Connelly was out of breath when she reached the fifteenth floor of the GEC training facility. She had waited ten minutes for the elevator with no luck, so she had opted for the stairs. As she approached the sixteenth floor, she began doubting her decision to climb twenty-three flights of stairs.
A week had passed since Connelly learned she'd be joining the first manned mission to a moon beyond our own. But right now, the mission was far from her mind. With her armpits growing damp from exertion, she was being to worry that the other crew members, whom she would soon be meeting for the first time, would get a bad impression of her. Connelly was in great shape, but even a marathon runner would have had a hard time vaulting up twenty-three flights of steep stairs.
That's what she told herself anyway.
When Connelly rounded the stairwell and headed for the seventeenth floor, she heard panting. She slowed her pace and looked through the bars. A man was standing on the top stair of the next floor, his hands on his knees and his head lowered. From this viewpoint she could see he had well manicured, wavy black hair, and was casually dressed in tan slacks and short sleeves.
Not a scientist, she thought.
She continued forward, trying not to look hurried. "Hi," she said as she began to walk past the man.
The winded man looked up and smiled. Kathy felt a twang inside her stomach as the man's face came into view. His cheeks were covered in rough stubble, which suited him, his eyes were dark brown and his smile was as white as an Antarctic white-wash.
Definitely not a scientist.
"You on the new GEC stairwell exercise plan too, huh?" he said.
Connelly smiled. "Mmm, I find the stairwell paint smell invigorating."
"I hadn't noticed anything invigorating about this stairwell," he said, then flashed a brilliant smile. "Until now."
Ugh, must be from PR, Connelly thought.
She began to move past him, doing her best not to return his smile.
"Sorry," he said. "That was inappropriate."
Connelly paused. He stood straight and extended his hand. "Michael," he said. "I'm in geology."
Connelly inadvertently raised her eyebrows. Trying to hide her surprise, she quickly shook his hand. "Kathy. Oceanography," she said.
"Huh," the man looked surprised.
"What?"
"Just didn't take you for an ologist."
Connelly cringed. Ologist? Seriously? "Well...you don't look like a geologist either," she said, looking down at her clothes. She was dressed in jeans and a tight fitting white blouse. Not like an 'ologist'.
He smiled. "I guess we're even then. Where you headed?"
"Twenty-third floor."
"Me too. Mind if I keep you company on the way?"
Kathy wasn't sure if she should be excited or annoyed, but saying "no" in either case would seem rude. "Lead the way."
Michael paused at the next flight of stairs. He turned to Connelly and said, "You're not married, are you?"
Kathy stopped on the fifth stair to the top.
Who is this guy? The Don Juan of geologists?
"No," she said. "My line of work doesn't leave much room for romance."
"Ouch," he said, and gave another of his infectious smiles. "Guess we'll have to schedule dinner far in advance, huh?" He continued up the stairs, more slowly now, giving Connelly a chance to keep up.
Is he really asking me out for dinner or is this all a tricky geologist ruse? She pushed the conundrum from her mind. It didn't matter anyway. In three months she'd be standing on the surface of Europa and Michael the geologist would be millions of miles away.
* * * * *
Connelly scoured the door numbers as she walked through the maze of hallways, looking for room 117, where she was scheduled to meet the rest of the Europa crew. Michael the geologist was still with her, apparently unable to find his room as well.
"You been here before?" Connelly asked.
Michael scratched his head. "Once, but never on this floor. It's a maze."
"Maybe it's a test," Kathy said. "Whoever is smart enough to figure out where their room is, is smart enough to be employed by the GEC."
"Looks like we're getting pink slips tonight."
They rounded a corner and were faced with a long hallway. The door to the right was labeled 103. The door to the left was labeled 23. Michael shook his head. "Like driving in Boston."
"You been there?"
"Born and raised. Well, not in Boston, south of Boston. An island off the cape. Martha's Vineyard."
Connelly slid past Michael and checked the door numbers as they moved down the hall. "Ooh, someone grew up with a silver spoon," she said.
"Not everyone on the island is rich."
"Riiight."
"Ooh, I get it now."
"You're from the mainland. Let me guess. The North Shore? Salem?"
