He Without Sin (2 page)

It’s not right. The words are wrong. I know what she’s saying but really she means ‘don’t leave me’ ‘it’s dangerous out there’ and ‘I may never see you again.’ I look at her and we are both silent for a few moments.

“I understand mom. It’s right for me. I’ll be careful. Dad is OK with it—you know that. And besides, you still have Tom here.”

“Now, look at Tom. He’s got a nice job at a big company.

He could get you in there I bet. What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong…? Mom, ask him, you’ll see. He’s not as happy there as you think. He’ll tell you.”

Mom continues fussing about the kitchen moving items on the counter that don’t need moving, brushing away crumbs that don’t exist, and turns to me. She just looks, then sighs, and finally says quietly, “All right, I give. Be careful. I love you.”

______

I spend some time alone arranging my things—a very few items are coming with me, most go into storage. Mementos of growing up bring back memories, each one. I remember the first time I saw these magnets. It was in a third grade class. The teacher didn’t give much introduction but simply emptied a box on to her desk. She picked up the items one at a time—a lens, gyroscope, magnets, laser pointer, and more—and talked about them giving a simple demonstration of each. She gave us a couple button magnets each to keep. It was that afternoon that I knew my career path. People have told me many times that it was unusually early for such a decision, but to me it was simple. I didn’t know the name of the field, or that it was a ‘field’ but my interest was piqued and it stayed piqued.

“Is she OK now?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. I can see it’s not an easy idea to get used to, but she’s OK.”

“It baffles me how much money is poured into these programs; it’s really beyond counting.” Dad fidgets a bit, picks up one of my paperweights, and handles it before continuing. “You’re going to do great, and have a time I bet. A real time.”

“You know, the payback is huge on the work the Academy and others have done out there. New worlds, vast resources…”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” And then, “I kinda wish I was going along. Care to trade places?”

It’s all settled. I’m leaving. It’s still not clear if Jared
will be accepted and even less clear if we will be
assigned together. No matter, I’m in. There’s a bit
of a learning curve, they say. I’ll be here close to
home at the Academy for quite some time learning
the ropes. We have to get exposed to specialized
equipment and procedures. There’ll be medical
stuff to cover too.

I’m going to try to keep an electronic version of this
diary—my log book, I should say. Once I find out
what electronics we’ll be using I’ll take it up again.

Mom’s concerns are misplaced. We sorted some
more of that out and she knows that I know that
she’s being a mom, and it’s OK. It is not like I will be
a pioneering explorer. Lots of people have gone on
missions—ground, space, and deep space—before. Not that it’s routine; but it’s been done and done
plenty. Not to worry.

Dad’s excited for me. I know he will want a blow by
blow description of it all when I get back home.

Academically Speaking

What could all these people possibly be talking about? I don’t get it; I’ve never gotten it. Small talk is a mystery to me. I find it hard to believe important information is communicated in this way.

It’s a big hall and jam-packed. Not surprising—it’s the last day of studies and testing for most and all the regular sessions are over. We are waiting only for the wrap-up in the big assembly hall and then … what? Then the last individual team meetings and goodbye to home for a long, long time. I can’t say that I’m not looking forward to it. Finally. Let it happen now!

A woman is sobbing. Or rather, one woman, of the type whose laughter sounds like crying, is laughing loudly a few paces away. I have to look at her to be sure and yes, she’s laughing, not weeping. One wonders what she sounds like when actually crying.

The dull roar continues. Really, how can anyone hear and follow a single conversation stream here anyway? For me it takes the utmost concentration while focusing on the speaker’s lips—then maybe I can follow speech in this environment. What would be a simple and effortless act in other surroundings becomes a monumental task now.

What is going on here then? There’s got to be a reward for the effort people expend to engage in this endless and continuous chatter. I heard an explanation once, that many people are insecure about their actuality. They need to get someone to respond to them about anything at all in order to know they exist, in order to prove they exist, in order to be relevant to someone about something even if the topic is meaningless and the interaction short.

