now is similar. You have a challenge to fulfill that is immeasurably harder than flying to the moon, yet immeasurably more important. Your starship must be ready to fly by 2040, or all our futures may be lost. I guess that’s all. Do good work.” And she stepped back from the podium.
The crowd broke up into humming discussions.
Holle saw LaRei big beasts stalking Jerzy Glemp. “Jerzy, you bastard, you sold us out. All the fucking money I pumped into this—it’s my ship, damn it . . .” Jerzy backed off, his hands spread defensively.
Patrick murmured, “So Jerzy engineered this takeover. Can’t say I’m surprised. We needed the resources, the leadership. But I wonder what kind of deal he struck for himself. He’ll have made enemies today.”
Holle didn’t care about the politicking. She tugged Patrick’s sleeve. “Gee, Dad. That was historic, wasn’t it? Wow. The President! But what do we do now?”
“I guess we’re going to find out.” He didn’t seem excited or enthused.
He just looked more tired than ever.
Both their phones sounded.
16
H olle’s call was a summons back to the Academy. By the time she got there, the students were lining up in the big North Atrium on the museum’s ground floor, an open space of three stories of brickwork and a glass roof, where the museum’s café had once been housed.
And here was the big, upright sixty-year-old military man who had stood by the President at her podium, his uniform air force blue. With a handful of aides at his side, he climbed on a step, facing the students. A couple of youngsters in uniforms, unknown to Holle, stood beside him, standing military fashion, legs apart, hands behind their backs. The Academy staff lined up nervously by one wall, before a whiteboard.
The officer began to speak while the latecomers were still filing into the room.
“My name is Gordon James Alonzo. My friends call me Gordo. To you I’m the Colonel. If you want to know who I am and what I’ve done, Google me. Do you little assholes still say ‘Google’? Whatever. You’ll learn I was air force trained, and flew shuttles with NASA. And now, at the President’s request, here I am back in air force blue, and taking on this fucking shambles of a space project. That includes turning this kindergarten into something that resembles a crew training academy.” He glared at the Candidates, some of whom were as young as eleven. “I’m not going to spare you, by the way. I’m sure your language is a lot filthier than mine.
And anyhow, if your performance records are anything to go by, most of you aren’t going to be around here long enough for my foul mouth to make a difference one way or another.
“I looked over the records of the classes that were going on here just this morning. Sociology! Ethics! Jesus Christ. And I’ll tell you one thing.” He looked at the staff. “There’ll be no more treasonous abider bullshit here. Is that clear? From now on things are going to change. Your training, those of you who survive the cull, will be wholly based on aspects of the actual project you’re working on. Ship’s systems—propulsion, comms, environment control, life support, G&N, that’s guidance and navigation, pressure suits, cockpit integration. Oh, and general relativity and all that horseshit. Also wider aspects of the project, planet-finding, recovery systems, mission planning, training programs. If you’re smart you’ll pick a specialism and dive into it. Make yourself indispensable to the program—indispensable to me. Don’t try to hide. If you do, you’ll be out.
“Everything will be purposeful. Even your recreation time will be focused on the physical aspects of the mission. No more fucking soft-ball. Ben, make a note,” he said, turning to an aide. “We ought to get a centrifuge up here. And we need to get some flight training, or anyhow flight experience. How about a Vomit Comet? At least we could rig up a zero-G table. And so on
The crowd broke up into humming discussions.
Holle saw LaRei big beasts stalking Jerzy Glemp. “Jerzy, you bastard, you sold us out. All the fucking money I pumped into this—it’s my ship, damn it . . .” Jerzy backed off, his hands spread defensively.
Patrick murmured, “So Jerzy engineered this takeover. Can’t say I’m surprised. We needed the resources, the leadership. But I wonder what kind of deal he struck for himself. He’ll have made enemies today.”
Holle didn’t care about the politicking. She tugged Patrick’s sleeve. “Gee, Dad. That was historic, wasn’t it? Wow. The President! But what do we do now?”
“I guess we’re going to find out.” He didn’t seem excited or enthused.
He just looked more tired than ever.
Both their phones sounded.
16
H olle’s call was a summons back to the Academy. By the time she got there, the students were lining up in the big North Atrium on the museum’s ground floor, an open space of three stories of brickwork and a glass roof, where the museum’s café had once been housed.
And here was the big, upright sixty-year-old military man who had stood by the President at her podium, his uniform air force blue. With a handful of aides at his side, he climbed on a step, facing the students. A couple of youngsters in uniforms, unknown to Holle, stood beside him, standing military fashion, legs apart, hands behind their backs. The Academy staff lined up nervously by one wall, before a whiteboard.
The officer began to speak while the latecomers were still filing into the room.
“My name is Gordon James Alonzo. My friends call me Gordo. To you I’m the Colonel. If you want to know who I am and what I’ve done, Google me. Do you little assholes still say ‘Google’? Whatever. You’ll learn I was air force trained, and flew shuttles with NASA. And now, at the President’s request, here I am back in air force blue, and taking on this fucking shambles of a space project. That includes turning this kindergarten into something that resembles a crew training academy.” He glared at the Candidates, some of whom were as young as eleven. “I’m not going to spare you, by the way. I’m sure your language is a lot filthier than mine.
And anyhow, if your performance records are anything to go by, most of you aren’t going to be around here long enough for my foul mouth to make a difference one way or another.
“I looked over the records of the classes that were going on here just this morning. Sociology! Ethics! Jesus Christ. And I’ll tell you one thing.” He looked at the staff. “There’ll be no more treasonous abider bullshit here. Is that clear? From now on things are going to change. Your training, those of you who survive the cull, will be wholly based on aspects of the actual project you’re working on. Ship’s systems—propulsion, comms, environment control, life support, G&N, that’s guidance and navigation, pressure suits, cockpit integration. Oh, and general relativity and all that horseshit. Also wider aspects of the project, planet-finding, recovery systems, mission planning, training programs. If you’re smart you’ll pick a specialism and dive into it. Make yourself indispensable to the program—indispensable to me. Don’t try to hide. If you do, you’ll be out.
“Everything will be purposeful. Even your recreation time will be focused on the physical aspects of the mission. No more fucking soft-ball. Ben, make a note,” he said, turning to an aide. “We ought to get a centrifuge up here. And we need to get some flight training, or anyhow flight experience. How about a Vomit Comet? At least we could rig up a zero-G table. And so on
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