The New Kids On The Block
Later it would become customary to tell tales of how, as a kid, you looked up at the stars, yearning for the mysteries and adventures that waited there. Widukind von Wenk just did it out of boredom. And the people he watched as they entered the transport craft had motives of their own. They were refugees from the vastness of Central Asia who, having escaped what historians would later call “the post-atomic horror”, just wanted to live a peaceful life. If that meant being the first farmers on Centaurus so be it.
Widukind had used this opportunity to take the last glance at the sky he'd get for the next nine months. A good choice, he thought as he squinted against the morning sun hanging low in the clear blue sky. Some birds were chirping faintly in the background. It felt like a day full of promises that he, as a child, would have spent outside, unsupervised, living through intense adventures with his mates. How fitting that it should be on this kind of day he would start on what was easily the greatest adventure of his life – the first colonisation expedition to Alpha Centauri.
He turned slightly to look at Leonid beside him, who casually leaned against the railing and used the opportunity to pollute the fresh air by smoking a cigarette, probably the last one in his life. They both wore the black trousers and grey jacket that marked them as members of the Proxima One's crew. The outfit looked way too military for Widukind's liking, so he subconsciously counteracted it by wearing white sneakers and a t-shirt displaying an overly cute cartoon character.
“So, Widu,” the dark haired, brown-eyed Russian said, “just a few more hours till launch. Nervous, yet?”
“Not really.” He answered, lying to Leonid as much as to himself. He knew the chances quite well, having seen nearly all possible outcomes of this colonisation effort in the course of the thousands of computer simulations he had run. The failure rate was 30 per cent, but none of the people who had just entered the craft knew this. No need to get them all excited. No need to let them know I'm scared as hell.
“That's good. Makes me feel a lot safer.” Leonid said absent-mindedly, oblivious to the insecurities in Widukind's voice. He was distracted by his own efforts to nonverbally flirt with Ülkü Yildirim, their beautiful chief engineer, who stood on the other side of the ramp, looking bored.
“Oh, let it go, Leo. You don't have a chance, anyway.” She yelled, grinning. “Besides, we have to get going.”
“She's right, you know.” Widukind agreed and looked critically at the remainder of Leonid's cigarette.
“Well, what do you know? I just remembered that I always wanted to quit smoking.” Leonid said, laughing, and flipped his cigarette away as they entered the transport craft that would bring them to the Proxima One.
The Proxima One was the biggest space ship ever built. And the ugliest, Widukind thought as they approached it. Built with strictly practical considerations in mind, it basically looked like a giant metallic box with a warp nacelle sticking out on each of its sides. It didn't look like it could move anywhere at any speed, not to mention faster than light. At least, their ship's fate, unlike their own, was already sealed: Once they arrived on Centaurus, it was to be disassembled into its various modules to build parts of the colony. In the mean time as many people and goods as possible were cramped into it.
“A real beauty, isn't she?” Leonid remarked, sarcastically.
“Well, we don't have to look at her once we're on board.” Widukind replied, dryly.
“Unless you actually have to go out to repair something.” Ülkü chimed in, chuckling. Widukind stared at her wide-eyed.
“Ooh, that's getting to you, isn't it? You look a little disquieted.” Ülkü said, looking slightly worried. “Don't worry. I mean, you were only trained to do quite specific tasks in zero-g. And how likely is that?”
“Fifteen per cent.” He muttered.
Leonid droned from the helm, “Serves you right for being such a multi-talented badass.”
Marek Westmoreland, captain of the Proxima One and expedition leader, had made it clear that he expected all the high-ranking members of his crew to be present on the bridge for the launch. Though the hierarchy was rather vague Widukind held a high position within it, much to his and everyone else's surprise. He was in charge of building the colony's power supply and responsible for the ship's energy systems until then. So, keeping an eye on the energy read-outs was part of his job. But he could do that just as easily from his quarters. And he would have preferred to be alone instead of being under the scrutiny of the captain with the chance of making a fool of himself once things got rough. In case something went wrong he couldn't do much, anyway. However, Marek Westmoreland was not a man who would take no for an answer.
And so Widukind found himself perched behind a console designated internal sensors feeling Westmoreland's unrelenting gaze piercing him from behind where the captain sat in a heightened position. Had he turned around he would have seen that the captain didn't look at him but, with a smile on his lips, at the view screen showing the starscape as they moved away from the plane of the Solar System, still at sublight.