I think instead they are insecure about their ideas or, equally likely, about their acceptance into the group.

Someone trained in psychology once tried to explain to me the concept of consensual validation. This room may provide a real world example, if I understand the definition correctly.

“Nice day, isn’t it?”

“Why, yes, refreshingly cool.”

“Do you think so?”

The translation, applying to
both
parties, would go:
Whew, I must not be hideous; he didn’t startle or
move away. I must not reek although he could be
hiding his repulsion for now. I must be speaking
correctly; I got an appropriate response, perhaps
even an opening through which to expand on
‘coolness.’ Maybe I have found a friend to second
my ideas, support me and enhance my value. At
the very least he accepts me as a possible equal and by extension the possible equal of anyone in
this room.

Yes, it has to be something on this order. That’s the reward.

How did it happen that I am not like that? Am I missing some valuable ability, need or skill? Chit-chat must sometimes lead to real communication, I would hope. And it sure seems that most people are comfortable with small talk. Where did I miss the boat?

A youngish, clean-cut man is approaching. Small talk test coming right up. I affect the same friendly smile as his and can’t help but think he is dressed for an important meeting, not as casual as the rest of us. It sure looks like our stranger—could it be I know this guy?—has business in mind.

“Excuse me, but are you Cadet Shipley?”

“Yes. I’m Jason,” I reply and look inquisitively at his clean-shaven face. I don’t recall seeing it before…

“I believe I know your brother.”

“Really, you know Tom? How did that happen? He lives and works a long way from here.”

“Yes. I just saw him a few days ago, before I left to come here. We work together at Ming Data. I’m Jeff Sanders.”

“Jeff…? Oh, yes, now I see. Nice haircut. Tom must’ve sent a picture or two of you guys.”

“Thank you. Yes, it’s me. The short hair gets everyone, it seems. I didn’t even recognize me at first. I have an interview this evening. At least I hope I do.”

I nod and smile, showing what I believe to be the appropriate amount of concern.

“But you know he’s leaving? You know he volunteered for one of our customer’s testing programs?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Who, Tom?” Jeff nods as I digest this surprise. “I had no idea. When did this happen?”

“Just happened.”

“I’ve been stuck with this group all week and will be for at least another few days. Even so, I haven’t heard from Tom in a long while. Last I heard he wasn’t happy there, but he looked like he was having a good time at the company picnic or whatever it was.”

Jeff continues, while scanning the crowd, “He sees this new thing as a real opportunity. Your bro’ is something, I’ll say that. No, he was not happy. Said he couldn’t take much more sitting in a box. Kept going on about limitations and boundary conditions. A real smart guy but no, not happy there. The change of pace will do him good. It’s a paid spot too and long term—a few years at least.”

We sidle up to the refreshment table and get a couple of soft drinks before Jeff takes his leave saying, “Hey, I’ve got to run. I’m going to try to do the impossible and corner Big Brachus alone,” nodding in the direction of a knot of men, indicating the tall one with a short military cut to his gray hair, “before he disappears tonight. Truth is, I’m not as Ming-positive as I once was either and would like to see if there’s anything else for me out there. I’ve heard some things about the big boy but I’ll try to ignore that.” He pauses, smiling, to see if I get the joke before continuing. “He’s been around and seems to be a player both in the Academy and in the outside. I hear he was at Ming long ago, before it was even called Ming.”

I glance in the direction Jeff indicates and take a good look at “Big” Brachus. I don’t know him but have seen him around. He is indeed big. He’s tall, but not extremely so, and big boned so that he presents a formidable mass. If you need to plow through a crowd, follow him. I wouldn’t say he’s out of shape but guess he enjoys his cuisine if you know what I mean. He has a sort of a wobble as he walks as if his spindly legs have a hard time keeping up with the rest of him.

