Post a response to this discussion thread
DAY TWO
Richard B. Bernstein sits, unshaven and haggard, at his VDT, replaying over and over again a log entry. Tears slide down his face as he views repeatedly the horrific fate of Dr. LunaMoth, the expedition's chief biologist.
JunkYardDog enters, his face solemn.
JYD: Richard, what good is that going to do?
RBB: We could have prevented that. We *could* have prevented that. You know it, and I know it. But we were too damned impatient; we wanted to move too fast with this expedition, and we didn't take the pains we should have taken.
JYD: Even if all of what you're saying is true, we cannot bring LunaMoth back, can we? So what good are you doing any of the rest of us, let alone yourself?
RBB: But if LunaMoth, who spent her life studying exobiology and alien ecology, could be killed that way because we didn't take enough precautions, what about the rest of us?
JYD: Look, I'm giving you an order. Take a morning-after pill, get yourself cleaned up, and suit up. Meet us in the extravehicular activity bay at 1100 hours. We're going out there to lay claim to this world, and I won't let your maundering get in the way of that.
MetaTroll enters. As his gaze meets that of JunkYardDog, the two men tense. It is clear that they loathe and distrust each other. At the sight of impending conflict, RBB gets to his feet.
RBB: OK, OK. Enough of that. You almost wrecked the recreation module last night and ruined the party. Now that we're going out there, let's try to be professionals.
JYD [not breaking his locked stare with MetaTroll]: You're one to talk about being professional. Look at you -- you haven't shaved, you haven't washed, you're a mess.
MT [not breaking his locked stare with JunkYardDog]: You'd better stay out of this. It's between him and me.
RBB: Look, we've never had a murder on an alien world, and I don't want to have to explain to Mission Control that the first one in human history happened because you two can't act like adults!
Philm Phan enters, her uniform trim and her demeanor alert.
PP: Knock it off, the lot of you. The Captain wants us in the extravehicular bay at 1100 hours, and that means all of us, in peak condition and working together as a team.
RBB: No backup crew to protect the ship? That's imprudent, to say the least!
PP: That's the way he wants it.
RBB: But you're first officer. You can challenge his ruling.
PP: There's nothing to worry about, Richard. None of the sensor scans has turned up any sentient life forms that could pose a threat, and the android units will be adequate to maintain ship's security.
RBB: I was asked to join this crew because I'm an expert on space law, and the UN Exploration Code, sec. 413.25-gamma, makes damned clear that no expedition ship shall be left unmanned for any purpose whatsoever. Not after the Mir incident of 1999.
PP: It doesn't matter. The Captain has cleared it with Mission Control.
RBB: I'll enter an objection in my log.
PP: He's expecting you to.
RBB [with a defeated shrug]: All right. You all get out of here and let me prepare for EVA and I'll take care of that damn log entry.
* * * *
I'll let it end here for now.
Post a response to this discussion thread