The BOOK

Chapter
One
January 24, 1996 – San Bernardino, CA
The excited man sitting in the dimly lit room slams down the phone,
creating a notable echo in the large space, which he alone occupies. His
heart seems to add a powerful rhythm around the noise that he so recently
produced. To complete the non-harmonious melody, the male silhouette’s
breathe feverishly cycles between inhalation and exhaust.
As the obscure male figure stares at the picture on the screen, he
wonders whether this is a dream, or if his older co-workers are conducting
some sort of prank. He begins to ponder the possibilities if what he believes
he sees…is what he really sees. The great discovery will surely remove him
from his nightshift duties and present him with a more highly regarded
position. Thank the Lord; he worked through the summer to finish his
degree, so he could land this entry-level job, which has all of a sudden
become a gold mine.
While the anxious male of only twenty-two waits for his supervisor to
come witness the moment, his bewildered brain continues to invite scattered
thoughts inside. What will his old school friends think after they observe his
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smiling face on the front page or on the “World News”? They will no longer
be using him as the blunt of their jokes, simply because he choose, what they
referred to as, the geek route.
The aeronautical employee attempts to obtain a glimpse of the time,
but for some unknown reason, he cannot make out the hands on the clock.
He ignores the peculiarity, returning to the image that recently reached Earth
from nearly two billion miles away.
An abrupt thud jars him just enough to divert his attention from the
revelation on the monitor to the possible intruder, who flipped open the
door. He immediately recognizes the visitor as the man he called a few
minutes ago. The six-foot man with reddish blonde hair sports a goatee. A
sunflower seed has nestled its way into his thick facial hair.
“What is it?” the newcomer applies his deep tone into the previously
silent space.
“S…S…Sir? Look at this,” the nightshift man stutters, although he
wonders if he actually produced any sound.
“The Voyager 2?
Great!
A couple hours ahead of expected
reception,” his fur-lined jaw shucks the shells as he speaks.
“B…But look.”
The supervisor decides to obtain a peek at the monitor. It seems like
he stares at the “out of this world” photo for hours before swinging his sights
back at the younger gent. When he finally does, his expression is as much
altered, as it is unexpected. The suddenly upset foreman commences to
chew the seeds at an accelerated rate.
“You never seen this. I will erase it from the main frame. I will
adjust trajectory coordinates. Do you understand?”
“B, but sir?”
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“But what?”
“We don’t even know…I mean…what if it is what it looks like?”
“And if it is?”
“It would be the greatest discovery ever!”
“Like I said…I will get rid of all the evidence. No one will believe
you.”
“Do you realize what you are saying?” the recent college graduate
wonders if his words are reaching his ungrateful ears.
The excitement within this youthful being switches to a heavy shade
of confusion and an equal dose of fear. Why does his boss wish to hide the
information? Will he really destroy it as his threat implies?
As the older male figure reaches over to a printer and initiates a copy
command, the younger man looks down to the floor. A heaping pile of
empty sunflower seeds has accumulated between the bearded man’s feet.
Upon detection of the printer’s customary chatter, the twenty-two-year-old
looks up to see the most frightening sight? His own boss is pointing a
handgun directly towards his indistinct frame. The intimidating weapon
shines as if a brilliant light is aimed at its short barrel; however, the poorly
lit room has no source of illumination of such intensity.
“You should have went along,” the redheaded monster finalizes, as his
index finger squeezes the trigger.
An ear-piecing BANG sends a screaming jolt that penetrates the
sleeping man’s unconscious state. The sheer suddenness of the abstract
creation jerks the man, who involuntarily generated the dream, into a sitting
position. Much like the dim room in his recent nightmare, the bedroom is
too dark to distinguish his features.
3
After allowing a couple of moments in which to collect himself, he
realizes he has, once again, experienced the unwelcome dream. Although it
has been ten years since the event, he continues to have strange flashbacks,
each seemingly providing a different ending. The only saving grace he can
derive from the situation is the fact that it repeats less often as time goes on.
He wonders, though, if the only way to put an end to them is to announce his
great secret and get it off his chest.
Of course…if he does this, his
nightmares…will have just begun!
Chapter
4
Two
January 8, 2001 – Orlando, FL
“We have full cervix dilation,” a somewhat deep-toned male voice
ejects from a crouched position.
Within seconds of the man’s proclamation, a steady stream of
amniotic fluid issues from the young, pregnant woman’s vagina. As this
expected event unfolds, another male, dressed in similar light blue hospital
garb, veers his sights toward a device that provides two separate readouts in
the form of oscillating lines. The fetal heart rate seems to be in order, as
judged by the physician’s quick glance followed by a nonchalant look back
at the patient. The monitoring machine is connected to a belted plate, which
straps to the female’s enlarged abdomen.
The doctor; whose only
distinguishable features behind the surgical mask, hat, and gown are his
thick black-rimmed glasses and notable height, watches the moving
indication in anticipation for a uterine contraction.
The fancy gadget seems to be unnecessary, for at the very instant the
line increases in magnitude on the display window; the youthful patient lets
out a hearty scream.
“Mom! Oh god, this shit hurts,” the youth of just fifteen exclaims with
great emphasis.
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Her mother, who is only identifiable as such by her close position to
her daughter, squeezes the teen’s hand and looks toward the tall man, who
seems to be the one in charge. A nod and a soft close of his dark brown
eyes, which appear enlarged through the thick glass, informs her that things
are going well.
“Honey, everything is ok. It’ll be over soon. I’ll be here through
every step,” she comforts her daughter in a mildly persuasive tone.
“I’m so sorry mom. I should have listened. I’m so sorry. I should
have known Billy would do this. Oh god, he’s an asshole. What was I…”
“It’s ok, Alexia. It really is. Everything is going to be just like it was.
You’ll see,” the concerned mother attempts to convince her child.
A third hospital worker looks on as the two converse. Although
clothed identical as the others, her curving shape and long eyelashes
introduce her as a female; anesthesiologist in this case. The woman can’t
sway her thoughts away from the personal side of the situation. One lone
tear trickles from her duct and slowly clings to her cheek. A swift swipe
from her left forearm eliminates the emotional evidence almost as if done
more out of procedure than embarrassment.
Finally, the six-foot-four obstetrician expels a statement in a
commanding voice, “Ok, Miss Anderson, the next contraction will be soon.
We need to start the pushing part. When you do this, it is going to seem like
it makes everything hurt more. Just remember; the harder you work, the
sooner this will be over.”
“Ok, sir. I’ll do my best,” the pregnant teenager promises.
An unusual sensation comes over the elder of the two Andersons.
Was it created as a result of the total lack of sympathy in the doctor’s voice?
She has no past experience in childbirth procedures with the exception of the
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day Alexia was brought into the world. Is there not supposed to be more
compassion? A little bit more on the personal side? She scans the room,
stopping to study a second monitor; this one apparently turned off and not
connected. The device looks much like any other; in this case, bearing the
words “Reflectance Oximeter” on the upper left hand corner of the box-like
component.
Her attention to the un-energized contraption is broken when she
notices a light green sheet waving out of the corner of her eye. The shorter
male worker has placed a covering over most of the pregnant female’s body.
Alexia is the only person in the room with an exposed face. Although her
face shows the expressions of anxiety and pain, her blue eyes shine in a
manner that displays a cheerful outlook. Her long brown hair is a mess, and
her cheeks are puffy. Although she is a very thoughtful girl, she is far too
immature to care for a baby.
An irritating high-pitched wail fills the room, instructing the
occupants of the arrival of the awaited contraction.
“Alright, Alexia. Push…hard…go! I’ll tell you when to stop,” the
physician orders, while wrinkles can be detected behind his glasses caused
by his wincing to combat her scream.
“Come on, honey. Squeeze my hand. You can do it!” the mother
encourages in powerful intensity to overtake her daughter’s volume.
The combined forces of the uterine contraction and Alexia’s
attempted push exert a pressure on the unborn child’s buttocks, which begins
to force the head into her pelvis. The unaware fetus does not hear nor
understand the passionate emotions and hurried actions within the room; let
alone those of the rest of the world. The small life within the woman’s
stretched organs has not a clue to his future or purpose.
7
“Ok, Miss Anderson. That’s good. You can rest. Catch your breath.
The first one’s over,” explains the man in spectacles.
“Good job, baby. You’re doing so good. Mom’ll be with ya, baby,”
the mother vows in a much more reassuring tone than that of the doctor.
The young woman’s forehead begins to bead with noticeable sweat, as
she works feverishly to fill her lungs with sufficient oxygen to slow down
her rushed state. The female in the hospital gown softly presses a white
cloth against the laboring youth’s brow. The mother, while continuing to
hold her daughter’s hand, winks weakly at the kind gesture then
recommences her curious study of the room and its contents. A pair of green
cylinders, apparently full of gas, grab her attention. Her blue eyes, which
perfectly match those of her child’s, follow the plastic tubing into a clip-like
end that appear to be constructed for attachment to the nostrils. A similar
piece of equipment sits next to it. Like the oxygen supply outfit, two tanks
are nestled on a cart with wheels, although these are of a silver coating. The
end piece is more of a mask that would be used over the mouth and perhaps
nose as well.
An account for time seems to have eluded the mother, as her visual
methods are overtaken by her mental images. Soon, her thoughts are filled
with pictures of her own baby a decade and a half ago. A happy look settles
on her tiny girl, while mommy sings soft loving words into her undeveloped
ears. All the promise for a bright future shines right back at her through the
infant’s blazing blue eyes. Each year rolls by with colorful reminders like a
filmstrip in fast forward. As the daydreaming mother transfers her state
from the abstract memories into the concrete realities, a bewildered, if not
depressing, feeling invades. Why would these past events, which were
certainly full of nothing but happiness, deliver the opposite? Should she not
8
be excited and looking forward to this new beginning? She knows exactly
why the down beat emotion drowns out the positive outlook. However, she
chooses to tuck it away, deep down and out of sight. After all, at this point,
there is no turning back. Alexia has made her choice.
The unwelcome sadness is quickly erased from the forefront, upon
hearing the plea for help exerted from the teen’s vocal cords.
The
commands come from every direction, each one causing the others to
become an unrecognizable slur. The young woman’s pain and need to
remove the discomfort eliminate the need to comprehend their coaching
remarks. Alexia’s desire to push far outweighs the added displeasure it
creates.
The physician’s sights capture the baby’s crown as it finally becomes
visible. His focus immediately becomes more intense. He looks squarely at
the man next to him, motioning with his pupils to look down towards the
emerging child. The doctor steps back, allowing the other gentleman to
move in. Instead of reaching into position in an effort to aid in the expulsion
of the newborn, the assistant carefully presses his palm up against the baby’s
head, which, at this point, is nearly flush with the vaginal opening. The
man’s thick black brows strain, as he concentrates on this abnormal method
of parturition.
Suddenly, the doctor exclaims in a very concerned nature, “We have a
transverse!”
A pause follows with no interruption from the other workers. The
patient’s mother seems to be the only one that was affected by the news, as
her eyes jet open in a manner that signifies full attention.
9
“The child is sideways. We have no choice. We must take her under
and do a cesarean,” he hurries the obviously critical, although erroneous,
information.
“Oh my Lord,” Mrs. Anderson gasps.
“What do you mean?” Alexia wonders aloud in a befuddled way.
“We must place you unconscious,” he continues to speak with
authority, “It’s an emergency. Jenny? Give her a general. Quickly! We
have to cut in two minutes.”
The female hospital worker moves speedily, and soon has the mask
approaching the confused patient’s mouth.
“No! God, please, no!” she resumes, “A spinal? How bout that? I can
take it. Please, don’t knock me out.”
“There’s no time. I’m sorry. We will lose the baby…and maybe you!
Take her down now,” he explains in an extremely powerful tone, “Mom, you
will have to leave. Go to the waiting room. I will talk to you as soon as I
am able.”
As if the order was incontestable, the anesthesiologist places the mask
over the still screaming woman’s mouth.
“This is my only chance to see my baby! I am giving her up! Oh
please. How can you? You don’t understand,” the poor girl cries in a
muffled manner.
The nitrous oxide soon flows into her resentful lungs and, soon after,
works into her bloodstream. Meanwhile, her confused mother rushes to the
door, swings it open, and is immediately greeted by a woman in a normal
nurse’s uniform. In a friendly accent, the slender, attractive lady volunteers
to take her to the waiting room. Due to the emergency status and quickened
behavior, Mrs. Anderson did not question, nor speculate for that matter, as to
10
why the nurse was there and gave the impression that she knew of the
particulars of the situation that was underway. Later, in the waiting room,
she would connect with the peculiarities but dismiss them without delay,
assuming there was some nurse button to request assistance.
The chemical quickly travels through the teen’s arteries and feeds her
brain cells with its intoxicating effect. She struggles to maintain her vision;
but, within seconds, the room’s stable objects begin to exhibit a tendency to
float in random directions. Alexia slams down on her eyelids in an effort to
regain her balance and perhaps prolong her sobriety. Her efforts will not be
strong enough to claim victory over the gaseous anesthetic, which she has no
choice but to inhale. A vision of a beautiful baby in her arms will be the last
image she possesses, before a sea of blackness moves in to take it away.
“Keep the O2 high, Jen,” the physician instructs.
The sound of the door opening interrupts the female anesthesiologist,
preventing her from offering a response. Two men, dressed in white pants
and white zip up shirts, enter the room swiftly pushing a contraption on a
cart. The machine resembles an incubator with the exception of the ends,
which have some sort of black rubber attached. One end has so much rubber
that it hangs just inches shy of the yellow-tiled flooring. The bottom of the
cart is covered with a shiny silver material that looks much like piping
insulation. A few gages on the front decorate the mechanism, which stands
before the highly educated group within the medical quarters.
“Position and seal,” the no longer typical obstetrician orders.
Although the words were void of maternal meaning, the personnel
within the confines understand and act quickly and methodically.
The
original assistant continues to hold down cautiously on the newborn’s barely
exposed cranium.
He moves around the comatose female’s leg, which
11
remains in a stirrup. His hand stays in place, while his forearm now rests
gently upon her swollen abdomen. The purpose for this calculated change in
location instantly becomes evident when the two newcomers position the
strange contraption up against Alexia’s pelvic section. Without hesitation
the male nearest the patient begins sealing the rubber material to the skin of
her legs and buttocks. No tape is used, as a self-stick type substance coats
the under-side of the material. The assistant’s hand is pulled away from the
infant’s head and off of her belly, in order to allow the final sealing of the
system. The other man pulls a side panel away, opening the clear box to the
woman’s lower section. He sets the flat plexi-glass piece up against the cart
for later re-installation.
“Energize and verify operation,” the man in charge requires.
A faint click emits from the machine’s control panel upon toggling of
the switch.
An inverted alternating current via a portable battery
instantaneously invades the super-conducting disk behind the insulation.
The high tech Frisbee whirls at tremendous RPMs, issuing a whizzing sound
that would be considered queer if the listener wasn’t aware of its origin. The
man, who flipped the power switch, kneels down checking the three gages
before him. His muscular arm reaches toward the left most meter then pulls
back, as it increases in magnitude to an acceptable level. He scratches his
brownish, wavy hair, while he verifies adequate cooling from the liquid
nitrogen.
Without sufficient sub-cooling, the super-conducting material
gains resistance and loses its effectiveness.
“All systems green,” the operator exclaims upon checking
temperature, current flow, and interior weight.
“Very well. Commence withdrawal,” the leader of the group states,
while moving towards the back of the strange incubator.
12
Promptly, he slides his fingers into a pair of internal synthetic gloves,
much like those used in a sand-blaster. The operating technician wheels a
chair in the direction of the slumping man, which is accepted as displayed by
his quick sitting response. Inside the clear rectangular-shaped container is a
long dark gray, plastic box with a lid fastened in place. It is glued down to
the bottom of the end closest to the working physician. The fabric around
the man’s strong hands makes the seemingly simple task of opening the
interior holder quite difficult. The snap finally releases its hold, allowing the
cover to swing open on its hinges. A basic pair of forceps, which will help
him deliver the child and aid him in reaching the area of interest, are
snatched by his trained fingers.
The infant’s head is now approximately halfway out. The instrument
is utilized to slightly widen the birth canal as the baby slowly expels from
the involuntary contractions. Soon, the entire head is out, and the shoulders
appear.
The child’s head does not tilt downward, even though there is nobody
or nothing there to support it! This phenomenon does not surprise any of the
onlookers within the space, for it was an expected result. Less than a minute
later, the physician is pulling with gentle force, and the newborn is fully
removed from the birth canal. There the tiny boy lays…floating in mid air!!
Still, not a soul exhibits any indications in the area of disbelief or surprise.
Instead, smiles of accomplishment are planted on their faces, although not
visible due to the surgical masks.
Swiftly, the forceps are snapped back into the interior box, in order to
prevent the apparatus from suspending within the anti-gravity machine.
Two miniature clamps are retrieved from a second, smaller dispenser and
secured into position; one on each end of the child’s cord. A shiny pair of
13
scissors is then removed from the larger box. Without delay, the sharp
cutting tool is directed perpendicular to the umbilical cord.
The final
disconnection from the infant’s mother is made, and, as quickly as the
cutting tool was obtained, it is returned. The top of the box, which lays
inside the see-through, weightless world, is snapped closed with both tools
securely stowed.
The first noticeable sign of exertion emerges in the form of
perspiration upon the performing physician’s brow. His brown eyes strain to
keep focus, while his fingers fumble inside the gloves. He tries desperately
to negotiate the umbilical cord into a knotted position. His mind wonders
for the first time, if the feat will be successfully pulled off. Was this
seemingly uncomplicated portion of the procedure overlooked?
“Do you need someone to take over sir?” a voice from unknown
origin in reference to the somewhat frustrated doctor offers.
“I can get it. Just got to beat the placenta,” he continues, “Come on,
you stubborn thing!”
“Sir? You have it clamped. We can tie it later, if you wish,” the male
voice informs the all of a sudden confused obstetrician.
The words of advice fall on deaf ears. After a couple more failed
attempts, his patience prevails, and the baby’s former nourishment supply
line is tied. He quickly grabs the other end of the cord and reaches as far as
he can to position it as near the mother’s body as possible, in order to
prevent it from being cut during the next exercise.
“Lower side shield,” the tall man states, as he rises to his feet, pulling
his tired hands out from the rubber gloves.
An assistant promptly guides the panel in place much like a magician
inserting a steel plate in the middle of a box where a person lays helplessly.
14
He abruptly backs away, signifying completion of the small, but significant
task.
“Pull away,” orders the medical professional.
The assistant walks around to one side, while the male nurse takes the
other side. The man, who sealed the material to the unconscious woman’s
lower section; carefully, but swiftly pulls the sticky rubber away from her
skin. Seconds later, the two helpers initiate a move in the opposite direction,
thereby drawing it away from its initial placement.
The doctor in charge turns around and retrieves a dark blue blanket
that was purposely stowed for this moment. As he prepares to cover the
entire contraption, he looks down at the world’s newest arrival. For the first
time, he pauses to view the miracle of life. He is surprised to notice that the
young boy is crying and has been since he was introduced into the
weightless chamber. The baby appears healthy, and his mechanics are in
full throttle. The floating condition is no more foreign to him than the
normal atmosphere is to other children at this point in their lives. He does
not know the difference. The most obvious feature upon the bellowing
child’s face is his sparkling blue eyes; no doubt a blessing from his
biological mother.
Realizing that time is still the most precious commodity in this
operation, he jumps out of his thoughts and covers the baby and his
temporary home with the blanket.
“Transport?” one of the male nurses inquires.
“Transport,” he agrees.
The room’s three original participants watch, as the concealed cart
exits the room with the two men dressed as male nurses. A certain silence
fills the space. The turning wheels seem to issue no detectable sound. Even
15
the door meets the jam without presenting the room with any additional
noise. The silence is finally broken, when a wet, splash-like sound emanates
from the tile floor. Upon obtaining a glimpse of the unattractive placenta
and trailing blood, the room’s occupants are reminded that there is still work
to be done.
The tall doctor slowly steps over to a clipboard hanging on the nearby
wall, where the official data is to be entered. With the stroke of a fine black
ink pen, he begins jotting down information that pertains to the most recent
event. He wastes little time, for the numbers and words he places on the
paper are non-factual and already prepared. Under the comments section he
writes in the following: “The patient will experience symptoms resembling
those of a normal parturition. These are the result of the physician’s external
entrance through the birth canal in attempts to reposition the fetus”
He finally reaches the most telling detail regarding the sheet, where he
places a check for “deceased”.
“Ok, let’s make this cut and get out of here,” he finalizes.
As the shorter man begins to make the incision to present the
impression that a cesarean was performed, the anesthesiologist takes a deep
breath and exhales, “May god have mercy on our souls.”
The taller man looks over to the woman, dressed in her hospital gown,
then states, “We ARE god.”
16
Chapter
Three
17
February 7, 2001 – NBC News
“The space shuttle Atlantis has successfully launched on a 1.4 billion
dollar quest to space. Shortly after Six PM Eastern Standard Time, the
NASA guided craft lifted off into a clear evening sky from Kennedy Space
Center, Cape Canaveral, Florida,” the television newscaster continues, “The
Atlantis is carrying the fully habitable laboratory module Destiny, which is
scheduled for a Saturday rendezvous with the International Space Station.
NASA claims this to be the most important addition to the station, which
joins the efforts of sixteen nations. Destiny will be the heart of the station,
where unprecedented scientific research will take place in the near gravity
free environment.
The five member crew reports good health and no
problems associated with…….”
The anchorman continues on to explain the mission of the launch, as
well as that of the International Space Station. What he will fail to mention,
and certainly is completely unaware of, is the fact that there are more than
just five human occupants heading into the upper atmosphere. Somewhere,
nestled safely within the payload bay and inside the special laboratory, three
infants hover in their individual portable homes. Acceleration data is sent to
the machine’s regulator, thereby continually adjusting current flow
throughout the trip. As if riding atop the greatest shock absorbers ever
invented, they do not feel the effects of the launch velocity, nor do they
comprehend the remarkable journey they are embarking upon. In fact, they
do not even have the pleasure of each other’s company. What plans do those
18
involved have for these minors? What could possibly warrant such a risk,
let alone the morality pertaining to the stripping of a human’s most valuable
right? That of choice.
Meanwhile, two hundred and thirty miles away, a giant space station
supplied by an acre of solar panels orbits the earth. From a distance, the
state-of-the-art complex resembles a massive “x”. Each leg of the structure
is its own separate entity with different goals and features. The approaching
lab will be, perhaps, the most diverse of them all, for it will be the only that
has the means to operate in 100% “outer space” conditions. While the
incubator-sized contraptions could only create zero gravity conditions in a
small container, the new lab will be able to expand the walls, for it only
requires countering the final bit of remaining gravity.
While many of the decisions in reference to the extraordinary program
have yet to be determined, it is sure that very few individuals will know of
its existence at all. Those without ultra high clearance and specific “need to
know” will believe the studies to simply include experiments such as protein
crystal formation, tissue culturing, and space exposure control.
As the shuttle speeds toward the intended target, the rocket booster
loses contact with the Atlantis and begins to feel the gravitational grip,
which will bring it back to earth. The substantial fuel tank will be retrieved
as it floats along in the Atlantic Ocean and used again. Since the force from
the planet below is now minimal, the shuttle easily carries on the mission
under its own power.
As the three tiny riders are nurtured by highly specialized mechanical
devices and sensing equipment, they have no idea they are nearing the end
of the jaunt. Those that know pray for their safety and health. How did they
19
fare on the “ride of their lives”? What will the future hold? Was this really
the ride of their lives or…just a warm up?
Chapter
Four
20
June 10, 2002 – Jacksonville, FL
The continuous hum of human presence between the four enclosed
walls is a direct result of the numerous conversations being conducted.
Several reporters sit in anticipation for the personnel that will soon fill the
unoccupied seats, which are elevated a bit by a platform at the head of the
room. A substantial banner, yielding the letters of NASA, is positioned
proudly upon the wall about six feet above the floor. Directly in front of the
popular company’s symbol sets a long table with four empty chairs and a
significant clump of microphones in front of each seat. The upcoming event
certainly presents itself as serious, for the labels upon the mikes include
NBC, CNN, and ABC.
A red-haired female near the center of the front row raises her watch
to within view and compares it to the identification provided on the wallmounted clock. Perhaps being less patient than some of the others, she rolls
her brown eyes and issues a heavy sigh. Almost as if the noise that she
expelled were taken as a request for silence, the scattered discussions begin
to lower in volume. Upon further investigation, it becomes evident that the
cause for the change was not the women’s action but instead a door to the
left of the stage swinging open. Four adult figures methodically make there
way up the two steps and, almost as if rehearsed, sit down in near
synchronization.
The left most person is the only female of the four. She boasts
beautiful light brown, wavy hair that could rival that of a poster girl. A pair
21
of color-enhancing contact lens provide a emerald appearance to her eyes. A
mild touch of make-up sets off the look that she is attempting to dismiss the
general stereotype that goes with an expert working for NASA. She is
wearing a light pink dress that falls to just beyond her knees. The soft
material clings loosely to her youthful figure.
The male to her left slowly brings his clenched hand to his mouth to
clear his voice. His dark hair shows considerable signs of aging, while his
thick brows and moustache are completely gray. A couple wrinkles on the
outer sides of his eye sockets are the only wrinkles upon his fifty-eight-yearold face. He’s wearing a dark blue suit with a red and silver striped tie.
While the man holds a prominent position indeed, he truly looks out of place
and more likely to be wearing bib overhauls and lounging on a porch.
“Well, I guess we should get this thing into gear,” he begins with a
powerfully resonant voice, “I think it appropriate to start out with some
introductions.
I’m Zachary Peters, Chief of Public Affairs for NASA.
Obviously, I have brought in some back up…cause I am no rocket scientist.”
Several chuckles and even a couple claps emit from curious listeners
as a result of the successful icebreaker.
“I was being serious,” he continues with his own half-hearted laugh,
“To my right here, we have Miss Sara Flanders. She heads the Aerospace
Technology Division. She will be supplying the technical aspect of NASA’s
area of responsibility, as well as fielding most of your questions dealing with
the actual mission. To my left is Mr. Leonard Thomas. He will be heading
what will soon be known as the Solar-Bio Mission. He works for Jet
Propulsion Laboratory, commonly known as JPL. The young gentleman on
the end is JPL scientist, Nile Johnson.”
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The news conference’s head speaker pauses to catch his breath, at
which time he decides to retrieve a swallow from the bottled water to his
immediate left. There are no notable whispers or secondary conversations,
since the forthcoming announcements have been full of speculation and have
grabbed major media attention. The silence persists as the older man lowers
the plastic container in preparation for recommencement of the task at hand.
All of the twenty-one pairs of eyes focus on the man of the hour; not to
mention those of the three people who accompany him.
“Ladies and gentleman, I am about to announce what we hope to be
the beginning of a fantastic friendship. Due to the continued limitations of
funding on a global scale, the United States has joined forces with eighteen
other nations to embark upon a three-part space mission better known as the
Solar-Bio Mission. I think the best way to break this down would be by
mission segment,” Zachary provides a short break in order to signify the
start of the first of the three mission goals, “The primary objective for SolarBio is to send a probe, much like the Voyagers 1 & 2, to Pluto. In a few
short years, we will be blessed with the windows to conduct exploration to
this planet that has eluded us for far too long. NASA will provide much of
the engineering, while JPL is in charge of flight operations. Canada, Japan,
Brazil, and all 14 nations of the European Space Agency will donate time
and funding.”
While most of the reporters utilize tape recording devices to catch the
message coming from the loudspeakers mounted on the side wall, a few
scratch intensely into their notebooks. As if to coddle to their needs, the
NASA representative speaks slowly and clearly.
“OK, part two, this would be the “Bio” part of the mission. We will
be building a spacecraft that not only has the ability to monitor while on its
23
way to our ninth plant, but also the ability to sustain human life along the
way. Now before, I start a frenzy here, let me continue,” Mr. Peters warns,
realizing his words could quickly be taken out of text, “This spacecraft, the
Solar-Bio1, will be very special. We will be installing some technologies
that are unprecedented; to say the least. We plan to provide it with all the
necessities of a manned flight….Oxygen, water, food, heat….name it. We
will be monitoring every parameter imaginable. Interior systems will cycle,
just as if there were a human aboard. Radiation doses will be accumulated.
The Solar-Bio1 will provide us with more biological data in reference to
prolonged space flight than all of the tests performed to date put together!”
“Excuse me, Mr. Peters, who will be in charge of this part of the
mission,” a loud, but not near as deep, voice from the crowd interrupts at a
opportunistic position within the speech.
“Umm, JPL will have sole authority and responsibility for this
portion. It is 100% U.S. funded,” the chief of Public Affairs responds in a
mildly aggravated tone.
A couple scattered questions follow, which seems to ignite a free-forall. The unorganized situation that only moments ago was in complete order
further increases the event leader’s displeasure. He is not new to this type of
environment and knows exactly how quickly such a situation can get out of
hand. His well-dressed frame moves up in his seat as he prepares to regain
command.
“Folks? Folks! Most of your questions will be answered within the
presentation, and I can assure you, if they are not, you will have the
opportunity to make your inquiries. For now, we need to present the third
leg of the mission,” his voice tails off at the same point that the comments
begin quieting down, “The Russian Space Forces, better known as the VKS,
24
will be providing the initial power and trajectory. Instead of falling back to
earth, like all other flights, the boosters will be released during the Mars fly
by. The Russians will have equipment stored within the side compartments.
Basically, we are dropping off supplies for a future Mars manned mission.
Now, before I am completely out of breath, I am going to turn this thing over
to Sara here. She is going to discuss the craft.”
Zachary stops speaking rather abruptly, which obviously catches Miss
Flanders by surprise. She continues her somewhat blank stare off at the
crowded room, as if waiting for a more distinct introduction. The pause
does not initiate an unsolicited question in the same way as a couple minutes
prior. Mr. Peters grabs his water bottle and lifts it to his dry lips. This small
act brings the younger NASA employee to the realization that she has been
given center stage.
“Thank you, Zach,” her soft voice issues with a touch of
embarrassment, “The Solar-Bio1 will be assembled up at the International
Space Station.
This decision was made for two reasons.
First, the
propulsion fuel to escape the last bit of earth’s gravity is much less. And
secondly, the systems can be tested in the near weightless conditions.”
Her voice is not as certain and methodical as her partner’s, but that is
to be expected, because she is a scientist, not a public speaker. Her hands
fidget with each other a bit as she speaks, but the news she brings is much
too intriguing for any of the listeners to notice.
“The actual schedule for delivery of the different segments for the
Solar-Bio1 is not available yet, however, we can tell you this, there will be
no extra shuttle launches to complete the assembly. The payload available
and frequency of departures are adequate to complete the job in plenty of
time to conduct pre-launch testing. Also worth mentioning, there is a back25
up plan to assemble on earth within the confines of Kennedy Space Center.
RKA has already agreed to provide the larger boosters if this becomes a
necessity.”
Her words become more commanding with each completed sentence.
Her in depth knowledge and understanding of her work provide her with the
confidence to complete the news conference, for which she was formerly
petrified to attend.
“Since we are on the subject of propulsion, it is a good time to provide
light detail on how we are going to get this thing to Pluto. After initial
velocity is achieved by normal rocket propellant, we will begin using the
same gravity assist measures that the famous Voyager missions utilized. I
guess most people refer to them as planetary slingshots. We will swing to
within a calculated distance of the planet then steal a portion of its energy,
and thereby accelerate towards the next. This, of course, requires propulsion
to make slight adjustments and, most importantly, the proper planet lineup
and trajectory calculations,” she grabs a fresh supply of air then continues,
“Yes, that is a mouthful. But, the big picture I am trying to paint here
is…that the amount of fuel to do the job will be minimal. The Solar-Bio1
will be using a special Charged Plasma Rocket System. The amazing part
about it is, in conjunction with the radiation absorption shielding, the system
is self-sustaining. In other words, we will take the radiation from space and
make energy out of it to fuel the boosters and supply electricity!”
The significant announcement immediately causes audible comments
to spring out from all around the room. Raised hands quickly follow the
pleas for recognition. The two men representing JPL remain motionless as if
in a robotic state, awaiting an electronic control signal prior to making a
move. Zachary looks over at Sara and lifts his prominent brows in a way to
26
offer assistance with the crowd. A bright red ruby glimmers from her right
index finger as she nonchalantly raises her hand to signify that she can
handle it. Her modest lips smile, while she wonders where she obtained this
level of self-assurance when only an hour ago she was too nervous to speak.
“I cannot go into much detail with this system at this time,” she begins
with a firm grip, “The system was actually invented by a nuclear submarine
sailor back in 1986. He was studying radiation-shielding methods. His
ideas paved the way to this fantastic, but untested, discovery. It uses the
principle that 98% of cosmic radiation consists of protons. In the presence
of hydrogen, gamma rays and heavier hydrogen are developed. The gammas
eventually make electricity, and the extra hydrogen becomes plasma for the
boosters.
All the while….radiation within the spacecraft is reduced to
acceptable levels!”
“What do you consider to be acceptable levels?” a voice blurts out.
“Well, space weather, as we refer to it, has two cycles that are
completely predictable. High solar wind and low solar wind. By sending the
Solar-Bio1 off at the correct time, we can accurately project radiation levels.
We are confident that the numbers within the so-called living quarters will
be…well….not that much higher than NRC limits.”
“But, what about solar flares? You can’t possible know when they
will come, can you?” a second reporter attempts to get his two cents in,
perhaps attempting to showcase his intelligence.
“No, we can’t.
There is a secondary shielded enclosure that the
astronaut would enter, in this event. For the purposes of this mission, the
system electronics will make the assumption that the riders entered this room
and count the dosage inside the shielded area. We are starting to get into
27
JPL’s area here. I think it would be a good time to turn it over to them. Mr.
Thomas, would you like to take it from here?”
“Thank you Sara; I’d be happy to,” the male figure next to the NASA
speaker extends in a friendly tone.
By sitting next to the older graying man, the lead JPL representative
presents a noticeable contrast. Not only is he twenty years younger, but he
also looks nearly ten years younger than that. His blue eyes have a smoky
gray tint to them, while his short, nicely feathered, brown hair sparks his
attractive appearance. The only mild flaw upon his face would be his
generously sized nose, which he commonly jokes about, presumably to
prevent others from getting the first crack at it. He is the only member of the
small committee that is not formally dressed. Instead of the customary suit
and tie, he sports a dark brown leather jacket over a light yellow button up
shirt. While most onlookers would get the impression he is cocky and such,
the truth is that his highly classified line of work has developed a different
mentality into his highly educated mind. He generally dresses with the
approach that he should look as little like who is as possible. One would
quickly wonder how he obtained his present status within the highly
regarded company; however, their guess would be greatly inaccurate. His
selection to head the Solar-Bio Mission was due solely to a timely discovery.
“Good afternoon ladies and gentleman. I’d like to start by stating that
we at JPL look forward to working with NASA, as well as the many other
elements involved in the Solar-Bio Mission. The project allows us to test
several systems we have worked laborious hours to perfect in the lab but
have not had the opportunity to prove in the field. The results of this testing
will, without a doubt, pave the way for a Mars visit. But that is really just
the beginning. We are confident that the bio results will prove that extended
28
missions are possible and human presence is not a deterrent. The research
targets actual human travel in less than twenty years for Mars, and with
success on that venture, less twenty years after that to, perhaps, Europa.”
The thirty-eight year old gathers a breath in perfect step with his
practiced speech, which in synchronized fashion continues, “The brilliant
scientist, Miss Flanders pointed out one of these systems that we have been
dying to get into space. There are several smaller components that will be
monitored closely throughout the trip…a heavy-hydrogen fuel cell for water
production, oxygen-gassing batteries, a three way heating system to name a
few.
There will even be a food cycling process that we will test for
effectiveness under severe low light conditions. Besides the bio testing
project portion of the overall mission, we will be controlling the flight
pattern through space up to and beyond the target destination.”
“Beyond?” a curious voice erupts from the third row.
“Are you bringing the ship back to earth?” the redhead in the front
discharges in hopes of retrieving further elaboration.
“No. That would be great, but the planetary lineup at the point of
reaching Pluto will all but rule out such a return trip. What we do hope to
do, and by the time we get to it we will have plenty of data to base that
decision, is to direct the craft back to Uranus for a possible landing. The
other option is to make a Pluto landing. Either choice will require perfected
operation of the radiation absorption and plasma systems, not to mention
enough number crunching to burn a lot of calculator batteries.”
His light use of humor delivers a matching level of laughter, which
last only so long before more questions eject from the information hungry
group, “Uranus? Why not Neptune?”
29
“Neptune is not in the trajectory. Not only is it totally out of line, it is
actually further away from us than Pluto during the time frame we are
looking at. We will be using Uranus to sling the final distance.”
“How does the path compare to others like Cassini?” the same voice
refers to the probe that is currently heading for Saturn.
“There are some similarities. For instance, they both are slated to
penetrate the same gap between rings.”
“What is the time frame?” the persistent man asks; the question and
answer session seemingly opening without announcement.
“That’s a good question. I could give you a round figure, but I just so
happen to have brought my human calculator with me; and since I paid for
his plane ticket, I might as well make use of him,” Leonard begins the
informal and comical introduction, “Nile is our chief scientist, and without
argument the brains of the outfit in every sense of the word. So, ah, Mr.
Johnson, wanna take that one?”
A goofy smirk paints his colleague’s face. Nile is perhaps the only
person upon the small stage that fits the billing for his part. He wears the
typical black-rimmed glasses that you would find on the classroom nerd.
His jet-black hair, which matches his spectacles, is substantially receded and
looks to have a healthy coat of grease. The forty-seven-year-old man’s skin
is potted from earlier years.
“Sure…Leonard, umm…the numbers show aah, I mean, the best
angles for…umm,” his nervous stature is obvious, although his voice is clear
and pleasing to the ear, “I guess the best way to explain it is…there are
actually hundreds of possibilities. The planets begin to lineup in the year
2005, but we could actually make the trip faster in 2009. When you begin to
30
throw in, umm, well, the other factors, like radiation belts, you are able to
reduce the options a bit.”
“So what is the date?
When will this thing get underway?” an
impatient reporter injects.
“Well, at this point,” Nile tries to keep the interruption from putting
him into an even greater state of uneasiness, “The idea of the extra four
years pushes us to lean towards the 2009 launch date. It gives us more time
for final preparation, plus it is a better trajectory anyhow. I can go through
the gravitational coefficients, if you would like.”
The comment creates more amusement and applause than any of the
jokes had before it. Perhaps equally as hilarious would be the fact that the
statement was made with the belief that someone would want to be subjected
to the various equations that determine a trajectory.
“How long will it take to get to Pluto?” a husky male voice inquires
after the joyous sounds diminish.
“Well,” the scientist continues, “given the 2009 launch, it’ll take
about eighteen years...the 2005 is more like twenty.”
“I’ll be dead by then,” the man’s scratchy response quips back; one
would wonder if it is throat cancer that will due him in prior to the
mentioned 2025 arrival.
“Well, like I said, sir, there are…aah, lots of possibilities, the
accelerations could be increased at times, but the bio testing would be
affected, I guess it is a…”
“So, you’re saying the biological testing of the project over-rides the
trip to Pluto?” the same man interrupts with an uncalled for level of
accusation.
31
“I’ll take that one Nile,” Leonard comes in to save his friend, “Sir, the
Pluto is priority number one. The trajectories take too many things into
account to mention. If the bio testing can be improved without making
significant sacrifices to the arrival time, they shall be incorporated. But
Pluto…comes first.”
“How long before the bio testing becomes irrelevant?”
“Are you asking how long before the data shows a human occupant
would die?” the JPL head does not give the interviewer a chance to reply,
“Well, that is what we are dying to find out. Although, nobody has to die to
find out. I’m starting to confuse myself here. Seriously, we project between
three to four years, assuming no system malfunctions.”
The answer seems to satisfy the overpowering gentleman’s curiosity.
He does not return fire. Instead he leans back in his chair, wearing an
obnoxious smile. A rare moment of silence follows, before a young woman
in the far back raises her hand in an effort to be called upon. Leonard
notices the gesture, which is a welcome change from the more sporadic
manner the news conference has been under, and points to her.
“You are not taking into account the effect on the human body for the
speed ups, right?” the young woman stands to present her question.
“Actually, I would,” he begins before wondering aloud, “You’re a
reporter?”
“Umm, well, not exactly, I’m working on a college paper. I’m sorry
if it was a stupid question.”
“Oh, it’s far from a stupid question. Fact is, we will be testing a, well,
I guess it is more of a theory than an actual system. We will be attempting
to counteract the forces of acceleration. If the test goes well, we could
possibly send a human on a mission, using the slingshot method. Of course,
32
for Mars, there is nothing ahead of it to use, so it is more of a far into the
future thing.”
Leonard hopes the answer satisfies the crowd, as the phenomenon he
speaks of is actually a major part of the Solar-Bio1. The same concepts that
allowed the production of a machine that produces weightlessness, shall be
amplified to prevent a living body from being killed by the forces of
incredible increases in speed. The youthful looking gent scans the room to
verify that no curious faces exist. In reality, with the exception of the
student, nobody understood the discussion enough to provide a related
inquiry. He is secretly relieved that he does not have to elaborate any
further.
“Ok, I guess we have already gotten into a head start on the question
answer portion. In any event, this concludes the presentation segment. If
you have questions, now is the time to fire away,” the NASA Public Affairs
head returns control of the situation.
To his surprise five or six hands fly to the air, without a single
question bellowing voice attempting to jump ahead. Mr. Peters eyes the
redhead in the front row then points towards her and nods.
“We have been talking a lot about the bio testing. I don’t see how this
will tell us about man in space. Will we really know how a human body
would react to several years in a spaceship?”
“Sara, you’ve had a good rest. Do you want to attack that one?” the
oldest of the men allows.
“Sure. Actually, ma’am you are correct. The testing does not take
into account the equilibrium problems, or the bone density losses. The
project assumes those setbacks have been addressed. Of course, at this
point, they have not been. But, we have been hard at it. The Russians
33
learned great deals on the Mir station, and we have continued the work up on
the International Space Station. We hope to find a way to eliminate the
muscle and bone problems prior to the completion of the Solar-Bio Mission.
In this case, time is on our side.”
As the attractive scientist explains the dilemma and what is being
done to overcome it, Leonard Thomas contemplates the present line of
thinking. While Sara’s answer is accurate, she has no idea how much is
actually being done.
Chapter
Five
34
March 4, 2003 - International Space Station
Patricia Bonham makes her way down the short hallway much like
she has each day for the past six months.
The seemingly simple task
requires some important adjustments that do not fall into play where she
used to work, earth. Her right hand grasps a handle mounted five feet up on
the right side wall. She then performs a full stride with her left leg, ending
with her foot slipping under a bar much like the one on the wall. Her right
step is conducted without insertion of a weightless aid, during which she
begins reaching for the next handhold. As her slender frame works toward
the door only six feet away, her left arm squeezes three folders against her
hip.
Her hair is thick and blonde, cut in a sassy style. Her skin is pale and
completely void of makeup. She wears a natural smile and sports chocolate
brown eyes that complete her package of sincerity. Miss Bonham’s outfit
resembles that of a nurse. She’s wearing white pants and a matching shirt
that she keeps tucked in and buttoned all the way with the exception of the
final fastener.
The early morning stroll is over when she arrives at the door. Her
right grip holds her body firmly on the floor of the Destiny Lab hallway.
The muscles in her arm are acclimatized to making up for the lack of
gravity. It is now time to pass through the first level of security. The fancy
handle, which Patricia uses to maintain position, has been fabricated to
35
include a “print scanner”. She simply angles her thumb into the indentation,
and the electronic beam verifies qualified access. Seconds later, the latch
releases on the door, and the visitor has 5 seconds to swing it away from the
jam. After the JPL employee completes the routine chore, she finds herself
standing in a closet-sized space directly in front of a second door, which
provides the final stage of security. This time, it is her foot, which sports
white Nike tennis shoes, that accepts the aid of a bar to keep her down. She
simply inputs an eight-digit code to inform the electrically energized dead
bolts to give way.
As if the musical doors routine weren’t enough, she now has three
more to pick from. Each has a distinct label in blue, mounted at eye level.
Her choices are MR1, MR2, and FR1. Patricia twists the standard knob on
the leftmost door, labeled MR1. As the door opens, the importance of high
secrecy, even when the station floats 235 miles above earth, is obvious. In a
6 x 10 ft room sets a 4 x 8 ft aquarium-like structure. Inside it…stands a
child! More correctly stated, inside it…floats a child!
Patricia immediately sits down on a chair then pulls a Velcro strap
over her lap to hold her steady. While the Destiny Lab section is still
subjected to a small amount of the earth’s hold, the small container that the
toddler appears to be restricted to has the final dose of gravity removed by
use of the weightless device mounted above. The little boy is watching
words flash across a screen inside the glass, completely unaware of the
watching eyes.
The material is only see-through from the outside.
A
speaker mounted above the child’s head expels instructions in a synthesized
monotone voice. It is teaching him to read. Although only a shade over two
years of age, the male youth can read simple sentences and exhibits the logic
and comprehension of a four-year-old.
36
Patricia places the three folders on a table under a spring-loaded clip
then continues her laid back observation. She will visit all three stations for
a short viewing session, before venturing into her extensive daily duties.
MR1, or Male Recruit #1 as it is in long form, has the most beautiful blue
eyes. His size is standard for a 26-month-old child. Upon his head is a
generous helping of dark brown hair, wavy and unmanaged. There are
mounts and handles throughout his tiny enclosed domain, but he rarely
chooses to use them. This has been the only world he knows, so pushing off
and floating to his next position has never felt foreign to him.
The back third of his space is closed off at the moment, for it is used
for the medical examining and exercising portion of the research. In MR1’s
case, mild daily exercise and calcium supplements have kept his bone
density and muscular system on track with expected growth levels of any
child.
His equilibrium and mechanical coordination show no signs of
confusion due to the zero gravity that they dwell in.
As Patricia watches the boy mimic the monitor to near perfection, she
notices the near blank expression on his young face.
Can they really
program human emotion out of his system? Based on general observation, it
appears to be possible. A lump begins to lodge within her throat as she
wonders what is going through his mind, aside from the words on the screen.
Perhaps, that is all.
Soon, he will be introduced to the keyboard and be allowed to start
punching away. Unlike the generations before him, MR1 will learn to write
via the computer. The decision to develop his skills in this direction had as
much to do with paper saving (and thereby space saving), as it did with the
importance typing plays in future lessons. Everything that occurs during the
37
isolated boy’s day within the tiny space has been carefully planned and
organized.
Miss Bonham pulls away the strap and brings her body to a standing
position. She looks over at the manila folders and decides to leave them
there, since she will be starting with this cubicle after a quick peek at the
other two. As she twists her feminine frame around, her brown eyes capture
the side-mounted “exchanger”. It allows them to place an article into a
small drawer then send it inside for whatever purpose it was designed for.
The food is supplied in this matter. The child knows to put the used utensils
back in upon completion of his bi-daily meals. Does this make him feel like
a caged animal?
Patricia imagines placing a photo of herself in the
compartment, so he can see what she looks like. The idea seems harmless
enough, but it is strictly forbidden.
After a mild stretch to get the muscles into gear, she makes her way to
the middle door. As she moves she feels a very slight queasiness, which is
due to her prolonged stay up in orbit. Like all earthlings, her brain gets
confused with the absence of the weight bearing factors. She has been
accustomed to it for her entire life leading up to the point six months ago,
when she flew up to begin her first stint on the Destiny within the
International Space Station. Only the select few within the small rooms
have been calibrated from birth to a zero gravity condition. While these
specimens will remain in these conditions that seem normal to them, she will
return to earth for at least a year, before returning for a second shift.
The blonde thirty-five year old looks in at MR2, repeating the method
of sitting down and installing the simple seat belt. The young boy is only 2
weeks younger than MR1 but noticeably smaller. He does not appear near
as energetic. His feet are securely pushed into a floor bar. His light brown
38
eyes are barely visible, as he seems to stare at nothing. Only a sparse bit of
light brown hair covers his head. His skin is a bit pale, but not to a level that
would cause alarm.
The one major difference between MR2’s enclosure and that of
MR1’s is the type of glass installed. MR2 has the ability to see his visitors.
Their philosophy for the difference was to determine if no human contact
would eliminate the emotions that could hamper the mission, in which one
shall be chosen. Would the total isolation be a plus or a minus? By being
able to see and interact to some degree, would the end product become
lonely and depressed?
MR2 looks over to notice the adult female’s presence. He does not
display an impression of recognition for the event. He simply looks back
into the blankness that he apparently was focusing on. The lack of concern,
in this particular circumstance, is not related to his emotional condition. He
is not entirely healthy. The testing portion of MR1’s research, until recently,
included twice the exercise with no calcium supplements.
The studies
determined that the extra work on the muscular system did little to promote
proper growth. He has since been placed on a normal exercise routine with
double calcium doses until he catches up. The real problem appears to be
the radiation immunity program that he is on. The pills do not actually make
the body “immune” to radiation, but the antioxidant reduces the cancerous
effects of radiation. The basic scope was to find out if the body would
accept the medicine on a continuous basis, and, if so, it could be used during
the upcoming space travel. It appears though that he is rejecting the drug,
and the symptoms include a mild fever.
MR2’s temperature is being
monitored closely, and, as long as the elevated temperature does not
increase, the pills will be continued.
39
Patricia contemplates tapping on the glass, but she opts to leave him
alone for the time being. Perhaps his fever will break. Sometimes she
wishes the thermometer would yield a worsened condition, so they can
remove him from the program.
She has been told that the radiation
absorption and shielding are excellent on board, so why would they feel the
need to test the drug? Perhaps, this is the reason why they will only allow
his condition to get to a certain level. While the extra medication could
definitely be the cause for his status, it may be unrelated. MR2 was always a
bit pale and the least energetic.
A ripping sound invades the room as a result of the pulling away of
the felt end of the restraining strap. Patricia negotiates her frame through the
somewhat tight spaces and soon finds her frame sitting in front of FR1. As
the naked two-year-old immediately notices the newcomer, it becomes
evident what the major difference is with the child that occupies the room on
the left. FR1 stands for Female Recruit #1. Like MR2, she has two-way
glass. A smile immediately paints the toddler’s face. Her thick head of hair
is light brown with a hint of strawberry. Her brown eyes glisten, as her joy
becomes more and more apparent. FR1 obviously looks forward to this part
of the day.
Patricia moves her fingers to simulate a hello gesture. The little girl
holds on to a side handle with her left hand and waves anxiously with her
right. This is the only enclosure that has an amplifier system to allow
communications between the toddler and the visiting adult.
“Hi there. How are you this morning? Are you hungry?” Patricia
asks in a childish tone.
“I’m hungry,” her adorable voice ejects, “Play time!”
40
“Not quite yet. OK? In a little bit,” the adult is careful not to use
words that are too affectionate. Words like “honey” and “dear” are not
allowed, as the plan is still to limit the possible emotional ties that can result.
It was also decided not to give her a name. While it was obvious that MR1
could not be given such a title, due to his total isolation, some felt there was
no harm in presenting FR1 with one. Patricia lost the argument, so the
young girl will be known only by her acronym.
While she seems to pick up things quicker than the others, MR1
remains ahead educationally.
The current score basically proves JPL’s
beliefs that any contact at all will become a distraction and, therefore, a
deterrent to success. The decision to include a member of the opposite sex
was based mainly on physiological differences, although, on the slim
possibility that the psychological variations came into play, they could be
monitored and studied as well. While the final results can always change, at
the moment, there seems to be no advantage to either side.
As Patricia gets up and turns toward the exit, FR1 expels a dissatisfied
outcry.
“I’ll be back,” Miss Bonham responds.
The facial expression of the little child changes to a slightly more
uplifting, but obviously not pleased, look. Patricia always hates this feeling.
Having no children of her own makes it very difficult not to take them in on
an emotional level, especially MR1. He has nobody and, most likely, never
will. She continually fights the urge to save him from the life he has been
selected for, through no choice of his own. But, she is a professional.
Sometimes the end justifies the means.
While the woman in white makes her way back into the first room to
commence her actual daily regimen, only fifty feet away, outside the space
41
station, equipment installation is being performed on the Solar-Bio1. The
early stages of spacecraft construction are underway. The entire shell is in
place, hanging securely below a quarter acre of solar panels. If viewed from
overhead, it would look like a hexagon with the back two sides pulled out
and drawn straight back. From the side, the spaceship exhibits a somewhat
“flat” appearance, although it is twelve feet from top to bottom (7 feet being
compartment height, the bottom 5 feet being storage). The total length of
the structure is 36 feet, width 30 feet.
While the outer surface is presently a white-painted metal, it will
eventually be entirely covered with the radiation coils that will be filled with
the hydrogen product. Only a few assorted penetrations, such as booster
discharges, waste release, and windows, will be left free of the material,
which will be either shiny or dark based on positioning with the sun.
Several exterior systems have yet to be installed, namely the
electronic devices, exterior camera systems, and heating absorbers/cooling
reflectors. The large booster jet that will provide the machine with initial
power is still on earth. This will not even be delivered until a launch date
has been set. While it will be significant in size, it will be much smaller than
that required to overcome the third planet’s entire gravitational grip. When
the day comes for the awaited takeoff, the cylindrical fuel tank will be
carefully held in place and the Solar-Bio1 dropped into position.
Inside the craft, two men are working in white space suits. The male
to the left bears the NASA insignia, while the other has the letters ESA
(European Space Agency) embroidered upon the thick material. They are
toiling within the machinery space, which encompasses the rear 12 feet
along the ship’s entire width. Each worker has a large square backpack,
which supplies him with oxygen, water, and even internal heat control.
42
The American is kneeling on the floor and holding an open-ended
wrench around a pipefitting. The added weight of the pack and the slight
touch of gravity are sufficient to allow him to conduct his work without
holding onto restraining aids. He begins to turn the threaded component in
the clockwise direction, thereby tightening it into position. When the metal
seals begin to mesh, the worker stops applying force. The European helper
hands him a torque wrench. It is placed into position in identical fashion.
The NASA employee grips the tool and brings it towards him, while his
partner watches the highly accurate gage. As soon as the needle reaches the
prescribed foot-pounds, the ESA representative provided the tool’s operator
with a “thumbs up” sign.
Each liquid hydrogen line will be carefully
mounted with the same precision. The plasma propulsion system is slated
for testing in three months and currently ahead of schedule.
As much assembly as possible will be completed prior to shuttle
delivery. This will limit production cost and reduce time for completion.
The majority of the machinery equipment was included during the initial
main structure package.
Most of the on-site labor deals with wiring
terminations, piping connections, and testing phases. The computers and
interior controls systems will be the next to find their way to the space
station.
After the final bolt is turned, and the last test is performed, a
spacecraft of countless possibilities will be ready to take flight into the great
unknown. It is those possibilities that persuade mankind to make sacrifices
and take risks that would generally seem downright unimaginable.
43
Chapter
Six
44
July 28, 2003 – Pasadena, CA / JPL Headquarters
“The secretary told me that you took all these photos. Really nice
work…Mr….ahh,” the man standing next to the long oak table extends,
hoping to trigger an introduction.
“Johnson, Nile Johnson,” the jet black-haired male begins, “Thanks.
It’s been a long time hobby. When I was young, I wanted to be Marlin
Perkins”
“Was that the guy that wrestled the giant snakes?” the NASA official
comes back to continue the small talk.
“Oh no, that was the other guy. Jim, I think. Marlin was the one in
the jeep sipping pina coladas.”
“Oh, ha ha. My mistake. What’s that?” the well-dressed gentleman,
standing by his chair inquires, pointing at a colorful lizard.
“That’s a Side-blotched Lizard. I took that a couple years ago in the
Mojave Desert”
While Nile’s reputation as one of the top minds in his field is common
knowledge, his admiration for nature and skill with a camera are known only
by those close to him and JPL employees. Strangely, it was the wife that left
him years ago for an engineer that implanted the interest. That was twenty
years ago, and the only wife he has known since is his work. The charcoal
jacket and slacks he wears are certainly in style and fit nicely around his trim
frame, but the scientist would appear more at home in a lab coat. As the
short conversation loses momentum, he adjusts his black, plastic-rimmed
glasses and scans the conference room.
45
Upon realizing the wildlife discussion has come to an abrupt halt, the
other man unbuttons his light brown sports coat and takes a seat in the dark
brown, leather chair. All six participants are now sitting along the oval
shaped table, each with a silver-engraved nameplate in front of him or her.
The man who commented on the picture begins chatting quietly across the
table with his fellow NASA teammate. Nile notes that the chubby female
directly across from him is a JPL employee; however, he has never met her
and knows nothing of her. He veers to his right, catching eye contact with
the thin, older looking man. A bright smile portrays him as a happy fellow,
while the overhead light sends a glimmer off his gold earring; which, this
day and age, is not out of place. The man across from him delivers a
contrasting style, staring away with a serious expression.
Just as Nile completes his initial survey of the room, the heavy solid
oak door opens. The lead man enters quickly, giving the impression that he
is late, although he has four full minutes to spare. Instead of a stack of
documents or a briefcase, he only totes a coffee mug, bearing the JPL
insignia. Leonard Thomas relies on his morning java fix nearly as much as
the expertise and loyalty of his crew. While he chose to don a solid lightblue tie, he does not have the overcoat like the other males within the room.
Instead of selecting a dress pair of slacks, he opted for khakis. Still, with his
perfectly combed hair and confident posture, he is pleasing to the eye and
well accepted.
Leonard looks at the diverse faces about the room, while taking a
small second to admire the intriguing décor. The frames around Nile’s
pictures are obviously handcrafted, matching the oak trim that borders the
floor and door jams. Indian pottery fills the assorted indentations, while
colorful rugs hang in a professionally organized fashion. It is a nice touch
46
that conveys a southwestern feel to visitors from other parts of the country,
not to mention globe.
“Well, it’s great to see everyone made it here in one piece. There’s
plenty of coffee and bagels in the back of the room. Feel free to help
yourself. There’s no reason to get too formal here, umm, just let us know
what you need, and we’ll do our best,” Nile begins in his usual crisp English
tongue.
He chooses to maintain a standing position. This is not an attempt to
overpower the meeting; it is simply due to the fact that he will need to stand
in order to present the information.
“I think we all know somebody here, but we should go ahead and run
around the table with introductions. I guess we should start with yours truly.
My name is Leonard Thomas. I will be directing the Operations portion of
the Solar-Bio Mission, as well as the Biological Research. As you all know,
I work for Jet Propulsions Laboratory, and I just can’t say enough about how
much I am looking forward to the opportunity to work with each and
everyone of you. Hmm, background? I guess you could say I am home
grown. I was born and raised in sunny California. I became interested in the
space program, because my high school buddies were out to prove to the
world that the “landing on the moon” was a hoax, photographed in Nevada
and fed to the world. Well, I wanted to prove them wrong. I received my
degree right here at Caltech, and the rest is history. I guess, in my case, you
could say ‘Thank God for radicals’,” Leonard speaks freely, for it is natural
and comfortable, “Well, let’s start with you Scott. Good morning.”
“Good morning.
My name is Scott Jeffers.
My responsibilities
include the Space Flight Division at NASA,” the visibly overweight man
47
begins, “My major concerns will be dealing with flight patterns and the
craft’s exterior communications.”
The NASA manager, who was recently discussing nature photography
with Nile, presents a very friendly appearance. His curly, brown hair is
short, and his blue eyes are barely visible due to a natural squint. A rash-like
coloration covers his neck, presumably from the day’s shave.
“I was brought up in the other sunshine state, where I attended Florida
State University. I have been an employee for the National Aeronautics and
Space Administration for twenty years now. And…aah…guess that’s about
it.”
“Well, welcome to California,” Leonard extends as his sights move to
the person sitting next to Scott, “Although a couple of you came from farther
places, I think Cynthia here has bragging rights in regards to the most jet
lag.”
“Ohh, you got that right Mr. Thomas,” she returns with a chuckle,
“My name is Cynthia Hanson. Cindy is fine. I just finished a stint up on the
space station in the Destiny lab. I work for JPL. I guess I would be
considered a rookie. I’ve only been in this line of work for seven years.”
Her speech stops abruptly when she realizes she has little to add. It is
not her educational background, nor her aeronautics knowledge that brings
her to this meeting. Leonard wanted her to be included in an attempt to keep
interest away from the Destiny Lab. It will be her job to provide a “business
as usual” type approach when questioned about the events taking place up in
the sky.
She brings her left hand, which possesses no wedding band, to her
puffy cheeks. The few seconds of silence begin to cast attention to her,
making her feel incredibly awkward. Her mind quickly wonders what they
48
are thinking and why they are staring. If she knew how people actually
perceive her, she would not be nearly as sensitive, for her wavy, blonde hair,
blue eyes, and warm smile present an appealing picture.
“Umm, that’s about it,” she finalizes.
“Thanks Cindy. Welcome back to earth. I am sure I will mess this
up. Mr. Damoslav Machek?” the mission leader attempts.
“Damoslav,” the Russian corrects, pronouncing the “s” more like a
“z” and the “v” more like a “w”.
There is little expression on the man’s face as he pronounces his first
name. He does not present an angry impression anymore than he does one
that would be overly happy. His closely shaven, gray beard is almost an
extension of his drooping nose. His bald head only has hair on the sides,
which is a good thing, as his ears are also slightly above average in size. He
has a long face with several wrinkles that seem to be caused more from
stress than aging. While his birth certificate labels them as brown, his eyes
are closer to black.
“I represent the Russian Space Agency. I am not an interpreter. I am
in charge of communications and administration up to and including the
Mars drop off. The other half of our venture is headed by the Russian Space
Forces. They will complete engineering, construction, and delivery of the
booster system and fuel,” his words are accented but easy to understand.
His point is also simple to follow. Upon completion of his short
introduction, he sits back proudly in his chair. He has nothing more to add,
and anything extra would be nothing more than a waste of time.
Leonard Thomas seems to be a little surprised by the man’s
straightforwardness. He had heard rumors of the Russian’s serious nature
but didn’t think much of it.
Generally, a less formal gathering would
49
precede such a meeting, but schedules have been so busy that it took
significant twisting just to get the seven people in the same state.
The oldest man in the group notices the finality of Damonslav’s words
and offers to commence his turn, “Hello, my name is Gregory Reitz. On
behalf of the European Space Agency, I would like to thank everyone
involved for this opportunity. After spending yesterday at Disneyland, I
must say, I think we can design a smoother ride than that space mountain.”
His joke is well received. His speech is precise like the Russian’s,
although his German accent causes the words to be less distinguishable.
What he lacks in clarity, he more than makes up in pleasantry. The most
notable feature on the sixty-one-year-old man is his bushy moustache, which
resembles that of his past country mate Albert Einstein. Mr. Reitz wears
thick bifocals that require a nonchalant nudge once in a while to keep them
at the proper distance from his brown eyes.
“I will be the pivot man between the fourteen countries in the agency.
We hope to continue our good working relationship with JPL and advance
into many more programs far into the future.”
“We certainly share your goals and aspirations Mr. Reitz. Nile, it’s
your turn. How was the drive in this morning?” the youthful Mr. Thomas
asks.
“The usual. We’ve got to start having these meetings earlier,” Nile
suggests, knowing fully well that the traffic plays very little role in such
decisions.
“I drink enough coffee as it is.”
“That you do,” the greasy-haired man begins, “I am Nile Johnson. I
have been awarded the chief scientist position for the Solar-Bio Mission.
The past couple years I worked to engineer the plasma propulsion system
50
and the radio-absorption system. I will be more involved with trajectory
dating and path coordinates the next couple years.”
The words seem to spark the Russian’s interest, as he jerks his view at
the highly educated man.
Mr. Machek begins to take in a breath in
preparation to speak, before deciding against it.
“And finally, we get to the birthday girl. You didn’t think I’d forget;
did ya Beck?” Leonard places her on the spot.
“I figured not….Len,” she returns.
Although she injected sarcasm within the short response, her voice
has a certain flavor of innocence. The forty-year-old African American is
dressed in a light pink sweater and red skirt. Her long black hair hugs her
cheeks, before falling down past her shoulders. Enchanting green eyes and
soft skin fool the casual observer into believing her to be much younger.
Leonard catches sight of her gold seashell earrings and matching necklace.
His sights follow the gold chain, before realizing they should be
concentrating on something more related to the meeting. If truth were
known, he has wanted to date the lovely lady for quite some time; however,
he knows the new project would be negatively affected.
“Yeah…that’s me, the big ‘four-O’. Oh well. Anyway, my name is
Rebecca Thompson. I manage the Biological and Research Division at
NASA. I received my PhD in medicine at the University of Michigan. My
main objective after graduating was to get out of the snow, so I flew south to
Florida…and here I am. I am very interested in Cynthia’s work up at the
station, as well as working with Leonard and the rest of JPL in the Bio
portion of the mission.”
“Thanks Rebecca”, the conference room’s only standing member
completes the introduction phase.
51
Leonard walks over to a shelf with a glass door. A small push inward
releases the latching mechanism, allowing it to be opened. As he retrieves a
small remote control gadget, he ponders Rebecca’s final comment. His
planned agenda will stay away from this portion of the mission as much as
possible, although he knows it will have to be covered. He just hopes
Cynthia is up to the challenge.
“Ok. I think it’s as good a time as ever to go into the Solar-Bio1
progress report,” Leonard starts his presentation as he energizes a ceilingmounted projector.
At the same instant that the light illuminates, a large screen begins
lowering into position. Seconds later, a basic layout of the spacecraft is
displayed in front of the room.
“Now this is a basic, block-type scheme of an overhead view. I’d like
to quickly touch on the systems and components, which ones are installed,
and which ones are tested and green lighted.
The remote control has a built-in laser, which allows him to point out
the portion of the image that he refers to.
“The basic plan was to start from the back of the ship and work
forward. There are a few advantages to this. First of all, it makes the best
physical sense. Secondly, this gives us more time to conduct engineering
changes as needed for the machinery compartment. Finally, the controls will
be last. Since trajectories and coordinates are not even decided yet, we
cannot possibly install the computers. Well, I guess we could. But, it would
be much cheaper and more effective to do this stuff down here then send it
up.”
“When will the trajectories be decided,” the Russian jumps in, this
time not opting to wait.
52
Leonard was more than prepared for this inquiry, as he knows exactly
where the RKA chief is going with it. The Russian’s have been pushing for
the earliest launch date possible. NASA believes the rush links to the “race”
to get to Mars first. The drop off is vital to their future mission. The
Russian Space Agency would never admit to this, for they have been
claiming all along that they plan to include all members of the International
Space Station in some way.
“Well Mr. Machek, Nile will be going through all of that…probably
after lunch. With all things considered, we are leaning toward 2009 still.”
Damoslav does not issue a response. His face remains blank, much
the same as before the question was raised.
“Ok. Let’s turn our attention over to the rear of the machinery space,
right here in the middle,” Mr. Thomas suggests, while directing the little red
light beam to the stated position on the screen, “This is where the Plasma
Propulsion system resides. As of late June, final testing was completed
without incident. Moving away from this system in the starboard direction,
you will see the steam plant. We hope to have installation complete by early
next week.”
A hand jerks to the air, as Leonard finishes his announcement
concerning the boiler-turbine configuration.
“Yes, Cindy?”
“Aah, I know this is a little out of my area, so if this is dumb I’m
sorry,”
“We want to cover all questions. Shoot.”
“I’m just a little confused about the reasoning for doing all of this up
at the station. Wouldn’t it be easier to build the whole thing here then send
it up?”
53
“That is a great question. We wish we could, but there are a few
drawbacks. First of all, all of the mechanical systems, walls, doors,
tanks…all that stuff was sent as a single section. If we were to connect all
the piping and sensitive electronic gear, the launch vibration would surely
bust some it. Even a little flaw would come back to haunt us later in the
mission. Another problem is all the lower deck storage materials. Water,
hydrogen, oxygen….It would be sitting up there for seven years.”
The young woman nods to exhibit her comprehension. She spent the
past six months up on the orbiting post, but she never had the privilege to
enter the interior of the Solar-Bio1. Her duties were inside the station.
“Mr. Thomas?” the German speaks up, after providing sufficient time
for others to supply comment.
“Yes.”
“I understand that the entire funding for the biological research
components will be funded by the United States, so this is more of a
curiosity inquiry.”
“Ok,” Leonard replies; being quite sure he knows where this is
heading.
“I understand putting a sort of bio garden in and loading food and
water.
These things are needed to verify radiation levels and system
integrity for the duration of the flight. But…exercise equipment? A bed?”
“Well, the decision was made to build the ship exactly like a manned
craft. If a human crewmember requires exercise, which he will, we want it
on board. For one thing, we need to account for the space it will take up.”
The question was a simple one to field for the JPL head, for he knew
it would occur and, therefore, was fully prepared. The meeting slowly
moves on with different affiliates requiring elaboration. Leonard realizes
54
there will be many more of these progress reports, each with different bullets
to dodge and, once in a while, moments in which he must do the firing.
Chapter
Seven
February 14, 2004 – Fort Irwin, Mojave Desert
A bright red truck speeds along the dusty highway, seemingly alone
and in the middle of nowhere. A light bluish-green blankets much of the
55
horizon as far as the eye can see. Joshua Trees pop up here and there
providing some contrast to the miles of sagebrush. Small mountains of
caramel-like swirling colors paint the landscape, which is far from the flat
barren region most non-residents believe it to be. The 2002 Dodge Ram
continues its journey down the private road.
Inside the large vehicle’s cab, “Rock and Roll all nite” pounds the
interior at nearly the decibels it was recorded at. Leonard purchased the
pirated cd of Kiss’ final concert on their farewell tour in 2001 on Ebay. The
Madison Square Garden concert was, indeed, their final concert….of that
tour. Kiss announced another farewell tour, and the live compilation became
worthless.
Finally, the thick black tires begin to spin at a reduced rotational
speed. The leader of the Solar-Bio Mission slows to a halt at a guarded gate.
An enlisted soldier, holding an intimidating weapon, moves toward the
driver’s side door. His entire frame is covered in green, including his cloth
hat. The only exception would be his back shoes, which have apparently
lost their shine as a result of the dusty conditions. His army uniform molds
tightly to his muscular frame, not because of a tight fit but due solely to the
significant wind charging through him.
Leonard wonders how his hat
remains mounted upon his head. As he gets closer, the truck blocks most of
the surging air.
The driver does not roll down his window, nor does the gatekeeper
require him to do so. After a peak inside the vehicle, the guard is satisfied
and begins his walk over to a nearby pole that houses the operating control
button.
Seconds later, the Dodge’s automatic transmission coordinates
efforts with the diesel engine to complete the trip’s final five miles.
56
Leonard maneuvers the expensive vehicle into a parking lot where
only one other car can be spotted. He backs into a space next to the silver
Pontiac Grand Am then secures the flow of fuel. A quick peek at his digital
watch yields the time to be eleven twenty. The man, who is dressed in blue
jeans and a nice, off-white pullover, feels a slight sensation of being behind,
although that is far from the case. No jacket is required, as the winter
temperatures in the southwestern desert stay near a comfortable level during
the day.
He moves at a quickened pace, arriving at a coded keypad next to a
steel door. The large brick building is perhaps eighty feet in length. The
JPL representative rolls his bluish-gray eyes in disgust upon failing to enter
the proper six-digit password. Each person has a special number, and the
only way the computer chip-driven controller will allow access is if the
home office supplies it with a time window. In this case, headquarters did in
fact input the data, pertaining to Leonard’s arrival. It was his hurried fingers
that missed the combination. He is very careful the second time around, as
another failed attempt sends an alarm to the nearby guardhouse.
The simple task is performed without incident, and the heavy barrier
swings open, inviting the youthful looking gent into its domain. The single
story building is modestly furnished. The dropped ceiling looks like the
standard type with white tiles and fluorescent lighting. Most of the offices
are partitioned with movable walls.
Apparently, the closing of the heavy door created enough noise to
alert the structure’s other occupant. A very tall gentleman clothed in a dark
blue business suit walks toward the newcomer at an elevated rate. His short
blonde hair is messy, and he obviously did not shave.
57
“Sorry to bother you on the weekend sir. I tried to get them to wait
till Monday,” he immediately qualifies his efforts in a slightly higher pitch
than his six-foot-five frame would imply.
“That’s alright Marty,” Leonard quickly assures the fellow JPL
employee.
Martin Downer has the weekend shift. The Project Operators spend
seven days at the installation then get seven days off. They have “secret
level” clearance and are allowed access into all facets of the mission except
the Transmission Quarters.
This is the reason Leonard was consulted.
While information can be passed between NASA and the other nations in the
room they are presently residing, all communications between JPL and the
space station are done in a special room.
The on duty worker does not actually care for the shortened form of
his name that Mr. Thomas uses, but he is far too meek to present his case.
Leonard’s reputation as an easygoing person is well known within the
company, and Martin realizes that his boss is merely trying to be friendly.
“There’s a message on the monitor from the German manager. The
ESA has problems with the IDC blueprints. I guess they are doing it again,”
the tall gent states.
“The ESA is not paying for it. What do they care?” Leonard fires
back with an obvious degree of anger.
“I guess their workers have to wait on us to finish the room. They
can’t begin power distribution terminations until that’s done,” Martin
informs him with a complete understanding of the system details.
“Great…and how far along are we?”
“We’re done with the forward system. The reversing option will take
another week,” the weekend worker explains, “My guess is that ESA thinks
58
it is stupid to install a system that isn’t going to work. They think the whole
decel. concept is far-fetched, and they don’t like paying their guys to sit
around and wait for it.”
“I think you’re right Marty.”
Leonard realizes that most of the engineers feel this way. But, they
don’t have the secret weapon, Nile Johnson. The Internal Deceleration
Chamber (IDC) is a concept that the greasy-haired scientist perfected. He
took the basic ideas for producing weightlessness with superconductivity
then threw in a curve ball of his own. He found varying the distance
between the disks had much more effect than changing rotational velocity.
After a short pause in his speech, the head of the operation decides his
brilliant colleague can come up with something to remedy the situation. He
will let the ESA have its way. The balancing act of keeping all the branches
on the complicated tree happy is a chore Leonard does not enjoy, but it is
certainly one that comes with the territory.
“Ok. I’ll take care of it. Is there anything else?”
“That was the only one.”
“Ok.
Thanks.
You did the right thing.
I’ll go send off some
messages.”
“Ok sir. Hope I didn’t spoil your weekend,” the blonde male extends
in complete sincerity.
“Nah. I had to test out my new speakers anyway,” Leonard relates.
Mr. Downer supplies a mild laugh at the comment prior to turning
around and heading back to his office. Although the inconvenience created
by the current circumstance does not overly upset him, the fact that other
agencies are interfering with the process does.
Leonard moves toward
another steel door on the north end of the room. Upon arriving at the
59
window-less obstacle, he retrieves a key from his pocket, punches in a code,
inserts the key and swings open the door. The shift worker does not even
contemplate what happens in the “basement”. As far as he knows, it is just
standard transmissions, and even if it’s more, they pay him too well to worry
about it.
The stairway is sufficiently lit. The concrete steps continue down for
nearly three standard flights. The logic behind the added depth is actually to
allow for the massive amount of concrete required to fully protect the
structure against California’s common earthquakes. Finally, the somewhat
annoyed man reaches the final step. Instead of a fancy room with control
panels and wall-to-wall computers, several rows of file cabinets line the
eye’s view.
Leonard walks directly over to the fourth row of cabinets and opens
one of the drawers all the way then immediately closes it. The peculiar
process continues, as he repeats the method three more times on three
different drawers in three different rows. When he finishes closing the fifth,
a sound emits from below his feet. All of a sudden, the square that he is
standing on begins to descend. The hydraulic system carefully delivers him
to the bottom of the next level. He swiftly steps off the pad and presses the
nearby raise button. The upstairs keypad will not let another individual enter
for ten minutes after the hoist returns to its normal position. When it all
comes to a stop, the floor looks normal, since the two by two foot square
matches that of the basic tile scheme.
This room looks much more like a highly classified control room.
The main room is twenty by thirty feet and lined with different pieces of
electronic gadgetry. There are three doorways on the opposite end of where
Leonard entered the top-secret location.
A bathroom lies beyond the
60
leftmost, while a kitchen, berthing facilities, and storage can be found by
passing through the middle passageway.
The third and final option leads to a small office-sized space designed
for transmissions with the space station. Nearly all of the equipment within
the larger room will be used for receiving data from the Solar-Bio1. All
monitored parameters will be delivered to this room and processed. All
signals for control of the craft will be sent out from this very location. In
fact, after the launch, this will be the master headquarters. Nothing will
leave this room, unless specifically intended to do so. Even the building that
stands directly above him will be nothing more than a phone service and
administration center.
There are two sets of receiving/transmitting antennas.
A few
somewhat conspicuous devices are installed at a nearby peak on Tiefort
Mountain Range.
The highly classified term for this location is the
“Countermeasure Station”, because it is a diversion tactic. The assorted
components send out bogus signals to drive away attention from the real
system, which is hidden cleverly several miles away in Granite Mountain.
Leonard strolls along the waxed tile floor over to the special room for
communications, opens the door, and enters the room. He sits down on a
magenta, padded office chair. He rolls into position in front of a Compaq
computer with a 21-inch flat screen monitor. Next to that is an olderlooking system with a smaller screen and bulky keyboard. It is customized
for its particular function, which is to send and receive coded messages. The
machine language used for this system was invented for this one purpose.
Its signal resembles standard pulses and is virtually, if not completely,
impossible to decode.
61
The highly trusted man scratches his forehead before sifting his
fingers through his brown hair. It falls back into perfect place as soon as he
moves his hand away. He looks to his left at a pair of headphones and a
microphone. After signing on with the proper password, he will need these
two devices to deliver the audible information. It will be recorded onto the
hard drive, where it is converted from a standard wave file to a different
format.
He will use this method to inform the NASA and JPL
representatives up on the International Space Station to postpone completion
of the IDC.
Leonard turns his sights to the other side where the less-streamlined
computer sits.
Will Lisa be available?
Is she in the middle of her
examinations? He decides to give it try, sliding in front of the leftmost
keyboard. His fingers begin pounding the large, nearly indestructible keys.
Judging from his manner, one would come to the conclusion that Mr.
Thomas cannot type. While this is true, in this particular case, he is being
very careful to accurately enter the sequences, so a system shutdown does
not occur. The automatic lockout can only be overridden by a reboot.
After a few more strokes, the one-of-a-kind signal begins racing
through the atmosphere towards an identical system within the Destiny Lab.
There is a minimal delay associated with the travel, so he relaxes a bit as
evident by the stretching motions he performs. He recalls how he used to
waste time by lighting a cigarette. That was over ten years ago, and besides,
smoking is strictly prohibited in all spaces due to the fire hazard.
A surprisingly excited feeling invades Leonard’s spirits when he
catches sight of the moving cursor.
*--Hello Mr. Thomas_Nice surprise--*end
He instantly commences typing a response.
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*--Had to come in_What are the health figures?--*end
Each transmission carries with it a mildly aggravating delay,
comparable to operating a computer in the mid-eighties.
*--MR1=+19_FR1=+28_MR2=-57--*end
The positive numbers correspond to the amount ahead of schedule in
reference to health, while a negative symbolizes being behind.
*--Training?--*end
--MR1=+41_FR1=+21_MR2=+8--*end
Leonard was hoping to see an improvement on MR2’s condition, but
the numbers are slowly but steadily dropping. Although the radiation pills
were halted, he has not recovered, and it is beginning to look like he never
will.
*--Patty is ready for shift change_You have done good work_You
deserve some time off--*end
*--Thank you_By the way Happy Valentines Day!--*end
The fact that the holiday came without him realizing it comes as no
surprise. He knows he would not be given this opportunity if he were a
family man. JPL decided before project commencement that the distractions
would be too great for the mission requirements. He pictures his favorite
NASA employee opening the front door of her home in Titusville, Florida.
A huge smile decorates her face as she reaches for the flowers.
Or…wait…is she really reaching for…him?
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Chapter
Eight
July 27, 2004 – Kaliningrad, Russia
(Quotes translated)
64
Damoslav moves in a near synchronized manner with the
uniformed man next to him. The Khaki-clad officer executes his stride to
perfection, undoubtedly coming to him naturally from the years of practice.
The Russian Colonel’s outfit is bordered with bright red and decorated with
numerous medals and awards. His left shoulder yields a badge of the “Coat
of Arms”, which stands for Workers of all countries, Unite! As the two
highly ranked individuals walk between the yellow lines inside the large
warehouse, the Russian Space Agency executive peeks to his right to view
the patch, which bears the hammer and sickle above a rising sun. He
immediately returns his sights ahead as they near the garage-like door up
ahead.
Upon reaching the steel corrugated barrier, they abruptly stop, at
which time the military man punches a simple code into a side box. He
looks to Damoslav and smiles as the roll up door begins to move in the
upward direction. His hat proudly boasts the VKS insignia. The two men
differ as much in appearance as they do in personality. Mr. Machek is thin
and slightly above average in height, as compared to Col. Ivan Rebrov, who
stands no more than five-foot-seven and proudly carries a large belly. While
the civilian clothed in a dark blue business suit continually wears a serious
look, the officer displays a half smirk with a thick cigar plugged into the
other half. Damoslav’s deep dark eyes replicate a bottomless pit, much
contrasting to Ivan’s shiny reflective blue eyes. The RKA man is gray and
heavily aged, while the VKS director has short black hair, matching
moustache, and virtually no wrinkles to speak of. Upon initial observation,
one would easily guess the roles as being reversed, for Mr. Machek would
command more respect than the military officer.
