Preparations

Despite the late night festivities, Hawke showed up early for work the next morning. Betty, as usual, was already there. Also, as usual, she gave him the cold shoulder. So much for lightening things up between us.

At his desk, Hawke found a small, sealed packet on his chair. He opened the envelope and a monocular headset fell into his hand along with an earplug. He put the earplug in his ear and adjusted the monocle. A text prompt flashed directly onto his retina requesting permission for a retinal scan, to which he assented. The prompt disappeared and Captain Carson’s gruff image appeared in a pre-recorded introduction.

"Hawke, here’s the information you requested. You better keep a close eye on this guy. Remember my warning. By the way, erase these when you’re done with them. They’re the real deal, not the unclassified shit they water down for the public. We could both get into big trouble if you’re caught with them." The recording ended. Hawke used the pupil tracker to open the file manager. There were five files stored in memory. He double-blinked on the first one.

It was a personnel file. He stared at the name on the file: G. Maxwell Snelling. So Max is actually his middle name, Hawke observed, I wonder what his first name is? Snelling was born on August 7, 2034. He attended Yale University where he obtained degrees in Psychology and Political Science and finished in the top third of his class. Not exactly an academic powerhouse. He received a Ph.D. in International Relations from the same university. His height was listed as five foot six, one hundred and forty-five pounds. Brown eyes. Brown hair. The only other bit of information Hawke found of interest was Snelling’s proficiency in linguistics. He was fluent in four languages besides English: Arabic, Hebrew, Chinese, and German.

Hawke opened the next file. It was a news story dated 12 September, 2079. "Indian- Pakistani border tensions eased. U.S. diplomats successfully negotiated terms of agreement over multiple border disputes between Pakistan and the Republic of India. Escalating tensions between the two nations were creating a ripple effect throughout the Middle East and beyond." Hawke scanned the rest. He had only a vague recollection of it; the situation never deteriorated into anything serious enough to make big headlines. During that period he was shuttling back and forth between Earth and the military research base on Io. The crisis had been resolved by the time he’d returned to Earth for any meaningful length of time.

The third file turned out to be a classified memo from one of the U.S. diplomats involved in the Indian-Pakistani border affair to a high-ranking official in the State Department. In exchange for de-militarizing their southern border and ceding the coveted Kashmir region south of the Indus River to the Republic of India, the United States promised to (covertly) deliver twenty-two twelve megaton fusion bombs, two hundred self-guided smart missiles (medium range), two-point-five metric tons of modified soy protein, and twenty billion credits (ostensibly for humanitarian aid) to the government of Pakistan. If this information was exposed to the public it would have serious political repercussions.

The memo further went on to state that in exchange for the United States’s aid in securing the contentious region, the Republic of India would allow the United States to build several top-secret military surveillance facilities along its eastern border that it shared with China. There were other minor technical details of the agreement Hawke glossed over. The letter was signed by one G. M. Snelling.

The next file was another personnel file, complete with a photo (albeit with more hair) of Max, but this file listed him as an undercover operative for the Central Intelligence Agency. The dates of employment were from 2063 to 2075 with assignments ranging from the United States to the Middle East to parts of Asia. Twelve years. More than enough time to have earned himself a reputation and made a few high-level friends.

The last file was no more than an electronic copy of a training certificate. It stated that Mr. G. Maxwell Snelling had successfully completed the CIA’s short course on "Military Ordnance and Modified Incendiary Devices." As he scanned over the document, he discovered that a small file had been embedded at the bottom. It was a brief article, no more than two paragraphs, dated 28 August, 2079. "Explosion leaves twelve dead. Authorities are still investigating the cause of an explosion and fire that occurred around 1:00 AM in the warehouse district of Khanpur." It went on further, though few details were provided and there was speculation by at least one authority that Pakistani insurgent factions may have been involved. Hawke frowned. Although there was nothing directly linking the two pieces of information, he understood implicitly why Harry included them together.

"Thanks, Captain. I owe you one."

Hawke scanned over certain parts of the files again. Then he selected them all and deleted them. When he was certain they were completely erased, he powered down the device, slipped it into a drawer, and locked it.

He puttered around doing menial administrative tasks until it was twelve forty-five. Some of his electronic files weren’t as he’d left them, but they all seemed to be there. "Damned IT guys must be screwing around again." Then he shut down his console, stretched, and headed downstairs toward Conference Room A102. He made a point of telling Ms. Graves where he would be and to hold his calls. An impassive stare had been his only reply.

