Tuesday, March 19th, 20XX
Adolescence is a difficult time in the life of a human child. Especially so for Jacques Delende and his elder sister Sena, who were sent South to live with their aunt and uncle during that most terrifying of developmental stages—when Jacques was only eleven years old. For one so young, a new home means a new schedule, a new school, and the possibility of new friends.
Though, that final part proved difficult for him to realize. His new school district was mid-tier on the scale of residential wealth (the only scale that mattered at the time), and so the local middle school was large, and diverse in many ways. Jacques was a quiet child, and found it difficult to fit himself into any existing group. He tended to keep to himself, his focus on classwork and keeping his head down. He never wanted to be popular. And there were predators about, who fed on humiliation; relished in wielding the power required to inflict it.
Jacques knew how to spot such predators, but that didn't mean he always saw them coming. Flight, or numb boredom were his defenses when caught off-guard. One day late in his sixth-grade year, he was not the prey. On his way home, in a hidden place around a corner of the school building, he found group of girls (sixth grade was young enough here that these dynamics played out only within gender groups) crowded around one particular girl from his grade named Delinda Roshea, who was known for being 'weird'—standoffish, and especially expressive of her full array of vibrant emotions. This was very likely causal to this situation; Deedee's worldview, and some key experiences which influenced it, were not especially shared by her encircling peers.
The harassers used their words. In fact, they used a very particular word, which one might expect Jacques Delende to find especially upsetting… and it did. But without redress, wounds callus over—for one's own safety—why fight without the option of success? Jacques kept walking. His ears had caught the nature of the interaction, but he spared no glances back. Not even as the cornered girl lashed out in anger, and so 'allowed' the aggressors to hit with more than words. He didn't speak with Deedee Roshea much at all throughout his years on Earth. In fact, not long after this incident his conscious mind—the one he used to make decisions day-to-day—came to dislike her for her attitude. Her wide array of emotions, still shining bright as ever, soured; narrowed around bitterness. Jacques never found it difficult to identify and dislike bitterness, when expressed by other people. Sena's bitterness helped Sena, helped her clench her jaw and smile.
Middle School—the teenage years more generally—was a time of much new pain, where one was provided little wisdom or agency to help cope with or prevent it. People turning blind eyes in this way was a common occurrence all throughout human history. It is only reasonable to give pity to a child for it; to consider all the intermingling forces which made him shy away from helping a fellow person in need, before we judge him for that choice. But Jacques Delende had not forgotten. In his subconscious mind he kept a sliver of pain, impaled within his own heart: guilt. This was not an evil (except in the sense that it was small, and withered and unaddressed); its source was love, the only good. For all his flaws, Jacques did not—could not, maybe this was a flaw as well—he would never forget.
***
In his bed, Jacques sat up quickly. What was I thinking!? He clutched his aching head. I played along with all their stupid shit, and now 'Tomorrow' is TODAY! He wasn't opposed to helping people, or trying something to help this planet survive. But—fuck her smiles and her pOetRY—Kay's definitely gonna do something stupid… I have to stop her! For her own sake! This 'revolution' of hers, this club… and this morning, she was gonna bring Commander Jensen in. And she'll go along with it! Jacques thought with horror, because she's just too nice! That shouldn't be a bad thing—it shouldn't!—but you've gotta be smarter than that. Smarter than all of this! There was a time and a place, a proper way to go about this sort of thing, and Jacques could accept that secrets had their place as well. But not… not some stupid plan, not TODAY! He leapt out of bed and checked his holoband: 5:17. Alright, good. Jensen was also an early riser, almost certainly, but he could beat her to 168B. He dressed, checked his face in the mirror, and grabbed an orange from his mini-fridge as he left. I have to convince her to slow down… convince all of them!
By chance, Cori Jensen's path met with his, and she looked strange. Instead of her usual neatly-combed center part, her hair was a damp mess. Her spacesuit was rumpled in places, and by the worried expression on her face, it was fair to say that she was out-of-sorts. She called out to him: "Delende! What's all this about some Party last—"
"Commander!" Jacques rushed ahead to meet her. "It's… look, there's a lot. C'mon, we should go to the meeting room. They told you to meet there this morning, right?"
"Yeah…" she said, eyeing him. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"
Jacques looked around at the passing people, the edges where the ceilings met the walls. "I, um, just c'mon," he said. They went.
Cori whispered to him: "Seriously, Delende, y'all got me spooked. What happened yesterday—what's wrong?"
"Just—" he said, "just sit tight. And… Kay's wrong, is all you gotta know. Her whole… urgh, just take what she's saying with a grain of salt. We've made some discoveries—there are some things you've gotta know—but I don't think she's right in the head…"
Inside room 168B, there were already a few people gathered. Kevin, Kay and Livvy, of course; but also Fred, Lt. Carson, Randy Porter and Ensign Ellison. More are probably coming, he thought. They two deposited their holobands in the special drawers, and he made for Kay.
Kay Farris stopped him with a shushing finger, and stepped up to the Commander. "Cori," she said, "let's talk." She took a seat at one of the tables; Fred and Kevin sat down around to her. Jensen looked around confused, and sat as well, opposite the Doctor. Jacques looked at all of this, and took a seat by his Commander, as did Carson.
"There's some shit you've gotta know," said Kay. "For one: this mission of ours, mining Thrascephemium, it isn't gonna stop, not for just about anything. OCM's plan from the get-go was to mine it all, if they can manage it. Before we came here, my people and I ran some calculations, found that this planet is dense enough with the stuff that mining even 45% of the total mass would be enough to destabilize the entire planet's tectonics. And that's not all: the Thrascephemium crystals put off radiation, which the plants here use for power; that's why they're always stuck to the crystals, or at least near them. And the Kepharines harvest that same radioactive energy for their own survival; that means with no crystals, there'll be no plants, and all the Kepharines will die." She narrowed her eyes. "All of them."
"We knew this from the start as well," she continued, "or at least, we strongly suspected it. OCM sent Commander Michael Forster to scout this planet, as you know… they've known about the Kepharines since before we got here. So that's it then: if the Mission goes as planned, this planet will go extinct." She clasped her hands and stared at Jensen silently.
