Project Sail (3 page)

Fisk also stood, tugged at his sleeve again, and joined Charles at the front door.

“I took the liberty of booking you on a capsule headed down in three hours. Your XO will assume command of the
Princess
. By the way, your contract binds you to keep this conversation secret, as do various national security regulations.”

Charles asked, “Any questions?”

“Only an observation: this is a press gang, plain and simple, and I sure don’t like it.”

“To borrow your favorite phrase,
Commander
, you do not have to like it, you just have to do it,” Charles said and opened the front door.

Fisk smiled enthusiastically.

“See you in the morning, Commander Hawthorne!”

At the exact moment the front door closed behind them, the bedroom door slid open and out walked his navigator, fully dressed in the gray and blue uniform of the luxury yacht’s crew. She sneered, slapped an empty glass in his hand, and left, probably on her way to the XO’s quarters.

4. Earth

No place on Earth felt like home to Jonathan Hawthorne, at least not since the divorce ten years ago when he lost the cabin in Watkins Glen, a lot of cash, and a Norwegian Elkhound.

On those rare occasions he came to Earth, he stayed in a townhouse near Gettysburg National Park in Pennsylvania, one of thirty units each with a deck facing the old battlefield.

Despite so many townhouses, the complex felt empty because the majority of residents worked in space.

Orbital factories employed several of his neighbors. It seemed microgravity enhanced the production of protein crystals as well as the process of microencapsulation, resulting in a boom in space-based manufacturing mainly benefiting pharmaceuticals, energy management, and plastics.

Manufacturing jobs in the risky environment of space led to the rebirth of the labor movement a hundred years after it had all but disappeared. Hawthorne knew one neighbor was a representative in the Space Based Workers Union, although that group came across more like faculty members with tenure than blue-collar guys on an assembly line.

A young woman two doors over piloted a tug, spending weeks in orbit clearing space junk, repairing stations, and adjusting satellites.

The guy a floor below worked for the bureau of mines doing safety inspections at the helium three extraction facilities floating in Saturn’s atmosphere.

One apartment belonged to a man employed by a dark matter refinement facility on Deimos who often bragged about RDM being the key to artificial gravity and diametric drives.

While harvesting dark matter—mainly axion and neutralino particles—is safe, refining those particles involved massive energy release. Two years ago, an explosive chain reaction destroyed the Deimos plant, killed eight hundred workers, and disintegrated an orbiting tanker.

The landlords had not yet found a new tenant.

He wondered if that unoccupied townhouse felt as empty as his did. Yes, this was his home but it might as well belong to anyone considering the lack of personal touches. A bed, a kitchen counter, a fireplace that had not seen flames in a long time, and one room full of dust-covered boxes made up the furnishings of his earthly home.

Hawthorne pulled a trio of coronas from a tin can atop the refrigerator and put them in his travel case although he doubted he would have a chance to smoke them anytime soon.

A tone from the other room interrupted his packing. He left the kitchen, moved around a couple of dusty boxes, and stood in front of a video screen.

Hawthorne waved his hand and the video screen switched on, showing a woman with short blond hair sitting on a couch in a pastel living room.

“Hey big brother, I just got your message.”

“Jenna, glad you called. Look, I won’t be able to make it out this weekend; the company gave me new marching orders.”

Her mouth contorted into a genial sneer.

“You’re always coming up with excuses. The kids will grow up and move out before they see you again. So where are you off to?”

“Sorry, I can’t tell you.”

Her eyes widened and she grinned.

“Let me guess, a movie star booked the entire ship for a personal cruise. You’ll be up to your elbows in celebrity orgies again, just remember to keep the gravity on; you don’t want any broken bones or bruised egos.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you about that. Don’t worry, no zero-g orgies but look, I think I’m going to be gone for a couple of months.”

“Damn, Jonathan, get out of space and put your feet on the ground. My father-in-law could find you a job at the university teaching flight to wide-eyed students and beautiful coeds half your age.”