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A visible cloud of aromatic smoke invades Damoslav’s space enough
to jar him from his thoughts. He chooses not to inform the cigar’s owner of
its annoying affect, instead opting to step back and avoid the smoggy
irritant. His sights veer to his direct left where he immediately spots an
armed guard in motionless fashion.
“Damoslav? May I introduce to you…Кролик-1,” Ivan announces in
a notably garbled voice, extending his arm toward the object of interest.
(Кролик-1 stands for “Rabbit-1” and is pronounced “Krolik”)
Instead of issuing an instant response, the taller man studies the
contraption closely.
The most prominent part of it is the dish-shaped
antennae in the center. Long arms, originating in the center, branch off in a
random fashion; each with its own assorted gadgetry attached.
The
strangely constructed device measures no more than ten feet from center in
any one direction.
“Is she ready?” Damoslav finally speaks.
“All but the nuclear fueling,” Col. Rebrov begins, “The Plutonium
238 cells will be installed three days prior to compartment insertion. All
other systems are tested and ready to go.”
“I see. Will the probe use nuclear fuel to jump ahead of the SolarBio1?” the civilian inquires, as his knowledge of the top-secret mission is
only of an overview level in reference to its technical aspects.
“Oh no. See that large tank with the jets mounted on top?” the
officer’s husky voice issues while he moves over to a better vantage point.
The less informed gent follows him, in order to view the component
to which his counterpart refers.
“Ah, yes. That will have ordinary propellant in it, I presume,” Mr.
Machek projects in his usual masculine tone.
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“That’s correct. We will use that boost to get ahead of Solar-Bio1.
The closer slingshots will do the rest,” he explains to the administrative
director.
“What kind of camera’s do we have?”
“This little son of a bitch…sorry…this little guy…has everything the
Americans have,” the Colonel swiftly catches his near use of vulgarity.
While his normal speech includes a definite helping of foul language,
he is excellent at toning it down in the company of women and civilians.
The military man continues to detail the Кролик1, “We have narrow angle,
wide angle….cosmic ray detection, spectrometers, radiometers…we have it
all…and we’ll beat the Americans by two years!”
“But…umm…Doesn’t NASA have the cameras mounted too?
I
mean, how will we prevent them from spotting the Кролик1 launch?”
“Ahh, good question. You see…the Кролик1 will stay in the
equipment compartment after the booster is released. As its drive mechanics
close the entire setup in on Mars, the compartment doors will open, and she
will jump out at precisely orbit height. She will then orbit once around Mars
before jetting towards Jupiter faster than the Solar-Bio…and even more
importantly on a different and faster course!” Ivan speaks excitedly about
the genius plan, “They will never see her.”
“Brilliant,” Damoslav agrees.
A short pause proceeds, which seems to provide sufficient time for the
visitor to conjure up another thought of concern. His look of befuddlement
is quickly detected by the project’s head officer.
“What is it?”
“Just thinking. The Americans are nosey. How do we know they will
not inspect the so-called equipment compartment before the Solar-Bio is
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sent off? The schedule shows a couple fuel loading trips after the boosters
are delivered. That’s what…over a month for them to snoop around?”
“Yes, we thought of this too. If the integrity is breached up at the
space station, all they will see is the electronic components, sort of as if they
were mounted on framework for stability. It will look like nothing more
than equipment properly stowed for later research on Mars. They will have
no idea that it is a probe.”
“Good job. Your agency does fine work. The Americans and their
billion dollar projects. We will beat them there for a fraction of the cost.
You know…if we never agreed to this International Space Station, we could
send the probe up without hiding it.”
“Yes, that is true, but…I think the station will pay dividends down the
road,” the Russian Space Forces leader relates, instantly delivering a dose of
curiosity to its intended target.
“What do you mean?”
“Not sure…but…those Americans are up to something. Too many
closed-doors operations. We’re on it though. I don’t think we are the only
ones with a secret, and I fully plan on uncovering theirs!” the man’s normal
half-hearted fashion is finished off with complete authority.
Before a response can be supplied, a short series of melodic notes
emits from the near vicinity. Ivan immediately identifies the sound as the
ringing of his cell phone.
The small black gadget is swiftly retrieved,
creating a faint click as a result of the fastener releasing its grip on the cloth
belt.
The Colonel reads the data displayed on the LED window before
issuing a statement, “Excuse me a moment Damoslav. It is Soneshka, my
wife.”
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As the phone conversation breaks the effective meeting, at least for
the time being, the taller male figure looks back at the mostly silver
contraption. Can they truly pull this event off? What could the Americans
be hiding? Could it be that his Russian companion is just a tad paranoid?
Chapter
Nine
September 5, 2004 – San Bernardino, CA
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A refreshing sound issues from the beer bottle as the ceramic
pop-top disengages, allowing the internal pressure to release. The sixteenounce Grolsh is hoisted to the thirty-nine-year-old’s lips, where a substantial
gulp is directed towards his throat. Leonard sends out a sigh in response to
the satisfaction that his favorite beer delivers. The game clock shows fortynine seconds remaining in the first half with his beloved St. Louis Rams
nursing a ten-point lead. Opening day always brings such hope for the
coming season, although his team has been pathetic ever since they won it
all five seasons ago.
The furnishings in Leonard’s home are modest, but stylish.
His
choice of furniture includes soft brown leather couches with a matching
recliner. Football is most certainly something he has a great passion for. He
seems to prefer the running back position, based on the attractive pictures
around him. Barry Sanders, Walter Payton, and Jim Brown dominate the
largest section of wall surface. Even the jersey that he is wearing is that of
the Ram’s current running back, Jeff Chaney, a fourth year sensation out of
Florida State.
As the last few seconds tick away, thereby giving way to the halftime
festivities, the sports fan works his recently relaxed frame into a standing
position. While Sunday is normally a day off for him, on this particular
weekend, he is awaiting a reply to his formal request. The launch date has
become a significant issue in the Solar-Bio Mission. A committee was
formed to render a decision regarding which launch trajectory shall be
utilized.
Mr. Thomas recently supplied the arbitrators with a detailed
dissertation supporting his argument for waiting until 2009. An answer was
70
originally promised by the 3rd of the month, but due to flight delays, the
meeting was rescheduled for first thing this morning.
Leonard carries his green bottle of lager with him as he makes his way
into his study. His hair is a mess compared to its normal condition, and his
face is unshaven, although one would be hard pressed to notice the scattered
light stubble on his baby face. Being opening day, he should be in good
spirits, especially with his team presently in the lead; however, he is worried
about the upcoming results of the board’s review. He knows that his side of
the story is weak, since he can’t actually tell them the “entire” situation.
Finally, Leonard finds himself in front of his computer, logging onto
the secured site where he can access his messages.
After a series of
passwords (two more than the normal account would require), he is staring
at his inbox. His mind reflects on an old movie called “You got mail”, for it
reminds him of the moment. Somewhat reluctantly, Leonard double-clicks
on the unopened letter. It is from the committee and is addressed to all
parties with ties to the Solar-Bio Mission.
It reads as follows:
After careful consideration and a detailed review of all information
presented to us, we have come to the conclusion that the Solar-Bio1 should
be launched using the 2005 trajectory. The VKS’ secondary Mars Missions
should not be set back four years without adequate cause. While JPL has
submitted deep concerns in reference to their readiness by such date, NASA
has assured the committee that these issues can be resolved with sufficient
time for the testing phase to be completed.
It is also the decision of this appointed committee that if JPL
continues to hold firmly to the 2009 target, we will have no choice but to
71
recommend a NASA takeover of JPL’s authority in the Solar-Bio Mission.
In this case, Rebecca Thompson will head the Bio Division and Scott
Jeffers, the Flight Operations.
This will also require JPL surrender of
operational headquarters.
We find the above judgment fair and in the best interest of the
majority, which includes the citizens of the countries involved.
The result is not a surprise to Leonard Thomas, although he did not
expect NASA to completely side with the Russians. He wonders what sort
of agreement was made between the two parties. Did the always-perceivedas-reputable NASA accept a bribe from the VKS? Did the woman, whom
he is so fond of, actually volunteer to take over? Why didn’t his boss get
involved? Was the risk of exposure too great?
The youthful gentleman realizes he has no choice but to comply with
the decision and make the necessary adjustments. He could never allow
another organization, even his own parent company, in on his little secret.
Even if he could convince Rebecca to go along with sending a young human
recruit to space, he would never be lucky enough to get operations to change
the Solar-Bio1’s path away from Pluto and towards the real target. This is
his mission, and while politics are creating distractions, it is still his show to
run.
Leonard’s thoughts begin to focus on the part of the mission that is
most effected by this recent announcement. Who will he send? He was
already concerned about sending an eight-year-old, and now he must reduce
it to a near unthinkable age. So…now…whom will he send? Recent tests
have shown FR1 to have the superior IQ, but she isn’t absorbing the
information like MR1. This is, perhaps, due to the added emotional baggage
72
they have allowed into her programming. MR1 has been a learning sponge,
and as far as health, they are both in excellent shape.
A short pause in his mental process follows, as the thought of health
reminds him of the recent passing of MR2. He wishes he could have
shuttled him back to earth. Would it have helped? In any event, the ride
was not available, and his top-secret status would not have allowed it. A
powerful dose of guilt invades the confused gent, for he blames himself for
the finality of the child’s life.
The saddened tone leads to a blankness, before he at last shakes it,
returning to the place his mind was much like a hand opening to the page
that was earlier book-marked. Leonard knows he must send MR1. This is
the mission’s best shot at success, based on who can learn the most prior to
launch. It is the first couple years of travel that concerns him most, so he
will instruct the “teacher” to coordinate all efforts to the male. They must
front load the lessons to include systems technical data, medical knowledge,
and survival tactics.
As the project leader contemplates the teaching philosophies, his
brainwaves turn to the subject of the actual teacher. Patricia is presently in
the Destiny Lab, but she is scheduled to return soon. Without tossing other
possibilities into the mix, he decides she should extend her stay until launch
date. This would add eight months of near zero gravity to her body. While
the children’s tissue and bones are accustomed to these conditions, Miss
Bonham’s body is not. Leonard justifies the decision based on the Russian’s
two-year stays on the former Mir Space Station.
Will the woman, who toils two-hundred-thirty miles above the earth,
agree to the extension? He concludes that he will offer her full clearance
and a position at the operational headquarters in the desert.
She will
73
certainly jump at such an opportunity. Besides, after all she will learn about
MR1, Patricia will be a substantial asset.
His speeding thoughts take a technical break when they return to the
football game. Does he have time to watch the second half? Should he
begin the drive to headquarters now?
There are some very important
messages to send via the special coded transmission system, but…it’s
opening day!
A new line of wonderment enters the overly stimulated man’s agenda.
Why are the Russians in such a rush? The Mars’ manned missions are not
projected to be ready for at least ten more years. Have they got a few tricks
up their sleeves? Are they planning on an earlier mission, so they need
supplies delivered before the 2009 time frame?
Speaking (thinking) of Mars….why is it so important to put a man on
the ground? There is nothing there! If you’re going to send someone out
into space, why not……..send him someplace………………good?
Chapter
Ten
May 10, 2005 – Detroit Free Press
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Associated Press - The long-awaited joint mission, known as
the Solar-Bio1, was successfully launched from the International Space
Station, Monday at 10:08 AM EST. Prior to booster ignition, the 1.2 billion
dollar spacecraft was released where it used onboard systems to maneuver
itself away from the space station. Four hours later, the proper trajectory
was obtained and full power engaged.
The mission begins less than one year after Cassini’s fatal crash into
one of Saturn’s rings and its orbiting ice crystals. While the Solar-Bio1 will
be attempting to penetrate the same gap known as the Encke Division, JPL
points out that the failure was due more to unpredictability than to a
miscalculation. They state their confidence in that the incident will not be
repeated.
Russian Space Agency representative, Damoslav Machek released a
statement following the project’s first milestone. He goes on to say, “We are
very excited about putting a man on Mars. The Solar-Bio drop off places us
one step closer to that goal. We also hope to include the United States, the
ESA, and others who wish to join in on future projects dealing with our
neighbor planet.” Zachary Peters of NASA had no comment on whether
they plan to unite with Russia’s efforts, except to say, “Funding has forced
us to make choices. Due to the infrequency of this planetary lineup, we
opted to direct the tax dollar towards a Pluto exploration program. Mars is,
indeed, in the future. We just don’t know when.”
Jet Propulsion Laboratories did report a system malfunction, shortly
after take off.
Apparently the interior photo system routing device
experienced an electronic-related failure. While JPL stated that the cameras
75
cannot be repaired from their local control center, they have assured NASA
and the ESA that the existing monitors are sufficient to conduct biological
research and properly navigate the craft.
The Solar-Bio1 is schedule to
Continued on page 3A
Chapter
Eleven
May 11, 2005 / 4:00 AM PST – Solar-Bio1
(432,306 miles beyond Earth, traveling at 10,285 mph)
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The blurry scene that MR1’s awakening eyes capture slowly begins to
sharpen into a more coherent picture. A healthy yawn follows the visual
reception of the new day. As the small child squirms in the considerably
larger, padded chair, it becomes evident that his forty- pound (in reference to
earth) frame is being restrained. The realization that he is not at “home”
finally sinks into his consciousness.
How long has he been sleeping?
Where is he?
The answers to the simple, but extremely significant questions do not
jump out and replace the confusion with clarity. While the 4 x 10 room
resembles the dwelling that he resided in for four years, it lacks the scattered
equipment and articles. MR1 obtains a forward view of the rectangularshaped room, noting that the space is basically empty. There is a box-like
panel on the wall with a couple lights and buttons mounted in the front. To
the youth’s left, there is a silver, metal container that is closed up. His mind
is still too bewildered, concerning the bigger picture, to wonder what could
be inside the cabinet-like structure. The little boy attempts to acquire a peek
at the area directly behind him but immediately realizes that the leather
straps are keeping him in place. He studies the clamping device for a short
moment, learning that it merely requires a simple push on the release
mechanism. Within seconds, the four-year-old removes the belt from his lap
and the other from his chest area, noticing he is clothed in a pair of light blue
shorts, white tee shirt, and tennis shoes.
The young male recruit twists his body around, barely cognizant of
the fact that his body is no longer held down and is beginning to float a bit.
There is a large square apparatus centered on the wall. While its front is
77
mostly a grating of sorts, the room’s dimly lit status makes it difficult to see
what type of contraption is housed within its confinement. Although it is
presently silent, the Decelerator supplied the room with a high-pitched sound
while MR1 slept for several hours.
Finally, something tangible helps link his memory banks with his
current circumstance. The light! It was Green! The lesson plan told him
that he would sleep for a while then be able to leave the room when the
green light lit.
The great journey has begun!
He is in the Interior
Deceleration Chamber (IDC), because his body cannot handle the effects of
acceleration. But….the light is now green….the danger period is over. He
can enter the space vehicle!
An about face is executed, proceeded by a healthy thrust away from
the chair.
The absence of gravity allows his thirty-eight-inch frame to
maintain suspension as it glides swiftly in the direction of the door. He
reaches the vertical surface with a little more force than he intended to
produce. The enthusiasm is fueled by his memory of the lesson plans that
seemed to repeatedly emphasize that the Solar-Bio1 would be a much better
place for him. He worked hard for what then seemed to be an eternity, in
order to learn everything that was required to be awarded a new home.
MR1 grips a nearby, wall-mounted bar to enable him to push his way
toward the floor. As he looks at his clenching left hand, he catches sight of
the brown band with a miniature LED type window around his wrist. He
recalls how he can never take the watch off, for it sends a signal to inform
the ship’s controls of the his continuous whereabouts. The small device is
extremely important for radiation dosage counting, activity monitoring, and
IDC operations.
Even the craft’s lighting system detects the need for
illumination based on this information, thereby saving greatly on electrical
78
consumption.
The momentary recollection fades when his thoughts return to his
quest to enter the world that is presently hiding behind the grayish door. A
modest amount of energy is needed to raise his body back up, bringing him
to within eye level of the control box. He presses the green, open button.
An abrupt snap instantly results, which triggers an increase in heart rate,
something rather foreign to him. The six-foot barrier directly to his left
starts to swing open on its powerful hinges.
The piston-driven system
releases its pressure within the cylinder. The air compressor, which was
required to maintain air pressure to hold the door closed, will soon
automatically shutdown on low demand.
The brown-haired, blue-eyed boy releases his grip and begins to float.
He quickly reaches forward, using the door jam to gain a firm hold. The
stabilization was not needed to stop the sensation of free movement but to
better focus on the sights within the larger space. It is just like the pictures
on the screen inside his “old” home. Fourteen feet away from the gazing
child stands an impressive control center. The three-station system rises
from the floor to the seven-foot ceiling.
Alarms, gages, and switches
decorate the Master Control Panel, which takes up the entire fourteen-foot
width of Solar-Bio1’s interior front wall. A six-foot wide section angles
along the wall on each side. Large blue letters label the left segment as the
“Information Center”. Although MR1 is uncharacteristically advanced for a
four-year-old, he has many years of learning ahead, and this will be the
teacher.
He continues to scan the impressive electronic wonder, pausing to
read the bold label near the top of the rightmost panel. Not only does he
comprehend the words “Transmission Central”, but the words also remind
79
him that he had specific instructions to send a message back after “IDC
exit”. He notices that there is a long bench seat in front of the front control
station and smaller round seats next to the two side panels. His eyes skip
about the room, noting the “guide rails” that construct a visual checkerboard
across the ceiling. In order to conduct human travel via the floor, strong
rubber handles bolted down to, and protruding from, the silver gray flooring
are scattered methodically about.
The ski pole-like, flexible posts will
provide the little space traveler with the ability to “pull up”, thereby creating
a downward force, which in turn will simulate gravity for the purpose of
walking.
MR1 remembers the televised segment, which included an animated
human figure utilizing the innovative props to move horizontally, but he opts
to journey into the larger space the old-fashioned, preferred way. His hand
pushes off the adjacent wall projecting him forward with a slight upward
angle.
The cabin’s internal atmosphere is the only resistance his body
experiences as it silently floats toward Transmission Central. His sights
capture the large oval-shaped hole in the center of the room, which is the
main access into the lower compartment. Commencing approximately twofeet above the hole, a ladder leads into the “basement”, which serves many
purposes; but most notably, inventory storage.
As if carefully calculated prior to launch, the young occupant eases up
to his destination. His palms reach out to catch the approaching surface.
Proper planning was instituted during construction, as all three panels have a
thick, clear plastic sheet covering the entire vertical section. The protective
material allows the craft’s rider to move about without threat of harm to the
equipment or himself. MR1 grabs a rail and lowers his frame toward the
circular seat. He locates the leather strapping, fabricated for the purpose of
80
holding him steady, and inserts the metal fastener into the female end. The
chair has the ability to swivel 360 degrees plus move side to side along a
slot. There are four equally sized metal covers upon the sloping horizontal
section. Hinges allow them to be opened while in use and covered rest of
the time. Everything is labeled, including the mini doors that he is presently
viewing. It is identified as the “Primary Transmissions Keyboard”.
Just as his youthful fingers make contact with the knob, a considerable
rumble echoes from inside. He has not eaten a thing in nearly forty-eight
hours. While he realizes the importance of informing headquarters that he
survived the first hurdle, he also knows that his body is the most important
machine on the Solar-Bio1 and needs nourishment.
He rotates the chair around and receives his first view from that
vantage point. The sheer volume seems like a giant warehouse to him.
Before this very moment, he had never experienced life outside of his little
space within the Destiny Lab. Although he never felt uncomfortable with it,
the actual encounter of a larger area relaxes him in a sense. The male
traveler looks back at the small room where he had spent the first two days.
The letters IDC are attached above. To the left of that, and only a few feet
away, is the RSR (Radiation Shielding Room). It is surrounded by a twofoot wall filled with water on every side. Even the doors, which allow
access from either level, are filled with water when closed. The space serves
as a sleeping quarters and protection against cosmic rays during high
intensity periods. A three-foot wide hallway lays adjacent with a long row
of blue lockers. From his vantage point he can see the names on them: First
Aid / Medical, Equipment / Tool, Clothing Locker, and Document Control.
At the end of the hallway, a closed door exists, which is one of the
two entrance points for the machinery spaces. The barrier is made of sound
81
insulating material to reduce decibel levels in the living quarters. While his
overall understanding of the vital machines behind the door is minimal, he
feels a strong urge to check it out. A second growl from deep within quickly
reverts his attention to the moment’s top priority. His sights veer to his
right, where he can see a portion of the exercise station and a portion of the
Fungi Bio-Dome, which will soon provide a large percentage of his diet.
Slightly further to the right is something he completely forgot about. A
window!
Without any contemplation, he removes the restraining device and
executes the needed motion to approach the opening that will provide him
with his first glimpse of the stars. Upon reaching the covered window, he
recalls the “episode” dealing with the Solar-Bio1’s floor plan. MR1 turns
around enough to see in the direction from which he just came.
As
expected, there is another window, identical in nature, right next to where he
was sitting. Unfortunately, the transmissions panel blocked it from view.
The insignificant issue is quickly ignored as evident by his return of
attention to the rightmost window. A button on the side of the Information
Center panel is clearly marked, defining itself as the means to lift away the
lead blind. While rest of the ship’s exterior skin is covered with radiation
absorbing coils and gamma shielding metal, the windows are not. The lead
is needed to reduce the hazard while still allowing occasional viewing.
Curiosity overrides hunger, resulting in the carrying out of the easy
task of energizing the roll-up motor. Had he thought of it, the anxious youth
could have manually secured the forward lighting; but, instead, he chooses
to cup his hands, in order to douse the illumination. He is immediately
mesmerized by the vast horizon. The deep black is so immense, yet the
brilliance of the distant objects seems to pierce through effortlessly. The
82
presence of so many “tiny light bulbs” without the existence of actual light
does not surprise him, nor seem strange. Instead he begins to think about the
journey he is embarking on and how these many twinkles will be ever
changing in formation and size.
His thoughts of the future continue as he reflects upon his actual target
destination. What a wonderful place this will be. He is fortunate to an
immeasurable degree to be the first to make the journey. He will pave the
way for all that follow. When the monitor back at the Destiny Lab informed
him of his condition, he did not understand. Now, it is a little clearer. It is
his physical disability that presents him with this opportunity.
He recalls reading the words about his muscular disorder and how the
tissue would deteriorate if he were to live on earth. His mother had to
actually go to space to give birth to him. In fact, it was his mother that was
behind the words on the screen. As he looks out into the galaxy, a question
enters his mind that had never before. He had always assumed that he could
not “see’ his mother or anyone else, for that matter, because the walls had to
be made like they were. Why couldn’t they be made like this window?
Perhaps they just couldn’t. MR1 specifically recalls the teachings about
mothers and other people. The typed words explained how humans all have
their own purpose. They work to form a team. Giving birth to a “baby
person” was no more important than the human that grows food for others.
It is a huge chain, and each person in that chain is the same. In fact, it stated
that he, MR1, is a part of the team as well.
As the boy speeds through space at high velocities his mind seems to
make attempts to match it. Due to JPL’s scheme of continual drilling of
information, he has developed an incredible level of intelligence for his age,
at least in the areas that they projected as being mandatory at this point.
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Soon, however, he comes to the conclusion that he has many years to figure
these things out. The on board computers will certainly explain it all as he
learns more….and besides……he’s hungry.
Chapter
Twelve
May 11, 2005 / 6 AM PST – Fort Irwin
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“What time did you say IDC green-lighted?” Leonard Thomas asks
the male technician to his immediate right.
“Seven minutes after midnight sir,” the slightly taller man replies as
he adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses.
His rounded spectacles and beak-like nose make him look like a
blonde John Lennon.
“The system status report will be coming in shortly sir. The location
marker will tell us if he has left the room,” he adds, lacking the accent of the
former singer.
“Good.
Thanks,” the JPL lead man returns, fully aware that the
information his assistant refers to concerns the wristband device.
“Sir? The sleeping pill was pretty potent. He could still be sleeping,”
a blonde female from behind suggests with a notable grin, “Besides, sir, the
boosters are peanuts compared to what’s ahead.”
“Yeah,” Leonard begins, “I know. I just want it all to go well.”
The man in charge cannot hide his worried state, and if truth be
known, Patricia Bonham’s smile is only a method to conceal her nervous
tension as well. She is also still quite weak from her extended stay up on the
space station. After being shuttled back to Cape Canaveral, she caught a
flight to Bakersfield, California to begin her new position at the Operations
Headquarters. Miss Bonham wished to remain at the Destiny Lab until after
the launch, but the final loading trip included her relief, so she had no choice
in the matter.
The brown-eyed woman offers her boss a fresh cup of coffee, “Here
ya go sir.”
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Mr. Thomas accepts the kind gesture, returning a thankful nod. Still,
his self-occupied status is obvious, for he is normally rather talkative and
much more upbeat. In fact, under normal circumstances, he would refuse to
be referred to as “sir”.
The three highly cleared workers stand quietly for a minute or two
inside the main control station. There are two rows of standard-looking
electronic components. A printer sets on each end, equaling four in all. The
door for the secret level transmissions is closed, and for all practical
purposes, would appear as storage or a janitor’s closet to an unknowing eye.
During early stages of project organization, it was decided that this room
would be separate. In the case of future or unexpected visitors, the room
could be locked. Since all information pertaining to the mission, minus that
from MR1, is routed to the main room, there would be no need to enter the
smaller space. Even if the integrity were to be broken, determining the
equipment’s function based on physical appearance would be next to
impossible.
While the fancy equipment within the underground station emits
scattered beeps and the occasional chatter of a printer, the computer system
that they intently stare at remains silent. The on-duty expert, Dan Cleveland
peeks at his watch, realizing the “6 AM” will soon be received, processed,
and displayed on the 21-inch screen. Once every six hours, an hourly
radiation readout is transmitted from the Solar-Bio1. Although these levels
yield important information, it is not the actual numerical data that interests
the anxious individuals. It is “what can be determined from the report” that
holds their present attention.
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“What’s the delay time on this Dan?” the increasingly impatient man
wonders aloud after gulping a healthy swallow of his coffee-flavored
caffeine.
“The travel time is quite short, maybe ten minutes max. I guess…add
another two or three for the machine language translator,” he continues to
extrapolate a projected time of arrival, “So, I’d say, it should be here…oh,
about…now!”
There would be little to no debate as to whether Mr. Cleveland is a
very intelligent man, but a magician, he is not. The monitor remains void of
the numbers that they desire. Without issuing a verbal response, Leonard
swigs the last teaspoon of java then places the JPL mug upon the countertop.
He slowly removes his leather jacket, nonchalantly positioning it next to the
empty coffee cup. His light blue pullover exhibits signs of perspiration at
the pits. Miss Bonham chooses to pass on the wide-open opportunity, in
reference to the technician’s somewhat inaccurate guess.
She is the
newcomer of the bunch and just wants to fit in for the time being.
“Well anybody care to make another gu…”
Before Leonard can complete his mildly sarcastic remark, the cursor
travels rightward from the upper-left hand corner of the screen. Information
in the form of rows and columns begins to take shape on the CRT.
“Print it!” the group’s leader issues in a more excited than
commanding tone.
Dan performs the simple operation that sends the data to the laser jet’s
buffer. The closed-circuit network delivers the figures in a “what seems to
be” instantaneous manner. Within seconds, a normal 8 x 11 ½ sheet is fed
through the machine’s pathway and onto the holding tray. The nervous
director snatches the document, bringing the paper within viewing range.
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Patricia curiously looks over his left shoulder aided by her tiptoes, while the
third member of the secret party opts to utilize the monitor. The printout
appears as follows:
Date / Time
IDC
RSR
FWD
AFT
LWR
051105/0100
051105/0200
051105/0300
051105/0400
051105/0500
051105/0600
1.30*
1.21*
1.20*
1.52*
1.23
0.97
0.15
0.12
0.12
0.16
0.12
0.10
2.60
2.42
2.41
3.13
2.46*
1.94*
2.55
2.42
2.39
3.19
2.44
1.99
2.66
2.65
2.48
3.40
2.50
2.11
6 hour total:
Mission total:
9.63 mrem
57.13 mrem
“Yes!” Leonard Thomas exclaims at a vibrant, joyous volume.
A fresh smile paints his youthful face as he starts to study the actual
radiation levels. His excitement is based on the location of the asterisk in
each row. The other agencies within the mission believe these marks to
simply indicate which mrem/hr reading the computer will use to project
accumulated dosage. These JPL members know that it is really the location
of MR1 (more specifically, his wristband) at precisely the top of each hour.
The Solar-Bio1 lone rider’s “actual” dosage is tallied by a computer inside
the craft and displayed on the local control panel. It changes which detector
it counts each time the child changes rooms. The Operations Headquarters
can obtain this number by asking MR1 to transmit the readout. Since the
projected total is likely to be very close, it is not a significant issue.
It was decided to base all mission operations on Pacific Standard
Time, since this is the equivalent to that where all decisions and
transmissions will be made. As far as the reasoning behind going with a
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REM or “biological effect” type indication over a RAD or “energy level”
type indication; it was determined that this radiation monitoring system is
simpler and provides better comparison to the nuclear industrial ratings. A
civilian is allowed up to 5 Rem per year. JPL hopes to prove (more than
most realize) that they can limit the Solar-Bio1 interior to no more than three
times that amount.
“He’s out!” Leonard adds to his short, but meaningful, statement.
“How long? When?” the thirty-eight-year-old female inquires, as she
does not fully understand the spreadsheet.
“Looks like…sometime after four,” the happy project head computes,
“Why hasn’t he made the call? God, I hope he’s alright.”
“But, well, sir…couldn’t it be that, I mean…what about the delay?
Maybe he already has,” the fairly attractive lady stumbles while looking
more towards the Beatle look alike.
“Actually,” the technical employee begins, realizing the question has
been directed in his vicinity, “You have a point; although, right now, the
difference is minimal. Both signals are high gain, but these here are x-band,
8.4 gigahertz…super fast, like 7 kilobits per second. The coded stuff will be
an s-band…still high frequency, bout 3.5 gig…but only 100 bits per
second.”
Even though the woman does not specialize in the communications
field, she comprehends the relationship and quickly provides proof.
“So, it will take longer. Why didn’t we use the faster data transfer?”
“Well…there are a couple reasons. Quite genius, if I do say so. Have
to give Nile the credit on this one,” Dan awards his scientific partner then
explains, “The x-band is well known. A popular broadcast choice. It will be
picked up and examined under a microscope by space buffs and obviously
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NASA, ESA, and oh yeah…the Russians. The slower band is pretty much
our own frequency and since we expect short transmissions…not a big deal.
In fact, if one of the methods fails, it can be switched to the higher gain
band.
The ship has two antennas that alternate, so we are more than
covered. But…back to the original thought…Yes…this is a bit more of a
delay. But, the distance will always be a larger factor.”
“Cool,” she replies in an attempt to add a little Californian style to her
repertoire.
No sooner does the technical discussion come to a close, than
Leonard’s pager emits the standard ring. The sound usually delivers an
annoying sensation to its owner, but in this case, the brown-haired man is
more than eager to determine the call’s origin. The window displays the
number 909-798-1133. The “caller ID” possesses the exact digits he was
hoping to see, for this is the signal that indicates MR1 has completed a
communications attempt. The San Bernardino area code creates an excuse
in case the device ends up in the wrong hands.
Instead of informing the two interested bystanders of the news, he
executes a rapid pace toward the door on the right. His fingers feverishly
fish for the key that will afford access. Ever since the mission launch was
completed, leaving the door unlocked or open has been strictly prohibited,
except during transmissions.
To further increase security during these
special broadcasts, the “basement” entrance system will lockout all attempts
of entry until the door is closed and the computer inside is secured.
Leonard swiftly turns the knob then guides the dead bolt out of its
slot. By this time, Patricia has joined his company, while Mr. Cleveland has
selected to stay in the main section. None of the room’s occupants supply
audible comments during the moments leading up to the booting of the
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processor. As the basic load up progresses, Mr. Thomas grabs the closest
chair and slides it over to his frame. The blue-eyed male grips the other seat
and swivels it around, inviting his female counterpart to the more
comfortable position. Just as Patricia’s thin frame gets situated, the monitor
requests a password.
Leonard pulls the squared-off keyboard a bit closer then pauses. He
wonders if he is “hogging” the spotlight. While he is the boss, it would
certainly be a great gesture if he were to allow the newest member of the
underground team the privilege.
“Go ahead Patty. Why don’t you drive?” Shoot…he’s your boy,” he
kindly suggest, while his comment is true in more ways than one.
“Thank you sir,” she smiles favorably.
“Oh and Leonard is fine.”
Another cheerful expression finds its way to her face, which, like
usual, is faintly pale and quite thin on the makeup. She sports light blue eye
shadow and thickened lashes. She rarely wears lipstick or blush, opting for
the natural look.
Although her energy level is lacking a little due to the process of
readjusting to earth’s gravity, she does not hesitate to enter her passwords.
Her mind begins flashing past images of the boy that she will soon be
communicating with. She recalls the way he would float so effortlessly with
great control and maneuverability. He reminded her of a fish in a bowl,
swimming through the obstacles as if it were second nature.
Finally, her anxious fingers complete the somewhat long-winded task,
and the message that MR1 sent is up on the screen.
*--Hello_I am fine_One alarm_IVS--*end
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Leonard clenches his right fist in a silent voicing of his satisfaction,
before issuing a response, “Good Job, Patricia. This is a direct reflection on
your work. This is a four-year-old doing this!”
“What should we say? I guess we should explain to him what is
wrong with the cameras, so he doesn’t worry about that alarm,” she proposes
the logical move.
“I thought about that. I’d rather he think the cameras work. If he
thinks we are watching, he will be more apt to study harder and do things the
way his is instructed,” the same-aged man returns.
Leonard does not inform her that the IVS (Interior Video System)
failure was not an accident. It was pre-planned for a very good reason,
namely to prevent the pictures of “human presence” from landing in the
hands of possible troublemakers. While the photos would certainly improve
the project’s monitoring capabilities, transmitting them across the skyway
was far too large of a risk.
The native Californian does not hold the
information from Miss Bonham for any specific reason, other than the fact
that it is not pertinent for her to know.
“Should we have him do a vital signs check or…gee, I can’t believe
this. I have so many things I want to ask, and I can’t think of a thing to say,”
she says while laughing at herself.
“I know what you mean. Just ask him if he has any questions about
food and water. We’ll start there.”
“Ok. Good idea”
She slowly thinks through the best way to type out the simple inquiry,
recognizing this is no average four-year-old she’s dealing with.
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*--Hello MR1_Are you hungry or thirsty?_Do you know what to
eat?_Do you know how to get the water?--*end
“I’ll go make a fresh pot of coffee. I imagine this is going to take
while,” Patricia offers in an effort to waste time as much as to fill her body
with the energizing drug.
“Ok. I’m guessing about thirty minutes per right now. I’ll go review
the rest of the reports. After we send off the next transmission, we’ll
shutdown and close up, so Nile can relieve Dan.”
The next half hour drags worse than the periods that preceded it.
Leonard examines the assorted data, but short of a system malfunction, there
is really nothing that can cause concern. Inventory is at full capacity, and it
is far too early to fret over navigational coordinates. As Leonard half listens
to his male assistant, his mind begins to wander. Will the young child know
what to do? Can he possibly be disciplined enough to study when there is no
physical means to require him to do so?
As the seconds tick away from the mental countdown that both
individuals perform inside their brains, the gadget fastened to Leonard’s
belt sings out its high-pitched sound. Dan silently chuckles to himself, in
response to watching them run back towards the room like a couple eager
kids.
*--I have ate_Water is in RSR or kitchen_please call me Alex--*end
“Alex?
What is this?” his masculine tone has a certain elevated
concern attached to it.
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The woman sitting next to him does not issue a quick reply, instead
she nervously sifts her left hand through her medium-length straight hair.
She knew that she would later regret supplying the young boy with a real
name. It was just so hard to watch the boy without being able to reach out
and touch him. She fought the temptation every day without giving in. All
she did is give him a real name instead of that number he was designated
with. Will this cost her the job she worked so hard to obtain?
“Patricia. I need to know. What is this about?”
“I’m so sorry sir, I just…I just felt so sorry for him. I didn’t want him
going through life without a name,” her innocent, chocolate brown eyes
begin to gather tears.
“But, but, this was not in the lesson plan. He would never know the
difference. He would just think everyone has a name like that!” his voice
increases in intensity, disregarding the fact that she is crying.
“I am so sorry. I figured he would get confused when he read things.
You know, some things would contradict down the road. I didn’t think it
would hurt anything,” her crying is loud enough to attract the on-duty
watchman in the other room, although he chooses to stay out of the heated
discussion.
“But, that’s why we have the transmissions.
When he doesn’t
understand something, we can explain it to him…the way he needs to hear
it.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Ok, alright. This is not the end of the world. Let’s just umm. Relax
ok? I shouldn’t have jumped on you. I realize how hard it must have been
up there,” he begins, hoping she will calm down, “Now…we have to figure
what to do about this.”
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“I can tell him to stop using the name. I’ll do that if you want.”
“No. I think we can keep this under wraps. Let’s make this your
special name for him. It’ll be how he knows he is talking to you. You did
tell him that you are his mother right?”
“Yes. Just like it was discussed.”
“You told him that mothers are nothing more than regular people
right? They just have a job to do. You understood that it was important for
him to think of the family unit as having no ties. Right?”
“Yes.”
“I know how hard that had to be. But…it was the only way. If he
knows no other way…”
“I did exactly like I was instructed sir, I promise”
“Ok. It must have been hard to look at his eyes knowing he could
not…,” he pauses before completing the sentence, then begins a new one,
“Oh god, please tell…you didn’t…Did you let him see you?!”
“No! Of course not,” her words are forceful and sure.
“Alright.
That’s certainly good.
Now…is there anything else?
Anything else I should know about?”
A slight hesitation follows the very direct and to the point question.
She gathers a fresh supply of oxygen before answering the Solar-Bio
Mission director.
“No. Not a thing”
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Chapter
Thirteen
May 24, 2005 – Orlando, Florida
The medical technician slowly adjusts a knob, which is
mounted on the bottom section of the small monitor. After she is satisfied
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with the sharpness that the slight calibration delivers, she looks back at the
woman who awaits the ultrasonic test. The hospital employee is a very
attractive brunette with engaging green eyes. Although the customary white
overcoat is loose, her large bust and trim waist is quite evident. She wears a
sincere smile as she prepares to explain the procedure to her patient.
“Hi. My name is Denise,” she greets the female in the prone position.
“Hello. I am Alexia. Is this going to hurt?” the sweet looking, young
woman quickly inquires.
“It will cause some discomfort honey. There should be no serious
pain. If it hurts too much, you just let me know,” the twenty-eight-year-old
instructs.
“Ok. My doctor said that the bleeding is probably nothing to worry
about. Why do I have to do this? Do I have cancer?” the nineteen-yearold’s voice has a noticeable nervousness to it.
“Oh honey. Vaginal bleeding is not an uncommon thing. Your doctor
probably just wanted to have the Endovaginal Ultrasound to eliminate the
Uterus. You should not worry right now, ok?”
“Ok”
“Are you ready? This will really be over before you even know it,”
the technician vows.
“Yeah let’s go”
The shapely woman walks around the younger female who is only
clothed in a light blue gown. Denise continues her stroll around the padded
table until she approaches a smaller horizontal surface that possesses the
assorted instruments to perform the examination. Alexia does not have her
legs in the stirrups.
The professional radiological department worker
generally avoids using them unless the patient cannot hold still. While the
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blue-eyed girl lying on the elaborate bed is a very young lady, the EVUS
was formerly intended for postmenopausal women only.
With new
advances in the field, the non-invasive procedure has been proven reliable
for all forms of Uterine Cancer and disease and has all but replaced biopsies.
“Alright, this will be a little uncomfortable. Tell me if it is too cold.”
“How far do you have to put that in?” the tense girl asks, after
catching a glimpse of the cylindrical object that the medical worker is
applying a gel substance to.
“We have to get past the Cervix. We have to check your uterine
lining thickness,” she explains while setting down the tube that was used to
supply a coating of lubricant.
Although the patient does not understand much of what the older
woman tells her, she seems to be satisfied that she is in safe hands. A
sufficient level of trust appears to exist, as Alexia slowly opens her mildly
trembling legs. The ultrasonic expert is both skillful and passionate, for she
performs the initial task with precision and care. She watches both the
monitor and the nervous teen’s face, utilizing both pieces of information to
properly guide the instrument into place.
“How are ya doing honey?”
“It’s weird?
It doesn’t hurt.
It’s like I’m full…pressure or
something,” her brilliant blue eyes seem to shine once again, almost as if the
fear has been lifted.
“Good. That’s completely normal,” Denise begins, “We’ll be taking
some pictures. If you look this way, I can show you what we’re looking at.”
“Do I have cancer?” she wonders aloud upon realizing that the sonic
probe is returning images onto the screen of the organ in question.
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“Well…I’m not allowed to diagnose. There are many causes for
bleeding hon…most are simple problems. The chances of a young girl like
you having Sarcoma or Endometrium are very low,” she continues to throw
big words at the much less-educated girl.
“What are those?”
“Endometrium is a cancer of the uterine lining. Sarcoma involves the
muscle tissue. You really shouldn’t be worrying about any of this. Most of
these things take years to develop.”
“I wonder if my c-section had anything to do with this,” Alexia fires
out as a possible explanation.
“Well, I don’t,” Denise commences a sentence then stops to view the
screen.
“It was terrible. My baby was sideways. They had to do a c-section.
My poor baby didn’t make it.”
“Oh my lord, I am so sorry,” the technician returns in an honest and
sympathetic tone while continuing to look at the imagery on the monitor.
“It was terrible. I didn’t get to see my baby. Legal crap. They told
me the baby didn’t belong to me. I signed away the rights.”
“Are you sure you had a caesarean honey?” she asks; at the same time
making slight adjustments on probe placement, in order to view the uterus
from all possible angles.
“Yes. I’m sure of it. Look where they cut me,” the patient directs her
to the external marking.
“I see. You’ve never had any other operations?”
“Nope.”
“Hmmm.
I just don’t see any scar tissue on the uterine wall.
Strange.”
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The youth does not inform the medical worker of the details
pertaining to the anesthesia and being put under. Instead, the high school
drop out contemplates other possible explanations for the inconsistencies.
Perhaps the unborn child was successfully turned around after they made the
outer skin incision. Did they deliver the baby through the birth canal? Does
it even matter?
Chapter
Fourteen
June 20, 2005 – Solar-Bio1
(10,000,872 miles from Earth traveling at 9,542 mph)
A tiny hand grips onto the second to last box within the uniquely
designed cupboard. The “mini cereal box” sized carton slides along the
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retaining grooves and out of the storage box container. There are six shelves
inside the upper compartment locker, each with several raised sides running
straight back. These ridges keep the dry powder-like packages in place.
MR1 realizes he must make a food run (transfer supplies from the lower
compartment storage to the smaller space in the kitchen) before he lays
down for his “slumber period”. The concept of nighttime, and thus bedtime,
are completely nonsensical in the toddler’s thought process. Sleep is a
requirement for biological restoration, as well as a means to reduce radiation
exposure by spending time in the highly protected quarters.
Alex closes the door on the cabinetry then, with his feet secured under
a pair of restraints, stands up and reaches for the lid handle on the special
“hydrating cooker”. The special blend of peas and carrots is fortified with
all the essential vitamins and protein his body needs for the next twelve
hours, minus the calcium supplements he takes once every twenty-four
hours. He carefully lowers the item into the off-white appliance, stopping
when it appears to be properly aligned with the four corner clamps. Seconds
later, he replaces the hinged top to the closed position. A simple push of the
button begins the process of meal preparation.
Inside the one-of-a-kind machine, the automatic procedure reaches
step number one. A mechanism lowers the box a few inches, allowing
another device to slide over top of it. Upon reaching satisfactory alignment,
the controls continue the sequence into phase two. A small, nearly flat, slit
is produced in the exact center of the carton as it sets on its backside.
Immediately upon completion of the penetration, water is delivered at low
pressure through the same component that did the cutting. Stage three
commences with the heating of the water/powder mix. Liquid is continually
added at a slow rate. Between the raised temperature and the hydration, the
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product begins to swell significantly. The special design of the box includes
several internal folds, which gradually open up, forming a much larger
container (similar to the old “Jiffy Pop Popcorn” except squared off)
As the innovative operation takes place, MR1 looks over to his right.
On the other side of the hallway stands the Bio-Dome and Hydroponic
Garden. The young child will not be using the garden for quite some time,
for it is completely manual, and he must learn a great deal prior to its startup.
On the other hand, the other system is nearly 100 % automated and will be
his chief source of nourishment for the majority of the long trip. Alex is
actually greatly looking forward to eating the various species of mushrooms
that the machine will cultivate through an exclusive hydrogen peroxidesupplied method.
His diet during the final year inside the Destiny Lab
included daily rations of the tasty fungus.
A subtle ring, much like that from a microwave, notifies the young
chef that his meal is ready, thereby evaporating his basic chain of thought.
He carefully swings open a nearby utensil drawer where he retrieves a
plastic spoon that is held in place in a similar manner to that used to hold
dollar bills down in a cash register. The spoon will be returned to the drawer
and placed on the other side where it will be sanitized after the last clean one
is used. The biodegradable bowl will be placed into the organic waste
retention system for later use in the Bio-Dome.
Alex slowly removes his dinner from the machine. The weightless
atmosphere does not cause the “pudding-like” substance to take flight. Its
consistency is sufficient to maintain shape and adherence with its container,
which is now more than twice as large as the original dry product. His small
shoes methodically slip out from under the bracing means.
The space
traveler utilizes side grips to reach the exercise bench only five feet away.
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The fitness center also serves as a dining area with a retractable table that
has special holes shaped perfectly to restrict the square bowl.
After strapping himself in, he obtains his first mouthful of the
vegetable treat. There is sufficient water within the gelatinous material to
minimize his desire for additional drink. Alex has been programmed to only
seek water when he is notably thirsty, for his prescribed diet takes into
account perspiration, excretion, and all other bodily functions.
The blue-eyed child enjoys the brief periods of relaxation that come
with mealtime.
The majority of his hours are spent working on the
education modules that have been thoughtfully prepared to provide him with
the necessary skills for the project. When he is not reading the lesson plan
and answering the subsequent questions, he is either exercising, checking
system statuses, or transmitting to headquarters. While he welcomes these
tasks with open arms, he also looks forward to this short form of mental
freedom.
His thoughts revisit the garden, which sits within plain view ahead
and slightly left. What will he grow in this unique light-intensifying gadget?
He has never seen a real plant. How exciting it will be to create life with his
own two hands. He wonders if the real purpose of this to get ready for living
on his new planet…this wonderful place that they have promised him about.
Perhaps the food and water are already prepared for him.
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Chapter
Fifteen
September 13, 2005 – Kennedy Space Center, FL
An abrupt thud originates from the exterior side of the wooden door
before quickly invading the room with its alarming power. The overly
anxious knock startles the office’s lone occupant, Miss Rebecca Thompson.
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She quickly slides the mouse to the upper right hand corner and minimizes
the window on her computer screen. Her silky, long black hair dances with
her swift movement towards the door. The elevated heals on her shoes turn
the simple task into a considerable chore. Soon, her slender frame, which
perfectly fits into the green blouse and gray knee-length skirt, reaches the
space’s entranceway where she swings it open.
“Scott?” she delivers in a befuddled tone.
“Gosh. Sorry Becky. My mind’s on a million things,” a chubby man
clothed in a light brown three-piece suit apologizes.
“You scared the hell out of me,” her facial expression supports her
declaration.
“Man, I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better I hurt my hand,” the
NASA employee, whose curly, brown hair yields a few graying streaks,
attempts to lighten the mood.
“It does,” she admits with a mild chuckle, “What are you all worked
up about?”
“I got another call from Reitz.”
“Yeah?” she returns while signaling for him to step into the office.
“Yep. The ESA is not particularly happy with how their money is
being spent. Well…actually…better put…they want more control on SolarBio flight ops.”
“JPL sends everything they have to them. Plus they can receive all
the signals and process them to their heart’s content. What else do they
want?”
“They want to be included in the trajectory change. They want to be
involved in the decisions about propulsion commands. They simply want
more control,” Scott Jeffers defines the big picture item.
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“Well…did you tell Mr. Reitz we are in the same boat?”
“Actually I did.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He said that that’s different, because we own JPL. Basically, he
didn’t believe me. He thinks we are one in the same.”
“Ha…I wish. I can’t even get my people in their lab up on the station,
she speaks with zest, “And like they would really let me march out to their
little desert hideaway. I’d be shot on sight.”
“But, I bet you’d like to,” the man adds.
“To be honest with you, I don’t give it much thought. There is no
sense worrying about things out of my control. I have my research center
here to run. JPL sends me everything that is pertinent. If my department
was running the Solar-Bio Mission, I am sure that security would be the
same.”
“So…what do we do about the Europeans?”
“Ya know? I didn’t expect this. If it were the Russians, I would not
have been surprised…but this? I didn’t expect. In fact, the ESA put peanuts
into this thing. What do they want? I misjudged Greg Reitz too. I got the
impression he was the easy going type,” Miss Thompson offers her take.
“I don’t think it is Greg. I think he is under some heavy pressure.
Rumors are that the French are behind it.”
“The French?”
“Yeah. I mean Oui.”
“Funny,” she recognizes his modest wit.
“I really don’t want to take this to the boss though. I hate being in the
middle of this stuff.”
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“What are you worried about Scott? This is JPL’s problem. Let them
deal with it.”
“I guess I got myself stuck in the middle. Reitz likes to deal with me
now. He says whenever he tries to call California, he gets the run around. I
guess I’m the only one that actually answers the phone.”
“You need to let them handle this.”
“Yeah. You’re right. I sure would like to spend a day there though.”
“Where?”
“There.”
“What? Solar-Bio Headquarters?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Scott? You’re starting to sound like the ESA now.”
“You know what is so funny about this?”
“Hmm?”
“The only person outside of JPL that could possibly get in
there…doesn’t really care.”
“Who?”
“You!”
“Me?”
“Yes. You sound surprised.”
“I haven’t a clue to what you are talking about.”
“Becky? Come on now. You two can’t hide it.”
“Hide what? What two? Scott? What on earth are you talking
about?”
“Leonard. I see how you look at him. He looks at you the same. You
guys remind me of one of those soap operas…where they wait like ten years
before the couple get married.”
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“Oh my lord. I can’t believe this. We don’t have anything going on.
For gosh sakes…he lives a million miles away.”
“Yeah…but you like him. Come on, admit it,” he eggs her on.
“What does this have to do with anything anyway,’ she tries to sway
the topic out of the direction it is heading in an attempt to reduce her
embarrassment.
“You could convince him to take you in.
Just think of the
possibilities.”
“I would never do that. Even if I could.”
“You like him don’t you?”
“Well…Scott…he does not like me. We’re not…you know…I’m...”
“What…black? Gee whiz…call the pentagon. Excuse me for saying
this, but...you are a gorgeous women. I see how he acts around you. Just
like I did when I met my wife.”
“Really?” her tone begins to take on a more curious than
uncomfortable stance.
“Really.”
“Well. I don’t know what to say. Thank you for the compliment.”
“Just don’t tell Janet.”
“Hmm, how much is it worth to ya?” Rebecca jabs back in an
obviously upbeat mood.
“Ha ha. You make more than I do,” he starts, “So…are you gonna do
it?”
“No! I mean. I’m not going to trick him into that.”
As the conversation slowly changes course, her thoughts stay on the
path that her NASA partner created. There will be several meetings over the
course of the Solar-Bio Mission. Perhaps she should make the first move.
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Her typically shy manner will cause such a move to be difficult, but time is
on her side. Pluto is a looooooooong ways away.
Chapter
Sixteen
November 2, 2005 – International Space Center
“You have family?” the male space station worker asks with a heavy
Russian accent.
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“Nope.
Just mom and dad in Ohio,” the somewhat overweight
woman who joins him in the mini lounge answers, “You?”
“Wife died many years now. Mom dad gone too,” he begins, “No
children.”
The blonde woman of thirty-two years throws a half smile at the older
man before continuing the small talk, “I’ve never been married.”
“This is hard life. Hard to be married doing this,” he returns, the
sincerity shining through his difficult-to-understand language.
“Yes. It would be. I get lonely sometimes. I always dreamed of a
family.”
“You young…pretty. Much time,” the man wearing white overhauls
with the VKS symbol over his left pocket ensures.
“Oh my, thank you” Cynthia Hanson blushes as she accepts the
compliment.
Her blue eyes look back at the man standing near the six-foot wide
counter. His face is rough and his gray hair thin and spotty, but his frame is
thick and muscular. She cannot help but stare as she drifts off into a mild
form of daydreaming. It has been a long time since she has had a man.
Could this be the perfect opportunity?
What could it hurt? The blonde
sitting at the special low gravity table digs deeper into her mental trip. His
rugged speech and powerful grip become the focus of her fantasy. A sexual
encounter in the near weightless atmosphere would certainly present
possibilities that earth does not offer. It would undoubtedly be something
worth bragging about for years to come.
“Want to see wife, my wife?”
“Huh?” her vision all but vanishes.
“Umm…picture. I have picture.”
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“Ohh.
Sure, I’d love to,” the female JPL worker agrees after
comprehending his simple offer.
The man releases his grip on the side brace that helps keep him steady
then begins to move toward the table where the woman in white sits. His
beefy forearm flexes as he grasps the horizontal surface, drawing the
younger woman’s attention. A slight chill overcomes her nicely tanned skin,
presumably due to the close proximity of the man’s body. The foreigner
reaches into his pocket, retrieving what looks to be a calculator. He lightly
touches an on-off switch to energize the unknown device. He is careful not
to touch anything else on the strange gadget.
“See?” he turns the fairly flat object around.
The upper half of the rectangular-shaped article is a screen, while two
wide, but shallow, grooves take up most of the bottom section. There is a
left arrow below the leftmost and a right arrow below the other.
“She was a beautiful woman,” Cynthia remarks on the computerized
photo of the redhead, “I’m sorry you lost her.”
“It is ok.”
“What is that thing?” she cannot resist inquiring.
“Picture book. Want to see?”
“Yes. I’d love to. How does it work?”
“Push arrow. Next picture come.”
The VKS representative hands the new-age photo album to the
interested female with grace and precision, as if it were a fragile gem. She
recognizes his special care and follows suit by holding it with both hands.
The thirty something lady gently presses her index finger on the right arrow,
expecting a change to take place on the 2-½ inch square screen.
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“No no. Use thumb. Push hard. Hold it,” the Russian instructs the
Destiny Lab worker of the peculiar procedure to step through the loaded
images.
“Ok. Like this?” she asks while placing her right thumb snuggly into
the groove and supplying significant force.
“Yes yes. Hold it. Takes time,” he explains.
During the three or four seconds it takes for the electronic gadget to
accept the command, a laser moves across her stable thumb, reading its
external composition and saving the data in digital form. Since the slight
indentation forms well to her contour, the brilliant light is not notable
without determined concentration.
“There it is. This is really neat. Is that you?”
“Yes. Old picture.”
“How many do you have in this thing?”
“This is all. Two.”
The American girl gives the unique picture book back to the grayhaired male, wondering why he would carry such a device with only two
images loaded. Perhaps that is all the storage banks can hold. If so, is the
device not somewhat limiting? The muscular man returns it to the pocket
from which it came, smiling intensely inside as a result of the successful
trick. He looks into her blue eyes noting their innocence. He does not feel
remorse for the deceptive plot he so recently carried out, but he does find her
cheerful demeanor quite appealing.
“Thank you for letting me see the pictures. Do you have a girl friend
down on earth?”
“No. No girl. I too old ugly” he rationalizes.
“You are not. You are a handsome man. And I love the accent”
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Cynthia peers deeper into his brown eyes, smiling sweetly at the older
gent. She feels him moving closer to her and decides to allow it. Her hands
give into the temptation, gripping his rigid biceps as the two embrace. For
the first time, she realizes that she doesn’t even know his first name. He
wonders whether he should be doing this. What else is there to do?
Chapter
Seventeen
January 27, 2006 / 11:00 AM PST – Solar-Bio1
(50,013,132 miles beyond Earth / 3,868 miles from Mars, traveling at 5,546 mph)
The little boy sits atop the padded chair in front of the ship’s left
control panel. In a sense, it is rather ironic, for the lack of gravity renders
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the padding useless. Still, the seat serves to keep the youth stabilized and
allows both circular and lateral movement.
Alex moves the round trackball until the tiny icon lines up with a box
marked “continue”. He has just completed the final testing phase for the
Medical – First Aid section, which he had been working on for the past five
months. The rigorous lesson plan taught him the human body in sufficient
detail and went into the medical aspects to an even greater degree. It taught
him how to use the Information Computer, which sits to his direct right, to
retrieve emergency procedures. (While both computer-keyboard-trackball
systems on the Education & Information Center are interchangeable, the left
is set up as the teaching module and the right is always in the information
mode. Later, the child will learn how to use it to look up other topics and
such) Thirdly, the extremely important electronic course explained the First
Aid / Medical Locker, its contents and use. Prior to the medical section, the
significantly advanced child finished the first section, labeled Introduction to
life on theSolar-Bio1.
The processor, which is mounted in the area below and setback from
the angled section where the keyboards reside, finally completes its
computations and supplies the screen with the following message:
Congratulations MR1 You have completed Section 2 of Phase 1
You are 38 days ahead of schedule - Phase 1 current status 13.3 % complete
Phase 1 Overview:
Section 1
Introduction to Life on the Solar-Bio1
Complete
Section 2
Medical-First Aid / Human Body
Complete
Section 3:
Solar-Bio1 Systems / Operations
0%
Section 4
Solar-Bio1 Maintenance
0%
Section 5
Earth and the Solar System
0%
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Section 6
Mathematics / Entry Level Physics
0%
Section 7
Mission Details / Umbriel
0%
Section 8
Reading / Vocabulary
0%
Section 9
Logical Reasoning / Human Brain
0%
Section 10
Science / Geology
0%
Section 11
Radiation Control
0%
Section 12
Mechanical / Electrical
0%
Section 13
Survival Tactics / Life Support
0%
Section 14
Communications / Navigation
0%
Section 15
Human Behavior
0%
Select CONTINUE to view next page
The blue-eyed boy reads through the long list of lesson plans that he
must finish, in order to close out the first, and by far the most imperative,
phase of his knowledge base.
There is no observable disappointment
exhibited on the adorable boy’s expression, nor does his mental stance allow
such thoughts to enter. This is his purpose, his task. Like the mother that
brings children in the world or the farmer that furnishes the human
population with nutrition, he must obtain the necessary knowledge and skills
to succeed in this lofty challenge. Several words within the listing are
foreign or unclear to him, but he chooses to pass on looking them up at this
time. All the youth has to do in order to acquire a simplified definition of
the word is type it into a designated field, and a carefully prepared
explanation appears on a third, smaller screen between the two larger ones
flush-mounted into the Education and Information Center.
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After positioning the cursor over the underlined word, a second page
fills the screen:
Each lesson plan for Sections 3 through 15 will have “10 PARTS”
Part One for EACH section will be finished before Part Two is started
When PHASE 1 is complete…you will be receive REWARD ONE
Select CONTINUE to move on to:
Section 3 Solar-Bio1 Systems / Operations – Part One Water System
Alex does not fully understand the concept of parts and sections, in
reference to the rest of phase one, but it is not essential that he does, for the
database on the hard drive is set up to deliver the information in the proper
sequence. The idea behind the tutorial’s design was that after learning the
“absolute must know things” in the first two sections, he should be taught
the rest a little from each at a time. This will give him a better overall base
sooner, plus mix up the topics to prevent possible boredom, although they
are unsure whether MR1 is capable of being bored. His first four years of
life, which were spent in the Destiny Lab, he was fed heavy doses of reading
and all the basic fundamentals. The reward system was inserted into the
overall scheme after extensive debate. Some thought it would introduce
such emotions as anticipation and perhaps even disappointment and
hopelessness as a result of the overwhelming nature of the process. Finally,
they came to the conclusion that completing the phases, especially number
one, was more important; and if a reward would help cheer him on to
accomplish that goal, it becomes justified. Alex remembers his mother
telling him through the typed words about how the reward will be wonderful
and fully worth the effort required to receive it.
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Just as MR1 is about to select the field that will steer him into the
Solar-Bio1’s systems discussion, a beeping sound issues from the Master
Control Panel to his right. Near the lower left hand area of the vertical
portion, a yellow light flashes. It is in the “Navigations” sector of the
congested panel.
The brown-haired boy immediately knows what the
warning indicator means, for he has been instructed of this, and it was
repeated in earlier lesson plans. It is telling him that in one hour, he will be
required to enter the IDC for a gravity assist maneuver, in this case, Mars.
He must tend to any personal needs, such as food, water, and bathroom
duties, before he enters the chamber that prevents his body from
experiencing the lethal forces that come from the speed up. Although he
figures he will not have sufficient time to make much headway on the lesson
plan, he decides to sneak a quick peek.
The screen reads as follows:
Phase 1
Solar-Bio1 Primary Training
Section 3
Systems and Operations
Part One
Solar Bio1 Water System
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Select OVERVIEW Whenever you wish to view the system block diagram
throughout Part One
Select CONTINUE When you wish to move on with lesson
Select CLOSE
When you wish to end session
Alex decides to look at the system drawing, since he really doesn’t
have time to getting any work done on it. After the elapsing of a couple
seconds for the transfer of data from the huge storage drive into the memory
chips then to the CRT, a detailed schematic of the different tanks, valves,
and pumps presents itself. There is no fear or worry in the young boy’s
mind, even though he understands virtually nothing upon initial inspection.
He is confident that the self-paced course will be well organized with a “one
step at a time approach”.
The highly-educated tot points to the CLOSE selection, as he is more
interested in grabbing one final glimpse of Mars before slinging by it. This
action causes the computer to fall into a low power, standby mode, although
in about thirty minutes the controls systems will place all unneeded
equipment in a full shutdown condition. After releasing his restraint, Alex,
with the aid of the panel corner, travels the five feet required to reach the
closest window, which is also the only viewing port that Mars can be seen
from. He initiates the simple blind-lift operation, providing him with a tenminute sight seeing period before it automatically lowers back into place.
The male recruit breathes in a substantial quantity of the cabin air then
begins to slowly release it as he gazes at the wonderful planet. It is so big,
enormous. For a short moment, he wishes this was his destiny; not because
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he is impatient or tired of the journey, but for the reason that he does not
want to leave Mars behind. There will never be another opportunity to visit
this truly beautiful place. The finality of the situation sinks in with such
clarity. The young boy, who turned five only a couple weeks ago, possesses
a deep understanding of appreciation that most humans do not attain
throughout their entire lifetime.
His mesmerized trance continues as he begins to study the fast
approaching mass that orbits around the sun. Due to the early stages in his
development, very little about solar system specifics has been taught to him.
He has a vague recollection of how he was told that the first place he will
pass by is bright red. As his engaging blue eyes view the fourth planet from
the sun, he comes to the conclusion that he is mixing this up with something
else, for the gigantic round rock to the starboard side of the craft is much
closer to a shade of yellow. He does see a little of a reddish hue in some
portions, but overall it is grayish-yellow. One thing is for sure in his young
mind though; the planet is the most beautiful sight his eyes have ever beheld.
He wonders if the great bodies to come will be as amazing and
heartwarming as Mars.
MR1’s profound thoughts take an unexpected break when the window
shield descends back into its blocking position. A new feeling invades the
somewhat confused space traveler. Some sort of emptiness takes over the
relaxed sensation that watching the planet delivered. The complete lack of
closure is hard for him to understand, but he does know that he desires
another gazing period. Why didn’t he spend more time before the warning
came in? Will the window open back up, or is there some sort of lockout
that prevents a second ten-minute session? Alex presses the button to find
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out. The unknown, as well as unwelcome, feeling mysteriously disappears
when the motor spins, raising the lead plate for the child.
This time, he reaches over and flips the manual three-way switch that
de-energizes the forward space lighting. Once again, Alex finds himself
lost, submerged deeply in a wonderful world halfway between the physical
wonder before him and the abstract space hidden somewhere in his brain.
He quickly decides that he prefers the hands free way to the cupped-hands
method. The removal of artificial illumination also intensifies the sun’s rays
reflecting off of Mars.
Now, the rider of the Solar-Bio1 can distinguish between the hills and
valleys on the surface of the planet. A couple red circular spots are in plain
view where they were not before. Perhaps this is the Red Planet! A huge,
thick slash of dark gray streaks across more than half of the giant sphere,
running in a horizontal fashion. Although the child is not currently aware of
the fact that he is viewing the Valles Marineris Canyon, he fully
comprehends its significance in sheer size.
Alex’ train of thought is shattered once again; but, this time, it is not a
result of the end of the ten minute cycle. A loud, annoying horn blasts out
within the space. The startled youth wonders if something is wrong with his
heart, for he does not recall it pounding in such a manner ever before. The
pain delivered to his ears instantly diverts his thoughts away from the
heartbeat and to a way of reducing the aggravation inside his ears. After
reaching over to turn the lights back on, he uses his hands to block the noise
from entrance into his body.
MR1 notes the red light that signifies fifteen minutes before severe
acceleration. The terrible sound was undoubtedly designed to make it next
to impossible to stay in the space. To worsen the circumstance even further,
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Alex must employ the use of his hands to move towards the Interior
Deceleration Chamber. Luckily, it is only a few short feet away, and he
makes it without incident.
As soon as the wall mounted detector senses his entrance into the
small room, a thirty second timer elapses, which allows time for the air
compressor to build up pressure and to verify that Alex is staying inside the
IDC. At last, the door closes and the irritating alarm ceases to scream. The
young boy pulls the first leather belt around his tee shirt then the other
across his bare thighs.
The small planet slingshot will not be a lengthy affair, maybe fifty
minutes total, of which only half of that will be heavy acceleration. The
other half will actually be pulling back out of the planet’s gravitational field,
which will cause a smaller slowing down effect. When the craft experiences
the reversing forces, the decelerating mechanism will reverse as well (a last
minute design change by Nile Johnson), thereby continuing to counter the
overall influence. The entire circumference of Mars is a bit over 13,000
miles, and at these speeds, the maneuver will be a short one.
Alex sits back and lets his mind fall into a state of thoughtlessness.
As his ears pick up the noise behind him from the super conducting disks
spinning into action, he feels a slight sensation in the form of a full bladder.
Why didn’t he go before he entered the room? Obviously, the blaring noise
would have made the somewhat intricate task nearly intolerable.
He
concludes that he would much rather hold the urine during the time he is
locked in than miss a single moment of the viewing period, which he plans
to never forget.
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Chapter
Eighteen
January 27, 2006 / 1:00 PM PST - Кролик-1
122
The Solar-Bio1 surrenders its clench on the giant propulsion system
that carried the smaller spacecraft, incorporating the piggyback method. For
a moment, the two masses continue on as if still connected, for the forces
exerted upon them are identical in nature. After a short time delay, a pair of
side jets provide the reactive force in a direction perpendicular to its path.
The resulting movement brings the larger unit closer to the nearby red
planet, while the Solar-Bio1 pursues its course, uninfluenced by the “drop
off”.
At over 20,000 miles per hour, the separation between the American
and Russian vehicles increases at a rapid rate. Soon, the gravitational pull of
the fourth rock from the sun begins to overpower the trajectory of the VKS
booster system. The side doors immediately zip open, and the Кролик-1 is
flung outward by the release of a previously compressed spring. This action
propels the secret probe to orbit altitude. Since all energy in the universe is
conserved, an equal and opposite reaction is cast upon the booster, which
actually increases its speed towards the Mars soil.
Although the gravity on Mars is less than that of Earth, it is still
significant. The substantial cylindrical object that provided the Solar-Bio1
with initial launch power accelerates in the direction of the dark canyon
below. Unfortunately, this portion of the rocket, which was thought to have
housed the system needed to slowly “land” it, was in reality used to house
the Кролик-1 and thrusting spring. The booster continues to race in the
direction of the hard rock where it will soon crash and become useless
mangled metal.
While the larger unit hurls on a demolition course, the more intricate
piece has a much friendlier destiny. The Кролик-1 maintains its perfectly
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calculated distance from the planet. Unlike the American space ship, which
only flew by about 25 % of the round rock’s total circumference, the
unmanned craft will travel around its entirety.
Alex was blessed with magnificent views, but this will be in position
to experience much more. Still, the Russians will not direct the cameras to
photograph the wonderful images. They are not passing on the opportunity
to avoid detection but to limit energy usage. Though the project is indeed
covert, the VKS has greater concerns in the area of its success than issues
dealing with its secrecy. The Radio-isotope Thermal Generators (RTGs)
should easily have sufficient nuclear fuel for the trip, but nothing shall be
taken for granted.
While the probe was named after the famous tortoise and hare story,
there are no plans to allow the tortoise (Solar-Bio1) to beat out the rabbit
(Кролик-1). As the two engage on their own particular trajectories and
agendas, an interesting point could be derived; one that will not be pondered
by a single soul on the planet where both missions were conceived. One
country hides the truth from its own people due to a morality issue, while the
other hides the truth from the other country based on a pride matter.
Although many would support the debate with the well known “ends
justifies the means” argument, those with higher standards would define it
with the lyrics from a less renown Spazmatics tune, “You can justify just
about anything, but that don’t make it just!”
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Chapter
Nineteen
February 4, 2006 – International Space Station
125
While the Saturday evening activities involving earth-residing
folks may include several lively activities, on the space station it is just like
any other night.
The orbiting terminal has a limited staff due to the
allotment of elbowroom and the price of admission. There are no on-duty
guards or second shifts. The only security for the individual compartments
would be those measures designed into the specific entranceways.
Cynthia Hanson rolls over within her sleeping bag, which is tied down
to the bed. Although her mind momentarily finds consciousness, she soon
returns to a deep, relaxing dream world. Her present state of slumber is
shared by all of the station personnel; all but one, that is.
A male figure clothed in a white jump suit labors his way across the
short hallway. His powerful grip utilizes the hand and foot braces that assist
in transverse travel within the near weightless environment. His muscular
build stretches the cotton fabric each time he flexes during the execution of a
move. Finally, the Russian reaches his target destination, the off limits,
biological testing unit of the Destiny Lab.
Though his face yields wrinkles that would suggest years of stress, he
is not nervous or worried that he could get caught in the act. He slowly pulls
the zipper down on his outfit, until it reaches belly button-height. The added
access allows him to retrieve the latex article that was formerly hidden. He
practices extreme caution as he dons the dark gray glove. After carefully
fitting his thick fingers into their respective holes, he stretches the synthetic
material at the palm, in order to tighten the area around his thumb, producing
a “second skin”.
As he prepares the deception tool, he thinks back to the episode that
lead to the apprehension of the identification data. A faint chuckle exits
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upon being awarded with mental images of the events that followed. His
actions do not cause him to experience a single ounce of guilt, nor does he
wonder whether she will be disciplined when the Americans find out of the
security breach during her shift. The only emotion buried in his sense of
being is that of anticipation for the reward he will receive for uncovering the
secret.
As his right hand reaches for the electronic reading device, he
contemplates about the fact that there may be nothing worth reporting
behind the locked doors. Perhaps, the Americans are not hiding anything of
great value; or, maybe, the forbidden information will be skillfully
concealed and impossible to locate. He ignores this line of thinking and
places his thumb into position. After the clever trickery grants him access,
he will install the numerical code that his Russian counterpart uncovered,
enter the room, and discover the treasure inside. After the secret is revealed,
his country will make him a rich man.
The space station spy patiently waits for the specialized computer
sequence to complete its processing.
His composed nature gradually
dwindles, being replaced with annoyance and concern. Why hasn’t the
locking mechanism released its hold on the steel barrier? An entire minute
transpires without success. His aged face shows signs of a temper brewing,
while he repositions his thumb in the hopes that it will change the result.
The manufactured print does not trick the machine. How does it
know that the rubber material is not a real hand? Did the apparatus fail to
produce a precise duplicate of Miss Hanson’s thumbprint?
The Russian’s anger mounts, inviting visions of destruction and the
like to enter his furious state. He quickly realizes that any damage to the
system would be investigated and certainly hamper, if not completely
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eliminate, the opportunity for future entries. Without debate, the proper
action is to leave the scene, return to his normal duties, and report the
incident to VKS headquarters.
As he moves away from the restricted area, he wonders whether the
failure will be looked upon poorly. Will this cost him the riches he was
counting on? Perhaps, he should go wake up that blonde bitch and force her
to provide him with access. If she refuses, he could cut off her hand and do
it himself!
Chapter
Twenty
March 14, 2006 – Solar-Bio1
(24,755,328 miles beyond Mars, traveling at 21,148 mph)
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Alex conducts his morning stroll in a slow, but steady manner on the
specially programmed and designed treadmill. The only article that covers
his otherwise naked frame is a light brown vest, which incorporates a bungee
cord on each side attached to the bottom, thereby providing a subtle
downward force. Even his feet are void of the tennis shoes he generally
wears for the purpose of protection from minor injury.
Due to the
perspiration factor, the space traveler must exercise nude to reduce sweat
absorption into his clothing, which would require added laundry operations.
The LED display indicates eight minutes remaining on the thirtyminute timer’s countdown. While MR1’s heart rate is only mildly elevated
during the pleasantly-paced hike, his legs, and arms to a lesser degree, work
just enough to take advantage of the calcium / vitamin supplement taken
only an hour ago. Ever since an early stage in the child’s controlled life, his
body has been subjected to the exact same input/output process. His brain
sends a signal, based on the physical exertion, to convert his nutritional
intake into a prescribed level of muscle mass and bone density.
In a
nutshell, this little boy’s brain has been fooled into building more
tissue/marrow for less work/energy.
While the sixty-minute, twice-daily exercise routine was engineered
to minimize the physical demand, it is actually the lack of mental flex that
causes Alex to view this part of his day as a chore. There is no thought
necessary on his part, as the automated programs do all the computing and
deciding.
Still, the youth does not let his mind wander, giving the
uncomplicated repetitions his full attention.
The young child prefers however, the challenge and rewards that
come with the elaborate, well-thought-out lesson plans. He had previously
attempted to cut the workout short, only to find that the main computer was
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not content and required him to finish the important physiological
conditioning prior to commencing his psychological training.
The thick belt gradually slows to a halted status. Alex’ blue eyes spot
a small drawer to his left, forward, and down about knee height. Since the
bungee cords would lose their elasticity if he tried to bend down beyond
their range of motion, he must find a different method to reach the handle
that he must grasp. The clever young boy opts to lean back slightly against
the force of the rubber-like restraints, stretch his right leg forward, grab the
handle with his toes, then pull the drawer towards his body. With the same
foot, he snags a small green towel and brings it back to within arm’s reach.
He utilizes the cloth to absorb the scattered beads of moisture from his
forehead then executes the same procedure to return it to its place of storage.
The soft towel will be used many times before being laundered with a load
of his clothing.
No sooner does the somewhat fatigued boy push the sliding container
closed than his sights fix on the machine to his immediate right. It is time to
begin part two of the program, the resistance segment. After removing the
harness and clipping it into its stowed position, Alex grips onto the railing
and makes his way to the red-padded bench.
He straps himself into the horizontal structure, lies flat down on his
back, and stares at the instruction screen that hangs from the ceiling. The
simple guide utilizes a series of red indicators to inform him of which
exercise to perform. Presently, the “upward press” light is illuminated.
Alex places his palms against the adjustable, metal bar and pushes away
from his body, forcing the muscles in his chest, shoulders, and arms to flex.
The shock-absorber-type action delivers a prescribed counterforce to his
efforts, which is accurately tabulated into the overall sum. After sufficient
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wear has been experienced on the specific muscle group, the sequence will
direct him to the next position.
Upon completion of the second half-hour portion, Alex’ thoughts
instantly focus on the opportunity to return to his studies. In this case, he is
eager to take the final test on Basic Mechanical Principles, which will enable
him to continue into the next section.
Another need crops up within his body, this one of a physical nature.
Alex realizes that he must satisfy this particular urge before he can continue
with his other desires. As with most of the life support accommodations, the
toilet is on the starboard (left when facing forward) side of the craft and only
a couple feet away.
MR1 loosens the straps that kept him in place and works his way
around the table, which he chooses to keep in the extended mode. The
commode is similar in basic appearance to those found on his home planet,
but its operation differs due to the absence of the ability to flush by water
weight.
The young child sits on the thick oval seat. His hands grip on sidebars
constructed to keep him stable. Quickly after this, Alex pushes down on a
lever then returns his grasp to the holding bar. This causes a flat cover (like
a second lid) to slide out of the way, thereby exposing his posterior to the
bowl section.
As his excretory system sends the waste through his intestinal tract
toward the rectum, the boy’s mind wonders what would happen if he ate less
food. Would this allow him to reduce the time of his exercising? If this
were true, he could concentrate his efforts further on the Educational Center.
Not only would his intelligence improve at a more rapid rate, but he would
also reach the reward for phase one completion sooner.
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While he truly holds a notable curiosity concerning the prize that
mysteriously awaits him, Alex also understands the delicate balance he
undertakes must be strictly followed. His intake is perfectly calculated for
the proper energy, which corresponds exactly with the amount of exercise to
maintain his internal/skeletal requisites. Plus, the chain continues further to
include a pre-managed cycle of human waste and nutrient supply for food
production.
Although he already knew that his meal volume cannot be altered, he
seems to often have these peculiar “what if” type thoughts during this event.
Even when he conducts his bi-daily workout his mind can, at least,
concentrate on the basic movements; however, during somewhat involuntary
episodes such as this, his brain has nothing to base thought on. There is no
subject, no topic that was provided for him to relate to or memorize
information from. Instead of finding the mental recess as a nice change of
pace or sense of relaxation, Alex experiences a slight uneasiness, because he
does not know what to do (think). Surprisingly, he utilizes the time prior to
sleep to reflect on the lesson plan he happens to be on, instead of entering
the intellectual world he does during the shorter bodily function. Along with
the higher test scores, the heavy concentration has a side benefit in the way
of falling asleep more quickly. Even when gazing out the window, he can
connect the bright stars into direction for his one-way conversations. The
youth has previously tried to localize his thoughts on the studies while in the
middle of the bathroom break, but since he prefers to think in “whole
subjects”, he cannot cover the entire thought in one sitting.
Finally, Alex pushes the unwanted substance out of his rectum. Since
the only force exerted on the solid waste is that which was used to expel it, it
travels downward till stopped by the ball valve. The five-year-old then pulls
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up on the lever to close the lid-like cover above it. Upon reaching the new
position, a limit switch recognizes the operation and begins its sequence of
manipulations.
First a valve that provides a tiny path between the tank below and
outer space opens, drawing a slight vacuum on the black water, rectangular
container. As soon as a pressure switch is satisfied, the ball valve opens
along with a vent near the top of the bowl. This creates sufficient airflow to
force the contents into the tank. After ten seconds, the system is returned to
normal. After twenty cycles, a water wash is performed to clean off the
surfaces. The urinal employs a similar air-moving method to attract and
transfer fluids through a filter then to the gray water tank. A flexible hose is
mounted next to the toilet, so that it can be extended and used while sitting,
if need be. Most systems use a pump to provide vacuum, thereby saving air,
but in this particular instance, that would cause methane gas to enter the
compartment.
Alex retrieves his articles of clothing from a bag-like holder tied
down to the treadmill rail. He fits the elastic band over his trim waistline
before donning the light blue tee shirt and tennis shoes.
As he pulls the straps across the left shoe, he recalls the monitor
telling him he will be without shoes for a significant portion of the journey.
The decision was made to protect his feet while he was young and
inexperienced in reference to Solar-Bio interior travel, but there just isn’t
enough space available to provide the many pairs needed to follow his foot
growth. In fact, even his attire is made with stretchable waistlines and
buttons to let out additional material.
The craft’s only occupant makes his way over to the Information and
Education Center with the aid of the floor-mounted poles. Despite the fact
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that MR1 usually prefers to glide through the forward space to go from Point
‘A’ to Point ‘B’, he has gradually become similarly accustomed to the
walking method.
Upon arrival and attaining body stabilization, the young boy views the
blank screen. The monitor is dark gray, awaiting a keystroke or trackball
movement to inform the computer in the cabinetry below to “wake up” from
the standby mode and provide a menu to get started.
Alex pauses a moment before lifting the cover to expose the keyboard.
He notices his for-the-most-part indistinguishable reflection on the screen.
The ghost-like image reminds him that he forgot to observe his face and
body in the mirror next to the exercise station. This task is most often
performed after his workout while he is still naked. The “head to toe”
inspection is a daily requirement, in order to verify good health and to spot
any possible wounds or inflictions. Since he has already gotten dressed, and
he is comfortable and ready to study, Alex decides to conduct the self-exam
a bit later.
Within seconds, his mind is immersed in words and numbers that,
after significant mental dedication, will become nearly second nature to him.