Jensen swept all the others with her eyes. "I'm not sayin' I doubt ya, Doctor Farris, but you got evidence for this?"
Livvy walked up to the table and laid her old physical tablet on it before the Commander. "Whatever you want," she said. "OCM memos, all Bio's data about the life cycle here, and the geological calcs. Maybe you're not a STEMlord like the rest of us, I can—"
Jensen raised a hand; Livvy went quiet. She studied the tablet intently, scrolling, pinching, reading close. Wolstein entered the room, removed his holoband, and regarded the proceedings solemnly.
After minutes of tense silence, Jensen sighed. She handed the tablet back to Livvy, and said: "Alright. I get you. Still you should… we all should bring these concerns up to Admiral Branford. He's a reasonable enough guy. I mean, won't exactly look good on him if the whole planet dies 'cause of us. And I skimmed that paper you did about a 'sustainable option'. Farmin' the Kepharines, and the crystals and whatnot. That'll sound a lot better, to them and folks back home."
Kay knit her brow, lips pursed. "Cori," she said, "there are no good CEOs."
"Huh?" said Jensen—she chuckled in dismay. "Whaddayou think this is, some cheesy kid's movie? He's just up there twistin' his mustache while he builds a puppy-kicking factory? Whaddayou mean none, he's just a fuckin' guy, it's—"
"None," Kay said. "It's about incentives, not just choices… it's about selection. A decent person wouldn't ever be able to be a CEO in the first place—it isn't allowed by the system itself, think about it: every dollar of profit they make, every zero in their salary is a dollar they aren't paying their employees. And these multinational—multiplanetary now, heh—these giant corporations, with profit margins in the billions, how many people do you gotta squeeze to get there? They've got a reason to take as much, and work people as hard, and pay people as little as they can; profit is their highest priority. Nobody who put anything else first ever became a billionaire—they couldn't. Think about slavery, it's—"
"Slavery?" Jensen rolled her eyes and smirked at Jacques, who was staring blankly at the table. "…C'mon, you're really gonna pull that card?"
Kay stood angrily. "It's all part of the same scale! Their profits depend on workers doing the most, and paying the least… what's the least you can pay someone? And when's it easier to push them harder, work them to death, than when they've got no rights? When you're allowed to 'own' them!?"
"Same scale… look, Doctor Farris, I got no love for slavery, but even if you're right—things have obviously gotten better since that ended. I'm not stupid enough to be anti-union, or—"
Kay slammed the table with her palm. "Slavery wasn't outlawed! Seriously, read the Thirteenth Amendment. It says 'No person can be forced to work against their will… except as punishment for a crime.' 'Except'!"
"What, so…" Jensen scratched her head. "Yeah, criminals… I mean, uh, they gotta repay their debt to—"
"Oh, come on," Kay groaned, "it's a loophole! You think it hasn't been taken advantage of? The 'War on Drugs,' why do you think the government was so excited to criminalize smoking weed? More bodies in jail, more 'criminals'… right this minute over 40% of the prison population's incarcerated for 'Drug-Related Offenses'. And most of those bodies are black… hell of a coincidence, huh? LBJ said it himself: potheads were mostly hippie guys and black people, the perfect 'radical' targets, and the black boys didn't have rich parents to bail 'em out! And now… now there are private-owned prisons! But why; what businessman would bother owning a prison? They're for-profit prisons, and where do you think they make those profits, huh? Well!?"
"But it's not—" Cori frowned, sighing. "Look Farris, I know things are fucked up. People can be shitty. But you're comparing James Branford to slavers, hah, I mean… hey, Delende, what's going on with you?" She turned to Jacques, who was upset, his eyes hollow.
Kay leaned over the table, glaring. "He's an Owner. That's what the Thirteenth didn't get rid of, and an Owner's gonna try to Own whatever he can. Sure, things got a little bit better, by our blood sweat and tears… and outsourcing the slavery to 'third world countries,' where Good Respectable White Folks didn't have to see it… but they can get worse again too. They are getting worse; what about climate change?"
"Climate Change?" Cori scratched her arm. "What's that got to—I've seen OCM's Sustainability Metrics. Branford himself even endorsed—"
"Gestures!" Kay shouted. "Smoke and mirrors—it's all fuckin' PR! Just like 'philanthropy,' they make billions using billions of poor people, then they give away a few hundred thousand to some feel-good band-aid charity (or hell, even that might be a shell company scam)—like that adds up to 'doin' good'! Sure, maybe it makes them feel better, if some withered little husk of their consciences survived climbing the corporate pyramid. But it's more about placating us fools; they kill the world and eat it, then toss us a couple scraps! Now the Earth is dying—burning! So our Owners, their Endless Growth, these wasteful fucking hoarders gotta find another world to ruin, and another and another, until there's nothing left to burn!"
Cori eyed her. "So, what… you're some kinda radical socialist? This is all Capitalism's fault, all the problems of the world are just down to—"
"They'll leave us behind," Kay said, glaring coldly. "US, not you. No, oh-hohoh, if I was white like you, maybe I could've been a socialist, or a liberal or whatever. But things are heating up—it is That Bad, and getting worse—so I'm stuck being a Communist, because I've seen the future: Capitalism will kill us all one day, but my people—the working poor, the Lesser and the enslaved, the native peoples who can't escape; in the Americas and Palestine, Africa and Australia and India, anyone living near the Equator or by the sea, closest to the burn—it's all too happy to kill us first."
Jacques clutched his head, as in his mind these connections formed a larger shape, and many truths did coalesce:
He saw the hist'ry, welded, cleared of oily myst'ry,
Glist'ning, moving ever forward; whist'ling, grinding,
Ever longer now unwinding, stitched across the lands, over bodies and the bones;
Who knows—forget Those—we aboard must never look back,
Coal-black bullets into our smokestacks, power us; and wherever there's a space impale new tracks.
And the pain, the suffering of all his people: People, stuck accepting they're unequal, diesel
—Self-combusting for the motor keeping them feeble!
