He Without Sin (3 page)

“Huh, what are you talking about? Your boss?” I look carefully at Mark’s face to see the usual hint of mirth but nothing more. There is a small crumb from one of the snacks he is munching on the corner of his mouth.

“Yep, he and a couple of his buds are going to be on our team. We all ship out together. Here, have some.” He waves a small bag of something toward me.

“Our team? Is that possible? The leadership mix has been set for ages, hasn’t it? Tell me you are kidding.”

“I wouldn’t kid you,” Mark says with a look that says ‘Maybe I would and maybe I wouldn’t.’

“So much for Team Dynamics, Compatibility Profiling, and all that crap. I don’t like it. I didn’t like the vibe I got from him—no warm fuzzies at all.”

“Relax, maybe I’m wrong. Anyway, I like him. He’s great. I was in a session with him.” Mark chuckles a bit and adds, “I couldn’t pin down exactly what his contribution was, but he looked and sounded great. Shhhh, here we go.”

I again wave off his offer of a snack. The lights have dimmed and I have a funny feeling in my stomach. In a low voice I ask, “Where did you hear this? From him?”

“Nope, gabbing out in the hallway. It’s the best place to pick up information. Now be quiet and pay attention; this is the part you wanted to hear.”

Short introductory comments are followed by the long and boring ritual of naming of all the graduates, their primary area of study, and any special academic honors they may have achieved. Inevitably my mind begins to wander and I begin to think about the future.

This is the end of the beginning and beginning
of…an adventure. No, never mind, I am not a poet.

It’s the end of training and preparation. Any
additional learning will be OJT as they say. This log
will serve as my diary and I will add it to my official
records of the mission somehow, but in a private
manner. The endless introduction of the graduates
and their accomplishments is interminable and…Mark is jabbing me with his elbow. Where was I? The real speech begins anon, poetically speaking. Can’t record now; more later.

The Devil You Say

As curious and disturbing as Mark’s comments about our team are, the dean’s portion of the agenda is on and of interest to me; my thoughts turn to the proceedings. Many, I would guess most, of the new Cadets have family present. I don’t. No matter, I will work in a visit with them before launch. They are lucky to be physically close to the Academy, except for Tom. Maybe he will be around too. Apparently I am not privy to his latest activities.

Mark has no one here either but laughs and makes a joke saying, “If you’d been through this as many times as I have, you wouldn’t be here either.” Although that doesn’t make any sense at all, I laugh with him.

Up front, I see Commander David Means, our fearless leader, pass by the dean and they speak briefly as he passes.

Dean Carson cuts an impressive figure. He is presidential in appearance; he should be in politics, where image counts for as much as, if not more than, substance. Not that the dean lacks substance, not at all. I have been impressed with him during my time here. When speaking in front of a group, he knows what he is about. He has the cool look of authority and uses it to good advantage. Black hair, in place. Dark suit, fits perfectly.

David Means is easy to spot; he is one of the few older men with a full head of wavy hair. And not short either— his hair, I mean. Long enough to raise an eyebrow or two when first meeting him but not long enough to create any lasting negative effect. Besides, the salt ‘n’ pepper coloring gives a sufficient aura of maturity to quell any suspicions.

Several of the team leaders, and I think they are the ones scheduled for departure on the longest expeditions, have a few seconds each with Dean Carson and then: “Welcome everyone; students, staff, faculty, and, not least, our visitors. We are happy to be able to share this brief time with you all together at the culmination of our current programs. As you visitors no doubt have learned at your orientation seminar, we have, as we normally do, a mixed group of both new graduates as well as veterans.

“Let me first address the vets. If you would please stand, yes, thank you, please stand while I say that you are one of the greatest assets we as an institution could hope to have.

No, more than that, one of the greatest assets our society as a whole could hope to have. You are scientists and pioneers, but you are also teachers and leaders. Your presence and contributions bring continuity and richness we would otherwise be without in our quest for a stable, responsible and secure civilization. Whether you are here to prepare for a new mission, or whether you are closing out your career and readying to return, for the first time in many years, to the general populace, we wish you well and again offer our sincere thanks.”

