Orb (5 page)

“Much appreciated,” he replied.

I was relieved and pleased to hear my crewmates’ first ebullient reactions at seeing the planet, especially in light of how previous glimpses out this same port only exacerbated the feeling of isolation I have already described. The crew was experiencing a renewal of purpose. Even Angie, softly whining at the viewport, seemed enthralled by the planet. I was compelled to issue a “quiet” command, though I completely understood how spending three months holed up on a small ship was, to her, a lifetime. All she was trying to tell me is she desired a place to run and sniff and play and that the big glowing ball offered the best opportunity.

The ball grew even larger as
Desio
accelerated into a semi-synchronous orbit that placed us approximately 17,000 kilometers above the planet. Our orbital speed was double the rotational speed of the planet and we would be experiencing one full planet day (twenty-six Earth hours) in a little under half that time. Soon we would be enveloped in darkness as the planet and
Desio
, albeit at different velocities, rotated away from the massive blue sun.

Meanwhile, as we continued to gaze ‘down’ at the planet, the eye and mind became more adept at resolving and assimilating smaller and smaller details, of which we took great pleasure pointing out to each other.

The most prominent feature was, of course, the imposing ocean: A slightly iridescent blue-gray with minor variations attributable to (so speculated) the upwelling of colder water by ocean currents, changeable winds across the water’s surface, and the relative distribution of phyto-plankton. The number and intensity of bright flashes of light, called sun glints, radiating out into space suggested that the ocean was extraordinarily calm. This, together with consistency in coloration, imparted a polished, shiny look to the planet.

Occupying the extreme poles there were identically sized (and nearly circular) ice caps—crystalline plateaus criss-crossed by an intricate web of cracks and fissures. Clearly visible along their jagged fringes were hundreds of islands created by the calving off of giant chunks of the fractured ice. These ice islands, in turn, appeared to be dividing and diminishing as they made their way into the warmer waters now encompassing most of the planet.

Tiny puff balls of cirrocumulus clouds, too numerous to count, dotted the colder regions bordering the ice shelves. Closer to the equator, bands of cirrus clouds thinned and stretched themselves into twisted shapes like white whiffs of smoke while elsewhere they coalesced into denser patches resembling tufts pulled from a cone of cotton candy. The atmosphere was not lacking more dynamic weather systems, though in comparison to Earth’s they were, despite our expectation, less common and more benign. Rarely did clouds congregate into dark disturbances, and rarer still did flashes of lightning brighten the clouds from within.

Great land masses were noticeably absent, replaced by tiny islands strewn like so many brown, tan, yellow and gold-colored pebbles across the planet’s one vast sea.

Putting all I saw together, I learned from Paul how the absence of continental masses was radically affecting the formation of planetary weather; of how, ultimately, the meteorological data we obtained here could reveal much about Earth’s climate.

While each of us enjoyed and commented on the planet’s visual treats, the ship’s daunting array of scientific instruments tirelessly performed their job of collecting and storing massive amounts of data. Only a fraction of that information would be evaluated in the near term. The far greater portion, and in far greater detail, would be analyzed during the return voyage and in the months, and probably years, subsequent to our return home.

As I previously remarked, I was interested in the crew’s behavior, and none more so than Doctor Melhaus’s. When at last he entered the mission room he displayed no sign of excitement and I wondered if he had taken the time to appreciate the planet’s beauty. Before I could ask he exclaimed, to no one in particular: “We have a lot of work to accomplish in a relatively short time, don’t you think we should get started?”

Kelly and I glanced at each other, but it was Thompson who answered him, saying, “We’ll get to it soon enough. I appreciate your work ethic, Doctor. There is, however, one item of business we can discuss as a group. You’re aware, I take it, that we have prior permission to name the planet. I want to hear suggestions.”

“I see no reason whatsoever to change it from the star map coordinates logically assigned.”

“You know, Doctor…” began Thompson, considered, and then deliberately let himself be interrupted by Diana.

“We can name it
anything?
” she asked.