Told of evil in any other aim and binded, blinded, bolted to the interlocking LIES
—Still spoken, so the people all stay broken; artless, heartless, cut apart and wailing,
Failing, to stay together-bound and ailing,
Wors'ning, forced to brook the violence, cursing
At only whatever the twenty con-duc-tors allow.
Cutting people further, then into the burner; hiding to escape the hateful sound.
Silenced, never wishing to start list'ning, missing—life is gone, the steam keeps hissing,
Whisp'ring: "This is how it all must be,
"You won't survive if you choose people over Me!"
It was an Engine, not made to be hot or hateful;
Useful—built to serve the ends of the abuse-ful,
Fruitful to anybody coldly hurtful: "If you wish to tread,
"Keep your head, on the better side of the blood-lined tracks, you must:
"Break them or, you will be broke(n), dome's just fine, ignore the chokin',
"Breathe in deep yeah let the smoke in, you'll be scared if you're a-woken,
"There is nowhere else to flee and there is nothing else to be—
you shouldn't ever want to see you don't need eyes to work for Me, yes
"I'm eternal serve your Master kill it all and ever faster,
"There's-no-other-goal-but-size you're-low-and-i-CAP-IT-AL-IZE—
FleshWarmthAndHatredAll-Is-DustSoONWARDS!ONWARDS!CANCEROUS!!!"
…
So the Earth dies, all is kindling; plenty more soot for the plumes,
Swallow trees, moons, oceans, progeny: we might make cents of the doom,
And the Engine it just carries on, there's no fuel it won't Consume.
Roaring, charging forwards!
There beneath your feet!
Lies a tool that could serve any end, but humans kill more than they eat,
Feed Machine not borne of metal, but in fires of desperate greed,
And its Progress brought ┌THE ENDING┘, by its Promise:
"People Freed"—
"From your chains," …if you can clap five others into chains,
"From all fear," …the engine will take care of you,
"From our mind" …those others, couldn't love you anyway,
"From the pain" …when you break down and shut your eyes—
From the Truth: that our world was BUILT a pyramid,
A MACHINE; all people made to fear its grind.
When you yield, and serve it, you are ground down anyway.
We are only what we're working towards, and its permanence The LIE!
…
Makayla's heart it held no empty hate; her hidden truth a desperate SCREAM:
"Humanity becomes a casualty, IF WE DO NOT BREAK THIS MACHINE!"
"It's not—" said Jacques, "It's—it's not possible… it's everyone, everyone trying to live, everyone with a gun, the lies… it's…"
"Delende, what're you talking about?" said Cori. Makayla just shook her head.
Kevin Choi stood up and walked around the table to Jacques. "Incentives," he said. "But Jacques: we face the incentives too; hopelessness isn't the nightmare. There was always hope, always something we could do, and we didn't. That fear is killing us: not that we're powerless. We aren't, and never were. WE are responsible."
"But there's no—it's everyone!" Jacques said, dismayed. "Everything, every bullet and every dollar and every belief, the most powerful men in the world… even our own survival instincts, it… it is hopeless! It's impossible!"
Kevin's eyes were wide. "We are animals; it's only rational for us to prioritize survival—to shy from immediate danger. And we are people, who can see the future and conquer fear, for hope of a better one. The only one, with our species on a profit-driven collision course with extinction." He extended a hand to Jacques. "Each of us who fights makes the future more possible. Join us."
Jacques took the offered hand, and by its assistance stood, stood tall. He met Kevin's eyes, and then they were allies. People, stronger together, in mutual trust and love. There was strength in the hand of Kevin Choi, strength which came from confidence; a sure commitment to something larger than himself. This passed from him to Jacques Delende; a gift, or maybe a curse.
Kay leveled her eyes at Commander Jensen. "You don't believe it," she said. "Or maybe you do, but can't accept it yet. I will do as you suggest: offer my expert opinion, provide an out to the Admiral—who has all the power to stop this—that he might accept a reduced profit. A Sustainable Alternative, which would provide this planet a chance to live." She held up Livvy's tablet screen, which now showed a map of the complex. "My own quarters are south of the Auditorium; South, so a right out the East door, and a left out the West. He will congratulate me for my discovery, then send me with escorts 'back to my quarters'. Then when I go, and when he discusses the matter covertly with his Most Trusted Employees, you will see the truth."
"Whaddayou think he's gonna do, exactly?" Cori asked. "Dismiss you out of hand? You're smart, friendly and a respected Expert. You think he's just gonna get rid of you?"
"He'll do what men like him always do," said Kay. "Everything he can get away with."
"And if it isn't legal," Livvy added, "they can just change the laws. Get 'bailed out'. They got the power to do that now; that's what we've allowed ourselves to work for."
"So what're you—" Jensen shook her head. "…Dr. Farris, let's talk in private for a minute here." She stood, and tromped around the table, and pushed Kay along into room 2; with a grunt, Fred followed them.
"Kevin," said Jacques, "what are we going to do? What's the plan?"
"You'll see," said Kevin. "Let Kay and Cori worry about that. For us, for you and me and Livvy, Plan B is more important. Livvy!"
She opened a new page on her tablet. "Jacques," she said, "The Destiny keeps all recordings from the security cameras, on its VDR; the Ship's Manifest. And it's a Black Box: nothing can be removed or overwritten. No matter what happens today, that information needs to get out. I'm going there, to the ship, and I want you with me. I can burn copies onto some thumb drives, just in case… they'll be better than nothing. Might even be able to add some things to its logs; the OCM internal memos and more about the life cycle here. But the Manifest needs to get back to Earth, without OCM getting a crack at destroying it."
"Okay," said Jacques." But… 'Plan B'?" He looked at both Kevin and Livvy in turn. "What's Plan A? Even if we're just going to the Destiny, I wanna know what else'll—"
"Cori's gonna take command of the whole mission," Kevin said. "With any luck, that'll hold; we can just get out without doing any more damage. And… we're gonna scuttle the ship, once it's landed. Should throw a wrench in things, least for a while."
"Take command… Commander Jensen doesn't even seem like she's 'in' yet," Jacques said. He looked into room 2; Kay and Jensen were having what looked like a frank and wide-eyed discussion. "And with so few of us, are we sure that'll hold? I mean, most of these people are loyal to OCM—to Branford—or at least to getting paid!"
