CHAPTER 14 “Leaving Earth”
Tuesday 6 September 2811
My hand is still sore and bruised where they removed my I.D. chip. They made quite a mess of it but at least they used enough care to prevent an infection. The new chip is in place and barely a mark remains there, about a centimeter from where my original chip used to be.
I am lying awake in the pre-dawn. The soreness makes it difficult to sleep, especially with Caleb. When I’m not rolling onto my right hand and waking up with pain, it seems as though he manages to bump it with the same result. But it is so very pleasurable to lie next to him as we did that one night back in his apartment. The warmth, the aroma, and the sensation of my skin against his, bring unparalleled satisfaction. The sex is more than satisfaction; it is everything. Sometimes our coupling is athletic, sometimes languid, sometimes playful, sometimes intense, sometimes I lead, sometimes Caleb, sometimes we meld to the mutually imperative poetry scripted over the eons, and sometimes we just give and get pleasure without climax.
This morning he leaves me and returns to Nooshan; from my embrace into hers. I admit to being conflicted. At one moment I’m jealous of her and the next I’m grateful that she paid his way here. She’s stupid for letting Caleb fall into my arms but she’s brilliant for letting our affair play out and lose some of its fairy tale veneer. Caleb’s a wonderful companion but not a peer in education nor in motivation. Our tastes in music have very little overlap and our political stances don’t mesh at all. And as my future narrows to a fine-threaded trajectory, his future is a broad world of amorphous visions and possibilities. The filaments of our shared lives will begin to twist indelibly apart this morning.
The alarm sounds in the darkness and I wait for Caleb to silence it. He does. He turns to me, embraces me, and we indulge ourselves in a final coupling complete with sincere words of affection, of promises, of eternal treasuring.
Mom already had breakfast ready, of course. “Good morning, you lovebirds. A pod parked itself outside but there’s plenty of time for an omelet first.”
“Mrs. Ramirez, there’s no good way to thank you for all you’ve done for me, for us.”
“You’re wrong there,” mom answered. “In a few weeks I’ll be back in Sagerston and you can invite me over for dinner. ¿Does Nooshan cook? I’m very fond of Middle-Eastern cuisine.”
“Mom!” I exclaimed. “Caleb has his own life to lead. He doesn’t need to be forever enmeshed in ours.”
“Oh, I’m not suggesting I move in with them, dear, only that they could invite me over later this year for dinner.”
“We’ll certainly do that, Mrs. Ramirez.”
My temperature is rising. I feel like scolding the both of them. ¿But for what? I must be experiencing something just below the surface.
We finished breakfast, gulped the last of the tea, and loaded the street pod. Caleb turned to mom and gave her a goodbye hug. Reaching the gatehouse, Tommy greeted us, scanned Caleb’s eyes, and unabashedly watched us as we kissed our longest ever. Then Caleb was back in the pod, out the gate, and down the road to catch the ferry boat.
I gave Tommy a little wave, climbed into a spare pod, carefully put my sore hand near the sensor, announced, “Ramirez residence,” answered “Yes,” when it asked, “Do you wish to go to the Ramirez residence,” and folded into myself in the effort to understand what had been happening to me. ¿What can I make of feelings of relief, as tears of sadness roll down my face?
The pod stopped and announced, “Ramirez residence. Watch your step. Uneven pavement.” I climbed out feeling heavy and tired. The front door was open for better ventilation. Mom was in the living room with her e-pad.
“Hi dear,” mom greeted me. “¿When do you plan to leave for the Anchor Ship? Your friends will be arriving at 15:45.”
“Mom, we need to talk about some things.”
“Fine dear. ¿What is it you want to talk about?”
I sat down next to her. “You know how you … uh … invited Caleb to stay in my bedroom.”
“Well, dear, I thought that’s what you’d want.”
“OK, mom. Let’s say that my desires influenced your decision, but I think there’s more than that.”
“Oh, you know, Estrella, the two of you had already … been intimate, so I saw no harm in that.”
“Yes, mom. I can see that as well. ¿But there was something else, wasn’t there?”
Her light mannerisms evaporated, and she glared at me for a moment. In a terse voice she asked, “¿And what do you mean by that, Estrella?”