He seems to be having a great time and is in the middle of a small group of men. His round face boasts a big smile as he participates in the give and take of the group. I see him lean in conspiratorially and say something to one person in particular, then lean back and laugh, his grin even bigger than before. Strange, the other person’s only reaction is to smile politely. Bad joke?

“Alright, nice meeting you and good luck. I’ll tell Tom we met. Say, what program is he going for again?”

“It’s the long-term survivability lab or some such thing. Not sure exactly. See ya,” as Jeff moves away through the crowd.

Huh, how about that. Real information from small talk— who knew? I’m going to strangle that Tom the next time I see him.

“Excuse me, did you hear the last announcement?” I say in a small-talk sort of way to a random person nearby while trying to re-focus on the evening’s agenda. After all, this is the last formal day at the Academy.

“Yes. No. I mean I heard the PA but didn’t pay any attention to the announcement,” says the non-helpful bystander.

Thanks a lot for responding. Valuable input that. I should thank you no doubt so you can know you are really real.

Or not.

Another voice responds, this one familiar. “Relax, I heard it. We are to assemble for the dean’s speech. It means we have plenty of time. Where can a guy get a cocktail around here?”

“Hey Mark. Didn’t see you.”

I had several sessions with Mark Arwyn. Not the introductory ones, but mission-specific ones and the technology seminars. Mark is experienced and has been out at least a couple of times already. He has the facial creases to prove it, although I am beginning to understand that they are mostly laugh lines. He has a slight limp but has never talked about it and I haven’t brought it up. Not sure how old he is and of course it’s nearly impossible to tell in absolute years, but he shows all the signs of middle age and a little beyond. I wonder if this will be his last mission.

Mark is quite a character. I have been using him as my go-to guy for questions but it hasn’t been easy. I mean, he’s a bit of a curmudgeon. He comes on that way at first at least. He certainly knows his stuff, and he expects you to know yours. I have to say that I envy the ease with which he interacts with everyone. He seems to know everyone and they him. He’s not shy with his opinion on technical matters and is not afraid to contradict or correct anyone, and I mean
anyone
.

“The schedule is way behind, as usual. Did they give a new start time for the speech?”

Mark brushes his thinning red hair across from right to left and speaks at the same time, “No. Because they don’t know. Once they herd everyone in, it will begin. They can’t start without an audience. Like I said, plenty of time.”

“Yeah, ok, but I’m heading in anyway. I’d rather sit where I can hear myself think. See you in there maybe.”

Interestingly, as I move away I see this Brachus fellow heading right for me through the crowd, looking right at me. What’s up with that? His face has lost its grin but has not been replaced with any other expression that I can read. As soon as he gets to a socially acceptable distance I nod, say hello and pull up to a stop, assuming we are going to greet and make the dreaded small talk. Instead, no response at all. After I stop he shifts his gaze, brushes right past me and moves away. What the…? I turn and see he is grinning and shaking hands with another of the senior men, one that I don’t know. Not that I know Brachus. And not sure I want to.

______

I sit way back in the hall; it is bright and filling up, but at least there is no social pressure to interact. I see I have no messages from Tom and send him a short text. “Dear job hopper. I learn from strangers what you are up to. Details please.” We have already received official comms units and I am still learning mine.

I spot that cute young woman with the short brown hair. I’m pretty sure she was looking at me, but not positive. I was in one multi-session course with her. She already had a partner in the lab and we never talked. Unfortunately.

Mark finds me and has a handful of snacks; he sits next to me.

“I’m looking forward to this. Can’t wait to see what he has to say,” I say.

Mark counters with, “This? You’re kidding. ‘Rah, rah, blah, blah.’ No new information. ‘You’re the greatest class ever, now get out there and give ‘em hell, etc.’ Been through this before. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t mandatory.”

“Say, I almost literally ran into that Brachus character a minute ago. Said ‘Hi’ but he totally blew me off and ignored me. First impression: seems like an ass.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my new boss that way!”