Kevin sighed. "Let them worry about that. It'll be tight, hence Plan B. The more we can do the better. There's Security onboard the Destiny, and they have weapons. I'm not sure we'll be able to take command of them—they aren't part of N&S for a reason, and… they have guns. If things go the slightest bit south, it'll be a race to the finish line, and that's why we have Livvy here. There's also computer-operated turrets in panels along the walls here… Livvy."
She held up her tablet. "The panels look like this," said Livvy—they were slightly inset into the white walls. "Oh, and here's what the Manifest's compartment looks like." She held up a complex diagram, then swiped to display an image of the console where the device was held. It was clearly on the Destiny's bridge. "Memorize that. I've already got an in on the turrets, and when we go hot, I'll set them to fire only at Security and Companionship. Also, they might try to cut signals in here, as part of lock-down procedure. My signal will still work, but it might be… damped. I'll need to be, I dunno, thirty, or as few as five feet from the panels to keep control over their auto-revert protocol."
"Okay, hold on," said Jacques; his head was swimming, "you're saying you expect things to go badly, and that we're gonna be in some kinda shootout with the Security guys?" Porter, Falworth, Lt. Carson, Ellison, Wolstein, and some new arrivals (Bly and some E&R guy) were crowded around the table, looking shocked.
Kevin and Livvy shared a nervous glance; he shrugged. "Hope for the best, expect the worst, right?" he said. "Oh, and that's another thing!" He removed a folded piece of paper from his spacesuit pocket. Jacques realized now that everyone here, himself included, was wearing their outdoor suits. "There's another team on board. Three from E&R: Dudley Phillips in Bio, Farrah Hamadani in Software, and Akash Jangra in ElectricEng." He held up the paper, and along with a trio of very familiar faces: Kay, Kevin and Livvy, in a triangle, there was also a triangle with a man with long blonde hair—'Dudley Phillips,' a woman with short black hair (and Jacques realized this was the same swept-bangs woman from last night, with the helmet)—'Farrah Hamadani,' and another man with curly black hair and a knowing smirk—'Akash Jangra'.
The full names of their three, Makayla and the others, were written out as well, and Jacques said: "Livvy, your name's Olivia, why's your ID plate got… and wait…" He squinted. "Dudley?"
"I know, right?" said Livvy, smirking. "Oh, and why not? I'm Livvy; not like these H.I.T. fuckheads could say no to me, right?"
"No, but…" Jacques pointed; as Kay was the top of her respective triangle, so too was this Phillips guy. "He's the leader?"
"Yeah, I know," said Kevin. "But he's in; he's in deep. And Farrah doesn't really like to lead, least not… yeah. You can trust all three, no matter what they say to you. Remember, the cameras are probably gonna stay on. If shit goes really wrong, word'll probably get out about us. Their condition for their help, and us jumping the gun today, is that we can't let on they're with us. Listen to them, and accept their help; trust them, but act oblivious as you can. They'll be doing the same."
Carson nodded. "What's three more?" he said.
"You know them," said Livvy, "but in the future, if anyone else ever asks, you won't. In fact, that goes for all of us: you don't know anything or anyone. Remember your Fifth Amendment! Never speak to The Law!"
Jacques turned to Carson, whispered: "Where's Pérez?"
"Manny's in," said Carson sternly. "He had a long talk with McNally here last night. Think it helped keep her sober…" He grinned at Livvy, who frowned back at him. "But he knows what he's gotta do."
"And Dani?" asked the Falworth guy; Porter looked at them too, expectant. "Where's she at?"
Kevin looked into room 2, and Jensen's messy hair. "Ask Fred," he said, "or Cori, for that matter."
Falworth looked between Kevin and Jensen for a long and puzzled while. "She's gay?"
Jacques stared at him, then smiled. "Isn't it ob—"
Jensen came barging out of room 2. "Delende, with me!" she barked. She pointed with two fingers and kept walking past him, halted at the door at stared back at him.
"Commander, I uhh…" He looked back at Livvy and Kevin.
"Go ahead," said Livvy. "Looks like I've got Raif to get things set up to the ICC. If things go wrong at the Auditorium, I'll find you on the way to the Destiny."
"Find me!? Commander, I'm not sure—"
"You're good, Jacques," said Kevin. "Oh! And one more thing." He took out yet another piece of paper, with pictures of two more faces. "This is Sarita, and Marjorie. They're with us too."
"Marjorie?" Jacques eyed these faces too, the full names: S.G., M.A.; and neither was above the other, no clear 'leader'. "And… two? Only two more?"
"No, it's…" Kevin sighed. "You'll see. When we all get there. Go, your Commander is waiting."
Livvy grinned at him. "We have all sorts of friends," she said.
Jacques spared her one last glance before he hurried out to join Commander Jensen. They grabbed their holobands and went out, marching down the halls in silence for a minute or so.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Auditorium," said Jensen. "Dr. Farris has a presentation for us. Gotta stop by my quarters first, get fixed up professional-like." She ran fingers through her hair.
***
Daniella Suarez slept well, and slept late. She awoke at around 9:23A.M., and was somewhat surprised to find herself alone in her own little bed. Her muscles were tired—the good kind of tired. She was tired in general. Gonna have to wash these sheets. She sniffed. Gonna have to wash the whole fuckin' place. But she couldn't spare any real anger; smiled placidly. And maybe… maybe again some time? Spend a night in her luxury suite?Time… wait, what time is it? She started collecting her clothes. Shit, I gotta get to work! Where is that fuckin'—
She found her discarded holoband, and checked it.
***
"Wait here," said Jensen. She went into her Commander's Quarters, shut the doors behind herself. Jacques was alone in the hallway. And the Auditorium wasn't far from here; they were already on the second floor of the complex.