The extraordinary student has no idea that the information before him would
overwhelm children twice his age. Like them, he does not understand the
material when it is first introduced, but unlike them, he is not familiar with
such human attributes as quitting or laziness. It is simply his job to learn the
material, regardless of how difficult or time consuming. Although he fully
comprehends that he is a human being with a brain and biological features,
he still thinks of himself as just another machine onboard…perhaps, the
most important machine…but still…just a machine.
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Chapter
Twenty-one
May 15, 2006 – Pasadena, CA
135
“How do you like Cleveland, Beck?” Leonard asks, referring to the
NASA employee’s recent transfer.
“It’s cold,” Rebecca Thompson responds in a less than optimistic
tone.
“Still?” the JPL head returns.
“Not so much now, but it certainly isn’t Florida,” the attractive
woman with long black hair admits, “This is John Franklin. He works with
me at Glenn Research Center.”
“Nice to meet you John.
Your partner’s one of the best in the
business.”
“Nice to meet you…?”
“Leonard Thomas. Leonard is fine.”
“Nice to meet you Leonard,” the brown-haired male begins, “Yes. It
is quite a privilege to work for her. Although, I would’ve much preferred
the department to have stayed at Kennedy.”
“I don’t blame you,” Leonard’s smoky blue eyes squint slightly as he
chuckles in agreement.
The NASA newcomer’s thin frame does not fill his dark blue blazer.
He appears to be no more than in his mid-twenties, and his extra earring and
extreme haircut add to his youthful statement.
“Rebecca? John? I’d like you to meet Patricia Bonham. She has
been working closely with me in the Bio segment of the project,” the brownhaired man in the white shirt and blue tie introduces the other JPL
representative attending the meeting.
“Hello,” the blonde sitting in the chair furthest from the head of the
modestly sized room extends.
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“Hi Patricia. Nice to meet you,” the African American with emerald
eyes welcomes with a sweet smile, her voice matching her sincerity.
“Hi,” the skinny male adds his brief reply.
Rebecca, Leonard, and John join Patricia by finding the closest chair.
Both females are wearing dresses, Miss Thompson’s being primarily
turquoise with slashes of black. She has chosen a fairly revealing cut,
though not enough that it would be considered inappropriate. The browneyed, former space station worker wears a more modest, tan dress. While
the pale- skinned JPL employee has no jewelry within view, the former
Floridian shows off earrings to match her dress, a thin gold chain that
highlights her cleavage, and a bright ruby ring.
“Ok folks. As we all know, the Solar-Bio1 has just completed its first
year of its mission…as of last Tuesday. We decided to break the “Bio” and
“Flight” interests into two separate meetings. This way, we can concentrate
on questions. There’s no sense in sitting through the section that does not
pertain to you…although I should add that you are certainly invited to attend
the second meeting, if you are so inclined,” Leonard takes in a fresh breath
before continuing to release his well-defined voice, “I guess, we could have
just faxed this stuff, but we really want to make sure we are all on the same
page. Plus, I know how much all of you just love California’s traffic.”
A smile characteristic of each of the room’s occupants finds its way
upon their faces. In actuality, Jet Propulsion Laboratories has 100 %
jurisdiction over the Biological Division of the Solar-Bio Mission, and if
they chose as such, they are not under any obligation to share their findings
with the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. There are three
specific reasons, however, as to why they have selected to do so. First,
NASA is the parent company and continued funding is always an issue.
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Secondly, it is better to prepare the information than to be caught by surprise
with suspicious inquiries.
Lastly, and although only a subconscious
variable, Leonard welcomes the excuse to be placed in the company of one
Rebecca Thompson.
“So, if you open the folder in front of you, we can take a peek,” the
Solar-Bio1 leader suggests.
“Oh Len…this is good,” the lovely Thompson begins, “I see you
stopped mixing fonts.”
“Yeah.
I learned my lesson,” he chuckles while realizing the
comment has created confused stares from both Patricia and John, “What my
NASA partner refers to, and thank you for noticing…by the way, is my
previous reputation of trying too many styles on the same page. I believe
my nickname was the…aah…Font Monster?”
The youngest member, whose hair is shaved on the sides, issues a
faint smirk, which Rebecca assumes is based on his desire to avoid attraction
to himself. He has only been working at the highly touted company for a
few months.
His fantastic grades and a coincidental connection in the
executive office attributed to his speedy move up the ladder.
“The first sheet here is a summary of the Solar-Bio1. You can see all
the inventories, system statuses, projected radiation numbers, umm and, of
course, the ship’s current location,” Leonard explains the overview.
“So, the radiation numbers…I understand the projected human
traveler accumulations are based on radiation in the compartment that would
be occupied for that time, but what are these correction factors?” the greeneyed woman asks the intelligent question.
“It is a simple addition for the irradiation of the food and water that
the would-be traveler would consume and the effects that would result.”
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“Clever. So, the factor will go up as the trip goes on?” her younger
co-worker shows his ability to quickly reason.
“Yes it will…but not to a large degree.”
“But, won’t these organic materials increase in a somewhat linear
rate?” he begins to flex his neurons with notable confidence.
“Yes, but the majority of the trip will be based on farmed food, which
will not be subjected to it for long periods. Plus, a lot of the water will be
produced from fuel cells, so it will be, by comparison, radiation free,”
Leonard clarifies the basis for the future figures.
The well-presented explanation seems to satisfy the two NASA reps,
while the other JPL associate with short sassy, blonde hair sits calmly, fully
aware of the truth behind the entire biological testing. She realizes the
radiation numbers are real. Miss Bonham also knows that the information
on the paper before her is not just a research summary, for it also spells out
the odds of survival for the child on the mission.
“So, the oxygen seems to be the only thing that is going down much.
Is that due to making water?” John appears to be past comfortable and
entering overly eager.
“There has been a little bit of use in the fuel cells, but…we have also
been venting some of it to space, in attempts to simulate human breathing,”
Leonard returns an obviously unexpected response.
“Gee, sounds like a waste,” the younger man says.
“Well, the amount we are venting is only a portion of a single
human’s consumption. The rest, we figure, can be recovered in the CO2
recovery unit.”
“So…what about the water the human would consume?”
“Same thing…minus the amount that could be purified and returned.”
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“You folks thought of everything.”
“We tried to. The formulas are not included in the handouts, but the
basic tabulations are.”
The actual systems that are reported to the (in a sense) outside agency
only include those that have justifiable accounts for their conditions. In
other words, if they cannot explain why a particular substance is getting
lower, such as food, they do not supply the data. Since NASA assume these
constituents to be left untouched on the trip, they would have no reason to
ask.
“Cool,” the youngster shows his youth with the expression, “What do
you expect to be the limiting factor…I mean, what will run out first?”
“Well, it will come down to a jumbling game between water and
oxygen.
Hydrogen and Helium are actually produced from the proton
capture method of the ship’s shielding matrix. A powerful software program
weighs the inventories very closely and determines whether to make water
from oxygen and hydrogen or the other way around. It even isolates the lead
acid battery to cycle the lithium banks more.”
“To produce more oxygen?”
“Exactly. It becomes quite a game of balance. The idea is to get as
far as we can with livable conditions.”
“How far do you project that will be?”
As Rebecca’s partner rambles on, she notices that he never called
Leonard sir, let alone supply her with due respect. Although the female
NASA employee knows her JPL colleague does not mind the informal
approach, she is still bothered by the total lack of consideration that seems to
be increasing with each new generation. Plus, she is rather fond of this
particular Californian, and young John is practically removing her from the
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picture. If truth were known, she holds a ten-point advantage on John in IQ
level.
“Well, the systems are designed to maintain a life sustaining
atmosphere for several years.
Obviously, it would take a well-trained
astronaut, and we still have a few issues of the human body in space.”
“You’re referring to bone mass, right?” Patricia interjects her first
offer, feeling this would be an area she is qualified to expound on.
“Exactly,” Leonard points out, knowing the problem has been
accounted for.
Rebecca considers inquiring about the status of the unknown testing
up on the space station but decides to wait and see if it shows up in the
handouts. Actually, she is in charge of all the biological testing on the
International Space Station, except for the secret section performed in the
Destiny Lab. Although she has never visited the orbiting structure, she
receives all of the information that belongs to her department.
The four-way conversation continues without any bumps or
unexpected inquiries.
Leonard is happy to find that neither John nor
Rebecca requested elaboration on the deceleration system or gravity assist
maneuvers as they pertain to the Bio studies. The Space Flight meeting will
certainly go into great detail on this subject, but not in reference to the
chamber inside. Mr. Thomas has come to the conclusion that the scientists
do not believe the counteraction of gravity and acceleration to be possible at
such levels. Because of this, they obviously disregard that portion of the
project. In this case, the disbelief plays into JPL’s hand.
After the two NASA representatives extend their thanks and
satisfaction with the presentation, they make their way out of the conference
room, lead by Mr. Thomas. The first of many annual reports to come went
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quite well; however, the more demanding, Pluto probe portion includes
several funding agencies, meaning the upcoming congregation will have
more direct questions with the expectation of quality answers. Luckily, this
part of the Solar-Bio Mission has nothing to hide. All data is based on
external systems and the craft in general.
Upon opening the door, Leonard catches sight of the well-dressed
people, waiting in the somewhat extravagant lounge. He immediately spots
his favorite scientist, Nile Johnson, and throws him a friendly nod. The
leader of the European Space Agency, Greg Reitz, has a notable smile on his
face, which is in contrast to that of the French delegate that has also joined
in the ESA interest. Representing NASA’s nickel for the second meeting is
Scott Jeffers of Flight Ops and Sara Flanders of the Technological Division.
“Hey Rebecca? You weren’t too hard on him were you?” the chubby
Mr. Jeffers jumps out when he spots his friend.
“Nah. I figured he has to contend with you yet, so I laid off a bit,” she
returns jokingly.
“Did you…aah,” Scott begins but stops in his tracks, following that up
with a lifting of the eyelids.
The lovely female is instantly embarrassed, for she detects the
meaning of his gesture with relative ease. Instead of responding verbally,
she employs a stern expression in hopes of dissuading him from further
comments of that type.
“What?” he asks, as if he has been misunderstood.
“Scott!” she scolds in a not-so-secret, but quiet voice.
The strange exchange begins to confuse those standing by; since they
are not privy to the apparent crush she has on the JPL executive.
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The German clothed in a brown, three-piece suit walks up in
preparation to introduce the man from Paris that stands adjacent to him.
Instead of the normal opening, he opts to apply an icebreaker, “You know,
Mr. Thomas, I have been to this area twice now. We should make the next
one in Las Vegas.”
A chuckle issues from most of the folks’ mouths, basically labeling
the humorous statement as being successful. While the suggestion may or
may not have had any serious intentions, Leonard actually ponders the idea.
“You know…that’s a great idea.”
Chapter
Twenty-two
August 19, 2006 – International Space Station
The blonde-haired man’s eyelids begin to slowly cover his blue
pupils. As he sits in the chair, aided by a restraint, his thin frame starts to
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experience a relaxed sensation.
His normally energetic way is steadily
replaced with soothed nerves and an unexpected level of sleepiness as a
result of the drug flunitrazepan. The water he drank delivers the date rape
drug quickly to his bloodstream. Within fifteen minutes, the JPL employee
has completely passed out.
As if imitating a vulture soaring down for a free meal, the Russian
representative moves in as swiftly as possible under the weightless
conditions. Like the powerful male that he relieved a couple months back,
the perpetrator is well built, although in this case, much younger in
appearance.
His jet-black hair is the most obvious feature upon initial
observation.
The muscular individual realizes that he has plenty of time but
chooses to waste none. Although the drug, also known as the “forget pill”,
will maintain the American in an “un-wake-able” state for several hours, the
Russian desires to get this over with and behind him. After removing the
simple strap, he tugs on the other man’s arm, bringing his smaller body
towards him. Despite the fact that it was expected, he is still surprised by
the relative ease of the task.
The added weight of the extra human being seems to help him stay in
occasional contact with the floor, as long as the coherent male pushes more
forward than upward. Even still, the total combined weight is in ounces, and
he requires the help of the braces from time to time.
Soon, he has exited the small lounge and commences his travel down
the first hallway, which offers a right or left turn with a door at the end of
each. The corrupt space station worker takes a left and carefully approaches
the next door. Though the clever plan included selecting an opportune time,
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accounting for the other occupants and their duties, he figures the sooner he
gets in…the better.
After swinging open the barrier, he continues on towards the Destiny
Lab door. Unlike the former VKS employee who failed, he is terribly
nervous. Still, he recognizes the fact that it is too late to turn back, so the
only answer is to continue in a brisk and controlled manner.
Finally, the target is reached. The black-haired gent steals a quick
glimpse of his backside before directing the unknowing hand to the detector.
The notably worried worker’s heart pumps feverishly as the American’s
hand makes contact with its intended destination. He looks to the ceiling, as
if asking God for a favor, while he guides the thumb into position. The
procedure would be very difficult, even with his strength, if a full dose of
gravity were present. Just when the agitated male thought his heart could
not pound any harder, a sharp click sends it into fast-forward.
While the sound of success accelerated his worried condition, he
quickly recognizes its origination and opens the door before the lock times
out. After entering the smaller space, he lowers the bio-division employee’s
frame so that it finds a resting position near the floor. A mild touch of regret
and remorse soak into the alert man’s senses as he gazes at the shorthaired
thirty-year-old’s face. The slumbering male has youthful skin and wears a
slight smile. He will most likely awake in the morning, knowing absolutely
nothing of the incident. Since there will be no suspicion, not to mention no
means of testing, there will be no evidence of foul play. The substance will
leave his system very rapidly, being undetectable within 24 hours.
The Russian shakes off the feelings of wrongdoing and returns to the
plot, which he is in the middle of carrying out. Within five seconds, he has
completed inputting the numerical code, which also proves to be correct.
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His bungled nerves start to find solace as his mind grasps the fact that he is
about to enter the forbidden zone. Without delay, the barrier swings open,
revealing a dark room.
The suddenly excited spaceman fishes the wall for a switch that will
deliver illumination. A moderately lucky swipe nets the desired result,
bringing sufficient light to continue the journey. In front of the curious
cosmonaut appear three doors with labels. He ignores the letters, since he
has no basis to utilize a decision on, and moves toward the leftmost, turning
the knob upon arrival. As the obstacle pivots on its hinges, the brilliance
from the bulb in the main space begins to display the room’s contents.
The large tank-like structure immediately confuses the man. The
assorted devices and screens inside do not produce a clear explanation as to
its purpose. He pulls out a small digital camera from inside his white
jumpsuit. After snapping a couple photos of the general overview, he cannot
overcome the wonderment of what’s behind the other doors. In less than
thirty seconds, he finds himself staring at an identical setup in the middle
room. What are the Americans doing? What is this?
A touch of frustration sets in on the spy. His leaders were expecting
great news and highly sensitive material. What can he possibly send back?
Is it right in front of him and just a matter of looking more closely?
The black-haired gent turns around and jerks toward the next door.
His over-exertion creates a substantial boost, driving him quickly to the
nearby ceiling. While his hands zip into position, in order to catch the
surface and absorb the momentum, the camera slips from his grip.
It
continues on its course and collides with the ceiling as well. Luckily, the
gadget’s speed was insufficient to cause damage.
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After grabbing the digital component, he opens the last door. At first,
he believes the third enclosure to be nothing more than a carbon copy of the
prior two. Then…he sees something. What in the world…? It is a little
girl, sleeping in a small bag that is apparently held down to the glass box’s
bottom! Her light reddish hair is wavy and her skin a nice tone. The visitor
pushes the side of his foot against a chair leg to maintain a stabilized status
as he marvels at the five-year-old child.
The enclosure appears to be the same as the others. Where are the
occupants in those little laboratories? Perhaps, they are hiding in concealed
locations. As the man’s brain searches for answers to the present mystery,
he initiates the image documentation portion of the operation. The camera
will be utilized to obtain as many pictures as he feels are needed. This is not
the time to be frugal. As he quietly moves around, careful not to awaken
her, he ponders the possibility that she is the only one, and the three
aquarium-like dwellings are connected somehow, giving her a fancy home.
Why would the Americans have a little child up in space…in a
bubble?
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Chapter
Twenty-three
November 11, 2006 – Salton Sea
148
Thousands of Eared Grebes hug the shoreline as far as the eyes
can see in both directions.
The meat-eating swimmers stay in shallow
waters, diving under when they spot a possible meal. The only section of
Bombay Beach where the energetic birds do not approach the shoreline is
near a pair of fishermen. Judging by the fact that only two vehicles are in
the large parking lot next to the desert lake, and no other human is in sight,
the two men with fishing poles arrived separately.
“How can there be any fish left?” the man in a green flannel shirt and
jeans wonders, referring to the thick line of decaying fish along the water’s
edge while he fights the annoying smell.
The unpleasant aroma from the deceased animals is a natural
occurrence that happens annually.
Every year, the plants that grow
underwater in the Salton Sea die and begin to decompose. This, in turn, robs
the water of the vast majority of its oxygen, thereby slowly suffocating the
swimming vertebrates below.
“Can you imagine…this place was a popular resort back in the sixties.
My parents talked about coming out here,” Leonard Thomas recalls earlier
conversations with his father about this lake that was accidentally filled 100
years ago.
“Hell no! Yuck!” the graying man next to him issues as he spits a
sunflower seed into the salty water.
The younger male reaches back and casts the spinner he selected with
no true knowledge of the sport. His inexperience in the art is rather obvious
based on the distance his lure achieves, before creating a modest splash in
the waves.
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“As you can see, my dad never took me with him,” Leonard begins to
account for his somewhat pathetic attempt, “Well, I never really exhibited a
whole lot of interest.”
“So…the bastards uncovered our little secret,” the reddish gray-haired
man, who is notably taller, announces the actual subject for the meeting in
the middle of nowhere.
“Yes, they have…umm…yeah. The Destiny reports no forced entries.
Not sure what happened,” the JPL worker almost says his acquaintance’s
name, before biting his lip.
Although there is next to no way someone could hone in on the
conversation, it is still Leonard’s practice not to mention his Boss’ identity.
“Oh, They got in. I’m sure. Actually, it took a little longer than I
projected.”
“You expected this?”
“Hell yeah, I did. Shit, I didn’t want them up there in the first place. I
thought it would be easier to hide them down here.
Those fu#@ing
Russians…they’re worse than us!”
“But, you didn’t,” Leonard’s mouth is less profane than that of his
former NASA supervisor.
“Nope.
To be honest with you, nobody believed your buddy’s
invention would work. They wanted to keep them up in space, just in case it
failed.”
“I know how that is.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“So what now?”
“Well, the one advantage of good instincts is that you can be ready for
the next step. You need to invite those pricks in on the next mission.”
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“You’re serious?”
“Yep. Tell them that the first mission was a test to make sure a
human would survive it.”
“So…don’t tell them about…the boy?” Mr. Thomas is better at
logical reasoning than he is at fishing.
“Oh shit no!”
“But…the three rooms?”
“Tell them the other two died…or were never there…or hmm…what
do you think?”
“Let’s go with dead…in case they found evidence of occupancy.”
“Good.”
“So, they’re going to move into our headquarters?
What about
transmissions?”
“Shit, umm…we’ll have to move it or install a new one. We’ll think
of something. First of all, we have to get them to play along.”
“I guess that’s up to me huh?” Leonard adds, realizing as far as the
Russians are concerned, he is the top executive in the Solar-Bio Mission.
“Don’t worry. They’ll buy into it. In fact, we need to push for them
to split the funding.”
“And, if they don’t?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, money is not a fu#$@in’ problem. I have
a few organizations that will consider this quite an investment.”
“So what about Umbr…the target?” he slips a little, even though he is
far from any other ears.
“Tell them everything.”
“Everything?”
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“They would never believe we are sending a human into space just for
the possibility that an atmosphere exists. They need to know about the
photos.”
“They could blow it all. What if they talk?”
“There’s no proof. It would be dispelled as hogwash. A stupid
periodical story that everyone laughs at.”
“But the girl.”
A short sigh follows before it is broken by a spitting action from the
more mysterious of the two characters.
“That would be the part that would suck. She would have to go.”
“Go?”
“Go,” his commanding tone turns the simplistic term into a sobering
reality.
“Oh man. 2009 can’t come fast enough. She is doing so well. She is
a genius.”
“Yeah. And that is why the bastards will jump on this opportunity.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Either way…they will not hamper the success of number one. That
will NOT happen,” the man with a reddish-gray goatee promises in an eerie
voice.
“Any contact at all with the……ahh…any contact?” Leonard reaches
for the best way to say it, stumbling miserably along the way.
“None. Not a damn thing.”
“Well. We still have over ten years to communicate with them.”
“True. But I have grown less and less hopeful. Why won’t these
suckers reply? Damn…are they still there? That was twenty years ago now.
Can you believe it?”
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“No, I can’t.”
“If we don’t make contact, I’m afraid, your boy is on his own.”
“Like you said it was a long time ago…they truly may have moved
on.”
“I don’t know if it is a gut feeling or wishful thinking…but…I believe
they are still there. There were so many of them…like a station or a home
base.”
“I hope you’re right. We have so many years invested in this. So
many lives.”
Leonard’s words place a powerful point on the top-secret discussion.
After a few moments of silence, the man who evidently directs Mr. Thomas,
in some less-obvious organizational hierarchy, turns and looks squarely into
Leonard’s grayish-blue eyes.
“Your efforts will not be forgotten. When this is over, you will never
have to work another day in our life.”
The older man has no idea that this line of thinking has never been a
driving force for his new fishing partner.
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Chapter
Twenty-four
February 3, 2007 – Solar-Bio1
(171,303,304 miles beyond Mars, traveling at 16,544 mph)
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The familiar sound of the alarm clock informs Alex that it is 7:00 AM,
and he must begin his daily routine.
While there seemed to be good
argument supporting the fact that “time” is not an important element for the
child, JPL decided a twenty-four-hour clock was imperative to maintain
dietary controls, among other things. To the young mind on the Solar-Bio1;
however, the actual property of time does not carry the same meaning as it
does for those on earth. His brain understands the concept in reference to
calculations, but he prefers to think in less-structured units, such as “miles
till the next planet” or “percentage left in a subject”.
MR1’s daily thought process is based on viewing himself as a project
and, in some ways, a component of survival. When the hands on the clock
indicate that it is dinnertime, for example, Alex would tend to reflect on
actual tasks before he returns to his studies. Instead of the average human,
who would figure thirty minutes before resumption of work, this space
traveler would think of it as twenty steps, one food prep, and thirty spoonfuls
prior to section eight, page three.
A considerable sound fills the sleeping chamber, which also serves as
a radiation shielding room, as a result of the blue-eyed boy’s hearty yawn.
Upon completion of the jaw-stretching maneuver, a second, less-audible
noise originates from his apparently empty stomach.
Alex has been
somewhat calibrated to tolerate low level hunger pains, for he must never be
allowed to eat for enjoyment, since the gluttony manner would waste
valuable inventory.
After unzipping the sleeping bag that keeps him close to the
horizontal surface that serves as a bed, the youth moves his legs out and
manages his body into a sitting position. Along with the medium-pitched
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signal that fills the room at this specific hour, the overhead light is
electronically instructed to energize.
With the addition of lumens, Alex is able to look around together his
first view of the new day. The space, which he spends his slumbering
periods in, is simple. There are a few silver boxes with lights and monitors
mounted on the left wall (as he faces forward) and a couple hoses held in
place with hooks. One of them is a second urinal for extended stays, while
the other has a special mask fitting and functions to provide emergency
oxygen in the event of cabin atmosphere deficiencies. A unique portable
toilet is stored in the bench below that requires connection to the urinal hose
for operation. Also stowed in the bed-structure are several day’s worth of
rations, including wet food, water, and vitamin supplements. When added
with the two-foot-thick, water-filled walls and floors and the unique blend of
Aluminum, Lithium, and Lead shielding, the RSR becomes an excellent
radiation reduction location.
The most distinguishing feature, perhaps, in the room are the two
doors, each about three feet high with one stacked on the other. This is an
important design characteristic, as it provides access to either the upper or
lower compartment of the Solar-Bio1. It is the only space of occupancy that
extends into both levels, which is a requirement for the four feet of water
height.
The boy, whose dark brown will soon require a trim via a special
vacuum clipper that reuses the organic follicles, stares at the room’s dual
access system.
While it would be handy to leave the door open, the
increased cosmic ray protection takes precedence. Generally, Alex would
select the upper option, since the lower level functions mainly as a storage
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compartment, but today he recalls that he was out of vitamin supplements in
the kitchen.
The modestly clothed youngster grips a wall bar to help him travel to
the front of the RSR. He chooses to pass on the opportunity of donning his
shoes, due to the fact that they are becoming tight, and he is fast becoming
accustomed to life without them. Soon, he is next to the simple box, which
allows opening of the barrier. MR1 reaches forward and pulls downward on
a lever, which manually unlatches the dual-acting doors singularly. A pair
of lightly compressed springs send the water-filled door forward then hold it
in place, until it is forced closed. This basic method prevents injury from the
swinging object.
The three-foot height makes crouching a necessary operation, in order
to clear the hard metal header between the doorways. After a mild thrust
with his left arm, his skinny frame progresses on an angled course towards
the lower level floor, which is two foot further down.
A perfectly
orchestrated body tuck followed by a hop sends him on a slight upward
trajectory. Alex immediately extends his arms, catching the ceiling. While
the five-foot clearance is high enough to provide upright posture, it is also
low enough to allow pushing off the ceiling at the same time his feet are in
contact with the floor. MR1 utilizes this method to wobble about in the
basement.
Finally, the six-year-old opens the locker and retrieves the square,
biodegradable box of supplemental pills. As he grasps the container, a
strange, undefined feeling overcomes him. He pauses a moment to consider
the possible origin of the befuddlement. After a few seconds, the rather
confused child is able to place the uncertainty. He brought the vitamins up
to the kitchen cabinetry yesterday morning. Although there is no obvious
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explanation for his forgetfulness, the youth does not commit any further
mental effort in its direction. He simply returns the container to its original
stowed position and closes the door.
Once his somewhat dark-toned body conducts a weightless aboutface, the Solar-Bio1 resident starts to perform the same basic toddling
towards the ladder. His sparking blue eyes catch sight of the starboard DC
Buss, which houses the battery supply breakers, generation supplies, and
distribution equipment.
The dark gray panel contains explosion-proof
contactors and is a significant portion of the overall (DC) Electrical Ring.
Instead of using the rungs on the upright structure, a well-calculated
push-off directs him through the large oval opening and into the upper
compartment, otherwise known as the living space. Alex is quite thirsty,
which makes it a perfect time to take his morning pill. He was strictly
instructed to lubricate his throat when taking it.
MR1 moves slowly to the left side of the vehicle’s interior, passing
between the exercise station and the Bio-dome. Soon, his grip swings open
the cabinet that provides smaller storage for consumables. The drawer is
sectioned in squares to enhance space usage.
Nearly all materials that
require a holder use the same-sized box.
A new and, at least equal in peculiarity, thought pieces through his
previously collected demeanor. The vitamin container is missing! Only a
few possibilities exist that could bring closure to this inconsistency. Either
Alex threw away the empty box and did NOT get another, he placed it
somewhere else, or somebody else is on board!
The young child does not even entertain the thought of their being
another human on the vessel. It has been stated that he is alone, and,
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therefore, he is. Besides, he knows nothing of fear, only importance and
concern of protecting his life and the craft.
His well-developed mind ponders the idea of misplacing the item, but
his mental search does not net an answer to its current whereabouts.
Evidently, he never retrieved the object.
His befuddled state does not become alleviated upon realizing his
mistake. It is like he is unsure, like something just doesn’t add up. Why did
he recall something that could not have possibly happened?
What Alex does not understand is that, during his recent sleeping
episode, he experienced a dream. The mental imagery was the result of
going to bed with the thought of getting the pills in the morning on his mind.
While he has not yet been introduced to the phenomenon of dreaming,
it is ironically fast approaching in the human behavior section. Still, he will
most likely fail to make the connection. The involuntary déjà vu, which can
often be linked to simply dreaming something you expect to occur, causes
the child a tab bit
of uneasiness, but it would probably create more
confusion trying to explain it to the young boy.
Besides, how can you teach something to a child…when you don’t
really know…for yourself?
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Chapter
Twenty-five
May 15, 2007 – Las Vegas, NV
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“I can safely say…that…was the best buffet I have ever had,” Patricia
admits as she turns back to address her group.
The members of the assorted space agencies exit the all-you-can-eat
restaurant within the newly constructed “Out of this World” hotel-casino.
Only two years ago, the long-standing Flamingo Hilton stood proudly until
an implosion was conducted, in order to build this state-of-the-art structure.
The German representative, who made the suggestion to change
meeting locations, stares at the scattered machines and bright lights inside
the main gambling floor.
He finds himself bumping into people
occasionally, due to his lack of attention.
“Mr. Reitz, did you want to plunk a few quarters?” Leonard Thomas,
who sports a tee shirt and jeans, refers to the ESA leader’s obvious desire to
play.
“Ahh…what’s everyone else want to do?” his European accent laces
his well-spoken English.
“I want to check out the “Planet Pluto”. It’s a simulator. I’ve heard
it’s a blast,” Rebecca Thompson suggests to the educated crowd.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” her NASA partner seconds the motion.
A couple responses of an affirmative nature follow, while those not
utilizing audible replies issue expressions that also agree. Although the premeeting get together has no leader, the ever youthful-looking Mr. Thomas
leads the way. He has been to Vegas several times, but even he is a firsttimer to this specific gaming resort, which carries an outer space theme. His
blue eyes watch closely, as the numerous signs can get confusing.
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“Leonard? I think we can follow the stars on the floor,” Miss Bonham
informs her boss, in reference to the different colored shapes that correspond
to symbols on the posted signs.
“Yeah.
I was looking for the blue Star Treks,” he qualifies his
knowledge of the area’s traffic control methods.
“What? We’re looking for stars on the floor?” JPL scientist, Dan
Cleveland asks, while attempting to ignore the frequent stares from people
who mistakenly take him for John Lennon.
“Actually, they should be shaped like the Enterprise from the show.
Star…Trek…a play on words, I guess,” the brown-haired JPL head explains.
“Gotcha.”
After a couple minutes of somewhat back-and-forth travel, they find
the desired markers that should lead them to the ride section of the casino. It
is rather noisy, not to mention smoky, inside the huge area, making
conversation a bit difficult. The newly voted in ban on smoking in Nevada
does not take effect for another month. They pass by several places such as:
“Lunar Lounge”, “The Martian Hideout”, “Milky’s Way”, and “Everything
under the Sun” (a gift shop).
Finally, they arrive at the line for the popular attraction that provides
its customers with a realistic, visual vacation through the solar system. A
larger line stands to the left, where folks await the opportunity to feel what it
is like to blast off on a rocket on the properly named “Rocket Ride”. To the
right, there is a large sign that reads: “Coming in 2008! Virtual Orbit.
Experience a journey into true weightlessness!”
Leonard secretly chuckles at the words; for he knows the ability to
eliminate gravity was already achieved, ten years ago, although in a topsecret environment. Based on rumors, the yet-to-be-completed addition to
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the resort will merely remove a portion of the gravitational pull, jus enough
to produce the effects. The remainder will most likely be simulated by
visual trickery.
“Only twenty dollars to go to Pluto. I guess, we could be out of a job
soon, huh?” Scott reasons in a humorous attempt.
“I think you’re right, the most informally dressed male states as he
notices each of the individuals reaching for their wallets or into their purses,
“I have this one folks.”
Leonard does not give the people he is talking to a chance to refuse
the financial gesture. He moves directly over to the counter, where he uses a
credit card to make the purchase. Being a weekday, the crowds are not as
large, but still, Las Vegas remains the number one tourist draw in the
country.
After twenty minutes of small talk and anticipation, the group is
escorted into their seats along with about a hundred others. It is decorated
with authentic resemblance to the interior of a space ship.
While this
particular party happens to be much more familiar with the inside of such a
craft, they still seem to be rather impressed with the accuracy and detail.
Each member of the three organizations chooses to sit closest to
personnel from their own company with the sixty-five-year-old German
being adjacent to NASA’s Miss Thompson and Scott next to Leonard. Both
of the ESA affiliates, Mr. Greg Reitz and the Frenchman, Jacque Dupree, are
wearing expensive suits, while the males for NASA and JPL all opted for a
casual approach, Leonard being the most informal. Patricia has a light green
summer dress that fits loosely, hiding the weight she has gained as of late.
NASA’s Miss Flanders is clothed in a pair of black slacks and a gray blouse.
Her company’s Bio Division leader is nicely packaged in a dark blue dress
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that slips down an inch below her knees. The cuts on the garment are
modest, but it is impossible to conceal her attractive shape.
Mr. Jeffers, the friendly worker from Florida with squinty eyes,
prepares to make a statement to break the slight period of silence. Just as his
lips begin to issue an offer, the loudspeaker commences its program.
“Since the beginning of mankind, we have stared into the sky with
great wonderment. Are we truly alone? What lays beyond the vast regions
that we cannot see even with the most powerful telescopes?” the deep voice
continues, “While many dreams of far off galaxies have dominated our
thoughts of the future, we must…first…get out of our own solar system.
Could their be fantastic wonders hiding in our own little world? Perhaps,
the great mysteries, we believe to be light years away, are in reality…in our
own backyard! Join us in this exciting journey. We shall find out for
ourselves on our way to PLANET PLUTO!”
Major anticipation fills the senses of nearly every occupant of the
pretend space machine. Within seconds of the final words of the energetic
introduction, a rumble echoes with a corresponding vibration. Several loud
comments of surprise emit in response to the realism. Huge windows open,
one on each side and a third directly in the front. The screens display a
carbon copy of a launch pad in Cape Canaveral. Before the anxious riders
can collect their thoughts, a thrusting motion sends them against the back of
their seats. Although the g-force obtained on the nearby “Rocket Ride” is
created by a true acceleration upward, this attraction uses a visual
enhancement to produce the impression of a blastoff. Still, it fools those
enjoying the ride.
The boosters fall off and can be seen dropping back to earth as the
craft continues on at high speeds. Only thirty seconds later, the group
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approaches the red planet. The super close fly by displays fantastic views of
hills and valleys with a voice, claiming to be the captain, explaining possible
former life and the end trails left behind.
For Jupiter, substantial rocking and shaking of the enclosure is
created, in order to simulate the huge hurricanes present on it. Also included
on this portion of the trip is the entrance into an underground lake on the
moon, Europa. Strange, eel-like fish swim alongside, amplifying the belief
that life may truly exist on this unique satellite of Jupiter.
Just as the people in the audience relax their bearings, they zoom in on
Saturn, crashing into its icy rings.
The sideswiping manner was not
sufficient to decommission their vessel, so the long journey resumes. A few
malfunctions, as a result of the accident, become evident, including damage
to the crafts super-absorbing solar-heater. This dilemma is exhibited by a
sudden chill in the room to produce the impression of a failure in the ship’s
heating.
A brilliant, neon blue sphere slowly grows in size as they conquer the
billion miles between Saturn and Uranus. The planet displays its unique
axis, spinning like an upright “Wheel of Fortune”. Upon exiting the view of
Uranus, Leonard feels an unexpected relief in that they failed to mention,
what he knows to be, the greatest secret in the solar system…if not the
galaxy.
Neptune and Pluto complete the exciting trip, which ends with the
spaceship riders hurling hopelessly away from the sun’s gravitational pull
and into the helopause. Since they have run out of fuel, they will continue
on at their present speed and trajectory…forever!
During the human unloading process, Rebecca wonders why they
were not invited to the grand opening. She decides not to verbalize the
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mental note and silently laughs at the fact that the casino has no idea the
Solar-Bio group has just participated.
“Not bad!” Scott exclaims.
“Yeah. I’m getting a little old for this stuff though,” Greg states as his
mind quickly returns to the video poker machines.
“So, I guess, you’re not up for the Rocket Ride then,” the jovial
NASA employee edges.
“Most definitely not! If I want to survive the real mission, I have to
first survive Vegas.”
The comment falls upon agreeing ears, since the much more
physically demanding attraction seems to be slanted for a younger crowd.
The party’s only youth, John Franklin decides to join his colleague in the
effort.
“Yeah. Let’s do it. Who’s up for it?”
“I am. I’m sure Becky’ll go. She can’t go to Disney whenever she
wants anymore,” the Flight Ops lead digs.
“Oh no,” the lovely woman immediately replies.
“Come on. I’m sure Leonard will go, won’t you?”
“I don’t know Scott. I guess we’re already here,” admits Mr. Thomas,
not sure exactly what he may be getting himself into.
“Count me out,” Dan quickly lets his intentions out of the bag.
“Me too,” the blonde with sassy hair says.
“And me,” adds the other Caucasian female with little doubt that this
is not her cup of tea.
Soon everyone has chosen their side of the fence, except for the
beautiful lady with enchanting green eyes.
“Come on Becky,” Scott pleads for a second time.
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“Yeah. It can’t be that bad,” the Solar-Bio Mission head, whose
boyish face makes him look about thirty, tries to convince her as well.
“If you come along, I’ll pay for the four of us,” vows her significantly
younger co-worker.
“All right…but I’m warning you…I have a weak stomach,” she
smiles as she provides the medical caution.
“You can ride with Leonard then,” Scott laughs as he speaks.
Neither of the two in question supplies an audible remark, pertaining
to the comment.
The assigned seating is perfectly agreeable to them,
although it does spark a jolt of nervousness within both of them.
The wait is considerably longer for this particular event, because only
a handful of people can fit on each cycle. Rebecca begins to reconsider the
whole thing, based more on her immediate company than on the actual
mechanics of he ride. She fights the option to take the easy way out,
realizing she is not getting any younger. Although her looks and personality
are stunning, she has remained single. She turns forty-four in July and, up to
this point, has placed her career as priority number one, costing her a
relationship or two along the way.
At last, it is their turn. Leonard swings his right arm forward in a
gesture, offering the attractive and equally intelligent, woman the
opportunity to board first. She obliges by accepting the friendly token of
respect. Soon, they are both in a sitting position. The short train-like rocket
jogs forward to load the next pair. As the loading operation continues, their
two-person capsule does a 90-degree adjustment so they are facing upward
with their backs absorbing their weight, just like an astronaut.
“I can’t believe I’m going to do this,” she breaks the silence in a
notably nervous tone.
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“I would like to say I’m not scared.
But, I can’t,” admits the
handsome man sitting closely.
Rebecca recognizes for the first time that a dress may not be
appropriate for this vertical journey. She squeezes her knees together to
hold the fabric in place, wishing she selected a longer one or, perhaps, a pair
of slacks.
“I hope I don’t…”
Her speech is interrupted by a loud metallic sound, caused by the
engaging of the latching mechanisms. Without delay, it surges to nearly
fifty miles per hour in a second’s time. The corresponding acceleration is
overwhelming on each of the rider’s bodies. As if out of instinct, Rebecca
reaches over and grabs Leonard’s thigh, clenching with significant force. He
reacts with slightly more thought, by placing his right hand over her left.
In no more than eight seconds, the vertical enclosure reaches the top.
Even though the attraction also included a spectacular visual presentation,
Miss Thompson missed it, for her eyes were slammed shut. As soon as the
force is alleviated from her body and the up-and-down coaster slowly
lowers, she releases her eyelids, which covered her emerald peepers. She
peeks to her left, catching contact with the man next to her. Neither carries
out any attempts to halt their specific part in the handholding act. As the
machine gradually brings them back to ground zero, she invisibly smiles.
She survived the frightening experience and, for her efforts, has been
granted a wish.
Whether she receives the two other customary
wishes…remains to be seen.
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Chapter
Twenty-six
August 8, 2007 – USS Gunston Hall
(50 miles north of Norway, traveling towards the Kola Peninsula, Russia)
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“Officer of the Deck, Bearings verify target C sir,” a proud male voice
injects into the busy control center.
“Aye, Quartermaster. Chief of the Watch, All ahead one third, steady
on course,” the officer with LSD-44 on his ball cap orders.
“Aye sir. Ahead on third. Steady on course,” a man with a Spanish
accent repeats the order before moving a dial to indicate the new speed
command.
Within the maneuvering space in the engine room, a larger pointer
moves from “ahead full” to the lower level of propulsion. An enlisted man
clad in dungarees begins to perform the actions needed to adjust the pitch on
the dual five-bladed propeller. The torque developed by the sixteen-cylinder
diesels cuts back to complete the process, in order to slow the U.S. Navy
vessel.
The dark-skinned male dressed in a khaki outfit watches the velocity
of the USS Gunston Hall reduce from twenty knots to around eight. The
senior chief has a black moustache and brown eyes. His dense eyebrows are
connected into a single unit, earning him the nickname, “one brow”.
“Speed, all ahead one third, sir,” exclaims the E-8.
“Very well, Chief of the Watch,” the Commanding Officer begins,
before adding a less-professional comment, “Let’s get this damn bullshit out
of the way, so we can get back to the military.”
A couple mild laughs issue from the assorted sailors on the
specialized ship. Although they fully agree with the old man, he has been
known to jump on the lower ranks for next to nothing. His thin gray
moustache and pronounced wrinkles seem to reveal his demeanor more than
display a picture of wisdom.
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A unique growling sound emits from near the sailor in front of several
controls that steer the Dock Loading Ship. The Petty Officer with two
chevrons on the shoulder of his light blue shirt picks up the device that
created the noise and places it to his ear. After listening to the message over
the sound-powered phone and supplying a verbatim repeat-back, the young
male clears his throat in preparation for speech.
“Chief of the Watch, Ballast Control Systems and the Well
Deck…ready for launch,” he completes the informative transmission.
“Ballast Control and Well Deck ready, Aye,” the highest-ranked
enlisted man replies, “Officer of the Deck…BCS…Well…ready.”
“Very well. All stop. Flood the deck. Prepare for launch.”
“All stop, flood the deck, prepare for launch, aye sir.”
As the crew conducts the formal means of communications, the
officer who wears a Commodore’s insignia, mumbles more to himself than
in the direction of any one individual.
“Damn Ruskies. Don’t trust em. So what if we’re here for them.
How do they know we’re not sending a damn bomb their way? Oh well.
Sonar Tech?” finally something tangible is delivered from the old man’s
lips.
“Yes sir?”
“Any subs?”
“No sir. Not a sign.”
“Very well. Go active. I don’t like this.”
“Engage active sonar, aye sir.”
While the Chief of the Watch is normally the middleman in
conversation, this time, he was skipped; however, he has an easy-going
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nature that does not take offense to the mild oversight. He commonly
preaches the popular navy motto of “Don’t sweat the small stuff”.
As the assorted personnel fulfill the duties of their respective watches,
the amphibious ship begins to sink in a controlled manner. Water starts to
fill tanks, which previously were partially stocked with air. Salty liquid also
rapidly rushes into the space where the Landing Air Craft Cushion (LCAC)
is housed. Finally, a back door opens, exposing the entire 50 ft x 440 ft
room. Nearly ten feet of water on aft end is sufficient to lift the portable
vessel that the Solar-Bio2 parts sit upon.
Suddenly, the smaller vessel
thrusts forward out of the LSD-44’s basement. It will be controlled by an
onboard system as they head back to the Atlantic.
The aggravated
Commanding Officer has no idea that the contents on the LCAC are more
expensive than the 167 million dollar price tag of his Docking Vessel.
While the Americans move away, nearly completed with their end of
the mission, the Russians have just commenced theirs. A ship capable of the
identical operation (in this case, in reverse) has already navigated out of the
channels of Kola Bay and will soon arrive for pickup. Due to the nature of
the transition, the U.S. Navy selected civilian controls and communications,
thereby removing any opportunity for the Russians to retrieve naval
intelligence.
The military port of Murmansk will, most likely, hold onto the
transporting craft, but the large components have a different destination.
They will be heavily guarded on route to the Plesetsk Cosmodrome. The
Russian’s northernmost launch site shall receive one more highly classified
package, this one being delivered by air instead of by sea.
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Chapter
Twenty-seven
February 2, 2008 – Solar-Bio1
(293,261,674 miles beyond Mars, traveling at 11,374 mph)
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Alex stares into the reflective glass mounted just to the right of the
exercise bench. His appearance has gradually transferred from the tot-type
look into one of a handsome young boy. Dark brown hair, presently about
three inches in length, covers his slightly oval-shaped head. The hair is
combed, but there is no real order or pattern that was followed. His bangs
fall straight down, hiding his brows, but failing to reach is lashes.
As was the case from the moment he entered the world, his blue eyes
sparkle like the waters in the Caribbean on a sunny day. The boy’s nose is
perfectly sized, though perhaps a slight bit narrow. He does not wear a
smile, since he would not relate the expression with an emotional condition.
To him, the added energy required to alter his relaxed, mouth posture would
be a waste and serve no purpose. All in all; however, he is happy inside and
would certainly cast the sign of joy if he were introduced to it.
The seven-year-old continues to inspect himself in the full-length
mirror. His naked body is thin but not to the extent of malnutrition. His rib
show through slightly more than a child that undergoes a more generous
diet, but it was the intent of the mission designers to ride this side of the
fence. MR1’s skin has a natural darkness to it. This is due to his natural
father being of a Cuban descent.
The young boy’s focus resumes its slow downward travel, stopping at
his small-uncircumcised penis. He recalls the medical training he had early
in the mission, which displayed a basic hand-sketched picture of this body
part. It explained the function of this protrusion to be solely for removal of
liquid waste and emphasized the importance of keeping it clean. A future
lesson plan shall inform him of the reproduction process. Alex wonders why
his does not look quite the same as the one he was presented with for the
purpose of education. He considers asking headquarters about his extra skin
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over the head. The reason is actually quite simple, for if they were to
attempt the delicate carving procedure with the gloves that reached into his
weightless enclosure, disaster would have certainly been the result.
After completing the “head to toe”, the nude child twists around to
where he is facing the Bio-dome system. The rectangular-shaped machine,
which is predominantly dark gray in color, actually utilizes both levels of the
Solar-Bio1 much like the RSR. The top is slanted with a lift-able lid,
allowing retrievable of fully-grown mushrooms.
It works on a five-tier method, where the first stage begins at the
bottom and moves up one at a time until done. There are two indicator
lights for each phase of the operation.
When the particular stage is
complete, the red light extinguishes and the green bulb energizes.
The five basic stages are:
1. Compost (Building an organic base, adding hydrogen
peroxide, venting off excess ammonia)
2. Spawning (Using a paste to remove spores from four
completed mushrooms)
3. Casing
(Applying a nutritional layer for actual growth)
4. Pinning
(First level of formation)
5. Cropping (Final growth, removal as food, dropping of
leftmost four to 2nd tier for spawning)
It was decided to run the automatic system on a Monday through
Sunday type schedule, since each stage takes no more than a week, making
the entire cycle five weeks in duration. This way, Alex could better regulate
when to supplement dry food and when there is abundance.
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Presently, all lights are green, so it is permissible for the space traveler
to obtain a meal. He swiftly moves toward the handle that provides the
means to uncover the extremely healthy product that does not use
photosynthesis and, therefore, requires next to no light.
The manual harvesting is a very simplistic process. Alex grips the
laboratory-grown fungus and pulls it out of the soil. There is no cleaning,
since the environment is germ-free and strictly controlled. After retrieving a
pair of the sponge-like mushrooms, MR1 carefully floats over to the table, in
order to eat it.
Upon arrival, he places one of them in the indented tray within the
horizontal surface. He begins to nibble on the specially fabricated hybrid.
The ultra-healthy derivation of Cauliflower Fungus is one of several
engineered species he will be introduced to throughout the trip. While he
fully comprehends the difference in taste between assorted foods, and he
enjoys some over others, he does not view eating as a pleasurable event. To
prevent loss of the spores, the intricate mechanism produces a storable
spawning paste, prior to allowing installation of a new kind.
Alex steadily consumes his breakfast, noting that his throat is getting
considerably dry. It is basically standard for him to get up and obtain a
hearty swallow of water from the drinking hose at the kitchen counter in
between mushrooms. This particular morning follows the same routine, as
he executes the initial thrust in the direction of the fancy faucet.
Just as he arrives at the intended target, a recognizable beep emits
from the transmission console. It’s an incoming message from headquarters,
probably a response to his question on the hydroponic garden! He has been
waiting for over ten hours now. (Travel time of the signal now at his current
location is 4 ½ hours each way)
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Instead of satisfying his significant thirst, the blue-eyed boy opts to
check out the words on the monitor that sets twenty-five feet away. A
suitable push off carries his youthful frame in the forward direction. Due to
the wall that extends out to the treadmill, he cannot head straight for the
panel. His left hand grips the uneaten fungus on the way by. His right hand
reaches up to grab a ceiling bar, in order to change course a bit. After
executing the move, he starts devouring the substantial substance. He tries
to eat the food as fast as possible, in order to rid the hand of the chore of
holding it, thereby making travel along the ceiling matrix more reasonable.
Suddenly, Alex releases the mushroom, using that hand to stop his
body, while his other reaches for his throat. The youth struggles to inhale a
dose of oxygen from the craft’s atmosphere.
A weak wheezing sound
issues, but no air enters his lungs. Although he is in immediate danger, his
mind is able to logically link the problem to a lack of water. His arms flex
in a way to send him towards the kitchen. As the youth begins to feel a
greater need for air, he tries to cough but is unsuccessful. It seems as though
the trip is taking much longer than expected. He wonders if he will get there
in time and whether the water will save him.
Alex recollects the first aid that was drilled into his head and attempts
a self-thrust into his diaphragm. The action does nothing to dislodge the dry,
clogged pipe. He does not seem to possess the energy to perform another, or
the strength the grab the drinking hose. His generally calm demeanor is
replaced with one of panic for the first time. The thought of not completing
the mission, not to mention no longer being alive, delivers a strange,
unknown sensation. He twists and turns in a sporadic fashion as his sights
fade. A fuzziness begins to overcome his terrified state. Though he suspects
177
the new, relaxed perception to be a bad thing, he cannot resist the temptation
to welcome it.
Soon, MR1’s body is rendered motionless. As his body remains in
suspension, a total blankness takes over within his mind. His muscles
completely relax, which, in turn, loosens the hold on the clump of food.
Within seconds of his un-tensed condition, the material breaks down just
enough to allow his involuntary muscles to swallow a large portion of the
food and rid much of the obstruction.
Finally, sufficient oxygen is supplied to his starved blood to perform a
self-revival.
The awakened boy’s first thoughts are void of anything
tangible that would label the event. What happened? Alex notices the little
blinking light that informs him of a new transmission. The recent episode
quickly plays through in his bewildered senses.
All of a sudden, his question about gardening doesn’t seem all that
significant.
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Chapter
Twenty-eight
May 15, 2008 – San Bernardino, CA
179
“Leonard? Hey? Leonard!” a silhouette whispers with increased
intensity.
The desired response is not achieved, so the female shape takes the
next logical step, which happens to be shaking the man’s body.
“Wake up!” her voice erupts, as she attempts to bring her slumbering
partner back to reality.
Finally, a moan issues from his lips followed by an almost coherent
word or two. An uneventful moment slips by, allowing the male lying in the
bed the time to sort the cobwebs. After obtaining full alert status, he reaches
over and flips the switch on the small light that sits upon the nightstand. The
sixty watts shine through the off-white lampshade and into the modest
bedroom.
“W-w-what is it? What time is it?” inquires Leonard in a groggy but
concerned tone.
For a few seconds, he wonders whom he is talking to, but the naked
breasts and beautiful face before him quickly remind him of the night’s
earlier episode. Rebecca’s back leans against the oak headboard, the blanket
coming up to her trim waist. Her emerald eyes are wide open and fully alert.
“It’s 2:30,” she informs him of the present time.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” wonders the man whose brown
hair is bushed out in several directions.
“You were talking in your sleep…kinda yelling actually.
You
stopped for a while, but then you picked up again. Are you ok?” her voice is
honest and quite concerned.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I don’t have many dreams,” explains the JPL
employee, “Sorry for waking you.”
180
“That’s ok. I never have a problem falling back to sleep when I wake
up in the middle of the night.”
“Wonder what I was dreaming about.”
“You kept saying the word ‘umbrella’, or…something like that.”
“Huh? Not sure what that’s all about.”
“That’s what it sounded like anyway,” the lovely female begins,
“None of it made sense to me. You referred to somebody leaving this
umbrella or umbrel, or whatever it was. You were saying…they left…where
did they go?”
The elaboration on his recent involuntary speech delivers a dose of
discomfort and harsh realism.
He now realizes that he was basically
spewing out details of the top-secret portion of the mission! What shall he
do?
If he asks her to continue the “play by play” commentary, the
conversation could get deep into an area he cannot swim out of. On the
other hand, if his quick-thinking wit is up to the task, he could douse the
flames before the fire grows too large to extinguish. How could such a
fantastic evening, which seemed to be the beginning of something truly
wonderful, wind up placing him into this awkward predicament? How could
such an innocent dream turn into such an awful nightmare?
“I’m not sure what that’s all about either. You’re the first to hear me
talk in my sleep. Of course, that would make sense, since I haven’t been
with a woman in ages. Who knows. Perhaps, I have these crazy dreams all
the time,” Leonard attempts to paint the significance of the slumbering
imagery into a shade of irrelevant.
“Oh. Well…that could be true,” Rebecca stumbles through the simple
sentence.
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A notable smile finds its way onto her lovely face upon receiving the
news that she is the first woman to be with him in such a long time. Her fine
black hair hugs the contours of her face and bare shoulders, almost as if
recently combed. A short moment of silence flows, which affords her the
opportunity to concentrate on her own status. She finally notices that she is
displaying her chest in the mild but sufficient illumination. A quick selfcheck yields the fact that they are presently in a state of arousal. Her mocha
skin is not dark enough to hide the blush she exhibits as a result of the
embarrassment, but she chooses not to cover up, figuring that would just
draw attention to her condition.
“So, did I say anything else?” the male partner breaks the
uncomfortable silence.
“Yeah. What’s up with the Russians?”
“Umm. What do you mean?” he begins to fear the worst.
“That’s when you were yelling. It was a little scary.”
“What was I saying?”
“You said…you Russians aren’t running this thing.
Then you
yelled…who do you think you are? This is my show! Then you repeated,
mine, mine, mine.”
“Like a little kid?”
“I guess. You seemed pretty serious about it though,” reasons the
story-telling lady.
“The Russians, huh?” Leonard searches for an angle, hoping to buy
some time with the non-committal response.
“Yeah. Could it have something to do with the mission? They’re not
involved anymore; are they?”
“Not really,” he hints that there may be more to the story.
182
“What do you mean by that?”
Another short period ensues as he considers whether to fill her in on
the second phase, this one dealing directly with the mentioned space agency.
While he certainly cannot divulge the highly classified reasons for the
partnership, he could, at least, inform her that there will be another mission.
Since the media announcement is only a month away, it would not be
detrimental to the project if he were to tell her.
“Actually…can you keep a secret?”
“Sure.”
“Well, we agreed with the Russians to send a second Solar-Bio to
Pluto on the 2009 trajectory for further testing and as a backup. They are
paying for half.”
“Wow. I wonder why we weren’t informed. What’s the big secret?”
“The press conference is set for the second week in April. It took a
while to hammer out the political stuff, or should I say, the money.”
“So, I guess I am privy to these things now?” eggs the woman before
realizing that her comment basically implies that she is now his girlfriend.
“You should have already been involved, being with NASA. Keep in
mind, this thing has to stay hush hush for a bit longer.”
“No problem. So whose Sonya?”
“Sonya?”
“Yeah. You repeated her name a dozen times, I bet. I mean…if it’s
none of my business, that’s alright.”
Although the female name that is in question is far from that of a fling
or romantic relationship, it may be the best avenue to take for the man,
whom had such a difficult time keeping his mouth shut while sleeping.
Without a doubt, he cannot tell her the truth, unless he plans on pledging her
183
into the mission. Leonard ponders the possibility for a moment but quickly
notes that this would require more thought and other’s approval.
“Sonya, huh?”
“Yep.
Sonya.
But, it really is no big deal.
I shouldn’t have
mentioned it. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, that’s ok. I suppose, if I said it was a childhood pet…you
wouldn’t believe me?”
Instead of issuing a verbal response, Miss Thompson chuckles slightly
as she executes a negative headshake.
“I didn’t thinks so.”
The Californian points his smoky eyes directly at her emerald peepers.
He steadily moves closer to the beautiful figure that sits with her knees bent
and now leans a bit forward. She recognizes the incoming offer of intimacy
and twists her frame in a way that welcomes the suggestive gesture.
As Leonard’s baby face nears her soft lips, he offers one final attempt,
“I don’t suppose I could convince you?”
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Chapter
Twenty-nine
October 29, 2008 – Orlando, FL
185
“Hello Miss Anderson. My name is Doctor Larry Stone. I will be
performing your surgery next week,” introduces an older man with a shaven
head, wearing the standard, white physician’s overcoat.
“Hello sir,” the blue-eyed woman returns.
The hospital worker opens the folder that he is holding to retrieve the
documents he desires. Alexia, who has gained over fifty pounds throughout
her medical problems, sits in the office chair in her blue sweat pants and
gray tee shirt. She is quite nervous due to the finality of the operation, plus
her mother was not able to join her.
“Ok. We have some forms to go through. This first one requires me
to explain the procedure and what it means in terms of life after,” he
continues on while making eye contact but lacking any real compassion
behind it, “As you know, the vaginal bleeding you experienced required
repeated doses of radiation therapy…and, that in turn…caused the uterine
sarcoma to develop. Unfortunately, in your case, the condition accelerated
at an unexpected rate.”
“Sir?” she jumps in to stop him, something that surprises even herself.
“Yes?”
“I just wondered if you know my doctor.”
“Actually no. Why do you ask?”
“Cause you know about the bleeding.”
“Oh.
I have reviewed your files in rather fine detail. It is very
important for me to know everything there is to know, so I can be prepared
for anything during the actual operation.”
“Ok. I’m not signing anything that gives up responsibility; am I?” her
left hand guides her curly brown hair away from her brilliant eyes as she
inquires about the legal ramifications.
186
“Yes.
There are some things dealing with the operation and
responsibility. It does not release us from malpractice or anything like that.
It deals with making sure you understand the risks and future symptoms that
could come about.”
“Bu nothing about the x-rays that caused my cancer?” Alexia refers to
her belief that the doctors improperly administered the radiological process
and, in fact, GAVE her cancer.
“Oh, heaven’s no! That is your business. I can tell you that you were
not the average patient. As a doctor, it would have been difficult to project
the cell growth as it progressed. But, having said that, you need to do what
you feel is the right thing for you personally. I’m assuming you have a
lawyer; so, I’ll tell you what, why don’t I leave you all these legal papers to
go over in his or her presence. Remember though, we need these signed by
Monday, so I will need to make another appointment with you for that day.”
“Ok. That sounds good.”
“How about the same time Monday?”
“That will work.”
“Now, let’s talk about the operation as opposed to other options,” his
words are well-delivered, if not a bit mono-toned, “The surgery you have
opted for is a three-part procedure.
It includes a total abdominal
hysterectomy, a bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy, and a lymphadenectomy.
In ordinary terms this translates to the removal of your uterus, fallopian
tubes, and ovaries. We will decide whether the lymph nodes need to go after
we get in.”
A short moment elapses, which allows the generously paid man time
to catch his breath for a new delivery, “The advantage, of course, is that the
success rate, in relation to getting all the cancer, is very good. Your long187
term side effects are actually minimal.
Obviously the downside is the
complete loss of reproductive capabilities.
The hormonal replacements
should basically nullify any problems from the loss of your ovaries.”
“Do you think I am making the right choice sir?” Alexia digs for
advice that could either agree with or contradict her regular doctor’s opinion.
“I am not really at liberty to supply that advice. Did you get a second
opinion?”
“Yes, I did. They both said the spread past the uterus makes it my
only true option.”
“Ok. I can tell you that based on your file, you are running out of
time for the other choices,” he provides a mild touch of assurance in the area
of selecting the proper procedure, “But, I must go over the other options.
You are required to sign this form eventually. I don’t expect you to sign it
now, but I would like to go over it, so you understand it when you look at it
with your legal council. Are you ready”
“Yes sir.”
“One of the other three possibilities is continued radio-therapy to kill
the cancer cells. The side effects, as you know from your personal history
with it, are numerous. Since it is this form of medication that instigated the
onset of sarcoma, it carries the risk of doing more harm than good. The next
option is hormonal therapy. The side effects are minimal, but the odds of
success are low at this stage. The last option is chemotherapy. In this
method of treatment, the drug enters your bloodstream, travels through your
body, and kills the malignant cells outside the uterus. While the level of
success is encouraging on this, the side effects are long, and we would still,
most likely, have to remove your uterus.”
“So, I really have no other choice,” finalizes the female patient.
188
“They all provide a possible cure…but, in most cases where a woman
is in advanced stages, it is best to remove everything affected and get on
with life,” he is very careful not to use her name in the example, “The
women who choose to fight it with these less-invasive options usually find
they just get sicker and require the hysterectomy anyway.”
“That’s what my doctor said too.”
“Why don’t we stop here. The rest of this stuff we can cover on
coming Monday. If you would like, it is perfectly acceptable to bring a
witness.”
“Ok sir. So, I can go now?”
“Actually, you need to see the anesthesiologist first. Just a quick
presentation, and then you’re free to go.”
“Well, I’ve been knocked out before. I don’t think I need to go over
that.”
“It’s policy. It won’t take that long. I will go get her right now.”
“Ok. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you Monday.”
The closing door places a period at the end of his non-sympathetic
tone. While his rough-edged style did little to comfort the woman, she has
heard through several references that his qualifications and expertise are
outstanding. Before the native Floridian can change her mental chain of
thought, the steel barrier swings back open. She is initially surprised at the
efficiency, but decides it was probably a mere coincidence in that the
newcomer was just walking by.
The unknown visitor has her back to Miss Anderson as she completes
a few words with the surgeon. Curly, blonde hair tickles the top of the
shoulders of the woman, whom has yet to turn around and introduce herself.
189
Finally, she twists her slender frame in the direction of the female sitting
down and waiting.
The room’s most recent occupant has hazel eyes behind a pair of
spectacles and a large smile to go with her attractive face. She swiftly
makes her way toward the ill patient, holding out her hand as an offer of
pleasantry. The darker haired gal begins to stand in preparation of accepting
the welcoming motion.
“Don’t get up honey. I won’t take up too much of your time. I just
need to give you a brief overview of the procedure,” the newcomer informs
as she greets the stranger with a loose handshake, “My name is Jennifer. I
will be administering the anesthesia during the operation, which is, let me
see here…”
“Next Wednesday,” the woman in sweats spares the hospital worker
the trouble of finding the date within the documents.
“Wednesday. Thank you. And your name is…” she talks as she
searches for the blue-eyed females name on the paper she is holding.
“Alexia.”
“Aah yes,” she starts after spotting it for herself, “Alexia Anders…”
The incompletion of her last name was not due to a mispronunciation
or a typo. The abrupt halt in speech was the result of recognizing her name,
for it is one the medical staff member has not and will not forget.
“Anderson, ma’am. Not Anders,” Alexia corrects her.
“Umm. Yes. Aah, sorry,” stutters the startled lady, unsure what to
say.
The anesthesiologist tries to collect herself mentally, although the task
is not a simple one. She remembers the event as if it were yesterday. It took
years to rid the feelings of guilt and regret. Is it all starting over? The
190
strange reaction invites Alexia to focus more on the other woman and her
peculiar expression. After looking a bit deeper into her predominantly green
eyes, Miss Anderson feels a wee spell of “memory recall” of her own,
though not near as place-able.
“Is everything ok? Have we met before?” wonders Alexia.
“No. Not that I know of,” Jennifer recovers, hoping that she does not
figure out who she is.
“You look familiar. Not sure why.”
“I’m pretty good with faces. I don’t recall meeting you,” the blonde
hurries through in attempts to divert the conversation into a new direction,
“Anyway, we need to run through the process. You’ll need to sign this
when we are done.”
“Ok.”
“You will be receiving a general, which means your lungs will be
supplied with a gas containing hydrocarbons and oxygen. This will mix
with your blood through the walls of the aveola. Then, it delivers the drug to
your brain. Now, this is a halogen-producing ether. There is a very rare
reaction that can result, called malignant hyper pyrexia.”
“What does that mean?”
“It produces a dangerous rise in body temperature and oxygen use. It
can become impossible to supply enough oxygen.”
“So, what happens?”
“If severe enough, it can be fatal.”
“Oh my god, I didn’t know this!”
“It is very very rare. I just have to inform you of the risks.”
“But, but, I don’t want to…”
191
“I can assure you, I have worked at this hospital and administered this
anesthesia hundreds of times over the past ten years. I have never lost a
patient.”
The words seem to calm the worried woman; at least, that is how it
looks through Jennifer’s perspective. At the moment, she has no idea that
she just provided a spark to a fuse she did NOT want to light.
The
declaration of her track record becomes a hint of the past that allows Alexia
to connect her familiar eyes with this very hospital where she first seen
them.
“You were there!” a stern voice emits from the normally friendly
female’s mouth.
“What do you mean?”
“My baby. I lost my baby. It was eight years ago. You were there. I
remember you!” young Miss Anderson weeps while she forces out the
insinuation.
The shocked anesthesiologist does not issue an immediate remark.
She initially considers denying the charge, but the crying and pain she
witnesses become too much to withstand.
“I remember you now.
You
had a transverse. We tried to remove the baby. It was too late. I’m so
sorry,” the nervous woman supplies in a truly sympathetic tone.
“But, you did a cesarean right?” quizzes the twenty-three-year-old.
“Yes. We tried. But, it was too late.”
“But, the baby did come out my stomach right?”
“Yes, of course,” Jennifer states, wondering why this is an issue.
“You’re lying to me!”
“About what?”
“I did not have a c-section. My uterus was not cut!”
192
The older woman realizes she has been caught in the middle of a
fabrication of the facts. She must come forth with something that will
satisfy the angry female, but not enough to create future harm for herself.
“They told me that your baby had a disease. It was not going to
survive. The told me that you knew and agreed to some experiment.”
“Experiment?!”
“They said it was top secret. I could not talk about it.”
“Who is they?”
“I don’t know. I never seen them without the surgical masks on.”
“Is my baby alive?”
“I don’t know. All I know is they took the baby away.”
“Why did they say I had a cesarean?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“But, you must have agreed to go along with something, because you
said I had a cesarean when you knew I did not!”
The blonde removes her blue, plastic-rimmed glasses and wipes a few
beads of sweat from her brow. At this point, concealing her obvious panicky
condition would serve no purpose. She simply cannot tell her that she did
this for money. It is almost more out of her own guilt than it is in an effort
to hide the true perpetrator’s identity, which she doubts is who they said they
were anyhow.
“You cannot tell anyone. No one will believe you. I don’t know what
would happen.”
“What do you mean? You want me to forget this!?”
“You have to.
I am so sorry…but… you gave the baby up for
adoption anyway…right?”
“How do you know that?”
193
“Well, it was, umm…I wouldn’t have let them take the baby if you
didn’t”
“But, you said you were told the baby was going to die and I KNEW
it! Why would an adoption be done? You’re still lying to me!”
Jennifer was not prepared for this, which is quite evident by her
blundering story and total lack of acceptable answers. She now concludes
that the only way out of this is to tell the truth. Perhaps, getting this off her
chest will rid her of the self-induced blame.
On the other hand, the
punishment may be yet to come and far more severe than she can imagine.
Chapter
Thirty
May 6, 2009 – Midland, MI
“TV…1 2 3,” a male voice issues the strange numerical / alphabetical
code while sitting down on a comfortable recliner.
194
The man’s vocal cords, along with a hearty discharge of air from his
lungs, send out sound waves that begin bouncing off the walls within the
large living room. Instead of being detected by a pair of human ears, the
signal is picked up by a nearby receiving unit that sits upon the coffee table.
The movement of air causes an internal diaphragm to vibrate in such a way
that an electrical pulse can be generated for use in the motherboard. Finally
(although only taking milliseconds for the entire process), the delivered
signal results in the electronic order for the television to come on.
A giant menu appears on the sixty-inch monitor. There are several
options that the user has at his disposal. They include:
A.
Current News
B.
Sports
C.
Movie
D.
Television Shows
E.
Music
F.
Email
G.
Weather
H.
Stock Market
I.
Shopping
J.
Information
K.
Web Search
L.
Favorites
M.
Miscellaneous
195
“TV…A,” the man audibly selects.
By using the word ‘TV’ before each command, the state-of-the-art
system can easily differentiate between verbal instructions and normal
conversation. In less that one second, a new menu is exhibited on the super
high-resolution glass.
A.
World
B.
National
C.
Michigan
D.
Local
E.
Business
F.
Weather
G.
Sports
H.
Classified
I.
Miscellaneous
Upon viewing the self-configured listing, the man makes his choice,
“TV…A.”
This time, a longer pause follows, for the home-based computer must
send a request from a ground-mounted transmitter to the correct satellite,
then wait for a digital response, which can be processed into a usable form
for the video card. After about eleven seconds, the monitor changes to
supply the person with the available stories that relate to world news. They
are organized in chronological order, based on when the report was entered
into the worldwide web’s database. If desired, events from as far back as the
onboard memory banks can hold are obtainable. If this does not satisfy the
user, the information can be retrieved from an earth-residing server.
196
Although the delay is longer, it basically labels the possible sources of
information as endless.
“TV…D,” a decision is finally made in reference to which
international event the forty-year-old is interested in.
He is offered three possible modes of display, those being: Type,
Audio Only, Audio / Video.
“TV…B,” he chooses, since the “audio only” allows him to relax and
just listen to the presentation.
The brown-eyed male leans back a bit in his leather chair and waits
for the words to fill the room.
“The United States and Russia have successfully launched, what they
call, the Solar-Bio2. The joint mission is a first of this caliber between the
two super powers. The giant rocket, which easily records as the largest
volume of propellant ever, blasted off from the Plesetsk Cosmodrome, 400
miles northeast of St. Petersburg. The unprecedented size of the spacecraft
was required to supply the escape velocity that is needed to get the SolarBio2 all the way to Mars, where it will begin a series of gravity-assist flybys.
According to the Russian Space Agency, the rocket booster system was
constructed into a two-segment arrangement. The first shall fall back to
earth, while the other will not be released until it is within the gravitational
pull of our neighboring red planet. This is much the same as its earlier
counterpart, the Solar-Bio1, which is still engaging on its quest to reach
Pluto in the year 2019. Jet Propulsion Laboratories has released a statement
outlining the numerous objectives of the journey. With this being the final
feasible trajectory for Pluto in the next 300 years, it was decided to send up a
back up in case of a failure with the Solar-Bio1, which launched in 2005.”
197
The voice emitting from the expensive sound system finally comes to
an abrupt halt. At this point, a new menu appears on the large monitor,
which reads as follows:
A.
Continued Coverage
B.
List of Solar-Bio2 Objectives
C.
Current Status of Solar-Bio1 Objects
D.
List of Solar-Bio1 Objectives
E.
Photos from Solar-Bio Mission
F.
Russian Space Menu
G.
NASA / JPL Menu
H.
Return to World News Menu
I.
Return to Current News Menu
J.
Return to Main Menu
The selections on the computerized-television set do not find their
way to receiving eyes. The lone human within the dwelling fell asleep
halfway through the audible overview.
198
Chapter
Thirty-one
June 22, 2009 - Kaliningrad, Russia
199
The man sitting behind the large oak desk pulls off his military cap
and places it on the horizontal surface directly in front of his overweight
body. Upon completion of the simple task, the Russian with jet black hair
rises to his feet and moves toward the door, which will present access to the
visitors that he was just informed are waiting. His light brown outfit appears
to be heavily starched with perfect creases going down the pant legs and one
each descending from the shirt pockets. A swift jerk on the knob brings the
two newcomers into view.
While the older looking of the pair is immediately recognizable to
him, the younger male he has yet to meet. The executive officer points his
blue eyes at the stranger and studies him for a brief moment. Although the
one in question would have every excuse to be nervous, he quickly flashes a
smile. The affirmative gesture is welcomed, and a likewise cordial signal is
returned. Ivan prides himself on his first impression accuracy and, in this
case, labels the brown-eyed, brown-haired gentleman as a trustworthy sort.
“Hello Damoslav. Nice to see you,” the military man diverts his
attention to the gray-haired gent.
“Hello Mr. Rebrov,” the tall male in a gray suit begins, “I’d like you
to meet Mr. Kobach Simko.”
The newcomer, who is clothed in an expensive, dark blue suit, offers
his hand while he issues a second smile, this one notably larger than the
original.
“It is nice to meet you Mr. Simko. I have looked forward to this day.”
“Same here Mr. Rebrov,” returns a somewhat high-pitched voice that
doesn’t quite match his manly features.
“Come in gentleman. Have a seat,” the VKS head suggests as he
leads the way towards an oval-shaped table with a chair in each quadrant.
200
The forty-year-old walks confidently while the considerably older,
Damoslav labors a bit to reach a place to sit. Ivan begins to lower his frame
but then notices his RKA counterpart has not yet sat down. He respectfully
waits for the more frail gent to find comfort before obtaining it for himself.
As the gray-haired, male figure hobbles, Mr. Rebrov thinks about
asking his acquaintance about how his health has been treating him. He
passes on the thought, for he has heard rumors that it is a digressing illness
that has lead to the decision to retire, not his age. No doubt, Mr. Machek
would deny such issues, purely to minimize the attention drawn to it. A
significant dose of pity penetrates the watchful officer, for although he never
considered this man as a close friend, he was certainly competent and a great
asset to the many missions they served on together.
Finally, the always-serious lead man of the Russian Space Agency
completes the rather difficult chore, and the executive of the Russian Space
Forces follows suit. Before expelling an opening statement, Ivan directs his
blue eyes in the direction of the room’s youngest occupant. The subject
under observation casts a very honest and friendly expression, which the
onlooker quickly uses to verify his earlier reading.
There have been
extensive background checks, testing, and preparation prior to the selection
of this person as a suitable replacement. While the risk factor does not
provide Ivan with a warm feeling about the turnover, he does welcome the
idea of some fresh blood with perhaps a little more of an easy-going style.
“Mind if I smoke?” the meeting’s director politely asks while reaching
back to his nearby desk where the fancy humidor resides.
“Not at all sir,” the male opposite of the requestor assures.
Damoslav supplies a physical motion in the form of a nod that also
allows the action to take place, although with much less enthusiasm. As the
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thick, rolled tobacco is ignited, the chubby smoker detects a look of intrigue
coming from the face of the brown-haired newcomer.
“Would you like one Mr. Simko? They’re Cubans, umm…Cohibas.”
“Oh…I don’t think I should. Those are expensive.”
“Oh come on. Try one. They’re my only vice,” Ivan hesitates, “Well,
that and maybe an occasional bit of swearing.”
“Yeah? I enjoy a good cuss word from time to time myself, so…I
guess a cigar couldn’t hurt.”
“That’s the shit I like to hear,” the jolly commander adds the profanity
in a way that sparks a slight bit of comedy, possibly at the cost of offending
the less-tolerant, Damoslav.
After lighting the cigar with the yellow and gray ribbon around it, he
inhales a large quantity of the aromatic smoke then retrieves another from
the wooden box that serves to provide the precise level of needed humidity.
He sends the cylindrical product like a rolling log down the tabletop in the
direction of Mr. Simko. As the foreign object makes its way along its
intended course, the VKS head tosses his red, butane lighter on an airborne
path. Kobach transfers his focus to the incoming plastic lighter, capturing it
single-handedly, and then quickly diverts his attention to the slower moving
article just in time to grab it as well.
“Thanks sir,” he states while conducting the less-coordinated duty of
lighting it, “Mmm, This is good.”
“I thought you’d like it,” starts the Russian military man, “I guess we
should get down to business. The turnover process will be quite formal, of
course, but I’d like to keep the connection between our two agencies as
loose as possible.”
“Loose?” Damoslav interjects.
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“Probably not the best choice of words. Obviously there will be
nothing loose about the secrecy or the significance of our missions. What I
mean to say is…when it is just the two of us in the office, I’d like to keep it
relaxed.”
“I understand sir,” relates the youngest member of the gathering.
“Ok Mr. Simko, being the second in command in the Кролик1
project, you are already well aware of the American’s Solar-Bio1 that is
lagging behind it. And…of course…the newest mission that we share with
the Americans.”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, you’re about to enter the point of no return. This is your last
chance to bail out. After I begin the briefing…well…you know.”
“Yes I do, and I am looking forward to serving the Space Agency. I
will let no one down.”
As Ivan prepares to fill in the less-informed gent on the super-secret
data, Damoslav sits silently with little emotion displayed on his heavily-aged
face.
“That’s good to hear, because the success of this mission depends on
your devotion.”
“You can count on me.”
“Let’s start with the Кролик1. You know that it recently passed
Jupiter on a successful sling. You know that we are taking photos along the
way but not transmitting them until the end of the project, in order to prevent
detection and conserve energy. Of course, the mere existence of this probe
is unknown to everyone outside of this secret entity we belong to and this is
how it MUST stay. So far so good?”
“Yes sir.”
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Ivan considers instructing him that the sir label is not necessary but
opts against it, as he wants nothing to distract him away from the subject
being discussed.
“Great. Now. The good stuff. Кролик1 is NOT going to Pluto.”
“No?”
“No. It is going to Umbriel.”
“Umbriel? You mean…as in Uranus…the moon?”
“Exactly.”
“Why Umbriel?”
“The American’s Voyager mission uncovered some interesting
revelations that they basically kept secret for some time.”
“Dealing with Umbriel?”
“Yes. The Voyager2 traveled much closer to the moon than they
reported, and, during this flyby, they discovered the presence of an
atmosphere and earth-like temperatures.”
“How in the hell? You mean…warmth?”
“Yes. They have come to the conclusion that the extreme darkness on
the moon’s surface enables it to absorb the sun’s rays then concentrate the
entire collected energy into one area.”
“I don’t get it.”
“There is a small, bright spot on Umbriel. This is where it reflects the
light in the form of heat. It is actually a v-shaped indentation that apparently
expels oxygen and nitrogen from some internal source.”
“This is absolutely incredible!”
“Yes. It is.”
“Are we sure that it is true?”
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“No. We are not. It is all based on relayed information from onboard
detectors and transmitters. And we’re talking 70s technology…but…there’s
more.”
“More?”
“According to our friends at JPL, the Voyager took a photo of…are
you ready for this?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Spaceships…a small colony of them.”
“Son of a bitch! How can we be sure of the authenticity of this
claim?”
“Well, we can’t. But,”
“Let me guess. The Solar-Bio1 is actually heading to Unbriel as
well.”
“I see you’re paying attention. You are exactly correct.”
“How will we be getting on the course to this new destination?”
“The RTGs will supply the maneuvering device with small spurts
after passing Saturn. These small adjustments are all we need to end up on
the other side of Uranus. We will use this planet to slow down by working
against the gravity assist. The Americans plan to do the same basic move
with the Solar-Bio1. As you know, our closer slingshots accelerate much
more, getting us there way ahead of them.”
“Yes I do sir.”
“It’s really something what 300,000 kilometers will do for ya, huh?”
“Yes,” begins the newly promoted executive, “So we will beat them
to this destination and, when we do, make the announcement to the world?”
“Well, if in fact there is anything there to discover.”
“So we don’t believe the Americans?”
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“We definitely believe that they believe.”
“And why is that?”
“Well, that’s the other big bit of news. There is a human onboard the
Solar-Bio2, and, I personally think, the Americans have one on the SolarBio1”
“A human? As in a cosmonaut?”
“Actually, we have a young girl?”
“Why?”
“She was born in a state of weightlessness and prepared for the
journey. She has the physical and mental capabilities to counteract all space
travel dilemmas.”
“Dear god. I don’t know what to say.”
“We talk to her, or should I say, transmit to her from this very
building.”
“So, she is heading to Umbriel too?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“The basic plan from our standpoint is as follows: The Кролик1
reaches Umbriel and does one of two things. If there is life there, we declare
it and announce that the Solar-Bio2 will go there as well, keeping the human
rider a secret. If there is nothing there, we simply let nobody know that the
probe ever existed. The Americans will divert the Solar-Bio1 to Umbriel
then explain to their people that it went off course. When they see that it is
barren, they will not be able to say anything other than the fact that they
messed up. Meanwhile, the Solar-Bio2 will continue on its path to Pluto!”
“A no lose situation.”
“That’s the plan.”
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“But what about this possible human on the American’s craft?”
“We really don’t care right now. If we find aliens on Umbriel when
the photos come back, we will make accusations and play a little hard ball.
There is no need right now though, in fact, it is best if they think we believe
their little story about the Solar-Bio1 being a test ship for the Solar-Bio2.”
“I see sir. This little girl? Does she know of her destiny? Obviously
there is so much I must learn on this.”
Her name is Sonya. She is only eight years old. She knows a little
right now. We are basically teaching her about Umbriel, and the fact that it
will be her home. If we end up going to Pluto, it makes no matter, since she
will run out of nutrition on the way there and eventually die.”
The power of the reality drives into the man who is absorbing a
substantial amount of new information. He considers offering a form of
sympathy for the child and her slim chances of living into her teens. He
decides that this would show a weakness and inability to handle the
harshness of the assignment. Kobach selects a safer response.