“The coeds sound interesting, but I’m lost if I spend longer than a day on Earth.”

“You’re lost no matter where you are.”

“So you called me back just to give me a hard time, is that it?”

She did not respond and that set off a big-brother alarm.

“Okay, what’s up? This weekend wasn’t just our annual get together, was it?”

She admitted, “We’re thinking about having another one.”

“Another kid, at your age?”

“Yep,” a smile returned to her face. “And who are you to talk about age? Besides, the corporations have upped their offers. They cover genetic screening and maternity care and offer discounts on food and clothing through high school plus they have doubled the number of scholarships and increased the range of eligible fields. You can nearly raise a kid and send him off to college without spending a dime.”

“It’s self-interest, sis, not altruism. Someone has to program the mining bots, fly the ships, and think up new ways to wring profit out of the planets. People just aren’t having families anymore.”

“Like you.”

“Don’t start.”

“Okay, but only because it sounds like the next time I see you, you might have another niece or nephew.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be gone that long,” he said, but he could not be sure he was even coming back. “Hey, you got your mother’s eyes and her mamma-bear instincts, you
should
have kids, but keep them on the ground; space sucks.”

“Except for you?”

“Let’s just say it’s all I know. Now I have to go.”

“Jonathan, be safe.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve already been a hero once and it is not what it’s cracked up to be.”

“Love you.”

He waved his hand to end the transmission, found his bag, and exited out to a cool April morning. Temperature-activated fibers in his imitation leather jacket radiated warmth, helping to combat the chill. Overhead, a line of gray clouds threatened to bring drizzle but a little sunlight still peeked through.

An artificially sweet smell carried in the air, part of the environmental controls. Depending on the day, residents might smell floral scents or the aroma of fresh-cut grass, even though there were no flowers and the genetically engineered lawn did not need maintenance.

The parking lot was half-full, mainly with electric cars but also a few luxury trucks running on hybrid engines, but none of them belonged to Hawthorne.

Waiting for him fifty yards away on the housing complex’s VTOL pad sat a blue and white corporate jet sporting the Universal Visions, Incorporated logo. As he walked toward the plane, a semi-automated waste collection truck rolled across the lot. A sanitation worker moved with the vehicle, supervising a trio of short, wide robots rolling on big tires.

The man pointed at a garbage bin and one of the robots grabbed it with metal arms and dumped the contents in the truck.

The collector’s presence explained the strong aroma: the landlord had programmed the scent dispensers to cover the stench of garbage.

At the jet, Fisk waited for him wearing a smile and another business suit hanging from his thin shoulders. To Hawthorne, Fisk looked like a young boy playing dress up, especially the way he constantly tugged at his sleeves and brushed his lapels.

“Good morning, Commander Hawthorne! By the way, your rank has been officially changed for this mission to commander and your pay has increased one full grade.”

“Thanks, I hope the raise covers the cost of my funeral.”

Fisk’s smile wavered until his sarcasm detector made the catch.

“Please, Commander, follow me,” and the two men boarded the plane.

What the jet lacked in size it compensated for with luxury: high-back chairs lined a thin aisle providing seating for eight but there were only three passengers.

Fisk relieved Hawthorne of his bag and shuffled him forward where he came across a late-twenties man with light blond hair and a well-sculpted goatee wearing casual clothing.

“Professor Matthew Carlson, meet Commander Jonathan Hawthorne.”

A computer wristband occupied Carlson’s attention, projecting images visible only to the user as interpreted by a chip implanted in his brain.

“Professor?”

“Oh, sorry.”

Carlson blinked, then stood and extended a hand that Jonathan accepted.

“Matthew here will oversee the geological survey team. He has been on the faculty at Penn State University as part of a UVI grant program. Professor, this is
the
Commander Hawthorne. You know, ‘do it,’ and the battle of Ganymede.”

“No. My apologies.”

“None needed,” Hawthorne said and searched for a seat.

“Oh Commander,” Fisk’s friendliness faltered as he produced a small device resembling a penlight. “We must inhibit your electronic signature during this assignment.”