A leaden silence reigned over the bridge as everyone was tense with anxious anticipation. Even Leonid sitting at helm control on Widukind's left hadn't said a word in hours. An exercise in patience, but Widukind von Wenk was not a patient man. We spend our lives waiting, waiting for the few moments that make it worthwhile, he thought, but mostly, it's in vain. The waiting didn't help to calm him down because it provided him with plenty of time to go over everything that could go wrong and picture the ensuing disasters in loving detail. At the same time another, all too familiar sentiment demanded his attention: boredom. Somehow, he had imagined this endeavour to be much more glamorous. It always seemed that way on TV. Happy now? Is that really what you want? You're throwing your life away for nothing. He wished he could stop second-guessing himself, this disease that turned even the noblest and most innocent decision sour and stale. Unfortunately, it was an unwanted talent of his.
Finally, they had put enough of a distance between Earth and themselves. After all, instead of jumping to warp they could just explode or vanish in another disastrous fashion. Calm down, Widu. He ordered himself. This occurs only in 0,1 per cent of all cases. That's practically impossible. You're a rational man, so stick to reason. But all the reason in the world couldn't keep him from sadly realising the shortcomings of statistics. What does it matter how likely it is when you're the one getting killed?
At a gesture by the captain to the dark skinned woman, whose name escaped Widukind at the moment, seated at the communications/external sensors station the stars on the view screen were replaced by a group of people with eager and anxious faces. It consisted of the heads of the Fransen-Mittal Mining Consortium furnishing the expedition and all government officials they could assemble. So shortly after the War, it weren't many.
A red-haired middle aged woman stepped forward. Widukind recognised her as the current General Secretary of the United Nations or whatever remained of them. “I was given the honour of addressing you before your departure. I figure you're eager to get under way, so I will make it short. You're doing what earlier generations could only dream of. In boldly going where no human has gone before you will carry our common heritage out into the galaxy. It is a difficult heritage, to be sure, but it is a rich one, too. May you succeed where we failed. May you lay the foundations of a society in which injustice, strife and war are things of the past and another world far away. Good luck and Godspeed!” She smiled warmly.
The captain had risen and said, “Thank you. To mark the occasion, I, too, have prepared a short speech.” Glancing at a crumpled piece of paper he had fished out of one of his pockets, he continued, “They say that one man can summon the future. I never believed that. Until I met Zefram Cochrane. Now, we are the future doing what was deemed impossible. May this serve as a lesson that nothing is impossible, that, just like a piece of quasi-magical technology was created amid the ruins of my home country, there is always hope, even in the direst circumstances. Let's all work together so that this glimmer of hope never fades away.”
Slumped back behind his station Widukind wondered how they do it, thinking up these inspiring speeches that made even him feel elevated. At least Marek had meant every word of it. What would it be like to have strong convictions such as these? If someone asked me now why I'm here I'd stutter because other than the vague feeling of having to get out I have nothing. And how pathetic is that? The real answer is this: because my home town was killing me with utter boredom. Nothing much ever happens there. Thank God no one has asked me, this sounds really lame. And one of the refugees might just smack me for being the stupid twit I am. He didn't have time to dwell on this any longer as the moment of truth had finally approached.
In a firm, yet warm voice Westmoreland asked, “Status, Mr Bassayev?”
“Warp drive is online and ready. Course is laid in.” Leonid announced, turning back to the captain.
Suddenly, it occurred to Widukind that living a boring but safe life wasn't maybe such a bad idea, after all. Too late.
“Well, then, let's go.” The captain said, still smiling.
At that, the far away stars on the view screen turned to streaks and vibrations started to shake the ship. Hunched over his console that he now gripped too tightly Widukind closed his eyes, hoping for the situation to resolve on its own. Oh God. I should have stayed in Hannover. He waited for the vibrations to stop but they didn't. As he heard the captain say, “Well done, Mr Bassayev.” he opened his eyes again.
Leonid turned to him, tapped him on his left shoulder and said, “You okay? You look a little shaken up. Don't worry, everything's alright, old friend.”
“Oh, well, it's just...,” he began to say, as he suddenly realised the full meaning of what Leonid had said. “You mean, this is normal?” Oh great. And this is only my first day.
