The hatch opened, revealing Kathleen and her three male friends. "You play very well."
"Thanks."
Turning to her companions, she continued. "I'd like you to meet some friends of mine. This is Carl, tall and gorgeous." Carl grinned broadly and shook Harry's hand. "Next is Peter. Peter is an accountant for Braithwaite." Peter pushed his glasses up and squinted at Harry. "Last, but certainly not least, is Edward. Edward is interested in playing a game of zoomball. What do you say, Harry?"
Harry looked at the man. He was a few years older, but appeared to be fit. The unsmiling stranger wore zoomball pads.
"I don't know."
Kathleen smiled. "Why Harry, you're not tired already, are you?"
"All right, one more game."
The stranger finally smiled in satisfaction and entered the court. Harry turned to follow but Kathleen held him by the sleeve. "Edward is very good, Harry. You'll have to play your best to beat him."
Harry made a face and Kathleen laughed. She shut the door and Harry turned to face his opponent. The man was already in the middle of the court. He tossed the ball to Harry. "You can bring it in first."
"Okay. Ready?"
Edward jumped up and clung to a rung on the ceiling. "Anytime you are."
Harry backed up as far as he could and braced his feet on the rear wall. He kicked out and shot across the court towards the goal. He lost sight of his opponent and thought he'd taken the older man by surprise. Harry lined up his shot and threw the ball at the open hoop. At that instant, Edward dropped from above and intercepted the shot.
Grabbing the ball with both hands, he passed in front of Harry, hit the wall and bounced back up to the ceiling. Harry careened into the wall and regained control just in time to see Edward casually positioning himself for his first shot. The ball sailed through the hoop without touching the sides. Harry floated back to his goal. "One-zip," Edward said.
Harry knew he was going to have to watch the old guy more closely. He was quick with good hands and he liked to creep along the ceiling.
The two men exchanged points, but slowly, Edward pulled ahead. Harry was getting beat and he knew it. Through the far window he could see his friends watching closely through the glass. At the other end, Kathleen watched.
Harry took a deep breath. It had been a long day, the most important day of his life. He wanted it to end perfectly, not so much for the others, not for Kathleen, but for himself. With renewed vigor, he shot back out into the court, fighting back and making three baskets in a row. The pace of the game quickened. Both men began to check and block more frequently. Edward came back with a point that Harry quickly made up. The lead changed hands several times. And then the score was tied, 20-20.
Whoever made the next point would be poised to take the final point and win the game. Edward had possession of the ball. He stood at his goal and waited for Harry to signal he was ready. To Harry, the guy looked as fresh as he did when he first stepped on the court.
Edward set his feet and launched himself at an angle that took him to Harry's right. Harry reacted by floating backward, he didn't want to commit himself too soon. Edward hit the wall and pushed himself up and forward. That was it. Harry saw that he would cross in front of the basket and make his shot. He pushed himself off on a course that bisected the older man's path; in mid-flight Harry decided to check him rather than block the shot, perhaps he could manage to knock the ball loose. Harry put his head down and braced himself, but in the next instant he saw that somehow Edward had changed his approach angle. Harry ended up sprawled against the floor and Edward made the shot.
That was the point that beat Harry, not the following point. He practically gave the final shot away and lost, 22-20.
Harry drifted to the control panel and slowly damped the electromagnets until the two men once again stood in normal gravity.
Edward took off his helmet to reveal a jagged scar stretching above his left eye. "Thanks for the game," he said casually. Before Harry could reply, simultaneously the hatches at both ends of the court opened. Frankie and George tumbled in.
"You almost had 'em, Harry. You let him off the hook, that's all."
"No, he beat me."
Edward left the court and Kathleen lingered in the hatchway. She called to Harry. "See you, Harry. Don't forget the party tomorrow night. Good luck." She shut the door and walked away with her friends, paying particular attention to the guy who'd just beaten him in a well-played game.
"What party?" he asked too late. Kathleen was gone.