“¿Mom, what do you think of Noah’s parents, Jeanne and Lisa?”
“¿And what do they have to do with anything?”
“Perhaps nothing; perhaps everything.”
Mom looked at me thoughtfully and answered, “I think they are wonderful people and they’ve raised a very good young man.”
“¿But?”
“I’m not sure if this will come out right,” mom said. “¿But couldn’t they have been more conventional?”
“And by conventional, you mean heterosexual.”
Mom froze; she even ceased breathing for a few seconds.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, mom, but you are concerned … uncomfortable … with Trillium’s crew being all female. You would like me to view myself as heterosexual and avoid … romantic liaisons with other women. Perhaps you’ve even heard crude references to Trillium’s dykes in space. Well, mom,” I paused long enough to be certain I could continue without anger, “you know I’ve always bristled at attempts to pigeonhole me. That’s why I try to be ambidextrous, why I swing between being a tomboy and a princess, why I am who I am. And I resent your attempts to get me to climb into a tidy pigeonhole for your own self comfort.”
Mom’s gaze was steady and her face hard, but a betraying tear worked its way down from her right eye in fits and starts.
“Estrella, I think it would be for your own self comfort as well.”
“Thank you. I realize you must think that, but from now on, if you have thoughts about what is best for me, you will tell me upfront instead of manipulating in quiet. And I view your insinuating your life into Caleb’s life as manipulative.” Whew. I managed to get it out without sounding too angry.
Mom sat glaring at me then looked down at her hands in her lap. We sat without moving for a long minute. The intrusive sounds of a plane taking off crescendoed and faded.
Mom spoke as though she were talking to someone else in the room. “I suppose there are precious few parents on Earth who don’t feel they know what’s best for their children, no matter how grown they get. Letting go – trusting they won’t burn a finger on a hot stove; trusting they won’t fall for old scams, for destructive lovers, for empty promises – doesn’t come easy for parents; for me.” She looked up at me. “When the time comes, I hope it will be easier for you.”
“Mom, don’t let go and don’t trust that I won’t make mistakes – maybe big mistakes – but be upfront and honest and not manipulative. No more MomDroid. ¿OK?”
“OK.”
“Mom, it’s a beautiful day outside and there are several lovely trails with wildflowers in bloom here on base. ¿Will you join me?”
“Not until I finish packing a picnic lunch.”
I waited nervously on the catwalk next to the retractable jetway as the space elevator car descended slowly into the hangar. It stopped. The sound of an elevator bell rang out and a voice announced, “Space Elevator, Ground floor, Planet Earth.” The jetway extended toward the door of the passenger pod.
My crewmates were the first off and they mobbed me. For possibly not the last time, they saved my life. Sitara hoisted me up and put me on her shoulders and off we went through the steel maze to the shuttle boat with everyone interrupting everyone with stories about their collective rescue project.
Thursday 8 September 2811
Two days later, we – the Trillium crew and a bunch of friends from the base – are sprawled on blankets and pillows outside our house, sipping soft drinks, banana beer, and wine. Danika is playing her guitar for all of us; she is really quite good. Stars and Saturn decorate the moonless sky. We are waiting to watch the launch of a rocket carrying propellant for Trillium. It’s about five times heavier than Trillium itself will be at launch time. We will catch up to it about ten months from now.
The Federal Space Agency was broadcasting the launch from ZERO Station but with the clear sky and warm weather, we opted to watch it naturally. After all, it would launch from directly overhead.
Mom brought out another plate of cookies and sat down next to Xingxing and me on the blanket. “So they’re sending off tanks of fuel for Trillium but Trillium won’t leave for months yet. ¿Won’t Trillium be going faster when you catch up to it?”
“We certainly hope not, Mrs. Ramirez,” Xingxing answered. “You see, this rocket will soon shut down its engines and take a detour by way of the Interplanetary Transport Network – the ITN. By using Lagrange points and gravitational assists, it will take a while to get into position to fire its rockets again to match velocity with our ship.”
Mom laughed self-consciously, “That makes no sense to me. ¿What on Earth is the … Interplanetary whatsis?”