It was two minutes to one o’clock when he strolled into the meeting room. Most of the attendees were already there. Hawke recognized the four scientists, but there were many other people he didn’t know. Dr. Chiang looked quite businesslike, yet still lovely, in a white lab coat and black slacks. Hawke saw Major Bishop, but was dismayed when he saw the CSO talking to Snelling. She glanced briefly in his direction before continuing her discussion with the Protocol Officer. Starling, Frank, and Ben were also there. Ben beckoned him to sit with them.

Exactly two minutes later, Vice-Admiral Langolier entered, followed by one of his junior secretaries. Hawke knew Betty would never stoop to taking notes for the Admiral regardless of the significance of the meeting. The Admiral wasted no time. He strode to the front of the room and began the meeting with a noisy clearing of his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed scientists, thank you for coming. For those of you who were at last night’s banquet, I hope you had a pleasant evening. The reason for this meeting is to ensure you’ve all had adequate opportunity to meet. It’s also a chance to discuss any last minute concerns or requests prior to departure two days from now. First, I’d like to take a moment for everyone to introduce themselves and state your mission purpose."

The next ten minutes were spent making introductions. Many of the faces unknown to Hawke were lab assistants to the four distinguished scientists. Each scientist was allowed to take up to three assistants on the journey.

"Good. Now that that’s done with, we can get down to business. As you’re probably well aware, the trip to and from the M51 galaxy is going to take approximately six months in each direction. You’ll spend four weeks on-site to collect the desired data and return."

There was a cry of outrage from the assembled researchers and technicians.

"That’s not enough time!" complained one of the techs.

"Carl’s right," added Dr. Lehman, "We’d need about one or two years to conduct all the necessary tests. Or several months at the very least. Why, it’ll take weeks just to input the climatological data into our models, much less to actually analyze the results."

Grumbles and nods around the table accompanied this statement. The Admiral held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Please. I understand your concerns. The decision to keep the time in-theater short was not mine. I’d extend it if I could, but I was informed, in no uncertain terms, that this window of opportunity is not flexible. I’m sure you can all appreciate the considerable pressure being put to bear, not just on my side, but by all our governments, to be able to report back quickly on the habitability of this solar system. We don’t have the time or resources to do everything you’d like. You’re simply going to have to use your time there wisely and conduct only those experiments that are essential. And remember, you’ll have plenty of time on the way back to analyze the data."

"What about the possibility the planet is already inhabited by one or more advanced life-forms?" asked Dr. Miller. "Wouldn’t that affect the time-table?"

"That has been a hot topic in the Oval Office, as you can well imagine, but the answer is still no. I’ve been ordered to tell you, in that event, to study their culture to the greatest extent possible from orbit. Once planetside, geological and environmental tests should be completed prior to initiating contact. We don’t want to disturb their society if we don’t have to."

"And what if they should initiate it first?" pressed Dr. Miller.

Max Snelling roused himself from his position of lax indifference and assumed an air of authority. "Then I shall take primary responsibility for all human-alien contact. I’ve been given full latitude to set the foundation for developing interplanetary relations on behalf of our world leaders." There were a few low mutters.

"You’ll represent all of our interests?" questioned Dr. Bhattacharya, his chin resting in the crook of his thumb and forefinger. "Shouldn’t there be other Protocol Officers present, from each of our countries, to ensure the negotiation of terms of colonization and reparations are not, shall we say, biased?"

"My dear Professor, are you proposing that we bring a representative from every country on Earth? What about the Moon Colonists’ Coalition? No. I assure you, I will act in accordance with our common interests in mind. I was given written approval and authorization by your own officials to be sole negotiator. If anyone has any objection, then you need to take up the matter with your respective governments."

Dr. Bhattacharya frowned and stroked his beard, but said nothing.

The Admiral looked back and forth between the two men. When he saw the matter was settled, he marched on with his agenda. "Good. Moving on. As you probably are already aware, the historic launch is scheduled to occur at teleportation hangar number four, at eleven o’clock Friday morning. However, ceremonies will begin at o-nine hundred and your presence will be expected no later than o-seven-thirty. There will be no exceptions. Major Bishop’s team will be responsible for security. If you’re late, you may possibly be denied access to the restricted docking area. Do I make myself clear?" He gazed around the room, lingering slightly in Hawke’s direction.

Everyone murmured their understanding. "Good. Now, one other thing. The leaders of many nations will be present, not just those represented here, to be on hand to personally witness the send-off. At ten-thirty, the President of the United States will give a speech. Following that will be the final goodbyes. Then you’ll all board the VX-90 in single file and close the loading bay. Once onboard, a crewmember will direct you to your quarters, show you to your labs, and tell you how to access the other pertinent sections of the ship: the galley, the forward crew station, et cetera. But save the sight-seeing for later. Once you’re settled, you should immediately find a secure seat and stay fastened in. Outside, the hangar floor will be cleared of unauthorized personnel. VIP’s will be escorted to the viewing area. Once the area is secure, the countdown procedures shall commence. Are there any questions?"