“Sonya…hmm…that is a very nice name.”
“She is named after my wife,” returns Ivan, concluding he was deadon target when projecting that he would like this man.
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Chapter
Thirty-two
September 18, 2009 – Solar-Bio1
(396,428,180 miles beyond Mars / 1,171,820 miles from Jupiter / 2,937 mph)
Alex swings open the thin, steel door hinged to the equipment locker
and excitedly reaches inside. His right grip obtains a small, black case then
quickly returns the storage bin’s front panel to the closed position. The
plastic container, which houses a portable telescope, is clamped tightly
against his ribs, at which time he twists his nearly nine-year-old frame to the
left in preparation of a ten-foot weightless walk.
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As the youth, clothed in only a pair of white underwear, moves toward
the window, he recollects how he was able to awaken at 4:00 Am. He
considered changing the computer’s clock to three hours ahead, so the
onboard alarm system would go off three hours early.
Of course, the
intelligent child decided that any tampering could result in unpredictable
reactions that would very possibly endanger the mission. After tossing
around ideas such as constructing a timer from spare parts and staying
awake all night, he concluded that if he simply went to bed three hours early,
he would wake up the same amount ahead of schedule. After all, his body
has been calibrated to the same regime for as long as he can recall. His
projection was correct, for two minutes before the stroke of four, his eyes
flipped open. Alex wonders though why such provisions were not included.
Did headquarters NOT want to provide him with the ability to witness the
great masses in the sky? If so, why the telescope?
The thought of this particular item causes him to slip down memory
lane a bit further. The space traveler wishes he knew about this specific
piece of equipment when he was able to watch Mars. In actuality, he was
informed of the contents of the locker in a lesson; unfortunately, he did not
link the information at the proper time.
Alex’ level of education and logical capacity have increased
significantly as the journey has continued. It was his mathematical skills
that supplied him with the data, which reveals the fact that his craft is about
to race by Jupiter’s moon called Callisto. Since he knew the satellite’s
coordinates from his studies, he was able to calculate the arrival time based
on present speed. In fact, the bright boy even figured in the fourteen mph
that the Solar-Bio1 slows down each day because of the sun’s gravitational
pull.
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With a couple swift actions by his unoccupied hand, the lights are
secured, and the blind begins to uncover the ship’s right side viewing port.
His blue eyes show no signs of being weary as they focus intently on the
vast horizon before him. His speculations were right on target, for on a
perpendicular line from the craft and only a mere 40,000 miles away is the
largest planet’s second largest moon!
His jaw drops just a bit in response of his internal astonishment.
Callisto reflects a shade of tan with perhaps a mild blend of red. Bright dots
of assorted sizes cover the perfectly round rock. This moon, which closely
resembles Mercury in size, is so much larger than Sinope, the only other
moon he has had the pleasure of viewing. He recalls how he zipped by the
tiny sphere that measures only 22 miles in diameter. The thing that was so
amazing about it though was the fact that he was still nearly 15 million miles
from Jupiter! What magnificent force this ball of hydrogen (plus 10%
Helium) possesses.
It has always been the enormous size of space and its masses that has
fueled the young boy’s feelings of insignificance, but now he seems to have
a new element to compare with. Alex ponders the great effort he must
expend in order to move the exercise machine’s levers, yet here is an
inanimate object that can pull a large clump of rock from a distance that his
spaceship took over five months to conquer!
On the other hand, Alex invites the thought of how a human brain is
able to sustain activity with such miniscule levels of caloric input. It is this
small expenditure of energy that coordinates efforts like the one he is
presently embarking on. What degree of conception could be achieved if
man could consume the type of energy that resides in the giant planet? The
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limitations on human thought would be expanded far beyond such petty
dilemmas as creation, the universe, and the like.
Perhaps people on earth combine their mental endeavors much like the
teamwork they employ for the more physical-natured tasks. If this is so, it
may also be true that they are much more intellectual than his studies show
or he could ever hope to be. Surely, they would take advantage of this
resource and benefit from each other’s
“limited” brain capacity.
The
outcome would escalate into practically “unlimited” possibilities.
No
obstacle would be too large.
Alex continues his deep thoughts into yet a new angle of reasoning.
He reverts back to the huge planet that would be visible if he were looking
out the opposite window. The great minds that engineered the Solar-Bio
Mission knew that they could steal energy from Jupiter, in order to propel
the craft to Saturn for another similar move. Since nothing in the universe
comes without a price tag, the great planet will actually slowdown due to the
transfer.
Although the numbers show this to be no more than a foot over the
next trillion years, will this begin some sort of catastrophic reaction? Have
the super brains on earth taken this into account? Surely they have, for it is
“they” who taught him this information within the mission guidelines
section of the lesson plan.
Did they simply leave this part out of the
explanation, as it is too confusing to dive into?
But what if there is
something they forgot to stick into their mile-long formula? What about the
change in light reflection angle? How could such a monstrous force, all of a
sudden lagging behind its normal rotation, NOT make a difference? What
about the moons around it and the planets closer to the sun, like earth? Will
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the effect be multiplied because of their shorter paths? Has the human race
written their own doom by sending him to space?
Alex finally realizes that he has carried the mental scenario all the
way where things are no longer based on tangible substance and known
quantities. To allow this line of reasoning to persist would result in a
guessing game, at best. Besides, he can dive into his own little abstract
world anytime he wishes. At this particular point in his journey, there
happens to be something in the concrete world just waiting to be examined.
MR1 slides the fastening clips for the small, black case to the
unclamped position, providing the means to access the interior. Just as he
begins to open it, the window blind times out and steadily descends to its
normal state. A quick movement, almost instinctive in nature, resets the
countdown and grants additional viewing.
The young boy carefully removes the silver and black telescope from
the foam insert where it was placed and protected. After wrapping the lone
handle strap of the case around a nearby floor pole, he cautiously moves the
optical instrument in the direction of the thick glass. A special padded
“doughnut” has been installed around the front of the lens. It is substantial
with a slight application of adhesive, allowing it to be temporarily attached
to the window. The thickness, along with the weightless environment, acts
to stabilize it as well as provide movement for aiming.
Alex conducts the simple method of preparation then immediately
directs his shining blue eyes in front of the viewing piece. He swiftly twists
the rings to adjust the expensive equipment’s magnification and focus
settings.
Upon reviewing his initial image for a few seconds, he comprehends
the identity of the bright spots that he observed with his naked eye. The
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optical advantage displays the inner circle of a giant crater. The indentation,
which supposedly resulted from an impact of billion’s years past, is rather
smooth towards the center and eventually alters to a mildly rugged terrain as
it approaches the outer edge. The space traveler adjusts the angle of his
instrument slightly to learn that a pair of concentric rings like a splash of
water form around the huge pockmark.
The most fascinating thing concerning the exhibition before him is the
color and, more specifically, the shade. When looking at Jupiter’s moon,
Callisto without the magnifying glass, the surface is a light brownish-red,
but with the aid of the close-up device, the same area appears notably darker.
This difference displays a lesson that he had learned some time ago, dealing
with the properties of light and reflection.
The unique demonstration
provides the child with something he is rarely presented with, knowledge
through experience. Alex welcomes the feeling of real life evidence and
support.
The solidification of education seems to impart a strange
acceptance inside to trust those things he cannot witness, for the few
instances when he has had the pleasure of seeing with his own eyes, the
information was 100% accurate.
Alex realizes that his overall gazing period will time out soon, so he
chooses to cut the moon watch short, in order to obtain a quick peek of
Jupiter from the other side of the craft. There will be ample time to look at
Callisto in sixty minutes, when the next available viewing episode shall be
open.
The boy begins his careful travel to the other side of the Solar-Bio1
with telescope in hand. He has been watching the giant planet for a couple
months, noting how much it has grown. He is amazed at how gigantic it
appears, although it is still over a million miles away. As Alex closes in on
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his destination, a loud, annoying alarm sounds. The sheer abruptness of the
noise sends his heart into a pace comparable to that when he is on the
treadmill. He is unsure of the cause for the blaring horn. Is something
wrong with the spaceship?
The lower left-hand corner of the Master Control Panel supports the
small, red light that indicates the dilemma. The forward space radiation level
is too high for continued occupancy. Alex looks to the digital readout next
to it to see that the compartment is currently receiving a dose of thirty-three
mrem/hr. Since, it is normally around three mrem/hr, it becomes evident
that the craft has penetrated a radiation belt of sorts. He recalls the fact that
Jupiter’s heavy zone begins around this point.
After calmly placing the fancy gadget back into its container, he looks
back to learn that the indication has already increased to thirty-nine!
Unfortunately, this means he will be spending a lot of time in the RSR
(Radiation Shielding Room) where the effective means of reduction cuts it
down by a factor of twenty.
A somewhat unknown feeling overcomes the youth. He experiences a
significant touch of disappointment upon recognizing the severity of the
situation and the overall picture. He will, most likely, be stuck in the
protective sleeping quarters until it is time to enter the Decel Chamber for
the flyby. To make matters worse, he will probably still be in a highradiation condition when he gets out of there, so he will be required to return
to the water-surrounded room until he passes about the same distance
traveling beyond Jupiter!
Will the child be neglected a closer view of this remarkable planet?
The trajectory also provided the opportunity to view Europa, though from
quite a distance. Will this be stripped from him as well?
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As Alex swings the RSR door open, he ponders the idea of coming
out momentarily for a quick peek. Perhaps, when the “approaching gravity
assist point” alarm goes off, he can enjoy a short gaze during room changes.
The problem is, of course, the window shielding system locks out when
radiation numbers are too high.
The thought of missing out on this once-in-a-lifetime occasion invites
a deeper level of the same emotion. The disappointment has intensified into
a substantial sadness. What can he do? While he does not lose sight of the
mission and its priorities in reference to his enjoyment, he does, for a
moment; wonder if it was necessary to prevent opening the viewing port
during these times. Could he not be allowed to use his own judgment and
obtain a short, but everlasting glimpse?
While Alex’ brain tramps into an area previously never traveled, the
door latches into a secured state. The wristband informs the controls that he
is in the proper room, and the alarm ceases. The sudden silence seems to
deliver a certain, cold realism to the situation. He is trapped in the small
chamber for a spell, and the only positive point that comes from any of it is
the fact that he has completely forgotten about the reward for phase one
completion that he was closing in on. He has enough to worry about.
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Chapter
Thirty-three
November 8, 2009 – Everglades National Park
A ruffling sound breaks the silence when the park bench’s lone
resident changes pages. His dark brown eyes search for an acceptable story
within the scattered segments of information.
Apparently satisfied, he
begins reading an article inside the “American Journal”, the last remaining
hard copy form of newsgathering. Slowly but surely the flow of data on the
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World Wide Web has pushed all others out of business and forced the media
to combine its efforts into one single product.
As the man, whose reddish hair has been overtaken by a natural aging
process, skims the printed words, he occasionally looks to his right to see if
anybody is heading around the bend of the trail. His impression is blank
upon realizing that the muddy path is void of human presence, at least, up to
the curve. His right hand maintains grip on the newspaper, while he uses its
backside to rub an itch created by a mosquito bite on his goatee-covered
chin. He recently sprayed half a can of repellent and is already considering
discharging the remaining contents.
A couple more annoying insects buzz by his ear, prompting an
unsuccessful swipe of the hand and an unpleasant grunt. The aggravated
man wonders why he didn’t set the secret meeting for Disney World, instead
of this pitiful swampland. Who would have been the wiser? Still, he stays
seated on the carved log, which sits about one-half mile beyond the Long
Pine trailhead. He notices a Stag Beetle scurrying a few feet away and,
purely on impulse, launches a sunflower seed at the moving target. After
missing by a few inches, he sends out a second attempt, coming dangerously
close.
“Practicing for the Special Olympics?” an unknown voice inquires
after obviously sneaking up on the agitated gent.
Much like the sitting male, this man is clothed in blue jeans and a tee
shirt; the only difference being the newcomer’s has a Florida State
University emblem while the other man’s is solid blue. Although they have
never met, the trail’s original hiker recognizes the man’s face from a photo
he was supplied with. His chaotic, black hair, chubby body, and blunt nose
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are a perfect match. His obnoxious comment also fits the description he
received.
“Just trying to occupy myself while these fu@#& ‘n mosquitoes eat
me alive,” returns the grayish-haired male, “Have a seat.”
“Thanks. I could use it. I’m not in the best shape. I can’t believe I
have to walk all the way back,” he speaks of his sweating body and overstressed heart.
“Try a bagel instead of a doughnut,” the substantially thinner gent
suggests, at the same time reaching into a backpack and tossing the man a
bottle of water.
“Thanks. Reading the paper, huh? Not many folks do that anymore.”
“Yeah. I guess you could call me a dinosaur.”
“I guess some people can’t handle change,” insinuates the younger
man in a tone that is quickly becoming more disturbing than the flying bugs.
“You could say that.”
“Ya’ll won’t have much of a choice if ‘Prop C’ passes.”
“I’m sure it will.
Bastard environmentalists,” he retrieves a few
sunflower seeds from his shirt pocket before continuing, “I was just reading
about the no shirt deal. It’s going to the supreme court.”
“Chicks…topless? Hey? I’m all for it.”
The older man does not issue a response, regarding the fight for a
federal ruling on whether women can be in public places without a shirt
whenever a man is allowed to do so. He is already disgusted with the lack of
morals and the ridiculously revealing clothing that the younger generations
are wearing.
“Everything you’ll need will be in here,” he speaks as he hands the
sarcastic man an envelope from the same backpack.
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“No problem.”
“On the grave?” he pauses, looking directly into the fat face before
him, “I want a buried body. One that matches the subject’s description.
That means nine-year-old bones of an infant, NOT a recent corpse. Nothing
to chance. If they dig it up, they will be satisfied.”
“Well…ok. That won’t be as easy, but you’re the boss.”
“It is the way it must be. I want this thing over.”
“What thing?”
The male with the goatee does not inform the requestor of the answer.
He does not need to know about the reasons for his assignment, for he is not
part of the confidential organization.
“The second task you’ll have to play more by ear. A picture of the
woman is in there.”
“What do you want done?”
A short pause follows the inquisition for specifics.
The male in
charge of the conversation realizes that he holds this woman’s future, or lack
there of, in his hands at this very moment. He contemplates the alternatives.
Can he trust that she will no longer talk? Perhaps, if she too witnesses the
burial site, she will buy into it and no longer be a distraction. On the other
hand, the other way is quicker…and…guaranteed!
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Chapter
Thirty-four
January 16, 2010 – Fort Irwin
Leonard stares at the blank screen in hopes that his wishful thinking
will encourage the machine into returning a message. The mental plea does
not result in a change of status. A small addition of displeasure joins his
already dejected condition. He cups both hands into his still youthful face
and closes his eyes. After grimacing in an attempt to rid some stress, his
smoky blue eyes are uncovered while his hands remain in place.
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“Len? The six hour is in,” a male voice interrupts his struggle to find
peace.
“It is?”
“Yeah. It’s right here,” his friend, Nile Johnson hands him the printed
report.
“Great,” states Mr. Thomas as he accepts the sheet of paper.
His focus immediately sharpens in on the column that possesses the
asterisks. All six of the on-the-hour radiation readings indicate that the
boy’s (more specifically, his wristband) location was the RSR. This is not
the information that the JPL leader had hoped to be presented with.
“Damn!”
“The radiation is still high Leonard. I’m sure he is fine,” a mild touch
of assurance is contributed by the genius.
“Could be. Just wish I could see a sign.”
“It was just dumb luck. He surpassed Jupiter’s belt in November.
The coronal mass ejection just happened to arrive before he could get out for
a while,” Nile begins to provide a scientific explanation, though it has
already been discussed, “The Cosmic Ray Subsystem gives every indication
that it will let up soon.”
The worried man does not follow the “look on the bright side” with a
response. Instead, he opts to scratch his somewhat large nose before looking
up to the ceiling as if to make contact with the boy. The generally friendly
Mr. Thomas does not mean to ignore the dark-haired man’s detailed
statement, but whether intentional or not, it bothers Nile as evident by his
slow move back to the main control console in the larger room. His exit
from the scene is not even noticed by the mission head who obviously has a
lot on his mind.
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The sensitive scientist catches sight of the chubby, blonde female at
the other end of the underground room. He resumes his subtle trot in her
direction. As he approaches the brown-eyed girl, she realizes that he is
coming and supplies a warm smile.
“Hey Nile,” welcomes the pleasant woman.
“Hi Trish. Leonard’s getting worse. He’s having a hard time holding
a conversation.”
“I know. I think there is more to it though, something else,” she
suggests.
“Other than MR1?”
“Yeah. There was something bothering him about a month before any
of this started. He acts like he is depressed or…in love.”
“Funny.”
“Well, whatever it is…it’s not normal for him.”
The statement from Miss Bonham is rather ironic in its own right, as
she is handling the situation in the opposite manner than her boss has
seemed to choose. The lack of knowledge on the well being of Alex is
tearing her up inside, but she holds it in and carries out a happy outward
appearance.
Being a touch on the superstitious side, she believes that
fearing the worse only invites the worse to occur.
“I agree with that,” Nile admits.
“Do you think the antennae could be damaged or something? Isn’t
there a spare system?”
“The backup system only comes into play if transmissions are lost on
the Solar-Bio end; and, besides, the indicator clearly shows that he has been
staying in the RSR.”
“Well, he has to get out for more food and water.”
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“Yes…but the only way we would know if he did that is if he did it
exactly on the hour. Otherwise, the report would never show it. It would
have been nice to have something that provided data for every time he
changes rooms. I guess hindsight is 20/20.”
“But…well…maybe he is,” she stops in a her own tracks, wishing not
to say the word as if this would have some strange worldly effect, “I
mean…why wouldn’t he transmit while he was getting fresh supplies for the
shielding room?”
“I guess he could, but…well…you know more about that than I. I
think he may be worried about getting too much exposure in the process.”
“If so…he is far more disciplined than we expected. I know that
would be a good thing, but I sure do wish he’d transmit.”
“So do I.”
“How is the girl?”
“Leonard does not talk much about her. It is almost like he’s putting
all his eggs in the Solar-Bio1.”
“Well he doesn’t like the arrangement with the VKS. But, I think
you’re right. He plans on getting there with MR1. That’s probably why he
is so worried.”
“Perhaps. Still think there is more to it than this. I mean…I should be
the one who’s upset. I was like his…”
She stops before finishing once again. The thought of her being the
young space traveler’s mother nearly brings tears to her eyes. She has
played the role so long; she sometimes loses sight of its falseness.
“Do you know something I don’t know? Is there something in his
personal life?” quizzes the male speaker.
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“Nah. But a woman can tell these things,” she regains her composure
before it becomes obvious.
“Are you sure that you two don’t have something going on?”
The question causes both participants to break into hearty laughter.
The joyful sounds reach the all-of-a-sudden receptive ears of the man sitting
in the small, attached room. Leonard looks over at the pair and wonders
what could be so funny, especially when there should be nothing that could
bring such happiness, short of word from the boy.
Coincidentally, he
switches players and, in his mind, wonders if it is those two that have
something going on.
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Chapter
Thirty-five
January 24, 2010 – Solar-Bio2
(4,000 miles beyond Mars / traveling at 22, 745 mph)
The Internal Decel Chamber door swings open, revealing the fortyseven-inch, female frame that was anxiously waiting to come out. Her light
yellow pajama bottoms fall shy of her ankles, and her matching top is
notably tight and soon-to-be too small. FR1 sports a look of excitement, her
brown eyes wide open and her long wavy, reddish-brown hair dancing with
curiosity.
“I made it!” she exclaims to herself in a loud, triumphant voice.
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The nine-year-old begins traveling toward the Transmission Central,
using the floor poles to perfection. A few indistinguishable blurbs expel as
she approaches the screen to check her message. Her joyous demeanor is a
product of the successful flyby and the fact that word from Russian
headquarters awaits her.
Although this was her second occasion inside the special chamber, she
is still leery of the room. Her worrisome feelings are due partly to the
possibility of a dangerous malfunction, but even more created by her dislike
for being forced to sit in one place for so long. Starting with the day she was
introduced into the larger space inside the Solar-Bio2, she began to develop
a mild case of claustrophobia. While it would seem that the eight years she
spent in the tiny dwelling would immunize her from the negative effects of
tight quarters, she apparently was so overwhelmed by the feel of free space
that anything less became a sort of punishment.
The forward space resembles that of its original design with the
exception of some minor additions.
One of the most evident of these
differences is the presence of a few framed pictures mounted randomly
about the interior. Above the starboard window is an assembly of the
Disney characters, while the opposite window provides a close up of her
favorite, Donald Duck. A polar bear poses on the wall when she walks the
treadmill, and an alligator resting its head on a turtle smiles when she
prepares her meals. The only human photo she was supplied with hangs
above the RSR door; a full-bodied shot of Shanai Twain dressed in black.
Although the Americans argued such articles of entertainment would
endanger the success of the mission, the Russian experts felt these things
were needed to stave off loneliness, boredom, and even insanity. Since the
girl called Sonya was, in fact, provided with human contact from day one, it
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was too late to keep such behavioral attributes out of her personal portfolio.
For this reason, JPL agreed with the philosophy, though with some
convictions.
Also included in the young girl’s craft is a large screen for watching
videos, an excellent sound system, and several books stored in the lower
compartment. Another dissimilarity between the nearly identical ships is the
fact that the internal video system is functional. It was determined that the
risk of interception during transmission would be quite great, so the images
are stored on an onboard hard drive and will not be “requested” unless an
emergency exists.
Sonya reads the Russian words on the monitor, which congratulate her
on the Mars maneuver (of course, they assumed she would survive). She
understands Russian well, much better than those at JPL, who must have it
electronically translated prior to approving it. Also on the screen is a hint
that she must get back on track with phase one of her lesson plan. She was
doing fine during her many years on the space station, but since the launch,
she has slacked off, opting to listen to country music and watch cartoons.
FR1 ponders the idea of getting back to her studies on the premise that
some new songs and movies with real people would be nice. This is what
was promised upon completion. A somewhat devious thought passes by her
mental process that wishes she could obtain the goods without paying for
them. The off color thought quickly diminishes into nothing or, at least,
returns to its hiding place within her mind.
Sonya decides to take a quick peek at the stars, not so much to marvel,
but more as a way to experience the enormous free space. This always
seems to help her when she encounters these feelings of claustrophobia. She
flips the switch to raise the blind but passes on the option of killing the
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lights. As her glowing brown eyes peer outside the window, she realizes
that the interior illumination is overpowering. She can actually make out her
rounded cheekbones, wavy hair, and almost detect the light strawberry shade
of her eyebrows. After securing the brightness in the room, she resumes the
viewing episode.
The deep black blanket that she sees is suprisingly transparent. The
stars pierce through as if only inches from the speeding craft. Her crampedin sensations soon disappear; however, new feelings worth concern replace
them. Sonya is reminded of the fact that her elaborate structure is traveling
away from earth, the place where she was born and all the wonderful music
is created. She knows she will be by herself when she reaches the new
world labeled Umbriel.
Although the youth understands she has a
“condition” that prevents her from living on earth with its strong gravity, she
still imagines that someday she will be able to comeback and live there. She
even asked headquarters how she will be able to live on Umbriel, for it too
shall possess the phenomenon in question. The answer was quite simply
put: The moon’s pull is significantly less and along with slowly growing
accustomed to the minor forces of the sun, she will be ready.
The attractive young girl recalls the explanation of how several
missions will follow, and there will be many humans to share the great
discovery with. They informed her that she will be considered royalty, held
much higher than the singers and many kings and queens on earth. She shall
rule Umbriel. While the idea of visitors and a bit of power intrigue the
youngster, overall, she would rather take her chances on being a normal
earthling. In a nutshell, the boy that she knows NOTHING about considers
the project a privilege, which differs 180 degrees to her way of thinking…a
sentence.
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Chapter
Thirty-six
February 23, 2010 – Solar-Bio1
(2,775,317 miles beyond Jupiter / traveling at 21,925 mph)
The small water-filled door creeps open. An anxious, if not equally
confused, young boy directs his bright blue eyes straight ahead, while his
lids work to keep them as wide as possible. He does not know what to look
at first, let alone which direction to begin his travels. Shall he check out the
messages? Check the main controls for system problems? Look out the
window to catch a glimpse of outside, something he has missed a great deal?
What about the bio-dome…is it in order? Phase 1 became much more long-
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winded than he expected; however, prior to the “lost time”, he was making
great headway. Should he concentrate his efforts on that?
While he pans his sights from left to right, he begins to experience a
feeling he is not familiar with and does not understand. It is not one of
relief, and it is certainly not one that provides an overabundance of
excitement. He was sure that when the time of lower radiation came, he
would zip out in some sort of triumph and accomplishment. At the time
when Alex entered the chamber, he knew that this was all part of the mission
and nothing more than a requirement to reach the overall goal; however, his
inner being does not possess the feelings of pride or success that he had
anticipated.
He cannot label nor pinpoint the emotions he presently is
undergoing, for they are foreign to him and, up to this point, yet to be
introduced in the form of a lesson plan.
The mood in question is negative in nature, but not like those felt
when he was choking and eventually feared for his life. These are more of a
leeriness to celebrate or get his hopes up, since the high radiation alarm
could sound at any time. About halfway through the five-month isolation,
the unique child started looking forward to exiting Jupiter’s radiation belt,
but the extreme bombardment of high energy particles never ceased. Alex
worries that this could happen again, without warning.
MR1 recalls the times he left the room to restock his wet food supply
and refill the water bottles. He remembers looking over to the transmission
panel and noticing that the “message received” indication was blinking. He
wanted to read it but knew that his teachings forbid spending unnecessary
time in the forward space under these circumstances. When the lesson plan
was developed, headquarters had no idea that the boy would end up this
dedicated. Had they anticipated such devotion to the project, they surely
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would have instructed him that a quick transmission on an infrequent basis
would not be detrimental to his exposure and, thus, the overall mission. The
only time Alex was out of the RSR other than for food gathering, was to
strap himself into the IDC for the Jupiter slingshot.
Although he did not have a mirror at his disposal inside the seven-bysix-foot room, he is well aware that his dark brown hair is messy and
shoulder length. The weightless atmosphere causes the follicles to reach out
in every direction possible. The young space traveler’s body is of sufficient
mass but a bit soft as far as tone is concerned. In order to maintain as much
muscle structure as possible, Alex conducted the techniques that were taught
through the self-guided program. One of them included lying on his back,
gripping the straps that hold the sleeping bag down, then pushing off the
wall with his legs while also providing resistance with his arms. Even with
the continued calcium supplements and makeshift exercise program, his
strength has deteriorated, and it will be important to resume the normal
regime, in order to return to full power.
Finally, he makes a selection on which of the many pieces of
unfinished business he desires to tend to first. The nine-year-old decides to
check out the onboard systems, since these would take priority in the event
of any emergencies. MR1 conducts a mild push off in the direction of the
Main Control Panel. Using the walking poles would definitely provide
better exercise, but the youth opts to take the less-strenuous route via air.
Much like an earthling riding a bike, he has not lost the ability to travel with
accuracy, for his body smoothly approaches the target point.
Soon, the naked boy finds himself in front of the assorted controls and
indications that provide pertinent data of the Solar-Bio1 and its many
systems. His eyes first focus on the center of the vertical section of the large
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panel. This particular segment provides system status lights; green means
good, while red denotes a problem that requires attention. He is happy to
see that all lights are smiling with a fresh green glow.
The vertical portion of the panel is organized into nine sections (three
columns, three rows), supplying all the necessary information to sustain
environmental balance and system integrity.
There is a large sheet of
Plexiglas covering the entire section. If the problem cannot be determined
from this centralized location, it can be further broken down locally at the
system itself.
The lower section is horizontal with a significant downward angle.
There are six protective lids that can be opened to provide controls for the
assorted valves, solenoids, pumps, etc. Many of these buttons and switches
are presently locked out to prevent inadvertent or improper operation.
Alex looks over to the lower, left-hand segment on the vertical panel
to view the current radiation levels. He notes the forward space LED to
indicate 3.14 mrem/hr, which is satisfactory for continued occupancy.
Directly to the right of this segment is the ship’s position and navigational
data. He is pleased to see that he is traveling nearly 22,000 mph, since this
supplies evidence of a successful gravity assist maneuver.
The boy in
drastic need of a haircut experiences a short-lived exhilaration upon looking
forward to the Saturn flyby, for the craft will achieve a speed of well over
30,000 mph! He promptly allows the thought to slip into oblivion, since the
next planet is nearly three years into the future.
A strange and abrupt pause in Alex’ zooming mental progression
occurs, its source initially unknown. What’s wrong? He begins scanning
his sights in an attempt to locate the culprit that his subconscious has
apparently picked up on, while his working brain has passed by. After a few
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moments of confusion, the mismatch is identified. He failed to recognize
the fact that both lights for the Fungi Bio-dome are out. His immediate
belief is that one of the bulbs is burned out. But, which one? Instead of
going through the somewhat laborious procedure of removing the
transparent covering and replacing them, he twists his frame around to the
left and obtains a glimpse of the machine in question.
A small red light grabs his attention. He knows that this happens to
be the auto shutdown signal.
This simply means that the completed
mushrooms were not consumed, so the growth process was halted. Alex
wonders if he should have left the room frequently enough to harvest the
product and keep the operation going. Of course, the answer is already
inside his cranial storage. When the system goes into the stated “hold
mode”, the materials will stay intact as far as their organic properties, and
the losses will be minimal.
MR1 realizes he will need to tend to this in the very near future, but
something else pops in to override its significance for the time being. What
messages await him on the monitor only a few feet away to his right? He
utilizes the bar that runs horizontally across the front of the controls section
to provide a stable hold, in order to direct his frame in the proper direction.
The maneuver is more difficult than usual due to his weakened state.
A digital readout next to the screen displays how many
unacknowledged messages have been received.
He expected a couple
efforts to establish communications from headquarters, but thirty-one
messages was far more than he could have predicted. Is something wrong
back on earth? Do they not know that he was isolated inside the protective
shielding? On the other hand, perhaps most of them are from his mother!
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He prefers her softness in transmissions to the other “invisible beings” and
their less personal touch.
The mesmerized boy looks toward the monitor to see the only
transmission that is in word form. The others must be selected by moving
the cursor to the appropriate box, which informs the software to retrieve that
particular, stored data. He notes that the message is time-stamped October
29, 2009 - 09:04:03, shortly after he first entered the lethal radiation belt
around Jupiter. The long sentence in front of him is a response to an inquiry
he submitted the day before he was forced to go into an even deeper level of
seclusion than he normally dwells in. The words read that he can expect the
battery to drain heavily as a result of the amp draw from the decelerator
during the upcoming Jupiter sling.
The statement delivers another contradiction, though this one not
involving any confusion as to its origin. He looks over to the Electrical
System status bulbs and quickly deducts that another pair of lights have gone
bad. He obviously needs to perform some basic maintenance on the ship’s
many systems. He diverts his view to the numerical readout for the batteries.
He notes that the overall capacity (a calculation based on voltage and
specific gravity) is down to a startling 32.4%. This does not concern him as
much as it would at a different time, for he also understands that the thermal
generators will slowly gain ground throughout the journey to Saturn.
Alex returns his focus to the staggering number of yet-to-be-read
messages. The thought of going through them at this moment seems to
overwhelm his befuddled brain and take precedence over the encouragement
driven by the possibility of some kind words from his mother. It does not
take long to discover something that will soothe his streaming thoughts.
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Leaving the countless questions, maintenance, exercise program, and
other outstanding issues behind, he quickly finds solace in the vastness of
space. Sometimes he feels he can spot more answers by simply gazing into
its hidden beauty than all the detailed explanations rolled into one.
Everything is so clear, so organized.
It all comes together without
exception.
When Alex stares at the glimmering stars, he perceives time as
paused. There is no clock in space. Tank levels / velocities / radiation all
change from this to that, but space is so vast. He never gets close enough to
touch the lights in the sky and, perhaps, never will. So, time is just a
fantasy, made up to comfort those that don’t understand. One look out his
little window…and the answer is plain.
The text is misleading, if not
completely nullified. The formulas may be correct, but only by the fact that
they satisfy the inventor. After experiencing the real properties of space,
one can see that time moves no more than a dream that cannot capture the
abstract image that it hopelessly chases.
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Chapter
Thirty-seven
May 15, 2010 – Parma Heights, Ohio
Rebecca strolls into her kitchen clothed in an elegant, forest green
dress. The deep color of the teasingly revealing gown compliments her eyes
nicely.
Her long, black hair drops to her shoulders where it conforms
perfectly to her bare shoulder blades.
The lovely woman peeks up at the clock, noting she has fifteen
minutes to spare before Leonard is due to arrive. She has always prided
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herself on being ahead of schedule, whether it be for a date or a normal
workday. Her sexy shape slowly makes its way to the nearby countertop.
Next to a small wine rack sets a plain manila folder. She snags the item with
her left hand then twists around and leans back so the small of her back can
stabilize her frame.
The intelligent scientist opens it up to reveal a faxed copy of the
Solar-Bio1 Five Year Progress Report. She had informed JPL earlier in the
week that she would be unable to attend the meeting, so they promptly sent
the data via electronic means.
Miss Thompson studiously reviews the numbers on the printed page,
finding nothing she had not already been somewhat aware of. The batteries
are obviously low after the extreme demand placed on them by the unique
anti-gravity device, but this is not really anything that falls into her
department. She takes a few moments to study the radiation values. After a
few simple calculations (simple in terms of someone with her mental
capacity), she realizes that if the special RSR room were not available during
the high radiation months, a human traveler would receive between 200 and
230 Rem for the past year alone! Such levels would be quite damaging,
since there are still so many years remaining in the journey.
Rebecca wonders how a real human would fare inside the small space
for so long. Would they give in to the temptation and enter the larger
compartment at the cost of biological harm? While the NASA rep cannot
answer this particular question, she does know that the answer exists. As a
direct result of the mission leader’s audible dreams, Rebecca is aware of far
more than he, or anyone else for that matter, knows.
The “talking in his sleep” episodes did not end on their first night
together, although she no longer mentioned the fact. Even with the scattered
237
holes within the story, the smart woman has been able to piece it together.
For several months, she patiently waited for him to invite her into the secret,
but the occasion never played out.
Rebecca does not hold this against Mr. Thomas, for she recognizes the
dilemma from his end. Perhaps, he had no choice but to continue to hide the
information. Conversely, he may have had the option but felt their romantic
secret would have to be unveiled, in order to welcome her into the operation.
A pleasant chime sounds, informing her that her date has arrived. She
swiftly closes the folder, as well as the trip down memory lane. Her slender
body, which is a couple inches taller with the aid of a pair of black high
heals, walks at a mildly quicker pace out of the kitchen and into the living
room where the entranceway exists.
She twists the gold-plated knob and swings open the light-brown,
steel door. The gorgeous female issues a smile upon making eye contact
with her expected company.
“You look fantastic girl,” the tall African American quickly addresses
her fancy attire.
“Thanks Leonard,” returns the forty-seven-year-old woman.
Leonard McGinnis has been her boyfriend for a couple months now.
She actually hesitated going out with him just because his name matched her
former male partner of nearly a year ago. She is not as attracted to this older
man that stands before her with heavy wrinkles under his eye sockets, but he
treats her well, and she is no longer in the driver’s seat in the area of being
selective. She happens to be one of those beautiful women that, sort of,
slipped through the cracks due to circumstances and choices.
Her new partner has mentioned marriage but nothing has been set.
Sometimes she wishes she could get the nerve to call the other Leonard up
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and speak her mind. If she were to tell him about the things she knows,
perhaps, he would no longer be exposed to the pressures that she believes
led to their break up. On the other hand, it would be easier to let the past
remain in the past. In fact…her knowledge of the concealed details of the
mission may prove valuable down the stretch.
Chapter
Thirty-eight
June 1, 2010 – Auburndale, Florida
The fast moving thunderhead delivers a warning of approaching
danger, while the sudden calm nature of the air presents a certain eeriness.
Whether described as black or a very dark blue, no doubt the cloud carries
with them substantial precipitation and the potential for an active storm. A
small clearing directly above provides a path for the sun’s rays to reach the
earth below. The intense beam of light, which is surrounded by gloom,
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shines on the graveyard, accenting the area much like that of a spotlight
displaying a section of a giant stage.
A woman dressed in a black dress carries a handful of red roses as she
slowly walks away from her ten-year-old vehicle. A quiet rumble from the
red Saturn reveals that she has left the car running. Her reasoning behind the
continued combustion is not because of the coming rain but due to a suspect
battery.
As the female with long, somewhat frizzy, brown hair steadily tramps
on the St. Augustine grass, her heart rate picks up a bit. The sudden dose of
anxiety is a direct result of the fact that she is about to visit her supposedly
deceased son’s burial site. Will this finally put closure to her questions?
Does she really want to witness this? Perhaps, she would be better off with
the belief that her baby survived and lives and breathes somewhere in this
world.
Alexia realizes that it is time to find out once and for all. She was
presented with the previously sealed information several weeks ago, but the
twenty-four-year-old has been putting it off. When she began the aggressive
probe in the hopes of finding her son, she envisioned a completely different
ending. The first couple meetings with the adoption officials unearthed
some contradictions and holes, which further fueled her optimistic views;
however, after being granted clearance to hospital records, the truth was
black and white.
Apparently, the strange contraption that the squealing medical worker
spoke of was actually a special incubator to provide immediate transfer to
life support equipment. According to the documents, the infant died five
hours after inception. The adoptive parents, who were coincidentally killed
in an auto accident two years ago, were given the option to take custody of
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the child. For whatever reason, they decided to proceed with the legal
acceptance of responsibility. The natural mother recalls the ramblings that
spewed from the mouth of the anesthesiologist, but she has found nothing to
substantiate these claims.
As Miss Anderson nears within reading distance, the bright sunlight
gives way to a dismal atmosphere. The powerful rays no longer have a
clearing to pass nor have the strength to penetrate the thick cumulous clouds.
The rapid change in the exterior mood is not detected by the young woman
as she strains to make out the words on the large tombstone.
A peculiar mix of relief and disappointment fight to achieve priority
inside.
Instead of selecting which emotion shall take precedence, she
attempts to clear her mind and let the strongest feeling survive.
Several tears roll down here thin cheeks, making vision next to
impossible. The names and dates match perfectly with the records that she
was provided. Upon reading the deceased babies name for a second time,
she breaks into a full-fledged weeping episode. It is not the specific name
chosen by the temporary guardians that upsets her, but the fact that she did
not select it.
An unexpected thought enters her confused brain. She wonders if she
would have been just as depressed, if the baby was healthy but still forever
gone in regards to her sight and touch. Is she actually crying because she
gave up her baby? Would she have conducted the same sort of heated
search had the baby survived?
The twisted logic reminds her that she has been through this once
before, in fact, this could be considered the third time that she has mourned.
The days after the mishap in the birthing quarters were undoubtedly the most
sorrowful in her short life. Then, she had the special test to view her uterine
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walls and, subsequently, received word that contradicted the procedure she
was told to have been performed. After dispelling this as a far reach, this
whole affair unfolds and supplies countless uncertainties.
The new direction that her contemplation has taken seems to permit
the sense of relief to overtake the feelings of sadness. It truly is time for
closure. She must leave this part of her life behind her and move on to the
future. Although she will never have the opportunity to bare another child,
there are many things in her life worth looking forward to. For example,
during her attempts to find answers, she actually obtained employment with
the adoption agency!
A not-so-distant crackle echoes loudly, forcing her mental state to
jump out of her recent chain of thought. The thunder indicates that the storm
will soon be upon her. She moves a few feet closer to the grave then kneels
down.
“Goodbye William. I will always love you. Wait for me,” she softly
sobs, “I’ll be there…someday soon.”
She named the baby after his father, even though she only sees him
when he needs money. It took her a few years to come to grips with that
situation as well.
After placing the brilliant flowers at the foot of the marble marker, she
rises up and obtains one final view of the site. Alexia plans no return visit,
for she believes his soul resides in her heart and will remain until she meets
with him someday. Even if her spiritual faith is not accurate, she does not
require a physical connection, in order to pay respects or replay the
memories.
A heavy downfall erupts prior to the Floridian’s arrival to her compact
car. As the large droplets of rain pound onto her no-longer-dry hair, she
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rushes to open the door and find cover. In yet another, unsolicited thought,
she feels a significant dose of pity for the two adults buried alongside her
child. What sort of devastation did thy go through back in 2001? She
wonders if they are with her boy in heaven.
One last thought appears, providing a finality to the subject. She
decides that the couple that perished in the car wreck will actually be able to
keep the child company until she can join them. Her tiny son is not alone.
Chapter
Thirty-nine
August 12, 2010 – Solar-Bio1
(151,380,948 miles beyond Jupiter / Traveling at 19,630 mph)
Alex speeds through the typed words in an excited attempt to answer
the question. Upon reading the technical query and observing the possible
responses, the overly anxious boy realizes that it would be beneficial to slow
down, for the available answers are quite similar. Since he is required to
score ninety percent or better, there is little room for error.
While the youth’s stimulated nature is partially driven by his desire to
excel on the final exam, the true motivation lays in the fact that completion
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leads to his long-awaited and yet-to-be-identified reward. Now that Alex
has finished each of the fifteen sections within phase 1, he must complete
this overview test, which randomly asks questions dealing with the different
topics.
Currently, the significantly advanced child is working on number
forty-seven of fifty.
After contemplating the choices concerning the
definition of a word, he moves his trackball and initiates his decision.
Within seconds, the answer is displayed along with an update of his
progress. He was successful with this particular part of the difficult quiz and
now has only three questions to go, needing to be correct on two of them.
The next question deals with the section on mathematics.
Illuminating before the blue-eyed boy is an algebraic equation, which he
must tabulate in his head then present in lowest terms. Although Alex is not
familiar with the physical action known as smiling, his internal demeanor is
cheerful and in good spirits. The reason for the positive feelings is simply
because he is spectacular in this department and shall soon be down to only
a pair of questions between him and his reward.
The studious boy swiftly triggers a reply and awaits the new
percentage of correct answers. A notable quantity of dismay slices his
senses when he is notified that he was wrong. Also displayed are the correct
response and a detailed breakdown of how it was derived. Alex quickly
comprehends that he was a casualty of a rounding error. Unfortunately, his
overconfidence got the best of him, and the rushed reply was off the mark.
The sudden increase in his already-concerned state is understandable,
for he now must answer the two remaining questions correctly, in order to
finish with a ninety percent. Even though Alex is aware of the fact that he
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can retake the test at any time, he is very adamant about passing it the first
go around.
Question number forty-nine appears before his shining eyes. It reads
as follows:
The gamma production from the proton absorption process within the
Solar-Bio1’s shielding matrix provides heat to the Thermal ElectricGenerators (TEG). How is the temperature differential across the
unit’s semiconductor increased even further, so that even more
current flows to the battery?
A.
Water-cooled through steam plant boiler
B.
On board water heater
C.
Air flow from cabin heating system
D.
Hydroponics heating for plant growth
The considerably long-winded sentence, which is packed with
numerous technical terms, is actually an easy question.
His brain has
become very efficient with such logical organization. While it would seem
such a youth could not comprehend all the large words, his vocabulary is
actually smaller than an earthlings, which allows him to concentrate on the
words that he has been taught.
He knows that the ship’s ventilation system blows cool air across the
mentioned system.
This unique method lowers the temperature of the
conductor, which, in turn, raises the amount of energy that can be supplied
to the electrical-storing batteries. The process of heat transfer in the form of
warmth in the living quarters becomes quite a side benefit as well. Alex
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double checks to make sure that the letter ‘C’ is, indeed, the answer he
believes it to be.
His right index finger executes the needed action to send an
electronic signal to the computer’s loaded memory.
As expected, his
selection was absolutely on target, meaning he is about to be presented with
the final inquiry, which he must be successful with. A touch of nervousness
sets in, for he hopes the question is not too difficult. He has worked so long
to complete the rigorous program that was intended to prepare him for life in
space.
Finally, he is supplied with the group of words that he must make
sense out of and coordinate into an answer. It reads as follows:
The Solar-Bio1 systems connect to one another to form a wellbalanced process. It is important to understand how the different systems
supply to and withdraw from the others. Use the trackball to drag the
correct system names to their respective places in the flow path below.
Hint: Use the color- coding.
Alex looks at the assorted system parts and the overwhelming chart,
which is an assortment of boxes and circles with lines and arrows in every
direction. He has seen this overall basic schematic before and is familiar
with the way the different systems inter-connect.
What troubles the
intelligent child is that there are so many opportunities to get something
wrong. He tries his best to ignore this thought, since he needs every ounce
of focus to become victorious. A mild afterthought enters his brain in the
form of wishing he were more careful with the mathematical equation. If he
had been a bit more thorough with it, he would be able to make a mistake on
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this one. Unfortunately, this is not the case, and he must really buckle down
and concentrate on the “big-picture” question, which was obviously
designed to challenge him.
He begins to follow the assorted lines and quickly realizes that it is
not quite as difficult as first perceived. As the little hint suggests, the colors
provide a significant aid to him. Still, there are several segments within each
system that must be properly accounted for. He slowly drags each group of
letters to the desired box, changing his mind a couple times along the way.
Finally, all the choices are inside of a shape of one type or another.
His cerebrum strains substantially more than usual, as he looks over
the completed flow chart. Is there a small error in the finished product?
Could the two types of batteries be backwards? He notes that the paths of
gas from the batteries show that the lithium banks supply oxygen and the
lead acids generate hydrogen. The crosschecking continues, for there are
just so many places for a slip up.
As the brown-haired tot raises his finger into the weightless air, a
subtle increase in heart rate occurs. His circumstance is one of basically “all
or nothing”. He focuses intently on the screen until he is positive that the
assorted responses correspond with the impulses that originated from his
well-educated brain. A peculiar thought enters his mental process. He
considers actually getting up and walking down the different systems for a
physical verification. Alex passes on the cumbersome idea and clicks the
small switching mechanism that delivers the information to the software for
processing.
The youth stares so intently at the monitor that his lids experience a
mild cramp. Instead of the usual response from the programs returning in
milliseconds, a significant delay follows. The blank screen provides nothing
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for him to base a prediction on. Did he pass? Why are there no numbers
yielding his percentile of accuracy?
Alex hears the recognizable sound of the hard drive being read by the
magnetic head that searches for sectors. His advanced knowledge on such
things allows him to understand the fact that something is underway. The
basic operation resembles that of when a computer boots up and transfers its
stored data into its useable memory chips.
Finally, something tangible emits from the computers video card and
onto the CRT. In bold letters, the following statement stands before the
anxious child:
Congratulations MR1. You have successfully completed Phase 1
of your educational program. The information and skills you
have developed were the minimum requirements to be successful
on the Solar-Bio1 Mission.
Press any key to continue
The boy’s mood immediately flies into full throttle. At this exact
moment, the vast space around him does not exist, nor does such smaller
issues, including the very room he occupies. His mental state eliminates all
unnecessary elements and concentrates solely on the topic that interests him.
If the radiation alarm were to blare, it is questionable as to whether he would
even take notice. After pressing the space bar, a new group of words begins
to pan across the screen.
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There will be two more Phases to be completed before reaching
the target destination. These will be very important to complete,
for they contain information that will help you understand human
beings and earth in greater detail.
This knowledge may be
necessary in the event you contact other life forms other than
yourself.
Press any key to continue
Alex does not experience any emotional qualities after learning that
his studies are not over. He welcomes the added challenge, but begins to
wonder when the mention of a reward will come. His hurried state does not
even register the discussion of other life forms, for such a thing does not
invoke any fear; and besides, he is pre-occupied with closer goals. Upon
implementing another tap of the long button on the keyboard, his concerns
receive some alleviation.
Your endless dedication and discipline have earned you a reward.
Please understand that the reward cannot take the place of future
lesson plans. If you fall behind, the reward will be erased from
the system.
Press any key to continue
His thought of losing this privilege does not dampen his excitement,
for he knows nothing of such things like temptation and poor judgment.
Alex informs the computer to resume its dialogue.
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It is time to introduce to you something called MUSIC. Music is
the composition of sounds. These sounds are produced by the use
of “INSTRUMENTS”
Press any key to continue
Although a tad perplexed, Alex maintains an open mind and allows
the program to proceed. He is quickly presented with a menu from which to
select from.
A.
Introduction to music
B.
History of music
C.
Instruments
D.
How to read music
E.
Music
The intrigued boy has waited so long to learn of the identity of his
reward that his disciplined self gives way to a touch of impatience. Instead
of choosing the slower approach, his trigger finger selects the last choice and
then awaits the unknown.
A.
Mozart
B.
Bach
C.
Beethoven
D.
Chopin
E.
Brahms
F.
Handel
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G.
Griel
H.
Vivaldi
I.
Tchaikovsky
J.
Mendelssohn
K.
Dvorak
L.
Strauss
Alex is befuddled at the seemingly endless list of strange words
before him. For a moment, he reconsiders the route he has taken, since he
obviously needs to read the overview of music, in order to understand these
names (though he has no idea that these letters even correspond to people’s
names). The boy experiences a second thought, this one of curiosity, that
instantly takes priority. He decides to continue on in the same direction,
selecting the first choice.
A.
Einikleine Nachtmusic
B.
Symphony No. 25
C.
Symphony No. 28
D.
Symphony No. 33
E.
Symphony No. 40
F.
Symphony No. 41
G.
Horn Concerto No. 3
The far-from self-explanatory words do nothing but increase the
intensity of his confusion. What is the reward? What is this thing that they
call music?
At this point, he realizes he should start over, for he is
hopelessly lost. His mind opts to return to the beginning, but his hand has
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other plans. Apparently becoming accustomed to selecting the first choice,
he selects ‘A’ instead of the ‘F-12” key to return one menu back.
While his thoughts immediately experience wonderment in reference
to what the outcome as a result of his mistake will be, a wave file loads and
then begins to play. The sound of the assorted stringed instruments coming
from the speakers mounted below startles the young lad. The only noises
that have emitted from them in the past are those of basic computer sounds.
His ears listen closely to the changing notes and other dynamic intricacies.
He is caught off guard by the timely pauses in the classical piece. The
volume changes from soothing to energetic, prompting his inner being to
follow suit.
Although the origination of music, how it is produced, and many other
mysteries should be filling his head to the rim, he is surprisingly calm and
unquestionably relaxed.
The uncertainty of the countless unanswered
questions does not compare to his powerful desire to hear where the next
note is going or what the next ten seconds will bring.
Headquarters did not supply him with songs that include vocals for
several obvious reasons, but Alex does not know any better and could not be
happier with the reward just as it is.
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Chapter
Forty
December 10, 2010 – Melbourne, FL
With both hands reaching back, the sitting woman grasps her long,
blonde hair and lifts it up in preparation for the installation of a wooden bead
scrunchy. The aim of her hazel eyes is abruptly altered from directly ahead
to over her right shoulder. A strange feeling sets in, one of belief that
something or someone has just passed by. Although her peripheral vision is
insufficient to scan the entire area behind her, she concludes that the moving
of her own, curly strands of hair created the sensation. Still, the unwelcome
feeling of uncertainty does not completely subside.
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Jennifer grabs a magazine from the small assortment on a wallmounted rack to her left and quickly searches for a diversion for her mildly
troubled mind. As she leans back in the soft, pink chair within the confines
of the waiting room, a full-page advertisement catches her attention. The
colorful paper is rather prominent, due mainly to the rarity of such an
extensive ad.
Thanks to recent governmental restrictions and the Rain
Forest Protective Clauses, such a promotional campaign must have cost a
fortune.
The woman, whom is still not acclimated to her new contact lens,
squints to read some of the finer print. It becomes immediately evident that
the hard-to-distinguish sentence is a form of disclaimer for the cosmetic
surgery that the magazine commercial introduces. A subtle chuckle that has
a heavy tint of sarcasm expels from her bright red lips in response to the
method of “taking no responsibility”. She likens this attitude to be the basic
flow of society in general. Her recent expounding delivers a somewhat bad
taste on the issue, prompting her to discard the “adjustable cup-size
operation” and the periodical that apparently supports it.
Besides, her
breasts are plentiful and her self-security strong.
It seems the mental digression was only a temporary fix, for the
peculiar sensation returns, this time with additional force.
Instead of
searching for a new approach to ignore it, she chooses to stand up and locate
the source.
She squeezes a bit of the fabric on her light-green dress and
nonchalantly smoothes it out with a downward tug. Jennifer looks around
the large, lounge-like room, spotting nothing out of place. Unhappy with her
initial findings, she begins to walk towards the glass entrance door. Being
the waiting room’s lone occupant, there are no faces to be concerned with
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but; unfortunately, this means no bodies to be the culprits of the unknown
sensation.
The five-foot-eight female notes that the receptionist is not at his desk.
Perhaps, his movement stirred up the emotional development. On the other
hand, the young man may not have even been sitting there during the time in
question. She concludes that this is a possibility, but it does not put the
subject to rest. After a few more casual steps, she is able to obtain a glimpse
of the parking lot through the transparent barrier.
The first thing to grab her attention is a shiny new Corvette. The
battery-charged, sports car is the first to boast speeds in excess of 100 mph,
not to mention a pleasing appearance. She looks over to her compact,
electric Jenta and feels a sense of envy. A quick peek at the combustion
engine vehicle next to hers provides a touch of relief, since the gasoline
prices are becoming ridiculous.
A traveling car within the corner of her eye interrupts her chain of
thought. The silver convertible is familiar, though she has no idea as to its
specific identity. She has noticed this gas-fueled car often enough to create
considerable concern.
coincidence?
Is this common occurrence nothing more than
Are these "spottings" actually a combination of similar
vehicles with different drivers?
Such an explanation is apparently unacceptable, as she struggles to
determine the number on the license plate. She internally curses her new
form of corrective lens, wondering if the prescription is incorrect. Once
again, she has failed to identify the markings.
A deep dose of helplessness overrides all of her other emotions. What
can she do? Is the whole episode a fabrication developed by her own mind?
Is she crazy? Perhaps, the true reason she is looking for a new job is in an
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attempt to hide from this feeling of being watched. Her present place of
employment provides excellent wages and benefits and keeps her close to
her parents. This jaunt across the county line did not fool her tracker, if, in
fact, one actually exists. No doubt, a more distant, not to mention more
confidential, move would be required to claim victory in this undeclared
war.
Jennifer shakes her head back into reality, realizing she has taken her
paranoia to preposterous levels. She is here because she has an opportunity
to start on the ground floor, which could lead to achieving a management
position in the not-so-distant future. Her present status at the hospital is
secure, but no openings appear to be on the horizon for continued
advancement. She has turned down several offers in the cosmetic field,
simply based on her morals and solid beliefs. Could she be a tad oldfashioned?
“Miss Candleson?” a powerful male voice injects into the silence,
“Mrs. Reynolds will see you now.”
An unforced smile paints Jennifer’s face as she walks toward the door
that he holds open for her.
“Thank you very much.”
“Good luck ma’am.”
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Chapter
Forty-one
January 30, 2011 – Berlin, Germany
Gregory Reitz places the phone down onto his desk softly, seemingly
with great care for its fragile internal components. His outward appearance
does not closely match his inner demeanor. The man, who is only a few
days shy of welcoming his 70th birthday, has just received word from the
French that they are bowing out of the Solar-Bio Mission. While a few of
the others dropped their financial contributions prior to this decision, it was
France along with his country that supplied the bulk of the funding.
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The usually mild-mannered German pounds his fist to the table top,
creating a loud thud that can be heard quite clearly beyond the confines of
his office.
His assistant chooses not to inquire on his status, for she
forwarded the call and knows that this has already been discussed. Due to
continued economical issues in the entire European sector, several countries
have been pressured into slashing space exploration from their respective
budgets.
As Mr. Reitz searches for something to mentally grasp that will allow
him to find peace, he wonders if the true reasons are not a bit more “within
their control” than they let on. Many years back, the Americans promised to
supply the members of the ESA with the biological findings of the mission,
even though the European Space Agency was only involved in the Pluto
Probe portion of the project. Did some of his neighboring leaders agree to
the mission because they would get free information? Did they plan on
pulling the plug as soon as they were satisfied with the testing results?
The thought of such unfair play brings the generally jovial man into
an even deeper state of anger. His jaw clenches in an attempt to relieve
excess energy and prevent another audible outburst. Does anybody care
about Pluto? The great window of opportunity is now closed. The planets
will not properly align during the period of any human life that is alive
today. The financial woes expand beyond Europe and onto a global scale, so
why can’t these countries bite the same bullet? Do they hope to continue to
receive the reports even after this?
As Mr. Reitz prepares to establish contact with his people and await
the inevitable, he cannot help but think about the devastating result of the
Frenchman’s decision. While it will be difficult to inform the German
leaders of the phone call that will ultimately lead to the complete
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disbandment of the ESA, harder to swallow shall be the demolition of his
personal goals and aspirations. His excellent health and positive attitude
were seemingly both heavily attributed to his strife to witness the first true
encounter with Pluto. He had every intention on, not only surviving the
2025 target date, but also being a major player in its presentation and
celebration. What will come of his contributions and efforts now? Will his
country decide to flip the bill practically on their own? Will the remaining
countries increase their ante when it would appear that this is not possible, or
at least, not likely? Could the United States be kind enough to allow the
Germans to co-exist? Will his own country take this opportunity to drop out
as well?
As the aggravation only seems to mount, there is one thought that will
not enter the dedicated man’s brain. There is a small group in America that
will actually welcome the termination of the ESA, for this will eliminate the
need for a future explanation in reference to a little trajectory problem.
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Chapter
Forty-two
May 16, 2011 – Pasadena, CA
“Wow! Whose the lucky man?” Nile asks as he gazes at the sparkling
rock on Rebecca’s finger.
“He’s an energy consultant for the city,” returns the lovely woman
dressed in a burgundy shirt and black slacks.
“Yeah? How did you meet?” the JPL scientist wonders aloud.
“Oh. A blind date, believe it or not,” she half-heartedly chuckles.
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“Really? Those things work? I haven’t been so lucky,” his laugh is
notably heavier than hers.
“Well, I think I may have been more desperate than lucky.”
Her ability to make light of most any conversation is, as always,
prevalent and in full form. Both participants, as well as the room’s other
occupants, engage in their own methods of joyous expression.
“So…when’s the big day?” Patricia jumps in to be part of the exciting
news.
Miss Thompson begins to inhale the required air to make the
announcement, but the opening of the door prompts her to postpone the
delivery.
Any possible “page mark” on the answer disappears upon
recognizing the newcomer. Her memory of the recent request for details is
wiped clean by the sudden pounding of her heart. She had no idea that she
would react this way just from the mere sight of Leonard’s face; but after all,
this is the first time they have seen each other since the secret relationship
came to a close.
The JPL head still looks younger than his years, and absolutely no
gray exists within his nicely feathered style. His soft skin leads one to
believe that he does not utilize a coloring agent to maintain his natural
brown hair. Leonard surprisingly sports himself in a suit, charcoal gray in
color. She wonders why he has selected this uncustomary formal approach.
“Leonard? Look. Rebecca’s getting married,” his female co-worker
supplies in a jubilant tone.
Mr. Thomas’ eyelids rise slightly while his serious impression
remains. He points his bluish-gray eyes in the direction of the two females
that are standing a foot apart. The Caucasian woman, who has continued to
put on the weight, takes the liberty of softly grabbing Rebecca’s arm and
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lifting the diamond ring into the forefront. Although the sweet African
American is usually quite easy going, the placement at center stage
intensifies her nervous manner. She cannot keep her green eyes pointed into
his view, for contact is too much, too soon. The NASA rep. wonders if she
should have provided an excuse, much like the former meeting.
Leonard does not issue a quick response as the assorted members have
grown accustom from him.
In fact, his blank stare causes the already
awkward situation to catapult into cumbersome to the point that nobody
knows what to say. Why would the space’s newest resident not reply with
something affirmative or at least, something audible? The sheer length of
the silence allows Miss Bonham to connect his emotions with the presence
of Rebecca. When Alex finally transmitted, Leonard’s mood only slightly
improved. Could this be because there is more to him, and this woman is the
missing link?
“So Rebecca? When is the big day?” the blonde ignores her boss’
attitude.
“This summer,” a short, not-fully divulged response is presented, as
her mind is still on her ex-boyfriend.
“This summer? Do you have a date set?” a quiz for better details
begins.
“Oh yeah. July 17th.”
“And will I get an invitation?”
“Of course. Everyone will,” Rebecca continues to explain with a mild
warning, “Although it is not going to be a real big to do.”
“I’m looking forward to it. I’ve never been to Ohio.”
“Well, it will be July, so…it will be nice.”
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“Oh how wonderful. Maybe, you can set me up with someone. All of
a sudden, a blind date does not sound so bad,” Patricia feels rather
comfortable with the conversation, “Though I would prefer one that can
see.”
More laughter fills the room and thanks to the friendly way of the
former space station worker, Rebecca feels a little more relaxed herself.
Still, she realizes the meeting will require substantial interaction between the
two, and she is not out of the woods yet.
“Congratulations Miss Thompson,” Leonard finally provides input to
the occasion.
“Thank you,” replies the receiver of the well wish.
She is invisibly disappointed that he called her by her last name. Does
this mean he no longer has feelings for her? Is this his way of declaring the
past as a volume to be locked up and held in a forever-concealed status in
the vaults of their minds? The attractive woman wonders why the man’s
feelings are even a concern to her. He made his choice. Shouldn’t she be
accepting it and moving on? Can she possibly move on yet still work
together throughout the many years remaining on this project?
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Chapter
Forty-three
June 10, 2011 – Atlanta, GA
The direct current flows to both the motor’s armature and field. As
the woman increases pressure on the accelerator, a signal is sent to boost the
flow of electricity from the bank of batteries. Additional torque is supplied
to the vehicle’s drive train where it utilizes friction to complete its final task.
The light blue car zips down the lane designated for non-fuel-burning
engines at a good clip. The special track, which is sandwiched by the
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carpool lane and the mass-transit lane, provides incentive for folks to choose
the more economical / environmentally friendly approach, plus keeps them
out of the way of the faster moving gasoline-powered machines.
The female driver is cruising over the posted speed limit and
occasionally stakes claim to an adjacent lane, in order to pass the slower
cars. A male driver, tailing a few lengths behind, matches the speeding
front-runner’s every move. His eyes focus intently on the maneuvers, for he
is quite certain that she knows she is being followed.
His newer model holds significant supremacy over the woman’s in
reference to performance; so, short of being involved in an accident, staying
close will not be a problem. The notably overweight man squints to make
out the sticker on the silver bumper when she swerves into the lane to his
right. An eerie smile forms across his chubby face upon reading the words
“Smyrna Cosmetic Surgery”, for he recognizes this to be her place of
employment. The automobile that she is operating is apparently that of a
fellow employee. He assumes she is taking nothing to chance, which is
exactly the reason that this destructive pattern must be stopped.
With the present status of the chase being satisfactory, he relaxes his
brain just enough to allow secondary thoughts to meander about. He recalls
the day that the anesthesiologist transferred jobs in an overwhelmingly
secret manner. It was at that time; his suspicions of her being “on to him”
turned into strong supported reality.
The intelligent female target left
virtually no signs behind to aid him in regaining knowledge of her local, so
he could resume some degree of surveillance.
Of course, being a
professional, she could not hide for long, and with a little internet savvy, she
was located.
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Since the woman with dangerous information was obviously
frightened, he decided to employ a new tactic. The man who formerly acted
as a detective, switched from a visual method to an audible type.
Unfortunately, the lady discovered a device used to transmit her actions and
contacted outside help.
His rapid travel through recent memories expeditiously brings him to
the present. The hired man fears that she is making a connection that will
result in the uncovering of the forbidden story, the details of which he is
personally unaware. A powerful thought overrides all others, wishing he
received permission to erase the loose ends before such a happening played
out.
As the man’s brain waves speed along at an identical velocity with his
physical being, he brings his right hand down and pats the bulge on his right
hip. The revolver is loaded and ready, though he drastically hopes that it is
not necessary. If gunfire were to be required, he would prefer to do so on
his own terms, namely without witnesses and fully plotted out.
The comprehension of weaponry diverts his thought process to a
what-if scenario, dealing with the police force. Since the car he follows
continues on a southerly course down I-75, the possibility exists that the
woman is racing toward the downtown police department. Has she decided
to tell her story to the authorities, risking punishment for her involvement?
Perhaps, she plans to fabricate her portion of the account. He can only
assume that she has held the secret because she would be in severe trouble if
the truth were known.
Something transpires causing his mild daydreaming to cease. The
female’s automobile veers off onto an exit. The other player in the “cat and
mouse” game no longer needs to supplement his thoughts, in order to occupy
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his time. His utmost attention will be required to keep sight of her through
the upcoming city streets.
Her right blinker starts to flash, so he follows suit, hoping the one car
between them does not become a major obstacle. Much like the beginning
of a drag strip race, she times out the light change to perfection. Her 2008
model converts maximum electrical energy into top end acceleration. The
result is a moderate amount of spinning. Soon, the rubber tread fully grips
the pavement, and the car jerks into motion.
The female driver conducts a half-expected trick when her vehicle’s
steering components deliver an angled displacement in the left direction.
The pursuing car’s operator attempts to switch lanes, in order to continue the
chase, but the left-hand turn lane is packed with traffic. After impatiently
waiting for the person ahead of him, he forces himself into a tight space at
the dismay of those most affected. While ignoring the blasting horns and
obscene gestures is a simple task, recapturing visual contact is NOT. Where
did she go?
His right hand pounds the steering wheel upon realizing that he has
already lost her. The fancy move proves she knew that she was being
followed, which, for the most part, provides evidence to the fact that she
knows of his vehicle and possibly even his face. How can she know these
things? His attention to detail has been superb. He purchased a new car
before commencing the surveillance in Atlanta, plus he was extremely
careful at all times.
Has he been outsmarted?
Has the woman been
conducting similar tactics in reverse order against him?
As the angry male travels along the busy avenue, his eyes jerk to and
fro in hopes of spotting her means of transportation. To make matters
worse, her vehicle resembles a significant percentage of the cars currently on
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the road. His tracking device does little good, since she is not driving the
automobile that has the microchip installed on the frame next to the rear
axle.
The irate man ponders his own dilemma in finer detail. If the lady is
indeed seeking the aid of a private investigator as his phone tapping
indicated, he could be the one finding himself on the run. The priorities
would switch from ensuring she does not leak the story to covering his own
behind. Does she really know enough about him to provide the means of
capture by a detective? If the answer is yes, his contract with the mysterious
“Sunflower Man” is, for all practical purposes, null and void. His own cover
will take center stage, for there were many deeds performed in his past that
carry with them stiff penalties.
His thoughts wander back to the discussion he had in the mosquitoinfested swamp.
The instructions were rather clear in reference to the
maximum sentence to render in the event of continued disclosure. He was to
frighten her into thinking she would be in grave danger if she talks, but no
actual attack was to be administered. Of course, determining when she was
“about” to squeal, or even slip, was a tad difficult. For this reason, he took
no chances and instituted the scare tactics when she requested the help of a
therapist. While the near-miss accident he engineered carried an obvious
message that rang loud and clear, it apparently ignited a backlash that was
not expected.
The anesthesiologist must have begun her own line of
investigations and such.
The flustered male steers his car down a smaller street, heading for the
only clue he has in regards to a possible destination. If Miss Candleson is
truly obtaining the services of a detective to help track him down, he will
have no choice but to make a move. For a moment, he wonders if a better
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plan of attack would be to withdraw and assume a new identity. How much
does she know? What about the other end? If he were to terminate the deal
and go into hiding, surely they would have the resources to find him. What
penalty would result from this form of betrayal?
As the battery storage indicator drops below fifty percent, a modest
warning beeps three times. The subtle sound provides enough of a jolt to
knock him back into reality. A careful twist of the round wheel within the
car’s interior instructs the two front exterior wheels to mimic the move. The
hired man is now on the road that matches the address of the possible
business location.
Silently, he hopes she is not there, for this would allow him time to
scheme the best resolution for his predicament. In that scenario, he would,
most likely, choose a low-key method that would hopefully lead to the
woman dropping the issue. Then, he could explain to his boss that he is
unable to continue the assignment due to something unrelated.
Unfortunately, that particular plot will not be implemented, for her
vehicle is parked in front of the small building that corresponds to the
professional spy she had recently contacted.
A burst of adrenaline
intensifies his condition, while a distinctive shade masks his already flushed
cheeks. He commands his vehicle to ramble beyond the vacant parking lot
next to the brick building, searching for a more conspicuous location. Being
a man in substantially poor shape, he decides a block will have to do. His
mind does not even recall the many times he has vowed to improve the
physical state of his body.
Almost as if being part of the same motion, his hand pushes the gear
lever forward and reaches for the glove compartment. His right hand snags
the white, plastic bag and brings it to his side. Without wasting a second, he
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begins applying the assorted rubber pieces to his face. A tube of special glue
is used to provide the adhesion, in order to maintain the integrity of the
synthetic skin.
Soon, his normally blunt nose, is transformed into a completely
different look, most notable is the addition of a higher bridge. A black
moustache and matching hair replace his raggy style and bare upper lip.
With the aid of blush and powder, his disguise becomes realistic and
surprisingly effective.
He chooses to pass on changing any articles of
clothing, figuring time is too precious.
The man with the camouflaged face swings open the thin, fiberglass
door. His thoughts begin playing out the numerous actions that may become
necessary. His more innocent side injects one final opportunity to turn back.
The man’s evil counterpart immediately overrides the plea, concluding that
it is too late to change course. His enemy is probably knee deep into details
of her problem, which unfortunately, is him. The decision comes down to
one of two things. Either be the hunter, or be the hunted.
A considerably unfamiliar feeling enters his inner self as he makes his
way down the semi-crowded sidewalk. He is nervous, almost to the point of
fearful. Along with the hint of uncertainty, the combined emotional mix
creates a distraction in itself. Ignoring the fact that he is void of a clear
mind, he approaches the glass double-door.
His hand grips the door and opens it, failing to even verify that the
name is correct on the entranceway. He looks down at the light yellow
carpet as he walks, instead of making eye contact with the labels on the
doors along the hallway. Finally, he realizes his confused demeanor is
clouding his better judgment, so he stops in his tracks in the hopes of
collecting himself.
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A small headshake and a deep breath go a long way in returning his
senses to clarity, if not to full control. He has always been more of an
organized planner than a “think on your feet” type; but, this time, he has no
choice but to get a hold of himself and complete his personally approved
mission. His right hand pats the enlarged area, which is created by his gun.
His sights focus on the remaining doors in front of him, noting he has passed
twice as many. He deducts that it is best to continue on in a forward
direction and check the bold letters on them, prior to viewing those he
missed on the first pass by.
His focus is sharp, at least in comparison to recent history, as he looks
for the name “Steven Jermaine”. There is no such label on the few in front,
prompting him to turn around in preparation for inspection of the others.
Instead of executing the first step, his body stiffens into a locked position.
Standing about twenty feet away in the corridor is the female target and
apparently, the male investigator she has hired! They must have walked out
of the door when he was moving in the opposite direction.
His racing mind tells himself to relax, for she should not recognize
him. In fact, she may not know what he looks like anyhow. The task is
easier said than done, as evident by his pounding heart and quivering
extremities. He notices the blonde female peek at him, and it seems as
though she is unaffected by his presence. Shouldn’t she be leery of any
stranger? Is it possible that this is all a misunderstanding, and she is here for
unrelated reasons?
Once again, the disguised man’s bad side wins out. There will be no
benefit of the doubt or waiting to see what her plans are. Both individuals
are in perfect firing range; and, as an added incentive for a quick response,
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there presently are no witnesses. Surely, he can get off two shots before the
man, who is most likely armed, can raise his weapon in retaliation.
Realizing the mental portion of the chore is over; he digs into his hip
gripping the loaded pistol.
Although not near as swift as an expert
gunfighter, his weapon is promptly pointing at the woman. His thick index
finger squeezes the trigger causing the hammer to drive into the firing pin,
which, in turn, causes the detonation of the primer. Almost instantaneously,
the bullet is speeding out of the barrel and toward the human target. An earbursting bang echoes in the narrow space followed by an immediate collapse
of the feminine frame.
The sudden explosive sound seems to surprise the perpetrator more
than the unsuspecting male, as evident by the investigator’s instinctive
retrieval of his automatic weapon compared to the other man’s fumbled
response. The two men pull their triggers at relatively the same moment, but
the man with the more advanced handgun continues to discharge until his
cartridge is empty.
There is no need to reload, since the gunman lays motionless on the
ground. The fat man’s attempt apparently missed, as he inflicted no wound
into the other man’s body.
Ignoring the status of the criminal, Steven
Jermaine kneels down to determine whether his newest client is revivable.
Blood steadily flows from just below her chest. As he yells to a
newcomer to call 9-1-1, he presses the gushing wound and checks for vitals.
Her faint pulse allows him to concentrate on artificial breathing.
He
disregards the potential for disease contraction; feverishly working to keep
her alive until more qualified aid arrives.
While the anesthesiologist struggles for her life, the other casualty has
already died. He will never have the opportunity to find out if he could have
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walked away from the whole affair. Had he listened to his good side, he
may have opted for the safer route and maybe even began a more honest
living. However, in this world of checks and balances, everything and
everyone must be held accountable. There are no free rides and no hiding
from misdeeds simply because “nobody knows”.
The only riddle that will be solved is the one in the minds of his exwife and son, who will eventually find out the truth about him. They will
ultimately learn that he selected this secret profession over them.
Chapter
Forty-four
September 11, 2011 – Solar-Bio1
(312,145,408 miles beyond Jupiter / Traveling at 14,297 mph)
The decibel level within the machinery space is substantially higher
than usual due to the steam flow noises created by the mini steam plant.
Alex checks the assorted gages and meters to verify proper operation, during
which time he continues to conduct his routine equipment checks. He notes
that the hydrogen burner is producing 800-psi steam, which provides turning
power to the 30 kW generator where the electricity is supplied to a rectifier
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(which converts the alternating current to a DC flow for battery storage).
The fifty-five-inch tall youth intently studies the piping and rectangular
components, which are insulated and painted green.
This particular system only runs when its fuel (hydrogen) is in excess,
so the overall hours are still rather low. It also happens to possess the
equipment that is most susceptible to wear and tear.
The pumps,
oscillating valves, and many moving parts require close observation and
occasional maintenance.
On this day, the well-trained space boy sees
nothing that necessitates his immediate attention.
He continues on with his daily walk down, raising his arm so that the
probe he is holding can “sniff” the general area in which he aims. The
special, portable detector determines if any of the numerous fittings and
unions is leaking any explosive gas. He slowly directs the gadget along the
many tubes heading into the shielding matrix against the back wall of the
Solar-Bio1. If he finds any release of hydrogen, or any other contaminant
for that matter, he must remedy the problem at once by tightening a nut or
installing a replacement washer.
While nearly all systems were
manufactured to be extremely low maintenance, it was considered
imperative that headquarters train and equip MR1 for any foreseeable
breeches in system integrity.
It was actually the first few years that
concerned JPL the most, for this was the period before their young student
would be able to combat problems with his acquired skills. Luckily, the
craft performed without fail.
Alex twists around to face the dual fuel cells that allow the production
of water (or in some instances, make oxygen and hydrogen from water).
Both of the square, silver boxes indicate they are in a shutdown mode, so the
youth simply verifies that there are no leaks from the piping up to the closed
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solenoid valves. To the left of these is the distiller, which serves to recycle
the water within the contained environment in which he dwells. He notices
that the temperature is nearing a boiling state, so it can begin removing the
impurities from the semi-dirty liquid inside. He concludes that he will return
in a couple hours to inspect the light gray, cylindrical contraption to ensure
no steam leaks are present.
The boy, who is clothed in a light blue pair of shorts, stands shirtless
in front of the Lead Acid Battery Banks. These particular chemical energystoring components are particularly dangerous, since they produce a
hydrogen gas byproduct, plus they possess the potential to create sparks.
Each of the four-foot cells has a see-through wall to inspect the electrolyte
level and internal condition, as well as their own permanently mounted
meters to indicate specific gravity and individual voltage. The cell top has a
black, square ducting attached that combines with the others before it is
routed to the hydrogen tanks after sub-cooling it into a liquid. He carefully
checks this special channeling for any evidence of escaping gas.
The other battery system is a unique blend of Lithium that gases off
much like this one; the difference being the end product is oxygen. While
leaks from this would not be a concern for danger, since oxygen is
nonflammable without the presence of a “fuel”, it is still important to keep
this system in working order, for it adds the precious commodity to his
inventory for future breathing. Unknown to him, the original engineering
designed the system to expel the oxygen directly into the compartment;
however, after studying the possible system equilibriums, it was realized that
the air could actually surpass the high end of the window, so not only would
this be a waste, but it would result in an over-oxygenated environment.
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As MR1 continues to look over the many indications, he also uses his
senses of smell, hearing, and touch to make sure nothing is wrong with his
craft. He fully understands the fragile circle in which he resides.
Upon completion of the numerous equipment verifications, he lets his
mind wander a bit. Soon, his brain is retracing the songs that he has now
heard so many times. He truly adores the music he was rewarded with, and,
although he has only been presented with the basics, he can already label
notes by length, pitch, and velocity. While his ability to identify these
attributes is more of a scientific or mathematical skill, he fully comprehends
that the true talent dwells within the un-teachable, artistic areas. He listens
to the transitions and the genius maneuvers and wonders how a person was
able to compose such beauty. The rise of sound in perfect coordination
when silence was the only commodity present during its creation boggles his
generally organized thoughts. Is it possible that this magnificent know how
could actually be hiding somewhere deep inside of him, screaming to come
out and prove its worth? Surely not.
The chain of thinking continues on its course with comparisons of the
assorted builders of these orchestrations. The ten-year-old does not have a
favorite, mainly due to the fact that he does not try to group the songs by
composers, but instead by styles, instruments, and even song length. He
does, however, find a certain interest in the differences in their lives, which
was outlined in considerable detail within the computerized menu system.
Each musician’s story was described to help the boy understand how some
of these great men grew up.
Alex read these write ups over and over, finding some contradictions
in his earlier understandings of human behavior and co-existence. Although
the youth’s phase one training discussed borders that identify one section of
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landmass from another, it explained the reason for this to be a way of
organizing efforts and resources for distribution throughout Earth’s many
places. After reading about the musicians, he learned that these people
spoke unlike languages and had very contrasting cultures and rules to live
by. At the time, this confused him to a large extent, but recently his phase
two teaching have elaborated on much of this, helping clear up the various
mental mismatches.
The boy, who has never really experienced life on any planet, always
pictured Earth as a place where humans work together to serve a common
goal. He assumed all people are treated the same and afforded all the
essential requirements for a prospering life. Such a thought that hunger
would be remotely possible was absolutely absurd. How could humans
allow others to starve, be without a home, or suffer when it is not necessary?
When the quantity of resources is virtually unlimited?
If all of this were true, why would a great composer like Mozart be
provided with less than Beethoven? For that matter, how could anybody be
considered less worthy than any other person?
What link could he be
missing that provides the answer to this seemingly ridiculous philosophy?
Perhaps, he is confused about these terms labeled “poverty” and “money”.
There was mention of these things within the narrative of the historical
documentation, but no definitions for the new words. He has attempted to
figure it out on his own but has come up short. Come to think of it, why are
all the names on his list of men?
Does this point towards a possible
clarification?
Since it still plays havoc on his balance and grip on reality outside of
his little world, he decides he should ask headquarters for an elaboration.
On the other hand, the explanation may be fast approaching in his new
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lesson plan.
Perhaps, he has misunderstood something from previous
educational outlines. Do the people on Earth who make music operate under
different rules than those tasked with more standard roles in society? Are
they considered failures if they do not produce acceptable results? How
could the fantastic works of Mozart be deemed as anything short of
remarkable? Maybe, headquarters has supplied him with some of the lessdesirable musical compositions. Will the “good” stuff come later? Is he
that easily amused?
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Chapter
Forty-five
(December 20, 2011 - Кроликz1)
(107,236 miles away from Saturn / Traveling at 16, 107 mph)
The specialized probe looks much like a huge jack as it speeds into
Saturn’s gravitational field. Of course, compared to the immense sphere
with rings of ice within its proximity, Кролик1 appears tiny and
insignificant. An expensive glass tube focuses on the reddish-brown band
that is sandwiched by lighter yellow ones before initiating an image
reproduction, which will be stored on a computer chip for the time being.
Due to the phenomenon known as gravity, the spacecraft’s velocity
begins to increase. Although still over 100,000 miles from the giant ball of
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gas, the force that tends to pull mass inward begins to impress its effects on
the man-made object.
The slingshot, which was calculated using the
Holman Transfer method, is right on target and soon to be creating an
acceleration that will result in a maximum speed of over 68,000 mph. Much
of that energy will be stolen back, in order to pull back out of the
gravitational field; but, when all is said and done, the probe will be on its
way at a commendable 40,000 mph clip.
The Russians could have actually went with a faster path had they
known Pluto would not be in the plans.
In fact, the VKS considered
changing the trajectory and inch a bit closer to Uranus, but the risk of getting
there before it was in proper lineup was too high. It was determined that
they are plenty of miles ahead of the Americans as it is.
As the hyperbolic path continues, the secret probe gets further and
further ahead of the two crafts that lag behind, but happen to have an
identical destination.
