Project Sail (22 page)

Henderson clapped his hands together and in a voice laced with good nature, joined the impromptu debate.

“Dr. Wren, you should know that this mission will have a ripple effect through each of our research projects. Take, for example, work that is near and dear to your heart.”

For the first time in a long while, Wren felt off balance. Usually his anger could bull through any arguments but there was something in Henderson’s pleasant tone he found disarming.

“Like Project Sail, your research in England is a joint venture between the United States and UVI, funded by our Earth sciences division. Noble work you are doing, trying to bring life back to a land that has suffered so much, but also expensive work. Some might see our involvement as a bad investment. After all, even optimistic estimates suggest ten years before the soil will sustain fundamental plant and insect life, let alone crops.”

Wren felt a lump in his throat.

“But I say it is the right thing to do, and the right thing is always a good investment. Unfortunately, we face budgetary realities.” Henderson pointed to the front of the room where the projector displayed 581g again. “The solution to such problems is right there. We might find minerals and chemicals that could revolutionize energy, ship design, and construction. Just as important, Project Sail will be a technological success that will strengthen our standing in the solar system and that will benefit every one of our investments.”

Leo Wren felt his face turn red. Henderson held him above a barrel while sounding like a grandfather teaching lessons to a child.

He sat down and refused to look at Kost.

Henderson said, “Now Professor Coffman, what is the goal of Project Sail?”

“Ah, yes, well, to send
SE 185
to Gliese 581g.”

“And once there?”

“To study the planet, including landing research teams on the surface.”

“Outstanding!” Henderson clapped again. “Did you hear that? One hundred years from now people will remember your names as the brave pioneers who ushered in a new era in man’s exploration of the stars. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Wren muttered under his breath, tapped his knee with his thumb, and the hair on the back of his neck stood straight.

Yes, it’s fucking wonderful.

---

As the crew of
SE 185
filed out, Captain Charles approached Leo Wren.

“Stay.”

Although his voice was even, Wren saw that Charles was about to explode.

“Dr. King,” Charles called to the medical officer as she followed the rest from the room, “stay behind for a moment.”

King approached the two as if on assignment for the bomb squad.

When the room emptied, Captain Charles played his hand.

“You have been working in England, right?”

Wren answered, “Yes, Captain, I am an Englishman by birth. If what UVI wants is to build an Empire, you brought the right guy along; we wrote the book on Empire-building.”

“You were there during The Cut?”

Wren saw the direction this headed. For the second time today, a man who always stood up to a fight felt a wobble in his knees.

Charles turned to Dr. King.

“I understand the bacteria that spread across England in 2096 fused with human DNA, did it not?”

King hesitated, first glancing at Wren before answering, “The bacteria remade Schwann cells into stem cells, which were then reprogrammed into harming the host.”

Wren tried to sound tough but his voice cracked as he asked, “What the fuck are you getting at, Captain?”

Charles asked King, “Is it true that during the outbreak many people living in England were exposed to the bacteria and survived?”

“The germ evolved and adapted, changing into several varieties, some harmless, some even more lethal.”

Charles faced Wren but spoke to the doctor.

“The bacteria infected some who remained healthy, but it left behind permanent damage to their DNA and traces of The Cut.”

“Yes, in cases where the Schwann cell transformation failed.”

“And doctor, these traces can be extracted from an affected individual and--now what is the word? Help me here, Leo.”

He muttered, “Weaponized.”

“Dr. King, take another sample of Leo’s DNA and examine it for any abnormalities.”

“Captain, he has passed the necessary screenings.”

“You will take another sample. If you find anything abnormal, you will tell me, and if you do find anything, it may exclude our resident quantitative biologist from Project Sail. Of course, his dismissal might affect future employment opportunities. Don’t you think, Dr. Wren?”

He stood there, not moving a muscle, although Wren assumed he would be moving for the next shuttle home soon. He had pissed off Charles, but he had pissed off King even more during the ride from Titan. She would look long and hard for any abnormalities.