A woman of Latin American descent stood up. She’d been sitting near the door. Hawke hadn’t noticed her during the introductions. The Admiral acknowledged her. "Yes, Dr. Hoyos?"

"Sir. First, I’d like to apologize for being late. This is not so much a question as it is a concern. Contamination is very real threat on any new planet. Not just to us, though being exposed to foreign microbes can be extremely lethal, but for the native flora and fauna we come in contact with. While the biohazard scanner we use is an excellent device, very efficient, I still highly recommend everyone receive a full microbial and viral booster series. My staff and I will be more than happy to administer them."

"Thank you, Doctor, an excellent point. For those of you who haven’t met her, this is Dr. Ana Hoyos, our Senior Medical Officer." Ana nodded curtly around the room. "Are there any other questions?"

Hawke saw the young man with the glasses he’d met last night raise his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Bixby."

"Sir, as you know, it’s my responsibility to make sure the VX-90’s mission systems are properly networked and running smoothly. But with only two days left, I haven’t been given access to run any diagnostics and priority latency routines."

"Talk to Major Bishop. She can make sure you receive the proper clearance. Anyone else?"

Frank leaned in close and whispered in Hawke’s ear. "What the hell’s the kid doin’ with them glasses? I mean, ain’t nobody wears them fuckin’ things, not even my Granny. If he ever showed his face around my neighborhood, he’d be just askin’ to get the shit kicked outta him."

"Admiral?"

"Yes, Dr. Chiang."

"Due to the nature of our research, many of us requested highly specialized equipment and supplies. Can you tell us whether those items have been received and loaded onto the ship? Our requests for an early inspection have repeatedly been denied."

"Yes, and I apologize for the inconvenience. As you know, all of you were asked to provide a detailed list of what you needed, but some of you came back late with additional requirements. I can tell you that everything from the original list is safely onboard. I’ll have someone from my staff check and get back to you on the late items."

"Admiral, many of these instruments are both complex and delicate. Did your people...?" She left the question hanging.

"The contractor that loaded the equipment left everything boxed and stacked in your designated labs. The moving company cited insurance reasons for leaving everything packed. But we figured it was for the best anyway and that you’d all prefer it that way."

"Thank you, Admiral. That was most considerate."

"We also thought it would give you something to do for the first few days." There were a few scattered laughs.

"Excuse me, sir, but what about communications?" one of Dr. Lehman’s assistants asked. "The amount of time required to send transmissions across such a vast distance..."

Hawke already knew the answer to the young man’s question. It had been part of his mission briefing.

"You’re right. That’s been a problem on earlier missions. All I have to say is, don’t worry. Our COM gurus have worked out a new system they’re just itching to field-test. You’ll be dropping specialized satellite relays at regular intervals along your voyage. The satellites pick up the transmissions and use a unique hybrid photon quantum teleportation technology. Think of it as a super-charged radio signal. I don’t know exactly how it works, something to do with fused-quantum entanglement theory, but I’ve been assured you’ll never be more than a few days without a response from us."

Impressed murmurs echoed around the room.

"Anyone else?" No one responded. "Alright then. If you come up with anything else, you know how to reach my office. I’ll try to accommodate you the best I can. In the meantime, I’ll let you get back to your duties."

There was a shuffle and scrape of chairs as everyone stood up. The Admiral announced over the sudden chatter, "Commander Hawke. I’d like to speak with you a moment."

Jim, Frank, and Ben threw sidelong questioning glances at Hawke, but he shrugged his shoulders, until he saw the smirk on Max Snelling’s face.

The Admiral’s junior secretary hesitated. "I’ll meet you back at the office, Vivian. I’d like to speak to the Commander alone." She smiled pertly, picked up her things and left. Admiral Langolier waited until they were all gone before rounding on Hawke. "What the hell did you say to Snelling last night?" he demanded.

"Nothing, really. Just insinuated that I wouldn’t look the other way if he used his position to unfair advantage. From what I’ve read of his–"

"Dammit, Nathan! It’s not your job and you know it. Your job is to get them there and back safely. Stay out of his way and let him do his."

Hawke looked at the Admiral dolefully. "You said you wanted someone to lead."