Since the smaller structure is without human
occupants, it can swing closer to the planets and pilfer more energy. The
higher acceleration is too much for the special machine inside the Solar-Bios
to counteract.
The angular momentum transfer reaches its greatest point when the
Кролик1 nears to within 50,000 miles and starts its struggle out of Saturn’s
grasp. Although there is only one planet left on the unique journey, the
mileage remaining is basically equivalent to the entire trip thus far.
Like the manned crafts that, forsaking any casualties, will also pass
this point (not as close though), no human eyes will witness the astonishing
sights during the slingshot episode. Obviously if the rider were also the
designer, the deceleration chamber would have been constructed on the
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starboard side and fitted with a window. On the other hand, these trips were
not engineered for the purpose of “viewing pleasure”.
Chapter
Forty-six
(March 12, 2012 – Kaliningrad, Russia)
“Ivan?” a brown-haired gent peeks into the intended receiver’s office,
“Good news. Sonya’s finished?”
“Finished with what?” the chubbier male replies in a husky voice.
“Phase 1. The data came in with the 8 AM report,” the brown-eyed
Russian elaborates.
“Are you sure? How could this be? It’s impossible,” insinuates the
military rep for the VKS.
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“Well, it must be.
The computer completed the download.
Everything checks out. They figure the earlier data was incomplete.”
“So, she was further along than we thought?”
“Yeah. Must have been,” Mr. Simko agrees with his counterpart in
the Solar-Bio2 mission.
“I just…” Mr. Rebrov scratches his head and hesitates to finish his
sentence.
“What is it?”
“Well, I just don’t get it. She ignored our questions on the matter
about the lesson plans. She just acted like we didn’t even mention it,”
explains the black-haired man.
“I’m guessing that she didn’t understand. You know, if she wasn’t
really behind on it, she probably thought we meant something else.”
“I guess. Anyway, that is great news. Shit…I was getting ready to
order the video stills to be transmitted,” the Colonel divulges with a solid
hint of relief that he did not have to resort to such measures.
“I agree…it was getting into a worry-type situation.”
“Yes, indeed, it was.”
“You know? Not that I am not happy that things worked out, but it
would be nice to see the pictures. It would make it a lot easier to verify
things.”
“Yes,” admits Ivan, “but the risk is too damn big. Way too damn big.
Any pick up on them and it would blow everything wide open.”
“Not like the old days is it?”
“Nope. Technology has its disadvantages.”
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“Yeah. It certainly does. It doesn’t help when your spaceship is
limited to the level of expertise of the year it was sent up…well…actually
the limitations go back to the point of design and engineering.”
“That’s a good point. By the time she gets there, she will be using
completely outdated stuff,” the head of the Russian Space Forces finalizes.
A short pause in the conversation elapses when the man dressed in the
uniform and sitting behind his desk reaches for a cigar. As he commences
the basic chores associated with the preparation of his expensive habit, he
holds up a second in an offering to his close working partner. The handsome
Russian, who remains standing in the doorway, shakes his head in a way to
pass on the gift. His blue tie displays a formal look, although his white shirt
is somewhat un-tucked and a little wrinkled.
The jolly VKS agent finally completes his unscheduled break with the
ignition of the thick tobacco product. A cloud of aroma instantly floats from
his lips and begins to separate.
“So, how do you feel about the trajectory on Кролик1? Better?”
Ivan Rebrov asks the question with genuine honesty, for he
understands his friend’s concern. The details that he refers to deals with
WHEN the change in positioning will be signaled to the space probe’s
maneuvering device. Since the original plan was to send Кролик1 to Pluto,
the course included a flyby of Uranus. Of course, with the new destination,
changes must be made to navigate the unmanned craft to the other side of
the planet. The sooner the booster is used to alter its direction, the smaller
the angle change that is required and, therefore, less fuel. The advantage to
waiting till later is that the Pluto course is maintained until the last minute;
so, if the Umbriel plan is scrapped, Pluto can still be discovered.
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“Yes. I’m ok with it. I guess, I am not so familiar with the nukes.
They’re extremely reliable huh?”
“Yes they are. There’s really not much that can go wrong with them.”
“Just hate relying on that second RTG. If it doesn’t work, we may not
have the power to make the move.”
“It’ll work. We just don’t trust the Americans.”
“Have we found anything on that?”
“No. We’re having a little trouble getting our contact to talk.”
“I thought that was all arranged”
“The money was. Damn bitch is afraid of getting caught now. We
can’t really promise her protection. She has to be on the inside for the
duration of the mission to do us any good.”
“Are there any other possible connections.”
“Not like her. She’s tight with Thomas. We’ll get her…money has a
way of calming the worst of fears.”
The fat Russian speaks quite freely, even though his door is wide
open. Kobak Simko is well aware of this woman, who is in position to
acquire the highly confidential, JPL-owned information, but she is not
common knowledge for all personnel within the building.
“Good. What do you think she’ll have for us?”
“I bet lots. The Americans are much like us. Bastards have to be
first. They’re not just running a test flight, so they can share the glory with
us later!”
The newer member of the project inhales a substantial volume for his
next delivery but holds it in upon noticing an uninvited man intruding their
space. The short, bald male nods at Kobak but does not slow his pace.
Soon, he has distanced himself from the confidential conversation, and the
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two appear to be free to continue their discussion. The close call seems to
impart a sense of caution into the civilian administrator.
“I think I’ll take you up on that Cohiba.”
Chapter
Forty-seven
(April 10, 2012 – Solar-Bio2)
(342,210,167 miles beyond Mars / Traveling at 10,036 mph)
The deep, pounding beat emits from the subwoofer with emphasis,
while the steel guitar and fiddle provide the rhythmic flow. A high-pitched
theme from an overdriven amplifier supplies a more modern touch to the
country music. As the lead music gives way to the final chorus, Shanai’s
powerful voice begins to sing the words, “Someday Mr. Destiny…walks
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right in and rescues me…” The song actually became a smash hit after the
Solar-Bio2 launched off from Earth.
Sonya verbally follows the song with an admirable quality in both
tone and pitch. Her cute face exhibits a happy appearance as she vocalizes
the upbeat sentences about “finding Mr. Right” and “living happily ever
after”. Her wavy, reddish hair follows her occasional head bob; although,
due to the weightless environment, the long strands have a notable delay in
motion. The eleven-year-old girl is clothed in a yellow, pullover shirt and
yellow pajama bottoms that don’t match. Her natural skin tone appears even
darker against the lighter fabric she has chosen.
This particular musical track was received courtesy of completing
Phase 1 of the lesson plan. She has already listened to the many new audio
files countless times and is considering retrieval of the next reward using the
same method that she practiced for this one. Her impatience got the best of
her, so she coordinated her mental efforts into figuring out a way to get into
the computer’s program, instead of performing the studies correctly. After
substantial thought and a few failed attempts, she was able to penetrate the
system’s internal database and input false entries. By learning the machine
language, she was able to fool the educational program into believing she
had completed the course in a satisfactory manner. As a side benefit, the
whole thing appeared to be legitimate in the eyes of headquarters!
Although the “payment” for a job-well-done was supplied under false
pretenses, the female youth does not experience feelings of guilt or regret.
In her mind, she found a less-tedious route to perform a task; besides, she is
a much better learner on her own. Sonya thinks that she does not need a
self-teach process to inform her that Jupiter’s belt is lethal or how the main
propulsion booster works. The radiation alarm will keep her posted of
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external levels, and she can figure out the details of a system by watching it
operate and observing its reactions. The numerous words in the lesson plan
seems to be nothing more than wasted effort, since she believes she can
claim dominance over it in less time via her own means. This also provides
her with a bit more free time to play music and watch movies.
FR1’s intellectual potential is nearly unlimited, but it is doubtful she
will reach such heights. Still, her interest in the well being of her craft and
the like is very high, and she has gone to extended lengths to understand
every nut and bolt on her vessel. Certainly, headquarters would prefer her to
stick with the lesson plan, but what they don’t know cannot hurt them.
As the wave file finishes playing, a short pause issues before the hard
drive can spin and distribute a new audio segment to the computer’s
memory. This moment of silence prompts the brown-eyed girl to quench her
desire of catching a glimpse of the panel that is currently behind her. She
loosens the strap that holds her securely to the long, centrally located bench
and brings her right leg up and over while twisting her entire body in a
swivel motion. The straddling move soon places her into a position where
she is staring at the Transmission Console.
A disappointed sensation quickly overrides the good mood she
achieved from the recent vibrations from the sound system. There is no
return from headquarters waiting for her on the screen. Although, her last
message was nothing important, she always looks forward to word from
“home”. It is the only link to anything tangible in her life. The music keeps
her entertained, but the true spark within her inner self is provided by the
interactive style of the back and forth transmissions.
She compares the lead singer in the music to her present status; for it
is one person belting out their voice into, what seems like, thin air. When the
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backing vocals kick in, she comprehends a group theme, which she
correlates to the two-way communications she is part of. The assorted
conversations in her cartoons and movies (the reward supplied her with
some real movies) are much the same to her, since they also involve more
than one player at a time.
All in all though, it is very important to satisfy this deep need to be
part of a voice that is heard and then responded to. It is the reassurance and
instructional replies from headquarters that she looks forward to and thinks
about most often. In fact, her powerful brain requires more energy and time
to decide how to word a sentence just right, than it does to determine some
new fact about the Solar-Bio2.
Due mainly to her desire to receive the incoming messages, she
considers making serious adjustments to the electronic components housed
within the panel. Her intelligent mind ponders the idea of taking off the
metal cover and changing the settings on the rheostat taps. However, she
realizes that increasing the signal strength will do nothing to reduce the
aggravating delay. She is at the mercy of the solar system and its grand
construction.
The young girl carries her thoughts into the only entity that is greater
in all aspects than the vastness of space itself. She recalls the first pages of
the bible she was provided with for her long trip. When her eyes initially
perceived the words of creation in terms of Heaven and Earth, she
immediately concluded that the place referred to as “Heaven” was
somewhere far away from her homeland.
Sonya recollects how, after the process of elimination, she deducted
that her craft is taking her to this wonderful place! After all, why would the
people, who raised her then sent her on an elaborate, well-planned journey,
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send her anyplace else? It would be nonsensical to expand such incredible
efforts and create such a financial burden just to pass right by the greatest
destination in the universe.
Her intellectual chain continues as she stretches the current thought
into wondering if Heaven is actually much further away. Could it be located
in another solar system that is mechanically unreachable? But why would
God link the two worlds without making available the means, or at least, the
intelligence to develop a method in which to get there?
Perhaps, space is just an extension of Earth, so when the spiritual
guide speaks of the physical world, it all qualifies as being part of “Earth”.
While she originally ignored her uncertainty when presented with the
philosophy of a soul, the young female now questions if this may be the path
to an understanding. She looks back to the transmission monitor and expels
a slight disgruntled moan; upon learning it is still blank.
Her dismay
mounts, for now she really has something that she would like to ask, and she
would prefer to find out while she is pondering the subject, not after the
curiosity has worn off. Regardless of her wishes, the delay would be hours
even if she typed the request immediately.
FR1 shrugs off the unknown “body part” that apparently connects
humans to the bible and its assorted characters / exotic locals.
If her
biological teachings failed to mention this organ, and the geography lesson
did not introduce Heaven as a real life location, it must not be worth fussing
over.
On the other hand, is it possible that both of these issues were covered
in the sections that she skipped by lying to the computer? Could this be
some sort of payback for her wrongdoings? While this line of thinking does
not cause too great of a negative impact, it does serve as a caution to what
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questions she should ask headquarters via the radio-signaling device. If she
inquires about a topic that she was suppose to already know, the great minds
back on her initial planet will surely recognize the mismatch and be
suspicious of foul play.
So, if these places were discussed in the unread chapters of Phase 1, it
is quite probable that this moon known as Umbriel is neither Heaven, nor
Earth. Assuming her home is indeed the Earth that the religious book refers
to, and Heaven is not physically achievable, she must be heading to…Hell!
Her mood that was previously driven by her impatience alters to one
of worry and seriousness. The newly acquired, somber feeling continues as
she reflects on some of the excerpts that dealt with this awful place. To
make matters worse, she instantly finds compelling evidence to support the
possibility that this is her true destination. She recalls how the woman on
the space station told her that her mother died shortly after her birth (which
is true). Could it be that her death was a result of some form of punishment
for a significant crime? Perhaps, the sentence included the sacrifice of her
child! Is the Solar-Bio2 nothing more than a sophisticated vehicle that
delivers those that are being punished to the devil?
Her fearful demeanor is supplied with more support for her present,
horrific theory, when she considers the pain and suffering that the journey
has already invoked. If she were going to a wonderful, new home, as
headquarters has promised in obvious detail, why would she be sent alone
and with so many questions?
On this note, she expounds further into
wondering if the trip is more of a punishment and the destination is more of
an award or prize for making the sacrifice.
Is it possible that Heaven and Hell are both within reach, and she
experiences both from time to time? Could her machine be the means to
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experience these entities that seem so unrealistic, if not completely
unbelievable?
At this point, she concedes the only path to an answer is to do a little
backtracking. This is too important to ignore, for the truth identifies her
purpose and future.
Bypassing the lesson plan, in order to receive an
unearned gift, was wrong to the degree that the backlash is severe and too
much to overcome. There are probably many other problems approaching,
because she did not read the outlined information. Sonya decides she will
retrace her steps inside the fancy computer’s world of addresses, find her
place, and then complete the project correctly. This feeling of hopelessness
and uncertainty is unacceptable, not to mention, extremely uncomfortable.
A strange byproduct of her internal conversation creeps up into the
mix when she thinks about the possible outcomes. If she takes the time to
perform the sections in question, will she find herself behind on Phase 2
teachings?
If so, how can she inform headquarters that she is being
dedicated to the plans, when the truth proves otherwise?
The only
comprehendible answer is to double up on the educational process. While
fabricating information into the computer seems to be semi-satisfactory, a
direct deception to her homeland is over the line. Although very intelligent,
she does not consider the lie to the electronic device as also being a
falsehood to her human friends.
The frustrated youth struggles with the mentally overloaded condition
that has been self-generated inside her cranial cavity. It is too much to
consume, especially since several of the components do not have obtainable
clues to their specifics. Sonya searches for a change in subject; one that
requires less thought and allows her to dump the stress that currently resides
in the working portion of her brain.
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The first direction she points her interest in happens to be the same
article that began the whole deep journey. Her beautiful, brown eyes focus
on the small light that blinks when a message has arrived. As expected, the
flashing illumination is not present and no signal is waiting to be interpreted
by the decoding system. Instead of repeating her disgusted attitude with the
matter, she looks for something else, in order to calm her over-stimulated
status. There must be something that will take her mind off this roller
coaster of what-ifs and supply a diversion that she can submerge her entirety
into.
A twist of the neck is executed in the rightward direction, which turns
out to be a successful one in terms of locating a less strenuous topic. Her
lips perform a slight smile (something she picked up from the Disney
episodes) when she catches sight of the Shania Twain photograph.
It
immediately reminds the young girl that the music has been playing during
her entire half-conscious venture! To the best of her recollections, this is a
first. The country songs have always taken priority over thought.
Sonya studies the picture in closer detail, noting the attractive lady’s
face and hair.
While the unique child understands that humans look
differently, she is far less aware of beauty and how it is judged in the world
she speeds away from. To FR1, this woman is pleasing to the eye, but this
commodity possesses no value nor places her above any other in stature.
Still, she truly admires her singing and entertainment qualities.
The female, who unknowingly trails the Solar-Bio1 (she was informed
that this particular mission was cancelled and they decided to call her ship
#2), continues to gaze at the photo of the country girl dressed in black. She
detects the shapely section of Shania’s upper torso. Her sights instantly
divert to her own chest area, which has yet to develop in any way. Is this
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something that will grow someday or simply something that makes her
different from other earthlings? Perhaps, this relates to her condition or
points to the reason she has been sent on this mission. Sonya quickly tosses
these thoughts out and away from their present course, for she is beginning
to head right back to where she came from.
Her attempt to cut off the thinking is somewhat successful, in the
sense that she is able to breakaway from the portion that deals with her
mission. However, she still contemplates the different possible explanations
for the large bumps on the female posing with a side profile above the waterfilled door. Could it be her article of clothing is creating the curves? A
strange thought enters in the form of wondering why she doesn’t recall the
women that took care of her before she was launched away on her own. She
was young and such a specific never occurred to her. Did they have this
same feature?
While she will find nothing to explain “Heaven” when she backtracks
her skipped studies (the whole reason she plans to do so), ironically, she will
learn that these lumps are normal, and she can expect them to arrive shortly.
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Chapter
Forty-eight
(June 19, 2012 – Washington DC)
Countless, unrelated conversations being conducted, each at a low-key
level, creates a constant buzz within the spacious, auditorium-like room.
The assorted members of the audience are very well dressed and mostly of
the older generations. There is a sudden halt in the verbal discussions,
which audibly resembles the securing of power on a radio.
Such an abrupt silence can only signify one thing, the presence of the
main speaker. A notably below-average-in-height woman makes her way up
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the center isle with grace and dignity. She is clothed in a white, button-up
shirt with a dark blue blazer over top and matching slacks. Her dark brown
hair, which is long and straight, yields considerable graying streaks that
accent her Asian face.
The distinguished woman receives the respect of every person who
witnesses her presence, not to mention that of the millions that watch or
listen via the various mediums. Her high standing is certainly deserved, for
she has stood the position of President of the United States for nearly a full
term and will, in all likelihood, be granted a second four-year run.
The worries and prejudice related to being the first female in charge at
the White House are no longer a factor as evident by the positive thoughts in
nearly everyone’s mind that stands before her. During her first year or so,
both the house and the senate mounted an asserted effort to block her
attempts to impose new procedures that would remove bipartisanship and
forever seal issue voting. Her plan would prevent any form of media or
governmental agency from determining individual’s votes, thereby relieving
the pressure that they ultimately force upon each other and allow the
individuals to decide based solely on their personal ideals. Although they
were successful in the early sessions, the brilliant woman in charge of
America did not surrender, arguing that the “ends justifies the means” and
finally proved her philosophy as the correct choice.
The new process, which also prevents parties from making deals and
adding addendums to slow the process or change its outcome, has paved the
way for numerous articles of legislation, which have already resulted in
measurable dividends to society. Not only has her unique ideas created great
political breakthroughs, but her example has led the younger generation into
higher moral standards just in the nick of time. When she first took office, it
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was obvious that the country was in a tailspin in reference to attitudes,
personal values (especially in the younger ranks), and taking responsibility;
however, after a couple years to “stop the bleeding” and “change direction”,
the overall outlook is uplifting. Recent surveys indicate her approval rating
as greater than any president in modern history, not named John F Kennedy.
In fact, many political analysts confidently predict her to surpass even him!
All this said, there is still a large volume of citizens that cannot shrug
off the belief that a woman is too emotional to logically make decisions and
head the most powerful country in the world. To them, her successes are
coincidental and meaningless. The few media corporations that oppose her
in general find other explanations for these positive outcomes. For example,
they say that the fantastic foreign relationships are more due to the financial
inability for anyone to wage war than to President Larissa Mien’s policies
and the trustworthy impressions she emanates onto the many nations’
leaders.
These same people also blame the recession on her, although the
cause for the drop in economical strength is clearly due to severely overinflated technical stocks. They contend that her “destructive” form of social
medicine is the true culprit, even though all calculations point towards a
reduction on tax burden and personal cost, not to mention a huge approval
from the majority.
Her supporters, whom significantly outweigh her
detractors, agree with her plans to rebuild a powerful working structure that
includes “doing things the old-fashioned way” and re-training the human
force in areas that were previously software-driven or machine-based. In her
now-famous words, “Our reliance upon the abstract world has bitten us on
our concrete rears.”
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Mrs. Mien finally reaches the podium, at which time the crowd takes a
seat in near perfect synchronization. The sound of the organized change in
position quickly diminishes and silence, once again, invades the air. As a
response to their respectful nature, she returns a smile. Her beautiful, joyful
expression has become synonymous with her normal day-to-day look.
After allowing a moment to pass, in order to best time her delivery,
the distinguished woman reaches in for a substantial volume of oxygen.
Surprisingly, her happy outlook changes to a blanker, perhaps even
concerned, impression.
The hundreds of eyes that locally observe this
alteration seem to shift their mood in a similar manner.
“Good evening members of the house…senate…and the great people
who make up our fine nation,” her introduction carries less accent than her
appearance would suggest to a first-time listener, “We have made great
strides in many areas the past few years, but sometimes such advances must
come at a price. I wish I could say that there is a way to have our cake and
eat it too…but there comes a time when this just doesn’t compute.”
The cautionary words are an obvious preparation for bad news to
come. While most of the politicians that make up her company know the
basic concept that is heading their way, the millions of listeners are less
informed.
“Over the past several months,” she begins using her highly admired
use of simple sentences and common lingo, “The European Space Agency
has completely dissolved and even Russia has bowed out of their
involvement with some portions of the space program. As earlier decided,
we utilized back-ended funding to continue the International Space Station,
solely on our dollar. Unfortunately, this was only a temporary fix, and
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future increases in financial supply would be required to continue this
journey on our own.”
While the calmness and silent nature of the event was originally
evident, it is now so quiet that a sneeze conducted from the back row would
draw stares from those in the front. Every soul in the room is supplying her
with their complete and undivided attention.
“The space station served us well for over ten years, providing stacks
of information that was, without question, unobtainable any other way.
Together with over twenty nations, we witnessed the beginning of the SolarBio Mission, which remains a successful project to date. We also gained
great strides in human space travel research and learned a great deal from the
dozens of experiments that continually transpire.”
Another pause occurs, this one evidently being the one before the
actual introduction of the bad news. Although her face shows a serious
appearance, it also carries an unmistakably sincere look.
“But, now come the decisions.
How much sacrifice is space
exploration worthy of? Do we push the envelope when new really can’t
afford it? It is with great sadness that I must say…we cannot afford it.
There has to be sacrifice from the other end. At the present, there really is
only one place to look. The Solar-Bio Mission was expensive, but the
majority of the funding has been made. The only remaining cost of this
venture is continued monitoring and the staffing of a small unit. To cut this
program, we would have to voluntarily throw away information that we may
never get another opportunity to gain. The cut must be made somewhere
else…and that somewhere else is the space station. NASA will schedule an
atmosphere drop of the International Space Station for early this fall. The
multi-billion dollar structure will descend to earth and into the Pacific
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Ocean. Our hopes are that the savings created by this move will prevent
future cuts. I must warn everyone though, further restrictions, including
possible NASA reductions in force, may be imposed. It is with great regret
that we have to make this painful decision, for the future of our wonderful
planet truly relies on our ability to learn from our neighbors. But hopefully,
these sacrifices will enable us to retool the program in the near future.
Please join me in a moment of deep thought and, if you will, prayer. May
our undying wonderment and desire to discover the unknown never falter.
Together let’s find the means to resume our search for the great beyond. Let
this be a small bump in a road that eventually leads us to the worlds we
seek.”
The well-liked leader speaks with force and honesty. There are very
few listeners that do not find a lump in their throats as a direct result of her
words and tone. Some may think she is over-reacting, since the decision is
one of money and not worthy of such an emotional delivery (especially since
only a portion of the program is being cut). It may be true that her personal
touch and caring features are a result of “her being a female”, but could this
possibly be…the way it always should have been?
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Chapter
Forty-nine
December 31, 2012 – Solar-Bio1
(160,000 miles from Saturn / Traveling at 7,857 mph)
Knowing that the upcoming swingby will be a rather lengthy one,
Alex decides he should obtain a swallow of water now, before he is trapped
in the IDC. The boy, who is only a few days shy of twelve-years old,
reaches forward in the direction of the black faucet cover that’s positioned to
the left of his “dry food preparator”. His right hand carefully unscrews the
special plastic enclosure that houses the nozzle inside.
As the
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counterclockwise rotation continues, a hole widens in the center until it
achieves full open status, at which time the same rotational method causes
the nozzle to rise.
Upon satisfying the manual operation, Alex grips the end and pulls it
out, much like a vegetable sprayer. With the three-foot hose extended, he
inserts the silver piece into his mouth and then slowly throttles the valve
handle that sits next to the mechanism’s housing. A modest flow of clean
water begins to move from the storage tank to his awaiting body by way of a
small pump that maintains header pressure on the potable water system.
The brown-haired boy, who recently gave himself a head shave, is
cautious not to drink too much of the refreshing liquid. While the youth
certainly experiences the temptation to gorge, he fully understands the
downside to such an endeavor. Since he will be stuck for a notable stint, he
cannot afford to create the urge to urinate. Plus, inventory management is
second nature to him, and anything in excess runs the risk of future
shortcomings.
After quenching his mild thirst, MR1 secures the flow and promptly
guides the retractable system back to its stowed position. A faint click
emits, informing him that the base of the nozzle is properly inserted, and it is
now time to reverse the operation. Within seconds, the opening disappears,
and he is free to carry on with his desired agenda. The unique enclosure
serves to sanitize the nozzle once every two weeks automatically. It sends
its contents to the purification system where any contaminates can be
removed for reuse in the future. Since the Solar-Bio1 is germ-free, this
special process is all that is needed to maintain a healthy environment.
Alex stares at the kitchen counter for a moment, allowing his lessdirected thoughts to take over. He wonders what it would be like to let the
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hose flood unlimited water. Obviously, the weightless atmosphere does not
supply the clear liquid with the means to “fall” downward, but what if it did?
He could point the nozzle to the ceiling and then move under it, stretching
his arms out widely to accept its cleansing action.
The mental image swings his thoughts to the waterfall that he read
about recently. This earthly landscape feature was actually the culprit that
coaxed him into the whole “shower episode” in the first place.
The
daydreaming boy reflects on the beauty that the picture on the screen
portrayed, wondering whether such powerful currents of water will be
present on the home that eagerly awaits him. Will he have these wonders all
to himself? Is it possible that, when he reaches this unexplored land, the
resources will be plentiful…even unlimited? On the other hand, how can
there not be an overabundance of the body’s requirements? He will be
alone.
The thought of being by himself, without human companionship, does
not deliver any notable sadness or negative sensations, for he has never felt
the company of a real individual and assumes it has no uplifting qualities.
Instead, the blue-eyed boy continues to recall his recent studies on the phase
2 lesson plan concerning Earth Sciences.
He pictures the lakes and oceans and imagines the depth of these
impressions within the planet’s surface.
A person could submerge
themselves in one of these great bodies and clean their entire frames in a
way he can only envision. A strange question pops into his confused brain
in the form of temperature and the biological significance of this. What if
the water is too cold and lowers their blood to unacceptable levels? Surely,
this would prevent them from attempting it, based solely on its suicidal
outcome.
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A second possible dilemma, associated with swimming in the assorted
rivers and seas, enters his twisting process. What about the giant sharks and
eels? They possess sharp teeth and an electric charge that would easily be
detrimental in the event of an encounter. He wonders if these animals would
utilize their intimidating features to harm a human being. The ride along the
mental train continues as he, once again, applies the earthly attributes to
Umbriel. Alex ponders the possibility of other life forms, like the numerous
mammals, fish, and birds that his birthplace provides habitat for. What is in
store for him?
Speaking of which, why has there been nothing in his educational
program that covers these issues in regards to his destination. Since there
has been no actual landing, do they NOT know what living cells reside
there? If so, how can they promise such a paradise in reference to all the
essentials? There was considerable attention given to trajectories and all the
mission operations concerning Umbriel, but no mention of plants or animals.
Alex shakes off the unpredictable manner in favor of the more
distinguishable present.
A more worried state overtakes his previously
relaxed, but befuddled condition, when he attempts to determine how long
he has been in the abstract world. This is not the best point in his journey to
be wasting good viewing time. One of the most fascinating sights in perhaps
the entire universe is fast approaching and will soon be passed by.
He concludes that any more time spent seeking unobtainable answers
would be done in poor judgment. His legs combine efforts into a single
thrust that drives him toward the starboard window. Although he stared out
at the giant planet only one hour ago, he carries a fresh supply of
anticipation, as if he were about to cast his bright blue eyes on it for the very
first time.
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Soon, Alex is using his palms to stop his forward momentum. His
right hand grabs the corner of the nearby panel, and then the coordinated
youth flexes the muscles in his shoulders, in order to lower his frame to the
floor. He spots the telescope, which he left strapped to the angled section of
the Educational Center, but opts to look at Saturn with his naked eye first.
Alex initiates the blind-raising operation in conjunction with securing the
cabin illumination.
An immediate return is supplied for his efforts in the form of visual
entertainment. The glowing, yellowish sphere, named after the Roman God
of Agriculture, proudly fills his optical sensors. Several interesting features
capture his focus simultaneously. A large fuzzy substance, which MR1
understands to be a cloud that further signifies a storm, is easily viewable
near the equator. Another descriptive uniqueness is the flat-like appearance.
It is not a perfect round shape like the others that the boy has witnessed.
Basically, the massive object is larger from left to right than it is from top to
bottom.
The most prominent feature is the rings that he is nearing at a
substantial rate. Alex reaches for the telescope without sacrificing a single
moment of gazing. The optical advantage is pressed onto the thick glass,
and, in one fluent motion, his body dips so his sparkling eye can squint
through the magnifying aid. The constituents inside the largest ring are
instantly identifiable. The clear, reflective material is definitely that of ice
crystals. There is a notable distance in between them, which provides a sold
piece of evidence to his learnings in reference to their makeup.
MR1
continues to study the area, coming upon a darker and larger substance. He
correctly assumes this to be a rock, probably from a former moon of many
years ago.
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A sudden, but quickly fading thought invades his brain. What if his
craft were slightly off course and collided into these significant particles?
Of course, at such a speed, the results would be astronomical. Alex drops
the question as swiftly as it arrived, for his well-trained brain knows his
current coordinates, which are dead-on target.
While his knowledge of the space flight that deals with the Solar-Bio1
is superior, his education has left him void of some of the travel conducted
before him. Although he is aware of the majority of lunar endeavors and the
Voyager missions, headquarters purposely kept particular projects out of his
repertoire. The most specific of these would be the Cassini, because it
crashed into these “space mines” while attempting to pass through the same
point that this special craft is only an hour or so away from.
Alex backs his youthful face away from the eyepiece and
subsequently yanks the telescope sufficiently to overcome the adhesive
connection. He maintains hold of the magnifying glass with his right hand
while resting his left forearm against the side of the window. MR1 regains
sight of the intriguing circles, which are angled in reference to the bright
planet and the position of his space vehicle. It is this basic setup that
requires the penetration through the icy rings.
If these extraordinary
structures were on a flat plane with his travels, he could conduct the gravity
assist maneuver by passing above or below them without utilizing one of the
gaps.
Alex switches his focus to the faint bands on the somewhat spherical
ball of hydrogen-helium mix. The slowly changing shades seem to blend
together, which indirectly entices a gradual slip into another daydream of
sorts. His relaxed brain contemplates the fact that the computers will add a
digit to the year soon. He does not even recognize that this is New Year’s
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Eve or tab any value to the holiday. To him, each day is the same, unless
there is a significance in the area of his journey or something specific that
must be accomplished inside his tiny world. The intelligent boy does not
find much purpose in a calendar, for he measures days by miles and position.
Much like a clock, the ever-changing distance continues to elapse, although
the rate varies based on his relative velocity.
A blast charges out from the interior alarm system that instantly
startles the previously calm youth. In an almost simultaneous manner, the
window blind lowers into place, forcing MR1 to deal with the situation. The
surprised, young boy initially thought that the eruption was nothing more
than the signal to enter the IDC, but, after a few seconds, it becomes
apparent that something is wrong.
Instead of the usual, continuous blare, the intensely annoying alarm is
pulsing with three different tones. After gathering his bearings, he comes to
the conclusion that a malfunction has occurred. With the swingby fast
approaching, the young astronaut realizes that this could be a serious
predicament.
Alex finally notices that it is still dark in the room, so he snaps the
lights on and then uses both hands to cover his ears, ignoring the mechanical
well being of the telescope. With the expensive, optical tool floating on its
own, he pushes off toward the Main Control Panel, in order to determine the
severity of the crisis. The decibel level hurts his sensitive eardrums when he
must remove them from their muffling position to catch his momentum.
An increased amount of urgency drives into his senses upon obtaining
view of the “Deceleration Alarm”. He swiftly peers to his left at the “Life
Support” section of the panel where a more detailed explanation is hopefully
awaiting him.
His vision is supplied with a basic elaboration, labeled
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“Liquid Nitrogen Overtemperature”.
The years of tedious studies pay
dividends, as he is able to deduct that the anti-gravity device began its
preparation for the upcoming operation and somehow experienced a
problem. For some reason, the system that cools the liquid for the super
conductive disks failed!
The loud horn does not help the boy concentrate or collect his
thoughts. He pushes the alarm silence button but does not receive the results
he desires. Obviously, the super high priority situation must be cleared, in
order to terminate the noise.
Alex realizes he must go to the lower compartment and observe the
system locally, hopefully to find a simple solution. He wastes no more time,
pushing off on a downward angle, causing his growing frame to descend in
the direction of the ladder. In what seems like entirely too much time, he
finally grips the side of the ladder and races downward.
After reaching a foothold onto the lower level floor, one that provides
no actual weighted grip, he twists to his right and thrusts on an angle using
the bottom rung to act as a stable launch pad. His coordinated travel soon
finds him entering the gas storage compartment.
He continues his
movement toward the back of the space with a nervous stomach, wondering
what casualty is dead ahead.
Alex comes to an abrupt halt when he arrives at the nitrogen tanks.
After achieving a semi-standing position, he begins to check the lineup of
the assorted piping above the cylindrical containers. This particular system,
which cools the nitrogen to below –250 degrees Celsius to eliminate the
resistance inside the metallic portions of the Decelerator, has a primary and a
backup means of producing the ultra-chilling effect. In actuality, there is a
mechanical, compressor-driven system to provide cooling when not far
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enough away from the sun, and a reflective exterior cooling matrix for
Saturn and beyond.
MR1 looks at the three-way valve that diverts flow to whichever
method is selected by the main computer. He notes that it is allowing liquid
to flow to the compressor, which is opposite to the direction he expected.
The smart boy then verifies the return valves from both systems, learning
that the external cooler is lined up. He concludes that the “three-way” is not
switching, because he should be using the outside heat exchanger to obtain
the chilled medium.
Unfortunately for Alex, the Solar-Bio1 was not equipped with manual
valves for this particular system. As the horn blares and his craft moves ever
so close to an acceleration concern, he realizes he must somehow determine
a quick solution. A heavy dose of frustration kicks in as a result of the
aggravating sound and severity of the issue. He must find a way to cool the
nitrogen before the craft speeds toward the extremely powerful section of
Saturn’s gravitational field. Since the alarm came in when it was in the
startup mode, there are only a few precious minutes in which to complete
this task.
With his ears covered, he frantically looks over the pump and local
electrical junction box. He assumes the problem is not with the pump, for it
cannot receive a signal until the valves are correct. But, why wouldn’t the
computer revert to the other method upon recognizing it is not valved in
correctly?
Everything is so masterfully engineered…could this be the
exception?
Alex turns the wing nuts on the small metal box until the door can
swing open on its hinges. Before the hurried youth can inspect the wiring
inside for a loose connection, a peculiar feeling invades his abdominal
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section. Though he has never experienced the forces of acceleration, he
presumes that he is beginning the flyby. How much time does he have? The
effects are gradual, but continually increasing!
The terminal strips where the wires connect look to be in order inside
the silver box. There are six small relays that conduct the switching of the
system. It is these components that take the “command” to energize then
send a full voltage to the device that must operate. They are labeled, so
MR1 is instantly able to identify which belongs to the solenoid valve in
question. He notices that it is not sending a supply to the valve. The
revelation informs him that he is on the correct path to a solution, but why is
the relay not picking up? Is it void of a signal? A bad relay? He considers
retrieving a multimeter, in order to check power at different points, but he
fears that he does not have sufficient time to make the trip to the equipment
locker. Instead he decides to check the breaker, in the case that it may be
tripped.
During the short trip to the electrical distribution buss, he notices that
he is only moving a foot or so, before losing momentum and coming to a
stop.
His normally free movement is being hindered by an attraction
towards the back of the compartment. His leg muscles exert considerable
force, in comparison, to continue his forward travels. The added strain,
together with his worries of failure and the now painful noise, bring him to
the brink of an emotional catastrophe.
The idea of disappointing
headquarters flashes into his confused thoughts. The need to hold on, just to
keep from flying back, creeps in and begins to take center stage.
Alex swings open the cover for the 120-volt DC individual supply
breakers. His left hand immediately returns to cover his ears. Instead of
reading the breaker listing, he searches for anything in the tripped position.
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He relinquishes his muffling method in favor of holding the panel door, in
order to prevent falling backwards. A bit of nausea kicks in as he tries to
locate a clue.
Finally, he catches a possible break in the form of a contactor in the
mid-position. Alex knows better than to get too excited, for he has no idea if
this is the breaker for the solenoid in question. Without delay, he scrolls the
numerical listing till he comes to number twenty-eight. A powerful sense of
relief blankets his previous anxiety upon discovering it is, indeed, the right
breaker. He excitedly resets it and then clicks it into the closed position.
Almost as strong as the positive sensation of finding the faulty
component is the displeasure when the electrical mechanism immediately
trips again. Alex tries one more time only to be presented with the same
results. Is the solenoid damaged? Is there too much current flow because of
an open winding? How can he possibly repair it in time? He can’t!
He decides to remove the panel front and change out breakers, jumper
wires, or whatever it takes. His allotted time, before certain death, now can
be measured in a few short minutes! A small box in the lower left-hand
corner houses some basic tools, in this case, he only needs a screwdriver.
Alex grabs the hand tool, straddles his legs for support against the
acceleration, and begins unscrewing. Soon, he has the panel off and several
energized contacts exposed.
Alex lets go of the flat metal object and grips the breaker in question,
prying it out of its slot. With only a mild concern for electrical safety, he
removes the spare breaker out of its normal location and installs it into
position number twenty-eight. He holds his breath and attempts to close the
new breaker. It remains in the proper position! Seconds later, the repetitive
alarms transfers to a steady tone. The noise is too loud to detect whether the
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pump started, but the change in horn sequence informs him that there is no
longer a system malfunction. He did it!
Alex chooses not to check the Nitrogen Cooling System, for the effect
of the racing craft is becoming too much to take. He struggles to the ladder,
where his arms flex intensely to bring him up into the living spaces. He
looks to his left upon reaching the top to see if the red lights have given way
to the normal green glow he is accustomed to. The anxious male pushes off
toward the chamber with too much force, for he already has a tendency to
move in that direction. His hands are able to catch the top of the doorframe,
but he continues to move, only now in a flipped over, horizontal manner. A
notable discomfort is inflicted upon his wrist from the contact, but he
dismisses it as petty in comparison to the life-relying task of getting into a
secured position. As he travels with his back to the floor, he pleads with the
only God he knows, the Solar-Bio1 and the space around him, that his feet
can stop him without damaging the decelerator on the back wall. At no time
during this seemingly long, uncontrolled movement, does he consider his
safety over the machine that he could come in contact with.
Luckily, his bare feet land squarely on the IDC chair backrest, where
he finds himself in an awkward position. After a cumbersome twist, he is
able to return to the doorway and close it. This time with much less force,
he approaches the chair. As he straps himself in, the horn blast ceases. Alex
attempts to collect himself, noting that his ears are ringing terribly, and his
body still feels the unwelcome sensation of weight (though in a horizontal
manner). Will the chilling effect catch up in time to allow the decel to
energize?
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His question is quickly answered when the high-speed whir of the
disks behind him fills the room. Though the sound from his moderately
damaged eardrums is louder, he is capable of identifying his success.
As the counteraction brings some comfort to the youth, he wonders if
there was another way to combat the problem. Why didn’t he override the
controls, taking them to manual and ordering the compressor valve to open?
Did he take a more difficult route because of his confused demeanor?
In any event, he is on his way and, barring another casualty, heading
for a few years of “planet-less” travel.
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Chapter
Fifty
May 24, 2013 – Los Angeles, CA
“Ok. Mr. Thomas,” the female reporter begins.
“Leonard is fine,” interrupts the man she is preparing to interview.
“Ok. Leonard. My name is Elyse Decker. What we will be doing
here is recording this interview onto the computer, where we will be able to
either make edits or package it as a whole product. The Associated Press
will own rights to it, but you will have the liberty to veto any decision. That
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is the basic concept that you envisioned when you negotiated correct?” the
thirty-year-old female with long strawberry blonde hair verifies.
“Yes. I just want to protect myself. I have never been too fond of
these things. Been misquoted a few times. Kinda left a bad taste. If all goes
well, I see no problem in selling this to the major web providers,” his words
of concern are combined with a careful promise.
“Well, sir, you have seen the list of questions. I have no plans of
swaying from the agenda,” her green eyes seem to portray that of an honest
woman.
“We should have no problem then,” the JPL head submits, thinking to
himself that he still does not trust reporters, for they are always after a better
story; and, if she were able to cause him to slip on the highly confidential
nature of his work, this would bring her much more notoriety than the boring
information they will be covering.
A moment of silence provides the much older male a chance to bring
in the visual intricacies of the small room on the third floor that he occupies,
not to mention the lovely lady that sits closely in an identical, padded chair.
He looks over to her computer screen to see some sort of program that
consists of several gray boxes with different labels, which correspond to the
commands that they produce. It becomes evident after a couple seconds of
observation that the software is used to conduct audio recording. A large,
studio-style microphone stands on the desk near him that he likens to those
used back in the 50s. Leonard’s inspection continues as he looks at the glass
wall that provides a transparent port into the world outside, which, in this
case, is a substantial atrium filled with varying plants and an expensivelooking water fountain.
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Leonard returns his sights to the female across the horizontal surface,
noticing that she is waiting for him to complete his roving patrol. A mild
blush paints his face, contrasting greatly with her lighter complexion, which
also sports a notable patch of freckles. The Irish woman has, to no surprise,
selected a nice green dress that shows off her curves and lures his attention
in the wrong direction. His thoughts take a tangent when he ponders her
beauty in relation to her position. In the “old” days, both male and females
that made a living on televised forms of the news were seemingly selected
based on their physical attributes more than their actual skills. This woman
is probably stuck in an office for most of her day, making audio-only files to
sell to the highest bidder on the Internet. So, why is she…
Leonard realizes that he is taking his mental curiosity into a realm that
he strongly opposes in regards to judging a book by its cover. Some of his
friends would certainly carry such a conversation over a few beers, but he
has always prided himself on being above this illogical and unfair treatment.
After scolding himself for the ridiculous side road that he took for a brief
drive, he looks into her gaze and returns to the present.
“How do you like working for the Associated Press. I bet it you meet
some really interesting people,” he wonders.
“Yes, I do,” her voice is very feminine, just how one would expect her
to sound.
“How long have you been doing this?”
“Six years, but who is doing the interview here?”
“Oh sorry.”
Both members of the conversation release distinct laughs, before a
new pause finds its way to center stage.
“Are you ready?”
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“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Ok,” she warns as her finger triggers the mouse, in order to begin the
process.
“Good afternoon.
It is May 24th.
This is Elyse Decker for the
Associated Press. We have Mr. Leonard Thomas, Director of Operations for
the Solar-Bio Mission. He works for Jet Propulsions Laboratory, better
known as JPL…and today marks a significant day in this project. How are
you Mr. Thomas?”
“Leonard is fine Elyse and the actual big day is tomorrow,” he
corrects her somewhat hesitantly.
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Quite alright. In my line of work, one day is closer to one second.”
“So tell us, Leonard...tell us about tomorrow.”
“Well, shortly after 8 Am Pacific Standard, tomorrow, the Solar-Bio1
will pass the one billion mile mark. The project has been a huge success, so
we consider this a major milestone, if you will.”
“Nice touch. So, where is the craft presently?”
“It recently completed its maneuver around Saturn.”
“I see so, does this mean the trip is almost over.”
“Not at all. In fact, the next planet will take nearly another billion
miles to reach.”
“Uranus?”
“That’s right.”
“ I see. So, it will be another eight years before we reach Uranus?”
“Actually, the craft is moving at a much faster pace from the speed it
gained from the larger planets of Jupiter and Saturn, so it will only take
about six years for the next billion.”
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“Interesting. So, the Solar-Bio1 is not a rocket?”
“Not really, it uses the gravity of the planets in the solar system to
speed up. You could say it gets great mileage.”
“I have a question about the numbers. The miles that you say the
Solar-Bio1 has traveled add up to more than the distance from each planet to
the next,” her intelligence begins to shine through.
“Well, those would be best case numbers Elyse...if each planet were
in a perfect line from the next when our spacecraft arrived. Such a lineup
basically never exists. Besides, the gravity assist requires the craft to exit on
a different angle. So, when all is said and done, the Solar-Bio1 must travel
further. In actuality though, this was one of the best lineups in many years.
Sometimes, we must travel nearly twice the straight line distance.”
“I should have thought of that. I guess I am no rocket scientist,” her
humor pops out, “So what’s next? After Uranus.”
“We will visit Pluto for the first time.”
“Fascinating. Tell me about the backups.”
“We have joined the Russians in sending up a second Solar-Bio. It is
nearly identical and also presently successful. It was launched four years
after the first.”
“Are there photos of the planets that the public can see?”
“Yes. JPL.com under the Solar-Bio Mission.”
“So, let’s talk money here. NASA received some pretty hefty cuts,
and the space station is no longer with us. Has JPL felt the heat?”
“Not in regards to my mission. It would not be my question to answer
in reference to JPL as a whole.”
“So, your particular mission has been left intact?”
“Yes.”
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“How much are we talking…like on a per year budget?”
“I am not at liberty to answer that. Sorry,” he looks at her with a
mildly scornful spice in his eyes.
“Ok. Well, what about the headquarters? Hundreds of stories have
been made about it. Is it like a second Area51?”
An obvious and uncomfortable delay transpires followed by a second
look of warning. She reads his nonverbal words loud and clear and decides
to get back to the written plan.
“I’m sorry. This occasion is not about secret basements and how
much money. It’s about conquering the great beyond. Let’s get back to the
mission in general. What have we learned so far?”
“Well Elyse, too many things to count. The exterior systems have
relayed information about our solar system that were technically impossible
during the Voyager days. We have also learned much in the survival of
humans in space.”
“How have we done that?”
“Well, the craft is equipped with radiation monitoring, special
machines that make water and oxygen. All kinds of things. We have been
running them and collecting data the entire trip.”
“Amazing. Are you saying that we can connect this with sending a
human to…like Mars?”
“At least.”
“At least?”
“Yes. According to the numbers, if we can figure a way to get passed
the bone density problems, a real traveler would still be alive,” Leonard fibs,
in the sense that he knows that bone density has been accounted for in this
particular case.
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“How do you know this?”
“Based on radiation received, water, food, heat, oxygen. An astronaut
would still be alive.”
“That is remarkable. I now see how significant the billion mile mark
is…in fact…I now see how significant each mile is.”
“I agree.”
“So, you mentioned the Voyager, but…what about the Cassini?”
“What about it?”
“It crashed.”
“Yes it did. Into one of Saturn’s rings to be exact. The Solar-Bio1
has successfully passed through the proper point and is fine.”
“But what about the tons of nuclear fuel. Is the radiation still out
there?”
“The outside detectors picked up nothing more than normal levels,
considering the proximity in space.”
“But…what is JPL doing to eliminate the possibility of…”
“Miss…or is it Mrs.?”
“Mrs.”
“Mrs. Decker?”
“Yes?”
“You know that this is not my department. I know the controversy
surrounding this issue, and while there is certainly something to be
concerned about, it is not my area. I will say this though; knowledge comes
with risk. Things are not free in this universe. Many men and woman risked
their lives up on the space station to prepare these missions. They deserve
our utmost respect and admiration. The Cassini incident was tragic for
several reasons…not just the nuclear fuel that is floating out there.”
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The attractive female realizes that he is not going to budge on issues
that do not pertain to him or, at least, do not follow the interview’s
prewritten agenda. She decides that it may be best if she cuts it off here,
before he gets too upset and disallows the entire recorded discussion.
“Well, we have run out of time. I’d like to thank my guest, Mr.
Leonard Thomas of JPL. May the next billion be as profitable as the first.”
“Thank you Elyse.”
The crafty female clicks off the process that delivers the sound waves
into the hardware card for conversion into digital form. She looks up at the
older man and supplies a smile that implies she has no idea that the road
became rather bumpy near the end.
“Sorry Leonard. I will delete all sidetracks. You will be happy with
the final cut, I promise.”
“I heard that before,” his voice is half serious.
“Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“I guess not.”
“Can I ask one more question that is not on the list?”
“You probably shouldn’t.”
“Oh come on. The recorder is off.”
“Alright.”
“My co-worker…umm…Theresa…she wants to know if you’re
married.”
The offbeat inquiry seems to bring with it a more relaxed atmosphere.
Both participants chuckle for a good ten seconds before the green-eyed lady
breaks the laughter.
“No. I’m serious. She does.”
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Chapter
Fifty-one
May 25, 2013 – Solar-Bio1
(999,997,835 miles beyond launch / Traveling at 31,683 mph)
Alex stares intently at the digital odometer as it closes in on a major
rollover. Since the numerical readout is of the LED type, it does not provide
the effect that a mechanical dial like that found in an automobile does, but he
has never seen such an animal and has no object of compare. Still, the
concept is the same, and he considers this as a triumph worth witnessing.
Unlike the report from the JPL leader that will reach the millions of ears that
desire to hear it, Alex knows that this also marks the passing of the halfway
point. Just prior to the two billion mile point, he will be, with any luck,
ending this phase of his life and beginning a new segment.
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The mile indicator, which adds another digit eight times every second
at the present rate, seems to glow brighter with each accumulated mile. The
youngster’s excitement mounts at the same pace, for this is one of the few
concrete attributes within his world that he can grasp and base thought upon.
He has always replaced the essence of time with the much more
comprehendible distance as it elapses through space.
Alex wonders what it will feel like when all the zeros appear on the
readout, which stands boldly on the vertical section of the Main Control
Panel. After thinking about the upcoming episode, he freezes onto the fact
that it will only be “all zeros” for a split second (.14 seconds to be exact).
How can he reflect on “what the moment means to him”, when the moment
is over before he even realizes it? The somewhat confused boy, who has
stumbled onto a peculiarity that most would not comprehend until after
experiencing it, senses a shade of disappointment. The second half of the
trip and the first half are only separated by a period that has NO time
element. Could this be the reason that he cannot put a handle on this humancreated feature?
MR1 watches the speeding figures as they quickly approach the
milestone that he awaits. With only ten miles to go, he clenches his fists
substantially in an attempt to expel some energy. His bright blue eyes focus
sharply on the odometer, while his lids flex to provide full lift. A deep
breath fills his healthy lungs as the event unfolds just as he expected it. The
numbers continue their pace unscathed, for the electronic system recognizes
nothing that would alter its signal to the visual indication.
Alex looks away and toward the window, wondering if he should look
at the stars, for maybe this will solidify the moment. The data did nothing to
label the occasion other than implement the beginning of part two of his
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journey to Umbriel. As he swiftly makes his way to the viewing port, he
realizes that his heart is pounding with notable force. Since this specific
bodily action is involuntary, does this not mean that there was a significance
to this incident? Could this be that undetectable moment between the first
and second half? If he looks at it on a basis of “time”, this would mean that
his inner self picked up on an event that was void of it.
Conversely,
comparing the same situation but substituting miles for time, his body
sensed the brief period when the digits were zeroed. Does this not provide
evidence that distance is REAL, and time is...NOT?
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Chapter
Fifty-two
June 6, 2013 – Fort Irwin, CA
Patricia looks over toward the descending hoist curious to see whom
the underground headquarters’ newest arrival happens to be. Her barely
detectable level of concern diminishes into nonexistent upon recognizing the
male figure dressed in blue slacks and a white shirt. While the unique
method of entrance that, in this case, Leonard Thomas uses would seem
rather dramatic to the unsuspecting eye, it has become commonplace for the
small staff that operates the JPL station.
As the bluish-gray-eyed leader comes to a cushioned halt, he pans the
general area, noting that his female assistant is reading the printouts, and
Nile Johnson and Dan Cleveland are talking in the east isle between the two
rows of electronics. The setup is quite normal, as Miss Bonham usually gets
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in ahead of him and the two men are conducting a turnover so that Dan can
go home. Ever since the launch eight years ago, they have maintained a full
time, around-the-clock guard of the equipment and transmissions. The two
scientists that continually share duties work seven days in a row, before
getting a full week off. During the week on shift, they sleep in the berthing
quarters, staying close enough to hear an audible alarm or abnormal noise.
Being Wednesday morning, it is time for Nile to assume the responsibilities
from Dan.
The brown-haired boss chooses to take the walkway to his left,
allowing the two men to complete their discussion about the happenings of
the previous week. Both gentlemen supply a pleasantry and then resume
their detailed conversation. After returning a smile at the nearly identically
clothed gents, Leonard stops in front of the blonde female dressed in a light
green shirt and stylish jeans.
“Good morning,” she begins the day’s interaction.
“Hey Trish. How was your evening?” he inquires in a tone that
denotes a hint of fishing-for-specifics.
An immediate response is not provided, but an obvious redness due to
embarrassment serves to apply her reaction. The question refers to her date
with a man she has admired for quite some time. After a month of waiting
for the man to make a move, the generally timid (in the presence of
strangers, that is) female with chocolate brown eyes asked him out for
dinner.
“Got an extra doughnut for you this morning,” she changes the
subject.
“How is that?” he follows the diversion tactic.
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“I’m giving them up. Time to get back into shape,” states the woman
in a cheerful, almost triumphant tone.
“Ahh, I see. And why is that?” he digs.
“No reason.”
“Yeah right. Are you going to tell me or not?”
“Ok ok. It was…nice.”
“Nice?”
“Yeah…nice.”
“Well, I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you,” the happy female returns, “You seem to be in a jubilant
mood yourself.”
“Oh, not really,” denies Mr. Thomas.
“No? Well, I guess I have enough cheer for the both of us.”
“I bet you do, and you deserve it. You are a devoted worker and a
wonderful person.”
“Ok Leonard…what do you want?”
“Ha, ha. Nothing. Really. The mission would have ended a couple
months ago if it weren’t for you. MR1’s devotion is a direct result of your
efforts. Without you, he doesn’t fix the decel!”
A second episode of blushing covers her smiling face. She moves the
strands of blonde hair that have fallen in front of her sights and then prepares
her next statement.
“I think there was a few others involved in the lesson plan that
deserve most of the credit.”
“Those are the same dingbats that failed to engineer a feedback to
the computer for the system.”
“Dingbats?”
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“Sorry. I’m just kidding about that, but it is the discipline that carried
him through. That is you. All you.”
“Well, thank you. What do you make of FR1?”
“I’m not sure what to do about it. Either she is doing her work in
bunches or her computer is messed up. The Russians are asking the right
questions. She’s just not responding. I fear she will not make it.”
“Same here,” Patricia begins, “So, what about the annual meetings?
Are we still having them?”
“Not sure. We’re running out of people. Or…maybe…we just have
too many chairs.”
“Funny.”
“Looks like one of our NASA members is moving too.”
“What? Who?”
“Rebecca.”
“What! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just found out myself.”
“Was it part of the cutbacks? Did they fire her?”
“No. She didn’t quit or get fired. She’s transferring.”
“Really? Where?”
“Here.”
“Here? Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“Wow. So she is going to work with us?”
“That’s not decided yet. She will be reporting to Pasadena. It’s up to
me, I guess.”
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“Oh. Do you think we need another hand?” Miss Bonham words are
mixed with excitement and concern, for she welcomes her friend but does
not look forward to any competition on the job site.
“I’m not sure. It would provide some flexibility here. A vacation
sometime before I die would be nice. I think the higher ups want the added
insurance.”
“What do you mean?”
“In case something happens to me.”
The comment does not sit well, for she wonders where she fits into the
equation. Why would they need the former NASA employee as a backup?
She has been Mr. Thomas’ right-hand woman for eight years and, just
because she doesn’t hold a fancy degree, she holds second fiddle to this
intruder? Didn’t he so recently tell her how vital she is to the project? What
is that worth?
The suddenly insulted woman decides that she cannot afford to exhibit
these feelings, as they would surely cause more harm than good.
“I see. Well, what about her husband? Is he moving with her?”
“Actually, the word I got is no. At least for now. Guess he cannot
find a suitable job.”
“But, they’re newlyweds. Why would she volunteer for this duty? I
don’t get it.”
“I’m not sure how it all went down to tell you the truth. I’ll find out
more as things close in.”
“When is she coming?”
“Next month.”
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“I see. What about clearance?” the female attempts to provide an
obstacle that would prevent the newcomer’s involvement with the top-secret
society she belongs to.
“That remains to be discussed as well.”
“What do you think of all of this, sir?” she adds a touch of respect,
although he prefers not to work under such formal conditions.
“She’s brilliant. That’s for sure. She also carries some good strings
with NASA,” adds the JPL head, hiding his true intrigue for the beautiful
woman joining the group.
As the conversation fades, the two participants reflect on it in
contrasting manners. The female ponders why she is so jealous of this
woman that she has slowly become closer to. Not long ago, she celebrated
Rebecca’s marriage, and now she hopes that her friend stays away. The
confused woman does not even entertain the thought of the other workers.
How will they view it? Will they take offense to being jumped in ranks?
Meanwhile, Leonard contemplates the decision he has been forced
into making. Though it should be concluded based on merit and mission
asset, he will, most likely, determine her fate based on personal opinion and
perhaps future interaction.
Finally, the turnover is complete, and the four employees engage into
a conversation that differs from the recent subject. As the specifics of the
Solar-Bio Mission dominate the forefront, Leonard allows his thoughts to
slip back to the married woman. Will her husband stay back? Would this be
a good thing?
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Chapter
Fifty-three
June 11, 2013 – Solar-Bio2
(9,360,000 miles from Jupiter / Traveling at 6,759 mph)
The twelve and one-half-year-old girl studies her face which has
gradually matured, in the large mirror by the exercise station.
Her
strawberry hair has slowly given way to a stronger blend of brown. Still, the
long wavy strands maintain a reddish tint that would distinguish her from
others if she were not alone. Perhaps, her most altered feature is her eyes,
which have gained a notable amount of green, making them hazel; instead of
the solid brown that she sported for her first several years.
The changes do not impart concern, for she understands these things
are results of her genes and are normal responses in the aging process. In
fact, the unique female, who will become a teen-ager shortly, has recently
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experienced her first menstrual cycle.
She fully comprehends the
significance of this on a biological platform, plus finds it to be a
considerable accomplishment within her personal, mental diary.
Sonya
views the added duties in the area of hygiene and disposal as somewhat
tedious but knows this will be a required undertaking for most of her life. It
is this seemingly-small-to-some triumph that she transmitted to headquarters
and now awaits their excited words that shall share in her happiness.
FR1 bites into a large mushroom, which she tolerates but certainly
does not enjoy, and then peers over to the front of her craft for a general
view. To her left, she sees the movie, which she has freeze-framed in favor
of other activities. She was watching the classic “Wizard of Oz” but became
bored with it, as she has seen it several times already. It is this movie that
informed her that people value beauty in a quality that betters some over
others, something that was basically unavoidable, given the types of audio
and video that was provided. She also became confused in trying to separate
the real characters from those that are imaginary…not of Earth.
The space traveler hungers for the treasures of Phase 2 completion,
but she has been careful not to speed through it too quickly. To reduce the
chances of getting “caught in the act”, Sonya has been reading half of the
daily helping but then falsely inputting the second portion.
Due to
headquarters’ accusations, she concluded that she must paint a more
believable trend in regards to her educational progress. Although the hazeleyed girl mounted a serious attempt to perform the schooling legitimately,
she finally found it as being too cumbersome and not to her liking. She did,
however, backtrack the entire skipped portion of the lesson plan for Phase 1,
finding some of the answers she had sought. Whether her negligence is
more due to the lack of satisfying solutions or a result of her preference to
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learn on her own is difficult to determine, for both explanations support this
basic outcome.
The gazing gal, who is currently only wearing a pair of underwear and
a red tank top, continues her visual inspection of the forward space, moving
slightly away from the mirror to get a broader view. Her sights capture the
panel below the Education Console that has been removed. FR1’s level of
curiosity has always been strong, and today is no exception. Her plan of
attack is to trace the different software packages to their physical locations.
The intelligent female wants to know exactly where each piece of
magnetized data resides in the real world. Sonya believes the acceptance of
computers as being magical devices is completely preposterous. She feels
the only way to truly control them is to understand their domain down to
every last nut, bolt, disk, and digital registry.
The Solar-Bio2 occupant breaks contact with the lower section and
pans up and to the right, where she notes all systems as being “greenlighted”. Her craft has operated marvelously throughout the journey, and
there is no reason to believe that the excellence will not continue. Her
knowledge is superior to her male counterpart for the same point in his trip,
due to her advantage in age at launch and, thereby, her preparation time.
Conversely, her future is less certain, for her chosen method of learning is
unproven and more difficult.
Sonya reluctantly takes another chunk of fungus into her mouth,
knowing that she is fully responsible for her now-limiting diet. The lessdisciplined traveler survived solely on the dry foods for too long, and now
that these boxes of assorted flavors have diminished to a small inventory,
she has little choice but to save them in case the mushroom growing
machine malfunctions. While she has been tempted, Sonya knows not to
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touch the wet food supply, for these portions are far too value in the event of
a radiation closeout. She looks forward to next month when she can change
the species, which cultivates within the biodome. Unknown to her at this
point, the hydroponics garden will unlock when the Phase 2 reward system
downloads.
The girl with auburn hair chomps on the final piece of the grayish
substance. Her thoughts link back to the time she accidentally bit down on a
spoon and released a baby tooth. She swallowed the small object before she
realized what had happened. After this incident, she no longer allowed them
to get so loose, utilizing the onboard instrument, which is stored in the
medical locker.
Sonya’s short trip down memory lane is cut even shorter when she
notices something in the corner of her eye. The peculiarity in question is the
blinking indicator that denotes the reception of a transmission. Her entire
focus instantly combines into one thought that desires to perceive the words
on the screen.
“There it is!” she states in an excited tone.
FR1 talks to herself frequently, using either language in no particular
order without a basis for which one she chooses on any given occasion. Her
educational lesson plan is written in English, while the transmissions are in
Russian. Actually, all controls, labels, and even her entertainment are in the
lingo of her American homeland, but, since she views the transmission as
her true link to reality, Russian has become as popular to her as the more
often seen language.
She grips the top knob of the closest floor pole with her left hand and
begins the form of travel she fancies. Her biceps and shoulder muscles flex
to cause a pull in the upward direction against the posts to supply an
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“implied weight” to her body. Soon, the unique style brings her to the
monitor that she is so intensely interested in. Within seconds, her frame is
securely fastened to the sliding chair, and her right hand is guiding the
trackball.
Upon aiming the cursor directly over the date/time stamped
heading, she initiates the order that translates machine language into her
second native tongue.
Her eyes open wide as she reads the short paragraph before her. Upon
completing the first sentence, her upbeat appearance already starts to falter.
Before she is even done, her face exhibits a look of disappointment and
frustration. The transmission clearly takes an avenue she was not expecting
and did not wish to discuss.
Instead of the congratulatory phrase she
anticipated, the VKS goes on to explain that her menstrual period is normal
and nothing to worry about. It continues on to instruct her of the section she
should “re-read”, concerning the basic care and cleansing that is required
with her new found maturity.
Sonya wonders why they did not consider this an occasion worthy of
celebration, for this marks the day she became a woman! The obviously
upset girl does not ponder the possibility that she failed to portray her case
well. Her self-trained mind passes on any thought that would place blame
on her end. This is clearly a situation where she is not getting her due when
it is undoubtedly deserved.
She twists her chair around and catches a glimpse of the area that is
now a little to her right. The removed panel grabs her attention. A powerful
temptation to complete the data input and illegally download the locked
storage overcomes her previously reserved plan. She could, in a matter of a
couple weeks, have the entire software world of the Solar-Bio2 within her
grasp. Anything she desires within the databanks would be retrievable at the
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stroke of an index finger! But, would this be going a bit overboard? What
types of methods do they have to fight back? If she were to do this, could
they send a signal to shutdown the entire system? Sonya’s present process
reverts to her facial features. Could there be information and pictures of her
parents hidden somewhere deep in the sectors and protected files?
Her spinning brain concludes that a little more research is required
prior to conducting such a drastic move. With Jupiter only two months
away, she can use this as a goal in reference to a timeline. It will also
provide her with sufficient time in which to, perhaps, change her mind.
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Chapter
Fifty-four
September 8, 2013 – St. Cloud, FL
The newborn child lies upon his back wearing only a disposable
diaper on the soft mattress inside the wooden crib. His blue eyes shine
despite the absence of an overhead light within the small nursery. His
chubby face displays a wide yawn and then follows it with, what appears to
be, a faint smile. The tiny baby has only a few strands of light brown hair on
his notably cone-shaped head.
Only three short feet above the brand new miracle of life stands the
two proud parents with adoring expressions. Although she is an adoptive
parent, the female’s bright blue eyes match the child’s perfectly. Her frizzy,
brown hair hangs over her sights and requires an occasional brush of the
hand to place it out of the way. She looks at her husband of only five
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months and smiles, thinking how ironic it is that she actually received a
child through the process. Her pain and deep scars have healed through time
and, at only twenty-seven, her whole future brightly glows over her entire
horizon in the form of a six-foot-five-inch man and an eight-pound-sixounce baby!
As Alexia looks up at the black-haired male, who shared his last name
of Dixon with her, glancing in the direction of a miniature shirt over on an
end table to her right. Without words, her partner directs his sights to the
article then back. The non-audible conversation resumes when she nods in
approval to his gesture. The thirty-three-year-old gentleman calmly walks
over to the horizontal surface and retrieves the light blue tee shirt.
During the short period it takes for her significant other to return, the
content woman gazes back at her bundle of joy. Her right hand enters the
bedding area and commences tickling the baby on the side of his ribs. As
the child wiggles in response, his chunkiness shows in the form of wrinkles
within his abdominal section.
The tall male figure arrives with the cotton fabric, handing it to his
loving wife. She accepts the offering and then stretches the shirt open with
both hands in preparation for installation. Once again, without any vocal
interaction, the two adults understand each other, as the man carefully lifts
the infant’s torso, allowing his female companion to guide the article over
his tiny frame. While the shirt appears to be nothing more than standard
clothe, inside the chest area, there is a round monitor stitched into the fabric.
A special electronic device receives information from this sensor and then
relays any “out of limits” parameters to a portable repeater, which the
Dixons keep with them at all times. The fancy system, which has become
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rather common and affordable, detects heart rate, breathing rate, and body
temperature.
Miss Alexia Dixon and her husband, Jim stare at the tiny gift that they
now carry the ultimate responsibility for. As the young woman breathes in
and contemplates her circumstance, she thanks the Lord for, what she
considers, a second chance.
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Chapter
Fifty-five
February 3, 2014 – Solar-Bio1
(296,767,917 miles beyond Saturn / Traveling at 24,457 mph)
Alex steers the cursor in the direction that his brain pulses inform his
finger to go.
As the intelligent teen navigates through the electronic
documentation on the communications system, he wonders if he should try
the paper-type manuals that are stored in the last locker (heading aft) in the
port hallway. The boy, who has spent his entire life learning how to survive
the mission and operate the Solar-Bio1, has only read the hard copy books a
few times. He has been so dedicated to the normal lesson plan that he has
chosen to put them on the backburner. Besides, these assorted manuals are
not organized in the same self-guided manner that he has grown accustomed
to and now has somewhat come to expect.
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MR1’s technical search has been necessitated because of an apparent
malfunction with the transmissions between his computer and the receiving
center on Earth.
There are several possible culprits relating to the
breakdown, including his controls, the Solar-Bio1 antennae, the intercepting
satellite, and one of many pieces of gear within the California desert.
Obviously, at this point, Alex can only attend to problems isolated to his
own vessel. After the third failure, the system automatically reloaded the
program, but no improvements have been noticed thus far.
The male with long, brown hair, who now has experienced four failed
attempts to contact headquarters and is waiting for a return on his fifth,
ponders the thought of losing his interactions with the humans back on his
home planet. Although he has never really dwelled upon it, the fact that
someone, somewhere was thinking of him seemed to always keep him
company. While the thought of never reaching them again doesn’t frighten
him, it does cause him to reflect on who else is out there.
His unknowing mind does not fabricate creatures or beings from far
away places but, instead, ponders on the controller of everything in the
universe. He has not been introduced to the concept of God, but, for the first
time, he considers the possibility that space and creation are not a
coincidence or something that just happened.
As far as the basic philosophy of “The Great Creator”, Alex always
regarded “science” as being responsible, not one single entity or even some
group of beings.
Everything has a reason, a formula that explains its
existence and “what makes it tick”. But, as his lengthy journey through
space has transpired, he has come up with bewildering questions and
unsolved dilemmas, ones that do not seem to rely on scientific reasoning nor
utilize basic logic to explain.
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There must be more to this. Could it be as simple as the fact that the
human brain refuses to conceive these answers? Perhaps, earthlings are far
too feeble to accept such intellectual depth. If this is true, something or
someone must have kept these things “unanswerable” for a reason! Should
they even be questioned? Explored? Is this entire mission wrong?
His inquisitive mind continues to challenge its own capabilities by
separating himself from the rest of those on his original planet. Perhaps, he
was “engineered” NOT to understand these uncertainties. Does everyone on
Earth know what’s beyond their own atmosphere and how it all started? Is it
this comprehension that explains why he is on this trip…because they would
know better and refuse? Could the Solar-Bio1 Mission be an act against
humanity and the entity that controls it?
Alex realizes that his present mental direction brings up some quality
questions, but he is no closer to a solution that he was when they were first
generated. If these suspicions are true (and he doubts they are), there is no
manner in which to dislodge a confession from headquarters, even if he does
regain contact with them.
For a moment, Alex considers watching a movie while he waits to see
if the most recent transmission returns successfully. The video files, which
consist entirely of narrated documentaries, were part of his reward for Phase
2 completion. There are no human figures included, and the voice has been
transferred to a computer-simulated one.
The idea was to provide the
devoted astronaut with visual entertainment without witnessing human
interaction and emotional behavior. Headquarters felt such attributes would
ultimately lead to loneliness, depression, and perhaps even insanity. They
knew that he would develop some characteristics of humans on Earth but
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still have tried to limit any extra, negative motivation. All in all, Alex still
prefers his music to the assorted video presentations.
MR1 momentarily mulls over the thought of working on Phase 3 to
pass the time, but he quickly deducts that his mind is not clear enough to
properly apply himself. As soon as he completes this particular phase, he
will be done with all of the required lessons within the knowledge database.
While he possesses a powerful drive to succeed in this endeavor, the notion
of “being on his own” actually worries him a bit.
The trim boy’s dilemma, in respect to wasting time, is no longer an
issue, as the left monitor within Transmission Central displays a new
window of information. Alex swiftly removes the strapping around his
waist and makes his way towards the intended target. His hopes are not
overly inflated, for he already can see the basic scheme from afar, noting
that it does not signify a successful reception.
Instead of going through the process of securing himself into the
chair, MR1 opts to remain in a semi-suspended standing position. His
gleaming blue eyes stare at the screen with concerted concentration. He
carefully reads the message, which apparently originated from his own
software.
TRANSMISSION FAILURE !! TIMED OUT WITHOUT RESPONSE !!
The basic message does not indicate whether the problem exists on his
end or somewhere else. In fact, it is the same window as the prior four,
except this one provides the command “CONTINUE” instead of “TRY
AGAIN”. The disappointed space traveler cooperates by selecting the only
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choice he has been presented with.
Almost instantaneously, a new
rectangular box appears.
FIVE CONSECUTIVE TRANSMISSION FAILURES !!
SELECT “ALTERNATE” TO DOWNLOAD ALTERNATE
TRANSMISSION SOFTWARE. SELECT “REPAIR” TO GO TO
TRANSMITTER REPAIR DOCUMENTATION.
Alex is slightly surprised that he has been afforded a choice. His
immediate thought is to take the route of fixing the physical side of things,
since he was already looking into this plan of attack; however, he is quite
intrigued by this “alternate” package. What could be done differently within
the computer? As long as the signal gets out of the transmission console,
what would it matter? Is this just a quick check to determine if the problem
is with the software?
His mounting interest finally gets the best of him when he clicks on
the less-explanatory path. A new window greets the anxious teen.
THE ALTERNATE METHOD OF TRANSMISSIONS UTILIZES A
SECONDARY PROGRAM, WHICH WILL SEND THE SIGNAL TO A
DIFFERENT SATELLITE AND BE ROUTED THROUGH DIFFERENT
COMPONENTS WITHIN HEADQUARTERS. IF THIS METHOD DOES
NOT DELIVER SUCCESSFUL RESULTS, RETURN TO TRANSMITTER
REPAIR AND USE THE NORMAL TRANSMISSION METHOD.
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Alex’ mental wonderment is somewhat satisfied in the fact that he
understands the course of action.
He is still rather unclear on how a
completely different avenue can be initiated just by changing the scheme
within the memory chips. Curious to resume the unknown procedure, he
clicks on the word “CONTINUE”. This time a long-winded warning pops
up.
YAHOO.COM WILL BE DOWNLOADED. THIS PACKAGE WILL BE
SENT FROM AN EARTH-ORBITING SATELLITE. IT WILL TAKE
THE SAME LENGTH OF TIME AS A NORMAL TRANSMISSION
CYCLE TO LOAD.
DO NOT USE THIS PROGRAM FOR ANYTHING BUT TRANSMITTING
TO HEADQUARTERS !! SOME SIGNALS FROM THIS PROGRAM
COULD CAUSE DAMAGE TO THE SOLAR-BIO1 ELECTRONICS !!
Alex reads the words slowly, confused about how radio signals could
cause harm to his craft. Perhaps, they would interfere with one of his
systems, causing it to conduct an improper function. Actually, his first chain
of thought was more on target, for the “threat” is completely without merit.
The true reason that JPL does not want him to be introduced with the
unlimited available information of the web is quite obvious.
It was basically impossible to administer some sort of filter or block to
keep him from entering sites on the Internet, since everything is transmitted
“from” the satellite.
In actuality, they could have prepared a skeleton
package and continually updated it at their command center and then sent
this to the Solar-Bio1, but it would only work if his system could receive it.
Besides, they mistakenly assumed that the regular system would not fail.
JPL was not even going to include this alternative, but they knew
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communications with the boy were absolutely mandatory, and any other risk
had to be deemed acceptable.
While the whole idea behind the warning of snooping around the
Internet is fuzzy, Alex fully comprehends the aspects of changing the means
of routing the signal, in order to find the fault. The series of windows does
not stop, as another follows instantly after the intelligent male instructs the
sequence to resume. This time; however, the monitor to his right powers up
out of its standby mode, slowly increasing in brightness. The left CRT,
which Alex has been working with, possesses a new message.
SELECTING “LOAD” WILL BEGIN THE PROCESS. A REQUEST
WILL BE SENT TO YAHOO.COM. WHEN THE TRANSMISSION
RETURNS, FOLLOW THE INSTRUCTIONS ON THE BACKUP
MONITOR.
The lone occupant of the Solar-Bio1 diverts his sights to the other
screen, which is now fully illuminated. The step-by-step directions inform
him of how to locate the “Email” symbol and what to do next. Since the
instructions were installed several years ago, and the programmer had no
idea what changes the future would hold for the web, they are very general
and rely on his ability to reason through them.
The somewhat overwhelmed youth skims the rest, since he knows the
entire page will remain throughout the process. It goes on to provide him
with a “User Name” and a “Password” for the account that they set up nearly
ten years ago in hopes that Yahoo would not fold or cancel their account.
Alex recognizes the fact that it will take about twenty-eight hours
before the information-filled signal returns; but, despite this fact, he breathes
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in deeply before selecting “LOAD”. Shortly after clicking the button, he
wonders if the transmitter repair procedure would have been quicker. On the
other hand, he now has plenty of time to work on his Phase 3 Lesson
Plan…if he can concentrate, that is.
Chapter
Fifty-six
April 3, 2014 – Fort Irwin, CA
Patricia lifts a cup of coffee to her lips and breathes in a few drops of
the just-shy-of scorching liquid. A half-expected burning sensation prompts
her to pull the mug away, set it on the countertop, and allow the ambient air
to adequately cool it. As if the contact of the ceramic container onto the
wooden surface triggered it, the underground chamber’s entrance hoist
begins lowering. The blonde woman, who has lost twenty-seven pounds and
sports an engagement ring, nonchalantly casts an eye to the descending
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platform. Her attention to the matter intensifies when she notices a second
human figure accompanying her boss.
Miss Bonham gazes at the female frame clothed in a soft yellow, long
sleeve jacket over top a matching dress that stops a few inches above her
knees. A slit runs up the left side, showing off just a hint of her trim thighs.
Rebecca’s long, black hair conforms to her lovely face and then falls evenly
over both sides of her shoulders, halting shy of her never-ending curves.
Although she has tallied her fiftieth year of life, she still receives an
occasional mistaking for Tyra Banks, a model for “Victoria Secrets” of
considerably less years.
As the two lower into the secret space, the female who, up to this day,
was the only woman with the high level clearance, tries to get a grasp on her
emotions. On one hand, she is about to be presented with the opportunity to
work closely with a woman she admires and enjoys the company of. On the
other side of the track, she fears that her relationship with Leonard and his
dependence upon her will slowly play a diminishing role. Can she compete
with the more attractive and further educated woman? Surely, her brains
will be an asset, but can this possibly replace Patricia’s in depth knowledge
and personal contact with Alex? Could this newcomer become the young
astronaut’s new favorite?!
While the JPL aid continues to fight her own moral dilemma,
Rebecca’s mouth opens notably as her emerald eyes study the control room.
Her first impression of the area is one of awe and deepened anticipation.
The actual electronic control stations do not so much impress her as does the
place as a whole. The unique security measures, the dropping floor, and the
sudden entrance into what-seems-to-be another world all adds up to
something worthy of the excitement.
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Her panning view finally snaps eye contact with her previously longdistance friend. Both woman bypass their mental agendas and respond with
cheerful smiles, Patricia being the one to volunteer the required travels that
bring them together.
“Rebecca! I am so happy you’re here!” Miss Bonham reaches out and
hugs the lady she speaks to.
“You look great Trish. Let me see. I wanna see it,” the former NASA
rep. orders in a friendly tone while pulling away from the welcoming
embrace.
“See what?” wonders the Caucasian female.
“The ring silly. Let me see,” Rebecca’s voice returns with her normal
sincere touch.
“Oh. Look.”
As if jerking to attention for a military inspection, Miss Bonham snaps
the diamond into viewing position. The substantial chunk of compressed
carbon shines proudly, matching the engaged woman’s newfound selfesteem.
“That is beautiful. Did you move in with him like you said?” inquires
the lovely, new employee.
“Yeah. We’re renting a place in Ridgecrest.”
“Where’s that?”
“Not far. Where are you staying? Do you have a place? You can
stay with us.”
“Oh gee. Thanks. Nah, I’m going to stay in Barstow for the time
being.”
“Really? That place has really grown since the water rights thing was
granted.”
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“Is that what it was?”
“Yeah. So what about Leonard? When is he going to join you?”
“Oh. Well, I wish I knew.”
Rebecca stumbles a bit through her delivery when replying to the
question about her husband, who currently still works in Ohio. The mention
of the name seems to induce the Leonard that is present into supplying
something to the conversation.
“Well, I hate to ah. Well, I guess I don’t know where to start. Of
course, you know Miss Patricia Bonham.”
The mission leader opts for a formal approach, which seems to add a
strange uncomfortable edge, not to mention, points out his nervous
demeanor. The man’s brown hair has finally given way to a few grays, and
the skin on his face fought the aging process well but lost out to a couple
faint wrinkles around his eye sockets.
Still, he maintains a healthy
appearance and carries himself well. Before returning to his poorly prepared
speech, the male scratches his slightly above-average-sized nose and then
reaches the same hand into the pocket of his blue suit jacket. Leonard has
gradually “improved” his wardrobe through the years and now is more
inclined to wear the upscale clothing over the casual look.
“Dan Cleveland had a late night, so he is sleeping right now. He
called me at 2 o’clock in the morning. That was a treat.”
“What happened?” Rebecca wonders in a curious tone.
“Nothing would make sense to you right now. I think we should bring
you up to speed first.”
“Yeah, that’s true. Sorry.”
“No. I’m glad you want to know.”
“Leonard?” the blonde pops in.
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“Yeah, Trish?”
“Do you want me to leave you two alone for the briefing?”
“Not at all. You’re the center of this thing. I need you.”
His words sit well with her, reaffirming that perhaps her importance is
not at stake.
“Ok.”
“Now, Rebecca. I’m not really set up with an outline on this, so
you’ll have to bear with me.”
“No problem Len,” she uses the name she hasn’t used in quite some
time.
“You’re going to hear some things that are…well…I guess farfetched. But, let me just say this. We are not underground for the hell of it.”
“I’m listening,” the newcomer promises, not letting on that she is
already aware of a large portion of the story.
“Do you remember the Voyager missions?”
“Well. Yeah. I have studied them in great detail.”
