  Chris pulled up a midair display, roughly the size of two large computer monitors, in front of him. On it was shown the orbital track of the unidentified object projected on a map of Epsilon’s surface. Also shown were the position of five orbiting probes, all of which sported high-resolution cameras with extremely long range telephoto lenses. One of the objects was the courier probe Ulysses, which would warp home after a day or so, carrying their initial communications and news. But the probe was currently on the other side of the planet, and would not enter communications range for several hours. Everything they sent would be buffered in a server on board Hercules and passed on automatically to Ulysses when it was possible to do so. “Orbiter two oughta do it,” Chris said to himself as he touched the icon for that spacecraft.

  Sally was looking over Chris’ shoulder as he worked. “How complex is that going to be?”

  “Well, there isn’t a built-in command for this, so there’s a bit of programming involved.” Chris began entering code in another window.

  “Are we go to continue the descent?” Dexter asked.

  “Is the UFO doing anything besides sitting there in orbit?” Martelle asked.

  “No sir,” Dexter said. “It appears to be passive.”

  “Then yes, we’ll continue the descent. But keep a close eye on it.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Present Time

  Sweat formed beads on John’s wide forehead, threatening to become full-fledged droplets and run down his face.

  “You don’t look so good, John,” Nandi said, as they waited for the doors of the large meeting room to open.

  John drew in a long, deliberate breath, and exhaled slowly, puckering his lips. “I have to get on this crew. God, my heart’s going ten to the dozen.”

  “If you keep going like that you’re going to have a full-on panic attack,” Nandi said, in her gentle, calming manner. She touched John’s forearm. “I can tell how much you want to be on the Atlas. You want to help people. That’s in your nature. That’s commendable, whether you make it on the crew roster or not.”

  John looked away. “Thanks,” he said. “I talked to Bob about it, and let him know how much I needed it.”

  Nandi nodded. “I hope it makes a difference. But if I know Bob…” Nandi stopped abruptly, self-conscious.

  “You were going to say he’s a hardass.”

  “Or words to that effect,” Nandi admitted. “But you deserve it, John. If I had a say in it, you’d go.”

  John chuckled and nodded. I deserve nothing; only to be locked up with the key thrown away. Still, talking to Nandi always did his heart good, in a way that Misti never could. Misti tried her best, but she lacked the…consciousness? The whatever-it-was that made humans human, and made one heart be able to touch another. That thing was infinitely precious and holy. Some people gave it away, and some didn’t. John admired those who did. He couldn’t, lest someone burrow too deep and find the apple that he was to be rotten to the core. And over the last five years, couldn’t had turned to wouldn’t.

  * * * *

  John was awoken from his reverie by the doors sliding open. Then 150 people filed in and took their seats. John sat on the far left, about halfway back, and Nandi slid in next to him. Bob took the podium. The hard lines on his face looked even deeper than usual. Any cheer the man possessed was gone, replaced by a permanent frown, as recent events took their toll on him.

  “Okay, well, there’s no ceremony required here,” he said, once everyone was seated. “You want to know one thing only right now: did you make the crew roster for the much-revised mission we’re still calling CM-2?”

  There was complete silence from the audience.

  “I
will now read the names of those selected to fly:

  “Captain Hans Weber,

  “Chief Mate Daniel Golden,

  “Second Mate Mark Alioto,

  “Pilot Jake DiMaso,

  “Pilot Zachary Polan,

  “Navigator Catherine Goldberg,

  “Chief Engineer Michael Van Buren,

  “Chief Navigation Engineer Nikolai Cronin,

  “Second Navigation Engineer Benjamin Sanchez,

  “Chief ZPR Propulsion Engineer Henry Olson,

  “Second ZPR Propulsion Engineer Lizzie Short,

  “Chief Warp Systems Engineer Oliver Soto,

  “Second Warp Systems Engineer Josh Prisching,

  “Chief Physician Nandi Xie,

  “Second Physician Haruka Kaneko,

  “Chief Life Support Engineer Grace Houren,

  “Second Life Support Engineer Max Tucker,

  “And Nutrition Specialist Joey DiMaso.

