CHAPTER 10 “Trillium Project”
Sunday 31 July 2811
The mission briefing was held in a large plain meeting room next to the office of Gregor Pfalz, the Project’s Director of Communications. Gregor started the proceeding by introducing the others who would be presenting at the briefing: Project Ethicist Jacques Arnould, Environmental Director Margaret Race, Recycling Engineer Monika Grundig, Propulsion Engineer Zhou Yongxiang, Safety Engineer Louise Goldberg, Medical Director Maiko Chikyū, M.D., Exobiologist María Castro, Director of Mission Planning José Guzmán, Nuclear Energy Department Head Alain Juppé, Head Physicist Randy Johnson, and Mission Psychologist Gary Longriver.
As each was introduced, they nodded their heads toward me, and I returned the nods. I could not remember one name from the next but fortunately their names and positions were on the day’s schedule – both printed and downloaded to my opened e-pad.
When Gregor Pfalz finished introducing these luminaries, he announced, “Those of you who are not scheduled until after lunch may, if you wish, take your leave now but please join us in the cafeteria for lunch at twelve hundred hours. We have places reserved for each of you.” At this, about a third of the presenters stood and filed out.
The room again became quiet, Mr. Pfalz continued, “I would like to start by showing a few video clips I’ve collected over the years that show disastrous interviews and stellar.” He paused so that we could catch the pun. He picked up a remote control.
“Excuse me, Mr. Pfalz,” I interrupted. “¿Shouldn’t we wait for the others?”
“¿Others, Ms. Ramirez?”
“Crewmembers,” I clarified.
“Oh. It’s my mistake for not making that clear. The other crewmembers have already been subjected to our spiels. You’re our last … uh … victim.”
The meeting room reverberated gently with laughter for a moment as I felt my face flush with embarrassment.
I learned a lot from Mr. Pfalz and his videos. I recorded his advice about appearing with celebrity interviewers, how to deflect inappropriate questions, how best to respond to emails from strangers, and etiquette when out in public.
Then we role-played. That was a kick. Mr. Pfalz first pretended to be an obnoxious reporter. He literally cornered me in the room while he held an imaginary cam in my face.
After that he donned a wig and was Karen Chandar introducing me to her avid video audience. While I sat on a make-believe couch, she/he regaled her audience with patently absurd information about the Trillium Project and showered me with insipid questions. The one that garnered the most laughs was Mr. Pfalz asking in a falsetto, “We all admire you for being so intelligent and so well educated and more than a few of my video audience thought you would be the right person to ask what you thought about the future of panty liners.”
Then he was Winston Kearsarge of the Times of London quizzing me about the existential metadynamic of the quasi-deterministic heuristics of the mission. All in all, I had a great time and felt well-prepared to face real-world interviews.
After a short break, José Guzmán, Director of Mission Planning, took over from Mr. Pfalz. He gave us a little of the history of the ISTRI starship project. One fascinating segment of his presentation was on the naming of the starship itself. Since early studies pointed to triple redundancy for nearly every component and a transit time of 300 years, various ‘tri’ names were suggested for the Project. Some of the people laughed at terms that meant nothing to me, but I recorded them anyway: Trinity, TriCentury, Tribal, TriplePlay, Triton, Trilobite, Trifle, Tricycle, Trifid, Trifecta, Tripping, Tribble, Tryst.
It was narrowed it down to three. “TriPod” since there would be three living ‘pods.’ “Trillian” since that was the name of the woman who was the first human to travel between stars in Douglas Adam’s classic, “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.” I winced when Mr. Guzmán said that. I hate that book. Last year, Mrs. Bianca assigned that book to us in our Classic Literature class. We all struggled with the archaic grammar, vocabulary, and word usage. The idioms and allusions rarely made sense even after they were explained to us. It’s nuts that students are expected to study ancient texts.
“Trillium” won out for the flower’s three-fold symmetry, how well its bloom suggested a distinctive logo, and the mission could plant Trillium seeds on New Earth as a symbolic gesture of the continuity of life.
Dr. Guzmán continued with details on the extraordinary preparations to give the starship sufficient velocity to reach New Earth in three centuries and decelerate without overshooting the New Sol system.
He also briefly described the preparations made so that the lives of crewmembers would be as rich and rewarding as possible. That included continuous data transmissions in both directions during the acceleration and deceleration phases.