“Yes you have. The data that they gave you…that is.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Voyager 2 went much closer to a moon off Uranus than the
reports have indicated. The photos were immediately sealed.”
“What moon?” she asks.
“Umbriel.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Unless the camera was playing games with us, there were a
couple dozen visitors near the bright section of the satellite!”
“Oh my Lord! For real?”
“Yes. A small army of spaceships. Right there…black and white.”
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“How can you be sure?”
“I know,” Leonard begins, “I was there.”
“There?”
“Yes. I was the NASA operator.”
“Wow. You were the luckiest man in the world.”
“Or the most cursed.”
“What do you mean?”
Mr. Thomas chooses not to answer her inquiry. His implication that
the knowledge of Umbriel has brought him pain and suffering should not
have been instituted into the conversation. The fact that he has been forced
to live out the dream, whether he wants to or not, is irrelevant to the current
meeting. The short pause induces Patricia to consider coming to her boss’
aid, but she spots him in the midst of inhaling a breath, signifying the
resumption of the discussion, so she opts to wait her turn.
“That’s another story. Anyway, you know the space station?”
“The ISS?”
“Yes.”
“Of course, God rest its soul,” her words speak of its return to Earth.
“We kind of held back some research from your department.”
“We sort of figured that.”
“You know that pesky little biological problem with bone density and
such?”
“What about it?”
“Have you thought about giving birth into a weightless atmosphere?”
“A baby in space? I imagine it’ll happen someday.”
“Not necessarily in space, but with an antigravity machine.”
“I’m with you…I think.”
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“We delivered a couple children into weightlessness and then raised
them up on the space station. Turns out that the brain is triggered by its
original surroundings. It actually makes more bone mass for less work!
Balance, muscle girth, it all works out. I guess, the best way to explain it
is…it is the only way it knows, so it adapts from the beginning”
“This is unbelievable! I’m truly going to enjoy this duty. Keep
going.”
Leonard clears his throat and prepares to present yet another piece of
astonishing news.
“There is a boy on the Solar-Bio1.”
The lovely, brilliant scientist stands with her eyes wide open after
hearing the news. Her acting is “Hollywood quality”, for neither of the two
workers notice she is faking her reaction.
“You’re kidding me?” a reply finally arrives.
“Nope. In fact, the Bio2 has a girl on it, but let’s stick with one thing
at a time. The whole Pluto Probe is a cover up. The Solar-Bio1 is heading
for Umbriel to meet the aliens.”
“Are they still there?”
“We don’t know. We were never able to make contact with them.”
“I don’t know what to ask. Can you tell me more about this boy?”
“He is extremely intelligent for his age…and disciplined. He has
fixed the antigravity machine, and he recently made a repair to the
antennae.”
“This is incredible. What was wrong with the antennae?”
“He switched to the back up transmitter. The point is that his smarts
enabled us to maintain communications.”
“Communications?”
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“Yes. We send typed messages back and forth.”
“This so exciting,” Rebecca allows her energy to show.
“It is amazing. We owe much of this to Patricia here. She taught the
child devotion, among other things.”
An obvious blush paints the mentioned lady’s face, but nothing
audible is added.
“So, this is why you had all the systems on the ship. Not to prove that
it will fly and support occupancy. You did it for real. Clever!”
“There are many who deserve the credit.”
“So, does this boy know where he is going? God, there are so many
things. I guess, I should shut up and let you talk.”
“That’s alright. Yes, he knows he is going to Umbriel. He does not
know the real reason. He thinks there is water, air, and heat. A regular
Earth-like environment.”
“He doesn’t know about the ships?”
“Our plan is to transmit a special code that will allow him to
download an onboard software package that explains it all. This way he
does not fret over it until it is necessary.”
“I understand. So, the boy’s life is pretty much a sacrifice? Is there
any chance of survival?”
“Honestly? Slim at best. His inventories will be nearly exhausted.
Our data shows that the heat DOES exist on the small, bright section of land.
Since there is warmth, water is a distinct possibility somewhere…as far as
being obtainable…well, who knows. As far as oxygen…that is doubtful.
But, on the other hand, there was a reason for the aliens to be there…that
could be it.”
“Where is the heat coming from?”
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“The extremely dark surface tends to absorb the sun’s distant rays
very well. The little reflective spot expels the collected energy into one
concentrated area. That is, if we are even right. Like I said…there has to be
some reason for those spaceships.”
“So, this boy…he is how old?”
“He is thirteen.”
“So, he was…umm, like four when he took off?”
“Yep.”
“How in the world?
How can he know enough to survive
and…well…how?”
“We put hundreds of labor-hours into the lesson plan. We considered
it the backbone of the entire project. And it has definitely paid dividends.”
“Sounds like it.”
“You know what? I feel like a coffee. How about you?”
“That would be wonderful.”
“Ok. Great. Trish?”
“Hmm?” the nonparticipating female wonders.
“We’re gonna step over into the lounge. We have a situation to deal
with this morning. That’s what Dan called me about. The VKS wants to
transmit the photos.”
“They do?”
“Yeah. I think it’s a good idea. FR1 has completely broken off. I
don’t think we have much of a choice but to risk it. If you could, review the
request on the printouts. We’ll have a meeting in a couple hours. We need
to find out what she is up to.”
“God. I hope she is ok.”
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“Me too. She won’t talk to us, so the pictures are probably our only
clue.”
“Ok. I’ll get right on it.”
“Thanks Trish.”
As Patricia makes her way towards the end of the center section of
controls, Rebecca wonders what the conversation is all about. The newest
member of the team opts not to inquire, for she figures the details will be
available soon enough.
Leonard gestures for the lovely woman to follow him into the small
room straight ahead. During the short walk, the JPL head finds out that the
presence of the third party (Patricia) served a significant function. She
helped him feel comfortable with his ex-girlfriend. When he entered the
secret chamber with her, there were combinations and maneuvers to keep his
mind off the fact that they were alone. Now he stands beside her inside the
modest break room with nothing to “break the ice”.
His heart rate
immediately picks up as he tries to maintain eye contact but finds it difficult.
“How have you been Rebecca?” the suddenly nervous man asks.
“I’ve been ok. I would be lying if I said I haven’t missed you,” her
confession blurts out unplanned and equally unexpected.
“I wish things could have been different.”
His words come out with honesty as he pours the dark liquid into a
biodegradable cup and then points his hazy blue eyes into her mesmerizing
peepers.
“Is this why?” her heart rate begins to race at a pace that even exceeds
his.
“I wish I knew you were going to join us,”
“What are you saying Len?”
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“Just that. I really wish things could have…”
Although the male speaker does not complete his sentence, the
meaning is understood. His body inches closer to her tempting frame while,
at the same time, she chooses not only to allow it, but to move in his
direction as well. Her brain fails to register the fact that she is married, for
this feels so natural, so meant-to-be. Her eyelids drop as their lips come
forbiddingly close. Finally, they meet and press softly against each other.
Just as their eager mouths begin to open up in hopes of quenching the
desires that never did truly extinguish, a noise deters them from continuing.
A male figure enters the room in the form of the now awake, Dan Cleveland.
The two original occupants immediately step back and collect
themselves the best they can given the circumstance. Surprisingly, the male
participant experiences the strongest dose of guilt. He wonders if he is
ruining this woman’s marriage, confusing her unnecessarily. As Leonard
welcomes the newcomer into the space and prepares an introduction,
Rebecca fights between two equally powerful chains of thought. When will
she get another opportunity to resume this unfinished business…and…what
shall she do about it?
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Chapter
Fifty-seven
April 15, 2014 – Kaliningrad, Russia
The Russian’s control center differs in several ways from that of the
mission’s other player.
For one, the headquarters staff is much more
extensive than JPL’s skimmed group.
While the American agency is
concealed deep below the Earth’s surface, this station rises eight stories
above the ground. The machines are actually more modernized within the
VKS/RKA-shared structure. Partitioned walls, desks, and computers make
the aerospace control center appear more like an office terminal.
While the lower profile specifics of the Solar-Bio2 are extrapolated
within this room, it requires a higher-level clearance to pass through the
guarded door on the west wall and an even higher security rank to enter the
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east door. Behind the west, double-doors are the actual electronic devices
and transmitting equipment, which communicate with the harmless-looking
desktops outside it’s protected confines. The technician’s that monitor the
health of these machines are military personnel that have been heavily
briefed. The long-used philosophy of “not allowing any ONE person to
know the whole story” is incorporated to safeguard the mission. Only the
top officials have the entire pie at their disposal, and they are actually
followed and investigated on a continual basis by people who DON’T know
what they know…but DO know…WHAT they are not allowed to do and
WHO they are not allowed to do it with.
Ivan Rebrov slowly walks through the large space, receiving a couple
blank stares and little else. Although the RKA employees are well aware of
this man’s position and kind nature, it is not appropriate to wave or make
small talk during business hours, especially while inside the building. The
Russian agency has seen to it that a formal, not to mention tight ship
approach has become routine.
The leader of the VKS does not even attempt to make eye contact
with the assorted workers. This streamlined attitude is not a result of the
anti-fraternization way, for he has tried to loosen things up on several
occasions only to butt heads with those that liken the traditional manner and
oppose change. On this particular day, his thoughts are preoccupied on one
item, and anything that competes with his attention will lose out.
When the guard opens the door for him, he conducts a half-hearted
nod but immediately returns to his agenda. He stops upon penetrating the
new domain, which looks surprisingly like the one he came from, except
significantly smaller. This room only houses six partitioned spaces, three on
each side of a short hallway.
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The noise from the door jam alerts the man sitting in the first cubicle
to his left. Wasting no time, the brown-haired male zips to his feet and
jumps out to greet the military side of the Solar-Bio Mission.
“Ivan. Good morning. Thanks for coming so quickly. I apologize,
but it’s important,” the man clothed in a blue suit explains in his highpitched voice.
“What is it Kobach? Did the photos come in?” quizzes the short, potbellied man in uniform.
“No, but I think we know something now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well…follow me.”
Kobak Simko begins a stiff-paced march toward the back, right-hand
office space. His friend follows in an almost synchronized fashion. Soon,
the two agents reach their destination, taking a sharp right into the divided
room. Inside the mini-office, another male figure sits staring at his computer
screen. The gentleman is clothed in a blue sweater and khakis. His darkrimmed glasses fall halfway down his long nose.
“Ivan? Mr. Petrosky has found a little something,” the RKA rep.
introduces the circumstance in a general sense.
“About time this guy earns his keep,” Mr. Rebrov jokes.
“Yes, sir,” the slightly nervous gent begins, “I think I have
something.”
“What is it, son?”
“Well, we requested the video stills three times, and on each occasion,
the process timed out. The original thought was the pictures were blank, so
the system was waiting for an image of size, that is, a file larger than a
couple kilobytes.”
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“I’m with you so far. The news is good I hope.”
“Well, I’m not sure about that, but I sent a new request for onboard
commands to the cameras and the processor.”
“What did you find?”
“Nothing really made sense at first.
The locked files received
machine code to execute. I was sure this was somehow NOT true…until…I
looked at the video storage drive commands.”
“Yes?”
“There was an actual order to shutdown the drive. Of course, there is
no such order through software…not for this particular system anyway,” the
increasingly excited male continues, “The next command is to “unprotect”
the files, which also failed. And that was the last entry on the report.”
“So what does this all mean?”
“Well, I see a definite attempt to block the retrieval of those pictures.”
“But, if the attempts failed, how come we cannot get the photos?”
“That is still a mystery. Either a wire has been physically removed,
power has been secured to the processor and drive, or…”
“Or what?”
“I don’t know.”
“The shittin’ Americans! They are responsible for this!”
A vein pops through Ivan’s temple as his frustration mounts. Sonya
has not been interacting for quite some time, and now they can’t intercept
the video photos of the interior.
“I don’t know sir.”
“Who else could make those commands?”
“Well, for the Americans to do that, they would have had to send a
signal to the craft without being detected. We have that thing booby-trapped
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as far as data transfer is concerned.
Another thing that confuses me
is…well…they engineered this system…they know that those orders would
not be recognized. That was the whole concept of the programming…to
remove the possibility of a software shutdown. It’s a stand alone system.”
“But, they could have forgotten…or maybe thought it was
possible…or maybe…the damn thing can be shutdown, and they supplied us
with a few doctored up schematics, or whatever.”
“Well…”
“It’s possible right?” his words are powerful and meant to persuade.
“Anything is possible sir. But according to the report the actual
shutdown command failed.”
“They could have transmitted the girl on another frequency or on
some secret system. I don’t know. They could have told her to fuc$#@n
unplug the thing! Those bastards!”
“I just don’t know how they could slip through like that.”
“Well, keep working on it Petrosky,” Ivan’s words seem to have toned
down in a matter of seconds, “Kobak follow me…and Petrosky? Good
work.”
“Thank you sir.”
The two heads of their respective portions of the mission ramble back
towards the front of the room. The VKS head maintains charge of the
episode, as he turns to his close working partner and speaks.
“We’ve got to get to the bottom of this. Get a hold of J51. If she
doesn’t talk, we will have to take this to another level.”
“What should I tell her?”
“If she doesn’t tell us what JPL is up to, we will have no choice.”
“To turn her in?”
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“Not sure. That…or maybe cut her payment. We really need her
position to remain undetected.”
“I agree. The project is still young.
We need someone in their
headquarter on our side.”
“I wish I knew she was on our side.”
“Well, Ivan. She told us about the boy on the Solar-bio1. Her
information gives us tremendous leverage.”
“Yes, it does. And it is that information that we shall use to threaten
her into more.”
“What if she tells us that they didn’t do it.”
“Let’s just hope she tells us the truth. Like you said…it is too early to
play that card.”
“Do you think Thomas is keeping this from her?”
“It is very possible.
She has said though that she can find out
anything. That’s what we’re paying for”
“What if it is the truth?”
“You mean, what if Sonya is doing this all on her own? She’s a kid
for Christ’s sake!”
“She is more than just a kid, but I guess you’re right. Her lesson plan
does not cover such procedures. She couldn’t possibly figure all that out on
her own. They must be involved. I wonder why though.”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll contact her.”
“Give her a chance to spill it. If she doesn’t…go for the throat!”
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Chapter
Fifty-eight
June 5, 2014 – Solar-Bio2
(147,321,621 miles beyond Jupiter / Traveling at 21,031 mph)
The teenage girl with long, auburn hair studies her lengthy message,
making sure each word is adequate and her meaning is clear. The thorough
inspection of the three paragraphs she wrote has become standard procedure
before allowing the transmissions to commence. She carefully reads the
ending, which includes a word she has yet to utilize for the purpose of these
transactions between her and her new connection. Is “love” too serious? He
has typed it on several of the electronic documents already.
Sonya decides to risk it and accommodate his wishes by raising the
emotional level of this long-distance relationship.
Her fingers swiftly
implement the process of sequencing the proper keys, in order to add a last
minute change. She leaves the word of adoration. A slight hint of hesitation
enters her thoughts, but it is surprisingly overtaken by a more positive
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sensation. Suddenly, she feels good about the idea of having a boyfriend.
Initially, she feared that she would be discovered for whom she really is, not
for the cover up she so cleverly fabricated.
Finally, FR1 guides the cursor to the “send” icon and executes the
basic command that will initiate a radio signal toward an Earth-orbiting
satellite. Sonya looks toward the bottom of the screen for the phrase that
indicates that the message has been sent. A certain level of satisfaction
penetrates her already content being, serving to confirm the feeling.
Sonya leans back away from the monitor. She looks to her right,
where she has set up a second CRT, which she has ingeniously attached to
its own processor and hard drive. The computer literate female employs the
use of this one for reading information from the Internet, while the other is
strictly a messenger between her and her cyber friend. It was not difficult to
find a spare system to reconfigure. After learning that the Interior Video
System was controlled by its own, separate computer, she simply
reformatted the hard drive (deleting all image files in the process),
disconnected the cabling, loaded the Internet software, and connected the
monitor/keyboard/mouse. She now has plenty of space to save the data she
enjoys, courtesy of headquarters and the high tech web.
The hazel-eyed teen found more treasures than she anticipated when
she began downloading the contents of the stored disks. Before she knew it,
there were games, creative programs, more movies/songs, and finally the
grand prize…the World Wide Web! Due to the aspect in which she received
the software, Sonya is not aware that this particular package was only
intended for emergency transmissions.
Of course, she no longer sends
headquarters messages, so odds are high that she would have stumbled upon
it anyhow.
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Sonya thinks back to when she started using the unique, but
completely foreign program. She recollects some of the strange things she
found in this giant library of knowledge. There were so many contradictions
to her teachings, so many falsehoods on one side of the fence or the other.
At one point, she wondered if these incompatibilities were some kind of test
to see if she would hold faith with her allegiance or bite on the more
tempting newcomer. The possibility of headquarters being behind the plot
was erased when she discovered the different forms of meeting people.
While there is a chance that the VKS and JPL are pretending to be these
characters, she is convinced she has, indeed, found the key to her dreams.
FR1 remembers trying to chat “real time” with people and how the
time delay made the entire process unmanageable, not to mention
unacceptable to those on the ground. By the time she received their simple
greeting and then responded to it, they had been signed off for numerous
hours, having assumed that she ignored them. Eventually, she located an
online dating system that matched up people with the same interests. After
they supplied her with the “cyber” introduction, she could utilize email or
messenger to continue her relationship with her brand new pen pal.
On a few occasions, she has been asked to go into the chat rooms for
actual audio-type conversations, but she realizes this would be impossible,
so she provides an email with an excuse (which they don’t get for some time
anyway).
Sonya glances at the right-hand screen and considers surfing for
something interesting. The basic procedure is tedious, because each request
must be sent out from beyond Jupiter for a roundtrip to Earth and back.
Some of her mistakes are greatly multiplied, since she has to wait for a
return to back out of it. Most of the times, she can use the escape key to
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cancel the command, but, once in a while, this does not work or is not
permitted, and she gets quite frustrated. If she were to reboot, she would
have to go conduct the path again, so it is generally better to wait out the
error.
With the recent message so fresh in her mind, she cannot concentrate
on much of anything else, so she opts to read some of his previous letters.
Sonya leans forward a little before beginning the much faster method of
retrieving information from her own system. Within seconds, a folder opens
up, which supplies the space traveler with a list of available selections. The
young woman contemplates the different orders in which she could open
them. She decides to start with the very first and then follow it up in a
chronological manner.
As she peruses through the typed characters, she recalls the episode
when she first obtained it. Sonya plays each incident back in fine detail as if
it were yesterday. In some ways, she likens herself to an actress in a movie,
playing the star role. The intelligent girl obviously had to make up several
characteristics about herself including: who she is, where she lives, and an
excuse for the delay. She has told her boyfriend, who lives in Nevada, that
she resides in Russia but knows English fluently. Her manufactured story
doesn’t stop there, as she also informed him that she is sixteen-years of age.
The crafty youth explained that the strange delay in reference to responding
to his emails is due to the fact that she does not own a computer. She told
him that she uses one at her father’s workplace. The female traveler does
not realize that her excuse brought up more questions than it answered.
When thinking about how fond she has become of this boy, she wonders if
she is truly playing the role…or the role is playing her.
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Sonya finally reaches the most recent letter from the fifteen-year-old
male, who claims his name is Matt. She reads his words of how he just
broke up with his girlfriend and hopes to meet her someday soon.
He goes
on to tell her that he is a great football player, and he would like to show her
his muscles. She does not fully understand some of his words, for the slang
and out-of-context use are foreign to her, and it will take quite some time to
pick up on the lingo.
The focused female looks at the photo that was sent as an attachment
to the file. She finds his face very appealing and wishes she really could
meet him. His short, blonde locks and blue eyes dominate the scanned
snapshot. Matt asked her to send a photo with her next message. After
reading this requests for the tenth time now, she realizes that this may
actually be feasible. Before, she just wrote off the thought as not possible,
but now she remembers the digital camera inside the equipment locker. She
will have to figure out how to use it and then create a file that can be
included in her next email. A faint thought penetrates in the back of her
mind, recalling a package dealing with the camera and software.
Sonya looks down at her chest, which has swollen a bit in the past
couple months. Still, she is far smaller than a sixteen-year-old would be, or
so she assumes. How can she possibly fool this handsome, young man?
What if he calls her bluff and never messages again? But this is just a
movie, where she creates the script. Why would it matter? She doesn’t have
any true feelings for this boy…does she?
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Chapter
Fifty-nine
July 4, 2014 – San Bernardino, CA
“So, how much is it? If you don’t mind me asking?” the JPL lead
man asks for more specifics.
“Not sure yet how much I’ll get. Could be a few hundred grand,” the
female with chocolate brown eyes explains her inheritance.
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Ol’ Aunt Cindy had some cash. God rest her soul,” her
drunken tone does little to show respect for the deceased.
“Were you close?”
“Many moons ago. She’s been sick for years. She’s happier now,”
she returns while accidentally smacking her glass onto the coffee table with
unneeded force.
“How bout another Margarita, Trish?” Leonard offers to the blonde
wearing a black tee shirt and gray jogging shorts.
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“Absolutely…thanks. I better use the bathroom…make some,” a loud
hiccup interrupts her blurry sentence, “room for it.”
“Coming right up,” the brown-haired gent, who was already in the
kitchen, promises.
As the host turns to the counter where the blender and the unorganized
group of containers of alcohol reside, Patricia stumbles to her feet and heads
toward the hallway, which runs down the center of Leonard’s modest home.
Her fiancé catches a glimpse of her intoxicated demeanor, deciding he
should at least watch her till she makes it to the door near the other end of
the house’s interior. The muscular male’s brown eyes follow her continually
thinning frame, noting a couple close calls in reference to falling.
Eventually, the black shirt, which matches his in everything but size, fades
out of sight behind a now closed door.
“Leonard? Better skip that drink for Trish. She’s had enough. Plus,
we need to get going soon,” his deep-tone is additionally accented with
concern.
“Are you sure?” inquires the recipient as he was just about to trigger
the appliance into crushing the ice cubes.
“Yeah. It’s been a long evening,” he strangely places an implication
that he is bored or, at least, tired.
“Umm. Ok. Does anyone want a Margarita…or a beer?”
“Nah, I need to be headin’ out too,” Dan responds from his sitting
position in the living room.
“I’ll take another one, Len,” Rebecca blurts in her always-pleasant
voice.
“One Grolsh coming up,” Mr. Thomas vows.
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“How can you drink that smelly stuff,” the male scientist asks the
attractive female who wears a noticeably tight jumpsuit and relaxes in the
recliner across from him.
“It’s better than that watery American junk,” she also carries a slur in
her words, although it would be considered mild when compared to the other
female in the party.
“Yeah!” supplies the JPL leader in short form, knowing that it was he
that introduced her to this Holland-brewed beverage.
“So, Leonard? When are the fireworks?” Miss Bonham’s partner
adds in a loud, almost obnoxious manner.
“Ha ha. Funny. I think that was over four hours ago Steve.”
“Really? What time is it?”
“Umm, almost one.”
“Wow. So, you supply the booze but not the fireworks?”
“Sorry.”
“Not even a sparkler?” the blonde man, whom the others only know
vaguely, becomes a little more belligerent.
For a short moment, no one chooses to speak, perhaps based on the
fact that they do not know how to take his sarcasm. Since they are not
overly familiar with his personality, it is difficult to tell if he is joking,
drunk, or just plain loud. The past few hours, he has been quite and to
himself, but a change seems to be on the horizon.
“What kind of music is that? Is that eighties stuff?” his fast-becoming
annoying way continues.
“It’s not quite that old. About ten years old now I guess. It does have
that old poppy, new age sound of the 80s though. I guess that’s why I like
it.”
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“Me too Len,” the never-aging Rebecca comes to his aid as she strolls
into the kitchen to fetch the beer that Leonard obviously forgot to get.
“Count me in. A little before my time, I mean the 80s. But it’s cool,”
Mr. Cleveland slips his two cents in.
The host notices Rebecca opening the refrigerator and then offers a
silent apology. She smiles and returns to her seat, completely un-phased by
his mistake.
“Who is it?” the part-time body builder asks in a mildly demanding
manner.
“The Spazmatics. It was a father son group. Neat story actually.
Umm, Jeff and Scott Cheney…they had a few hits a few years back. The
record company tried to get them to branch off. Thought they could make
more if they both went their separate ways. The truth was that they just
wanted the kid. The father offered to drop out for the boy, but the kid…I
guess he was fifteen at the time…he refused…wanted to play with his dad.”
“So where are they now?”
“Don’t know really. They stuck to their guns…especially Scott. Cost
them a lot of money.”
“I call that dumb. Do I want millions of dollars or a few extra camp
trips with daddy? Let me see…screw you dad…baby’s got a brand new
job,” Steve’s internal characteristics obviously amplify with each beer.
“I think it’s sweet. Plus, I love their music,” states the lovely female
in a truthful sense.
“Not really my bag. I do like the voices,” finally a complimentary
atom expels from his lips, though one might question its sincerity, “I should
check on Patty. She’s been a while.”
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“Good idea.
I think she may have overindulged,” the holiday
weekend host agrees as he makes his way to the comfortable space where
the small gathering transpires.
The well-built man jerks to his feet, towering over the JPL director’s
notably smaller figure. His basic posture simulates one that is rather proud
of his appearance and wishes to exhibit this to the onlookers. His right arm
flexes more than needed when he reaches up to brush a few strands of his
thin curls. As Leonard witnesses the man’s ridiculous technique, he ponders
a certain irregular aspect in regards to the relationship between his female
assistant and this man. While Miss Bonham has lost considerable weight,
she was quite chunky when she first met Steve. Generally, he would not
even consider the superficial comparison, but this man is obviously very
concerned about his own body, which makes him wonder why he would date
a woman that does not apparently treasure the same priorities.
“Nice shot of Barry Sanders.
You take it?” the muscular gent
interrupts the shorter man’s train of thought, perhaps in the nick of time.
“Oh no.
Nile is our resident photographer...though he prefers
critters.”
“Oh. Well, too bad about Barry huh?” he supplies as his large frame
begins the travels to check on his girlfriend.
“Yeah.”
A new and quite comforting silence issues as a result of the exit of the
loudest member of the party. The remaining trio seems to make a nonverbal
pact to enjoy it while it lasts.
Leonard reflects on the incident that the obnoxious male spoke of just
before heading down the hallway. It was many years ago now, when Barry
Sanders rejoined the NFL in the spirits of breaking the all-time rushing
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record. While the league promoted the effort in storybook fashion, the final
chapter quickly changed into a tale of horror. As if the script were produced
by Alfred Hitchcock, Mr. Sanders received a handoff, dashed to his right,
conducted one of his patented moves, and was tackled. This time, however,
his elusive style put his leg in a vulnerable position. A three-hundred-pound
nose tackle crushed into his thigh and popped the knee clean out…4 yards
shy of the record, which remains in the possession of the late, Walter Payton
to this day.
“I hope she’s ok,” the lone female breaks the short-lived silence.
“I’m sure she is. She had a good time.”
“It’s nice to see her so happy.”
“Yes, it is. How is your wife feeling Dan?”
“Oh. Just a cold. A nasty one though. Hopefully, she fell asleep
early…otherwise I’m in the cellar.”
“Well, send her our sympathy.”
“Ok,” Dan promises, noting that this is as good of a cue as any, “I
guess, I should she heading out. Thanks for the hospitality.”
“Anytime,” Leonard replies with complete truth behind his wellspoken tongue, “Drive careful…alright?”
“Always,” the younger gent vows, noting that he only has a few miles
to cover.
The off-duty scientist, who now shares the responsibilities with
Rebecca as well as Nile, carefully navigates to the door. Nearly at the exact
moment of contact with the gold-colored knob, a banging sound erupts from
the other end of the hallway. The substantial noise attracts the attention of
both Leonard and Dan. Rebecca is still sitting in the corner of the room, so
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she relies on the facial expressions of the two men, in order to decipher the
seriousness of the situation.
A cause for the abrupt sound is immediately evident, for the strong
arms of the body builder are literally carrying his mate. Apparently he had
to use his foot to swing the door closed, using more force than was
necessary. The narrow corridor is insufficient for a straight approach with
the perpendicular figure draped in his powerful cradle, so a slight angled
stutter step is conducted. In actuality, there is plenty of room to perform the
normal directional travel, but Steve has had a bit to drink as well and seems
to be unsure of himself.
“You folks are welcome to stay the night. I have a spare bedroom all
setup. Not a problem.”
“No thanks. I can manage.”
“Really. You have a long drive. It’s no problem at all.”
“I can handle my beer just fine,” his words of dominance over the
affects of alcohol paint a distinct picture of his intent in relation to making it
back to Ridgecrest.
“Alright. Just be careful,” Leonard is inclined to be more forceful for
the sake of his passed out friend but changes his mind after considering the
attitude of her boyfriend.
Soon, the door is riding upon its metallic hinges and offering those
that desire it a path to the exterior. A quickly fading thought of trying once
more to keep his employee safe enters the homeowner’s brain. Perhaps as a
result of the drinks he ingested, he drops it once and for all, figuring that
they are adults and responsible for their own actions.
“Would you like a ride Rebecca? It’s on my way,” Steve asks in a
hard-to-judge voice.
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“No thanks, I’m fine. I’m leaving soon, but I’ll be fine,” her lips
issue, though she would never consider accepting a ride from this man, not
even if he were sober.
“Take care Dan. See ya Wednesday,” Leonard provides.
“Drive careful Dan,” adds the attractive female.
“Bye.”
Even though Steve leaves the structure after Dan, the two remaining
adults do not issue a final pleasantry, as one would generally expect. To
finalize the strange transaction, the conceded man offers nothing in the area
of appreciation for the evening, let alone a farewell of any kind. Leonard
and Rebecca watch the two pair of headlights as they file out of his driveway
and off his property (and to a lesser degree, out of his jurisdiction).
“What a nice evening,” the beautiful woman labels the stars and the
soothing breeze that blesses her soft skin.
“Most of it,” the handsome man refers to the specifics of the party,
instead of the current environmental attributes.
“What do you mean? Oh…Steve.”
“Yes. Steve.”
“Poor girl.”
“What does she see in that guy?”
“Are you kidding?”
“No,” he returns, knowing the physical magnetism that this man
obviously possesses.
“Well. He is a tad good looking. Oh, and there is those bulging
biceps and a chest that don’t stop.”
“Ok. I got cha.”
“And his, what do you call em?”
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“What?”
“Glutes?”
“His butt?”
“Yeah that thing. A woman loves that you know.”
“I bet. But, we’re talking about Trish. Don’t you think we should
give her more credit than that?”
“I agree. But I’ve seen it more than once. Most girls grow out of it in
high school.”
“Out of what?”
“You know how the girls in school liked the bad boy…the football
player…that kind of thing?”
“Yeah.
I lost out big time on Sandy Penn because of the
quarterback,” his ability to pull a name out of thin air after over thirty years
points out a deep scar.
“I think Trish lost out on that too.
She told me once she was
incredibly shy in school.”
“So?”
“I think she never experienced the dumping of a jock. Now she’s
older and the stakes are a bit higher.”
“Yes they are. I wish she would dump him.”
“We may be overreacting too.”
“I’ve seen enough. I don’t like him.”
“Neither do I…but ya gotta love those glutes,” her voice spices a hint
of play.
“I’ll show you a pair of glutes.”
“You will?”
“Sure.”
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“Aren’t you a little worried about the competition?”
“Competition?”
“Yeah. Aren’t you worried I’ll compare them with Stevie boy’s?”
“When did you see his?”
“Oh I don’t need to see em. I can imagine…just fine,” her teasing
continues.
“Ha ha. Well, maybe I should just make you imagine mine!”
“Hey? Are you turning this thing around on me?”
“It is the behind that we’re dealing with right?”
“Clever boy. My clever boy.”
“I am…am I?”
“Are you?”
“I don’t know. If I have to measure up to that big lug of flesh, I’ll
obviously come up a bit short.”
“Oh. I never said that.”
“You didn’t”
“I was talking about his ass. I think you will measure up just fine.
Those muscle jocks…they don’t measure up where it counts at all.”
“Oh really?”
“Nope.”
“And how would you know this?”
“A girl knows.”
“I see. So these guys don’t have the ah,” his gesture finishes the
sentence.
“I said they don’t measure up silly.”
“And?”
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“The place they don’t measure up is the most important place…the
heart.”
“Oh. Now I gotcha.”
“You have a naughty mind Len.”
“Yeah. And that was all my doing?”
“Of course.”
“So do I still measure up?”
“I don’t know now. I guess, you’d have to show me,” her alluring
tone is intensified by the closing door.
“Oh yeah? What are my odds?”
“Of measuring up?”
“No…of getting the opportunity to show you.”
“Oh. I’d say they’re excellent.”
Rebecca moves temptingly close to the receiving male’s lips as she
finishes her open-ended invitation. Although Leonard is the host of the
party, she has taken control of the rest of this particular evening’s agenda.
The pair embraces into one single unit, their mouths immediately diving into
the pleasures that they desire. Both individuals close their eyes, in order to
fully submerge into the moment. As the air within her lungs calls out for a
replenishment, Rebecca pulls away, obeying the only priority that would be
higher than the one at hand.
“Do you have a ruler?”
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Chapter
Sixty
August 18, 2014 – Solar-Bio1
(424,767,407 miles beyond Saturn / Traveling at 25,966 mph)
Alex stares at one of the only systems on his well-engineered craft
that has never been placed into service. Other than the Hydroponics Garden,
the Micro-Biologic Oxygen system, the nuclear generators, and the Landing
Thrusters, everything else has been energized and utilized to some degree.
The youth has slowly grown into a young man, nourished by the assorted
fungi and the stored foods. His muscles are firm, although not overly thick,
while his overall appearance is that of a healthy nature.
His reflective blue eyes peer into the transparent cover that comes
down from the top of the unit at a forty-five-degree angle. Inside the special
machine there is some sort of tray with tubing routed around it for supplying
water to the roots of the plants, which would be present if he were to prepare
it for operation. Since the completion of Phase 2, he has had this option but
decided against it. Although MR1 comprehends the idea of taste and holds a
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certain yearning for experiencing the fruits and vegetables that could be
grown, he is leery of the process for which they require.
The disciplined boy, who now stands close to five feet in height, has
been hesitant to start the garden due to the amount of water that it uses.
While the Solar-Bio1 is very effective in reprocessing the essential elements
like water, he knows that a percentage is continually lost through various
processes. His perspiration is re-collected through the ventilation system,
and his waste can be purified and returned, but such things as overboard
venting and boiler operation consume a notable quantity.
Still, his vessel has an inventory of 54 % of the initial water volume,
which is enough “ahead of schedule” to allow the growing of these brand
new forms of nutrition. However, Alex does not think in relation to “having
enough”. He looks at it in a more logical manner, for his mind asks the
question, “How much more will I be ahead if I do NOT utilize the
hydroponics technique?” His powerful ability to reason past the immediate
and obvious continues on to ponder the notion that this would be a major
asset after he lands on Umbriel. What if water is in high supply but the
presence of plants is lacking? He could start up the machine and survive for
quite some time on these supposedly delicious commodities while he
searches for alternatives or possibly cultivates a garden within the soil of his
new home.
Electricity is also heavily relied upon to supplement the light created
by the concentrated, reflective plates that are mounted on the exterior of his
craft. His battery banks have been slowly reviving after the massive draw
placed on them from the Saturn flyby, so it would also be worth staying
“ahead of the game” in this area.
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The young man, whose facial features have also gradually given way
to more mature attributes, turns around and looks in the full length mirror
that was, seconds ago, at his back. While his brown hair is just as dark as
the day he was born, rest of his face has aged into that of a boy about to go
through puberty, the exception being the lack of acne. His cheekbones seem
to emphasize a previously childish look, and his brows have thickened
considerably. Perhaps the most obvious change would be his nose, which no
longer fades from the center in an outward direction. The bridge of this
feature now stands prominently on its own with a distinct line between it and
his cheeks.
Alex contemplates his next move, recalling the section on “Basic
Order” that he was closing in on before his neck experienced a strain that
prompted him to move about for a spell. The carefully prepared, electronic
chapter, dealing with how humans on Earth maintain a safe and secure
environment, brought up a couple questions within his always churning
brain mass.
Headquarter cautiously outlined the use of rules and
punishments, because they felt in the somewhat unlikely event that MR1 is
in the position to structure a colony of sorts, he needs to understand both the
tendencies of crime and how to minimize it.
His thought process finds it difficult to grasp, for, in his earlier
understandings, earthlings worked together as one well-oiled machine.
Based on this philosophy, why would anyone want to harm or decommission
an important part of the teamwork concept? To hurt another person or steal
an article would be to damage the system that supports the perpetrator as
much as the victim. How could this be beneficial to anyone? Earth has all
the resources and potential to be a paradise, so why would mankind allow it
to become anything short of that?
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Are some human beings not included in this world of checks and
balances? If so, do they stand to lose nothing for these misdeeds that
obviously upset the system? If the thought of spoiling the bliss that he
thought each individual had the opportunity to experience isn’t enough,
wouldn’t life itself be far too precious to risk? Certainly every living being
can and does perceive the value of a beating heart and active tissue. There
cannot possibly be something worth more than being alive and free to roam
without walls and barriers. Why would anyone sacrifice this at the chance
of something they can already acquire by simply remaining on the team?
Alex does not get frustrated by these self-deviations that he commonly
consents to, for he specifically remembers an early lesson that strongly
encouraged deep thought and reasoning things out beyond the normal limits.
While JPL projected this method would cause many uncertainties, they also
felt it was a necessary approach so that Alex would learn to think on his own
feet and slowly become independent. Headquarters realized that the fine
line between this self-motivation and discipline would be difficult to walk,
but they have lucked out in all accounts thus far. MR1 continues to logically
reason on his own, while regulating everything “by the book” when called
for.
His potent thoughts finally return to the surface, noting that his stiff
neck no longer hurts. A new uncertainty invades his already overflowing
manner. He wonders how soreness can be dismissed while the brain is hard
at work. Isn’t it true that the brain controls the central nervous system? Of
course, it is. So, why does the existence of pain not amplify when the most
vital organ is working more vigorously? Is it something as simple as the
thought process getting overcrowded, so it dumps whatever ingredients it
deems as being unnecessary or even undesired?
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Alex comes to the conclusion that there is a distinct difference
between the physical body and the mental state that he spends much of his
life in. Where the two break off and branch away from each other is still a
mystery. In fact, the entity of thought as a LOCATION, even an abstract
one, is puzzling indeed. The intellectual youth realizes that an answer could
be dead ahead within his lesson plan. While the idea of diving into the
educational database interests him, it is the fact that he can re-submerge
himself back into these subjects that truly motivates him. For a human that
has never taken a shower, let alone a bath, he swims deeper than perhaps any
thirteen-year-old ever has.
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Chapter
Sixty-one
November 15, 2014 – San Bernardino, CA
An
indistinguishable
sound
penetrates
the
sleeping
man’s
subconscious sufficiently to spill over into his more voluntary process. His
newly found status of semi-coherency is followed by the wonderment of
what woke him out of his slumber. The darkness of the bedroom does little
to aid him in his befuddled search.
After another moment or two of
confusion, he half-heartedly decides to return to the more comfortable world
of dreams and relaxation. His masculine frame rolls over toward the middle
of the mattress and attempts to find a new position in which to sleep.
Instead of the desired result of additional shuteye, Leonard jerks into
an alert state of mind. Something is missing. Where is his partner? He
feels around to find that she is not nestled next to him. A quick check on the
other side is conducted, retrieving the same outcome. His sights obtain a
glimpse of the digital indication that his alarm clock exhibits with ever
increasing glow. She certainly didn’t leave at two in the morning.
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Leonard swaggers a bit as he makes his way out of the bed and onto
the soft carpet.
He passes on the light switch, since such an intense
brightness would nearly blind him, at least in his present line of reasoning.
His naked frame appears as a silhouette in the dim room. He can see that a
bulb is energized on the other side of the door, for a horizontal line of light
stands out like a laser in a pitch black cave. Now that his bearings are
gathered, he moves more expeditiously in the direction of the space’s lone
exit.
The half alert man reaches for the knob and stubs his finger. He
shakes off the mild throb, finding more success on his second attempt at
gripping the handle. After conducting a counterclockwise twist, he pulls the
wooden barrier towards his body. The hallway is not illuminated, but the
room opposite his bedroom apparently is. His bluish eyes slowly contract to
limit the rate of penetration caused by the intensity that exits the half opened
door. Leonard rubs his sockets before moving forward.
Sitting in front of a computer with a twenty-one-inch, flat screen is the
lovely female that he seeks. Her slender frame is wrapped in a red, Terriecloth robe, leaning back in a high-backed, office chair. Her right index
finger guides the tiny ball that is mounted in the armrest, moving the playing
cards to different piles on the CRT.
“You know, the good games are on the Sony,” Leonard crashes
through the silence with a suggestion pertaining to the state-of-the-art
system in the living room, which she is fully aware exists.
“You startled me,” she jumps a bit but quickly regains her composure,
“Where’s your clothes…naked boy?”
“Do I need em?”
“Nah.”
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“Why are you up? Was I snoring?”
“No. I just woke up. Couldn’t fall back asleep.”
“Are you feeling alright?”
“Yeah. Just not sleepy anymore,” she fibs, for the real reason she had
trouble returning to slumber relates to his sleep-talking episode, which
commonly occurs in the middle of the night.
“So what are you doing in here? The Maxitrol blows this dinosaur
away.”
“I think I like this better.”
“You never did before.”
“Well, I do now.”
“So, you now prefer a trackball over virtual positioning and vocal
commands?”
“Just an old-fashioned gal I guess.”
“Are you sure you didn’t sneak in here to see if I have the
Unregulated Web?”
“What would I need that for?”
“Just kidding hon.”
“You better be. I don’t need any porn. I got naked boy right here.”
The conversation halts momentarily when the two find each other’s
alluring stares. The web system that the couple joked about has now been in
full force for two years. It was introduced by the president of the United
States four years ago in an attempt to separate the World Wide Web into two
different categories. The idea was necessitated by the fact that the original
Internet became too saturated and subsequently rendered itself useless. She
proposed that a second “completely unregulated” highway be developed that
could include anything such as pornography, anonymous advertising, and
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basically a “no holds bar”.
The original system would be used for
information and anything that met the moral specifications that were derived
by an International Panel. There would be no restrictions placed on either
system as far as who could enter the sites other than the fact that a separate
Internet Provider would be required for each.
The proposal was strongly supported by parents in the states and
virtually every country around the globe, for it did not prevent anyone from
practicing their rights of free speech, nor stop those that wished their
identities to remain unknown. In fact, even the new “regulated” form of the
web does not seek the names of its users unless a “highway law” happens to
be broken. Policing on this system greatly minimizes offenders, while those
that wish the “free for all” atmosphere can log onto URW.whatever.com
(UnRegulated Web) and play to their heart’s content.
Due to the processors that were developed shortly after the turn of the
century, it became possible to locate web surfers without knowing anything
other than their user names. For this reason, the pornography industry
welcomed the new system, since it introduced a form of blockage for this
invasion of privacy. On the other side of the fence, someone can log onto
the World Wide Web (WWW) and find what they are looking for without all
the superfluous, unrelated garbage.
President Larissa Mien scored huge congrats for her innovative notion
that saved the Internet and, to a lesser degree, saved the technical future of
the world. Her second term has been as successful as her first and most of
the citizens wish a waiver could be implemented, allowing her to run for a
third.
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Leonard pulls away from Rebecca’s unbelievably alluring, green eyes.
After the break in nonphysical contact, they smile in recognition of the
admiration they have for each other.
“Are you coming to bed?” the man wonders.
“I don’t know. I was finally beating this thing.”
“It’s solitaire. You’re only beating yourself.”
“That can be harder than it sounds.”
“So, you’re not coming to bed?”
“I think I could close out of this game. That is…well…are you
planning on going to sleep?” she inquires in a suggestive manner.
“I don’t think I could if I wanted to now. I’m wide awake.”
“Wanna go for a walk?”
“Outside? Now?”
“Why not?”
“Umm…the neighbors might talk.
You know...who’s that guy
streaking across our lawn?”
“That’s true. Of course, you could put some clothes on.”
“Do you really wanna go for a walk?”
“Sure. It would be romantic. Don’t ya think?”
“Yeah, it would,” Leonard prepares to say something that has been on
his mind, “You know, you’re starting to grow on me.”
“What do you mean…naked boy?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No I don’t”
“Yeah ya do.”
“Tell me,” she encourages a response.
“I’m really enjoying our time together.”
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“So am I.”
“Does it have to end?”
“I don’t know. Do you want it to?”
Her drive for more specifics persists, but Leonard hesitates to reply.
His thoughts instantly turn to the reality of their affair. How can it possibly
continue? How can it possibly end?
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Chapter
Sixty-two
January 1, 2015 (12:15 Am - local)– Rzhev, Russia
Music and non-coordinated discussions mix into a full-blown level of
confusion that, in this case, enhances the positive atmosphere. A younger
couple, perhaps in their early twenties, lean into a corner of the crowded
family room, lip-locked and unconcerned about the activities around them.
The majority of the party members are wearing crazy hats and speaking
loudly to overcome their own intoxication.
With the exception of the
overzealous pair in the corner, the kissing portion of the festivities has given
way to champagne and smiles.
A forty-five-year-old male, dressed in a green pullover and jeans,
distances himself from the others in mind and body as he walks somewhat
coherently toward the hallway and out of sight from the rest. He reemerges
a minute later, wearing a thick, brown leather jacket with a fluffy material
around the neck. His dense, brown hair has been covered by a gray hat that
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fails to cover his ears. His brown eyes focus on the front door as he swiftly
approaches it and jerks the latch out of position.
Kobach is greeted by a stiff wind that carries with it a frigid bite. He
looks out into the darkness, grimaces in an effort to fight the cold, wraps his
own arms tighter to his torso, and begins the walk towards the awaiting
visitor. The streetlight that lays dead ahead illuminates his destination plus
provides a mild glow to the snow that dominates the horizon. The Russian
administrator squints as he battles the flurries, which seem as if they have
been aimed directly for his unprotected face.
A fat, short-bodied man leans back against the metal quarter panel of
his black automobile, patiently waiting and apparently much less affected by
the wintry conditions. His tan, short-sleeved outfit with red trim stands out
proudly, not to mention labeling him as tough, if not a little crazy. The VKS
official watches his civilian partner edge closer, wondering how much he
has had to drink. Judging by his travels, he is stone sober, but the freezing
gusts have a way of clearing a man’s head in a hurry.
“I don’t think you’ll be able to light that thing out here Ivan,” the man
with the jacket warns, his non-masculine voice is a little deeper than normal
due to the conditions.
Like an old pro, Mr. Rebrov blocks the wind with his left hand and
ignites the cigar with the other. Ivan lets out a grunt that states “I told you
so”, before reversing the flow of air, in order to inhale the stout tobacco
flavor.
“Having a good time Kobach?” he inquires in a somewhat stern tone.
His frosty words seem to bring the temperature below the zero mark.
The RKA rep. is somewhat confused, not knowing whether he is insinuating
something or perhaps tired. The unexpected page and subsequent meeting at
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such an hour, on a holiday no less, paints an obvious urgency to the
situation, but Kobach is unaware of the subject matter.
“Just screwing with ya. How the hell are ya?” his more common
smile finally introduces itself.
“Not bad. It’s damn chilly out here. Why don’t we talk in the car?”
Mr. Simko suggests a better plan.
“Gotta be careful. Major breakthrough. I don’t wanna take a fu@#’n
thing for granted.”
“You think your car is rigged?” Kobach lowers his voice to a whisper,
though the blustery environment drowns out the volume anyhow.
“No chances my friend,” he sucks in the aromatic smoke before
resuming his briefing, “J51 came through…big time.”
“The photos?”
“No.”
“How they blocked them?”
“Nope. She got us in…all the way.”
“Irwin? Headquarters?”
“Past that.”
“Jackpot?”
“Jackpot!”
“So what now? Are we sure this is not a diversion? A trick?”
“It checks out. No more relying on Leonard Thomas. Well, I guess
we’re still relying on him.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have a tap into his communications with the real leader of the
mission. We have the emails, but we don’t know this man’s identity yet.
When we get that…then…it’s the real jackpot.”
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“So it was his home com…”
“Shh.” Ivan reacts to his friend’s sudden increase in volume.
“Oh. Sorry. I guess, we need to...well…what next?” the whisper
returns.
“That’s why I’m here…now…we’re moving.”
“Moving?”
“Murmansk.”
“You’re kidding? Why?”
“High Level is moving there.”
“Can’t we just arrange a break in? Steal the thing. I’m sure it’s all on
the hard drive.”
“I guarantee you that they’re way smarter than that. Not a single
message finds its way past the memory board. They know that people like
us would likely stage such a thing.”
“So, why Murmansk? Why not Plesetsk? What’s wrong with what
we have now?”
“We need the security. No matter what, they are going to know where
we’re at. So, we need a place where it doesn’t matter. Where they can’t get
in…period!”
“I see.”
“If things go as planned, we’ll be able to move back in a few months.”
“Months?”
“Months.”
“What’s your wife gonna…damn, my wife’s going to kill me.”
“Bring her,” Ivan suggests in what sounds more like an order, though
it was intended to be friendly advice.
“Are you bringing Soneska?”
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“Are you kidding? I wanna make the best out of this thing.”
“Can I tell her that?”
“Can I kick you ass?” his garbled voice owns a certain tint of
playfulness.
“I don’t know how you do it. I guess, it comes with the territory.”
“What? You mean being away from the Mrs.?”
“Yeah. It would tear me apart.”
“Nah. That’s what’s kept us together all these years.”
“Being apart has kept you together?”
“Something like that.”
“So...umm…when?”
“Are you asking if you can get back to your party?”
“Something like that,” Kobach’s imitation of his friend is dead on,
with the exception of his significantly contrasting voice.
“Good one. A week. If it’s a problem, you can join me as much as a
week later.”
“How am I going to manage all the…”
“You won’t have to manage a thing,” the Colonel interrupts,
“Everything will be prearranged. Down to the excuse for your wife.”
“So, it’s just get up and go?”
“Yes. It’ll be worth it. I’m sure of it.”
“What makes you so sure? What if there is nothing else there? What
if they have been upfront on everything?”
“We already know they haven’t.”
“Do you think they know about the…ah…our secret?”
“No?”
“Isn’t that being a little naïve?”
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“They have no reason to suspect it. That’s the difference.”
“That’s true.”
“Why don’t you go back to your party…enjoy yourself?”
“Wanna come in for a drink?
“You know I would be out of place.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“We’ll see ya tomorrow…with a headache I presume.”
“Not me.”
“We’ll see.”
“Take care. Drive careful Ivan. The roads have got to be bad,”
Kobak supplies a sincere warning to his counterpart in the project.
As the man with the warmer clothing turns around, he is welcomed by
the nasty weather that his “attention to detail” seemed to protect him from.
His uncovered hands tingle with pain, which is a good sign in a sense that
they are not yet numb. He pops them into his jacket in hopes of heating
them up. Ivan tosses the stubby cigar into a snowdrift and watches it melt
through. He looks up to see that his coworker is nearing the steps to the
expensive home.
“Kobach?”
Mr. Simko detects the loud role call and twists around back into the
gust of the mild blizzard.
“Happy New Year.”
The civilian lifts a modest smile and hesitantly lifts his left hand out
of the warmth of his pocket.
“You too.”
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As he turns around to enter the heated confines of the dwelling, he
reflects on the fact that he is moving considerably north. What a joy that
will be.
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Chapter
Sixty-three
March 3, 2015 – Solar-Bio2
(265,543,900 miles beyond Jupiter / Traveling at 17,120 mph)
Sonya cups her hand around the ripe treasure, feeling the smoothness
of its spherical skin. She resisted the temptation of starting up the garden for
quite some time, based solely on the fact that she didn’t earn it. After a
long-term self-debate, she decided that she has acquired sufficient
knowledge to reward herself with this system. While the other forms of
betrayal have not affected her in this way, the actual production of another
living cell, albeit a plant, seemed to put too solid of a point on the situation.
It was almost like she wouldn’t be able to enjoy the grown food, because her
physical self couldn’t be “talked into it” as easily as her mental self.
However, time usually heals all wounds and has a knack of inducing
forgetfulness. The fourteen-year-old gazes her hazel eyes squarely into the
deep red color of the tomato. She has never anticipated something for its
taste like she presently witnesses within her own being. A slight side road is
taken when she considers the possibility that the fruit (which most believe to
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be a vegetable) may not be as delicious as she hopes. Is she being deceived
by its wonderful appearance? Could this be similar to the story in the
beginning of the bible? Will this bite cost her everything? Will God reach
in and take her possessions? Is she inviting in her own doom? Could Matt
be her “Adam”? If so, will she be sentenced to live with him? Is that not a
good thing?
Sonya recalls the movie “Snow White”, where she also bit into an
apple, only to experience a spell cast by a mean, old lady. Could there be
some sort of potion in the water that transferred through the root system and
into the tomato? Would headquarters have that capability? Would they use
it just because she broke off communications? Certainly not!
Her thoughts take a new angle when she deducts that she is
“unreachable”.
She feels that there is no way anyone can touch her,
although she fails to consider the notion that someone may be able to
“influence” her.
FR1’s attention reverts to the round fortune that fits perfectly in her
two-handed grasp. A detectable intensity in regards to her pulse signifies her
anxious demeanor. The hungry teen dismisses her earlier worries and raises
the forbidden fruit to her salivating mouth. Perhaps in an effort to play the
role of “Eve” or the Disney character, she likens the produce to an apple and
takes a considerable bite. The juicy internals immediately greet her taste
buds with its distinct, acidy tang. As if out of instinct, she senses the
moistness on her lips and wipes her tongue to gather in the flavor. Her lids
provide a blind to cover her sights in an attempt to block out anything that
could divert her attention away from the moment.
Sonya allows a few seconds to elapse before producing an opinion.
While her immediate reaction is one of great satisfaction and the desire to
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partake in another nibble or two, she is hesitant to do so, since there is an off
chance that the fruit has an “after bite”.
The lone occupant of the Solar-Bio2 opens her sights and looks about,
noting the new screen saver she has installed. It is a basic slide show,
featuring the images that Matt has sent to her. His smiling face almost
brings her as much fulfillment as the garden-grown delight. Sonya finally
delivered to him a digital photo of herself. She decided to give him a face
only portrait at the time but plans to soon produce a wider angle, for her
breasts have developed adequately in recent months. Though he has never
mentioned it (and if he did, the web service would block it anyhow), she
assumes this to be an important facet of being a woman. Surprisingly, her
thought process on the matter was generated by the drawings of the female
characters on the assorted cartoons she has observed.
Sonya does not experience drowsiness from the consumption of the
edible product, nor does she note any “larger than life” beings attacking her
spacecraft. As she expected, the tomato is free of the evils that some of the
documentation has planted into her head. While she momentarily entertains
the possibility that the demons are waiting for her to finish, she quickly
swats the idea out of mental sight.
Just as the female is about to engage in seconds, she catches a glimpse
of some of the fleshy juices that evidently sprayed out during the first bite.
The semi-transparent red and yellowish seeds float a foot above her head,
keeping their shape, for the most part. The glob of tomato is far too valuable
to ignore, not to mention the cleanliness of the cabin’s air. Sonya grips onto
the fruit with her left hand, while reaching for the suspended substance with
her right. As she pulls it towards her, she feels its wet touch within here
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palm.
Her mouth opens widely, accepting the runaway goo, and then
follows it up by licking her moist mitt.
Sonya commences devouring the tasty treat, allowing her thoughts to
accept whatever subject jumps in first. Perhaps winning an unfair battle, her
boyfriend volunteers to be the topic of mental discussion. She recalls his
most recent request for an audio file of her voice. He has already sent
several, while she has provided excuses for her inability to follow suit. Her
fabricated reasons have since been reduced in believability, for he has
attached the required software. She is in the midst of manufacturing a
microphone from assorted materials and hopes to satisfy his desires.
The idea of talking brings to mind the fact that she does not vocalize
to herself much anymore. In the past, a large portion of her day was spent
listening to music, to which she would sing along.
Ever since she
discovered the riches of the Internet and a friend, the assorted country tracks
have taken a backseat.
“This is good. I wonder what a pea tastes like?” she issues with her
mouth still half full of the healthy tomato.
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Chapter
Sixty-four
April 26, 2015 – Death Valley National Park
“It is hot!” the female backpacker describes the ambient conditions.
“Can you imagine July?” expounds the male hiker to her right while
joining her in a drink of cool water.
“No…I can’t,” Rebecca answers with self-assurance to her accuracy.
“130 degrees,” a second male, this one being of a larger build, jumps
in to prove his knowledge on the subject.
“This place is so beautiful,” Patricia looks up to the colorful terrain
and then supplies additional opinion, “It’s even nicer at night.”
“At night?” the other female wonders.
“Yeah. The stars. You can see so well out here. No city lights. Wish
we had time to stay tonight.”
“Just think…we almost lost this place,” Leonard recalls.
“This place? Death Valley? Why?” wonders the woman with pale
skin just waiting to attain a sunburn.
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“Mining. Part of the Resources Reclamation Proposal.”
“Oh yeah. Thank God that thing didn’t go through.”
The notion that the government could recover large sums of money
during more difficult times through “controlled” stripping of assorted Parks
and Recreational Lands was first introduced during the previous election.
Mrs. Mien’s opposition outlined to the country how many of the valuable
commodities buried/growing inside protected boundaries could be properly
farmed and used to strengthen a declining economy.
Declarations were made that guaranteed that the beauty of these
unique locals would be maintained throughout. However, those against such
drastic measures countered by stating that such an operation is impossible,
and the politicians are counting on the fact that the majority of the country
will not visit these parks to find out for themselves. The debate intensified
as the story continued, but the environmentalists won this particular battle,
and the economy rebounded based on the rebuilding of a solid work force
and a reduction in the complete reliance on technology.
The foursome joins in a quiet moment to rest and admire the unique
scenery within Artist’s Palette. There is no color that dominates another,
hence its well-define name. Huge boulders and sections of the mountainside
seem to include every piece of the rainbow. Soft pastel-like pinks and blues
combine with vivid greens and reds. A puffy cumulous accents the deep
blue sky, presenting an overall mosaic that would leave a city dweller in
complete awe and a painter in an envious frenzy.
“Did I tell you about the money?” Patricia breaks the silence with an
offbeat entry.
“No. What money?” her boss inquires as he wipes the beads of sweat
from his slightly wrinkled brow.
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“The legal junk is done. I get it next month”
“Oh that’s good. You’re not going to go and retire are you? I need
you girl,” he states with a powerful aim, being careful with his words, as a
non-cleared individual is present.
“Oh no. I love my job. I am going to buy a nice car. A fast one,” she
admits.
“I think I’ll retire though,” her muscular fiancé blurts another of his
annoying statements.
“You don’t work now,” contends the blonde woman who has lost
nearly all her access weight.
“Don’t need to now,” he brags.
“I guess not. Just have the house clean when I get home,” his wife-tobe swings back her witty response.
A reply from her partner is not forthcoming, although the most casual
of observer could sense his displeasure. Leonard chooses to stay out of the
conversation for obvious reasons, while Rebecca never became involved in
the first place. Her emerald eyes were to busy taking in the wonder that
stands magnificently before her. Though the heat is surprisingly brutal for
the end of April, she is in excellent physical condition and has had no
problem with the exertion of the stroll through the canyon. Earlier in the
day, they witnessed the bronze beauty of Zabriskie’s Point, stood on the
lowest point in the western hemisphere, and popped a bucket of balls at the
Furnace Creek Golf Course.
“Hey Becky? Did you tell Leonard about your hubby?” Miss Bonham
offers a change in subject after the evil eye she received from her boyfriend.
The upfront question startles the woman that it was directed towards,
for she had no intention on announcing this in the presence of company. She
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considers ignoring the untimely requisition in the hopes that it blows over.
She wonders why her friend brought up, especially in such an abrupt
manner. Does she know about the affair?
“Umm, I didn’t ah, it’s so beautiful out here,” she stumbles to find a
diversion but only creates more attention to the ordeal.
“What?” Patricia inputs with a confused touch.
“I just think it is so inspiring. Like God reached down with a huge
brush and did his work.”
“Honey, what are you talking about?” the persistent lady does not
allow Rebecca to escape, nor realize that she’s even trying.
“The walls. We can talk about that other stuff anytime. How often
are we here?”
“Oh,” Patricia begins while bending down to grab an interesting stone,
“I agree with that. Look at this. Wonder how it got like this.”
While the diversion tactic was rougher than the landscape, somehow it
succeeded. She is quite sure that Leonard heard the comment and decided
against an inquiry. The lovely woman, who looks notably younger than the
forty-seven-year-old female, has been regretting this for a week now. Her
husband, Leonard will finally be joining her, although not until he’s vested
in the city’s retirement, which gave her a few months to work it in. She
planned on breaking the news to her secret lover in a private setting; and,
although she still can do so, the drive back will be uncomfortable to say the
least. She also hoped to spend more time with him before announcing it, an
option she no longer has.
Rebecca joins Leonard in the inspection of the bright green rock that
has peculiar indentations on one side. As the three provide their uneducated
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accounts of the object’s identity and origin, Steve walks around the bend and
slips out of sight, not to mention out of mind.
“I think I’ll keep this one,” the finder of the unique stone declares.
“That’s against the law,” Leonard informs with a chuckle.
“Really?”
“Yeah, but I think you can sneak it out.”
“I’ll swallow it.”
An opening of the mouth and a fake insertion of the article in question
follow her joke. Her sense of humor is accepted well, as both Rebecca and
Leonard engage in a hearty laugh.
Whether her funny gesture was so
perfectly performed or the two are looking for something to take the edge off
the inevitable breakup is unknown, but there is little doubt that the cheerful
atmosphere will end when the discussion comes to be.
“Hey…Patty?” a voice from around the corner echoes.
“What?”
“I got your birthday present baby.”
“Well, bring it here,” Miss Bonham instructs with a hold over of
laughter.
“Are you sure?”
“Are you dressed?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, bring it on.”
“Ok.”
The three stand in wonderment for what he could have possibly found
that would be worthy of a gift for her turning forty-eight. As his large
shadow greets the clearing a bit ahead of him, a noise can be heard. Finally,
he emerges carrying a small snake on a stick. The sidewinder’s rattle shakes
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profusely in displeasure, heeding the warning of how dangerous his
venomous fangs happen to be. The obnoxious male moves closer toward the
shocked hikers in some sort of dominance over the petrified creature.
Patricia screams at the top of her lungs, before turning around and
running in the opposite direction.
The other two exhibit considerable
courage and an equal quantity of aversion for his antics. Realizing the game
is over; he tosses the snake a few feet with no concern for its safety. Even
though both Rebecca and Leonard had the future of their love affair on their
minds only moments ago, they now share in a new thought…hoping that the
snake slithers over and chomps into the asshole’s leg.
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Chapter
Sixty-five
May 9, 2015 – Solar-Bio1
(578,666,628 miles beyond Saturn / Traveling at 22,613 mph)
Some things in life happen for a reason, while others are nothing more
than pure coincidence. On Earth, thousands of individuals make a living at
predicting strange outcomes and convincing their clientele that an event will
happen within a precise slot in time. However, for an individual that has
been raised on his own beliefs in a completely isolated environment, these
issues do not exist, nor are they even questioned.
Alex finds no significance in the fact that he is about to complete his
third and final phase of education on the exact ten-year point of his journey.
To him, he completed his training ahead of schedule because of the extra
efforts he implemented; and there is no reason to look for another
explanation. In fact, his thoughts concentrate more on wishing he wasn’t
isolated for so many miles inside the added radiation shielding, thereby
keeping him from finishing even earlier. According to the intelligent teen,
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the projected goal that headquarters assigned calculated out to 750 million
miles beyond Saturn, putting him a good 170 million in the plus.
Instead of executing the download command that awaits, MR1 opts
for a moment to reflect on the accomplishment. It has always seemed to be
the promise of a reward that has provided the added incentive for him;
however, at least at this precise juncture in his life, the confidence in himself
to be able to handle casualties and extract the information from his living
database is reward enough.
Although he has always understood the
importance of knowledge, he now realizes that this brainpower he has
gained far outweighs anything that could be granted him.
As the brilliant boy comes out of his contemplation, his forehead
detects an increase in temperature, and his heart pounds a little harder. He is
not aware of what treasures lie beyond the next keystroke, not to mention
what he is to do with himself for the remainder of the journey. Should he
have taken a slower pace, so that he would always have a lesson to work on
up to the point of Umbriel?
Alex conducts the single-finger operation that informs his tiny world
that he is ready to reap the benefits of rigorous work and heavy discipline.
He begins to inject his own predictions as to what may be coming his way.
Will this be a supplement to the music and documentaries he has already
received, or will something totally different glow before his bright blue
eyes? Perhaps, there will be another lesson plan…a Phase 4! The brownhaired boy actually would welcome this after all he has done. The more he
learns, the more he wants to absorb.
A considerable case of dry mouth invades the youth’s senses. He
deliberates on whether to retrieve a slug of water but opts against it as a
message pops up to greet him.
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CONGRATULATIONS MR1 !!! You have completed all three phases of
your education. Your dedication was essential for the success of this mission.
You can review any of the sections at any time by following the menu system.
There will be no more preprogrammed lesson plans; however, we do urge
you to continue reviewing the information, in order to maintain sharp skills.
We will be including several rewards with this download to keep you
occupied during the remainder of your trip. Press CONTINUE
The main menu on the Information and Education Center will guide you
through the selections. All information in the lesson plans will be retrievable
from here as well. The music and video that was provided after the first two
phases will be included in the menu system. Enjoy your rewards. You have
earned them!
Press CONTINUE
For a moment, Alex is confused about this “Information and
Education Center”, but then he realizes that this is the console he is on as he
thinks. The peculiar brain block, which was probably due to the fact the
message made it “sound” like it was on a “different” computer, is a bit
foreign to him.
While there are many things he does not know, it is
extremely rare for him to drop the ball like that.
The young man recollects an old lesson plan that dealt with logical
reasoning. It defined a new term at the time called “common sense”. They
stated that this is the ability to use simple thought to make deductions and
apply information. He remembers a statement that insinuated that he should
always take this easier road to a final result; otherwise he will lose this
ability to handle basic everyday matters. This sentence induced him to take
the unclear message a step further.
If he has the ability to combat a
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circumstance through formulas and engineering principles, and he comes up
with the same answer, is this NOT also the use of common sense? Just
because a person uses a higher plain to extrapolate an outcome, does this
mean they lack this talent/skill? Is the assumption being made that if an
individual chooses the more extensive route, they DO NOT have the ability
to also use the less complicated method?
As is almost always the case, Alex has transgressed beyond the
subject at hand and needs to dive out before he gets into an argument with
himself. His left hand scratches an itch on his bare chest, as he guides the
cursor toward the box that resumes the process. Though he has recently
begun to experience the early stages of puberty, he has not yet been granted
the growth of chest hair (nor a visible moustache, for that matter). Since he
does not speak into the silent world he has chosen, he is unaware of his
cracking voice.
MR1 selects CONTINUE.
SOLAR-BIO1 INFORMATION DATABASE MAIN MENU
A.
EDUCATION / INFORMATION
1.
2.
LESSON PLANS
a.
PHASE 1
b.
PHASE 2
c.
PHASE 3
NEW INFORMATION
a.
ENCYCLOPEDIA
b.
DICTIONARY
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B
c.
ALMANAC
d.
MISCELLANEOUS
REWARDS
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
MUSIC
a.
PHASE 1 MUSIC
b.
PHASE 2 MUSIC
c.
PHASE 3 MUSIC
d.
MUSIC SOFTWARE
VIDEO
a.
PHASE 2 VIDEO
b.
PHASE 3 VIDEO
GAMES
a.
CARDS
b.
SPORTS
c.
MISCELLANEOUS
PHOTOGRAPHY
a.
ABOUT YOUR CAMERA
b.
TAKING PHOTOS
c.
PHOTO SOFTWARE
WRITING / SPREADSHEETS
a.
WORD DOCUMENTS
b.
EXCEL SPREADSHEETS
c.
MISCELLANEOUS
UNLABELLED
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The awestruck traveler is astounded by the selections that have been
granted him. Although some of the entries are less than self-explanatory,
given his isolated educational base, he is sure that each option will deliver a
new world of exploration! He is happy to see that headquarters included
more in the area of information. Little does he know at this exact point, but
the unfamiliar article labeled “Encyclopedia” will provide him with virtually
unlimited reading. Regardless of the reality that JPL removed segments that
they projected would cause damaging confusion, thousands of fascinating
discoveries await the unknowing mind of the lone rider.
An influential sense of saturation reaches the boy’s inner being as he
attempts to conjure up something that will help him identify some of the
foreign words. He is hesitant to arbitrarily pick one, for he knows from
experience that the menu system can get rather deep, and it is difficult to
determine when to back out and try another direction. Although some of the
new choices include words he is familiar with, what actual types of
excitement are packaged within them is less obvious.
Alex becomes the most intrigued with the least explanatory of them
all. Why have they left number six without a name? What exactly does this
mean? Everything is always so descriptive and properly tagged, yet, in this
case, it seems as though it was purposely designed to create wonderment.
His interest in the “unlabelled” section prevails over his desire to hear more
music or explore the other programs.
MR1 decides to investigate the
complete unknown before dabbling into the somewhat unclear.
Anticipating a new list of choices, Alex is surprised with an
immediate loading of a file, a large one at that. His patience is tried, as the
hard drive seems to spin slower in a teasing manner. Finally, the screen
changes to completely blank and then quickly returns an image.
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To his astonishment, a portrait of a woman’s face appears. He has
never witnessed a real photo of another human being, so this immediately
injects a new, notably frightened sensation. Before he can even begin to
elaborate on the physical nature of the female’s facial features, she offers
another “first time ever” attribute in the form of speech. Her voice is strange
to him, yet instantly comforting, completely contrasting to the simulated
computer sounds he is accustomed to.
The startled young man listens
closely, as he studies her movements and exotic expressions.
“Hello Alex. I am very proud of you. I am the woman who you know as
your mother. This message is from me to you. Nobody knows about this, so you
must delete this file after it has played. At the end of this program, you will receive
the option to delete it. You must delete it.”
“Now listen closely. I am not your real mother. I did not give birth to you. I
feel you should know this. I will not tell you much about your real mother, because
you should not be worrying yourself over it. I just had to tell you. I truly feel like I
was your real mother.”
“Your real mother was too young to take care of you. She was only fifteen
years old. You were born on January 8th in the year 2001 in the city of Orlando. I
named you after her.”
“I wanted to give you something for your devotion, so I snuck something
onboard before you left. It is a book. Not like the ones for the Solar-Bio. It is a
book of poetry by Alexander Pope. In it, you will find a character by the name
Umbriel. It is this fascinating story that enticed William Lassell to name the moon
that will soon be your home. I wrapped the book in plastic and placed it behind the
wet food boxes near the bottom.”
“Bless you Alex. May your journey bring you all the treasures that you
dream of. You have earned them. Good luck my son.”
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The mesmerized teen watches as the pale-skinned woman with blonde
hair and brown eyes brings her fingers to her mouth and presses them
against it. She then moves the body part away and exhales softly. Although
he does not understand the “blowing a kiss” gesture, he does sense that it is
some sort of signing off or goodbye.
His content demeanor is immediately substituted with an emptier
feeling when her image disappears and a message window pops up. Just as
she explained, he is being offered the chance to remove the multimedia file
from his computer. The preprogrammed feature relies on his obedience,
which has never been tested with such temptation. Miss Bonham could not
have possibly predicted what would go through his head at this very
moment. She could only assume that he would carry out her demands, based
solely on the fact that she instructed him to do so.
Alex contemplates his next move, utilizing his strong power of
reasoning. He has never seen a picture of another human until now. What if
there are no other such images in the unexplored banks? Could this be it?
His thoughts reflect on her words about not being his mother but feeling like
she is. His teachings clearly stated that there is no bond between humans
other than the physical connection to carry on the team and all its
components. A mother was no different than a farmer! So, why does this
particular person “feel” like something she is not? What does she mean by
this bold declaration?
He switches sides for a moment, in an attempt to examine his own
way of thinking on the manner. He decides that it is only fair to question
himself, before he scrutinizes another. After a concerted search deep down
into his never-fully-understood emotions, he concludes that something felt
warm and good about her words. It seems as though; he is glad that she
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feels like his mother. Alex recalls some of his energetic inner responses
when she would transmit a message.
Whenever the name “Alex” was
tagged on the screen, he knew it was from her, and it definitely incited an
added boost of adrenalin. He always figured this reaction was due to the fact
that the others at headquarters called him by the less personal label, but now
he wonders if it was more due to the person doing the labeling than the label
itself.
As he learns more about himself than he was engineered to know, he
finds with it more confusion as well. If he has just witnessed this grand
emotion, how come it now exhibits an annoying side effect? Why does he
feel this ache in his abdomen? Why is his brain filled with conniving ideas
that could result in seeing more of her? If it is not on the ship, he obviously
cannot retrieve it, but what would be so wrong about keeping this little,
harmless file?
Alex continues to struggle with the decision, inviting new thoughts to
dance and sway between the unsettled, existing ones. What about his real
mother? Does she also feel this sensation about him? What about the book?
Perhaps there are some pictures in there. Maybe, he should go get the article
and check. If there is sufficient material concerning the woman on the file,
he could obey the request and delete it. If not, he could save it for a while
and erase it later. Is this not a logical and fair compromise? Is he really in
the position to make such a determination?
Alex moves the cursor from one box to the other. It is as if the very
thought of “what comes next” is enough to induce the emotions that will
follow, for when he moves the tiny cross over the “delete” option his
stomach pain intensifies. Conversely, when he slides it over to the “x” that
will conduct the escape command, he experiences an eerie worry about what
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his actions have caused and what his “mother” thinks of him. Unable to
identify either of these human characteristics, he guides the cursor away
form both and sits back.
Alex tries once more to use logic to pave the way for the correct
answer, this time delving into the simple route. Will common sense lead to
the path of least resistance, or bury him into a deeper hole than he already
dwells? Multiple choice is nothing new to him, for he has often had to select
between two “close” answers, forced to decide which is the “most” correct.
However, this situation seems to more closely follow the rules that come
with imposing the popular “process of elimination” method. In other words,
which choice is the “least” incorrect? So what will it be? Which painful
result is less wrong? A. Loneliness B.
Guilt
Unlike many of his earlier lessons, “None of the above” is not an
option.
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Chapter
Sixty-six
September 19, 2015 – Barstow, CA
Rebecca grips a pair of cloth pads and then carefully lifts the steaming
casserole dish from the stovetop. Her slender frame slowly moves toward
the dining room with the entrée in hand. Her sights focus on the beige
linoleum, conducting a cautious approach to the oak table. The attractive
woman sets the main course onto the protective fabric, which she placed
there on a previous trip. She looks over to her husband, who is already
digging into the side dishes and chose not to wait for the cook.
An all-to-common disappointment sets in upon noting his lack of
respect, and, as usual, she decides to lock it away out of sight.
Mrs.
McGinnis stares at the heavily aged male as he devours a cob of corn,
oblivious to her presence or, perhaps, uncaring of it. Finally he looks up,
exposing the distinct wrinkles beneath his blue eyes. Just as they are about
to make contact with her shining emeralds, he spots the new addition to the
417
meal and reaches for a scoop. After covering the left-hand side of his plate
with the Italian cuisine, he acknowledges her attendance.
“You gonna eat?” his voice is rough and void of any thoughtfulness.
“I’m not real hungry,” she states, realizing this as she speaks.
“What?” he demands an elaboration for the comment.
“I’ll eat later,” her explanation begins, “Guess I lost my appetite.
Must be the heat.”
“To hell it is!” his tone increases in volume with each exchange.
“Really. The oven was too much for me. I’ll cool off in a bit,” she
tries to avert the inevitable, wondering if she should avoid the situation by
partaking in the event.
“What is it? What is it now?”
“Ah,” she starts to move towards the chair but decides she can’t live
in fear forever, “I don’t feel so well. I’m going to lay down.”
“Are you trying to give me a damn guilt trip? I didn’t do anything.
Sit down!”
“Come on Leonard. I’m nauseous. Give me a break…please?”
“Please? Give me a break? What? You want me to leave you alone?
Is that it? Like you left me alone? Huh?”
“It’s nothing to do with that. I just don’t feel like eating right now.”
“And you want me to give you a fu@#$’n break?”
“I’ll be on the couch.”
“I’m not eating alone. I’ve been alone for near god-damned forever,”
his vulgarity matches his tone as he associates the circumstance with their
months apart.
“I’ll take care of the dishes when I get up.”
“If you don’t eat now, I’ll throw this shit in the garbage!”
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“If that’s what you want Leonard. I’m feeling sick.”
“It’s never what I want. You know that. I can’t please your ass. I
never could!”
Rebecca passes on her turn, opting to walk away from the heated,
nonsensical debate. Unfortunately, this line of defense sits worse with him
than the verbal method. His temper began to flare shortly after the marriage
and did not let up, forcing her to request a transfer in the hopes that he would
seek help. He promised to change but never forgave her for leaving, as
evident by these tirades that took less than a month to sprout back up.
As her fragile figure disappears from his angry sight, his energy
surpasses the temperature of the pasta. His wife considers heading straight
out the door but knows that she must confront the situation. A loud noise,
resembling a drummer smashing the cymbals, erupts from the apartment’s
eating space. Although she hoped to remain calm, a new, terrified status
conquers over her recent bravery.
“I’ll give you a god-damned break woman! What the fu#@ do you
think of that break?” his play on words falls short of any comical attributes.
“Leonard stop it! I’m gonna leave!” Rebecca slams back to the voice
that remains hidden in the other room.
“You’re good at that. Aren’t you? What about me? Why is it always
about you?” he continues to scream, bringing up scars that obviously never
healed.
“Good night Leonard. I’ll come back when you’ve calmed down.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he finally makes an appearance into the
living room, his bloodshot eyes displaying his mood.
“What do you want me to do? I’m scared,” admits the well-beyondjust-scared female.
419
“You’re scared of me? You try to piss me off…then you’re scared of
me?”
“Good night Leonard,” her right hand grips the doorknob.
“Fine! Leave! I don’t need you.”
Rebecca bites on the opportunity to exit the premises. She swings the
metal barrier in hopes of departing the scene and preventing any physical
interaction. Her overly disturbed husband of significant size apparently had
no intention on allowing such an easy getaway, as he jerks full throttle
towards his petrified spouse. With the door wide open, she battles two
thoughts for which she only has a split second to select from. Shall she grin
and bare it, avoiding a scene with the neighbors, or would it be best to run in
the off chance that he doesn’t continue the chase?
Realizing that fleeing will only make matters worse, she turns around
and grimaces. The angry male immediately grips her arms slightly below her
shoulders, shaking her profusely. The violent treatment is postponed, long
enough to reach the door and slam it shut.
“You wanna go? I’ll give you something to be scared of woman!”
“Stop it! Please stop it!” her trembling words give way to a fullbodied wail, “Just leave me alone!”
Perhaps being the “straw that broke the camel’s back”, the pleading
comment unfairly induces a stronger course of action. Without considering
the consequences, his fist clenches and strikes her jaw with substantial force.
Rebecca attempts to cover her face, only to be bullied from such a defensive
tactic.
As she weeps more out of fear than the pain delivered by the
cowardly blow, he pulls back.
His reaction was not prompted by the
realization of the wrongness of his act, but is fully driven by his belief that
she has learned her lesson.
420
While his twisted judgment substantiates the punishment, her thoughts
find a more logical chain of reasoning. He will never do this again. She left
him once for this exact behavior, hoping that a repeat was not in the future.
Rebecca wonders if she always knew he wouldn’t change but felt safer
catering to his desires, thereby avoiding a situation where she became the
hunted.
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Chapter
Sixty-seven
December 8, 2015 – Salton Sea
“Can you believe it’s been nine years?”
“Since what?” Leonard asks as he walks along the deserted shoreline
with the gray-haired gentleman.
“Here,” the other male makes short of it, perhaps to allow the
expelling of a sunflower seed.
“Oh. Yeah. We’re not young anymore,” admits Mr. Thomas.
“No.”
“Well, we only come here when we have a problem…so…”
“We have a leak,” Leonard’s secret boss gets to the point, “Someone’s
talking to the Russians.”
“Shit,” the younger male makes use of a word he rarely utilizes.
“More like fu#$…but…anyway…we have to find out who it is.”
“You think it’s one of our own?”
422
“Not sure. It would make the most sense. Who else knows about
MR1?”
“What? They know about that?”
“Actually, I figure they pretty much always did. They know us about
as well as we know them.”
“So, wait a sec! Have they contacted you?”
“They found my account.”
“I swear. I have told no one,” Leonard becomes conscious of the fact
that this would make him the prime suspect.
“I believe you, but someone knows…and apparently is talking,” the
mysterious leader consoles his longtime friend, confident that he is not the
spy, for Leonard has been watched from day one, “I have people looking
into the outside influences. I just need you to verify your people.”
“Ok. I’ll have to give this some thought. I mean as far as catching
them. This isn’t really my bag.”
“Just break it down to the things that relate to me. That’s the clue.
Someone unearthed my identity and obviously felt it was valuable.”
“Alright.”
