( Read the previous episodes of Journey to Centauri.) |
Journey to Centauri : Episode 27 Prokhor Zakharov left the accessway and entered Bay Three, which he considered his home. In fact, he had insisted on leaving his quarters here, rather than sleep closer to the command center, and Captain Garland had not argued. Indeed had no reason to argue; if spending down time among his engineers helped him to repair the ship more quickly, there could be no objections. He entered the main recreation bay. Almost empty; a couple of his scientists, haggard from lack of sleep, played holodarts at one end. Most people worked on the ship or slept all day long; many were taking performance-enhancing drugs that allowed them to stay awake for hours but then crashed them into a deep sleep. He crossed into the sleeping quarters, where cryocells were now lined with moldable foam and turned into beds. Most of the cells were empty but a few fitful bodies slumbered here and there. He saw a few of the other non-science Bay Three personnel as well--security and doctors, mostly, their faces calmer in sleep than the stressed engineers. He altered his course to pass by a certain cryocell--ah. "Raymond." His friend was awake, staring hollowly at the low dark roof the sleeping bay. He refocused on Zakharov slowly. "Officer." He sat up quickly. "Is everything well?" "Yes." He let the word trail off. With the ship disintegrating around them 'well' was a relative term. "I am going to have some tea before I retire, if you would be so kind as to join me." "Certainly, Officer. Sleep is not coming quickly tonight." Zakharov walked to the back corner of the bay where partitions had created a cramped space for his quarters. A small white metal table and two chairs sat next to the cryocell he used for a bed. On a small ledge rested a red plastic pitcher and a rod he used as a healing element. "Sit," he waved at the table. Raymond ran his hands through his white hair and sat down gingerly. The man was about as old as Zakharov, and the two had been friends for years. Zakharov dipped the heating element into the pitcher and dropped in two small tea capsules. He punched the Play button on a small speaker unit and dialed up a selection. Bach began to play, the melody wafting softly around him. Zakharov closed his eyes. "In times of hardship, this is the music I play. I imagine myself, riding the waves of sound into a better, calmer place." He broke off abruptly. Raymond nodded. "It is good music. Sublime. Now please sit down. You know I will remain on my feet as long as you do." Zakharov poured the tea into a small cup and handed it to him. The two sat down and remained in silence for a moment, listening to the music. "Do you think we'll make it?" Raymond's voice jarred Zakharov from his reverie. He sipped the tea before answering. "Humankind astounds me with its...with our versatility and knowledge. We know so much...we can tweak atoms, we know the result of almost any action we take. We do this...that happens." "Yes," said Raymond. He had become close friends with Zakharov by knowing when to just listen. "But that is in the lab. It is controlled. Here...there is too much going on. If the Unity were a lab, and you or I had complete control...of course we could repair. it. But there are too many people on board, and too many unknowns. Human motivations are still too complex. They are the last frontier of science, but the human mind itself rebels against scientific control, and perversely turns against it, even when destruction is the result. "This ship is the perfect example. We are riding the back of chaos." He nodded and took a sip of tea. "So many minds went into the building of this ship. It is disorganized, haphazard, like so much of what humanity does." "Impure," said Raymond quietly. "Yes. Impure. The motives...not science or exploration, but a variety of things. This country worked on the Unity to give hope to its people, that country to experiment with U.N. money, that one because the leader wanted to stay in power. If we make it to Planet, I want things to be different." "How?" "I want to be guided by scientific truth. I believe we will all be happiest following the ways of science. The crew must see this." Raymond nodded in agreement. "Many do. The ship is full of thinkers, people who respect the life of the mind and want to be far from politics. Many respect your focus. I have even heard Doctor Yang talk of a controlled society, similar to what you speak of." "Mmph. I speak of a society where scientific truths drive humanity forward, not Yang's contrived Utopia." "Still, he could be an ally. Deirdre's people just spend most of their time in the Greenhouse, naturally." Raymond smiled at his unwitting joke. "Well, keep tabs, Raymond. We want the purest minds on the ship, pure as the clearest vodka. Which, as I speak of it…" He set down his tea and pulled from a small drawer an unlabelled bottle full of clear liquid. His face lit up, and Raymond’s eyes widened a bit. "You would open that now? There is nothing to celebrate." "Why not now? If the ship does not make it, I want to enjoy this. No sense vaporizing good vodka." He poured in a small amount into two more cups. "Is your confidence that low?" "It is high. But this will bolster it further." He threw back the drink and his eyes glowed with pleasure for a moment. "Besides, I will save a last drink for Planetside." "The last bottle ever made. Think of it." Raymond stared into the cup as if hypnotized. Zakharov reached out and poked him in the shoulder. "We will make more! We will recreate Earth on Planet., but with a new purity of focus, on science. It is like the greatest research grant in history...an entire planet!" "Still, it will not be Earth vodka. This is the last. A sobering thought." Zakharov laughed quietly. "Ironic that it would sober you. Drink," he urged. Raymond sipped, which was not usually his way, but he wanted to savor the drink as if it were nectar. Zakharov watched him. "Don't think too much on Earth, Raymond. It is too painful. You have a soft side, but it is not always best to indulge it. If we think of Earth, and all that is lost, our spirits will whither. We must think on the new world ahead, and the new knowledge that can be gained." "I know." "We have the purity of focus. Let's keep our people looking forward, studying, learning. It is a buffer against melancholy, and moves us toward a higher purpose." "Yes," said Raymond, and sipped the vodka, feeling its heat wash over him. "The ship will be fixed." Zakharov said it suddenly, as if in response to a question that had floated up to the front of his consciousness. "We have the skills to do it." "Yes." Raymond lifted his cup, and they thunked them together and downed the crystalline spirits.
Next episode will be posted Monday, November 30. |
