Orbiters
…Writers need to cultivate an underrated virtue. Courage. Why? To be really good, you have to stand apart, to risk censure, even ridicule. Not too many will do this. Most want to be just like Stephen King. Or J. K. Rowling. Or Margaret Atwood. But who wants to read them twice? Or in my case, even once?
Be yourself. You, with all your flaws. Incorrigibly, even stupidly brave. Now that I’ll read…
From his command station Captain Rollhagen commanded, well, a commanding view. He sat fingering the navigation stick. The viewing bubble revealed stars and black space, with the Earth rotating below.
“Left alert.” Kenneth Kern’s voice was calm, clear.
“Check,” said Rollhagen. His finger barely moved.
“A-5,” said Kern.
“Check.”
Karen O’Casey, a navigator, spoke from her console. “Collision protocol A-4.”
“Check,” said Rollhagen.
“Left flank,” said Kern.
“Check.”
The navigator’s voice was steady. “Warning, collision ahead.“
“Check.”
“Collision,” she said, voice rising. “A-3... A-2... A-1. Alert. Alert all hands. Brace for impact. A-1! A-1! A-1!
An alarm sounded. Rollhagen’s finger moved a centimeter. A half centimeter. “Check,” he said.
“A-2.” said O’Casey. “... A-3... A-4... Flank cleared. All hands. Cancel alert.”
“Check.”
The alarm ceased so abruptly Megan Bremer jumped. She stood with her friend, Lt. Jennifer Tate. It was Megan’s first emergency simulation. As a low-ranking officer, and an Earthling at that, it was considered a great honor for her to watch in person.
“What did you think?” Tate said. The women walked through doors and down a hallway. They heard Rollhagen’s voice: Good work, people. Let’s do it again.
“Wow,” Megan said, still breathless.
“My first time, I peed a little.”
The admission was testament to Tate’s affection. She would never admit such a lapse to just any crewmate. Of all virtues, Malthusians hold courage paramount. Emblazoned on their flag is a gold shield and rocket ship. Beneath is a single word, COURAGE.
A common greeting, even among strangers, was “Courage”. It was no idle or offhand exchange. A single example will suffice. Several years earlier a carbonite freighter, returning from Mars, took a direct hit from a meteor, a nearly-unheard of accident. But it happened. Crippled, air seeping away, there was no chance of rescue. The captain informed the crew of 823 they had forty-two minutes and seventeen seconds to live. Then he sent his final report to the Moon, tidied his desk, and walked to the recreation hall. There he found the crew relaxing, trading jokes. Some wrote home. Others played ping pong.
Then they held hands. When the ship’s exterior laminate reached 9.5 psi they were blown to stardust. News spread rapidly. In solemn acknowledgment Malthusians everywhere had one verdict:
Now there’s a Malthusian.
Courage, they said, passing one another.
Megan and Jennifer sat in a break room with cups of pineapple. Both women were still shaken. Neither showed it. Very Malthusian. “What were they simulating?” Megan asked.
“I’m not supposed to say.”
“Why not?”
“You haven’t got clearance.”
Lt. Megan’s bracelets clinked against the linoleum table. Women crew wore the same silver jumpsuits as men, but with flared sleeves. Surreptitiously, a few wore jewelry. “Oh, come on. You can tell me.”
Tate’s eyes were a warm brown. She made sure they were not overheard, then leaned close. “Okay, here’s the deal. A week before the invasion secret agents will mix with Earthlings. We’re launching hundreds of anti-gravity pods . They’re worried about collisions.”
“I see.”
“If a pod hits a ship, well, you know what happens when anti-gravity meets anti-gravity, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Kablooey.”
Megan exhaled. “Let’s hope the Captain knows what he’s doing.”
“Oh, he does,” said Lt. Tate. “I have complete confidence in him.”
I’ll bet you do, Megan thought. She knew how Jennifer felt about her sturdy captain. She’d be proud if they both died together. So romantic. “Say Jen. Just a thought. Do you think I could get assigned to that secret pod mission?”
“What for?”
“Who knows Earth better than me?”
Tate’s brow knit. She wanted to be helpful. Still, all this was top secret. “I don’t know what to say. You have no combat experience.”
“Neither do you. Or anyone else. Tell me, who makes the decision?”
“The Captain, of course.”
“Could you talk to him? Maybe something about an Earthling getting in on the action.”
“Oh, he’d never listen to me.”
“Courage, Jen.”
Megan left it at that. The women talked movies, sports, clothes. Jennifer was far too conservative, in Megan’s opinion. She kept her nails short and wore no mascara or perfume. Her uniform was always zipped to the chin. There could be some improvement there. Especially when working beside their handsome captain. Megan watched as she naively sipped at her cup, eyes innocent as a cocker spaniel’s.
The captain had deftly avoided one collision that day. But there are all kinds of collisions, Megan knew. Next time, he may not be so lucky.