“Keep in mind. The Russians don’t really know much more than they
did…maybe none.”
“So?”
“They won’t say a thing until we go off course.”
“Yeah, they’d look pretty bad if they screamed foul play and we
continued to Pluto.”
“Yes. The fact that they know me is not a big deal. I think I’ll take
this opportunity to head it out rest of the way.”
423
“You’re going to deal with the VKS?” Leonard feels a bit slighted,
knowing he will lose some of his power.
“Yeah…they’re going to try and get in on Bio-1 somehow. Not sure
how this is going to pan out. If we can find the leak in time, we may be able
squirm out of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“If everything is word of mouth, we may be able to erase the
mouth…and claim that they have been swindled.”
While the idea of denying the allegations makes perfect sense,
Leonard does not accept the other requirement with open arms. Under his
boss’ plan, the culprit’s misdeed shall become their doom.
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Chapter
Sixty-eight
December 9, 2015 – Fort Irwin, CA
Leonard steps off the platform much the same as he has so many
times in the past, except, this time, he looks at his employees with a different
eye. As they carry on, fully unaware of the suspicious thoughts that haunt
their supervisor, he nervously studies them under a personal magnifying
glass. The two males conduct their Wednesday turnovers, while Patricia’s
slender frame can barely be seen inside the break room.
Nothing pops out that would imply one as being the perpetrator, nor
did Mr. Thomas expect it to be that easy. On one hand, he hopes that he
uncovers the criminal activity quickly, so he can rid himself of this
unwelcome anxiety that now engulfs his every thought. On the other side of
the fence, he wishes for business as usual long enough for his boss to find
that the spy resides outside his little circle.
The fifty-one-year-old JPL director reflects on his sleepless night and
wonders how many more he can handle. During his tossing and turning, he
425
mentally accused each one, finding little that would really point to the most
probable offender. Nile has been his friend the longest and seems to have
far too much of himself (especially considering his genius inventions)
invested to allow others to profit. Dan is too meek, not to mention the most
sincere man he has ever met, so it doesn’t add up there. Patricia has such a
strong bond with the boy and takes such great pride in his accomplishments
that she certainly would halt short of harming his future, not to mention
giving up an ounce of the credit for his success. While Rebecca is the
newest member, he feels he knows her better than the others. There is just
no way she is playing him like that to get the information.
As the two men make eye contact with Leonard, he is compelled to
look away. He fights the urge and smiles, knowing that if he injects caution
to the wind, he will never get to the bottom of this. To catch a crook, one
cannot show his badge…not until he has sufficient evidence to convict.
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Chapter
Sixty-nine
February 11, 2016 – Murmansk, Russia
“Ok, Kobach, my friend…you win,” Ivan begins their conversation in
a unique manner.
“We’re going home?” the handsome Russian spins around in his
swivel chair, kicking his feet off from atop the desk.
“Oh.
Ha ha.
No. Not that one,” the officer’s chuckle joins his
squinting eyes.
“What then?” Mr. Simko wonders, flipping his ID badge back over so
it is facing front.
“Кролик-1.”
“Fire her up?”
“Yep.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say I won that one. In a few months, we would
have had to anyhow. I mean that…or keep going straight.”
“Ok. I’ll tell you what…I’ll let you do it. How’s that?”
427
“Do it? Do what?”
“Move her.”
“You’re kidding. What if I mess up?”
“You’re not suppose to ask that. Damn you’re a hard sell.”
“I don’t follow.”
“It’s all in the program. You’ll just be pressing the button.”
“I can live with that.”
The two smile as they exchange their lighter-side approach to a very
serious event. Mr. Simko has been wanting to adjust the probe for a couple
years, in order to reduce the energy requirement, but now that the angle must
be so much larger it will take the backup nuclear generator to provided the
added boost. The two department heads have actually played a sort of role
reversal, for Kobach heads the administrational aspect, yet he is more
concerned about the operational standpoint of a possible failure of the
second energy source. Conversely, Ivan leads the Flight Operations facet,
but he is more worried about the politics in that the Americans may be
sending them on a wild goose chase. Luckily, the two still have it covered.
“So, tell me Colonel, what makes us so sure now? J51 has given us
nothing to explain Sonya’s boycott,” Kobach’s begins to beat a horse that
has been put to pasture several times.
“To tell you the truth…we have a chess game here.
Lucky for
us…it’s our move and we have the most pieces.”
“I thought the pieces were even.”
“I give us the edge, because we know about the Bio-1, but they know
nothing of Кролик-1.”
“I wish I knew that for sure.”
428
“If they did, they would be knocking down our door. They would do
anything in their powers to keep us from getting there first.”
“To Umbriel?”
“To either.”
The chubby VKS agent puts a fine point on his reply.
A short
moment of silence is allowed by his counterpart, partly out of respect, but
due mainly to the fact that he knows his friend is right.
“I had a nasty dream last night,” Mr. Simko changes the subject in
rather drastic fashion.
“Let me guess. We went back to Kaliningrad?”
“Nope. This one takes place far away from home. And, actually, it
was more of a nightmare.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“Sure. I’m not superstitious. It’s just a dream.”
“I hope so…cause…Sonya was dead. The Americans were telling the
truth. A fire burnt up the consoles and killed her,” Kobach tells the story
with a touch of realism in his high-pitched voice.
“That is a nightmare,” his rougher tone labels the tale.
“Yeah. So, what do you think? What’s your prediction?”
“On what?”
“Everything.”
“You mean…how is it all going to end up?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I don’t claim to be a prophet…but…I think Кролик-1 will find
nothing on Umbriel but a barren piece of dirt with nothing breathable and
nothing breathing.”
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“You don’t believe the pictures from the Voyager 2?”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t think they’re there now.”
“So, why are we going?”
“Cause they might be…but if it weren’t for the Bio-2, my vote would
be for Pluto.”
“So, you think Sonya will end up going to Pluto?”
“I think the Bio-2 will. It’s too far for her.”
“So, my dream was not completely wrong?”
“If you look at anything long enough, it will start to look like what
you wanted it to be in the beginning.”
“That’s profound Ivan.”
“Thanks,” the military man begins, “Ok my friend, your turn.”
“What?”
“Predict the future.”
“Oh. I think you know what I’m going to say. I’m a sucker for the
extravagant. So here goes.
Кролик-1 will be shot down by the alien
spacecraft, because it will not respond to their attempted communications.
The American’s Bio-1 will get too close to Uranus’ atmosphere and plunge
to its death. Sonya will break her silence, make contact with the creatures,
and begin colonization on the tropical lands of Umbriel!”
Ivan cannot hold back his laughter and can only hope his friend is
joking.
“Oh Mr. Simko. You are perhaps in the wrong line of work. I truly
hope you win our little bet.”
“This was a bet?”
“Oh. I don’t know. Do you wish to change your story?”
“”Well…maybe a little.”
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“Just a little?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure about the tropical part.”
“You don’t think it’s a rain forest?”
“Well…”
“Come on, let’s go fire up the boosters.”
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Chapter
Seventy
February 24, 2016 – San Bernardino, CA
The seven of hearts is smoothly transported from the deck to its new
position below the eight of spades. With no other moves in sight, Leonard
clicks the pile to uncover the next offering. As he gradually becomes bored
with the game, he drifts off into the not-so-distant past. He always hated
Solitaire, but, for some reason, plays it often now.
There is no major
mystery to this, for he knows that Rebecca got him hooked on it.
In
actuality, he participates in the solo pastime so he can think about their time
together.
He recalls the romantic walk they shared shortly after finding her on
this very computer, enjoying the age-old game. It was the very night that he
professed his love for her, and she admitted the same, plus asked him “what
took him so long”. He should have known better than to engage in this
dangerous activity that would later tear his heart. Although she has now
filed for divorce and may again be available, he has all but given up on the
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possibility of a sequel. The project is too vital and too close to a climax to
risk it for his petty self.
Leonard’s trip down memory lane comes to an abrupt halt. The
project? Rebecca? Solitaire? How could he have NOT thought of this
before? His computer! Rebecca was on his computer…in the middle of the
night…playing a stupid, boring game! It can’t be…
While Mr. Thomas usually uses this time to unwind, he is now wound
tighter than ever. He jumps to his feet and swings around to the back of his
computer. His bluish eyes search for something that could tap into his PC.
His frenzied state does not stop to question the rights and wrongs of such an
accusation, for if he is off the mark; there is no one to apologize to.
There it is! His “stab in the dark’ theory was dead on! Connected
between his satellite cable and the computer port is an unidentified piece of
hardware, something that was not installed by him! His fingers shake as he
unscrews the secret monitoring device.
Although he has no technical
understanding to how the electronic component works, he is absolutely
convinced that it intercepts the incoming and outgoing data before it reaches
or exits his home dish where it becomes un-retrievable.
How could she do this to him? He let her into his heart! She looked
him squarely in the eyes and told him that she loved him! Was this all for
the money? If so, when did this all begin?
Leonard attempts to vent his frustration by letting out some profanity,
but instead, it brings his blood to a boil. Still, he realizes he must calm down
and look at this in a logical manner. Whatever he decides now, he will have
to live with forever. He must take the project into account.
Would it be better for the Russians to think that their spy is still
intact? If he took this approach and made sure she was no longer privy to
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information, JPL would be able to regain the upper hand. Leonard recalls
his boss’ words concerning whether the VKS had any proof, or it was all just
oral discussions. There is little doubt in his mind that they have now got
copies of several of the interactions between him and the true leader of the
project. It will do no good to eliminate their female source physically, when
they have all the evidence they need. Perhaps, they could supply Rebecca
with some false data and lead them astray, although it is probably too late for
that. Or, is it?
The confused Californian recognizes the frailty of the situation. His
scattered thoughts try feverishly to extrapolate an answer. Finally, he takes
Rebecca’s side into account, immediately feeling sorry for her and equally
for himself. How can he do this to her? Regardless of the crime, he still
cares for her deeply and yearns for the way it was. Perhaps, she could
explain it to him and shed light from a different angle.
Maybe…the
Russians threatened her life or something of that nature.
Believing that he has put all the chips on the table, Leonard begins to
sort them out, while maintaining as much optimism as possible.
After
coming up short for one reason or another, he somewhat stumbles on a
reasonable approach. The more he thinks about it, the better it sounds. In
fact, it also provides JPL with a countermeasure…a source of diversion.
He could inform his boss that Rebecca is the culprit, but she needs to
remain unaware of the fact that she has been caught. Leonard could then
send a message to the top-secret leader, announcing the death of MR1. They
could make up a reason for transferring Rebecca to Pasadena, perhaps
something related to her husband or a glitch in the security background
check. They could tell her that it is only temporary, but she is to discuss the
mission with nobody but him. Leonard could then tell her that MR1 died.
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The remaining staff at Fort Irwin would be instructed that, due to security
restraints, they are not allowed to contact Rebecca…until she returns.
The VKS would get the false scoop from both sides of their covert
operations, and they would believe the boy has passed away. Since there is
a girl on the shared flight, the Russians would never go public. In fact, they
would never even admit to JPL that they know, because this would blow
their cover. To take the benefit a step further, Leonard could use the planted
bug for future distractions. After all, the bastards deserve it!
Of course, the real conversations with the confidential head would
have to be immediately changed. In fact, he decides to leave the device
disconnected until such arrangements are made.
The suddenly elated man, who notes that it is almost midnight,
searches for a downside, a reason it won’t work. He finds none. He can
deceive the opposition, please his boss, improve the odds of mission success,
AND save his friend’s skin.
Leonard wonders how he will be able to fall asleep with his brain
spinning at this accelerated rate. Perhaps, he could play a few hands of
Solitaire. That usually does it!
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Chapter
Seventy-one
March 8, 2016 – Solar-Bio2
(Entering Cassini Division / Accelerating to over 48, 000 mph)
The high-pitched whiz of the super conducting Frisbees conducts an
all out assault on Sonya’s delicate eardrums. This does nothing to alleviate
her already panicky demeanor, for the female space traveler understands she
is pushing the antigravity device to the edge of its limits. FR1 presses her
palms harder against the sides of her head in an attempt to better muffle the
aggravation, while her lids squeeze down tight to block out any other
possible intrusions from her senses.
Sonya realizes that her craft will be penetrating a gap in Saturn’s rings
at any moment, but she is not aware that this space between icy bands is
“closer” to Saturn than the one Alex (whom she has no idea exists) slipped
through. While the Cassini Division is actually a safer route in reference to
its extremely wider opening, the closer proximity of the craft to the huge
gravitational influence accelerates the human-manned object to dangerous
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levels. The higher exit speed is required to arrive at the next planet correctly
(shaving a little over a year off Bio-1’s Saturn to Uranus time frame).
Sonya fights with her thoughts, which plead with whomever will
listen to stop the irritating noise, for she comprehends that if the spinning
disks did stop, she would be doomed. The reddish-haired teenager does not
have absolute confidence in the Solar-Bio-2 navigational systems or the
decelerator, for that matter.
Her lack of trust is not based on past
experiences, for they have never let her down, but she just cannot accept the
idea of someone or something operating without her involvement. If she is
not the controller, she is leery of its effectiveness and reliability. In her
mind, there is no human being that has as much at stake as her with regards
to the entire project, and even those at headquarters (both) could not argue
with that logic.
The worried young woman maintains a closed eye approach within
the IDC. Her thoughts search for a diversion, in order to pass the time.
Finally, her boyfriend reaches out with powerful, open arms and rescues the
damsel in distress. His smiling face winks at her, informing her that he is
watching over her and will not allow harm to come her way. He will slash
his sword at it and shatter the evil villain into a million pieces. She is safe
now. She can rest, for she has finally reached this divine place where angels
fly free…and Matt is hers.
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Chapter
Seventy-two
April 25, 2016 – Solar-Bio1
(750,809,829 miles beyond Saturn / Traveling at 18,141 mph)
But Umbriel, hateful gnome! Forbears not so;
He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow
Then see! The nymph in beauteous grief appears
Her eyes half-languishing, half-drowned in tears;
On her heav’d bosom hung her drooping head,
Which, with a sigh, she rais’d; and thus she said:
“For ever curs’d be this detested day,
Which snatch’d my best, my fav’rite curl away!
Alex struggles through the eccentric use of the English language,
laboring to make sense out of it all. If it weren’t for the encyclopedia
edition, he would have really been lost, for it was there that he learned that
poetry is a form of literature that induces ideas and feelings, not a document
meant to layout information in a technical style. While he is unsure if his
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analysis on the famous “Rape of the Lock” by Alexander Pope is correct, he
certainly enjoys the twisting momentum and well-orchestrated rhythm.
In many ways, he likens this artistic writing to the music he listens to.
They both provide a repetition of sorts, music with its repeating group of
notes and poetry with its matter of rhyme. In fact, it is this particular
collection of words that coaxed him into speaking. MR1 actually read the
words aloud one time while an audio file was playing.
After a few
sentences, he realized that the two actually flowed as one. He could slow
down or speed up his recital to stay on track with the pace of the changing
notes and even increase or decrease his own volume to follow the louder
portions of the music. What a grand discovery he thought at the time. Later,
he read in his electronic volume “M” that people do vocalize with
instruments to form a “song”. Still, the fact that he stumbled upon it before
he was informed of it provided him with needed self-confidence; since he no
longer has the prepared lesson plans to lead him.
Alex recalls the program that allows him to build his own musical
symphony. It introduced him to something called MIDI, which utilizes the
computer’s soundcard to make “pretend” music. The sequencing software,
which is labeled “Cubase VST”, allows him to input notes anywhere he
wishes and select from 120 instruments!
The intelligent young man
associates the idea with mathematics, for everything has a value.
His thoughts return to the book in front of him. Why does the poet
make fun of clothing, or more specifically those that value the fashions? He
believed shirts and pants as being necessities of life, not something to
improve one’s appearance in such a way that it provided some sort of
ranking. He reflects on the different colors, sizes and shapes of his own
clothing, some of which he has yet to wear. Alex scrutinizes his own
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preferences, wondering if he, himself falls into this mode of partiality for
one garment over the other. He locates no underlying trait that would
identify him as one of the characters in the epic.
Alex rewinds the book to the words he treasures the most. On the
inside of the cover, Miss Bonham left a note for him. Figuring that a second
pair of human eyes will never witness the article, she felt comfortable in
doing so.
He has read the short letter several times and completely
memorized it; still, he prefers to gaze at it as his mind goes through the
words.
Dear Alex,
As the miles distance themselves between us, remember that I am in
your heart. You are in my heart too. You are not alone on this great
journey.
Whenever you think of me, know that I am with
you…because I am.
Your mother (in heart)
Much like the fancy words that the great English poet practiced, her
terminology was also ambiguous upon initial examination. His ability to
consult the “World Books” for answers has paid him many dividends in the
area of clarification; but, this time, it only seemed to substantiate his
understanding of the circulatory system. How this woman could be inside
this part of his body was too much for him to take, so he continued his
search for an answer, finding the dictionary to be the key. He learned that
the heart is not just an organ for pumping blood but also the center point of
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one’s inner self. While he suspects there is still more to this (it still confuses
him), he is able to appreciate her meaning.
The notion that she would make the trip with him and stay with him as
the note implies brings a certain warmth to his senses. Strangely, he does
not experience loneliness from the fact that she is not physically there. She
really is in his heart or wherever this emotion is stored. This thought
reminds him of the file that remains on the hard drive. There truly is no
reason to keep it, for he has the whole copy inside of him. Alex decides that
it is time to delete it, which, in turn, should alleviate his other symptoms.
Just as he is about to call up the item, a blare echoes into the forward
space. MR1 immediately drops his earlier mental agenda, realizing that a
problem with his vessel easily takes precedence. The three middle fingers
on his right hand form a single unit when pressing the silence button. There
is an alarm concerning the Lead Acid Battery. This is something he has
been anticipating, for his inspections have overturned severe plating in some
of the cells. As expected, the system detected the shorting of these particular
cells and isolated the entire bank from the electrical system.
There is nothing much Alex can do to repair the faulty components.
He still has the other bank on the Lead Acid and both on the Lithiums,
which is fortunate, since these are the batteries that supply the vital element
of oxygen. A second failure, however, will be something worth worrying
about, for he still requires the use of the demanding decelerator, plus the
heavy electrical draw needed for landing.
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Chapter
Seventy-three
June 25, 2016 – Tehachapi, CA
The loud hooting and yelling seems to come from all directions,
prompting Leonard to wince a bit. The intoxicated atmosphere of Steve’s
bachelor party does not appeal to him, for he chooses to act his age. Most of
the friend’s of the groom are well built, making the thinner male feel a touch
out of place. He is not even remotely fond of this man and only came
because Patricia asked him to keep an eye on her future husband. Although
he honored her request, he is confused on his exact mission, for his
employee already gave her man permission to seek the services of a
prostitute for “one last fling”.
A pair of muscular gents spill their beer all over the carpet as they
conduct a chugging contest.
Leonard wonders how the winner can be
determined when neither managed to swallow half the contents due to their
poor, drunken aim. Being the only living soul that noticed the blatant
disrespect of property, he considers pointing out the spillage. Almost as
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quickly as the thought was conjured up, it fades away, for this would only
reroute the attention his way; something he truly does not wish to happen.
A blurt comes out of seemingly nowhere that accuses the man-of-the
hour of marrying for the money. Of the eleven men in the room, nine of
them burst into a chorus of laughter. The remaining two, Leonard and Steve
find less humor in it. While Mr. Thomas fully understands his own serious
take on the matter, he would have expected the male, for whom the joke was
directed towards, to join them in the joyous reaction. Perhaps, he has finally
developed a complex due to his fiancé being the breadwinner. Though it is
not uncommon for such an arrangement, his total lackadaisical approach to
employment has concerned Leonard. Is this the first sign of “turning over a
new leaf”?
A chime that is no louder than the assorted conversations permeates
the room. The only coherent member of the party wonders if he is the only
one that has detected the doorbell. Already comfortable in his position on
the couch, by himself, he is glad to see one of the drunks moving towards
the entranceway.
As the wooden door is opened, Leonard chuckles to
himself, picturing the man going to the door on mere coincidence. In his
mildly creative image, he portrays this man stumbling out to puke in private.
What a surprise the visitor would have!
For some reason, the large male does not invite the unknown bellringer inside the dwelling. Instead he staggers up to the homeowner (who
incidentally will has a huge cleanup ahead of him) and whispers something
into his ear. The words apparently pack significant meaning, for the receiver
snaps to an alert status, considering his disjointed condition.
“Guys? Guys? Let’s all take a seat!” his slurred statement captures
the intrigue of most of the crowd.
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As if the order were directed by a high-ranking official, the assorted
partiers find a place to sit. Due to the shortage of chairs, one more body
than usual squeezes in on the couch and cramps Leonard to the point he
considers getting up and even leaving. Upon noting that Steve is leaning
back in a recliner, which is situated at center stage; it becomes evident
exactly what is about to transpire.
“Are we ready? We’re already on the way boys! Let’s go all the
way…to hell!!”
His peculiar introduction makes more sense when an old AC/DC tune
begins to thrust out of the nearby speakers. The beginning guitar solo
swiftly invites the pounding of the bass drum, which vibrates the four
plastered walls.
The person behind the door jerks it open in perfect
synchronization and begins swinging her hips to the beat of “Highway to
Hell”. The men extend their approval with whistles and howls.
The slender female, who presumably is wearing a blonde wig and a
heavy application of makeup, struts ever closer to the man in the single,
padded seat. She is wearing a long, bright red robe with black trim. To
complete the costume she has donned a pair of horns and holds the devil’s
fork, which she lightly presses against Steve’s neck.
As the episode unfolds, Leonard cannot help but think of Rebecca.
How can this man treat Patricia like this, yet she’ll still marry him, when he
was a perfect gentleman to Rebecca, but he will lose out? Leonard has not
actually seen his ex-girlfriend since she moved to the Pasadena office. She
took the news well and believed the fabrication. The most difficult part of
the whole ordeal was telling her that MR1 had died. He created such grief
for her, even if she was a traitor to the country.
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He looks up to see the woman rip the gown off of her firm frame. Her
large breasts are semi-covered with a blood red bikini top, while her bottom
is more amply covered with a matching, more conservative approach. As
Bon Scott screams about the “Promised Land”, she leans into the bachelor
and jiggles her upper commodities in his face. The performer is quite an
actress, for she appears to be really enjoying herself.
Leonard reverts his thoughts back to the woman he still loves. He will
see her at the wedding tomorrow and should make an effort to accompany
her, for she will not know many people there. In fact, the same can be said
for his circumstance. Perhaps, he will detect some of the spark on her side.
Is it possible that they could get back together, regardless of who catches the
bouquet? The encouraging thought is just that…a thought. For, there is
simply no way he can allow her back into his life...on a personal basis
anyhow. The mission is too valuable and cannot be jeopardized.
A few scattered boos wake Leonard out of his self-induced trance. He
quickly identifies the cause for the negative, if not somewhat in jest,
comments. The song has ended and the dancer has yet to expose herself for
the party members. Steve is holding her hand as she leads him down a
hallway, where they will evidently find a more secretive local to finish the
“dance”.
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Chapter
Seventy-four
June 26, 2016 – Apple Valley, CA
“Aren’t you gonna join?” Leonard looks to Rebecca and suggests in
relation to the tossing of the bouquet.
The lovely lady, whose light yellow dress beautifully accents her
chocolate skin, peers over at the spirited activities before returning her
emerald peepers in his direction.
“No. I’m getting too old for that kind of thing.” Her voice has a hint
of regret for her choice not to participate.
“For what? Getting married?” he wishes he could take back the
sentence, but it just jumped out, sort of unannounced.
“Well…that too. My divorce was just finalized a couple weeks ago.
But, I was alluding to the dangerous atmosphere.”
“Ah, they’re just having a little fun.”
“If you call clawing for position…good clean fun.”
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The two stand side by side on the top of the church steps, watching
the girls jump and scream at the bottom. Patricia, wrapped in her long,
white gown, stands on the edge of the parking lot curb in preparation for the
traditional event. As the joyful bride turns around, assuming the position, a
couple of the women frantically jockey themselves to where they hope the
bundle of flowers will land. Finally, the desired article takes flight and is
followed by an intense mixture of screams and a good bit of pushing and
shoving.
“Now you see why?” the older female, who chose to bypass the
episode, utilizes real life evidence for her stance on the issue.
“Yeah. I do,” Leonard laughs.
As the woman with a brand new name enters the vehicle that will take
her to the party, the girls seem to gather around the lucky lady with the
flowers protected by her concentrated grip. A peculiar feeling of déjà vu
hits Leonard when he feels like he recognizes somebody in the crowd. One
of the women looks familiar, but he cannot invoke an instant response to the
request he has sent to his memory banks. He concludes that it is not worth
the effort; since he would rather take advantage of the time he has with the
woman to his right, no matter how awkward it may be.
“I’m so sorry about…you know. I know how much…he…that meant
to you,” she stumbles through, making sure she does not use words that
would be detrimental to the project.
Leonard immediately realizes that she is speaking about the death of
MR1. The mention of the fact, even with such hidden dialogue, brings more
anxiety to his already nervous condition. He hopes that she remembers not
to speak about this to the others, for they just might break security and clue
her in. They would certainly be surprised by the fact that she thinks the boy
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has passed away. Leonard decides that he should dissuade her from coming
to the reception. But how? This is her very close friend.
“It’s sad. We must continue.”
“I hope I can get back soon.”
“Me too,” he admits, wishing he really could feel that way.
“I’m sorry that it happened.”
“The mix up?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not you’re fault. These things take time. You’ll be back.
Don’t worry,” he wonders if the false sense of encouragement will come
back to haunt him.
“I hope so. I miss that place,” she pauses before finishing her turn, “I
miss you.”
Leonard does not know what to say. She is obviously making a pitch
for more personal transactions. He mentally races for an answer at a pace
that matches the woman diving for the bouquet.
“I wish I could have been there for you…during the rough times,” he
compromises with something personal, though less delicate than the
direction she was driving.
“The divorce?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“It’s over now. I am glad it’s over.”
Just as Leonard is about to provide his two cents, it hits him. He
remembers where (and when) he seen that face. Last night! At the bachelor
party! That girl was the hooker…or, at least, he thought she was. Why is
she here? She has brown hair and a completely different mixture of makeup,
but that is her! It is difficult to tell if she is a relation, or she is just a friend
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of either the bride or the groom (obviously closer to the groom and hopefully
not a relation!). In any event, something extracurricular is going on that
Miss Bonham is most certainly not aware of.
Does this man have a
girlfriend?
“What’s wrong Len?
See a ghost.
You’re staring,” Rebecca
summons him out of his fantasy world.
“Oh. Nothing. Thought I knew somebody. Imagine that.”
“Are you going to the reception?” the female, who legally retrieved
her former last name of Thompson, inquires.
The slowly aging man of fifty-two once again is at a crossroads as far
as what to say. If he says no, there is a better chance that she will not go,
which is ultimately what he needs to happen (or not happen).
“I’m kind of tired. I’m thinking about heading home. How bout
you?”
“You’re not going huh?”
“Nah.”
“I hate to miss it, but I really don’t know anybody else,” her hinting is
apparent.
Leonard finds himself backing into an invisible corner and looks for
something to help him out. An old lady walks slowly by, which he sees as
the only viable distraction at the moment.
“Hello ma’am. Is it hot enough for you?” he hopes that his delivery is
accepted better than the pitiful way it sounded.
“Hi,” the wrinkled woman begins, “Yes it is plenty warm. Do you
know Patty?”
Leonard is happy that she has enticed a conversation.
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“Yes.
She works with me.
I’m Leonard.
And this is another
coworker, Miss Rebecca…umm,” he stumbles.
“Thompson,” she finishes.
The sound of her original last name embraces his inner self, although
it probably matters not.
“Nice to meet you. Patty has talked about both of you. She is very
fond of her job. I would be to…for the money she makes.”
The comment hits Leonard funny, but he ignores it, for money is
obviously an opinionated subject.
“Ha ha. Yes, I see,’ Leonard lets a couple non-descriptive blurbs out.
“I’m her Aunt Denise.”
“Oh. Nice to meet you,” Rebecca adds but passes on offering her
hand, “I’m sorry about your sister.”
“Sister?”
“Yes. Patricia told us about her Aunt Cindy passing away,” Miss
Thompson elaborates but then realizes she may be talking to the wrong side
of the family, “Oh, maybe that’s on her other side.”
“Oh. No, that was my sister. That was so long ago now…or so it
seems. She was a wonderful woman. Left me with a couple bills…but…oh
well,” the lady expands.
“She did?” Leonard breaks in with notable confusion.
“Yes. I found out later that I wouldn’t have had to pay them. The
damn creditors pressured me. I’m too old to sue them now.”
“I’m sorry ma’am. That is terrible. She was in debt?”
“Oh heavens yes.”
“She wasn’t rich?”
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“Oh no. Her husband who died ten years back had all kinds of
problems.”
“So there was no inheritance?”
“From his death?”
“No. I’m sorry. I meant for Patricia…when her Aunt Cindy died,”
Leonard gets right to the point while Rebecca listens closely.
“Heavens no. The bank sucked up everything. And believe me.
There wasn’t much to suck up.”
“I see.
I’m really sorry for hashing up old memories ma’am,”
Leonard apologizes, knowing he is onto something terribly important.
“Patricia is the lucky one. She has this job. We’re so proud of her
and her promotion.”
“Promotion?” this time, Rebecca does the questioning.
“Yes. She never said what she does. I doubt she’s even allowed to.
Just got a huge raise. That’s how she bought all this stuff.”
The female in yellow begins to speak but notices that her friend has
gestured to stop. While she is very confused and desires clarification for this
mismatch, she obliges with his wishes.
“Yes she did. She deserves it ma’am. Have a very nice day,’ the only
male in the discussion ends the confab.
“Good day,” her words are supplied with an honest smile.
Leonard holds out his right forearm, which she gladly accepts. They
slowly make their way to the bottom, where she assures him that she can
manage from that point on. Coming down the concrete steps at a much
faster pace is the lovely woman that is even more puzzled than he.
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“Leonard? What the hell’s going on? If it’s none of my business tell
me,” she questions whether this woman is getting paid substantially more
than her.
“Let’s walk Beck.”
The two nicely dressed wedding participants stroll at an even pace, as
they make their way into the expansive paved lot. They attack the peculiar
exchange from different angles inside their own minds before engaging in
the audible interaction that is bound to follow.
Between the apparent higher salary and the removal from the job site,
Rebecca wonders what she has done to deserve such treatment. Leonard’s
thoughts go much deeper, as he tries to put the pieces together. Where did
this money come from and why would she make up a lie about it? Not only
did Patricia go out of her way to install the falsification, but she also covered
her tracks on her family’s side by supplying a distinctly different fib. He has
heard numerous comments about Steve marrying her for the money, and
then he learns that he has some sort of girlfriend. Could this man be helping
her with something illegal, but subsequently planning to leave her high and
dry? Did they get this cash from the Russians? Are they the leak?
Leonard begins to clear his voice but then holds back, for a new chain
of thought must be dealt with first. He remembers the Fourth of July party.
Patricia was in the bathroom for a long time because she was drunk, so
drunk that her fiancé had to carry her out. He tries to remember another
time that this woman has had more than a sip or two. Was she even drunk
that night? Or faking it?
“Leonard? What is it? What’s going on?” Miss Thompson’s voice
exhibits true concern.
“Becky?”
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“Yes?”
“You like to drink right?”
“You know I do. I’m not a big drinker though. You know that. Why
do you ask?”
“You and Trish are good friends.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“When you went to dinner and stuff…did she drink a lot?” he has a
difficult time wording his inquisition.
“Never. Heck, the only time I remember her drinking at all…is at
your party.”
“Party?” he is intrigued that she mentioned it.
“Yeah. The 4th of July. Remember? She got wasted.”
“That’s right.”
“She was so drunk…she went into the wrong room.”
Rebecca’s words smash through the brown-haired gent like a stake.
There is no reason for this woman to manufacture a lie concerning this issue.
“What room?” requests the JPL head, his heart beginning to pound.
“Umm. The one next to it…whatever you call it…the den,” she
searches for the proper terminology.
“When did you see that?”
“I was walking by I think. Can’t remember why,” she does not realize
the significance of the event, so she is less inclined to focus.
“But you saw her. What? Coming out of the den?”
“Yeah. Oh! Now I remember…I came up to get my beer. The one
that you were suppose to get me. I looked over, and she was leaving that
room and going into the bathroom. What’s the biggy?”
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So many contrasting emotions pierce through the man’s skin that he
finds it near impossible to weather the storm. A massive dose of guilt for
accusing the wrong person is the first that he is able to identify. Nearly as
strong as this negative sensation relating to Miss Thompson is the elation
that she is innocent. Just as the exuberance of that particular segment of his
internal baggage wears off, he detects the sadness that knocks down the door
as a result of the other woman’s betrayal.
She will have to be dealt
with…and quick. He must figure out a way to get rid of Patricia and bring
back this sweet woman that wonders why he is being so silent. Leonard
realizes that he must buy himself some time. On the other hand, he must
keep these two women apart.
“Leonard? You’re doing it again!”
“Oh. Sorry. You wanted to go to the party didn’t you?” he begins his
magic.
“Yeah. But, you’re not going.”
“No, I’m not. I’m going home.”
“Oh,” her green eyes display an expression of disappointment.
“But, I could use some company. Solitaire has never been the same.”
She looks into his hazy blue eyes on a quest to determine if he is
serious. With no sarcasm in sight, the beautiful smile that only she can
perform so elegantly dominates her attractive face.
“But, what about Trish?”
“She has lots of friends and family. Besides, she’s going on her
honeymoon,” Leonard expounds, thinking that she may not be returning to
headquarters after it.
“Ok,” she displays a sudden shade of shy.
“Wanna ride with me? I can bring you back?”
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“Tonight?”
“Why don’t you just follow me.”
“Ok,”
The two move closer and almost kiss, before realizing it would be
inappropriate. Rebecca seems to float an inch off the ground as she strolls
toward her vehicle. Her feelings for this man have never faltered, and she
can only hope that things work out this time.
Leonard moves to his
“Electroduce”, fighting the compounding nature of his dilemma. One thing
is for sure…he has no plans on letting Rebecca out of his sight until this is
over.
Unfortunately, another man is thinking much the same. He plans on
keeping a watchful eye on her as well. Crouching down in a nearby rental
sits a man, who also holds strong feelings for the woman in question.
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Chapter
Seventy-five
July 6, 2016 – Jacksonville, FL
A tall, blonde male provides a helping hand to his grandmother as she
makes her way up the short, carpeted isle inside the funeral home. Her long,
black dress hides the labored appearance of her walk but does not conceal
her anguished expression, which is anything but due to the physical pain of
her travels. Her brown eyes study those in attendance, noting that extra
chairs are being set up to support the greater-than-expected interest. She
does not have to worry about finding a place to sit, for the mother of the
deceased traditionally warrants a reserved position in the front.
As the two family members of such contrasting age reach the front
row, their sights capture the large man who has already found his way to his
assigned seat. The decrepit female looks into the sitting man’s eyes and
feels great pity, reflecting on the pain he must feel to have lost his spouse so
suddenly, without warning. Her young twenty-three-year-old escort also
peers into this man’s stare, extracting a completely different opinion of the
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muscular male and the overall picture. Instead of sensing sadness, the
younger male tags blame to him for not protecting his Aunt Patricia. Why
did he let her drive alone that night? The twisting roads along the mountains
of Hawaii are certainly dangerous, or so he now assumes. Why did they go
to there in the first place?
There must be far safer places to enjoy a
honeymoon. While his insinuations are stretching and unfair, it is his way of
venting off and dealing with his own pain.
Finally, the heavily wrinkled woman takes a seat.
Her grandson
gestures that he is going to find another seat now, but she immediately
shakes her head and silently requests his continued presence. The handsome
young man grants her wish and lowers his tall frame into the church-like
pew right next to her. He has been her longstanding favorite, and she truly
needs this emotional tie during this incredibly difficult time.
Upon situating herself, the elderly lady gazes toward the front of the
room, observing the silver yearn that houses the remains of her daughter.
An instant finality of the incident flashes before her eyes, prompting a fulllevel weeping episode. Tears release from her ducts and creep along the
assorted crevices within her loose skin. The impression delivered by the
physical sight of the container battles with her tendency to deny the validity
of the terrible news. Before obtaining this visual grasp of reality, she could
at least pretend that it wasn’t true. Now…even that option has been stripped
from her.
A new feeling slithers its way in, though not overcoming the other,
more compelling emotions. She senses notable regret, when comprehending
the fact that she allowed her daughter’s ashes to be flown from her
hometown to be dumped over the deceased’s favorite place.
Her boss
informed her that Patricia spoke of the beauty of the stars from the
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remoteness of Death Valley many times. He went on to explain that, in the
event of her death, she requested that if she could not be disposed of in
space, her second choice was under the stars in the desert location.
While the elder Bonham considered overriding this for a more
conventional method, she concluded that her daughter’s love for the world
beyond was unsurpassed and merited the more drastic manner. She was,
however, surprised that the new husband did not put up a fight over the
decision, but she later deducted that he probably was thinking in the best
interest of his poor wife’s soul.
Sitting side by side in the third row is Leonard, Rebecca, and Dan.
(Nile was unable to make the flight, as someone had to stay back and guard
the fort). Miss Thompson’s normally bright look has been replaced with a
deep sorrow and impression of weariness. The loss of her close friend has
perhaps affected her as severely as anyone else in the room. While she is
not related, she felt much like a sister, and now her heart exhibits the
identical pain that such a sibling would experience. Though she now wishes
she attended the reception, her depressed demeanor does not allow thoughts
of blame or any other secondary issues to enter, for the thought of never
seeing Trish again pushes the weaker notions out of the way.
Her current neighbor, Dan also wears a saddened face, but his is
highlighted by a more blankness than one of consolidated grief. Despite the
appearance of a mind void of thought, quite the opposite is in effect, for his
intellectual brain is turning gears and extrapolating ideas. The brown-haired
man who still resembles the Beatle’s front man, replays the events of the
past that relate to the scenario he is creating. There is little doubt in Mr.
Cleveland’s mind that Steve was after Patricia’s newly acquired money.
The fact that he treated her so poorly but married her anyhow, provides
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grand proof that this was true. The accident off the cliff on their honeymoon
is too coincidental for his scientifically based process for a couple reasons.
First of all, the timing is so quick after the exchange of the vows that he
wonders if the brand new husband scripted it like that to play close to the
edge, a daring feat if you will. Secondly, he let her go out for the evening on
her own…on their honeymoon!
Dan’s invisible accusations stop to recall the excuse that Steve
apparently supplied for this. While having an argument that resulted in
Patricia running out is viable, he just refuses to accept it.
As if a steel rod was pried into the teeth of his spinning gears, his
process comes to an abrupt halt. An angle he did not consider suddenly
visits his thoughts, so he opts to entertain it, at least momentarily. He recalls
Patricia talking to Leonard before her fiancé’s bachelor party that he, thank
goodness, did not have to attend. She told him that he would have a hooker.
While the idea at the time shocked him significantly, it now provides a
possible alibi for the male muscle jerk. Perhaps, they fought about this.
Maybe the story of the heated debate has some merit.
His mental process returns to the same basic final answer. Steve
could have prevented it, for he should not have even asked to have sex with
another woman. The fact that she reacted in such a way was normal and
completely avoidable. Dan’s vengeful manner is in great contrast to his
almost-always caring way. He cannot overcome his pain to recognize the
hurt inside others, in this case, the man that he tolerated only because of his
friend.
As this man continues to stew while projecting an empty impression,
Leonard carries on his diverse agenda. Like the male that occupies the
adjacent space, Mr. Thomas also considers the husband in the incident. The
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difference begins in the way it pans out, for Leonard wonders if Steve would
have done it had it not happened as a result of something else. Is this shorttimer husband laughing inside himself? Did he have some extravagant plan
to kill Miss Bonham, only to be beaten to the punch by someone with a more
urgent dilemma?
As the memorial service commences, Leonard can only wish such a
tragedy was not required. Was there no other way out? Look at all the
people that have been hurt, whose lives will be forever changed. He knew
that he would have to live with whatever solution was selected to reconcile
the problem, but now he wonders if he can even survive the day.
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Chapter
Seventy-six
July 8, 2016 – Death Valley National Park
(Zabriskie’s Point)
A single pair of headlights pierces through the pitch-blackness like a
beacon in the middle of a midnight sea. The source of illumination suddenly
ceases to exist when the vehicle’s owner no longer requires their services. A
much fainter light within the car’s interior energizes when the passenger
door swings open. After the three male figures exit, the door is returned to
its normal position, informing the dome light to extinguish and rendering the
area void of light. Leonard quickly remedies the situation by flipping on the
flashlight he carries in his right hand.
The trio begins walking at a cautious pace, the man on the left
carrying an object that glimmers when the manmade glow sways within its
vicinity. There is no speech as they make their way up the steep, paved trail.
The minds of the three gentlemen are filled with very similar thoughts. The
eerie nature of the desert at night can instill fear into the bravest of souls, yet
none of them would admit such a childish trait.
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Leonard points the precious brilliance with great concentration, for he
understands that the drop-off that lays a few feet in either direction is severe
indeed. While Zabriskie’s point is no Grand Canyon, a fall in the dead of
night would result in a major injury (or worse). Dan checks his watch,
which automatically senses the lack of daylight and provides a dull glow to
highlight its digital indication. He notes that it is close to eleven and then
immediately returns his sights to the small, lit area on the path.
Finally, the half round wall that signifies the viewpoint can be
detected up ahead. The three-foot-high wall constructed out of mediumsized stones is a welcome sight for the somewhat leery nighttime travelers.
“This it?” Nile conquers the silence.
“This is it,” announces his boss in a near whisper.
“Should we say something?” Dan joins in, his question bringing a
notable anxiety with it.
None of the members of this committee gave any thought towards a
speech and now find themselves in the uncomfortable position of either
bypassing it or “shooting off the hip”.
“Not sure.
You know?
We’re here because Patricia loved the
peacefulness of this place. It made her feel like she could reach the stars. I
think silence is exactly what she would have wanted,” Leonard turns an
itchy incident into a smooth transition.
“I agree,” Dan begins, “She was right ya know.”
“Bout what?” returns the shortest man of the group who happens to be
their boss.
“The stars…look.”
All six eyes focus on the countless dots that penetrate through the
universe and greet the Earth’s atmosphere. As if in a moment of silence for
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their former coworker, they gaze in awe of the utter insignificance it bestows
upon them. Nearly as unique as the way the three men joined together in a
respectful pause, they return their focus to the job at hand in near perfect
synchronization.
“So, do you want the honors Leonard?” offers the JPL scientist
holding the yearn.
“No. You didn’t get to go to the funeral. I think you should do it
Nile,” presents Mr. Thomas in a thoughtful gesture.
“Umm. Ok. How do you want me to do this? Do I have to get up on
the wall?”
“You better not. Too dangerous,” Dan quickly reflects back to his
friend’s horrible death and does not wish to see a second one unfold.
“Just ahh. I guess, just, throw it.”
“The whole thing?”
“Oh no. Sorry. The ashes,” Leonard didn’t expect his employee to
take him so literally.
“Yeah. Of course,” Mr. Johnson carefully removes the lid and holds
it out in the dark, “Here. Can you hold this for me?”
“Sure.”
Nile takes baby steps until his feet touch the wall. Both hands hold
the metal container, while his heart rate kicks up a notch. He lowers the
object down to the level of his hips and then nervously moves his legs apart.
A detectable noise emits from his mouth as the air rushes into his lungs in
preparation of the simple, but pertinent task.
“I guess, there’s no wind, so here goes.”
“Yeah. Nice and quiet. Just like she’s here,” Dan zips in quickly.
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“Yep,” Nile expels as he whips the ashes into the deep dark unknown
that surrounds him.
As a matter of assurance, he conducts the move again, in case some of
her remains did not find their way into the calm sky.
“God rest your soul Patricia.
We’re going to miss you,” Mr.
Cleveland states in complete sincerity.
“Bless you.
We’ll never forget you,” Nile places his small, but
meaningful remark.
The two, whom have already supplied their final words, wait for
Leonard to do the same. After a few seconds, it becomes apparent that
nothing is forthcoming. Assuming that he chose to present his sentiment
under his breath, Nile reaches for the lid, which is immediately relinquished
by Leonard’s soft grip.
“Now what?” the older scientist wonders.
“Now…I have to tell you,” their boss provides a response that
instantly invokes confusion.
“What?”
“That the ashes in that can were from an old stump or something.”
“What?” Nile’s words increase in intensity.
“Leonard, what on Earth are you talking about?” the other shocked
male demands clarification.
While their voices are considerably loud, he does not request a quieter
approach, for there are no human ears within several miles of this overlook.
“Patricia is not dead.”
“What the hell? Leonard?” injects the younger listener with highspirited thrust, while the other opts for a groaning attack.
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“I’ll explain. That’s why were here. In the middle of nowhere,”
Leonard clears his voice, knowing that he already has their complete
attention, “We did just say goodbye to her though. We will never see her
again. But, her death. That was staged.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“She sold out Dan. I’m sorry. I am so sorry. But, she hooked up
with the Russians.”
“Are you sure? Could there be another answer?”
“She admitted it Nile. She had a choice. Prison did not appeal to her,
and I can’t say I blame her. She went for the relocation program. She
designed the fight with her husband that allowed us to stage the crash.”
“Oh my god. So, where is she?”
“I have no idea. I will never know that information.”
“Wasn’t there anything else we could have done? Give her another
chance? Something.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“So, why are you telling us now? Why weren’t we let in on this?”
“The entire episode had to be played out.
That was not my
requirement. That was the government’s.”
“The government’s?”
“Yeah.
The process of relocation under a new identity is rather
serious. They don’t leave anything to chance. I wasn’t allowed to say a
thing until the ashes were in flight.”
“I don’t know what to say. What was she telling the Russians?” Dan
is flabbergasted.
“About MR1.
Pretty much anything they didn’t already know.
That’s where her money came from. Not an inheritance.”
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“So…like…who knows?”
“The truth?”
“Yeah.”
“Us. That’s it.”
“What about her husband? He thinks she’s dead? Or is he moving in
with her?”
“Nope. He will forever believe she died in the wreck. That was
alright with Patricia.”
“What?”
“She found out about his girlfriend. After that she didn’t care what
happened to him. In a sense, Steve made our job a lot easier. Or should I
say…her choice.”
“So what about the money?”
“What about it?”
“Did Patricia get to take it with her?”
“No. Steve is her husband. It is his money now.”
“But. He was a jerk. This is probably exactly what he wanted!” Dan
contends, quite confident with his accuracy.
“Probably. That’s how the ball bounces.”
“Her poor mother…and family.”
“You must understand. You CANNOT repeat any of this. I had to go
through a rope or two to get permission to let my staff in on this!” Leonard
detects a little more sympathy than he feels comfortable with.
“Of course,” Mr. Cleveland vows.
“It’s part of the mission,” Nile also agrees.
“I will be telling one more person.”
“Who?”
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“Rebecca.”
“Is she coming back?”
“Yes. She already is.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s watching the board right now.”
“I thought you said we were leaving it unmanned till we get back.”
“I said that…because, I wanted to wait until we got here to talk. If I
brought Rebecca in with you two there, you would have wanted answers I
couldn’t give you yet.”
“So, she knows then?”
“No. She thinks that she has been cleared to return. I told her we
would be back in the morning.”
“This is all so…I don’t know what.”
“There’s more.”
“More?”
“Yeah. Rebecca was falsely accused. She doesn’t even know it,”
Leonard begins to explain, “Yet.”
“Huh?”
“It was believed that she was the leak. We were wrong. We tried a
little trick with the Russians. We told her that MR1 died, hoping that she
would leak it back. Unfortunately, Patricia was the spy, so they know we
lied about that. Or, I can only assume. Anyway, I will be telling Rebecca
everything, and, hopefully, she will take over Patricia’s post.”
“She’s going to be pissed!” Nile practices a seldom-used cuss word.
“Yes. I will have to beg.”
“I would say you’re going to have to give her a raise!” Dan elaborates,
trying to make light of a very awkward situation.
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The point prompts Leonard to recall his struggles with how to attack
this dilemma. He considered several devious plots but ultimately realized
that everything must be made right, the slate must be cleaned. He even
thought about having Nile fudge the oxygen numbers, thereby providing the
impression of a depleted atmosphere inside the Solar-Bio1. He could easily
fix the transmissions to support the fact that MR1 did not send messages.
Of course, for this whole scheme to be effective, he would have had to
show how the data was wrong, and Alex was alive the entire time. After
solid contemplation, it was obvious that the truth was the way to go.
Besides, the lovely woman, who has worked so hard, deserves as much.
“What about the Russians?”
“Business as usual.”
“But, they know about…well…you know.”
“Yes, they do. But, they have the girl on theirs.”
“So, they can’t say anything. Right?”
“Well, Nile. That is our hopes. When it gets down to crunch time
here in a few years, they may try something. We’ll see. It is going to take
all of our devotion to make this thing work.”
“You can count on me boss,” Dan jumps in with honesty.
“Same here. You know me,” Nile points out the obvious.
“Yes. I know. And I truly believe you,” the JPL leader’s voice turns
somber, “I thought I could trust Patricia. I really did. She took so much
pride in everything. I thought that was enough. Sometimes I wonder if part
of this is my fault.”
“How can you possibly think that?”
“I could have put her in charge of a little more.”
“But, this was about money. Wasn’t it?”
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“I guess. The VKS can be tricky. I’m sure they made her think she
was doing the right thing.”
“How could they do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe that’s my heart talking. What I want to
believe.”
“I miss her boss.”
“Me too Nile. Me too.”
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Chapter
Seventy-seven
October 8, 2016 – Solar-Bio2
(185,622,744 miles beyond Saturn / Traveling at 34,783 mph)
Sonya slowly types a sentence on the transmissions console, stopping
to contemplate her choice of wording. She has thought long and hard,
concerning her boycott of headquarters and has decided that she should retie
the connection. Her long time relationship with Matt is still intact, but she
has grown somewhat bored with it, for there is nothing new to add to her
daily communications. Since it is impossible to meet him or even speak
with him through the Internet, she has come to a dead end in reference to
what she can discuss with him.
FR1 still holds a notable fondness for the chatter from Las Vegas, so
she is hesitant to pursue new friends via the electronic highway. In fact, it is
this basic concept that has finally delivered a sense of guilt for her actions
or, more specifically, the lack there of.
The thought of looking for
supplemental human contacts makes no sense, for she already has them at
her disposal.
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The teenager, who only sports her white undergarment, sifts her
delicate fingers through her auburn hair as she strives for the best way to
begin her message and explain her absence. She wonders if she should tell
them about some of her new physical attributes, for that is something they
should be truly interested in.
She could inform them that her eyes have developed a lovely green
tint to compliment the original brown. The female considers telling them
how her face no longer has that childish touch, for it now boasts more
mature features. She could tell them that she is beginning to take on a strong
resemblance to the picture above the shielding room. Although this belief
could have been produced from a preconceived notion of desiring to look
like Shanai Twain, in this case, there are enough similarities to consider the
statement accurate. Even her breasts have expanded significantly.
Sonya wonders how headquarters would perceive the transmission,
after so many months of radio silence. Certainly, spouting off about such
things would give the impression that everything is fine, and she has nothing
to apologize for. Is this what she wishes to convey? Though a tempting
scheme, she concludes that the “easy way out” method will not go over well.
She must provide a powerful excuse and convince them that it won’t happen
again, for she truly wishes to remake their company and may depend on it
someday. The thought of “needing their help” invokes another possible
problem. What if they have given up on her and turned their equipment off?
The fifteen-year-old begins popping keys at a faster rate. The Russian
words start to flow onto the screen and seem to combine for a believable
alibi. She will simply use the approach that she got so caught up in her
studies that she forgot to transmit. After a couple weeks of this, she became
so worried about headquarters’ take on her absentmindedness that she was
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too apprehensive to respond. Since the records will show she completed all
her homework (although illegally), they should buy into this slight stretch of
facts.
Sonya leans back to review her longwinded explanation, not to
mention to relax her strained sights. Her arms reach to the ceiling in an
attempt to remove the kinks from her cramping frame. She gazes about the
forward space, noting that a new display has arrived on her left screen. This
particular monitor now serves to both connect her with Matt and satisfy her
regular web surfing needs. In this case, she had requested a story off the
Internet several hours ago.
She opts to explore this avenue before sending off the transmission
that will surely meet very interested eyes. The news article she asked for
concerns something that she was sure was a mistake. Her inquisitive style
stumbled upon an update on the Solar-Bio2. The idea of reading what others
had to say about her immediately struck intrigue into her intellectual mind.
The heading clearly stated that her craft recently passed Saturn on its way
to... Pluto...?
She can only assume that the word they were looking for was
“Umbriel”, and the journalist made an innocent typo. She recollects the
gravity assist by the giant planet and wonders what Earth’s thought on the
subject would be. How exciting it will be to discover the opinions of people
that she has never met or even been informed exist. Surely, her stature on
her home planet is one of heroic proportions, for this must be considered a
grand endeavor indeed.
Her smiling face instantly alters to one of confusion and
disappointment. She murmurs a couple nonsensical terms as she attempts to
understand the words before her. It clearly affirms the initial declaration in
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that she is heading to Pluto! How can this be? There is no question in her
mind, based on the countless pieces of documentation and her mission
guidelines, that this is incorrect to the level of preposterous.
The befuddled girl reads on with a wide eye approach. The story
includes a timeline for her travels and information on the masses her craft
has already experienced. Her bewildered condition gradually spills over into
a complete letdown. There is nothing about her! Could they have deleted
her from the project because she no longer transmits to the main control
center? If so, she must get her current attempt out into space and on its way.
Upon reading the remaining sentences, she uncovers the truth. There
is no mention of her because it is a secret. The article labels the Solar-Bio2
as an unmanned probe that conducts biological testing! They obviously are
hiding the fact that she is the test subject!
But…why?
Headquarters
distinctly told her that she would be the envy of the world.
She also wonders why the news flash mentions that this is a backup
probe to the Solar-Bio1, which is over six hundred million miles ahead of
her! Her controlling entity on Earth instructed her that the first craft was
unsuccessful. Who shall she believe? What is the truth?
Her unique brain conducts a quick calculation, noting that there are
some huge problems associated with a trip to Pluto…she will starve to
death! She is already concerned about her water and food inventories.
Sonya figured she would have to institute some strict rationing rules just to
make it to Umbriel alive! Pluto is out of the question. Besides, Umbriel is
full of all the nutrients and elements she needs to continue on with part two
of her life. The ninth planet is supposedly nothing but a frozen, barren
wasteland.
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An eerie possibility spears through her racing thoughts, conjuring up a
mild cuss word she learned from a song. What if Umbriel is nothing but a
fabrication? Perhaps, the bright spot does NOT possess a warm climate or
oxygen rich air! What if the accounts of water and fertile soil are lies as
well? Why would they make up these things and then send her to Pluto?
What is their incentive?
Sonya considers backspacing her typing, in order to rephrase a few
things, namely, “what is her destination?” and “why is she a secret?”. A
sudden pause in the form of a warning imbeds her mental process. She may
be much better off if she plays along for the time being. She can continue to
utilize the periodicals, which will keep her posted on the details of her
mission.
Maybe, she will find out that there is no foul play, and the
paragraphs she read were erroneous. On the other hand, they may maintain
their story, at which time she can decide how to attack it.
A strange feeling drives into FR1 in that she no longer exhibits the
notable guilt for the silent treatment she gave JPL and VKS. She concludes
that she will send off the message and pretend everything is dandy and she
looks forward to resuming contact and devotion to ship maintenance. She
will also begin to learn the Solar-Bio2’s maneuvering systems in great
detail. She will block outside influence from this system if need be and
drive the craft herself, for…she is NOT…going to Pluto!
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Chapter
Seventy-eight
December 23, 2016 – Fort Irwin
Rebecca brings the off-white mug to her soft lips, allowing the
caffeine-containing beverage to slowly enter. She looks at the man that
stands to her right as he prepares his coffee with the addition of both
powdered cream and sugar.
Her thoughts drift during the short break,
reflecting on her admiration for this person, despite the past year’s
escapades. In reality, she understands his actions and the pressure he was
under to make the difficult decisions. Still, he did not believe in her, and
that has been tough to overlook. She truly hopes that her pride and feelings
can someday be mended, for she has never stopped dreaming of the day that
they ride off into the sunset.
“You know, you could have flown home to be with your family,”
Leonard reminds his employee.
“I know. I guess, I am still a little uncomfortable with going home,”
she admits, “Don’t you need me here?”
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“Of course I do. But, family is important.”
“I’m just not ready for the guilt trips. They all loved Le…I mean, the
“x”. I can see it now. It will all be my fault,” the lovely woman projects
what would happen if she made a visit back in her hometown for the
holidays.
“Are you giving them enough credit?”
“Maybe not. I just couldn’t take it. They have no idea. If they could
have only see him then. Heck…If they could only see him now!” her words
possess a note of concern.
“What do you mean? Do you see him now?” the JPL head begins to
worry that she has went back to her ex-husband; for personal reasons as well
as for her benefit.
“Oh, hell no. He follows me.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“I wish I were. He drives by the house almost every night. God, I
wish he would go back to Ohio.”
“Rebecca? I had no idea. Do you need to stay somewhere else? Do
you feel safe?”
“He gives me the creeps, but its something I’ll have to deal with.”
“You don’t have to put up with that. I have another bedroom. You
are welcome to it,” his suggestion feels strange since they used to share the
same bed.
She connects with the identical irony of the notion before issuing her
response, “Thanks. But, I’m ok. If things get worse, I may take you up on
it.”
“Anytime,” he resumes with a change of subject, “Rebecca?”
“Yes?”
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“I want you to know that I think you are really handling MR1 well.
He hasn’t noticed a difference at all. That was really really important.
Thank you.”
“You’re welcome Leonard. But, I don’t think I did much. Patricia
was the only one, who called him Alex. So, when I did the same, he
naturally had no idea. It was no big thing.”
“It was a big deal. You have the touch.”
“Well, thanks,” she smiles in appreciation.
“Just a sec,” cautions the brown-haired male.
“Huh?”
Leonard turns around and opens a pull out drawer on the kitchenette
cabinet. His actions confuse his female acquaintance as evident by her
peculiar stare.
Mr. Thomas reaches in and retrieves a thin rectangular
package, which is wrapped in a Christmas theme. He swings back around
with a slight red tint to his face and hands the red and green box to Miss
Thompson.
“What is this?” she inquires while accepting the offering that sports a
line of candy canes with a green background.
“A gift.”
“But, I didn’t bring yours. I was gonna…” she pauses, realizing she
didn’t actually have a plan, for this is the last day before Xmas that she
would be seeing him.
“That’s ok.”
“Should I open it now?”
“You don’t have to, but I’d like you to.”
“But, now I feel bad. When am I going to give you yours?”
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“Don’t worry about it. This isn’t just a Christmas gift anyway. Kind
of…a thank you too.”
“A thank you? For what?”
“Just open it.”
“Ok.”
Rebecca looks into his grayish blue eyes and suddenly feels
comfortable, something that has been lacking for quite some time. She
blushes a bit then moves her sights toward the light package within her
grasp. Her semi-long nails connive their way below the transparent tape and
then snap it free. Her curious fingers tear the paper away, exposing a red
box with the name of a popular jewelry store in raised letters across the
box’s top. She points her enchanting peepers in his direction one final time
before peeking into the mysterious container.
“Oh my,” her words stop, in order to capture a breath.
“What?”
“This is…this is…Leonard?” she stutters through but cannot put
together a successful sentence.
“What?”
“These are…they’re…”
“Emeralds,” he fills in the blanks, since she is too astonished to do so.
Rebecca lifts the extravagant necklace up into full view, amazed by
the sheer weight of the object. Her brain instantly calculates the probable
cost before deducting that it is too many thousands to count.
“I can’t believe this. This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
It’s too expensive. Why did you do this for me?”
“To pay you back.”
“What do you mean?”
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“I get to see your emeralds nearly every day. That is a far greater gift
than those rocks. The only way I could repay you…was to give some of
those emeralds back. This was the best I could do.”
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much. Now I have to get
you something else.”
“No you don’t. I’m serious. You have given me more joy than
anyone in my life. I treasure every moment we have. I’m the lucky one.”
“Why is that?” she wonders.
“I get the real ones.”
“Real ones?”
“The emeralds. You get the necklace…but I get to see the real ones.”
“Leonard?”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t want to wait till after Christmas to give you your gift…can I
bring it over?”
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Chapter
Seventy-nine
February 10, 2017 – Solar-Bio1
(864,599,459 miles beyond Saturn / Traveling at 14,445 mph)
The three of clubs is ordered to join the space just below the red four.
As if it has no other option than to obey, the virtual playing card zips into
position. The move allows the operator to uncover the pile that the most
recent play was covering. A peculiar mix of disappointment and satisfaction
finds access into the sixteen-year-old boy’s mind when he notes the new
card as being the nine of spades, for he knows that he cannot win this
particular hand. Even though there are many cards left in the deck, he
already knows that this game spells doom.
It is this aspect of Solitaire that Alex enjoys most. Since there are
many combinations after the shuffle that will result in a loss, regardless of
the player’s strategy, he has created a secondary style of rules. He must
project the final outcome of the game as soon as possible. To receive added
points, he can specify exactly how many cards will make it to the upper
group, the closer he gets, the more points.
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When MR1 opened this card game for the very first time, he
immediately related to the philosophy and basic concept that it employs,
because, in essence, he had already experienced it on his own. Many miles
back, during his isolated venture inside the Radiation Shielding Room, he
found himself with no topic to pass the time. While the relaxation that came
with having a clear mind was acceptable for a small period, it quickly
became monotonous to a level of aggravating. Alex allowed anything with
sustenance to enter his brain, which pleaded for input. Before he knew it, he
had found himself jumbling numbers and letters in his head and then
unscrambling them.
This simple process gradually gave way to more complex puzzles,
until he had invented a game much like Solitaire, difference being that he
used letters instead of suits. He would actually shuffle the forty numericalalphabetical combinations and then play them out one move at a time, all the
while remembering the exact position of those remaining uncovered (in the
deck). Although he was missing out on his lesson plans, the extensive use of
his brain more than made up for it.
As the big red “x” appears, signifying the end of this hand, Alex
counts the amount of cards on top of the aces, noting he was dead on again.
He considers commanding the computer to initiate a new attempt, but a
certain level of boredom sets in due to the relative ease of this predictive
diversion. Besides, the only reason he began the game was to put off
something that has been bothering him.
Alex decides that he must face the uncomfortable thoughts inside his
head, because they’re certainly not fading off on their own. The brownhaired male has been fighting a strange feeling for quite some time.
Something feels different about his ties with his “pretend” mother. He
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cannot pinpoint the cause, but there is definitely an inconsistency of sorts.
The confused, young man wonders if she knows that he held onto the
audio/video file for a while before deleting it. Perhaps, she has been less
“personal” with him because she is aware of his lack of discipline.
If this is the case, why has she not mentioned it? Maybe, she now
carries a more serious tone as a result of the declaration she made. Was this
her way of saying she is not his mother and no longer wishes to act out the
part? This does not agree with her words in reference to how she “feels”
like she really is his mother though.
The pondering teen continues to conduct the mental discussion, failing
to acquire the true foundation for the change in intimacy.
Since
headquarters never plans on informing him of the termination of this
woman, he will never realize that he is talking to an imposter. While they
considered their plan foolproof from their end, they never considered the
stress it would impart or the ideas it would create.
Alex looks over to the computer on the other side of the interior. The
Yahoo home page glows brightly, waiting for him to make a request. His
twisting thoughts are already contemplating a somewhat devious plot with
the taboo Internet.
Ever since he has lost that unsaid touch with his
“adoptive” mother, he now longs to locate his REAL mother! Alex fully
understands that the system is only to be used as a means to transmit to
headquarters, but this is basically what he is using it for. They lied to him
about the parental information; so it is only fitting that he send a message to
the unknown woman that truly gave birth to him.
MR1 pauses to ponder the consequences for this misdeed. He has
completed eighty-five percent of his trip without incident (as far as breaking
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the rules), so it may be best if he passes on this tempting spin of events. But,
how would they even know?
Alex swings his thoughts to his biological mother, wondering how
much she knows about him. Since she was too young to keep him, does this
mean she is unaware of his present location? Surely, she knows that he is in
space and heading towards a wonderful world…the entire globe must be
aware of that.
The blue-eyed boy conducts his thrusting style of travel toward the
Transmission Console, reaching it within seconds of departure.
After
securing himself into position, he begins to look for the small words that link
to the human directory. His eager stare quickly locates the “People Search”
logo. He wonders if he has enough information to obtain success. He is
aware of his birth date, place, the fact that his mother was fifteen at the time
and that he was named after her. How many babies could have been born in
one city on a certain day by a fifteen-year-old woman? If there are a few,
surely he can figure which mother’s name sounds the most like “Alex”.
MR1 contemplates the possibility that this option does not allow all
these entries. Just because he is aware of these pieces of data does not mean
that these are the pieces they need to locate his mother. He may be required
to supply her actual name or where she lives. Does she still reside in
Orlando? Did she ever actually live there?
The boy’s spinning mind begins to create too many what-ifs when
there is only one way to find out the answers. He must select the link and
wait till tomorrow to receive the results. In any event, he merely plans on
taking a peek, for he is still unsure whether a message is going over the line.
Perhaps, he should ask headquarters if it is ok to contact his birth parent.
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The thought of the term “parent” brings a new aspect to the same
dilemma. Why is he so concerned about his mother? What about the male
that produced the sperm, which subsequently manufactured the living cells
that breath the air inside the Solar-Bio1? His original thought process on the
whole circumstance was that all humans carry the same worth in the great
circle of teamwork. But now, he seems to have experienced something of an
emotional nature in connection with the female portion of the triangle. Why
would the male counterpart not be considered equal in this category?
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Chapter
Eighty
May 6, 2017 - Кролик-1
(800 miles from Umbriel / Traveling at 750 mph)
The plan to move against the gravitational pull of Uranus worked
perfectly, as the small space probe has slowed to a workable pace before its
encounter with the target destination. The commands from the Russian
military base proved dead-on, as evident by the correct trajectory
parameters. Кролик-1 passed by the left side of the planet and has recently
exited this giant mass’s force field, now free to float into an orbit with
Umbriel. If all goes as projected, the secret craft will conduct numerous
revolutions, before engaging its propulsion booster in an attempt for
atmospheric entry.
A bluish glow fills the probe’s horizon, being far more intense behind
and to the right where the source of this neon light exists. Uranus gleams
like no other planet within the path of the Solar-Bio missions. It is the only
of these uninhabited objects that seems to actually emit light. The others are
plenty bright enough to view (with a photo-system, in this case), but this
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illumination actually casts a blue-green brilliance onto the exterior of the
probe. This particular color is a result of the tendency for Methane to absorb
red light, thereby leaving this tint to dominate the sky.
The Кролик-1 began to transmit its banks of imagery and data about
twenty-four hours prior to the gravity desist. Some of the more interesting
photos thus far would be the giant boulders that make up the rings of
Uranus. It was imperative to maintain safe distance, for these icy monsters
would tear apart the speeding machine in milliseconds. Luckily for those
calculating the intricate maneuvers, the rings do not stretch out as far as
those of Saturn, so the need to enter a gap was avoided.
Ivan Rebrov ordered the release of the stored files with some
reservations, since an interception of these space-generated documents
would be difficult to explain. Of course, the gains far outweighed the risks,
so the signal was sent to commence the data dump. Besides, the RKA has
implemented a scheme that would explain the peculiar images and provide
an alibi in the case that this becomes necessary.
Кролик-1 steadily approaches the uniquely dark sphere that has
drawn so much attention ever since the Voyager 2 returned questionable
data. Its well-designed camera focuses in on the target and initiates an
image reproduction in digital form. If it weren’t for the powerful glow of
Uranus (in reference to the blackness of space), the photo would be useless,
for, even with the aperture wide open, there is insufficient light available.
Umbriel is that dark!
Being a mechanical device made up of nuts and bolts, the probe
cannot experience the wonderment and awe of the mysteries and beauty
within its presence. What it can do is deliver temperatures, pressures, and
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other pertinent data to the command post on the Asian continent two billion
miles away, not to mention provide displays of its journey.
A trigger of sorts is set off inside the elaborate electronics that control
the camera directional device and other moving parts. A new attribute to the
bluish midnight sky has introduced itself, and the spectrometers immediately
detected it. A second source of light pierces through like a laser pointed
directly at an eyeball. While the short-range lens (in comparison) twists its
different segments of glass, another signal is routed to the navigational
circuit board. It is this bright spot that the probe will use to guide it into an
orbital path.
While its present velocity would be detrimental if landing was the
next objective, the plan is to circle the moon and collect data before trying
phase two of “Project Umbriel”.
It was decided that, since landing is
commonly unsuccessful, it would be a good idea to collect information from
afar first. (The same philosophy that was to be employed for Pluto)
The special craft, which is completely unknown to the human race
short of a select few, closes in on the satellite that orbits around Uranus from
a distance of roughly 160,000 miles. The significant brightness that issues
from the moon’s upper section begins to appear larger as a result of the
closer proximity. The craft with long straight arms, protruding randomly
from its center, continues to utilize a wide-open approach, in an attempt to
distinguish the super dark surface of this wonder before it. Finally, the
camera is able to pick up some texture. Though the machine has no capacity
to logic or set opinions, the Russian receivers will certainly note that this
particular moon has some of the largest and varied craters of those they have
observed from other moons.
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A sudden supply of energy is generated by the RTG, as requested by
the computer chip, which utilizes a triangular coordinate system to perform
its function.
The precision force immediately changes the angular
momentum of the Кролик-1, altering its path towards the bright spot, known
by astronomers as the Fluorescent Cheerio. The name was derived based on
its bright doughnut shape with a darkened center.
While the probe has the capability of making significant modifications
to its course, it will still require a couple revolutions to pass directly over
this point of interest. The boosting action ceases as the Кролик-1 gets closer
and closer to the intriguing moon of Uranus. The Cosmic Ray Subsystem
picks up no unexpected radiation as it continuously monitors the space in
which it resides. The huge time lag in signal transfer makes it impossible to
supply commands from Earth, so the Russians are at the mercy of their own
programming and mechanical integrity.
Finally, the confidential craft arrives at orbit height, which is only
about eighty miles from Umbriel’s surface. The second camera system
begins its scanning technique, searching for the alien forms or any other
object, for that matter. As the Кролик-1 closes in on the moon, nothing is
spotted that would signify a group of visitors. The bright spot, which is only
visible at an extreme angle, does not seem to have any strange objects
hovering above. There is no human brain activity onboard to ask such
questions as: “Have they left?” or “Have they since landed inside?”.
A small compartment door slides open as the Кролик-1 passes its
closest point to the Fluorescent Cheerio (about 110 miles to the left). After
the probe’s booster kicks in to provide a stable platform for reactive force, a
spherical module thrusts away from its housing. The device relies on perfect
aim, in order to land inside the moon’s bright spot. It will transmit simple
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parameters like Oxygen and temperature until it crashes upon the supposedly
rocky ground. A much more complex gadget shall be sent in when the probe
flies directly over the target. These elaborate pieces of equipment were
initially designed to be fired upon the surface of Pluto, luckily, the system
was engineered to allow for signal input from Earth, which provided Russian
scientists the ability to change the coordinates. It was this same philosophy
that allowed the VKS to “steer” the probe to a new destination.
Due to the difference in rotation, the moon’s topography is zooming
by at a faster clip than the Кролик-1's velocity. It is this setup that continues
to slowdown the craft, thereby limiting the needed fuel for a landing. Due to
this circumstance, the camera only receives a few opportunities to zoom in
on the shining doughnut to the starboard side.
Soon, the Russian vessel is moving away from the spot and
triangulating for a new maneuver. Both the Infrared Radiometer and the
Ultraviolet Spectrometer combine efforts to determine the position of
Uranus, the Sun, and the Fluorescent Cheerio, in order to calculate its
adjustments. When the detectors lose sight of any one of these components,
the system pauses until all three reappear.
As the bright spot gradually becomes more faint, a final boost is
conducted. Unfortunately, it is this change in direction that suddenly places
the Кролик-1 in grave danger.
While the camera system locates the
approaching objects and begins snapping away, the navigational system
remains in the bypass mode. It will not change trajectory, because the
Fluorescent Cheerio is no longer visible.
While the present speed of 700 mph is a turtle’s pace compared to the
previous levels during its journey, it is a hare’s rate for an anything with
substance moving toward a giant group of unknown objects! Since these
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unexpected masses are apparently in orbit as well (in the opposite direction),
they will share the same basic plane in reference to distance from Umbriel!
The only hope for the probe, which is named after the speedy actions
of a rabbit, is that these UFOs do not possess the same mass/velocity
constituent. If so, the two will be on the exact same plane. In this event, the
only chance of survival is if they are on a “different enough” course to miss
each other!
The zooming craft enters the field of orbiting demons, finding itself
substantially below the first four. The image detecting system fires digital
data at an accelerated rate and subsequently sends them instantly towards
Earth. Unfortunately, this same device lacks the capability of informing its
thrusters of the peril it is presently undergoing. A smaller, flat object speeds
directly toward the Кролик-1, tearing through it like tissue paper. Although
the collision lacks any explosive qualities, the Russian-built structure now
consists of countless diminutive pieces that are too light and, therefore,
begin to float aimlessly into the vast emptiness of space.
The demolition of the probe occurred at nearly the same moment that
the miniature atmospheric monitor crashed onto Umbriel’s surface. Without
the knowledge that their probe is no longer operational, the Russian’s
dreams have yet to shatter like the device that they created.
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Chapter
Eighty-one
May 12, 2017 – Murmansk, Russia
Several manila folders filled with piles of paper line the unoccupied
spaces along the oval-shaped table. While there is elbowroom for twenty
people, the conference room presently only holds three. Ivan, who has aged
heavily in recent years, still carries himself with pride and keeps his uniform
in tiptop shape. Kobach sits on the end, wearing a blank stare, as he waits
for the meeting to commence. The third member of the party is a younger
man with dark hair and hazel eyes.
The VKS geologist moves his spectacles in and out as he studies the
photo that he holds in front of his pale face. Considered the expert in this
field, the other two patiently wait for his opinion to be conjured and
subsequently relayed to them.
“I’m surprised that there are no ice crystals on these images,” he
begins to supply his extrapolations with confidence, “I would expect some
491
sort of frozen matter, since these moons have been known to have quite an
excess of it. But…it does support my theory.”
“That they truly may be space ships?” Mr. Simko jumps in with a
hopeful tone, for he has been trying to convince anyone that will listen that
there is a chance that these objects were indeed from another world.
“No my friend. That the small dot in the center of the Fluorescent
Cheerio is a volcano!” his words mount in intensity with each syllable.
“What?” Ivan breaks in with a less-spirited reply.
“Yes. There is no question that the many craters on Umbriel are the
result of meteor impacts from billions of years ago. But! This strange
formation in the center of the bright spot…you can see from this photo that
it rises…like a volcano,” he hands the image to the two interested agents.
“I guess, I can’t see it,” Kobach seems to be driven by his desire for a
more extravagant ending.
“So this curve here is going upward…not downward?” Mr. Rebrov
provides a more specific offering.
“Yes. You can tell by the shadows.”
“I see them. But, I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“Now…there must have been a grand eruption…probably rather
recently, at least, in geological terms. That group of rocks flew so high that
they obtained orbit. With the low gravity, this is completely possible.”
“So, how does the ice come into the picture,” the VKS leader is
following him but a still lagging behind.
“The heat generated by such a blast would melt any water or, should I
say liquid? Anyway, the rocks would be dry, for the most part, when they
were propelled into the sky. Since the force exerted on them was all roughly
the same, they found orbit in close proximity. The ones that were too big,
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fell back to the ground…the ones that were too small had sufficient escape
velocity to find free space.”
“How sure are you of all this Mr. Sendle?” Kobach asks with an
insinuation for stretching the facts in his voice.
“Well, in my field, everything is postulated to some degree. But,
virtually everything points to this as the correct answer.”
“What else supports your theory?” commands the civilian head.
“Scientists before me have wondered about the super darkness of
Umbriel and how it ties into this mysterious bright spot. There has been
speculation for years that the sun’s rays are absorbed into the near-black
surface and concentrated out the small top. The problem with this theory
was that something had to do the concentrating. A more reflective surface
would do it, but only if there was some internal routing for all this energy. I
don’t know what’s inside the core of this moon, but a volcano explains it
all.”
“So, your saying that the rocks are nothing more than fragments from
a past eruption?” Kobach tones down his earlier assault.
“Absolutely. I would tend to agree with you that they could be made
out to look like most anything. But evidence points to this.”
“So, it’s possible?”
“It is not Impossible.”
“So how do all the other parameters fit in with all of this doc?” Ivan
refers to this man’s level of education.
“Pretty much agrees. The temperatures around this volcano are very
earth-like. In the upper twenties…centigrade. That means one thing and
one thing only.”
“The volcano is still active?”
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“Yes my friend! Exactly!”
“How long will it maintain these temperatures?”
“Well, one could assume for a very long time. Who knows how long
it has been like this? I have yet to do the calculations, but with such a
warming method, the magma chamber must be extremely hot. You have to
remember the frigid conditions it is bringing to above zero numbers.”
“Interesting. So, could that oxygen that the detector found be from
some sort of venting?” the military man’s past education helps him catch up
to the pace.
“I think that was a spike…probably in error.”
“So there is no oxygen on this ahh…Fluorescent Cheerio?”
“Doubtful. Although, there is a chance that if this volcano is venting
it, the atmospheric pressure is high enough to hold it in.”
“So, there is a chance that humans or life could be supported on this
moon!” Kobach continues to twist the meaning of the scientist’s words.
“Maybe. But…even if there were the right concentration of oxygen as
the one blip displayed, the other 80% of gas would probably be lethal.”
“I wish we got off that second monitor,” Mr. Simko refers to the
system that would have relayed the exact constituents within the bright
spot’s atmosphere.
“That would have been nice…but…all the zero readings are good
enough for me.
I would deduct with confidence that no measurable
quantities of oxygen exist on Umbriel.”
“Can I ask you something Mr. Sendle?” the disappointed, but farfrom-giving-up Russian inquires.
“Sure.”
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“The atmospheric pressure? You said it would be high enough to hold
in the gases that vent.”
“It is more of a weight thing. The air has it’s own weight. It is this
component that produces the push down tendency that keeps it in all the way
down to the ground. That’s why on Earth, for example, the atmospheric
pressure is about 15 pounds at sea level but then slowly decreases as we gain
in altitude. There is less air on top of us…therefore less WEIGHT.”
“I see,” Kobach begins, not really overly interested in such a detailed
analysis, “So, could a human survive this weight on Umbriel?”
“Well, my friend.
My area is in Geology…but…. based on the
numbers from the printout, there is a range that would be satisfactory for
such occupancy.”
“A range?”
“Well, we don’t know where this thing crashed. If it crashed into the
side of the volcano, there is certainly more depth to the land. If this was the
case, the atmospheric pressure would be too high in these areas.”
“I see. Thank you.”
“Mr. Sendle…I’d like to thank you for your help. We’ll be requesting
your services again…before this thing is over,” Ivan jumps in.
“I only wish this discovery wasn’t top secret. It is one of the most
significant finds of our generation.”
“Well sir. Don’t forget. This will not remain sealed forever. Only
until it no longer connects to other confidential matters.”
“I understand.”
“Don’t forget too. You will be involved in presenting this to the
world someday. Just be patient.”
“I will.”
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“Sir?” Kobach injects before the geologist exits the room.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry for my outbursts.”
“That is quite alright my friend. There is only one thing that is more
precious than the human mind.”
“What is that?”
“A human mind that continually strives for the great unknown.”
As the expert disappears, Mr. Simko smiles in response to the genuine
compliment. Although the sender of the kind words did not witness the
thankful gesture, he certainly sensed it as he left.
“Alright Kobach. Pay up.”
“What?”
“I think I was a little closer to our prediction than you were.”
“Oh. Ah, the game’s not over yet.”
“I can respect that. I have to admit. I truly wanted you to be right.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” the Colonel takes off his hat, exposing his graying mane,
“Кролик-1 could be on its way to Pluto. I know the volcano thing is
interesting, but…well…I was hoping for more.”
“The aliens?”
“Not sure if I ever thought about that. But, if there was more oxygen,
we could make the discovery public now.”
“Why can’t we now?”
“Because, if we do, the Americans will swing the Bio1 to Pluto.”
“We’re not going to tell them?”
“No. This plays into our hands.”
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“So, we are going to let them find out for themselves that Umbriel is
uninhabitable?”
“I don’t think they care about that. They are interested in that group
of rocks floating about.”
“The ones they believe are alien craft?”
“Exactly.”
“Do you think the Bio1 will crash into them?
“Hard to say. We will know more when the calculations come back.
If the rocks are in the Bio1’s path, it will be up to the boy to miss them.”
“Is that possible?”
“I don’t know…but I doubt it.”
“So, do you feel bad?”
“About the boy?”
“Yeah.” Mr. Simko’s words shed an obvious dose of pity for the other
side’s player.
“No. They lied to us. Made up a story to fool us. Why should we
care about it?”