"The hell with what I said!" exploded the Admiral. He took a deep breath, then exhaled. "Listen to me, Nathan. I’ve been on the phone all morning with the Oval Office defending you. The Oval Office! That weasel has friends in very high places. Don’t antagonize him. Listen, I picked you because I felt you were the best man for the job, and I still believe that. Don’t make me regret my decision. The success of this mission is paramount to our survival. Whatever it takes, we’re prepared to do it."

"Even destroy a civilization?"

"Don’t you dare lecture me, Commander. I studied world history before you could even wipe your own nose. Besides, we’re not talking about destroying anybody. We’re hoping for a peaceful colonization."

"Are you implying you have data to suggest there are intelligent beings there?"

Langolier set his mouth firmly. "I didn’t say that."

"Then theoretically speaking, let’s say there are, and they object..."

"I thought I made myself clear, Commander. Don’t think I’m sending you out there so you can throw on your ’underdog’ cape and save a bunch of downtrodden, bug-eyed aliens. Is...that...understood?"

Hawke realized this was not the time to push the Admiral any further. "Yes, sir."

The Admiral visibly deflated and his demeanor became instantly jovial. "Good. You’re dismissed."

Hawke saluted. He needed to get out of there before he said something else he might regret.

Once he had gone, the Admiral made a call on his UCD. He exchanged a few terse words. Afterwards, Martin Langolier sat down again in one of the padded chairs. He rubbed one calloused hand over his lined, tired face. He had a sudden craving for a smoke, but that would have to wait until later.

*****

Hawke found Lieutenant Johnson poring over electronic wiring schematics. Holodex of Ben’s wife and kids crowded each other on his desk. Hundreds of images cycled through a continuous slideshow. Holiday pictures. Videofeed of his kids playing various sports at different ages through the years. Wedding vidgraphs. Ben’s entire life from his high-school prom onward was documented in the multimedia that surrounded him. His family was the center of his universe.

"Hey, Hawke. What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

Hawke smirked. It was a never-ending game they played to see who could use the most clichés in a conversation. But Hawke wasn’t playing now. "I need to talk to you, Ben."

Johnson caught his tone and turned serious. He leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. "Shoot. What’s on your mind?"

"I’m having second thoughts about one of the crew."

"Let me guess, Frank, right?"

Hawke looked Ben in the eyes. "No." He saw understanding and then indignation flare across Ben’s face.

"What kind of crap is this? You think I can’t handle the VX-90’s TPX-based system?"

"No, it’s not–"

"You forget, my father worked for Neural Medical Imaging back when teleporters were first developed to remove tumors and what-not. I know everything there is to know about them. It’s practically in my blood. I don’t get it, man. I thought we were friends."

"We are. That’s why I don’t want you to go."

"I don’t–"

Hawke waved at the sea of streaming media encircling his friend. "Your family needs you, Ben. Your children shouldn’t be away from their father for as long as this mission will take."

At the mention of his children, tears coursed down Ben’s face.

"You don’t have to do this," Hawke said gently. "I can get Marcus instead."

"Marcus! That moron can’t troubleshoot the workings of his own asshole, much less a teleportation system as complex as this one." Ben stood up, placing his hands squarely on Hawke’s shoulders. "You’re a good man, Nate. You’re right. It’s been tearing me up inside at the thought of leaving all my little ones behind. Why, by the time we get back, my son Jeremy will be walking and talking. You’ve never had kids. You don’t know how magical it is to be there, to see those special moments. But...this mission, it’s different than anything we’ve ever done together. It represents the future, Nathan, our future – my kids’ futures. You see, in a way, I want to do this for them. I need to do it. I’ve spoken to Marissa about it and she agrees. She’ll be okay. She’s got our family and friends to help her. I guess what I’m saying is, I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather come along if it’s okay."

"There’s no one I’d rather have than you. You know that." They clasped hands and Ben pulled him into a fierce embrace.

"Thanks."

"No problem. In that case, I’ll see you in two days at the big event."

Johnson flashed him a grin. "It’s a date."

*****

"May I help you, Doctor?"

Dr. Hoyos jumped. "Oh! You startled me." She had been scribbling a note on his desk.

She was an attractive woman, probably in her mid-thirties, with dark eyes, long black hair, and a dark, exotic complexion. She had a cute, rounded nose and dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. She wore a casual business suit under her white doctor’s coat. She looked the picture perfect part of the young, serious yet compassionate doctor. There was even a stethoscope hanging around her neck.

"What’s so funny?"

"Nothing. I’m just hoping you’re not here to ask me to fill any jars or anything." Her laugh had a natural alluring quality. "What can I do for you?"

"Actually, it’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you. I’m sure you heard what I said yesterday about inoculations being up to date...? I was going over the vaccination records and I discovered you, Commander, have been quite delinquent in getting your shots."