Kathy paused and smiled. "Beverly."
"Close enough," Michael said.
Connelly started down the hallway again. "Well it's not where I spend my time now."
"And where might that be?"
"Ass end of the world. Antarctica."
Michael laughed. "Wouldn't you know it? We're polar opposites! I spend most of my time under the skirt of the Arctic Circle. So much for dinner."
Connelly raised an eyebrow as Michael took the lead again, searching the door numbers. "I never said yes."
Michael gave her a skeptical glance.
Connelly ignored it. "What's a geologist doing in the arctic?"
"Looking for meteorites," Michael said.
Connelly squinted. "Meteorites?"
Michael stopped in front of a door. "Ahh," he said. "Here's my stop."
Connelly looked at the door. It was number 117.
Michael smiled. "Shall I open the door for you, Dr. Connelly?"
There was no hiding Connelly's shocked expression.
"Oh, I'm sorry." Michael extended his hand. "Michael Peterson. Astrogeologist. I discovered the Europa sample. I'm the geologist on the Europa mission."
Connelly shook his hand for the second time. Sonofabitch. "You knew who I was this entire time."
Michael Peterson nodded. "Sorry about that. I couldn't resist. Look at it this way, at least dinner is an option again." Michael opened the door. "Ladies and mission leaders first.
Connelly walked through the open door.
* * * * *
"Look who's late," Willard said as Connelly entered the room.
She gave Willard a sarcastic smile. After Michael Peterson's ruse, she was in no mood for witty banter. She looked around the room. For a multi-billion dollar corporation, they certainly hadn't put much effort into snazzing up the training facilities. The room reminded her of her third grade classroom at Cove School back in Beverly, minus the plants, toys and schoolbooks. There were five rows of adult sized desks, a white board at the front of the room and a large mirror at the back.
She was tempted to wave to whoever was observing them on the other side of the mirror, but thought better of it.
The room lacked the chalky smell of old classrooms, but more than made up for it with the odor of permanent markers and bleach.
"Who's your friend?" Willard said as Peterson entered the room behind Connelly and shut the door.
"Robert, Ethan, this is Michael Peterson. He's the geologist who discovered the Europa meteorite, and he's going to be our geologist on the mission."
"Hey, Mikey," Willard said as he shook Peterson's hand with a dazzling array of moves ending with a punch of the fists. Michael looked horrified by the end and pulled his hand away quickly.
"Ethan Willard," Peterson said. "Safety specialist...and smart ass."
Robert shook Peterson's hand. "A pleasure," Robert said.
"Robert Samuels, oceanographer and crack shot, self-taught electronics engineer."
"Correct on all counts," Robert said with a smile.
"And I've already had the pleasure of meeting out mission leader, Kathy Connelly, biologist, oceanography and my future dinner date."
Connelly's face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and anger as she took a seat at one of the desks.
Ethan chuckled. "Boss, things move faster in space, but you're still on the ground."
"One more word," Connelly said. "And you'll have to walk back from Europa." She looked at Michael. "That goes for you too."
Willard leaned over to Peterson, who sat at the next desk over. "She's always testy with men she likes." Willard gave a wink.
"Pack your walking shoes, Ethan," Connelly said without turning around.
* * * * *
"I don't know," Timothy Harris said as he rubbed his bald head. "I see a lot of potential for tension."
Nancy Heintz stood next to him, watching Connelly, Peterson, Willard and Robert through the back side of a one way mirror. "Would you prefer they be serious science types? Their psychological tests came back fine. A short temper here, a tendency to talk too much there, but nothing serious."
"Still," Harris said, "If you want me commanding this mission, I need to have full faith in my crew, even the scientists. If anything goes wrong out there, we're on our own and I need everyone to be physically and psychologically at the top of their game."
A loud laugh from the other side of the one way mirror brought their attention back to the crew. They were all laughing at something.
Harris turned to Jen Choi, who had been watching the group with an unwavering eye. "What happened?"
Choi turned to Harris, swinging her pony-tailed black hair behind her head. "Willard passed gas."
Harris smiled. He willed himself not to, but he couldn't help it. He turned back to Nancy.