Finally, Dr. Guzmán described how New Sol was remarkably similar to Sol, our sun. Metallicity, spectral class, mass, and even age are nearly identical. He also summarized the research findings for New Earth: surface gravity, natural satellites, seasons, surface atmospheric pressure, partial pressure of oxygen and several other gases, temperature ranges at various latitudes, and extent of its oceans. There were even some data on its surface topography, wind patterns, wind velocities, and rainfall.
It blows me away that we have learned so much about a planet that is a tiny fraction of a light-second in diameter and exists 45.7 light-years away in Scorpio. Remarkably, our best information came from a probe that was sent out prior to the Neo-Dark Age. Fortunately, when the probe’s transmissions finally reached our solar system, the Neo-Dark Age had ended, and radio telescopes were again available to receive the signals.
I have to admit that the New Earth data made me feel a lot better about the Project, in spite of the fact that I would never reach there myself.
After a short break, Dr. Guzmán introduced Dr. María Castro who summarized our current knowledge of New Earth’s biology. Although far from definitive, spectroscopic data indicated that L-amino acids were by far in the majority over D-amino acids, suggesting compatibility with Earth-based biology. This boded well for eventually adapting native life forms for nutrition but increased the likelihood that humans would be suitable ‘food’ for indigenous microbial life. She stressed that it was almost certain that native biological material would prove to be toxic to the crew, but that genomes of the actual colonists would be modified to handle that. Dr. Castro also speculated on the evolution of larger life forms. She said it was entirely possible that large predators may exist there. She countered that threat with her confidence that human intellect coupled with technology will be able to manage such dangers.
She ended by stating that New Earth could very well already be populated with sentient life forms that would be as limited as humans were 4 million years ago or as advanced as we may become 100 million years from now.
And then it was time for lunch.
Exiting from the women’s restroom, Dr. Castro led me to the dining room which, to my surprise, held not only participants in the “briefing” [legitimately an oxymoron] but at least 200 others. I confidently started for the head table that unlike the others was decorated with flowers and fancy tableware. A photographer intercepted me part-way there. To my utter astonishment, almost everyone wanted an image with me. With my stomach growling, the next half hour was spent in front of a Trillium Project logo under bright lights, sometimes forcing a smile and sometimes honestly exuberant as image after image was made.
As I finally covered the few meters to the head table, the other five starship crewmembers and my mom appeared from the knots of people standing in the spacious room. Apparently by signal, the kitchen staff immediately emerged carrying trays of food; none too soon as far as my stomach was concerned.
Joining the six of us Trillium crewmembers at the head table was Gregor Pfalz, Senator-for-Life Klaus Mäkelä from Oslo, Senator-for-Life Asako Komiyama from Kyoto, and mom. Mom sat at my right elbow next to Senator Komiyama and Captain Perry sat at my left elbow. It was a pretty raucous lunch with silliness – Danika and Xingxing were devising a goofy starship salute – and jokes: ¿How many Trillium crewmembers does it take to change a light bulb? One, but first you have to thaw out the right zygote.
While we were still working on a caramel dessert, each of the Senators gave speeches laden with platitudes and unconvincing promises of support. Then Gregor Pfalz introduced me in glowing terms as the one who was selected above all the other candidates, etc., etc. etc.
He asked me to stand up and say a few words. Thankfully someone thought to put a dais near my chair. Standing on it put me – my eyes anyway – at about the same height as the top of Senator Komiyama’s head, who was seated. Although I could think of nothing original to say, I figured nobody truly expected much from a 17-year-old.
“First off, I want to thank each one of you for showing such hospitality to me and enthusiasm for the ISTRI starship project. My mother and I haven’t been here two full days yet, and already we feel at home and part of this unique community. I’m thoroughly and enormously flattered that you, and in a sense, all humankind, have put so much trust in me and in my fellow crewmembers. It’s like awesome.” Some chuckles lightly traveled through the audience.
“In the next few months I would like to get to know each of you personally, but that will be difficult given the training schedule that someone soon is going to tell me about, not to mention the occasional not-so-brief briefings in store. Thank you.”
The audience applauded vigorously as I returned to my seat at the head table. My hands were shaking a bit and my face flushed a little. I don’t think it showed.
Gregor Pfalz stood again. “As you and every conscious being on the planet knows, this young lady performed extraordinary feats of bravery and skill to save – and save successfully – the life of Makini Mtabe yesterday. I’m incredibly proud of my staff in the Communications Department for putting together a video that captures that amazing achievement.”