Later it would become customary to tell tales of how, as a kid, you looked up at the stars, yearning for the mysteries and adventures that waited there. Widukind von Wenk just did it out of boredom. And the people he watched as they entered the transport craft had motives of their own. They were refugees from the vastness of Central Asia who, having escaped what historians would later call “the post-atomic horror”, just wanted to live a peaceful life. If that meant being the first farmers on Centaurus so be it.
Widukind had used this opportunity to take the last glance at the sky he'd get for the next nine months. A good choice, he thought as he squinted against the morning sun hanging low in the clear blue sky. Some birds were chirping faintly in the background. It felt like a day full of promises that he, as a child, would have spent outside, unsupervised, living through intense adventures with his mates. How fitting that it should be on this kind of day he would start on what was easily the greatest adventure of his life – the first colonisation expedition to Alpha Centauri.
He turned slightly to look at Leonid beside him, who casually leaned against the railing and used the opportunity to pollute the fresh air by smoking a cigarette, probably the last one in his life. They both wore the black trousers and grey jacket that marked them as members of the Proxima One's crew. The outfit looked way too military for Widukind's liking, so he subconsciously counteracted it by wearing white sneakers and a t-shirt displaying an overly cute cartoon character.
“So, Widu,” the dark haired, brown-eyed Russian said, “just a few more hours till launch. Nervous, yet?”
“Not really.” He answered, lying to Leonid as much as to himself. He knew the chances quite well, having seen nearly all possible outcomes of this colonisation effort in the course of the thousands of computer simulations he had run. The failure rate was 30 per cent, but none of the people who had just entered the craft knew this. No need to get them all excited. No need to let them know I'm scared as hell.
“That's good. Makes me feel a lot safer.” Leonid said absent-mindedly, oblivious to the insecurities in Widukind's voice. He was distracted by his own efforts to nonverbally flirt with Ülkü Yildirim, their beautiful chief engineer, who stood on the other side of the ramp, looking bored.
“Oh, let it go, Leo. You don't have a chance, anyway.” She yelled, grinning. “Besides, we have to get going.”
“She's right, you know.” Widukind agreed and looked critically at the remainder of Leonid's cigarette.
“Well, what do you know? I just remembered that I always wanted to quit smoking.” Leonid said, laughing, and flipped his cigarette away as they entered the transport craft that would bring them to the Proxima One.
The Proxima One was the biggest space ship ever built. And the ugliest, Widukind thought as they approached it. Built with strictly practical considerations in mind, it basically looked like a giant metallic box with a warp nacelle sticking out on each of its sides. It didn't look like it could move anywhere at any speed, not to mention faster than light. At least, their ship's fate, unlike their own, was already sealed: Once they arrived on Centaurus, it was to be disassembled into its various modules to build parts of the colony. In the mean time as many people and goods as possible were cramped into it.
“A real beauty, isn't she?” Leonid remarked, sarcastically.
“Well, we don't have to look at her once we're on board.” Widukind replied, dryly.
“Unless you actually have to go out to repair something.” Ülkü chimed in, chuckling. Widukind stared at her wide-eyed.
“Ooh, that's getting to you, isn't it? You look a little disquieted.” Ülkü said, looking slightly worried. “Don't worry. I mean, you were only trained to do quite specific tasks in zero-g. And how likely is that?”
“Fifteen per cent.” He muttered.
Leonid droned from the helm, “Serves you right for being such a multi-talented badass.”
Marek Westmoreland, captain of the Proxima One and expedition leader, had made it clear that he expected all the high-ranking members of his crew to be present on the bridge for the launch. Though the hierarchy was rather vague Widukind held a high position within it, much to his and everyone else's surprise. He was in charge of building the colony's power supply and responsible for the ship's energy systems until then. So, keeping an eye on the energy read-outs was part of his job. But he could do that just as easily from his quarters. And he would have preferred to be alone instead of being under the scrutiny of the captain with the chance of making a fool of himself once things got rough. In case something went wrong he couldn't do much, anyway. However, Marek Westmoreland was not a man who would take no for an answer.
And so Widukind found himself perched behind a console designated internal sensors feeling Westmoreland's unrelenting gaze piercing him from behind where the captain sat in a heightened position. Had he turned around he would have seen that the captain didn't look at him but, with a smile on his lips, at the view screen showing the starscape as they moved away from the plane of the Solar System, still at sublight.