Charles said, “Funny Leo, you don’t normally have trouble speaking up, but you are as quiet as a mouse now.”

25. Team Building

Never once did Leo Wren regret speaking out during the mission briefing. He never considered he had gone too far or that his bellicose attitude was anything other than a personal drive to challenge bullshit and take authority to task. If the United Kingdom’s last Prime Minister had shown that type of backbone when confronting proposed bombing to contain The Cut, then England would not be a charred heap of ashes.

He knew his approach intimidated people. His pugnacious personality frightened away colleagues, friends, even relatives. But the fault lay with them, not Leo Wren. They were too timid, too stupid, or too blind.

That still held true as he sat in sick bay waiting for Dr. King to evaluate the latest test results. Someone had to call this mission what it was: a waste of valuable resources when places like Mars, South America, and—yes—England needed those resources to solve real, immediate problems.

Nonetheless, an ache formed in the pit of his stomach as he considered the ramifications of his latest crusade for truth.

He welcomed leaving Project Sail; there was nothing on Gliese 581g for Leo Wren. While he had willingly left England after nearly killing a countryman he mistook for a looter, he now wanted to return, if only to right that wrong.

But when King found evidence of The Cut in his DNA, Captain Charles would terminate his employment with UVI then share the reason for his termination with potential employers. Wren figured he might find a job in external dome repair on Mars, or perhaps radioactive waste storage on the moon.

Having traces of the bacteria nicknamed The Cut was common among those who lived in the United Kingdom during the infection. Such traces posed no danger to Wren or anyone around him; they were genetic scars. However, sometimes those scars left enough of the bacteria’s fingerprint that an unethical geneticist might use it as a blueprint for biological weapons.

Going through with these genetic tests and using the results as justification to end his employment was retaliation for pissing off authority. Broadcasting those reasons was a punitive measure.

Making it known that Leo Wren carried The Cut would be like telling the world of the 1990s that a person carried HIV; the mere mention of it would send any bearer into isolation. In this case, The Cut’s genetic scarring was not even a threat to Wren’s health, but it carried the stigma of a country-killer.

The Cut conjured images of bodies in piles on London streets, soldiers gunning down refugees storming a channel ferry, and atomic fire slaughtering hundreds of thousands in the hope of annihilating a Petri dish of bacteria.

So as Dr. King moved away from her computer and approached the two men waiting for the results, Leo prepared for the worst.

She glanced at Wren and he sensed gloating in her eyes. While Charles was the instrument of his destruction, King would have her revenge by playing the role of messenger.

Before she delivered the results, the door opened and Commander Hawthorne stepped into the room.

“What is going on here? Why wasn’t I notified?”

Charles snapped, “Commander, there is no reason for you to be here. Go back to your quarters and play poker or drink.”

“Captain, as your XO I am charged with overseeing crew discipline. I should be handling this.”

“I say otherwise, Commander, now stow it. Doctor, what did the tests find?”

King unfolded a page of e-paper featuring photos taken with a high-powered microscope. She held the paper so Charles could clearly see the images.

“I did a thorough evaluation using both the tests we ran today and the tests that Dr. Wren has on file with UVI medical. These images are close-ups of his Schwann cells at a magnification of—”

“Doctor, I want a simple answer.”

“Captain, I found no abnormalities in the DNA of Dr. Leo Wren.”

Charles stared at her with such intensity that he did not hear Wren release an exhale that could pass for a wind gust.

“Come again, Doctor?”

“I found nothing in his DNA, blood, or body tissue that I would deem abnormal.”

Wren considered standing but worried his legs would not support him.

“Are you certain, Dr. King?”

“You can see the images yourself. Leo Wren is a crude, foul-mouthed bully and if I could find a reason to kick him off this project I would.”

Charles replied, “Check those results again and if you find anything report it to me. Do you understand?”

“With pleasure, sir. I would be happy to see this ill-tempered, immature ass removed from this team.”

The Captain glared at King, and then Wren, and then Hawthorne, to whom he said, “I am holding you accountable for his behavior, XO,” and then stormed out.