The windows darkened and the lights dimmed as a large screen descended behind the head table. I rotated my chair toward the screen. Incredulously, I watched as the entire incident played out; most in 2D but some in 3D. Cameras on both the Anchor Ship and its Tender captured the speeding boats. A sequence showed me peering through the binoculars. Then it cut to a view that seemed as though the camera were looking through those very binoculars. I inhaled repulsively as Makini Mtabe was shot and fell overboard. Then back to me, neatly placing the binoculars back in their metal container [¿I did that?] and dashing to the copter. A camera inside Tango Papa showed my hands rapidly and accurately prepping myself and the copter for flight. Then, my voice, “Tango Papa, emergency rescue operation, skip external clearances, lift off.”
Then came the explosion that I missed since the initial flash blinded me. Captain Mopele was probably correct in that the blue boat and the men were likely shredded. Even the somewhat distant white boat was thrown spinning and burning thru the air. The shock wave could be seen rippling the water’s surface at the speed of sound. The video even showed Tango Papa’s interior when the shock wave hit. It looked as though my head nearly came off my shoulders with the powerful blow. The audio caught my scream.
Re-living the episode seemed more exciting and dangerous than I experienced at the time it actually happened. Sitting in my chair watching this video exhausted and drained me.
Tango Papa was equipped with more cameras than a Hollywood studio. There were even cameras on its undercarriage that took close-ups of Makini Mtabe as he bled into the water. I stopped watching. It was sensory and emotional overload. I kept my eyes closed until I heard the rotors begin to spin down after alighting on the tender. The tall sailor had just set me on my feet. The camera caught my knees buckling and my grab at the sailor to keep from falling.
The view switched to a medical facility. On a bed lay a man with tubes entering his nostrils and entering his heavily bandaged chest. There also were bandages on his head where he apparently was burned by the blast. His eyes moved to the camera, he forced a pained smile, and he gave that same little thank-you wave. Tears gushed down my face with relief and thankfulness.
The lights came up. The applause and cheering were deafening. I stood and turned to face them, groping for my napkin through the tears. Captain Perry put it in my hands. I dabbed at the tears and although I was trying to smile, I’m pretty sure my expression was more of a grimace.
I sat down and the dining room quieted. Mr. Pfalz announced, “My department is preparing a version of the video with narration and other enhancements. We will release it to accompany the formal introduction of Project Trillium’s newest and youngest crewmember in a matter of hours. I guarantee you the video will go rampantly viral.” Then officiously he stated, “The afternoon sessions of the not-so-brief briefing will commence at fourteen-thirty instead of thirteen-thirty. Thank you all for coming.”
After shaking hands with the senators, I headed for the women’s restroom again. But much further down the hallway, I spied a diminutive figure with a shock of short white hair disappear through a doorway on the right. I strode past the restroom with the intent of learning what kind of problem Hvezda had with me. The doorway opened to two small restroom doors. I entered the women’s room and waited nervously for Hvezda to appear from the stall. The stall door swung open and her eyes briefly locked with mine. Then she looked to the side and said, “Your turn.”
“Hvezda, I can wait a bit. I followed you in here. I want to clear the air and find out why you are uncomfortable with me.”
Her glare returned. “I don’t have a problem with you, Estrella.” She paused a moment before she reached for the door handle, and repeated bitingly, “Your turn.” And she was gone.
Well, I certainly confirmed that she indeed has a problem with me. Perhaps I’ll get a chance to talk with Dr. Longriver, the mission psychologist about her … us.
The meeting room was buzzing with light conversations as fourteen-thirty came and went. At fourteen-forty-two, Mr. Pfalz entered, closed the door behind him, and was apparently wrapped up in his thoughts. He popped out of his trance, walked to the front of the room and addressed us. “At this time, I would like to introduce the Director of Communications, me, who will present the communications protocols for all of us here in Bulolombe.
“None of us directly receives any emails, phone calls, text messages, snail mail, packages, messenger pigeons, or telepathic communications.” I like the way he inserts bits of absurdity. “Since last evening, about eleven hundred emails were received for the five original members of your crew, Ms. Ramirez. Also since yesterday evening, nearly two hundred thousand emails were received that were intended for you or asking about you.” Looking at me, he paused and waited until my deer-in-the-headlights-look changed back to something more normal.
“The mail computer analyzed each as it was received. About a dozen of them from verified friends and family have been forwarded to your new personal email account within the ISTRI domain. Most of the rest were sorted by what requests for information they contained. Not a few requested your hand in marriage and dozens asked to take you to dinner and a holovideo.
