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CHAPTER 55

April 13, 2100 (Earth/Proxima timeline)

Proxima b, aka Fintidier

Roy was an aerospace systems engineer. He was trained to design and build things that worked good enough and apply that thing pragmatically as a solution. He thought the hubbub about the three small spots on Earth that had gender-birth issues had a solution. The very large diverse population of humanity was Mother Nature’s very own feedback control loop that was keeping Earth’s numbers growing rather than declining. The solution was most likely, to him, already in place on Earth. And his take on the entire problem was that the Proximans—he was still having trouble saying Fintidierians—had brought this on themselves. He agreed with the ambassador and that economist lady that trade and commerce with Proxima bringing in new genes into the gene pool would be the cure for them. The Emissary was already on the edge of the system and would soon be bringing even more people down. Soon, the Proximans were going to have to start mixing and mingling on a larger scale.

Roy was walking through the greenhouse, observing a row of corn they’d brought from Earth. It was growing well and right next to a row of something the Fintidierians had given them that was orange-brownish and looked like an alien vegetable to him. The three-dimensional hologram of his two-year-old daughter walked beside him. He’d been doing his best to catch up in order with his daughter’s growth since they had managed to get the new data dumps from home. He wouldn’t let himself move ahead, because he didn’t want to miss a moment if he could avoid doing so.

“Good morning, Roy,” Dr. Joey Zimmerman, the botanist and plant expert managing the greenhouse, said. “Want to try one? I did. They are kind of like a cross between a turnip and a beet, if you ask me.”

“Sure, Joe. Why not?” Roy replied.

“She’s getting big now.” Joey looked at the hologram as he pulled one of the ugly stalk-grown, tuber-looking vegetables and handed it to him. “How old is she here?”

“She’s about two and a half at this point.” Roy took the vegetable and rolled it over in his hands, inspecting it. “Of course, she’s got to be nearly ten by now or will be in June.”

“Yeah, that’s tough.” Joey didn’t say much else about it. Then he turned to a row across from them. “Hey, you should try one of these things. They are actually good.”

Roy took a bite of the first vegetable that he’d been given and had to agree that it was nothing to write home about. He followed Joey to the next row of plants that were directly underneath some white lights. The plants looked like thick vines with broad leaves spread across them so plentifully that they reminded him of grapes from Earth. In fact, there were bright red fruits or berries dangling in bunches all along the vine.

“Here, these are great. I’m thinking of seeing if I can ferment them.”

“They are a bit bigger than grapes.” Roy popped a couple of them in his mouth and was surprised by how sweet they were. “Very good.”

“Roy, auld boy, you have an incoming call,” his AI Nigel told him.

“Excuse me a moment, Joe.” Roy stepped a couple of meters away. “Okay, Nigel, let’s have it.”

“Roy, how are you doing today?” Captain Crosby’s face appeared in his virtual view.

“I’m fine, Captain Crosby, how are you?”

“I’ve got something I want you to see up here. I need your expertise for the nav systems. We might have cracked what was done to it. Or, well, we have a new solution,” Crosby said.

“Cindy can’t handle it?”

“Nope, this is a task that I’d like your expert eyes on,” Crosby told him. “There’s an OSAM on the pad ready for launch. It’s waiting for you.”

“Alright,” Roy sighed and swallowed the last bit of sweetness from the red grape things. Maybe they should be called “reds,” he thought. “I’m on my way.”

“Duty calls?” Joey asked.

“Sorry, Joe. I’ve got to go do something on the ship. I’d ask for more berries but microgravity makes me queasy for the first thirty minutes or so.”

* * *

“Isn’t that the Samaritan over there?” Roy pointed out the viewport of the Orbit and Surface Access Module at the starship he’d spent so much time on, against his will. “Why the circuitous route?”

“Look out the other side, Roy.” Bob Roca tossed his head toward the porthole across from them.

“What am I looking fo—holy shit!” Roy’s jaw dropped. “That the Emissary? They’re here already?”

“Yep. Just came to a stop over the complex a few hundred kilometers from the Samaritan. Cap’n wants you to get some spares from there and bring them with you.”

“Jesus, that thing is twice as big as the Samaritan.”

“Yeah, and it was a hell of a lot faster. They say it took them only six years to make the trip. It was like only three years relative to the crew. Can you imagine how much easier that was?” Roca told him.

“Wow,” Roy agreed. He thought about how he was supposed to have been the test engineer for that ship too. He was supposed to have tested the nav system, the engine operation system, and all of the overall ship functions under simulated flight conditions. And then he was going to retire with his wife and maybe start a family.

Roy started to drift back into that depressed-funk state of mind where he pitied himself. He reached down to one of the pockets on his jumpsuit and felt the little holoprojector and thought about his daughter, whom he’d never meet. He thought, briefly, just briefly, that maybe he could convince one of the starships to take him back. If the Emissary took him, he could be home before Samari was twenty, maybe sooner. He’d miss her childhood, but maybe, just maybe, he could get to know her as a young adult.

After several minutes of quietly fantasizing about a way home, or another life in another time, he pulled himself back into the real, more pragmatic world. The ships had come to Proxima for a mission and they were always expected to be a one-way trip. Roy was jarred out of the fantasy by the OSAM locking into the docking ring with a metallic cathunk sound.

Emissary, this is Samaritan Three. Docking complete. All indicators are in the green and pressure is regulated. Are we clear to ingress?” Roca spoke to the docking control of the larger ship. “Be advised we have Dr. Burbank here to receive the package as planned.”

“Copy that, Samaritan Three. You’re clear to come aboard, Bob.”

“That’s our cue, Roy.” Roca floated past him and tapped a few buttons by the docking hatch. It swished open and the light on the panel above and to the right of the hatch turned red, showing it was open.

“Alright.” Roy unbuckled and floated upward. He gave a kick against his chair, propelling him through the hatch. He and Roca floated into the main corridor of the loading bay and then Roca activated his magnetic shoes, pulling him to a stop on one of the bulkheads where there were two soldiers standing post. Roy followed suit.

“Mr. Roca. Dr. Burbank,” one of the soldiers said. “Come with me, please.”

“Roy, I think you’re gonna like this,” Roca said as the door behind the soldiers opened.

Standing on the other side of the door was Chloe. And beside Chloe was a little girl with long, curly red hair with her head just about at Chloe’s waist. The little girl looked to be about six years old. The two of them were wearing light blue jumpsuits and Chloe had a medical insignia on her shoulder patch.

“Hello, Roy.” Chloe smiled. Roy could see her eyes filling with an expanding tear. He looked down at the little girl beside her. “I’d like you to meet your daughter. Samari, say hi to your father.”

“Hi, Daddy!” The little girl bounced off the floor into Roy’s arms followed by Chloe. The momentum from the two of them nearly knocked him over. Roy pulled them to his chest and squeezed them. Tears grew in his eyes and stuck there, fowling his vision in the microgravity. He didn’t want to let go to wipe at them.

“I have missed you so much!” Roy cried. “But, Chloe . . . how?”

“They needed doctors. And, well, we needed you.”



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