"The party for the candidates. It's another Foundation giveaway." George explained. "We're all invited. I figured Frankie and I could help you celebrate."
"I'm not there yet. I think I want to take some heat and shower down, then go home; big day tomorrow."
They all agreed and went off to the saunas, George in the lead. Harry thought he should be feeling better. He'd lost a game, but that didn't matter. After all, he'd passed the tests. That was the important thing.
Chapter 5
For the second day in a row, Harry wore his father's lucky tie. He toyed with the frayed ends as the auditorium filled with corporation space survey candidates. Frankie and George sat beside him, checking out the girls.
The same man who had spoken the day before appeared on the stage and walked to the podium. Behind him the Braithwaite logo was emblazoned across a giant video screen. He smiled and raised his hand to the crowd. The auditorium grew quiet.
"I am Stephen Thanopolous, your corporate representative." He shifted and took on a more thoughtful pose. "For a select few of you, today is one of the most important days of your lives. But you already know that. You wouldn't be here if you weren't the best society has to offer. You should all be proud of yourselves for a job well done." He began to applaud and spontaneously, hand-clapping erupted from the crowd.
Thanopolous raised both hands and the applause died away.
"As you know, the Braithwaite Foundation holds its tests every year. For those of you who haven't found placement with another corporation by next year, you may reapply for the Braithwaite tests, but one time only. The numbers grow larger each year.
Fifty years after the discovery of the wormhole, the Foundation began its deep space survey enterprise. In the same spirit as those who first explored the solar system, and farther still, to those early free spirits who set out in wooden, wind-driven ships with dreams of fame and fortune; in that same spirit, the nominees for the new survey teams will embark on a life of wonder and adventure. The mysteries of the galaxy lie before you.
This is a serious enterprise, not something to be taken lightly, nor something to be charged into with reckless abandon. You will live aboard a spacecraft with your fellow crew members for long periods of time. Your equipment must function properly, you must do your job proficiently; others will be counting on you. The tiniest mistake in a pressurized environment and you've not only killed yourself, but the rest of the crew as well.
That's the immediate threat. But I'd imagine a few of you have thought about the fact that out of the hundreds of planets surveyed, we've only discovered a handful of life-forms. None we’d call “sentient,” but they reinforced opinions that something else is out there.
We know life can springs up in unlikely places, fungus spores lying dormant in the shadows of a meteor crater on Vega-5, the "floating cotton" recently found high in the atmosphere of a gaseous planet orbiting Procyon. None of these were especially scary. But they were very interesting. Interesting enough for the Foundation to offer the discoverers bonuses that allowed the crews to comfortably retire.
By the way, within weeks of those retirements, every member of those survey teams was back at the corporate offices, asking to be assigned to another survey mission. But that's the kind of people they are. And that's the kind of people you are."
Spontaneous applause again broke out. Thanopolous held up his hands.
"Our aim is twofold. First, we want to locate planets suitabl
e for colonization; second, we want to gather resources for the teeming billions here on Earth. Not only material resources by means of our extensive mining fleet, but also informational resources.
We are not a conquering race. We recognize the rights of other species to exist and where possible, to cohabitate. Although we have not encountered an intelligent species, someday, somewhere, it is likely to occur. And you may be the one attending the trade talks.
Some planets appear to be waiting for life, while others, the vast majority I might add, are wastelands never intended for any form of life. It is among all these you will travel. Not the experience of a lifetime, but a lifetime of experiences."
Clapping started, but this time accompanied by whistles and shouts of enthusiasm.
"In closing, I'd like to leave you with a little practical advice which I'm sure you've all heard before. That is, preparation is the key to success. Think of what it took for you to be here today and remember, no matter if you are selected or not, the real work is always done in preparation for the task. Good luck to you all."
Thanopolous waved to the audience. The audience, a roomful of young, energetic, and by this time, very nervous people, responded with a standing ovation. Thanopolous stopped and bowed, then walked behind a curtain. The lights went down and the giant videoscreen sprang to life with a rapidly expanding field of stars. From the center emerged the Braithwaite logo.