“I really don’t have anything.”

“Wait a second,” Carlson jumped from across the aisle, “shut down everything?”

“Communications,” Fisk answered as he rolled the inhibiting device between fingers. “Now that we’ve picked up the Commander, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask the same of you.”

Carlson’s mouth hung open and it appeared he might cry.

“I’m sorry, but this is part of mission security. We may be able to allow limited downloads once we’re under way, but no outgoing communications.”

“Can I call to my mother? I have to tell her she won’t be hearing from me for a while.”

Fisk granted permission with a nod and returned his attention to Hawthorne who said, “Don’t look at me; I do my best not to have an electronic signature.”

“No phone?”

“I’m rarely on Earth so it would be a waste. My account relays comm traffic for me to the
Princess
or my home.”

Carlson overheard and asked, “No thinker?”

Hawthorne tapped his temple.

“No implant, no chip; nothing but natural gray matter up here.”

Fisk asked, “How do you pay for anything?”

Hawthorne produced a plastic card with an imbedded microcomputer that recorded every transaction, every morsel of food he consumed, and every beat of his heart.

“I wouldn’t have even this if it were up to me,” Hawthorne answered. “It seems the company and the government like keeping track of me, so here it is.”

Carlson shook his head and returned to his wrist computer, probably calling his mother.

Fisk said, “Well in that case, relax. Our first stop is Boston where we will pick up another of the Project Directors, a distinguish researcher named Dr. Leo Wren.”

Hawthorne did not recognize the name.

The small jet roared to life, rose vertically, and then hovered until the engines rotated into horizontal position, after which the craft rocketed forward and gained altitude, soon reaching supersonic speeds.

Eventually the clouds cleared, allowing Hawthorne to see the terrain as they swept northeast along the border with New Jersey. The scenery included highways, wilderness, rivers polluted to varying degrees, ball fields, and clusters of cloned homes.

Hawthorne saw few farms as the trend toward vertical agricultural towers moved food and pharmaceutical crops closer to processing centers in cities.

“You can still see the high watermark.”

Fisk’s voice startled Hawthorne because it came right next to his ear.

“What’s that?”

“You can see the line between old growth and new as well as debris fields that still have not been cleared. It’s over sixty years but from the sky you can see how the wave reshaped the geography of the entire east coast, from Newfoundland to Florida.”

Hawthorne pulled away from both the window and the young man as he replied, “That’s before I was born.”

“Reshaped the entire political spectrum, too,” Fisk said. “Before the Atlantic tsunami, the North American continent was fractured and they say nearly bankrupt. The disaster set the stage for unifying three nations into one. Universal Visions played a big part in the rebirth of our country.”

“Oh, I’d say there are about twenty million people who could have done without that particular rebirth.”

Fisk ignored the casualty count.

“I think the project we’re working on could also be a moment in history that will change our world!”

“Mr. Fisk, about forty years ago someone said that same thing when they harnessed dark matter and created artificial gravity. They bragged about engines that could fly a ship across the whole solar system in weeks and how that meant unity, freedom, and all that. Instead, we ended up with mines and processing plants on just about every piece of rock in the system. To a miner, there’s little difference between an anthracite shaft in Pennsylvania and a platinum shaft on an asteroid, except maybe a longer commute.”

Carlson turned away from his wrist computer and joined the conversation.

“That’s not exactly true.”

“Look, the point is that conquering the solar system was no different from the California gold rush or exploring the Congo. It started with excitement and promises, but ended in the same old story of politics, war, and resources to exploit. The only change is instead of worrying about cannibals and malaria, you worry about a rip in your space suit or a solar flare catching you outside the shielding.”

Fisk responded, “I’m surprised to hear that considering you work in space and were a war hero in space.”

“Yeah, well, I have open eyes, mister corporate astronaut. Write your press releases about new eras and bold exploration but wherever we’re headed your company will send in the mining gear, build habitat domes, and ship the bounty back home.”