“Just about,” Thompson responded, then, reflecting on the little trap that she had set for him, looked at me and added, “Uh oh.”

“So, we could name the planet ‘Larry’ if we wanted?” Diana asked.

“As far as I am aware, there are no other planets named Larry,” Thompson replied, willing to play along.

Although Diana, with all good intention, had hoped to elicit a positive reaction from Melhaus, there was none forthcoming. He had deliberately parked himself in one corner of the room looking down at a screen full of Greek, Roman, and other far more inscrutable symbols that few people in the world would recognize, let alone decipher. This was
his
language, and he was fluent in it.

“Anybody have a better name?” Diana said. She was a little put-off by Melhaus’s behavior, but apparently didn’t want to say anything that would dampen our spirits.

“Can I make a suggestion?” volunteered Kelly, throwing a glance my way. “Kyle is creative with words. I’m positive he can come up with something.”

“I like the idea,” responded Thompson. “Kyle?”

“Sure. But I’ll need to give it careful consideration. Don’t want to rush into naming an entire planet, you understand. The biggest thing I ever put a name on was a compilation of short stories.”

“And how did that turn out?” asked Thompson.

“Nobody reads anymore. Apparently even short stories are too long.”

Thompson let the opening pass. He’d find a more opportune time to explore my questionable career moves. There was work at hand, and plenty of it, and he was responsible for giving us direction.

“Listen up,” he said. “Use the next few hours to decipher those sensor readings most pertinent to getting our butts safely on the planet. We’ll meet again at 1200 hours for a working lunch. The plan is to set down on P5 tomorrow, early morning. And I do mean early. I’ll need from you, Paul, with as much accuracy as possible, a projection of weather at the potential landing sites. I’ll provide you the locations once I finish preliminary mapping. Diana, I appreciate that your real work begins on the surface. Concentrate on reviewing the biochemical data we’re accumulating on the atmosphere. I’d prefer not to have any nasty surprises. The first expedition confirmed the air is breathable, but that was winter. Larry, listen up. You and I need to make a final ready check on
Ixodes
. Kyle, you’ll assist Paul; Kelly, you assist Diana.”

Ixodes
, it should be mentioned, was the name Diana gave to the squat, ovoid-shaped submersible probe that clung like a tick to the ventral side of
Desio
. For the last three months the probe had been out of sight, but not out of mind, having been repeatedly inspected and upgraded via a host of remote communication links. Engineered to operate at maximum submerged depth of ten thousand meters, tomorrow it would be detached and sent plunging into the planet’s ocean. Once underwater it would immediately commence gathering and transmitting data on ocean currents, temperature, and chemistry. The sub’s engineering team boasted that if any life-form inhabited that first ten thousand meters (a
huge
technical and scientific compromise there, since the ocean approached an incredible twenty thousand meters in many locations) then that life-form would assuredly be detected. If the organism were small enough, it would be sucked into a collection chamber and eventually brought to the surface for later analysis.

From the very beginning, mission planners had made the convenient and all too expedient assumption that the organism would be oblivious to being forcibly captured and removed from its natural environment. Oblivious or not, it would almost certainly expire in the process.

When 1200 came around, the crew assembled in the mission room. I sensed that the day’s initial excitement was being tempered by nervous tension, and with good reason: Expectations for the mission, and therefore the crew’s performance, had been set exceptionally high, perhaps unreasonably so.

In the months prior to our departure, the mission was the object of intense debate by a scrutinizing public that had divided itself into two distinct groups: Those who were intrigued by exploring the wonders of a new planet and those who believed the king’s ransom it cost to explore that planet were better spent reducing misery on planet Earth. The latter group already considered the expedition a failure; the former might join them if an extraordinary discovery was not made. This typically translated into either finding a highly evolved (if not downright transcendent) life-form or classifying the new world as suitable for human exploitation and colonization.