The audience acknowledges the standing vets with polite applause and the dean motions for all to be seated once again.

“Speaking of new missions, and certainly not to diminish the importance of shorter term projects, we have with us this evening those special people who have volunteered for some of the longest missions of all; missions that have a significant impact on our future and the future of generations to follow. Would our Deep Survey and Genetic Expansion team leaders please stand? Thank you. These are very special people indeed. We owe a debt of gratitude to these and to all of the teams and their families, past, present and future, for the sacrifices they are making.”

More polite applause as the team leaders acknowledge the recognition.

“Finally, we are pleased and proud to present to you the next generation of graduates, men and women whose dedication and performance will no doubt contribute positively to the long and storied tradition of excellence at our institution.

“These are the officers, the leaders, those who will shape the future of our society, some sooner, some later. They are the best we have to offer the world and beyond, to the limits of our civilization.

“We anticipate the accomplishments of this class and enjoy the confidence of knowing they will make us, their predecessors, their peers and their families proud to be among those who can say, ‘I know him. He is a good man. We know her. She is a good woman. They are the strong, the trustworthy.’ Please join me in congratulating them and wishing them the best of luck in the future.”

Dean Carson finishes by scanning slowly over the crowd during a hearty general applause. Afterward, he proceeds with his program by announcing some special service awards and recognition to a few outstanding attendees.

“Told ya. What a load of crap,” Mark says in his best dismissive tone when all was done.

“I don’t know. I liked it,” I replied. “Short and sweet.” Was it really that corny? I like that sort of speech. It wraps everything up and pumps you up for the future. All the impact and whatnot. Yee-hah. I guess not everyone feels the same way, in fact I know they don’t.

“Did you see your smiling face up there on the screen at the end?”

“What, me?” feigns Mark. “Oh, the ridiculous service award? If you live long enough, they give you an award. I don’t trouble myself with that nonsense.”

“I saw a couple other faces I recognized. I didn’t realize the select company I’m in.”

“Yeah, yeah, everybody’s a winner. How about that cocktail now? You in?”

“Sure, lead the way.”

______

We migrate to a nearby and familiar bar and find a dark, quiet spot to sit. Mark gives specific instructions for his drink. For myself, anything will do, I’m not picky. I have often repeated that the taste doesn’t matter, only the effect matters to me. Besides, I’ve had one of Mark’s drinks. It tastes horrible and I’ve told him so. His enigmatic classic response: ‘One is too many, two is just right, three is not enough. Have another.’

“Your drinking preference is unfortunate,” he says. “You are missing out. Say, did you notice big Wes B stood up when the dean asked the leaders to stand?”

“What? No. Again, you’ve got to be kidding! I’ve barely heard of him and now all of a sudden he is everywhere you look? Team leader too?”

“Not kidding. But I know for sure David is still our head honcho. Maybe Brachus has secured himself another team. That must be it.”

I have a hunch that Mark knows damn well that last guess is not true; that’s his style.

______

Of all people, I spot Jeff Sanders as we are leaving. “You were in the closing session?”

“No,” he says, “just hanging around. I’m heading back to work tomorrow.”

“Did you have any luck cornering Brachus?”

“Yes, I sure did. He was encouraging and said he would certainly try to hook me up before he shoves off. I hope he turns up something for me. Seems unlikely ‘cause he’s outta here soon, but I’m geeked anyway that he’s going to try. Talk to Tom?”

I shake my head. That positive report, however minor, removed a little of the dark cloud hovering over my mood after Mark’s comments. I stop myself commenting to Jeff about my annoyance with Tom when I see a pleasant sight.

“Jason?” she asks.

“Yes. Hi. How are you?”

“I’m Carol. Looks like we’ll be travelling together,” she offers as she extends her hand. I take her hand but she doesn’t shake, she just squeezes a little. “Are you leaving?”