This gave Jacques time to think. Livvy, she's… how are we gonna make this work? Why'd I let them send me off without telling me the actual plan? He clenched a fist. Alright, alright, we've gotta be smart about this. Take command… Jensen can do this. Just gotta, hmmm, what would she even say? God—she's In, right? She left in a hurry, but Kevin seemed to be okay with it…
Alright, either it's good or it isn't; nothing I can do until she comes back out. But Livvy, how am I gonna find her, the Destiny? He began to pace back and forth in the hallway. We're gonna take the Manifest out, then what? Or… can we get the Destiny moving? And what about everyone else; our people, all the people? ICH has ships, it's what, two-hundred-ish people here? Should we leave them the Destiny, even if they're cooked, or… and what about Dan, and Jackson and Steward? And the Kepharines we picked up? Aw, shit… shit… He tried to piece everything together in his own head; in time his mind harped on a pattern: Auditorium, help her take Command, good. Shit goes bad; Livvy, Destiny, Manifest, follow her. If… if she doesn't make it… get the Manifest, try the Destiny, then go to ICH. I've got a ship there, and Jensen has her Marlin. And I could pilot just about anything, Cheetahs are the hardest. Auditorium, Manifest, ICH. Auditorium, Manifest, ICH. He stayed there for several minutes, his own intentions sharpening as his sanity frayed.
Jensen came back out looking fresher, and with a small tool-belt on. She didn't stop moving as the doors closed behind her; just waved Jacques on, and they both went.
Cori smirked. "It's bullshit, double meanings and… sly little…" She frowned. "All that stuff about 'I'm stuck being a commie,' she wasn't talking about herself. She meant that I should—" She snapped her mouth abruptly shut, then turned to Jacques, whispered: "Is she right? Is everything… linked like that? Capitalism gives us all 'incentives' to destroy the planet, destroy each other? 'Everyone,' we're all bound up in it?"
"I don't know," said Jacques, wide-eyed. "I… I don't know anything. It's not—" He sighed. "I'm just not sure."
"Well that's just fuckin'…" Cori scratched her cheek. "…What'd she say, like he's gonna kill'er, or something?"
"Her quarters are South, so that's a right out the—"
"I know, goddammit!" Cori was breathing heavily. "And something to his 'trusted employees,' like I'd be told about his Evil Scheme. What's the point, anyway, what's the fuckin' point!?" She scowled. "Look Delende, there's some serious bullshit afoot. 'Poetry Club,' hah, they've been puttin' this together from the jump, mark my words. I could hardly say whether it's more evil to stop 'em or join 'em…. Maybe you're right, and who the fuck knows? Fuck it!"
Jacques stopped short. "No," he said. "She was talking about herself. And me, and everyone who… 'First World.' The center of The Empire."
Jensen stopped and turned, frowning. "So what," she said, "we're fuckin Jedis now?"
He shook his head. "Maybe that's… shit, I don't know… I just don't know!" He pressed his temple and carried on down the hall.
Commander Jensen grabbed his shoulder from behind; he turned. "Listen Delende," she said. "I sure as hell don't know either. But it's about havin' your people's backs… no matter what I do in there, or don't do, or… or whatever happens, you gotta promise me—"
His face softened, and he focused a serious look on her; their eyes met. "I know that you care, Commander. I'm with you, come what may."
She sighed. "No you moron, I'm sayin' stick with those three. And Fred, and whoever else. They might not be right, but they're tryin', risk and all. That's… more'n you can say 'bout most people…" She frowned bitterly and tromped on past him.
Jacques Delende faltered. I think they are right, and so do you, he thought, but what good's 'trying' if you don't succeed? We've just gotta make sure that this goes right, but… okay, we've got the Commander… how're we gonna do it? She's gotta be careful, but firm, she's gotta—we just need to think this out, use the right leverage… He realized he'd been left behind, ran on and shouted: "Commander!"
Cori Jensen stopped at the doors of the Auditorium. Jacques caught up to her, panting. She said: "Shush, Delende, we've gotta act normal."
He lowered his breaking voice. "What did you two talk about in there, I mean… what's the plan exactly? Are you gonna—?"
"Those three," she said firmly. "Show support, and mean it. I get people." Her eyes were hard. "Eyes up, ears open, poker face, and sometimes a step forward's more important than mud on your boots." She opened the door.
"Wait, what—" But she was already dragging him inside. People were milling about; Fred and Falworth were already here, representing C&E on the audience floor. Jensen and Delende went up onto the stage, where the heads of E&R (Jacques was pretty sure his name was… Dr. Schmidt, or something?) and C&E (Wayne Bradley) were already standing and waiting, talking to their own people. She stood at quiet attention, and Jacques followed her lead. But, he thought, but what are we doing!? I've just gotta—
Attention, Destiny crew, came a voice from above. We have a very exciting announcement today from our cherished Associates in Engineering and Research. A brand new discovery, that may change the very course of human history. That's no small matter, so put your hands together for our very own Admiral James Branford!
Branford walked out, hands raised waving, accompanied by his assistant, the red-and-gold-clad female head of Companionship. "Hello, welcome to you all!" he said. His suit was crisp black-and-gold, his eyes smiling softly. He stood at the front of the people onstage, with the Companionship head and Dr. Schmidt on his left, and Jensen and Bradley on his right. "We all have plenty to do, no more time to waste! Let's have a round of applause for our very own resident 'Biolo-genius': Doctor Makayla Farris!"
Kay entered, with Wolstein. A large wedge-shaped holoscreen projected from the ceiling, which gave a view to both those onstage and the crowd before them. The applause was vigorous, especially from Fred. Jacques tried to clap with the sound of the crowd; he didn't want to be heard as an outlier.
"Good afternoon, everyone!" Kay shouted, smiling.
There was a return call of: "Good afternoon!" and Kay Farris frowned.
"Aw, come on," she said, "that the best you've got!?"
Jacques smirked. And they all, including that Companionship woman and Branford, smiled and shouted louder: "Good afternoon, Dr. Farris!"
"Alright, that's what I'm talkin' 'bout!" said Kay. She pressed a button on her holoband. "Now, we at E&R have been working tirelessly—even over the weekend!—to learn whatever we can about this wondrous planet Kepharon. As you know, my associates and I discovered and cataloged alien life on this planet; the First that humankind has ever found!" There was another round of applause, led by Branford.