Hawthorne said, “I got here just in time.”

Instead of a witty riposte, Wren mumbled, “Commander, can I talk to Dr. King?”

Hawthorne answered by leaving the room.

Ira returned to her computer, folding the e-paper into a small square along the way. Wren’s eyes focused on her back until he had regained his breath enough to speak.

“What did you just do?”

“I gave my captain a report on the status of your DNA, as he ordered.”

“I was not evacuated until after my family had been exposed to one of the bacterial strains. We were lucky; it was a non-lethal mutation, the organism failed to transform any of our cells.”

“Yes, you are correct,” and she opened the e-paper again and touched an image. “You can clearly see the scarring on this batch of cells and I showed this image to Captain Charles. Your medical evaluation when you were thirteen was accurate; your DNA suffered slight damage from the infection, but only damage. You are not a carrier, no dangerous bacteria lives in your body.”

“He was not looking for bacteria; he was looking for that damage. You knew he could not understand the image and you lied to him.”

“Lied? I am offended at the suggestion,” and she slipped the paper into a receptacle, returning the information to the system and wiping the sheet clean. “The Captain asked me to report any abnormalities. You were present in England during the plague and your family survived exposure to one strain of the bacteria, therefore I would expect to find its genetic marker.”

“I have pissed you off a dozen times, but you held your tongue when one word would have sent me packing.”

She smiled and a quick chuckle turned into an outright laugh.

“Doctor Wren—Leo—your childish barbs at my religious beliefs only prove that you do not understand faith. It’s not just a belief that somewhere in the universe there is a greater moral authority; it is about faith in those whom He gave life, faith in my fellow man, even you. Faith that your life has value and meaning, that I am put in this universe to be there for you in your time of need. Today was a time of need for you.”

“You lied to a commanding officer.”

“No, I spoke the exact truth. The fact that he did not understand the information I presented is not my fault. While I have an obligation to serve my commanding officer, the compassion of the ‘flying spaghetti monster’ guides my actions, and I will not help someone hurt a friend.”

“You think I am a friend? I mock your faith, slander your God, and we argue whenever we talk.”

She shrugged and told him, “At least we talk.”

Wren scratched the back of his head as he tried to solve this puzzle.

“I suppose I owe you one. Don’t expect me to join your next congregation.”

“My next what?”

He said, “On Titan we found you with a crowd gathered around, listening to you preach the good word.”

“You think that was a congregation?” She laughed again. “Leo, that was no congregation, that was a riot. They were about to go on a rampage over living conditions, just like you see on Mars. I was glad they listened, or the circumstances of our meeting might have been different. That is what faith is about.”

After a moment of silence she added, “Nonetheless, you are making progress already.”

“What are you talking about?” Wren asked.

“You haven’t said ‘fuck’ in at least five minutes.”

---

For two days, Hawthorne studied in Professor Coffman’s workshop. He took a three-dimensional tour of
SE 185’s
engines, flew a flight simulator, programmed courses on a navigation computer, and reviewed two-hundred pages detailing the onboard data banks, a task made monotonous by his lack of implants.

On the third day, Coffman surprised him with a test on the subject matter, resulting in Hawthorne spending a fourth and fifth day touring, flying, programming, and reviewing all over again.

When he finally emerged from this educational prison, he went to the mess hall for an early dinner and ordered the best imitation steak the processor could weave as well as a bottle of wine to wash it down.

At first, he had the mess to himself but it did not take long for Lieutenant Thomas to find him.

They compared training notes. Universal Visions Corporate Security focused her training on close quarters combat and automated defense systems, preparing her for a knife fight in an alleyway or to repel a planetary invasion, a strange combination.

As they spoke, groups of UVI employees arrived. These were the people who worked maintenance, communications, and cargo handling. They wore various clothing, some more formal than others, a few in badly stained worker’s garb and others wearing hazmat suits. Hawthorne recognized one guy; whatever food he ate today, he bought with Hawthorne’s money.