Traveling together? Can that be right? I answer her question, “We were, just. I’m here with Mark although it looks like he’s disappeared already. Are you here for dinner? Drinks?”

“Sort of. I’ve ordered food to go and just got the text that it’s ready.”

We hold each other’s gaze for an almost awkward length of time; I try to think of something to say. We move a little to the side to let others pass.

Finally I say, “You were in the medical training,” knowing full well that it’s not quite the right thing to say.

She just smiles at first and then says, “It’s nice to meet you officially. I can’t stay. They just released the final crew rosters. I’m on the same team as you and Mark.”

“Really? Glad to hear it. I know they’re out, but I haven’t looked for mine yet. We’ve known unofficially whose command we’ll be under for some time but…” I let a couple more seconds pass in silence. “You have to run?” She nods. “We’ll talk more sometime?”

“Of course. ‘Bye,” she says breezily as she starts to move past me.

“Wait. What… what are you?” I ask as I try to keep our conversation going.

She turns back, looks at me for a second, then says, “I’m a woman.”

I smile weakly and blush at my verbal incompetence.

“And an astrophysicist by training. On the team, they’re calling me Navigator. Take your pick.”

“I see,” I say, recovering somewhat. “Well, we need one of those.”

“Which one?” she asks. With a wink and the slightest smile she heads in to pick up her order.

Personal log entry number two. I’m getting the
hang of this communicator now. It’s a universal
device; we all have them. It doesn’t have the
functionality I would pick for my personal use, but
it is part of the job and it is the latest
communication and computer technology. Gni-M model. Common name: genie. Can’t complain.

We’ve been assigned to man the Hobbe. It’s a
veteran craft recently refitted with the latest
gadgetry. Named after Commander Lillian Hobbe:
pioneer, leader, innovator, activist.

I’ve got to figure a way to link this log with the
main archiving system while somehow keeping it
private. Dates and sequencing will be all taken care
of.

David has scheduled the last meeting before launch
with the whole mission team and only the mission
team. Compatibility studies are out and rosters too,
like Carol said. Looks like Mark was wrong.

I overreacted to Mark’s comments, I’m sure. He is a
bit of an instigator. Likes to get reactions.

I’ve got a get-together with the family coming up,
and yes, Tom will be there. It’s scheduled for right
after the last of their visits to the medical
engineering center.

I’ve now got that Jeff Sander’s contact info, and am
hopeful to get a last update from him before we
are completely cut off. Not a big deal; just curious.

Shakeup

It’s all over now but the shouting as they say. So far so good, and no surprises. Myself, I can’t concentrate and am ready to go. This is my team, my mission family, and the mood is generally quiet and thoughtful. I do like this Dylan kid—where did he come from? Clean cut and personable. He seems a little light on the technical side, but did well in our sessions together. Already I see us becoming friends. Plenty of time for that later.

At some point you have to trust the compatibility algorithms, kind of like an arranged marriage but this way you get an entire extended family. Speaking of which, I’ve got to get out of here and see the real family before they all have to get back to their normal lives. But that’s wrong—it won’t be ‘normal’ at all anymore. Barring any accidents, they will be on this journey with me in a way. I can’t imagine how they pulled off these missions long ago with primitive medical technology. Coming home to strange people; everyone you knew long gone. Now the mission members and their families—that’s the key, the families— are all part of the Longevity Medical Program, or LMP.

David is just outside the room, visible by the open door, talking to someone. I am inside with the rest of the team, or most of them anyway. I don’t like this standing about; let’s get on with it. I am distracted by keeping an eye on Carol without becoming obvious about it. Where has she got to now?

“Lose somethin’ mate?” asks Grigor Bevan. I guess I’m being obvious after all. Grigor is the ship’s technician, charged with testing, tuning, maintenance and repair of the various shipboard systems. “You see it too, eh? They’ve gone missin’.”