"But we're scientists," she said. "We're not just content to know they exist. We wanted to understand the Kepharines—all life here—what makes them tick, what they eat, how they interact with each other. Well, Destiny crew, I'm proud to say that after five tireless days of research, five sleepless nights of genome sequencing, behavioral analysis, and dissection, we've put it all together!"
She pressed her holoband again, and a diagram flashed onto the screen above. "May I present to you: The Wolstein Cycle, named in honor of this man to my right, Doctor Verne Wolstein, the ecologist who solved this incredible puzzle. You see, beings like you and me, from Earth, don't necessarily need food—we just need energy! Power, for your cells, to make your heart pump, and your brain send signals to your body—so you can move at all! Back on Earth, as hopefully some of you know—" She grinned. "—plants get their energy from the Sun—we Botanists call that 'Photosynthesis'—and then animals like cows, or even vegetarians…" There came a few chuckles from the crowd. "…turn that energy—sugar, or starch or whatever else—into energy of their own. So that's the cycle back on Earth: Solar Radiation, into plant cells, maybe into animal cells, and then back into energy for us. We like to call plants on Earth 'autotrophs,' because they make their own energy from the sun, while animals like cows are 'heterotrophs,' who depend on plants, or other heterotrophs for their energy. Heterotrophs much more energy, since they actually move around all the time."
She advanced her presentation to the next slide, which showed a star much like the Sun, a Thrascephemium crystal, purple plants, and a Kepharine. "You might think the Kepharines, who like to squiggle around on those tentacles of theirs, are heterotrophic too; the plants suck up energy from this world's sun, and the Kepharines feed on them—of course, right? But we've discovered that isn't the case, not quite. The Crystals here were the key to our discovery; we needed mineralogists and geologists to understand this planet's energetic life cycle. This star—Kepharon's Sun—plays a role, with its solar power. And the plants here are purple, which means they can't be quite the same as Earth plants; photosynthetic Chlorophyll in an Oak Tree—in all plants—is green, because it absorbs most colors of light—most light energy. We thought maybe Keph's plants absorbed all colors except purple, with their own specialized structures similar to Chlorophyll… but we were wrong!"
She moved to a slide with just a Kepharine, and its cells viewed under a microscope. "This was the critical discovery: Kepharines have structures in their own cells which are remarkably similar to Chlorophyll! You see, these aliens—these creatures capable of locomotion, sight and feeding—they can photosynthesize, they alone! The plants cannot! But how, how can they get enough energy from just the Sun?" She looked around; everyone was confused, waiting for her answer.
"They don't!" she said with excitement. "The Thrascephemium crystals have their own, unique radiation—they might also absorb solar power, but they're putting lots of their own unique radiation out; we all know that. The Crystals; that's where the plants get their power, their nutrients! You see, the Crystals themselves are part of the life cycle—an inorganic part pf the energetic relationship here." The crowd was awed.
"But that's not all," she said, smiling. "This was the critical piece: decay! On earth, when an animal dies, or even a plant—like a big tree—the chemical energy from their cells is absorbed by organisms, that's how they decay. Mushrooms, or bacteria or other microorganisms eat them up. And we've found some alien microorganisms which clearly do this, but there's another in this complex relationship. The body of a Kepharine contains a tremendous amount of energy—chemical, even radioactive. We've discovered—this closes the cycle, and it's most incredible of all—that new Thrascephemium crystals grow in the places large groups of Kepharines die.The crystals—inorganic matter—function like a decay agent! They are 'the mushrooms' here!" She looked around the room. "So? Why does this matter, why am I so excited to bring you this information? Think about it. Between star-power and dead Kepharines, this planet grows new crystals. And I know of another star, one much closer to home…"
James Branford was the first to applaud, face shining with excitement. "Dr. Farris," he said, "you mean to tell me, we might grow new Thrascephemium crystals back on Earth? A renewable source of them—Thrascephemium farming?"
"Indeed," she said, turning to the crowd, "It'll take time for us to understand all the intricacies of this energetic system, and get conditions for Kepharine farming just right—we all know the atmosphere is different here, and the temperature and everything else. But yes, Admiral, I believe we can. Who would we be, as scientists, if we don't dare to try?" The whole crowd applauded at this, E&R most loudly.
"Splendid!" said Branford. "Dr. Wolstein, Dr. Farris, the whole Biology department… you all will be receiving bonuses for this, if you can replicate the cycle and prove its efficacy! I'm so grateful to all the researchers I've brought along—no doubt Engineering and C&E will be happy to provide you whatever you need in terms of material supplies and assistance." He led the crowd in another round of applause. "Kayleigh," he said, and stepped aside.
The Companionship head, 'Kayleigh,' stepped up to the front. "Yes, everyone," she said. "This may be the most important day of our voyage… or at least, the most important day yet. Whatever any of us can do to help E&R make Sustainable Thrascephemium a reality will be appreciated. But today, we'll have time to celeb—"
"But that's not even the best part," said Kay. She turned to face the crowd on the floor now, smiling in a most friendly way. "You all know that we're not just here for research. There's so much work to do on Kepharon; you've all been working hard. Until today, our engines have used what scraps of Thrascephemium we could find, and done away with the refuse Thrascite particles. Now we might be able to reuse them; to 'recharge the batteries,' you might say, using the Wolstein Cycle. Still, there is much Thrascephemium in this planet and the orbital bodies near it, not just on the surface; all throughout the planet there are resources up for grabs, and we're here mining it, mining efficiently, more diligently even than the public projections supposed. At E&R, we've been running all sorts of calculations…"
Out of the corner of his eye, Jacques saw Branford and Dr. Schmidt share a glance.
"We have discovered a number," said Kay. "That number is a proportion: forty-two point three. That is, 42.3%. Between Geology and Applied Physics, Mineralogy and Environmental analysis, that's the number, a hard limit, and here's what it means: if we mine 42.3% of the Thrascephemium on this planet, we reach a Point of No Return. Shortly after we hit that figure, Kepharon's crust will destabilize, and in time this planet—and everything living on it—will die. We might have a few more days to mine, even after this Point of No Return, but that's it: 42.3%, remember that number. Your life might depend on it." She spoke faster now: "The lives of the Kepharines certainly do; we've been running tests, and while they're inconclusive so far, we've already seen their habitats decaying, and mass starvation; we will be driving these creatures to extinction, and all the plants, long before we reach 42.3% total Thrascephemium mass extracted. Our mining is killing this planet, just like we're killing—" The microphone in the neck of her suit shut off.