Frankie nudged Harry. "Let's go get a drink."
Harry pointed at the video. "I'm watching the thing here..."
"Harry, they're just going to talk about the Foundation's holdings, corporate structure, and all that crap. This'll go on for forty minutes or so, then they'll start talking about the survey groups."
"How do you know?"
"Read it in the program."
"Oh." Well, maybe getting a drink wasn't a bad idea. They weren't expected to sit still for three hours through one presentation after another. "Okay, let's go."
All three got up and picked their way down the row and up the aisle to the wide lobby. They weren't the first. Small groups of men and women stood about conversing, passing the time until the announcements for the selections. An elaborate bar issued free juice drinks and coffee. Harry ordered water while the others had coffee.
He looked around the tiered lobby and spotted Kathleen at a table in an elevated veranda. She was with the zoomball player, Edward, and Blane, the wirehead. There was also a redheaded woman and another man at the same table. Harry watched Edward get up, say something to Blane and, accompanied by the red-headed woman, walk away. Kathleen looked down and saw Harry. She waved for him to join her.
George saw her too. "Better go check it out, buddy. I do believe that girl likes you."
"I wonder if she speaks French," Harry murmured. Touching his tie, he crossed the floor to the winding staircase and proceeded up. Kathleen watched him as he approached.
Feeling brave, Harry spoke first, "Ca va, ma copine?"
"Pas mal, mon tas d'mour."
Her reply stopped Harry in his tracks. He'd never been called a "pile of love" before. Her French was excellent.
"Tu parles bien le francais."
"Mais c'est agacant aux autres. Ils ne parle pas francais."
Out of deference to the others, they switched to English. "You just missed Edward and Doris. But let me introduce you to the best mission doctor in the Corporation. Harry, this is Dr. Charles Parker."
"How do you do?" the doctor said. The two men shook hands.
"You remember Bart?"
"Oh sure." Harry looked at the young computer genius. He was plugged into a portable CD player and wasn't paying attention to anyone at the moment. He sat at the table and looked at his hands. Occasionally, he grimaced when an unusually intense wave of pleasure swept over him.
"Bart's a little out of it right now."
Bart responded immediately. "No, I'm not. Well, that's not entirely true, but I am able to respond." He looked at Harry.
"Good morning, Harry."
"Mornin' Bart."
"So," Dr. Parker said, leaning on the table, "Kathleen tells us you're in the running. That's good. We need smart, young men."
Harry noted that the doctor was no older than Harry.
"Have you been through the hole yet?" Harry asked.
"Why no, I haven't. None of us have except for Edward and Doris. Doris is the mission XO."
"So, what's Edward's job?"
Kathleen shook her head. "We can't talk about that now."
"Why not?"
"Company rules, infringement of rights, contractual stuff that could end up in court. You know, people will sue over anything these days."
Harry frowned.
"Don't worry, Harry. We're pulling for you. We'd like to see you on the team. There's a lot of closed door stuff going on. Teams are being selected."
Parker waved a hand in the air, back-handed, as if brushing away any misunderstanding. "Politics and all that."
Bart suddenly slapped the tabletop with both hands and pushed his chair backward. "Well, I'm going inside. I want to see the wormhole presentation."
So did Harry. He looked at Frankie and George. They were talking to three female candidates and showed no interest in re-entering the auditorium.
"Why don't we sit together?" suggested Kathleen.
"All right. Glad to meet you, Dr. Parker."
"Same here. Good luck, Harry." The doctor remained seated while Kathleen boldly took Harry by the hand and followed Bart down the stairs and into the auditorium. Harry winked to his friends as he was led out of the lobby.