Hawke grinned sheepishly. "What can I say? I’m not too fond of doctors. Nurses on the other hand..."

She planted her hands on her hips. "This is not a joke, Commander. I expect to see you in my office this afternoon. I have three corpsmen who work for me. If you don’t show, I’ll send them down here to administer the boosters the old fashioned way, if you take my meaning."

He held up his hands. "Say no more. I’ll be there."

"Good." She turned, then cracked a mischievous smile. "By the way, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the dinner. Last-minute family emergency. But from what I hear, you were quite the Casanova." She gave him a wink. "Do you know any Salsa?" Without waiting for a reply, she walked away. "My office, Commander," she called over her shoulder.

Hawke watched her backside admiringly. Finally, he settled into his chair. "Ay, Caramba!" he muttered, followed by a sigh. And Starling thinks I go looking for trouble.

*****

Ever the procrastinator, Hawke realized he had tons of last minute packing and miscellaneous tasks to do to put his affairs in order. He had his electronic mailing address canceled (since no one other than the engineers at Houston would be able to communicate with him) and his hard mail forwarded to his cousin outside of Pittsburgh. His apartment was provided and paid for by the military. When he left they would assign it to someone else. When he returned, they would arrange for another one.

A stack of boxes was arranged neatly against the wall. He opened the top one and pulled out a small metal frame. He cradled it in one hand and pressed a recessed button at the bottom. A video clip played across the screen. In it, a slender woman in shorts and T-shirt was holding a toddler in her arms. She threw the boy into the air, caught him, then spun him around, both of them laughing and giggling. Hawke stared at the screen for a long time. The woman pushed the hair out of her face using her thumb and forefinger (a gesture he achingly remembered) and then waved, trying to coax the boy in her arms to do the same; he did, then buried his head in her shoulder. Reluctantly, Hawke packed the frame back in the box with the rest of his clothing, personal items, and cherished belongings. The movers were scheduled to arrive in the morning. He made it a point to write "fragile" on the box containing his antique CD collection and player. The CD player had been modified to accept modern power sources, but to his knowledge, all the other components were genuine.

All his other items – furniture, kitchen utensils, sporting goods, entertainment systems, and the like were marked for long-term storage. When he was done, he sat in his recliner. "Computer. Living room. Lights out." There was a soft click and the room was thrown into shadow, broken only by the light that filtered through the window from the outside street lamps. Still, it had the desired effect. If he’d wanted, he could have had the computer lower the blinds to complete his isolation. Starling had asked him about going out on the town one more time, but in a rare moment of sober reality, Hawke turned him down, citing the need to tie up too many loose ends. Jim, as orderly as he was, had taken care of such things days ago.

Hawke thought about how much harder it was going to be for Ben and Frank to say goodbye. They both had large families, each in their own way, important in their lives. He and Jim had very little family. Both of their parents had passed away years earlier. Hawke didn’t have any siblings, but Jim had a sister who lived in Pennsylvania whom he was very fond of, and a brother who lived on the moon. From what he recalled, Jim wasn’t very close to his brother. The only correspondence they shared was an electronic card sent during the Christmas holiday.

Alone in the dark, the face of Hawke’s friend and one-time rival, Andrew Tomlinson, suddenly swam before his eyes. There were many similarities between the M83 mission and this one. Hawke had never told anyone, not even Starling, that the night before the launch, Andy admitted to having second thoughts about it – that something in his gut didn’t feel right. Andy felt, with all the excitement and media buzz, the top brass were rushing the planning of the mission; crucial safety details were being overlooked. They went out that night to talk about it, and several beers later, Hawke convinced Andy he was just being nervous – and if Andy didn’t get on that spaceship, then he would gladly step in and take his place.

Three months later, he was called into Captain Fuller’s office, the man who had taken command of the VX-7A squadron after Langolier had been promoted, and told they lost all contact with Tomlinson’s ship. A DSR was hastily thrown together and sent to their last known coordinates. When the accident investigators completed their analysis, they concluded a simple error in the collision detection algorithm had been responsible. The ship collided with a large meteor whose slow trajectory just happened to coincide with Tomlinson’s ship as it rematerialized. They further went on to state that a second meteor hurtled in front of the first, confusing the ship’s sensors at just the wrong nanosecond. It was a hundred billion to one chance occurrence, they said, but that did little to ease Hawke’s grief. Tomlinson, his crew, and the team of scientists they were transporting, were dead all the same.

To add insult to injury, it was later discovered the planet was uninhabitable. The scientists on Earth had misread the data. It had all been for nothing.

Next Chapter: Chapter 8: Lift Off