A leaden silence reigned over the bridge as everyone was tense with anxious anticipation. Even Leonid sitting at helm control on Widukind's left hadn't said a word in hours. An exercise in patience, but Widukind von Wenk was not a patient man. We spend our lives waiting, waiting for the few moments that make it worthwhile, he thought, but mostly, it's in vain. The waiting didn't help to calm him down because it provided him with plenty of time to go over everything that could go wrong and picture the ensuing disasters in loving detail. At the same time another, all too familiar sentiment demanded his attention: boredom. Somehow, he had imagined this endeavour to be much more glamorous. It always seemed that way on TV. Happy now? Is that really what you want? You're throwing your life away for nothing. He wished he could stop second-guessing himself, this disease that turned even the noblest and most innocent decision sour and stale. Unfortunately, it was an unwanted talent of his.
Finally, they had put enough of a distance between Earth and themselves. After all, instead of jumping to warp they could just explode or vanish in another disastrous fashion. Calm down, Widu. He ordered himself. This occurs only in 0,1 per cent of all cases. That's practically impossible. You're a rational man, so stick to reason. But all the reason in the world couldn't keep him from sadly realising the shortcomings of statistics. What does it matter how likely it is when you're the one getting killed?
At a gesture by the captain to the dark skinned woman, whose name escaped Widukind at the moment, seated at the communications/external sensors station the stars on the view screen were replaced by a group of people with eager and anxious faces. It consisted of the heads of the Fransen-Mittal Mining Consortium furnishing the expedition and all government officials they could assemble. So shortly after the War, it weren't many.
A red-haired middle aged woman stepped forward. Widukind recognised her as the current General Secretary of the United Nations or whatever remained of them. “I was given the honour of addressing you before your departure. I figure you're eager to get under way, so I will make it short. You're doing what earlier generations could only dream of. In boldly going where no human has gone before you will carry our common heritage out into the galaxy. It is a difficult heritage, to be sure, but it is a rich one, too. May you succeed where we failed. May you lay the foundations of a society in which injustice, strife and war are things of the past and another world far away. Good luck and Godspeed!” She smiled warmly.
The captain had risen and said, “Thank you. To mark the occasion, I, too, have prepared a short speech.” Glancing at a crumpled piece of paper he had fished out of one of his pockets, he continued, “They say that one man can summon the future. I never believed that. Until I met Zefram Cochrane. Now, we are the future doing what was deemed impossible. May this serve as a lesson that nothing is impossible, that, just like a piece of quasi-magical technology was created amid the ruins of my home country, there is always hope, even in the direst circumstances. Let's all work together so that this glimmer of hope never fades away.”
Slumped back behind his station Widukind wondered how they do it, thinking up these inspiring speeches that made even him feel elevated. At least Marek had meant every word of it. What would it be like to have strong convictions such as these? If someone asked me now why I'm here I'd stutter because other than the vague feeling of having to get out I have nothing. And how pathetic is that? The real answer is this: because my home town was killing me with utter boredom. Nothing much ever happens there. Thank God no one has asked me, this sounds really lame. And one of the refugees might just smack me for being the stupid twit I am. He didn't have time to dwell on this any longer as the moment of truth had finally approached.
In a firm, yet warm voice Westmoreland asked, “Status, Mr Bassayev?”
“Warp drive is online and ready. Course is laid in.” Leonid announced, turning back to the captain.
Suddenly, it occurred to Widukind that living a boring but safe life wasn't maybe such a bad idea, after all. Too late.
“Well, then, let's go.” The captain said, still smiling.
At that, the far away stars on the view screen turned to streaks and vibrations started to shake the ship. Hunched over his console that he now gripped too tightly Widukind closed his eyes, hoping for the situation to resolve on its own. Oh God. I should have stayed in Hannover. He waited for the vibrations to stop but they didn't. As he heard the captain say, “Well done, Mr Bassayev.” he opened his eyes again.
Leonid turned to him, tapped him on his left shoulder and said, “You okay? You look a little shaken up. Don't worry, everything's alright, old friend.”
“Oh, well, it's just...,” he began to say, as he suddenly realised the full meaning of what Leonid had said. “You mean, this is normal?” Oh great. And this is only my first day.