I answered this time. “A spaceship can get to a location by just firing the rockets and aiming there and that’s what our ship will be doing. But another way is to fire the rockets for a far shorter time and aim for some planet. When the ship gets there, it can use the planet’s momentum, and maybe another rocket firing, to slingshot it to a higher velocity and aim for yet another planet. It can take years longer but a lot less fuel. All of the possible paths keep changing as the planets keep changing position relative to each other. Those paths are called the Interplanetary Transport System.”
“All right,” mom said. “Now I know why Estrella’s been studying this in school. It sounds complicated.”
“Oh, it is, Mrs. Ramirez,” Xingxing said. “¿Did you know that a ship 25 times as big as this one launched from ZERO about five years ago with tanks of propellant for us? That will be our last fuel station on our way to New Earth.”
Someone turned up the audio on her e-pad. “… eight … seven … six … five … four … three … two … one … ignition.” Danika put down her guitar.
Straight above us a bright line as thin as spider silk shot across the black. It was blue and white and lavender and it appeared to stay fixed in the heavens.
“¿Why isn’t it going anywhere?” mom asked.
“It is. It is. But it’s only accelerating at about five percent g, and it’s a long way up there,” Xingxing answered.
After ten minutes or so it was obviously moving when you looked through the binoculars that we passed around as we lay on our backs. We watched it, ate cookies, sipped drinks, and chatted as Danika played her guitar.
Around midnight we got to our feet, turned on lights and folded blankets.
Friday 23 September 2811
I’ve stopped barfing in the centrifuge and in the free-fall copter. I’m getting pretty adept at using numerous odd tools in the water tank.
Wednesday 5 October 2811
Professor Zhou Youngxiang was presenting details of our FECS engines when I had an inspiration. “¿Dr. Zhou?”
“¿Yes, Ensign?”
“We know from Tsiolkovski’s equation that delta-v is limited by the ratio of exhaust mass to payload mass, and we are accelerating exhaust mass to zero point four two times the speed of light. ¿Why don’t we accelerate the mass to a more relativistic velocity like particle colliders do? Then the mass expelled by the engines would be higher than the rest mass of the propellant we have to carry with us thus giving us a greater delta-v.” Hvezda turned and smiled knowingly to me, making me feel a bit sheepish. Apparently, she’d heard this before.
Dr. Zhou answered, “Excellent question and well worded, Ensign. Let me ask you a question in return. ¿From where would you derive the additional energy to accelerate the exhaust to a more relativistic velocity?”
“From the same source; fusion and fission.”
“So, you would need additional mass of nuclear fuel and, if there were no losses to waste heat, the added thrust would compensate for the additional fuel mass. Because of inefficiencies, however, you would end up carrying more fuel mass than any advantage gained from increased mass of exhaust due to relativity.”
“I see. Thank you, Doctor.”
Hvezda was nodding her head. I felt at once foolish but also a little proud to have thought of that possibility.
Sunday 16 October 2811
The day to depart Earth is rushing upon us; it is a scramble of final preparations and not-so-final media interviews. The media interviews will continue for all time if the mission is successful in establishing a colony on New Earth.
I got used to the occasional interview with a delay of a second between the time I said something and the time the interviewer heard it half way around the world. It was common to talk over each other or to pause too long, expecting another question was be on its way. But the further we recede in our starship, the longer the delay will become. And when a colonist on New Earth asks a simple question of an FSA specialist, the answer will arrive over ninety years later. You can bet that colonists would continue to receive interview requests with a list of questions; it’s just the answers would be hopelessly out of date by the time they reached Earth.
Fancy uniforms of green and blue were designed for us to wear at the planned ceremonies, but we won’t take them with us since our mission clothes are functionally simple. Our fancy uniforms will be auctioned off for charity.
Saturday 22 October 2811
“¿Mom, have you seen my eye shadow?”
“You put it in your shoulder bag last night.”
“Right.” I dug it out of the bag and positioned myself in front of the mirror. “It’s not exactly the same shade of green in the uniforms but that’s probably due more to reflectivity than hue.”
“Whatever you say, dear.”
“OK, mom. I’m ready. Let’s go. If I forgot anything important, you can send it up to me on a later elevator.”
We rushed up the stone steps and opened the street pod’s doors. Before I got in, however, I stood and looked at the wildflowers, the house, the hills, and the lake from this vantage point; my last opportunity.