  We have pared it down to the minimum amount of crew to safely operate a Hercules class vessel…”

  Not on the list? It’s not possible, John thought. It’s just not possible…

  John’s hands were clasped in his lap. All sounds muted as he floated in his own shocked, bereaved bubble.

  Nandi put her delicate hand onto his hands, cupping his large, pointed knuckles. She looked at his snow-white face, biting her bottom lip. She had no words to comfort John.

  * * * *

  Eventually, the meeting ended. Everyone rose, in staggered groups, a select few wearing wide grins. The others looked despondent, serious. Few words were exchanged as they trooped out.

  John rose slowly to his feet, looked around at the now nearly empty space, and followed Nandi towards the door. They made their way through the throng outside and headed left. John now took the lead, and Nandi followed him away along the gently-curved corridor.

  “Wait! Slow down!” she said urgently as he picked up a good pace. John only sped up. Nandi, wearing a pained expression, slowed to a stop, looking at his back as he marched off.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Two hours after the crew selection meeting, another group of around 150 people sat in a similarly large room, facing the front. A few of those present had also been at from the previous gathering: anybody who was an engineer. At the podium stood Stephanie Latty the head of space engineering, and well known to everyone assembled. She wore a gray business suit and long, straight, blonde hair, and fairly masculine features.

  “So, we have a monumental task ahead of us, ladies and gentlemen. Some of you are crew members on the Atlas, but the vast majority are ground-based techs and engineers. Our job now is to get Atlas ready to fly in just two months instead of six. This includes the non-warp space trials. She will now leave, on the revised schedule, for the Constantine system on December 24th.” There were murmurs of dismay around the room. “The crew will work with the ground-based folks to get the ship ready in what is admittedly far too short an amount of time. Not all her systems are even complete yet. For example, life support’s sitting at 94%. The ZPR drive system’s is at 89%. The warp drive system’s 100%, but only in terms of its base construction. These numbers may sound like they’re not too far off, but with no testing on any of it, let alone systems integration testing, they’re far from ready. The gravitometer array, for instance, hasn’t undergone any of its extensive programming and dialing in process…

  “A Hercules class ship is the most complex thing ever built by mankind, and our job is to get her ready to fly in record time. You will be working around the clock, in three shifts. You’ll be assigned your shift at the end of this meeting. But—and this stays strictly in this room—if you have to cut a non-life-threatening corner here and there to get the job done, then do it. Atlas has to leave Earth for space trials a week prior to December 24th, at any cost.” She paused to let the last line sink in. There were nods and murmurs of assent. “I’ve kept my points to the essentials to allow time for questions, so the floor is now open.”

  One largish man with a fringe of hair around an otherwise bald head put up his hand. “You mentioned cutting corners, as it were. But, surely being flight ready in two months can’t come at the expense of quality?”

  Stephanie looked up thoughtfully, and then returned her gaze to the questioner. “December 24th was decided on by the administrator and the board of directors. So, Atlas flies on that date. That’s it. We clear?” Because my promotion comes at any cost, Stephanie added in her head.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “European coffee just blows anything you can get in America right out of the water,” John said. “There’s a richness and taste to it that’s just…” he searched for the right word.

  “Delightful?” Nandi said.

  “Enchanting. That’s it.”

  Nandi smiled. “I would have to agree with you there.”

  The pair sat in a small cafe, with exposed rustic beams on the ceiling and light yellow walls. It was busy, being right on the waterfront on Strandvagen, one of the richest and most beautiful districts in Stockholm. The IDSA’s launch site was in northern Sweden. So, they had been able to reach Stockholm easily by vee-tol. The gales and snow of early December added to the charm for those inside. Outside, people walked with scarves over the necks of their thick ski jackets and their heads bowed down into the wind.