Kayleigh stepped to the front of the stage. "Yes, thank you for your opinion Ms. Farris. There will be plenty of time to discuss specifics in the coming weeks."
The crowd was in commotion now: worried murmurs and suspicious stares up towards the stage. Branford pushed the air down with open hands and smiled, saying: "Calm, everyone. We're examining all possibilities, including the worst case scenarios. Dr. Farris and I will discuss the matter of Sustainability personally; though, perhaps this isn't the best place to do it. We don't mean to worry you all!"
Kay stared daggers up at the stage. Jacques felt the heat of her eyes on his own face. She turned to the crowd—
"Yes Dr. Farris, we will have to discuss this more, with our beloved Dr. Schmidt as well!" said Branford, his mouth a gentle frown. "We, haha, we'll have many more findings to share with you all in the coming weeks. Dr. Farris, thank you very much for putting that fire beneath us, and giving us much to work towards. That bonus of yours is already set, and more still when you figure out how to establish Thrascephemium farming, as I'm sure you will! My star scientist, your brilliant young mind—Companionship will provide you whatever you need today, and we'll be meeting again soon. I want to listen to you!" Companionship employees joined Kay and Wolstein, and accompanied them in leaving the Auditorium out the East door. From there, they all turned left. Jacques set his jaw and glanced at Commander Jensen, who was absolutely silent, her eyes ahead.
"She has so much to provide, to humanity!" said Branford. He cleared his throat. "A prodigy, we all can see, who deserves the rewards before her. The celebration!" The room was still tense and uneasy. Jacques himself was certainly on edge, but tried to hide it. He noticed Fred, and the man was struggling yet more: his face was still, and probably convincing enough to these corporate fucks, but Jacques could see the outrage in his eyes, beneath the placid mask. He noticed Jensen extend a hand out from where it lay at her side; flat, palm-down, placating. The gesture meant: 'hold on'.
James Branford nodded back at Schmidt. "Well now, Doctor, it seems our crew is ill at ease by the danger Dr. Farris spoke of. Is this true: will our work do irreparable harm to Kepharon?"
Schmidt shrugged nervously. "That old 43 number was done using a 200 times Factor of Safety. What that means is… it's exceptionally conservative. 'Above and beyond,' you might say."
Branford laughed heartily. "Two hundred!? I should hope our bridges back on Earth aren't built to hold two hundred eighteen-wheelers… how wasteful would that be, am I right? Now, Devin, I'm no mathematician, but I can guess that this doesn't mean we're truly safe to mine 900% of this planet's Thrascephemium."
There were a few scattered laughs, but most people looked around nervously.
"Hah, no, Admiral," said Schmidt. "We at E&R recalculated using a 4 times Factor of Safety—that's still quite conservative… maybe too safe, though I'm sure Medical wouldn't love the phrase—anyway, at 4x S.F., we have a hard cut-off at…" He glanced at his own holoband. "…93.82% mineral harvesture. And you'll recall that Thrascephemium only makes up a small fraction of the planet's crust and mantle… so that's truly a very small proportion of the crust's overall mass."
"Ninety four!" Branford laughed anew. "My, that seems almost too high, and four times over-safe is higher than even the most risk-averse engineers use. What luck! Why, we were going to stop at sixty… leave some for the next trip, eh? But I suppose now we can stop at eighty—and that's that! Better safe than sorry, right Doctor?"
"Excellent idea, Admiral Branford," said Schmidt. "Gotta consider the future too. Sustainability." He eyed the crowd, which still seemed skeptical.
His mic off, Branford leaned back to Dr. Schmidt and muttered, too quiet for the crowd to hear, but loud enough for Jensen, and Jacques: "How about this farming business? That gonna work?"
Schmidt opened his holotab and scrolled it, muttered: "Dr. Farris' figures are compelling. Renewable Thrascephemium would be an invaluable innovation, absolutely invaluable, especially if we were the first and only."
"Alright," Branford muttered back, "We'll try that too." He turned his mic back on, raised his voice for the crowd: "And of course we'll be bringing specimens of all the native life back to Earth for study! Ah, we have so much more to—"
There was a bright flash of light, and a strange electromagnetic noise, as a television antenna might make when struck. Commander Cori Jensen had jumped out to the front of the row onstage, and now held her yellow-lensed 'flashlight' in her right hand by the perpendicular protrusion of its T-shaped handle, so that the lens—now hot and glowing—faced to her left, towards the stage's center. James Branford looked down at his own chest, where now there smoldered a new, tennis-ball wide cylindrical hole where one there had been black spacesuit, sternum, skin, diaphragm, lungs, and whatever other bones and organs beneath. If one—as Jacques was, from his vantage—were to look at him at just the right angle, they could even see the opposite wall, now scorched with a new hole also, through Branford's chest. He coughed dryly and fell down dead.
"What the fuck… Jensen, what in God's name are you doing!?" cried Wayne Bradley.
Jacques stood perfectly still, mouth as agape as almost everyone else's. Oh, SHIT!
Jensen eyed the other department heads, then turned to the crowd and shouted: "Alright! I'm takin' command of this here Mission, seein' as honest leadership is in short supply. You all know that I'm good-humored, and try my best to keep things going the way they should, close as I can tell it. I've seen those figures Dr. Farris mentioned, and you all just saw them get brushed aside real quickly. Lemme tell you, ladies, germs, and they/them/therms, that number—42.3%—was accurate; dead-on, and no 'two hundred times too cautious'. This planet crumples and dies well before their friendly little 'sixty percent,' and never mind eighty! Course, this Branford Do-nut here and the rest of his cronies would hop out before it all blew. They can say what they want, but they know. They've always known. Might even take you with 'em, if you behave, but if they didn't, if they missed a few, who would notice? 'Price'a doin business, whoops!' I believe our little Ark of Destiny would even fit a few of the Kepharines, the plants, the microbes… two by two, nice and biblical." She snorted. "Still, figured I'd avert this flood, on the notion that maybe someone's gotta stand up someday to stop the fire and brimstone back on our own sad little rock, before we burn our Mother Earth all the way down."