"You see?" she said, also attempting to hide a smile. "The only lethal gas you'll have to worry about while in Europa's orbit is from Mr. Willard."
Harris chuckled. "Fine. But I'm putting them all through the wringer and if they don't come through clean, they're not coming."
Nancy nodded. "Then make sure they all come out clean, because if they don't, none of you will be going."
The smirk on Harris's face disappeared. "Understood." Harris looked back through the one way mirror. Everyone had moved away from Willard. Connelly was waving her hand in front of her nose. Robert had his nose hidden beneath the collar of his shirt. Peterson was standing in the doorway, which was now open, moving the door back and forth to promote air circulation.
Harris's smirk returned. He looked back to Choi. "You ready to get started?"
Choi still wasn't smiling. Harris knew she wouldn't, either. Choi was a South Korean, Center for Disease Control and Prevention specialist turned astronaut. She had everything they needed for this mission and a serious demeanor to boot. Only she, Harris, Nancy and Peterson knew of the potential hazards of this mission and the death in the Arctic. But with Choi along, they were prepared for the worst. She had handled some of the deadliest disease outbreaks in recent history and had a flawless track record. Harris wondered how many strings had to be pulled before the CDC let her go. With everything she had seen, he knew she had reason to be serious, but still found her inability to smile unsettling.
Choi nodded.
"Let's get started then."
As Choi led the way out of the room, Harris glanced back into room 117 and felt a shiver of apprehension crawl across his ribs. This mission would make or break his career. Of course, whether the mission succeeded or failed, he would still be remembered in the history books. But how he would be remembered had yet to be determined. Space travel in general was dangerous, but when you take high speed travel, unknown space and an inexperienced crew into consideration, it was downright nuts. He hadn't worked out the odds of success yet—didn't want to—but his gut said they weren't good. That they were more likely to be remembered with a plaque or a statue while their dead bodies floated through space. But avoiding that outcome was his job. And he was ready for it. Determination replaced the apprehension. He would make these scientists into astronauts or die trying.
* * * * *
Connelly had just sat back down at the desk when the door opened and a balding, African-American man walked into the room; his spine held straight, his demeanor friendly. The man was followed by an Asian woman with beautiful tan skin and serious eyes.
"Hello everyone," the man said. "I'm Captain Timothy Harris, your mission commander. This is Jen Choi. She's my second in command, and on this mission, what we say is equal to the word of God."
Choi walked to the front of the room, carrying a handful of file folders. Harris stood behind the desk.
Choi stood in front of them, not relaxing her posture. "We have three months of training to complete. Three months after that, we will be walking on the surface of a moon in orbit around Jupiter. Please pay attention to everything you are taught. Even the smallest detail, while perhaps boring to you now, could save your life or the lives of this crew. Any questions before we get started?"
After a moment of silence, Robert found the guts to speak. "Uh, here to Europa in three months? Isn't that kind of, well, fast?"
"We will be using a new propulsion system in an experimental spacecraft named Surveyor," Choi explained, "which will allow us to reach abnormally high speeds."
"Sounds dangerous," Willard said.
The slightest hint of a turned up smile appeared on Choi's face, but then quickly disappeared. "It is."
"Oh." Willard said. "Well, as long as we're not being pushed through space by a series of nuclear explosions. I saw that in a TV special and...I..." He noticed Harris's sympathetic smile. "Dammit."
Connelly looked at Peterson. "Not that I'm complaining. I realize that you made the original discovery, but why are you on the team? Europa is primarily composed of ice and water, and we're searching for life. Why send a geologist?"
"The meteorite we found in the arctic was composed primarily of extremely dense ice," Peterson said. "But swirled within the ice were veins of unknown elements, which when analyzed in the lab, turned out to be highly energetic. My theory is that the microbial life on Europa survive by somehow absorbing this elemental energy. I'd be happy to show you my data."
"Sounds romantic," Willard said.
Before Connelly could shush Willard, Harris broke in. "All right, folks. Stay focused. You're about to get five years worth of training in three months. You don't learn this stuff, we don't go." Harris looked at Willard. "You following me?"
Willard smiled and gave a salute. "Let's do this."