We were a bit late, but Gregor was unperturbed. He stood talking to my crewmates’ families: parents, aunts, uncles, siblings, nieces, and nephews. These 30 or so people were flown in to the ISTRI base this morning and were mingling with the rest of the crew.
Then I saw him. “Uncle Ricardo!” He came over, swept me up off my feet into a great big hug. Before we could talk with each other, Gregor called us over, lined up the six of us, and herded us up the back stairs to an area behind the curtain of the temporary stage set out on the taxiway in front of Hangar 2.
The Military Band finished the last strains of some old fogey tune and we watched Gregor on a video monitor as he walked to the dais. Milking every single word, he spoke through the public address system. “It gives me great pleasure to introduce the crewmembers of Earth’s first mission to colonize another star system.” The crowd of perhaps a thousand burst into cheers. “But first, it is my honor to present to you the man who brought this great endeavor to fruition, the Director of the Federal Space Agency, Dr. Yves Bardot!”
Danika and I looked glumly at each other and sat down cross-legged. Xingxing and Hvezda came over and joined us as Gregor had the honor, joy, distinct pleasure, and privilege to introduce a dozen or more directors, Senators, and diplomats who took the opportunity to spout platitudes. After 45 minutes of this torture, Gregor was “delighted to introduce my close personal friend and Captain of the Trillium starship.” He paused before shouting at the top of his lungs, “Captain Celeste Elizabeth Perry!”
Captain Perry disappeared from our view through the curtained doorway at the back of the stage to cheers and applause easily quadruple any we’d heard earlier. As the tumult faded, Captain Perry spoke. “You will be happy to hear that I am not one to give speeches; I give orders.”
[More cheers and applause.]
“But I will say this much, these women are the best our planet has to offer.”
[More cheers and applause.]
Then she shouted, “Sitara Krishna Ramachandran!” Sitara dashed through the doorway and onto the stage. Without waiting for the cheering to ebb, Captain Perry shouted, “Hvezda Anya Dubček!” And then, “Lo Xingxing!” It was as though the audience no longer cheered but were ecstatically transformed into wild screaming beasts. “Danika Marika Johansson!” At this point I took a deep breath and steeled myself for the charge through the doorway. The tumult continued but Celeste did not call my name. When the volume began to diminish slightly, Captain Perry raised her left hand for silence.
“You know who is next to join me on this stage. My remarkably talented crewmember who made headlines around the world at least one too many times. My remarkably talented crewmember who, with only a few minutes flying experience, commandeered a helicopter and flew it into gunfire and a massive explosion to save the life of a wounded sailor. The remarkable crewmember with such a big heart that she cautioned her kidnappers against hurting themselves.” She screamed, “Ensign Estrella Rita Ramirez!”
I walked quickly out onto the stage and took my place next to Danika. The crowd noise was no more wild than before but they rose out of their seats and the applause did not abate. Captain Perry turned to her right and waved the relatives up onto the stage. They lined up behind us; mom put a hand on my shoulder. The applause continued.
Captain Perry turned to her left and waved for a figure in the wings to come out with us. A man emerged, walking with a cane. As he approached me, I could see the burn scars on his head. It was Makini Mtabe.
He reached out his hand to shake mine, but I gave him a hug instead, taking care not to squeeze too tightly. The applause swelled as people realized who he was. Then a woman with a son and daughter, maybe 5 and 8 years old, walked up to me, gave me a hug, bent over and kissed me on the head before she took Makini’s hand. The children held onto her skirt as the four of them lined up next to me. They were obviously the Mtabe family. I was so happy to see him with his family that I choked up and tears flowed as I smiled broadly.
Captain Perry announced through the PA system, “The time has come for us to say goodbye to our families, to you, and to the planet Earth. “Crew, you have 10 minutes for last hugs and last kisses.” Captain Perry left the dais and sought out her relatives in the emotional throng. Mom and I hugged; smiles and tears flowed freely. All of my crewmates brought their families over to introduce them to mom. In some ways she had been their surrogate mother for the previous months. I introduced Uncle Ricardo to everyone.
All too soon, Captain Perry vaulted back onto the dais, waved to the crowd, and led the five of us back through the doorway, down the stairs, and into the Hangar 2 lunchroom. We snacked from a fruit bowl and took turns in the nearby restroom.