The Companionship Director, Kayleigh, stepped out sheepishly to the front of the stage. "Cori," she said, "This really isn't—"
"I ain't done yet," Jensen said, waving her 'flashlight' at the woman; Kayleigh stepped back and seemed to wring her hands behind her back. "Now," said the Commander, her attention on the crowd, "I know y'all might have some questions…"
The people on the floor were dumbstruck; there now rose a cacophony of mumbling and grumbling, and angry shouts towards the stage, of: "Ya dumb bitch!" and "What the fuck is happening!?" and "How're we gonna get paid now!?"
Commander Jensen bit her lip. "Yep, that's the big one. Spose I should rip the band-aid off: you ain't getting' paid. Not on this Mission anyway. My people already got control of the ICH and the Destiny, and we're ready to scuttle n' strand us all if things go south. Seein' as they won't, what's gonna happen now is a Rapid and Unscheduled Departure. We're packin' up and packin' out, and only what's necessary: people are our first priority, and only what things you need; no problem if some crystals or equipment get left behind. That's an ASAP. Now—" Without turning her body or head, Jensen reached her right arm back and shot a coil of plasma through the head of Foreman Bradley, who was walking quietly behind her, and seemed to be about to speak. Everyone gasped anew, and then fell silent. His corpse hit the stage heavily.
Schmidt blurted: "Jesus, Cori, how could you—" but he gulped abruptly silent when the Commander waved her weapon towards him.
Director Kayleigh stepped out, more confident this time. "Alright Destiny crew," she said, "everything is going to be alright. This whole distressing incident is being addressed for you. Please remain calm and—"
"Addressed?" said Jensen. "What've you done, Miss Johannessen?"
Kayleigh Johannessen turned to her. "Commander Jensen," she said, with stern professionalism. "On behalf of the OCM Board of Directors, you are being relieved of duty. Security is on its way to ensure a safe and equitable resolution for all parties. Now please, don't make this any har—"
Jensen shot Kayleigh Johannessen through the heart; the red-and-gold-clad woman's face contorted in sudden shock, and her body slapped against the floor. "Security, got it," said the Commander. She looked down at the huddled group of Companionship employees on the floor. "Now, you red-belly bitches, how many on the Security team?"
They were all staring back at her in shock, in wide-eyed terror, conspicuously silent. "Huh?" one man said.
"Ugh. I ain't got all day," said Jensen. She shot that man through the head.
"…Sixteen!" one terrified and shying employee cried, her eyes shut tight.
"Heh," said Jensen. "They all got 'coward' on the C.V., first thing in big bold letters, fuckin' snitch rats." She tapped her chin. "Alright, sixteen. Now, the rest a'you I got no problem with. Can even empathize; I sure as hell wanted to get paid. You know what they were gonna give me, once we finished? Thirty-five million, and I fuckin' love this job. But that just ain't what it is anymore; maybe someday it won't have to be."
"Are you fucking insane?" cried one man from C&E. "Someday!? They're gonna—"
"Ap ap ap," said the Commander, waving her 'flashlight'. "There's exactly one page here, and we all gotta get on it together, pronto. Show'a hands: how many of you people actually like… err, liked your bosses here?"
Many N&S hands shot up, several from E&R, and even a defiant few from C&E. Fred frowned at these men, stink-eyeing.
This is all wrong! Jacques thought. They aren't 'on the same page,' they're just scared! Security is on its way, half these people would sell her out to save their paychecks… or just outta spite! We're running out of time! He clenched the side of his suit, but stayed quiet and still.
Jensen put a hand on her hip. "Mmm," she said, "and how many'a you C&E hands would kill Mr. Bradley here with a fuckin' shovel if it put an extra million on your paycheck?" There was a pause, then few hands went slowly down. "Uh-huh. Crabs in a bucket… or rats on a sinkin' ship, if you prefer. But this job just got easier; everybody gets home safe if we all just do our part to make the boarding call. Tonight, 7pm, we're out, and there's plenty'a space for everyone… maybe we even leave some Cheetahs behind, just in case we forgot someone. Hell, when we get home, you can even steal a ship, or whatever, as compensation for your troubles. We've—"
The West doors opened and there was an immediate hail of laser-fire, up towards the stage. Commander Jensen twisted, jumping, and tackled Jacques to the ground. Several people—including some who had nothing at all to do with the conspiracy—took deadly laser fire to their bodies. Dr. Devin Schmidt took a shot to the arm, screamed, then took two more shots to the body and fell down, mouth and eyes hanging open.
The Commander had taken some shots too; in a pile of corpses and injured, crawling people, with her on top of him, Jacques could feel Corinthia Jensen's lungs fail. Wheezing, eyes half-open, she raised her ring, middle and index fingers to point at Jacques. 'Three'. She died.
Jacques raised his eyes over the pile of bodies. On the floor, tables were flipped on their sides; people falling, groaning, dying. Fred led some of the people (Ellison was there too, and Pérez and others Jacques recognized from Poetry) in finding cover and pushing towards the door. Some people found tools, and other blunt objects. All the while, the volley of lasers droned. He looked to out the west door, the black-clad Security guards. Then he stared at all the bodies, Jensen's last of all. He picked up her 'flashlight'.
Jacques Delende was actually a pretty good shot. Even before training he'd done plenty of practice. The Security guys had black helmets with black visors, over black spacesuits with only a few touches of dark gray. He shot two, and the rest ducked back out from view of the door.
So there was a moment of quiet. Many people hunkered down where they could find some semblance of safety; others jammed up the East door. Fred called up to the stage: "Jacques! What the hell do we do now!?"
"Plan B," Jacques Delende said in a cold and even tone, projecting. "We get information out, and as many people as we can." He crouch-walked over to the western wall of the stage. "Destiny first, then ICH." He knew Security would try the West doors again, tried to speak to Fred and Ellison more quietly: "Get up close to the doorway, imma try and lure 'em out…"