“We’ve scheduled for you to sit down with Communications Department staff tomorrow and help draft responses to questions that require your input. The mail computer will then respond to the same questions from other first-time correspondents with the same text. Most of the email that the base receives is handled by the mail computer in this way, using stored text.”
“As can be expected,” he continued, “three of the emails were threats.” I was stunned. Someone in the room uttered, “Merde.”
“Two of the senders are now in custody but authorities concluded that the perpetrators lacked the mental resources to pose a genuine danger. Both had already been receiving anti-psychotic pharmaceutical and epigenetic tweaks. They will undoubtedly be held for psychiatric evaluation for a few days and will likely be released with some changes in their biomodulator programs.”
“The third email threat was sent via e-pad and signed ‘His Stewards.’ Our mail computer immediately alerted Peace Officers near the source location on the outskirts of Genève and the e-pad was found within minutes in a pocket of the rightful owner, an ISTRI scientist, Dr. Leonard Chin … who had been murdered.”
Bedlam ensued. Some people noisily pushed back their chairs and stood. Some covered their faces. More than a few immediately started talking but drowned each other out.
Gregor Pfalz stood dourly until the commotion had nearly run its course. He raised a hand, palm forward, and the room became quiet. “Some of you were close personal friends with Gary Esteban and many more of you worked with Gary before he was murdered ten days ago. A drone disguised as a crow was used to deliver explosives that ended Gary’s life.
“What most of you did not know was that an identical drone was used in an attempt to assassinate Ensign Estrella Ramirez just this last Thursday.” He paused until the reaction died down. “Due to timely intervention by Security, she suffered only minor scrapes.
“I knew Leonard Chin only as another vibrant creative ISTRI employee. I wanted to know him better. I know many of you will want to get together with your loved ones this afternoon or at least contact them, so after I bring you up to date on ISTRI’s responses to this situation, we will adjourn this briefing and schedule the remaining to a future date.
“Security has, of course, been elevated here and at ISTRI’s other three locations in the last few hours. As a side note, FSA decided to include similar measures for its cadet school; the one Estrella recently attended. Iris scans are now mandatory for all movement onto and off of the base. Incoming flights will undergo inspections at their previous stops or will be asked to land at Entebbe for inspection. The mail computer will be using a broader set of heuristics when examining emails that will, of course, result in a greater number of false positives. Please cooperate if you are asked to explain to my staff what you meant by planning a ‘bang-up party.’” No one laughed.
“We have arranged to lease a second system for analyzing radio transmissions in the vicinity of Bulolombe and the Space Elevator. It will be operational by Tuesday. The No-Fly zones have been expanded here and at some other facilities.
“That’s enough for now. You will be informed of developments. You will also be informed as to when this briefing will be continued. Thank you.”
Captain Perry and I left the building together and walked into the bright afternoon between base buildings.
“Captain, I’ve got a knot in my stomach. I don’t want to be part of the project any longer; not with people killing others just to threaten me.”
“Yes, Ensign. I can understand that. But it has little to do with you. It has everything to do with the Space Elevator and ISTRI. We all knew that ISTRI would one day be targeted by the Goots.”
“¿The Goots? ¿So that’s who ‘His Stewards’ are?”
“Almost certainly, although I’d never heard of a group by that name before. Cells of radical Goots form and dissolve as the leaders and members keep shifting to prevent being found. When a new cell forms, they sometimes use a new name. ‘His Stewards’ sounds fairly typical. ‘Servants of Heaven’ and ‘Purity Above’ are a couple of other names that I recall. My personal favorite translates to ‘Heavenly House Cleaners’.”
“But it’s different,” I reasoned. “Now this base is a target and they’ve stooped to murder.”
“Half correct. They’ve killed FSA personnel before and they’ve even killed in sending an email before, but they’ve never targeted ISTRI until ten days ago. It was bound to happen since ISTRI is more and more in the news as the launch date approaches.”
“¿So, you think His Stewards were the ones who attacked with the boat bomb?”
“Not likely. In the past it’s usually been a separate small cell behind each individual action. It wouldn’t surprise me if every member of the cell responsible for yesterday’s attack perished in the explosion; just as they wished. You see it’s deucedly difficult for cells to communicate with other cells without getting caught. A hierarchical organization would be near impossible to form and maintain.”
“¿Captain, Is that from hard analysis or is it wishful thinking?”
Captain Celeste Perry turned her head, studied me through the 45 years separating us, then turned her head forward again. After a pause of several seconds, she stated, “I see that you are good at a lot more than flying helicopters.” She said nothing more during the time she accompanied me back up to my house.