The theater was dark; it took a moment for Harry's eyes to adjust. The image on the screen was that of the solar system and its relationship with nearby systems. As Kathleen led Harry to their seats, a faceless narrator told the audience about brown dwarfs, quasars, double and triple star systems, black holes, imploding stars, exploding stars, gravitational fields, and folded space. The presentation was first rate; at times, three-dimensional images danced over the heads of the audience, and holograms moved up and down the aisles.
Bart sat on one side of Kathleen while Harry sat on the other. Kathleen continued to hold Harry's hand. Once they were situated, Harry leaned close.
"What is it with you and Bart?"
"Oh yeah, that." She whispered back. "It seems so natural I forget sometimes."
The speaker described what the fabric of the universe looked like by displaying a gridwork pattern on the screen. The display zoomed in on a place that looked like a hole. "...a graphical representation of the Berzier/Claymore anomaly," intoned the narrator, "the wormhole. As you can see, owing to fluctuations in gravitational forces, the entrance to the wormhole is constantly in flux."
"Yeah?" Harry prompted Kathleen to continue.
"Bart's a wirehead, you know. He's hooked up. I met him in graduate school, along with a lot of other rich, smart people. Those were crazy times. Everybody was getting hooked up, having implants put in. Bart's got five plugs, three for inputs and two for outputs. He can run servos from his head. Bart's a genius. Certified."
Somebody coughed for quiet. A moment passed. Suddenly, the screen burst with life as it took the viewer on a simulated trip through the wormhole. The background volume increased. Harry leaned closer to Kathleen. Her hair smelled nice.
"So?"
Kathleen sighed. "So, a few of us decided to have receiver implants. I have one right here." She tapped a spot behind her ear.
"And Bart is the transmitter?"
Bart leaned across in front of Kathleen. "Yes," he said, "you got it. Now can we please watch the presentation?"
"Sure," Harry blushed in the dark. "Sorry."
Harry and Kathleen both fell silent and watched the show. Kathleen continued to hold his hand. Harry felt odd and wondered if Bart was talking to Kathleen at that very moment via their wireless connection. How could she have done such a thing, Harry wondered? It was like, well it was like getting a tattoo. Responsibl
e people just didn't do such things.
On the giant viewscreen, the trip through the wormhole ended when they came out the other end. The narrator continued to talk about the 'elastic' properties of the wormhole. "...physicists arrived at the astounding conclusion that variances in entrance velocities would yield specific locations; in other words, the speed at which one enters the wormhole is what determines where one goes. The number of possible exits are still being calculated. Practically speaking, it seems the number of possible destinations is limitless."
Kathleen patted Harry's hand. "We'll talk more later."
Still confused, he merely nodded.
The presentation ended, and as the next presentation began, Bart insisted they return to the lobby so he could get something to eat.
"My blood sugar's running low," he said as he led the way out.
Outside, they ran into Frankie and George. Reluctant to be snubbed again, they tried to beg off when Harry asked them to sit down. Kathleen hailed a passing waiter and requested ale for the boys. Only then did Frankie and George decide to stay. Despite his prejudices, Harry found himself liking Bart. He was funny, in a deadpan sort of way, attentive, in a non-attentive sort of way, and able to get to the point quickly. Harry liked that in a person. Toward the end of the meal, Bart commented on the fine Martian ale.
"The grain comes from hydropods, you know. But the soil underlay!" He held a finger aloft. "There's the real Mars."
George agreed. "They sure make good ale on Mars."
"You're buzzed," Frankie said to George.
"You're not?" George fired back.
Bart ordered three more ales.
"Bart," Kathleen said, "if you get drunk, I'm going to switch you off."
She fell silent for a moment and looked at Bart. "All right," she said, "there. Satisfied?"
Bart crinkled his nose and smiled, then fell into conversation with George.
Kathleen turned to Harry.
Harry was still confused, not at all comfortable with the situation. "So," he said, "how long have you two been together?"
Kathleen looked taken aback. "You mean Bart and me? Oh, like I said, since graduate school; four, going on five years."
"No. I mean how long have you been together? You know, together?"