  “How’s your end of things going, with only three weeks left?” John asked.

  “Checklists and more checklists. Ugh. Being a doctor on a spaceship isn’t as glamorous as it sounds.” Nandi smiled. Her always cheerful demeanor carried her through anything life could throw at her.

  John smiled too. He had now had several weeks to come to terms with not flying on Atlas.

  “I wish they needed two second navigation systems engineers. But they’ve just gone with one secondary person of every discipline. I’m not sure what makes Ben Sanchez more qualified than me.” Then, John’s tone turned from resignation to concern. “I hope they aren’t picking up on my neuroses and thinking about demoting me…”

  “No disrespect, John, but I sometimes wonder how you made it through the selection process. I mean, you’re a great and extremely clever person, but…”

  John frowned and bunched his lips together for a few seconds, then looked Nandi in the eyes. “I faked the personality tests.”

  “You what?”

  “I faked them.”

  “But… the MMPI 5 is supposed to be 100% watertight…”

  “I got hold of a copy of it beforehand and tried dozens of answer combinations until all the scales were in the normal range. It took a lot of hacking skills to get the scoring algorithms, and I practically have a degree in psychology from studying the meanings of the outputs.”

  “Good grief! You never cease to surprise me, John Rees.” Nandi shook her head. “I wouldn’t have thought it was possible.”

  “Anything’s possible if you want it badly enough.”

  “Well, that’s true, I guess. But, there wasn’t just testing. They assessed us in detail on all the teamwork and training exercises to see our reactions to stress and other factors. They have the best psychologists in the world. How’d you get past that?”

  “Conditioned responses.”

  “How?”

  “I made a VR world, and paid some people to go in there with me and do exactly those types of exercises. Only some of them had to act like total assholes, to put pressure on me so I could get my responses down. I spent months going through it all on my own time.”

  Nandi just looked at John, her mouth open wide. “I’m speechless,” she managed, eventually. “I had absolutely no idea.”

  John pursed his lips and nodded.

  “So your entire life is a lie?”

  “Within the walls of the IDSA, yes.”

  Nandi was quiet for a minute or so. She took a sip of her coffee, and looked thoughtfully out of the quaint wood framed window, across the water. John exhaled slowly, looked down into his drink, and tapped
the side of the bone china cup, sending circular ripples reverberating across the liquid. He then followed Nandi’s gaze outside.

  Several minutes passed between them in silence before Nandi set her cup back on its saucer and returned her attention to John. “How do I know if anything you tell me is the truth? How do I know I’m really talking to John Rees and not some set of pre-rehearsed responses?”

  “I give you my word. Honestly, it was only to get into the astronaut corps.”

  “But… if you capable of deception on such a grand scale, how do I know whether you’re doing it right now?”

  “I… I’m not. It’s just for teamwork and professional situations.”

  Nandi examined John’s face closely. She crossed her legs, then picked up her cup again and resumed looking out of the window.

  “Come on Nandi, I just wanted to relax today. We don’t get many days off. Let’s not fight. Please?”

  Nandi sighed and turned back to face John. “Just give me some time to process it all, okay?”

  John turned his palms up. “Of course. Take all the time you need…” This is where AIs beat humans, John thought. They dumbly accepted anything you said. They’d never criticize your attitude, though to John, even a mild confrontation cut like a knife. He patted his right hand pants pocket, where Misti lay dormant, without even thinking about it.

  John wanted more than anything to be accepted, to be loved. Had he been arrogant in even trying to be an astronaut, much less an interstellar one? Should he have chosen something technical, maybe based on one of the planets instead? Something where a lapse in judgment caused by an involuntary triggering of his anger or fear wouldn’t put people in danger? Still, it probably wasn’t an issue now. He would only watch from the sidelines. CM-2 would likely be the last manned interstellar mission. At least in his lifetime.