A large Street Pod with darkened windows came into view on the great expanse of concrete outside Hangar 2 and drove straight toward us. We all stopped chatting and watched as it drew closer and closer. Ominously it continued until it stopped next to the lunchroom door. Director Yves Bardot calmly stepped out and circled the vehicle to open the opposite door. He assisted an elderly woman out of the Pod and helped steady her as they slowly made their way into the lunchroom.
“Captain Perry and esteemed crewmembers, I would like to introduce to you a close personal friend of mine, Madame Kajiyama.” Mme Kajiyama had thinning white hair, a broad face with pink cheeks and dimples, and even her wrinkles had wrinkles. Her eyes twinkled with merriment. She was dressed all in black. Her cape sported an ISTRI pin decorated with diamonds.
Captain Perry stood motionless with her face revealing no emotion or any indication of what she might be thinking. For a moment no one moved or uttered a sound. Suddenly Danika slid off her stool, bounded over to Madame Kajiyama, and offered her hand with, “Glad to meet you. Thank you for like getting us to thinking about using Trillium to locate Ensign Ramirez when she was kidnapped. My name is Danika Johansson.” The awkward moment dissolved, and we all moved forward to introduce ourselves.
The elderly woman interrupted us with, “Oh, fuck the formalities,” she commanded in a strong voice that did not fit well with her fragile appearance. “I know very well who each of you is. I just arm-wrestled Yves into letting me meet the six of you before you go traipsing off. You behind the counter; get me a dish of chocolate ice cream and a glass of water.
“What I would like to do is sit with each of you individually and ask what you think you’ve gotten yourselves into; and no public relations shit, if you please.” With that, Bardot assisted her into a chair at one of the small tables in the newly enlivened lunchroom. She beckoned Danika to sit across from her and a rather animated conversation ensued as the rest of us stepped away to offer them at least a soupçon of privacy.
I was listening to Xingxing describe a mishap during her family’s travels when I heard Madame Kajiyama call out, “Estrella, dear. Come humor an old lady for a minute.”
Everyone turned toward me as Danika kissed the woman on the cheek and stepped back from the table. I briefly shook the hand she extended to me, and I also thanked her for my rescue.
“Estrella, you’ve got guts. You’ve lost your father, you’ve left your lover, you’ve survived more violence than any person should ever experience; and you’re still upbeat and sweet. I admire that.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
“But tell me. ¿How do you see yourself in all of this; the Trillium Project, the immense separation from everything familiar?”
It took me some seconds to prepare a reply without the sound bites that I normally use. This woman was forcing me to dig deeper but somehow it seemed comfortable and appropriate. “I guess I’m OK with it. It’s at once depressing and exhilarating. Becoming a celebrity helps a bunch; knowing that like perfect strangers wish me well. And the importance of it all. Even the expense of the mission makes me feel willing and helps me want to contribute.”
“¿Contribute your life?”
“Yes. Most everyone wants the chance to contribute to some greater good while on this Earth. I get to contribute with a lifetime of extended travel benefits.”
Madame Kajiyama leaned back and heartily laughed at that. I gathered my self-confidence and blurted out a question that gnawed at me.
“¿Are you Hoshiko?”
Her gaze suddenly shifted as her wrinkled brow became even more deeply furrowed. “¿Hoshiko Fujimoto? Dear girl, don’t be silly. She would be over eight hundred freaking years old. ¿But that would make one hell of a good story, wouldn’t it? I can see the headlines, ‘Co-founder of ISTRI bids adieu to first interstellar travelers.’”
Madame Kajiyama‘s eyes glistened and she grinned as though she were a child.
“Well we haven’t much time and I’ve got four more of your buddies to chat with. Thank you for pleasing the whims of an old woman and honoring me with your thoughts. Enjoy your travel benefits, Estrella.”
I rose and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
As Madame Kajiyama finished talking with the last of us, a 10-passenger autovan drove into the hangar and stopped at the lunchroom. Large letters pasted on its side read, “TRILLIUM SHUTTLE.” Celeste likewise gave the elderly woman a hug and a kiss before herding us into the autovan. In minutes we boarded a V-TOL on our way to the Tender, to the Anchor Ship, and into space.