LITMIR.BIZ

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you,” Kaufman said, smiling at the escape it provided.

      As much as she wanted to argue with him, now was not the time. She walked in.

      Most of the large auditorium lay in darkness, except for the high balcony at the front of the room which seated the eight consortium members chosen for today’s evaluations. A gentle spotlight slowly dawned over two chairs at a desk midroom. The space felt more like a courtroom than anything.

      It stole Vanhi’s breath away, though she couldn’t pinpoint why. She had a strange sense of déjà vu, like she’d stood below the high-seated members of the consortium before. Steely eyes waiting to be impressed, firm mouths set in straight-lined judgment.

      “Please, sit,” said Madame Chair from the center of the balcony. Her voice was flat, businesslike, and it fit her image: perfectly tailored black suit, gray hair pulled back in a neat bun, nails short and perfectly manicured. Her attire, along with her German accent and dark eyes, all made for a formidable persona. “Let the record show that Doctor McKenzie Kaufman and Doctor Vanhi Kapoor have entered. Before us we have their formal statements on why subdimensional research should be the replacement study for the Planet United Mission designated to Convoy Twelve. We are here to have the consortium’s questions and concerns addressed, so that we may be fully informed when making our final decision.”

      Her statement was clearly practiced and even-toned. But there was restrained passion in her voice. She cared about these missions, this wasn’t simply a prestigious assignment for her.

      The other seven consortium members present constituted individuals from around the globe. Representatives from Singapore, Malta, Iran, and Cameroon flanked Madame Chair on the left, while members from Zambia, Argentina, and Tasmania presided on her right. The entirety of the consortium board represented one hundred and eighty-eight of the world’s two hundred and seven countries, including states that had only gained sovereignty in the past three decades.

      The Planet United Missions were nothing if not aptly named.

      And Vanhi understood her place here was special. Everyone involved in the missions was under a gag order not to talk about the cancelation until a new mission for Convoy Twelve had been chosen. Only scientists with previously considered proposals were contacted about the new vacancy, and in turn sworn to secrecy.

      Vanhi’s was a singular case. She had had no previous involvement in the P.U.M.s on account of her age, and Kaufman on account of his arrogance—he’d originally called the idea of a worldwide space effort a “pipe dream” and “ludicrous.” Vanhi wasn’t part of the inner circle, shouldn’t be one of those “in the know.” And yet they’d agreed to include her, to consider her proposal.

      She was grateful to them, and even to Kaufman, for the opportunity, but the insidious sense she didn’t fully belong, that they somehow resented her presence—as though they were loath to make the exception—crept up her spine.

      It was a sick, familiar feeling. One that had haunted her all too often, especially in her youth.

      When she and Kaufman had taken their seats, Madame Chair turned to her left and said, “Doctor Ndi of Cameroon has the first question.”

      He cleared his throat and glanced at his notes, bow tie blazing red against his black skin in the harsh spotlighting. He looked young—perhaps younger than Vanhi. She wondered if he was the second individual to hold the seat for Cameroon. Many of the distinguished scientists who’d been given the honor of a consortium seat were getting on in years now, and others had already passed away.

      “In your proposal,” he began, “you outline the types of vessels and crew that would constitute this new convoy. You are aware that the majority of the ships for Convoy Twelve are already nearing completion, and insist you would be able to repurpose them. While we applaud that—applaud all of the proposals that have stated such, which is the majority—we are concerned by your request for approximately two hundred shuttles in addition to the existing ships.”

      Vanhi’s heart leapt, she wanted to interrupt, to swiftly correct the misreading, but forced herself to keep quiet.

      “We’d like you to justify this request.”

      Straightening her jacket, Vanhi stood. “Thank you, Doctor Ndi, for your question. The additional spacecraft we are requesting are not shuttles, not in the sense you mean. Like all of the convoys, ours would require specialty equipment in order to perform the mission’s research. These shuttles are actually referred to in the proposal—if I’m not mistaken—as ‘pods.’ Each pod would house dozens of individual experiments and one small SD drive designed to breach a new subdimension we’ve never attempted to crack before.”

      “And why can’t these experiments be performed on the preexisting science ship designed for Convoy Twelve?” asked Dr. Ndi.

      Kaufman leapt to his feet as though yanked upright by a puppet string. “Safety,” he said bluntly. “The entire point of taking SD study off-world is safety. Currently all SD experiments—unless you want to call the drives aboard the convoys experiments—are computer simulations, some in part, some in their entirety. We know trying to break out of the restrictive dimensions we exist in on a day-to-day basis is dangerous. We’ve had experimental engines explode, and worse. All in simulation. We don’t know what the consequences of opening up each new dimension might be. By their very definition, these dimensions do not play by the scientific principles we long thought to be true. Time and space, matter and energy, do not behave the same in these arenas.

      “If we move this research off Earth because we fear a new SD breach might swallow all of Cincinnati, we cannot expect our scientists to risk the rest of the experiments, their convoy, and their lives if they don’t have to.”

      “Thank you, Doctor Kaufman,” Vanhi said. “He’s exactly right. Each pod would be remotely piloted away from the convoy, ensuring the safe continuation of the research.”

      Dr. Ndi nodded, but made no indication he was satisfied or unsatisfied with the answer.

      Next, the representative from Zambia asked about the efficiency of the convoy. “Doctor Kapoor,” she began, leaning over the contoured edge of the desk-like balcony to see better. She was a match for Kaufman in size, and wore a green chitenge dress topped with a purple blazer. “You suggest the building of the not-yet-complete food processing ship be halted, because your convoy would not need to be self-sufficient. Why do you think it best that Earth be burdened with constantly resupplying your mission, instead of your crew learning to support themselves?”

      “Thank you, Doctor Mwansa. Our mission will be so unlike the other eleven, we don’t want to do things exactly as they do simply for consistency’s sake. It doesn’t make sense to put the burden of food production and resource conservation on an SD-focused mission. We will not be traveling far beyond the Oort cloud. Our convoy will still be ‘local.’ The other convoys need to be totally self-sufficient because they will not engage with Earth for a century or more. They may not, in fact, see the underside of an atmosphere for just as long. Their crews need to be extraordinarily large to ensure mission success. They need resources for all of those people, and, in turn, enough people to process those resources. Their crews are upward of one hundred thousand at peak operation, and the majority of those people are not directly essential to the science that is the mission’s focus. They will be nomadic societies. We will not.

      “Our crew does not have to be socially self-sustaining, as there is no reason for the entirety of the crew to remain aboard for the twenty-year study. We do not need clones because we will not be permanently removing scientists from Earth. Stints aboard our convoy can be limited to two or five years at a time. On any given day, I see no reason for there to be more than five hundred crew members—perhaps fifteen hundred to two thousand people total, including crew families—living aboard.”

      “Doctor, you’re not answering my question about food production.”

      “I’m sorry, yes, I’m getting there. My point is, if we are ferrying people back and forth, rotating the

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