The crew recognized that the weight placed on their shoulders by a demanding public was high. It was only exceeded by the unrecognized pressure each member of the crew placed on his or her self. I knew this to be true not only from sharing with them each and every recycled molecule of air and water for the last three months, but also because it is human nature for individuals whom society considers successful to be self-motivated and driven. The mission was, without doubt, the high point in their professional careers, a golden opportunity not to be squandered. Accordingly, there was a silent, but constant, voice reminding each of the scientists that they were expected to conduct pioneering work in their particular field. The scientific community sums up this relentless need to produce with one concise and merciless phrase: “Publish or perish.”

And so it logically follows that very much indeed was expected of, and by, Doctor Larry Melhaus, one of the world’s preeminent physicists and chemists. He did not have a double standard: What he demanded of himself, he expected from others.

As for myself, I was not totally immune to the same career pressures, societal or self-imposed, for I, too, had a function to perform on the
Desio
. And, having to earn a living as a writer, I was certainly no stranger to the fear of not being published. To that aim, and because my forte was not expounding on the hard science (though I did try to keep up) I would, from time to time, attempt to elicit personal details from the crew. They understood this, and usually the conversations that ensued from my prodding were enjoyable divertissement.

But not always.

With the planet looming as a backdrop, our meeting just about concluded, Kelly absently said, “I miss Earth.” And all talking stopped. “Sorry all,” she quickly added, as if the topic was forbidden. “But seeing this planet, the ocean, the clouds, makes me long that much more for home.”

“You only said exactly what I was feeling,” replied Diana.

“Isn’t this what we all feel?” I added. “So why fight against it? Why not, at least for the moment, go with it?”

“Perhaps,” responded Melhaus, impatience adding an intolerant edge to his voice, “because some of us have better things to do?”

I decided not to press on, and the conversation would have ended right then and there, but Thompson chimed in. “Kyle’s looking to see which of us has some sort of emotional catharsis.”

“That would be good material,” I said, “so don’t hold back.” I decided to persist. “Come on, any of you, what’s the hardest thing you had to leave behind on Earth? What do you miss most, excluding family, friends, and lovers? That’s too easy.”

“I miss going to the theater!” Diana blurted out. “The excitement of a Broadway show, taking in a play on London’s West End!” No sooner had she finished her eyes lit up and her mouth started moving again. “Wait! Wait! Can I change my answer?”

“No,” said Thompson.

“Then can I have two things? Please?”

“No,” Thompson repeated, continuing his teasing. “You heard Kyle. One thing. Anyway, what else could you possibly miss? Your dollhouse?”

Stretching herself across the table, Diana gave a quick, hard punch to Thompson’s thickly muscled shoulder. Based on his smirk, and her silence, this seemed to temporarily satisfy them both.

“For me, give me my rose garden,” Kelly said, the reminiscence bringing a smile to her face. “So many new genetic varieties. Digging in the warm soil. The warmth of the sun on my face.” She looked warily at Thompson. “Is that three things?”

“We’ll accept it.”

“And for you, Paul?” I asked.

The climatologist considered a moment and said, through a frown, “It may sound a little corny or sentimental.”

“Probably,” said Thompson, “But try us.”

“Paris,” he said, starting to laugh. “Yes, in the springtime, if you must have it out. The charged atmosphere. The cafes. At night, the glittering lights of Champs-Elysees. Have you been there Kyle? No!
Mais pourqoui?
You live in New York? But it is only an hour away! Diana and I must show you!”

I willingly agreed to be their guest. Looking across the table, I noticed Thompson staring into space.

“What do you miss? Visits to the dentist?”

Coming back from wherever he was, he said one word:

“Maryann.”

“Some day I’d like to hear about her,” said Diana with satisfaction, “but
you
know the rules: Absolutely no family, friends, and lovers.”

“Maryann came to mean more to me than the woman—in a moment of insanity—I named her after,” Thompson responded. “She’s my fishing boat.”

“You tricked me,” Diana said, perturbed, but smiling.

“At seven meters she’s a bit small…”

“I’d rather hear about the woman,” Diana interrupted.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Ever hook into a Striped bass?” I asked.