“That’s true. But, it is sad too.”
“Don’t forget…they killed J51! They are the ruthless ones. Heck,
that boy would not survive the trip to Pluto anyway. No way…now how!”
Ivan’s powerful delivery makes perfect sense.
“So, our plan is to basically do nothing right?”
“Yes. Sonya will head to Pluto.”
“Funny how things work.”
“What do you mean?”
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“All the while, we were angry with the silence from Sonya…whether
it was due to the Americans or not.
Now, we would welcome her
to…well…”
“Die?”
“Yeah. Die.”
“We will have to develop some plan as to what to tell her, but
regardless her vessel will be kept on a steady course to Pluto.”
“What shall we tell her?”
“Not sure. We could tell her that we are not going to adjust for
Umbriel until the last moment. That will buy us some time. A couple years
in fact.”
“So, the idea is to keep her happy as long as possible?”
“Yes.”
“I agree. But, what about JPL…they are going to want to shift to the
other side of Uranus on schedule?”
“Yes they will, but they want to hold off as long as possible too. That
goes for both Bios, for that matter.”
“Good point Ivan. They will be heavily scrutinized by the public.”
“Yes.
They will try to hold off the debate until they land on
Umbriel.”
“And when they find nothing they will come to us and state we must
send the Bio2 to Pluto!”
“Bingo!”
“We don’t have to do a thing.”
“Our only job is to be extremely careful with the transmissions. JPL
will certainly pick up on any foul play. As long as we keep telling Sonya
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that things are going as planned…we will not fail. The Americans will look
like idiots and we will look like geniuses.”
“But, we are geniuses,” Kobach includes.
“Yes sir…we are.”
“So, no breeches on the images yet?”
“Nope. I think the coding was successful.”
“Great,” the man clothed in a white shirt and khakis continues, “This
day and age, you can’t protect yourself enough. Any geek with a computer
can quickly become your enemy.”
“Yes they can…Mr. Simko…yes they can.”
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Chapter
Eighty-two
June 7 – Santiago, Chile
The letters “URW.NationalEnquirer.com” quickly fill the address
window on the personal computer screen. The operator presses the enter
key, informing the machine where it is to go along the unregulated highway.
The periodical, which is known for its outlandish stories, is not a favorite
site of the person conducting the keystrokes, but it happens to be the location
of a particular article she has heard about. Seconds after her request was
generated, a return is supplied in the form of a home page with links to the
many departments, as well as the most recent columns. She does not have to
search long for the specific story, for it is listed on the front page. In bolt
font, it reads, “DECEASED BOY SENDS EMAIL TO MOTHER FROM
OUTER SPACE!!”
The interested party carefully studies the wording of this strange
allegation.
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Alexia Dixon, formerly Anderson, received an email that was sent from
somewhere in space from a boy, who identified himself as her deceased son.
The ridiculous claim is supported by the director of the International
Tracking System of the World Wide Web. The head of this department, Mr.
Steve Laney states that the signal indeed came from a non-earth-based
location. Sources close to the Mr. Laney quote him as saying, “It is in my
opinion that this accusation has merit and must be investigated. There are
presently no satellites orbiting other planets and, therefore, this email is
legitimately from out of this world!”
Records show that the child in question passed away in 2001, but Alexia
maintains, “Something was always fishy about his death.” She continues to
make claims that the government stole her child and sent him on the SolarBio1, for, according to her, the email mentioned that this is where he lives.
When asked, the governmental agency of Jet Propulsions Laboratory stated
that the allegations are preposterous and without substantiation. Although
JPL continues to deny all charges, they have, in fact, sealed the message
until, in their own words, “It can be properly addressed.”
Alexia also claims that there is another person that knows of the conspiracy
that resulted in the theft of her boy. Unfortunately, Miss Jennifer Candleson
was mysteriously shot to death in the year 2011 by a known hit man.
Requests have been made to reopen the case with this new possible
connection, but as of yet, nothing has changed. As far as the baby boy,
Alexia has requested the exhumation of the body in question. Unfortunately,
the biological mother gave up the infant for adoption and does not have the
power to demand it. Since the child’s adoptive parents were killed in an auto
accident, it is in the hands of the government, once again.
The compelling evidence points towards yet another governmental cover up.
While JPL refuses to confirm, the world is very suspect!
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The reader experiences mixed emotions; for she understands that it is
she who is responsible for this entire episode. Part of her is happy that the
woman that gave birth to MR1 finally knows the truth. On the other hand,
there is a certain level of jealousy that drives deep into her inner self. The
considerable dose of envy is actually directed at two individuals...the woman
who has just received word from the child she thought to be dead, and from
the female that gets to transmit to him on a daily basis. Now that she has
assumed a new identity and teaches English to children in a Chilean Junior
High School, she must forever hold her ex-life sealed in the vaults of
loneliness.
Her chocolate brown eyes view the next heading that pertains to the
story.
It reads: “OUTER SPACE BOY DOES NOT RESPOND TO
MOTHER’S CALL!!” The lady, formerly known as Patricia, wonders if
this is JPL blocking the transmission or Alex refusing to send more. Her
initial thought is that her former employer would not have the capacity to
stop such transactions, but, since the www is regulated, they probably can.
One thing is for sure…JPL will not allow this to get blown out of
proportion. They will perform their meticulous forms of damage control and
return everything to “business as usual”. What the schoolteacher is less sure
of is…what will they do when it is time to announce the great
discovery…admit that they stole MR1? Can they possibly wiggle out of this
one?
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Chapter
Eighty-three
August 9, 2017 – Solar-Bio1
(922,057,261 miles beyond Saturn / Traveling at 12,158 mph)
Alex slowly extends the line from a quarter note to a half note and
then initiates a “play” on the music sequencing software. The slightly longer
stroke on the cello seems to enhance the song more than take from it, so he
selects the “save” function, thereby reserving his modification. His skills in
the area of composing music have gradually taken a turn in the positive
direction. He has finally meandered away from the numerical approach and
began exploring the “land of less rules”. This move has resulted in tracks
with less repetition and much more artistic value.
When MR1 first was introduced to this powerful package, he only
dabbled with it, for he was rather overwhelmed and unsure of his ability to
match the wits of the greats before him. However, after the scolding he
received for his actions with the Internet, he has steered away from the
tempting underworld and hunted out more fulfilling, not to mention
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acceptable, methods of entertainment. He can only hope that somehow his
future discipline and behavior make up for this single shortcoming.
Satisfied, with the six-instrument production he has created, he
decides to play the entire piece, which he calls “A land of all people”. His
reading on the many races that make up the different countries and
continents on Earth fueled his motivation. He immediately looked at this
factor and labeled it as perhaps the greatest ADVANTAGE that mankind has
over him. He must look at his own face everyday. In fact, at one point, he
assumed all humans looked like him. But, that was far from the case! The
occupants of his home planet are blessed with such diverse faces. What an
exciting feeling it must be to have no idea what nationality is walking
around the next corner?
As Alex bounces to his energetic orchestration, he does not even
consider that this attribute could have its DISadvantages, for there is no basis
for such a thought, since the contrasting shades and appearances are just
that…shades and appearances.
The same great machine, known as
TEAMWORK, must continue to spin just the same as it would with a single
race! Every human has a contribution in the system, and it is that skill that
sets them apart from the other cogs, not some unrelated component like the
their color.
Certainly, earthlings are far too intelligent to allow a
contribution to go to waste. That would be like losing in Solitaire simply
because you desired the Queen of Diamonds…NOT the Queen of Hearts.
What a preposterous thought!
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Chapter
Eighty-four
October 22, 2017 – Pasadena, CA
Leonard walks beside the lovely Miss Thompson down the sidewalk
that leads to the entrance of the JPL home base. The assorted shrubbery has
been perfectly maintained and the grass looks like a thick shag carpet. The
brown-haired man is wearing khakis and a yellow pullover, while Rebecca
sports a light blue dress and a darker blue blazer top.
Mr. Thomas opens the large glass door for his friend and motions for
her to enter. She smiles as her perfect shape invades the space. Leonard
joins her inside the large space that makes up a sort of atrium. Being
Sunday, the only faces in the room are a pair of security guards, whom
immediately recognize the newcomer’s identity and, from that point on,
ignore their presence. There are several signs and even an information
center to help guide a visitor, but the long-standing employee knows exactly
where he’s going.
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He guides her straight ahead and through a second set of doors, which
allow access to the newest addition of JPL’s property. The structure is still
under construction, as evident by the yellow caution tape and warnings that
hazards may exist. Leonard grabs a couple hard hats from a nearby rack,
handing one to his partner and then donning the other. A confused look
paints the beautiful woman’s face as they continue in the direction of an area
with unfinished drywall and hanging wires.
“What are we doing here? I thought we had a meeting with Flight
Ops.” Rebecca finally requests clarification for this peculiarity.
“It’s Sunday. Why would we have a meeting on a Sunday?” reasons
Leonard in a somewhat sarcastic tone.
“Umm.
Because you said they had to fly back out tomorrow
morning,” she repeats his explanation to get her here in the first place.
“Nah. That meeting is tomorrow.”
“Why do I ever believe you?”
“Because you love me,” his voice is rather confident of the statement.
“Yeah. But, you sure like to push it.”
“Push what?”
“Your luck,” she quips
“Well, I feel lucky today.”
“You do? And why is that?”
“You’ll see.”
“Ok. Better make it worth my while.”
Instead of continuing on with the conversation, Leonard supplies a
chuckle that insinuates that there is something to the sentence she just
delivered through her engaging lips.
“What?”
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He does not respond to her request for an elaboration concerning his
half-laugh/half-grunt. He swings his travels to the right and through a large
archway that leads to, what appears to be, another atrium. There is not much
except framework and a transparent ceiling in the room. The floor is cement
and the walls are made up of metal studs and visible electrical wiring. While
the incomplete structure is not even to the point where one could envision
what it is going to look like, a large Maple tree strangely stands in the center
with nice landscaping features around its base. The purplish leaves proudly
accent the otherwise unsightly view.
“Here we are,” Mr. Thomas announces.
“And where is that?” her words were fully expected.
“At our tree.”
“Our tree?”
“Yes. Our…tree.”
“Leonard, I’m not following you.”
“There is a reason I brought you in here on a weekend.”
“I’m listening.”
“Exactly twenty years ago…today…we met…under this tree.”
“Oh my! I remember that day! Was it really exactly twenty years
ago?” her words instantly show intrigue and excitement.
“Yep.”
“That is so romantic. I am so impressed that you remember that.
Even more impressed that you care. You are an incredible man.”
“I consider this tree an important part of my life…because of you.”
“Aww…This used to be outside…in the walkway between the two
centers huh?”
“Yep. But now they’re expanding. You know…progress.”
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“So why didn’t they cut this down.”
“I wouldn’t let them,” he explains, “Well, actually I begged.”
“All for me?”
“All for us.”
“You are so special.”
“Not nearly as special as you.”
“You’re embarrassing me Len.”
“I know. I can tell by that sparkle in your eye. It matches the one in
the tree.”
“In the tree?”
“Yeah. Look,” his right arm extends, in order to point her in the
direction of the glimmering object.
Rebecca doesn’t see the sparking source that he refers to, so she
moves closer to the deciduous plant and begins searching for the object. She
looks up to the glass ceiling, which allows the bright sunlight in, and
gestures at it. He quickly returns a silent, but negative response.
“What are you talking about Len?”
“Look closer. I think it’s in the trunk.”
Her face displays a befuddled impression before returning to the
search, using the new hint to help guide her way. After a few seconds of
unsuccessful “hide and seek”, she locates the object that he is obviously
speaking of. In a small nook within the tree sets a glistening diamond ring!
The gold band is held in place around a little knob.
“Oh my…Leonard? Where did this come from?”
“I put it there. Well…I had it put there.”
“Who is it for?” she asks the ridiculous question mainly because she is
waiting for him to say the words.
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“For the woman I wish to be my wife.”
Rebecca pauses, allowing a tear to escape. She fights the urge to cry,
but she realizes it is no use.
“Rebecca?”
“Yes?” her voice cracks as she attempts to maintain her composure.
“Will you marry me?”
His words immediately prompt a heavier rainfall from the female’s
ducts. She cries softly at first, but, as she begins to speak, the weeping
intensifies considerably.
“Did you have to wait twenty years? What took you so long? Of
course, I will!”
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Chapter
Eighty-five
January 13, 2018 – Solar-Bio2
(523,221,008 miles beyond Saturn / Traveling at 28,645 mph)
Sonya types in a numerical entry within the Excel spreadsheet she has
created and then selects the enter key. Her self-produced formula races back
with an outcome that meets her specification to a tee. After several failures,
she finally figured out how to change directional coordinates with respect to
angular displacement and time. Her many sources of information made her
job a lot easier, for all she had to do was research geometry in intricate
detail. She now has a program that will produce false coordinates.
FR1 now can utilize the “time of day” and “current date” to produce a
continuous signal for the Solar-Bio2’s position. All she had to do was
compute the course she is supposed to take and relate that to the clock. Her
Excel formulas will update the information once every second and send the
data to the Main Control Panel. The downside to this is she will have to
disconnect the spacecraft’s REAL navigation system from the panel and
have a direct signal to the meter, which does not and cannot be transmitted
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to headquarters.
In a few days, when she finishes this, she can begin
bumping her vessel toward the other side of Uranus where she can
rendezvous with her choice of destinations!
Sonya contemplates waiting a year or so before making these bold
changes in trajectory. What if they change their mind on Umbriel, or she was
reading incorrect data from the Internet? After all, not everything on the
World Wide Web is as it seems. Look at Matt. He has slowly cutback on
his emails and recently informed her that he met a girl in a place called
Nebraska. He promised her so much but then let her down. He still sends
her an occasional message and even had the gall to tell her if it doesn’t work
out with “Miss Whatserface”, he will gladly take her back.
The female, space traveler, who has gradually matured into a beautiful
seventeen-year-old woman, decides that she is better off without this
unappreciative man.
When she gets all this navigating and signal
manufacturing down, she will seek other people to spend time with inside
the electronic world. There are millions of human beings on that planet, so
she should have no problem locating one that suits her needs. Although, she
wonders if there are any as sweet as the young man from Las Vegas.
Sonya realizes that it is getting late, and she has yet to conduct her
exercises for the evening. Since the reddish-haired female that continues to
exhibit a strong resemblance to her favorite, country singer skipped her
morning regime; it would be a very good idea to perform the full procedure.
She has not been reducing her workouts because of laziness, although that
may play a smaller role in the entire scheme of things. The cutback is
actually on purpose, for she has been concerned about her resources
onboard, which have been growing thin at an alarming rate. Her earlier
tendency to eat the dry foods, and perhaps too much at that, has placed her in
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a situation where rationing is the only answer. In order to reduce her daily
requirements for the nutrition, she has been exercising less and, therefore,
burning less calories.
The notable level of hunger that she experiences on a frequent basis
seems to intensify her desire to reach Umbriel. While her confidence in the
paradise that lays there has been shattered, her chances of survival rely on it,
so she has convinced herself that it is a wonderful place full of fruit trees and
tomatoes. In reality, the lone Solar-Bio2 occupant could eat a normal diet of
mushrooms and probably make it before the organic supplies diminish, but
she thinks of the Bio Dome much like the other mechanical devices on her
ship…the more it runs, the sooner it will fail!
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Chapter
Eighty-six
March 6, 2018 – Kaliningrad, Russia
“Welcome home stranger,” the substantially overweight woman hugs
her husband.
“Ah my Soneshka. I have missed you,” Ivan states in an adoring tone.
“So long this time. I thought you found a better woman and run off,”
she says with a partial hint of actual seriousness mixed in with the primarily
funny statement.
“Better than you dear. Never! You are the only one for me.”
“Well. We are getting too old for this, you know. You told me you
would retire soon. When is this thing over?”
“Not long now my dear. Not long.”
Ivan’s words seem to hold more meaning than they were intended to
depict. The failure of the secret probe that sped ahead of the American’s
craft affected him more than he has let on to his civilian counterpart. He
truly hoped that Umbriel was indeed a land of fascinating discoveries that
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would present mankind with a possible “home away from home” for the
future. What a great legend to leave behind…the man who orchestrated a
journey to a “habitable” world! Before the joint effort with JPL, his little
probe was going to Pluto. He was going to be the first to explore this
mysterious planet that so little is known about.
He really does not wish to wait almost ten more years just to witness
the Solar-Bio2 orbiting the ninth planet from the sun. Besides, he has a bad
feeling about the entire project.
Though he is unsure of the exact
explanation, he just doesn’t have an optimistic view in reference to the
chances of success.
For so long, he felt the Americans were up to
something. While he has yet to set this accusation to rest, he is beginning to
think it really is the little girl on the ship.
Too many peculiar
transmissions…too many things that just don’t add up.
“What is it Ivan?”
“What?”
“Something’s bothering you. I can tell.”
Perhaps, it is time to retire. Buy a place on the lake. Treat his loving
wife to the type of life she has earned. There really is no reason to go on.
There is always a warm body waiting to take your place. But, there is never
a warm body to take your better half’s place. Retirement sounds really good
about now. Even if he doesn’t deserve it…she does.
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Chapter
Eighty-seven
May 19, 2018 – Victorville, CA
The Catholic church of modest size has reached near standing-roomonly proportions on this given Saturday. The many guest are dressed in fine
form as they witness the exchanging of vows between the two adults in their
fifties. While their years have passed by at quite a clip, Mother Nature has
blessed them both with the ability to counter the aging process without the
use of cosmetic aid.
Rebecca stands with an anxious look in her long, white gown, her
curves filling the garment with a sensuous touch. Her groom gazes into her
emerald eyes as he joins her in his gray tuxedo. They listen closely to the
words that the preacher issues and hold in their excitement, though having
less success at hiding their nervousness.
Leonard breaks contact with his wife-to-be for a brief moment to look
into the crowd. Though he does not twist his frame, it is still obvious that he
is searching for something within the large group of friends and family.
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Without exhibiting an impression of satisfaction or disappointment, his stare
returns to his beautiful bride. She releases a short-lived look of confusion
and then slips back into her previous state of bliss.
The gray elder that speaks from select passages of the bible stands
boldly in front of the couple that is being joined in the holy sacrament of
matrimony. His white robe is accented by a red ribbon that hangs around his
neck and falls to the ground.
To his right, candles help illuminate a
sculpture of the virgin Mother Mary, while to his left, Joseph takes the stage.
He occupies the middle step that leads to the alter, where Jesus Christ suffers
on the cross.
“Do you, Rebecca Thompson, take this man, Leonard Thomas, to be
your husband? To cherish and honor, for better or worse, through sickness
and in health, till death do you part?” his words follow with the standard
pause.
The JPL associate looks deep into her man’s blue eyes and supplies
her response, “I do.”
“And do you, Leonard Thomas, take his woman, Rebecca Thompson,
to be your wife? To cherish and honor, for better or worse, through sickness
and in health, till death do you part?”
A longer silence follows this particular segment, as it appears that the
groom has been caught daydreaming. In reality, he was waiting to hear the
“to have and to hold” part and was caught off guard when it was not utilized.
“I do,” he saves the moment with a smooth return.
“The rings please.”
As Nile Johnson supplies the rings, Leonard wonders if they should
have went for the more traditional method of saying the vows during the
placement of the rings. Now that they have already covered that by having
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the preacher ask them, there will be a moment of uneasy silence during this
portion of the wedding. As usual, he worries too much, and the simple task
passes without any embarrassment.
“Is there anybody here that has just cause why these two, Rebecca
Thompson and Leonard Thomas, should not be married? Speak now or
forever hold your peace.”
The final opportunity for those that object to the gathering is supplied,
and, as is customary, it doesn’t appear there will be any takers on the chance.
Satisfied that the out-of-date tradition has gone by without a hitch, the
preacher inhales a deep breath in preparation of introducing the newly weds
to the crowd. As his powerful voice begins to verbalize, a ruffling emits
from near the back of the rows of pews. A couple gasps followed by a
louder scream bring the ceremony to an abrupt halt.
“I’ll tell you who has a problem with it. I do! This marriage is not
gonna happen!”
A large man jumps from his hidden position into the isle. His dark
skin and wrinkled sockets immediately identify him to many of the church’s
present visitors, especially those on Rebecca’s side of the family. The
extremely angry man is wearing a nice suit, obviously to allow him to fit
into the crowd until the timing was right for his outburst. The bride turns
around to recognize her former husband just as he pulls a pistol from
beneath his suit jacket.
“Leonard! What are you doing?” her words are more of a scolding
nature, for she has yet to grasp the seriousness of the incident.
“If you don’t want me, you get nobody!” he yells while raising the
gun toward the groom.
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Several shrieking sounds fill the religious structure. Two well-dressed
gentlemen jump out from separate rows and subdue the man, as well as his
weapon. Within seconds, they have handcuffed him and raised him to his
feet. As if more concerned with spoiling the joyous occasion, they force him
out the front entranceway and out of sight. A high-charged electric squad
car is coincidentally parked where the “just married’ vehicle will soon take
its place.
“Told you that your wedding gift would be better than you could ever
imagine,” Leonard explains, while the entire congregation attempts to
compose themselves and, at the same time, figure out what just went down.
“What?” her words, which fly swiftly through her veil, are tinted with
far more emotion.
“You said you wanted him out of your life,” he continues, even
though the preacher is waiting to finish the service so he can find a safer way
to spend the remainder of his day.
“You set him up?” she accuses in a funny tone.
“No. He planned this.”
“How did you know?”
“Let’s just say membership has its privileges.”
“Leonard?” Rebecca scolds him.
“What?”
“What if he got the shot off before they jumped? You’d be dead, ya
dope!”
“Wouldn’t have done much damage. Those bullets wouldn’t have
even gone bang bang…sorry Father Blanch. You can continue.”
The man of ultimate faith shakes his head slightly and prepares to
speak, wondering if perhaps he should rewind a bit. His desire to get the
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show over takes priority, so he introduces the couple as man and wife and
gestures for the kiss.
This amazing set of events was witnessed by the closest of friends and
relations…and…one unknown guest. In the back row, a somewhat tall man
slips out ahead of the wedding party where he will exit the premises
completely unnoticed or, at least, unrecognized. The male viewer took
nothing to chance, wearing a clever disguise made up of dark hair and a
believable synthetic nose. He even left the sunflower seeds in the car, which
was parked down the road to avoid detection.
519
Chapter
Eighty-eight
July 4, 2018 – Ridgecrest, CA
“What do you mean?” the muscular, blonde male raises his voice to
his wife.
“You heard me!” the attractive brunette responds with an equally
volatile remark.
“But, I better have not heard you right!” he returns as his blue eyes
throw a dagger at her scantily clad body.
“It’s ok for you…it’s ok for me.”
“You walk out that door, and you’re not coming back.”
“I’m walking. You promised me the world Steve. What did you give
me? Huh? What in the hell did you give me? A cheap ass Las Vegas
wedding? You waste your money on freakin’ toys! Girlfriends on the side!
Where do I fit in? Huh?”
520
The two-timing male does not issue an immediate reply, for his
pathetic brain twists about in an attempt to retrieve a way out. His lifestyle
caught up with him in a hurry after he made this woman his wife.
“What are you bitchin’ about? I got you out of that life!”
“What life? Are you saying that you saved me?”
“What would you call it?”
“I call it one hell hole for another. At least, I knew what to expect in
the other.”
“You’re not so perfect. Go see your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. But, at least, he listens.”
“Go then!”
As the attractive female exits the dwelling, she fails to truly capture
the entire big picture that has unfolded in her life. While she comprehends
the adage about “once a cheater, always a cheater” and can easily relate it to
her husband, she misses on the other popular saying that states “you get
what you pay for”…for it was HER that cheated with HIM while HE was
busy courting ANOTHER…of which…SHE was fully aware of!
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Chapter
Eighty-nine
August 3, 2018 – Fort Irwin, CA
“So, how long do you think before they will notice?” the JPL leader
requests the opinion of his intelligent scientist.
“I’d say…a good three months. The change in angle is slight. The
course will not be altered by a significant amount of miles for quite a while.
If someone were looking for it, I’d say a month, but I’m thinking we have a
couple more.” Nile replies with extensive support for his projection.
“That would take us to November. Five months till arrival. I think
we can handle that.”
“What are we going to say?”
“That we’re testing our capability to maneuver, so we can assure
proper navigation throughout the trip.”
“And what will we say when they ask why we are not back on
course?”
“That we will be setting it back on course in December.”
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“And when they notice that we haven’t”
“That’s where I’ll need you…Nile my friend.”
“Let me guess. I will be doing a little magic with the data transfer.”
“See. That’s why I picked you. You already know me so well.
That…and you’re a genius.”
“I assume, we will be stating that the boosters have failed or the
signals are not being received?”
“What do you think? What works the best?”
“I think the signal side is a better fit. We can disconnect the antennae
on the mountain and then send some commands. When the coordinates
show no change, the alibi will be complete…fault on the receiving end.”
“Fantastic.”
“There is a catch.”
“What?”
“We would have to make the adjustment in one single boost…now!
Then let the boy take over when he passes Uranus. If we were to do bumps,
they’d pick up the signal transmission.”
“That bites.”
“I can have the numbers done in a couple days. When do you want
me to target this?”
“How sure will you be that you can aim the Solar-Bio1 to hit the
exact swing-by distance?”
“As long as the coordinates are correct, I’ll hit it.”
“Let’s go with two weeks. Give you plenty of time.”
“You got it boss,” MR. Johnson begins, “Oh! And Leonard?”
“What?”
“No, I don’t mind if you have Dan do a back up.”
523
“What makes you think I would do that?”
“I sure know I would.”
“So, it’s settled...in two weeks, the Solar-Bio1 begins its new path…to
Umbriel.”
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Chapter
Ninety
August 18, 2018 – Solar-Bio1
(1,009,859,294 miles beyond Saturn / Traveling at 7,406 mph)
(30,140,706 miles away from Uranus)
Alex dabbles with some of the more exotic instruments that his fancy
software offers.
For some time, he was hesitant to utilize any music-
producing piece that he was not familiar with from the many famous
compositions he was provided with. His philosophy was not based on a
reluctance to change but more on a belief that the masters before him chose
certain combinations, and it was highly unlikely that he could produce a
better lineup. As his skills continued to sharpen, he realized that the beauty
of music is the freedom to explore and expand into new territories.
MR1 displays a mild grimace when he listens to his present selection,
for the Sitar injects far too much “twang” for the currently soothing flow of
the track. While he begins his search for a softer instrument, a second
portion of his brain stores the effect for later use when a more peculiar sound
suits the style he is attempting to convey.
525
Apparently finding himself at a difficult juncture in the song, Alex
minimizes the window and looks for a diversion, in order to find mental
solace. His sparkling blue eyes capture a view of the craft’s navigational
data on the Main Control Panel. Although this information will not bring
him to a more relaxed state, it is the topic that his mind desires to inquire
more about. In fact, it is this specific portion of the Solar-Bio1’s many
digital readouts and glowing indicators that made concentration on his music
near impossible in the first place.
Being only a few hours since headquarters sent a signal to bump the
craft to the left, he has been very anxious to follow its reaction. In a sense,
this is what he has been waiting for. The tiny boost that will eventually
result in a drastic change over the remaining miles has finally arrived. The
intelligent boy, who quickly approaches his eighteenth birthday, has never
really questioned why the swing around Saturn did not place him on a direct
route to Uranus’ “other side”. He has always assumed that the requirement
to enter the gap within its rings was the limiting factor, and the craft was at
the mercy of whatever distance this was within the gravitational force field.
Strangely, this was a correct assumption, for it was this aspect, not the
fabricated trip to Pluto, that necessitated the maneuver.
As Alex watches the numbers change, his well-structured brain runs
its own calculations to verify the effectiveness of the course adjustment. A
satisfied result returns, which instantly triggers a positive blanket over his
previous anxiety.
His thoughts begin to wonder now that he can relax his guard. It is
such a relief to know that all the dedication is soon to pay off.
An
underlying benefit also includes his present inventory. Although his near
perfect devotion has resulted in adequate water storage and remaining
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oxygen, there would not be sufficient volume to continue the flight much
longer.
The idea of descending onto the moon that will ultimately become his
home invites a peculiar feeling into his vulnerable process. He has never
given “exiting the craft” a minute’s thought! With the exception of his
somewhat extended stay in the RSR, Alex has been completely satisfied
with the size of his dwelling. It has always been acceptable to view the
world without touching it.
Alex wonders what he will think of his vessel once he experiences the
new environment that will be void of walls and such. Will he no longer find
the two-level compartment adequate for occupancy? In any event, he must
first find the door!
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Chapter
Ninety-one
October 5, 2018 – Solar-Bio2
(715,749,101 miles beyond Saturn / Traveling ay 24,835 mph)
Sonya feels helpless as her speeding home continues to create more
distance between her and Earth. She does not possess the option of turning
her craft around and heading to Las Vegas, so there is literally no manner in
which to knock on Matt’s door.
Her patience has worn from low to
nonexistent on the matter, as he has not sent a message in a couple months.
The impression of loneliness has never been stronger, for he became
her most tangible contact as time went on. It was this cyber relationship that
linked her to the world outside of her tiny secret domain.
When he
disappeared, so went her belief that mankind thrives on her home planet.
Although she comprehends that humans exist in great numbers, she no
longer can connect with it as she had in the past.
Sonya allows her brain to travel in the opposite direction, which
happens to be the same direction as the Solar-Bio2. Her deep capacity
reflects on the supposed spaceship that had a significant head start on her.
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Compliments of the Internet, she is aware of its basic position within the
Solar System. She wonders if it will really continue on to Pluto, or if it too
has a hidden agenda that most of the world knows nothing about.
This chain of thought leads into the next question. If it is going to
Umbriel, could there be a RIDER onboard? Based on her research, the two
crafts are identical in size and design. If there is a human occupant, there
would be insufficient food and water to survive the added years, the same
dilemma she would face. The more she considers the possibility, the more
she convinces herself…someone is on that flight!
An unexpected sensation penetrates her wonderment in the form of
envy and a more aggressive touch of jealousy. Headquarters promised her
that she would be the first to land and then many would follow, each treating
her like a queen. But now, she will be at the mercy of this other craft and its
residents. Will there be room for two rulers? Is anybody even following?
Are there already humans on Umbriel that conducted trips before her and the
Solar-Bio1?
The negative vibes caused by her status as being “runner-up”
gradually fade into one of a more positive nature. She realizes that she will
not be alone! Part two of her life will not be spent waiting for the others to
arrive! The moment she gets there, she shall be greeted by her host, at
which time she can begin enjoying the true company of another human
being!
The woman, known as FR1 to some, decides she will keep a steady
eye on the World Wide Web and its stories referring to the Solar-Bio1. As
soon as she witnesses a change in course, she will take manual control and
follow. Her thoughts no longer even consider the possibility that there is no
one aboard the leading craft. She will be completely convinced once she
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notes the maneuver on the Internet. She seems to enjoy this new look at the
mission better. As each day passes, she is not moving further away from
home. She is getting closer…and the future is looking brighter.
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Chapter
Ninety-two
November 11, 2018 – Kaliningrad, Russia
“Are you sure you want to retire Ivan?” Kobach asks with
considerable interest.
“I think it’s time. I will miss it…but, there’s not much more to
control for quite some time,” his words speak of the fact that Pluto is a long
ways down the road.
“I’m going to miss you. I guess, you won’t be able to visit?”
“Unfortunately not. When you get out. You get all the way out.”
“How long till you leave?”
“Probably a month.”
“I see. Did you hear about the oxygen sensor?”
“No. What?”
“Petrosky discovered a very interesting little contradiction.”
“To?”
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“The belief that all the readings were correct except the one that
showed 20%.”
“What did he figure out?”
“That the 20% was probably the only good number.”
“You’re kidding? Why was I not informed?”
“He came to the conclusion this morning. You just got in.”
“Is he sure? How can he be sure?”
As the RKA leader lays out the explanation for the new stance, Ivan
drifts his thoughts off onto a more personal journey. Should he still retire?
What if there is oxygen on Umbriel? Perhaps, he should wait out the
Americans to see if the boy survives. If he does, they can have the SolarBio2 join him.
Although the odds of life sustenance are minimal, he must be patient.
Boy…is his wife going to be pissed!
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Chapter
Ninety-three
November 23, 2018 – Salton Sea, CA
A substantial whip of the rod sends the silver lure flying into the air.
A notable smile laced with pride plants on the caster’s face upon observing
his distance. His fishing partner provides an impressed gesture as he slowly
reels his line back to shore.
A second pair of sportsmen try their luck about one-hundred feet
away. While their proximity would generally be considered too close for
comfort, the original group seems to accept their positioning.
“I’m getting better,” Leonard states.
“That you are,” his boss agrees.
“So, are we going with the off course bit?” inquires the mission’s
second-in-command, expecting an affirmative response.
“Nope.”
“No?”
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“Nope. This is where the rules change a little,” the gray man, who
still sports a goatee, explains in a peculiar tone.
“The rules?”
“Yes. It’s time to let the real players call the shots.”
“What do you mean?”
“The investors.”
“I see. And, I am sure you won’t tell me who they are.”
“Let’s just say…they stand to make billions if we can show America
that life exists in our Solar System.”
“How is that?”
“They stand to gain the bulk of the contracts for building more SolarBios.”
“I see,” Leonard begins, “So, if we see little green men, they get to
make more spaceships.”
“That’s about it. However, we can’t advertise the aliens just yet. We
would look pretty foolish it that part fails.”
“So, what?”
“We will say we have changed course to study Umbriel. We believe
the essentials for life may be present. If there is nothing to our claim, we
will orbit a few times and then use Uranus to sling toward Pluto…AS
scheduled.”
“Is that possible?”
“What? The trajectory?”
“Yes.”
“It could be done…on paper. That’s all we need.”
“What will we say when they ask why we didn’t bring this up
sooner?”
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“That the records have been sealed, awaiting verification.”
“Ok. And the boy?”
“If the boy survives, we announce it. A human being two-billion
miles away is too valuable to pass up on.”
“In other words, if the boy lives and meets other life forms, our
investors stand to make a lot of money.”
“Exactly. Even if there are no aliens. If he lives…that’s money in
bank. They will schedule more trips based on that alone.”
“What about Bio2?”
“Steady on course for now. The VKS wants to test the boosters soon.
A quick bump each way. Nobody will notice.”
“What for?”
“Just to test it. So, if a problem exists, it can be dealt with.”
“Ok.”
A short pause follows the realism that this project has suddenly taken.
For so many years, it has been about the exploration and mystery of the great
unknown. His heart was where he felt it should be all along. But now, for
the first time, he realizes that everything boils down to one thing…cold hard
cash.
“So, what about the morality issue? What are people going to think
when they find out I have risked a young man’s life for this? At one
point…a VERY young man,” Leonard’s words are straight and to the point.
“Well my friend…that’s why you get the big bucks.”
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Chapter
Ninety-four
January 14, 2019 – Solar-Bio1
(1,032,961,154 miles beyond Saturn / Traveling at 5,514 mph)
(Less than 7 million miles from Uranus)
Alex follows his instructions carefully as he enters the proper
passwords, in order to retrieve a file he never even knew existed. JPL has
finally supplied him with the “keys” to unlock the final mystery to his
extended journey. After allotting a few seconds for load up, he is presented
with an introduction to the true details of the Solar-Bio Mission.
The boy, who, if on Earth, would be a legal adult, reads the typed
statement with intrigue and a bit of confusion. He strongly questions what
could be so secret that they could not have informed him earlier. As his
glistening pupils adjust to the small lettering, his wonder is slowly supplied
with answers, although still unsuitable at this point as to the delay in their
offering.
The cautiously prepared document explains to Alex that there may be
other forms of life on or near Umbriel. They may be very different, or they
may be very similar to his biological format.
It is imperative that he
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attempts to make contact with them and then immediately transmit a
portfolio back to headquarters. It goes on to elaborate on exactly what they
mean by the term portfolio. He is to begin learning how to use some of the
portable equipment that has been stored and, to this point, left untouched.
The gadgets that JPL refers to include: a digital recorder (for both audio and
video reproduction), a heat sensing gun, a vital sign detector, and something
called an Element Composition Module (ECM), which can break down any
form of matter to its molecular makeup.
Alex immediately understands that “what this comes down to” is he
will be an examiner of sorts, for he will be transmitting to Earth the physical
properties of these creatures. His human contacts also state within the pages
of instructions that this ECM can be used to determine the constituents of the
soil or anything else that is unknown at the time.
The specifically trained boy now has a new perspective on the
mission, which further affects his entire purpose of life. Ever since he was
introduced to the Solar-Bio project, the “selling point” was the chance to
physically discover a world full of promise and opportunity. It was his goal
to navigate the terrain and supply proof that the essentials are as plentiful as
advertised, which, in turn, would pave the way for subsequent flights and
countless visitors.
That was always the dream that inspired him to work hard and
continually prepare. Now…the rules have slightly changed. While he does
not experience fear or even notable worry, he does feel a strange sense of
burden. His mental process was psyched about exploring the streams of
water and lush vegetation that he envisioned for so many years. Though this
task surely remains on the agenda, he now must put it on the backburner in
favor of higher priorities. Perhaps, these beings will lead him to these
537
fruitful lands and places of interest.
Is it possible that the recently
introduced “organisms” will reduce his workload and point him in the proper
direction?
As Alex ponders the different scenarios in reference to meeting them,
he considers the impression they may acquire if he begins snapping their
picture and probing their flesh.
intimidating side?
Would this not be a touch on the
How would he feel if they conducted the same
experiments on him? If headquarters is so concerned about making contact,
why wouldn’t they discuss a less invasive tactic, versus the aggressive
manner that they propose?
Although MR1 does not relate this to “becoming friends”, the basic
“Do onto others as you would have them do onto you” philosophy fits
perfectly.
Alex was never supplied with this biblical teaching, yet he
certainly comprehends the basis of the Golden Rule.
Many hours of thought went into the manufacture of the words that
Alex currently reads.
The plan was to provide more details via
transmissions, but JPL failed to make signal contact with the vessels that
apparently hovered above the Fluorescent Cheerio. They weighed the odds
of success very carefully and decided that, since an alien attack is a strong
possibility, he must attempt photography and other testing procedures
ASAP. While trying to become friends first could net more eventual data, it
also could result in obtaining none.
It was the opinion of those truly
financing the mission that only a little information would be needed…to
support their case for numerous future flights. And, of course, this means…
the need for government contracts to build them.
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Chapter
Ninety-five
February 14, 2019 – Kaliningrad, Russia
“What in Tar nation?” a boost of energy issues from Ivan’s lips, plus a
few un-requested drops of saliva.
“There’s no denying it sir,” a timid reply labels the speaker’s frailty,
at least, in comparison to that of the VKS leader.
“Try again!” the man, who recanted his retirement to await the
success of the Solar-Bio1, demands.
“Yes sir,” returns Mr. Petrosky with respect and a healthy dose of
fear.
The chunky Russian with the decorated uniform pauses for a moment,
after recognizing that he has overheated. His generally friendly nature has
been replaced with one of anger and, to some degree, denial. Mr. Rebrov
realizes that his evil manner has just been directed toward one of his most
loyal employees. Though his discontent with the situation is understandable,
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it is unacceptable to imply blame to this man, not to mention the fact that it
will not solve a thing.
The basic plan was to maneuver the craft in one direction long enough
to verify that the course was indeed changed. After that, they would simply
command an equal thrust in the opposite direction to put the Solar-Bio2 back
on course. Ivan wanted to conduct the little test to make sure the system was
in place, for the craft will have to be adjusted some no matter what the
destination becomes.
He would not be so upset if the Solar-Bio2 was
currently on the trajectory for Pluto, but the gravity assist maneuver requires
precision positioning, in order to leave at the correct speed and on the proper
angle. Because of this, it is inevitable that some bumping will be required.
“Sorry Fyodor. It’s not your fault. I need a vacation something
fierce.”
“It’s ok sir. Do you want me to send another bump? Or…do you
want me to just request the coordinates and system status again?”
“Ah…I guess the coordinates are a safer route. If our boosts are really
working we will be getting too far off course. Unless…ah…we could try a
bump in the other direction.”
“But then we couldn’t use the coordinates to verify. We’d be back on
the regular course.”
“That’s true. Shit.”
“But, I don’t think she’s turning. The failure on the confirmation
points toward correct data.”
“Let’s just hope it’s wrong.”
“Hopefully something changes.
But…as of right now…with my
information…the Bio2 is still on the same course. The ship is receiving the
order, but the booster is not firing up.”
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“Could the fu$#@n Americans be blocking it?”
“The signal is getting there sir. Not much question about that. The
computer knows it is supposed to change trajectory. The system is just not
responding after that. The position of the ship pretty much proves it. She’s
not turning.”
“So, the Americans can’t block the booster?” Ivan digs for a reason to
blame JPL.
“No. Must be done locally. Inside the craft.”
“What are you saying?”
“That…ah…are you going to get mad?”
“No. Tell me.”
“The little girl is behind it.”
“How could she?”
“I think she is smarter than we think. She could have blocked the
signal at the controller or any of a number of things. This is not the first
mystery that seems to point to this.”
“Ok…let’s say that she is smart enough…WHY would she?”
“That…I don’t know. I’m not much into the psychological profiling.”
“She’s been transmitting as if everything is fine. I just don’t see why
she would want to do this. If she’s trying to keep us from sending her to
Umbriel, she must know she will die before she gets to the next planet. She
couldn’t know…”
“What sir?”
“Nah. Impossible.”
“What is it sir?”
“I was just tossing around the possibility that she knows Umbriel is a
barren wasteland. If she found that out, she would maybe do something like
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this,” Mr. Rebrov considers the far-stretched notion that she was informed of
the results of the probe that already witnessed the moon from orbital height.
“I have no idea. She has reacted strangely in the past.”
“Yes, she has.”
“Perhaps you should ask her. Tell her that her life is in danger if she
doesn’t allow us to move her craft.”
“Not yet. I’ll get Kobach involved first. Let’s send for the data
again.”
“Ok sir.”
As Ivan’s brain shuffles through his dilemma, his faithful worker
commences the action necessary to send the mentioned radio-inquiry. The
newest attempt will net identical results, for Sonya has covered her tracks
well. While those on Earth believe she is on the basic course toward Pluto,
she has already taken manual control and began to move toward the other
side of Uranus, while continuing to send back manipulated navigational
data.
During Ivan’s reflection, he injects his personal circumstance into the
overall mix. In a strange twist of events, he manages to blame the future
predicament he will be faced with on the female space traveler, for he may
never be able to retire now. If he cannot control the Solar-Bio2, it will
swing off the next planet slightly off course. Over the millions of miles of
travel, it will be nowhere near Pluto come rendezvous time.
On the other hand, he wonders if this is an opening for him to get out.
If he jumps ship now, the Bio2 is successfully moving toward Uranus. By
the time the news is out that the craft is experiencing problems with its
maneuvering mechanism, he will be fishing somewhere and nobody will be
able to find him!
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Ivan changes his thoughts over to directly on the Solar-Bio2 rider,
whom was named after the wife that doesn’t even know she exists. If she is
so intelligent, why would she take away the ability to navigate the craft?
Even if she wishes to go to Pluto, she must know that there will be some
small adjustments necessary. Does she plan on making those adjustments
herself?
A powerful force penetrates his internals upon stumbling on
something he has yet to consider.
“Fyodor?”
“Yes sir?”
“What if she is unaware?”
“That the system is not responding?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s possible. There should be some abnormal status alarms
though. It’s not completely impossible that both the system went down,
AND the “System Health Detector” did not recognize it.”
“But is it unlikely?”
“Yeah. It’s unlikely. If it is we should inform her, because she is the
only one who can fix it.”
As Ivan considers the suggestion, he ponders the disadvantages. He
could no longer use the reverse psychology approach. Sonya would know
that they know something is wrong with the maneuvering. The Colonel
looks at his watch. Where is that Kobach?
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Chapter
Ninety-six
March 12, 2019 – Solar-Bio1
(Approaching Umbriel)
Alex reaches for the lid of the maneuvering controls with a level of
anticipation he has never before attained. The moment of truth is upon him,
and there is virtually no room for error. The effects of deceleration require
him to slightly push off on the angled section of the control panel. He
cannot enter the IDC, for his presence at the controls is mandatory.
The gravity desist of Uranus went without any setbacks, and now it is
time to properly align his craft and land inside the Fluorescent Cheerio.
MR1 has completed two orbits against the grain of Umbriel’s forces and is
only a short distance from the point where he must allow the moon’s gravity
to “suck in” his craft. The eighteen-year-old astronaut reads the assorted
labels, making sure he understands the function of each controlling
mechanism. Although he has studied them over and over, he shall leave
nothing to chance.
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A mild increase in Alex’ heart rate occurs just as he toggles a switch
that converts the coordinate system from a three-way to a dual method. The
complex circuitry will now look at only Uranus and Umbriel’s bright spot,
ignoring the position of the sun. Upon completion of the simple task, his
sparkling eyes check his present position in reference to the two masses
within the solar system. The reading did not drastically change, which is
exactly what he was expecting.
MR1 follows this move with the activation of a red pushbutton. This
immediately directs the Helium Fusion System to go from the start-up mode
he had selected earlier and into the warm-up step. As he waits for the
indicator to inform him that extreme high temperature required to fuse the
HE-3 atoms has been met, he contemplates taking a peak out the window,
for this will undoubtedly be his last opportunity to view Umbriel from above
its atmosphere. His notion is quickly cancelled, since he understands that it
is imperative that he remains at the console.
Though there was no way Alex was going to look out the window, it
would have been worth the effort if he had, for fifty miles straight ahead are
the orbiting objects that demolished the Кролик-1! The Solar-Bio1 speeds
toward the solid matter at a paltry 300 mph, still sufficient to cause fatal
damage.
Alex notes the system ready light is energized and engages the
landing booster with the use of the proper switch.
Unknowing of the
approaching danger, he concentrates on the numerical positioner. He is only
seconds away from the point where he must thrust his vessel downward into
the grips of the spherical mass. As soon the non-radioactive exhaust created
in the nuclear reaction forces the Solar-Bio1 downward, he will begin an
angular drop. The powerful effects that will act on his craft will overcome
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his forward momentum, and then the ship will fall straight down! It is Alex’
job to control this entire event and find the surface of his target at a safe
speed.
As the orbiting monsters become ever so close, MR1 tightens his
straps and inhales a deep breath, completely unaware of the possible
collision that approaches. Much like synchronizing a watch, Alex executes
the “BOOST CYCLE”. His hands grip the front bar in preparation for the
predicted response.
The helium isotopes begin joining to produce the needed energy,
storing the normal helium atom byproduct and expelling the forceful energy
topside. The Solar-Bio1’s altitude begins to reduce as he unexpectedly
closes in on the objects. It is probably best that he doesn’t know about them,
for it takes all his focus and effort to fight the freefall effects on his body. If
he is to die, it is best that he doesn’t have to fret over it. The calculated drop
did not take into account the approaching masses; however, it was…in
fact…in time to miss them! Alex and his craft zip a couple hundred feet
below the lowest.
Although he has dodged a significant bullet, he is not “in the clear”
yet, for he still must land his structure. The feeling on his frame is almost
unbearable, but he knows, he must concentrate on his angular velocity and
ship’s position. Upon noting the crossing of the next checkpoint, he kicks in
an upward thrust cycle. He is now only thirty miles above the surface and
dropping nearly straight down. Alex is tempted to command another boost,
but he must wait until there is no more forward momentum. A groan exits
his throat as an attempted counteraction to the aggravation that feels like an
abdominal cramp.
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Finally, his instruments instruct him that he is dropping straight down.
MR1 immediately initiates a double upward thrust. His craft, which is
designed to land in the same position it travels, responds perfectly. Soon the
annoying pull on his body is lessened dramatically, and his vessel is falling
at a much slower pace. The “Auto Enable” light energizes, informing the
intelligent, young man that the thrusters will now run off the main computer.
They will sense the descending velocity and provide the precise amount of
counterforce.
MR1 lies down on his back and brings the lower strap around his legs,
which are clothed in a blue fabric. The upper strap wraps tightly around his
torso, which is covered by a tan tee shirt. The horizontal method, along with
the padded material, will protect him from a jolt.
As the Solar-Bio1 slowly approaches the destination point, Alex
experiences an obvious sense of relief. He is going to make it! All the
devotion is about to pay off. What will be the first thing he sees on the soils
of his new home? Though he never really doubted his odds, the idea of it
becoming reality is truly hard to believe.
While he continues to assume the journey is about to end, a blaring
sound within the compartment suggests otherwise.
A high temperature
alarm has locked the thrusters in a hold pattern, which consequently causes
the craft to hover. Apparently, the computer thinks it is too hot outside to
land. Alex must move his vehicle axially or override the alarm and land. He
realizes that the hovering method is burning massive fuel inventory and must
be quickly combated.
The suddenly concerned male rips off his strap and jumps to his feet.
Although his ship is not moving, the presence of gravity keeps his feet on
the floor. The foreign experience of having weight is slight but enough to
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make his walk to the window a wobbly affair.
His mind ignores the
phenomenon, for he must determine the problem and correct it…and soon!
Alex flips the switch to raise the blind and then peers downward. To
his astonishment, a hole many times larger than his craft lays a couple
hundred feet below! The strange circle is obscured by a venting of some
sort of visible gas, which evidently carries with it too much warmth. MR1
looks beyond the frightening entrance and notices that there is a natural slop
downward.
Realizing he has little time to reflect on the geological
significance of what appears to be a volcano, he concludes that he will boost
ahead and re-initiate the drop. He certainly cannot land inside this hot
chamber.
His slender frame runs toward the Main Control Panel, once again
ignoring the weak sensation that the gravity causes. His right hand reaches
for the lever that provides a directional boost, while his brain struggles to
estimate how far he should travel before engaging an “all-stop”. Due to the
sloping mountain, he must attempt to clear the entire structure and find a flat
place, if this even exists. He decides that the best plan-of-attack would be to
push forward and visually verify when he is in a better spot.
Alex mentally marks his position and then pushes the lever forward.
This instantly sends a signal through the proper channels. As the Solar-Bio1
executes the command, he jogs back over to the window. The nervous teen
hopes his supply of Helium-3 outlasts the high demand he has undesirably
placed upon it.
His sights are greeted with a bluish glow upon the upcoming horizon.
He assumes this to be a reflection from the powerful brilliance of Uranus.
More importantly, he witnesses a leveling off in regards to the terrain.
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Though he would prefer to gaze at the beauty and study its intricacies, he
must get back to the task at hand.
Now that he has cleared the volcano and conquered that dilemma, he
must ensure that the outside air is cool enough to safely land. His second
worry is quickly put to rest when the noise ceases, signifying the
atmospheric temperature is within the window. While JPL had no idea a
volcano existed on this moon, they did include the high-temp protector, in
order to give the driver the ability to find the most suitable area to land
inside the target.
Instead of moving the lever in the opposite direction, he pushes a
button labeled “all-stop”. This will take the guesswork out of it, as the
controls will figure out exactly how much fuel is needed to bring the vessel
to a halt. Upon reaching this condition, the system resumes its controlled
drop onto the Fluorescent Cheerio. With the remainder of the trip being
automatic (barring another incident), Alex verifies the ground to be
satisfactory for landing and then returns to the bench behind the panel. A
small sense of disappointment penetrates when he realizes he cannot stay
and watch.
MR1 re-assumes the safe position on his back. His mind considers
the soft material between his frame and the metal bench. Is it sufficient to
maintain the integrity of his internal organs? Will his bones be strong
enough to handle a major jarring episode?
The Solar-Bio1’s computer brings the craft steadily down.
The
landing posts have been extended ever since the thrusting mechanism was
energized. Alex closes his eyes as he anticipates the jolt. As if a sign of his
inner connection with the craft itself, the impact matches his projection as
far as timing. The halting action was so slight, he questions whether he has
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really landed yet. Something that packs a much stronger punch hits the
horizontal, male figure…the booster has secured! He has landed! He is
there! Nearly fourteen years of daily discipline…and…he’s landed!
He rips the straps off with significant vigor and tries to sit up. The
difficulty that he undergoes is substantial.
Though he weighs a small
percentage of what he would weigh on Earth, the strain concerns him. What
about his condition? Headquarters told him that he would be able to adjust
to the fractional force. Alex realizes there is only one way to find out.
Besides, he has a world to explore!
Where should he start? He cannot exit the craft until he conducts
some checks and dons his protective suit. As MR1’s mind races through a
hundred somewhat related thoughts, his anxiety intensifies. He is so excited
about getting outside that he can imagine himself doing it. Luckily, his
physical-self is much more logical and dedicated to the mission.
The thought of the mission reminds him of his instructions. He is to
transmit immediately upon landing. In fact, he is not allowed to exit the
structure until they instruct him to do so. The recollection of this fact brings
with it a certain gloom that mixes in with his happier spirits. He quickly
tosses out the negative feelings, noting that he has waited this long…a
couple days will not be the end of the world.
So…what shall he type? What do they wish to know? The time
delay will be great, so they will not even receive this for quite some time.
He ponders on the possible details to include in his message. He decides to
tell them about the ambient conditions, which happens to be what he is most
interested in as well.
As his sights swing around toward the vessel’s exterior monitor
readouts, his heart beats like a drum roll. This information will basically
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label his fate. Can he live on this surface? Will he have to move the SolarBio1 in search of greener pastures? Is there even enough fuel to do so?
Headquarters was RIGHT! Their stories of a breathable atmosphere
were accurate, for, glowing before his blue eyes, the digital indicator states
there to be 20.31% oxygen at a pressure of 18.3 Psi. Even the temperature is
wonderfully acceptable at 83 degrees Fahrenheit. Alex will have to use the
portable device to find out if the remaining 80% of the air is toxic. If it is,
he can use a purifying mask for short periods.
With an overwhelming list of ‘things to do”, MR1 decides to send the
transmission. After all, they were the minds behind his journey. As his
fingers begin to manipulate the keys, he wonders why he was so surprised
that the oxygen was present. The information in the lesson plan clearly
stated that it would be. Could it be that the millions of miles caused him to
question his teachings? In all of his excitement, he does not connect on the
fact that headquarters will see all the data on the normal reporting system.
As Alex completes his grand announcement, he recalls the warnings
of other creatures. Where are they? Could they be just outside his little
world…waiting to greet him? This basic line of reasoning, reminds him that
he has yet to grab a glimpse from the ground. Alex smacks the send button
and turns his sights in the direction of the nearest window. Will they be
peeking into his vehicle? Will this be an eye-to-eye encounter?
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Chapter
Ninety-seven
March 13, 2019 / 06:05 AM PST – Fort Irwin, CA
Each of the JPL staff members silently undergoes their own unique
methods to combat the stress of waiting for word from the Solar-Bio1.
Leonard experiences a knotty stomach, while his wife attempts to think of
something else to pass the time. Nile paces the floor, sweating profusely,
while Dan utilizes some sort of denial as to his cares in hopes of staving off
the nerves.
Less than an hour ago, the signal telling them that the craft has landed
or, at least, stopped traveling came through their monitors. With it, came the
numerical data of the exterior. An energetic reaction came from the group
upon learning that the conditions were favorable, for none of them really
believed it would be as such. The celebration was short-lived, as their focus
immediately turned to the occupant and his status.
“How long has it been?” Rebecca breaks the uneasiness but does little
to alleviate the tension.
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“Since what?” wonders Nile.
“Since the landing?”
“Ah. Forty-seven minutes.”
“So, he should have sent it within that much time right?”
“Maybe.”
The conversation fades quickly, since both speakers experience
additional anxiety as a result of the projections. The woman, who wears a
solid green dress, began to imply that he should have sent the message
within that time period. The thought of him dying, after all these years, is
too much to bear.
While the three continue to huddle around the transmission monitor,
Dan strolls sloppily into the lounge. He looks at the thick coffee that
evaporates on the burner and considers partaking until the burnt aroma
invades his senses. The man, who still resembles John Lennon, secures the
heating element and returns to the small corner room where his colleagues
perform their nervous watch.
Their attention is directly on the screen. They could relax a bit and
wait for the audible indicator to inform them that an incoming message is
here, but they are far too anxious for such a calm approach. As if they
willed the words to appear, Alex’ typing reaches their line of vision. The
silence is even more deadening than it was when nobody was talking as they
read his message.
Surprisingly, Dan is the first to yell in joy, raising his fist high into the
air. Taking on the guise of a gun that starts a race, the others join him in
verbal offerings of substantial volume. Leonard embraces his beautiful wife
and then exchanges less personal hugs with the male parties. Their faces
exhibit similar expressions of vibrant smiles and wide-eyed looks. While
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Rebecca begins to cry in happiness, Leonard finds himself wiping away an
escaping tear as well.
“He made it!
It really happened.
He made it!” the female
triumphantly announces with continued spurts of tears.
“Yes he did,” Leonard replies, not knowing what to say, for he never
really thought out this moment ahead of time.
“What next boss?” Nile inquires.
“Well. We need to tell him not to exit the ship yet. We have a lot of
things to go over. Um…let’s just tell him that, and then we can send
messages every thirty minutes with details. That will give him time to
respond before the next one comes in. His inventories are good, so we can
take a couple days to prepare him.”
“Doesn’t he already know this stuff?” Rebecca asks.
“Yeah. But, better safe than sorry. We need to make sure he doesn’t
forget anything. If there’s anything alive besides him, he needs to be ready.”
“Want me to type it?” Dan jumps in and volunteers.
“Sure, go for it.”
As the enthusiasm between Nile, Dan, and Rebecca continues to
mount from the realization of the significance of this day, Leonard slowly
walks away, bringing his cell phone into view. His fingers carefully press
the buttons that will connect him with another that also awaits word about
the incident. He brings the device to his ear and witnesses the ringing
sound. As if the butterflies made the decision to return on their own, he
experiences a second flash of nerves when a voice jumps out of the tiny
speaker.
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Chapter
Ninety-eight
March 13, 2019 / 06:26 AM PST – St. Cloud, FL
The tall male figure, who stands on the front walk of a modest single
story home, pulls the phone away from his ear and returns it to his side. He
wears a smirk as he spits a sunflower seed into the thick grass. His left hand
comes up to scratch his freshly shaven face. He has yet to grow accustomed
to the absence of his goatee.
His mind races through the upcoming presentation he will conduct
with the mother of the boy who now dwells on the surface of a far away
land. He had to stage a strange set of circumstance just to keep her from
going to work on this particular Wednesday.
For the first time in a very long time, he is worried and unsure of
himself. There will certainly be a very unpredictable reaction to the news
that her son has landed on Umbriel…and is alive! He hopes she cooperates
with the plan to have her contact him and become a sort of “mother” to him.
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If she agrees to perform these services and become an asset to the
situation instead of an obstacle, she will receive a large sum of money. She
is about to be told that the adoptive parents decided that the opportunity to
soar through space like no one ever before outweighed the risks. Since these
people, who never really had anything to do with the boy, died, JPL can do
the talking for them. When the inevitable question pops up about “not
having a choice”, JPL will simply state that the deceased felt that almost any
human would jump at the chance, so it was safe to assume the baby would if
he were old enough to understand.
If Alexia does not cooperate…well…the top dog of the mission
strongly hopes that she does. The public simply will not accept the sending
of this child unless the morality issue is covered (although there are still
holes). While they have placed the blame on individuals who are no longer
able to defend themselves, this woman could still make powerful waves.
The little email episode has made his task a bit more difficult.
The man realizes the world will still be skeptical, but once they see
proof that it’s true, they will forget all about that. At that point, his investors
can make their bid for the future…a bid that he already knows will not be
denied.
As he prepares to knock on the door, he wonders if Alexia will scream
or call the police. He pats the little button he has inside his suit jacket in the
event of trouble. Strategically located about are several aids, waiting to dive
onto the scene and take her away if the situation dictates such a move.
“Hello. Can I help you?” the thin woman with long brown hair asks
as she swings open the door.
“Yes ma’am. Can I come in?” his voice sounds sincere.
“Ah. I’m sorry. I can’t allow that.”
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“But ah. I just have…I have some very important news for you.”
His words seem to frighten her, as evident by her move to close the
door. He wishes he started with a not-so-forward approach. Recognizing
the fact that she is about to slam the door and require the initiation of a more
severe tactic, he jerks out a hurried sentence.
“Ma’am it’s about your son. He’s alive!”
His words hit the mark. Alexia stops in her tracks and turns around,
her face displaying a look of interest, but also one of fear.
“What are you talking about? Why are you here?”
“I’m am sorry for the manner of my visit ma’am. I would really like
to sit down an talk to you.”
“Who are you? What do you know about my son?”
The mother of the child, who grew up on his own in space, looks into
his eyes with an eerie impression on her face. An undeniable level of déjà
vu charges through her like never before. It is so strong that she is able to
make the connection in a matter of milliseconds.
“You’re him?”
“Excuse me ma’am?”
“Where’s your glasses?”
“Glasses?”
“Yes. You’re the doctor. You’re the one who stole my baby!”
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Chapter
Ninety-nine
March 14, 2019 / 12:11 PM PST – Solar-Bio2
(807,214,061 miles beyond Saturn / Traveling at 22,803 mph)
Sonya double checks her coordinates on the real indicator, noting that
she is perfectly lined up to use Uranus as a slow down tool, in order to arrive
safely at Umbriel. Thanks to the Americans and their announcement about
changing course to the moon with an intriguing atmosphere, she was able to
make her final deduction that she will follow it. The story went on to
mention her craft, stating that the plan to use the Solar-Bio2 to probe Pluto
was still intact.
The basic explanation was that the window for such
endeavors is now closed, so it is important to use one of the two for that.
Of course, the eighteen-year-old has no plans of starving to death or
running out of oxygen.
While she understands Umbriel may not be
habitable, she also views it as her only option in reference to surviving.
With her food dwindling down to the point where a shortage could be her
demise, she must find a place to land and hope for the best. Umbriel is that
place.
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The transmissions have gone from uncomfortable to downright
disastrous.
Unbeknown to her, JPL has bypassed themselves from the
conversations. They did not like the aggressive turn it had taken, so they
informed the VKS that they could send the messages back and forth without
their approval.
When the booster system first appeared like it was failing to respond,
Ivan supplied some friendly requests to check certain things within the
controls. She sent back word that everything checks out, and she has no idea
what is wrong. Sonya then made her first mistake; at least, as far as keeping
the fact that she has blocked them out a secret. She offered to drive the ship,
since there was a malfunction. While this would seem like an innocent
request given the circumstances, Mr. Rebrov immediately took it that she
was already doing so. The next few transmissions held obvious insinuations
that frightened the young adult with auburn hair.
In a matter of a week, the relationship soured to possibly irreparable
levels. While the Russians are now sure that Sonya has taken control of the
vessel, they are still unaware that she is heading to Umbriel. In fact, Kobach
convinced his furious friend to stop the communications, for she is heading
toward Pluto and that is where they wish to go. The leader of the RKA feels
that they can contact her in a couple months and tell her that it is ok that she
does the driving, but they must make sure she understands the coordinates
and proper trajectory. Ivan’s levelheaded acquaintance won the debate, so
the two agency heads now wait for their next move.
Unfortunately, it may have been a good idea to inform Sonya that she
can steer the craft sooner, for she is fuming at the last couple messages.
Although typing has no oral tone, his words were easily distinguishable in
meaning as well as intensity.
The intellectual female has come to the
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conclusion that headquarters is no longer interested in discussing this with
her. While the demanding messages generated resentment and anger, this
silent treatment is really getting on her nerves. The potent irritation that she
experiences is actually an accumulation of her status with the mission AND
her problems with the boy on Earth that she evidently cared for deeply.
Sonya studies the excel file she has been working on. Her plan, which
is fueled by her rage, is to send more manipulated data back to headquarters;
this time, in the form of interior conditions. Her thought process is that she
will fool them into thinking the internal spaces of the Solar-Bio2 have
reached super low temperatures, ones that would spell death. Her little trick,
which aims to fool them into thinking she is dead, is quite serious, but she
contends that she can always transmit back and tell them it was a
malfunction. At this present point in her journey, she merely wishes to
“make them feel like she does”. The news of such a tragedy would certainly
accomplish that!
The young lady with hazel eyes and a face that has transformed from
cute into the realm of beautiful takes one final peek at the Transmissions
Console. The incoming light is not blinking; therefore headquarters has run
out of time. A peculiar sensation invades her inner self upon relating this as
being their last chance. In a sense, she likens this as her last chance too, for,
after she loads the file and attaches it to the ventilation system controls, the
reporting components will transmit erroneous numbers back to Earth.
FR1 shakes off the self-warning and presses the enter key. Once
again, she justifies the move by the fact that it is only a fabrication on the
report; she can supply an excuse later. Right now, she has one thing on her
spinning mind…revenge.
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The loading process is complete before she can even finish her own
mental discussion. She guides the cursor over to the box that will replace
the old package with her fancy program. She considers the other method she
could have used to produce identical results, but it is far more timeconsuming and, therefore, unattractive as an option. When she performed
the manipulation of the coordinates, she completed some actual wiring
changes to isolate the fabricated from the real. This time, she only wishes to
send a false temperature back, so the software approach will do just fine.
Sonya initiates the command and leans back.
Her emotional
composition is greeted with two new constituents. The first to enter and
become recognizable is that of relief and satisfaction. Before she can enjoy
the rewards that such a feeling brings, an uninvited sensation pushes its way
into her overall repertoire. The thought of the pain and sadness this will
deliver into the hearts of her homeland contacts forces any happy feelings
out and seems to intensify the negative components. Perhaps, she should
change the program back and attempt to reconcile the differences with those
that anger her…maybe even ask them why she was never told about Pluto.
A banging sound, originating from the machinery space, knocks her
out of the cerebral argument. Due to her internal rationalizing, she did not
have time to concentrate on the noise and, thus, is unsure of the source. Did
she do something wrong? Was there something in her program that she
failed to account for?
A sudden chill attacks her exposed skin. As if being the breath of the
devil himself, the cold air supplies a nightmarish reality. The noise was
caused by the dampers actuating on the heating/cooling system. She has told
the system to actually bring the cabin to the bitter conditions! Instead of
only producing a false output, she has created a lethal setpoint! Sonya
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instantly recognizes the error of her ways, for she has basically turned the
thermostat down to a level far below freezing!
The thin tee shirt and shorts that she presently wears are insufficient
for the rapidly cooling atmosphere. Sonya jumps to her feet and starts
moving toward the locker where she can retrieve some warmer fabrics. She
can then reinstall the proper program. As she moves quickly in the direction
of the storage container, the exterior reflective matrix efficiently removes
heat from the compartment. This, along with the slower process of reverse
flow through the TEGs, brings the forward space to zero degrees in less that
a minute’s time!
Sonya’s intense thought process seems to obscure her ability to
perceive the rapid reduction in warmth, but the sight of the condensation
from her breath is one of a visual sense. She realizes that she must get that
computer back to the proper lineup. The worried female, whose skin is
beginning to feel the pain, turns around and thrusts forward toward the
Information and Education Center, where she inputted the changes that
ultimately route through the Main Control Panel.
Since she is used to traveling with the floor poles, she misses her
target by several feet to the right. The freezing air seems to make her
movements more labored and even sluggish. As she struggles to push down
and to the left, a tingling sensation blankets every exposed portion of her
body. Her eyebrows and forehead become the first segments to experience
the full numbing experience, as the tingle disappears from these areas.
Sonya reaches to her brow and notes she cannot feel a thing! Her sights peer
down to her bare arm, where she can see that her skin is turning pale already.
She has little time before frostbite sets in and, after that, her blood reaches
the point of certain death!
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The weakened girl moves the cursor with the aid of the trackball. For
a task that was incredibly simple before, it now has developed into a near
impossible feat. She has always taken the sense of touch for granted, but
now it is obvious how the loss of this attribute can make navigating a little
ball difficult.
As the fear inside fights with the affects of the chilling interior, she
finally lands on the correct box. With her thumb, she presses the button that
will return the system to normal. Within seconds, the process is switched
over, as is evident by the banging in the backroom. All three systems for
heating will engage in an attempt to bring the compartment back to normal.
Sonya understands the systems enough to know that the heat sources
are far inferior to that of the external method of cooling. It will take a long
time to get back to normal. She decides she must get as much material over
her body as she can. Her brain instructs her legs to flex, but no movement
proceeds. She no longer can feel her extremities, and her normally tone
appearance is ghostly white. The freezing female struggles to maintain her
vision, but it is tempting to close them and give in to the forces that beg her
to give up.
The thought of Umbriel and a “better place” perk her to attention, at
least mentally. She digs deep down to combine all her energies into one
movement, in hopes of mustering enough strength to reach the locker that
teases her from the other side of the room. The attempt comes up short, as
the only physical change in position is a slight twinge of her index finger.
As the systems supply full capacity to raise the temperature, her lids
fall over her greenish-brown eyes, providing the only blanket of warmth she
needs. The darkness brings with it a comforting heat that wraps around her
entirely and tricks her into thinking everything is all right.
The heat
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generated by the radiation matrix steadily brings the real temperature up but
only by a couple degrees a minute. Due to the severe level the cabin
attained, she is presently several degrees shy of passing back through zero!
The warmth that originates from inside her brain continues to fool her
into allowing herself to slip into death. Although she has been schooled on
this topic, the grips of evil overcome the powers of logic. She doesn’t recall
opening her eyes, but the sight of her boyfriend convinces her that she did.
She now realizes that it is his body heat that is protecting her until the SolarBio2’s systems can catch up.
She immediately forgives him for his
misdeeds, since he obviously came to her rescue because he loves her. Now
that she is going to be ok, she wonders if he can stay with her.
Although nothing audible exits her lips during the period that the
freezing reality brings her heart to a halt, she hears herself loud and clear.
“Matt…stay with me…I love you.”
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Chapter
One Hundred
March 14, 2019 / 1:21 PM PST – Solar-Bio1
(Fluorescent Cheerio, Umbriel)
As if they knew he would grow to six foot, Alex fits the spacesuit
perfectly.
The silver material shines as he hunches over in the lower
compartment, the large bulge on his back scraping the ceiling. While this
backpack makes his travels somewhat cumbersome, the oxygen and internal
temperature they provide is an absolute must.
MR1 looks at the floor where he has already removed the section that
was mounted on top of the escape hatch. The doorway now only requires
the application of air pressure to release the latches and allow access to the
unknown world he awaits. Unfortunately, his mind was so occupied with
scattered thoughts; he forgot to initiate the command from the panel upstairs.
He leaves the portable devices on the floor and begins climbing the stairs.
The weight of his pack and the presence of gravity make the task
significantly difficult.
While after time, his brain will send the proper
impulses to supply more muscle for these actions, for the time being, the
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lack of equilibrium causes a feeling of weakness. Finally, the anxious male
reaches the upper floor, where he can prompt the system to overcome the
latch’s spring.
Upon completion of this particular operation, he looks over to the
radiation monitor. While the 275 REM he has received on his trip is an
enormous amount of radiation, it was induced at a slow rate and should have
minimal impact on his remaining years (although his chances of reaching the
twilight years is somewhat more in doubt).
The amount of damaging
radiation on the outside of the Solar-Bio1 is presently negligible. This not
only means he will be afforded a safe environment in regards to high energy
particles, but also points to a protective upper atmosphere.
Alex begins his drop back down the ladder. He thought the addition
of weight would make this form of travel easier; however, he did not take
into account the strain needed to keep him from falling too quickly. As his
legs move from one step to the next, his thighs struggle to counter the effect,
and his biceps attempt to carry a portion of the load as well. His boots make
contact with the floor. He crouches and twists his frame to find that the
access is already open! While this response surprises him, it was necessary
to make the operation automatic, for the weight of the door and outside
shielding would be too much for him to handle.
Alex peers through his transparent face shield to see the ground below
him, which has a bluish sheen to it. Is this form of illumination provided by
external lights from his craft? Based on the shade of the brilliance, he
believes it to be the same glow that he seen from afar. Obviously, Uranus
supplies a sort of daylight on this moon. His scientific logic instantly begins
questioning what type of refracting characteristics the air must have to
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intensify the light. Without such an atmosphere, the amount of light would
be less, or so he assumes.
His present line of thinking reminds him that he is still unaware of the
components that make up the remaining 80 % of the atmosphere. Although
his fully encapsulating suit will protect him from any toxic elements, he
decides to lower the detector down with a long strap first. He sets the device
to “gas”, which begins the suction of a tiny internal fan to bring in the air.
Just as he is about to guide the portable gadget down, an eerie thought
penetrates his senses. The door is open, and the atmospheric pressure is over
three pounds higher than his chamber! There is no way to block the upper
compartment from the lower, for it is nothing more than a hole in the floor.
His cabin air is being invaded by the unknown gases of Umbriel! Why
didn’t headquarters provide a system to prevent this? Why didn’t he think
ahead of time and raise the interior pressure to a higher level, so the air
would flow the other way?
Alex realizes it is too late now. If the air is un-breathable, he will
have to vent the Solar-Bio1 and bring it back to acceptability. This option,
of course, will waste his valuable, remaining inventory, but there is nothing
else he can do.
The concerned astronaut raises the square box with a sense of
nervousness he has only experienced a couple times. A strange what-if
slams into the scene, when he considers the possibility of the unknown
creatures. They could pop their heads in at any moment. Though he does
not acquire fear from this thought, he does hope that the encounter is
postponed, so he can concentrate on the essentials of his own life.
His blue eyes, which seem to possess added tint from the outside
glow, focus intently on the digital readout. He is greeted with initial good
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news, as the top component is Nitrogen at 62%. He is fully aware that this
harmless constituent makes up most of Earth’s atmosphere.
The next
highest concentration is the 20% Oxygen, which he fully expected, but it is
certainly nice to have the verification. He realizes he is not safe yet, for
there is still 18% to deal with, plenty enough to create a lethal environment!
His thick gloves make the task of pressing the button that steps
through the program awkward, but his patience allows him to manage. He
studies the next two entries on the reddish LED.
Helium and Carbon
Dioxide make up a small percentage, while the next two lowest are
Hydrogen and Methane. He was basically promised that the air would be
safe; he knows that they also required him to take these precautions for a
reason. MR1 fully understands that they are not positively sure that there
are no dangerous gases; however, so far…so good!
He is now down to the components that make up only tiny
percentages. He is happy to see that there is some water vapor in the air but
less-thrilled with the last few components. The strange compounds are
completely new to him and, as he will eventually find out, foreign to those at
headquarters as well. Are any of these unknown commodities toxic? He
understands that it will be up to his leaders back on Earth to inform him of
this, plus the presence of some flammable components may play heavily into
his future lifestyle. But, for now, he must proceed with the long-awaited
step onto the Fluorescent Cheerio.
Alex lowers the camera and the ECM to the ground then lets go. His
hands grip the floor in preparation for the four-foot drop onto the ground.
There is a pair of rungs that will allow him to get back in as well as help him
descend, but he opts to pass on the aid.
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His projection in reference to injury was satisfactory; however, the
impact was sufficient to bring him to his seat end. As he sits on the hard
surface, he pans the area. The craft blocks much of the view, but he can see
that the ground is rocky and void of the vegetation he anticipated. Has he
landed on the desert portion of the bright spot? Could there be a giant
waterfall just beyond his visual distance? Will the aliens be bathing in the
refreshing waters?
Leaving the nearby instruments behind, Alex crawls on all fours in a
forward direction, sweeping small rocks away as he goes. Finally, he clears
his craft enough to obtain a full standing position. Once on his feet, he grabs
a new perspective of the place he must call home. There is no waterfall…no
trees rising to the skies…no ponds or lakes. Could he be looking the wrong
way? The barren, blue terrain just continues on into the horizon where a
bunch of shadows and hills take over the landscape until blackness begins to
dominate.
MR1 swings his sights to his left and is immediately supplied with a
gigantic formation. He inhales a deep breath of the manufactured air within
his suit as he witnesses the great volcano. He feels like a tiny spot when
compared to this enormous, sloping mountain of heat. While most of the
rocky soil is dominated by the neon color, this particular part is not. The
dark substance that makes up the volcano does not reflect the light in the
same manner as everything else he has witnessed thus far.
As Alex continues to study the land, he wonders where the plants are.
His lesson plans taught him that it was the presence of plants on Earth
billions of years ago that created the oxygen through photosynthesis. Could
there be another way to produce this vital component? After all, the bright
light on Umbriel is not the result of direct sunlight. If a form of plant life
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were responsible for the oxygen, it would have to be something that requires
less light or, at least, a different type of light.
The thought of the refracting brilliance reminds him that he has yet to
look up. A new excitement enters as he steers his sights in that direction. A
truly remarkable vision shines before him. About a ¾ circle of blue with a
slight greenish hue welcomes him. Uranus fills most of the sky in a way that
tempts him to stare forever. The beauty is beyond description. Alex is
surprised; for this is the first time he has gazed at the world and NOT seen
the stars. The inspiring glow is too much for the distant balls of fire to
overcome. The portion of sky where Uranus does not exist seems to have a
sort of fading effect. The further to the right he looks, the darker it is. Still,
the blackness he is accustomed to is gone. Will there be a point of darkness
when the moon blocks the giant planet?
MR1 turns around to see if the desired jungle of life is behind him.
His view is completely blocked by the Solar-Bio1, which he has never seen
form the outside…until now! He steps back a bit to get a better look at the
great machine that delivered him to this place. There are a few protrusions
on the sides and on the top and bottom. The boosters look more like little
cones, while the antennas are dish-like, and the assorted probes appear as
tiny fingers. The entire vessel is surrounded by the matrix shielding that
protected the inside, while also provided a form of heating. The material is
very dark, but, after focusing a little more intently, he can make out the little
channels where the hydrogen flowed through.
With no life in sight, he has little to base his next move on. Though
the prognosis seems dim, his spirits are fully engaged. Headquarters spoke
of wonderful things, and he has no reason to disbelieve these claims. It is a
matter of finding the paradise and adjusting to the outside parameters. He
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will be required to fight for survival, but this does not worry him. The desire
to please JPL and the planet he left behind is incentive enough!
Alex looks to the left of his craft and locates a point where the hills do
not appear to be as far away. He has virtually no experience in the area of
judging distance, but his depth perception is a physical thing, so it is not
difficult to tell what is closest between two or more formations.
As he begins his walk on the lumpy surface, he notices beads of sweat
rolling off his forehead. The inability to wipe them away is annoying, but
the fact that they exist is the larger concern. The exertion required to
overcome gravity is causing him to perspire, which will require the
replenishment of water. Due to this, he comprehends that he should not
venture too far away. He has come too far to die of dehydration.
The eighteen-year-old walks at a somewhat anxious pace, panning the
area in search of “greener pastures”, as well as the life forms he was recently
told of. At first he thought the accelerated rate was due to his acclimation to
the new environment, but he eventually discovers the true cause. He is
traveling downhill! The mild slope of the land gradually tapers off as he
continues toward the darker hills. As he gets closer he realizes that these
configurations are much steeper than they appeared from afar. The bluish
hills seem to gradually change into a high cliff! The dark horizon that he
seen from afar was this sheer rocky figure.
He quickly deducts that these hilly forms are not climbable, and the
top probably represents the outside edge of the Fluorescent Cheerio. Alex
finally lowers his sights to his feet to be greeted with an intriguing sight.
The ground appears to be damp! Since he is standing on the lowest point in
the area…could this be where the water collects? His heart begins to beat at
a greater pace, something that will only make him burn more valuable
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calories. He kneels to the wet soil and digs in with his right hand. He
realizes that he left the detector back at the ship. How will he know what
components make up this liquid?
After moving a few handfuls of loose dirt, it becomes evident that the
there is a collection of liquid. Is this wet substance falling from the nearby
cliffs? Is there a river on top? Since it appears that he is on the outer
circle…could there be ice up there that melts as a result of the heat from the
volcano? The explorer wonders how long he has been inside his suit. Is he
about to run out of oxygen? He has not heard the “beep” that informs him
he has fifteen more minutes, but he must go get the detector anyhow.
Alex does not even ponder on the fact that he now is relating to time
with minutes and seconds. Since his travels through space are over, it seems
only natural to begin thinking of the “elapsing of life” as a quantity of time
instead of the miles he was able to grasp before.
The intelligent astronaut decides that it would be best to grab a
handful of the wet soil for testing. He considers the uphill climb he has
ahead and realizes it will be time for a new bottle of oxygen. His silver
glove digs into the muddy substance and scoops a portion out. He brings the
material closer to his sights and examines it within the “daylight”. There is
something else within the makeup of the soil. In fact, after further review,
there is a whole lot of something else!
While the grains of geological materials are easy to distinguish, there
is a softer, stringy component. His focus becomes so intense that he doesn’t
even notice the sweat that covers his face. The minuscule stick-like pieces
have even smaller hairs on them! Is this a plant…animal…or…neither?
Could this be the source of oxygen on Umbriel?
Based on his initial
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observation, the ground is saturated with these possible organisms! This
couldn’t be the life forms that headquarters warned him of…could it?
As Alex begins his steady climb up and out of the ravine, his mind is
so occupied on this discovery that he fails to dwell on the difficulty of the
upward travel. His sights are slowly greeted more and more of the volcano
as he ascends. Soon his spaceship is visible and he is on flat ground. The
young man looks at the Solar-Bio1 and comes to a grand conclusion. This
perfectly engineered vessel is no longer his home.
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