Origin & Earth (The Orris Project Book 1), page 8
Halfway up a ledge that looked like it extended over fifty yards into the trough at a ten-degree angle, he was at a point where he could lift himself onto the next step. It was like climbing a huge flight of stairs. He did the same thing two more times and found that he had reached the halfway point of the total climb. The shafts of light illuminating the trough were bending and narrowing, and he noticed it was already getting darker. He also noticed a new shaft, not even a shaft really, but a pin of light coming in at a much sharper angle, brighter than the others. It was possibly due to the fact that he was still staring at the intense beam of light, or the fact that the general lighting in the trough was failing, but he never saw the gap. He started walking, and his third footfall landed on clear, open air. A moment into the fall, he grasped at the shadows in front of him, connecting with the other side of the gap only enough so his face crashed into his arm and not the rock itself. He could not establish a grip and fell straight down into the black. This is it… was the thought going through his mind when he landed in the muck. First his feet, then his buttocks, then his back. To his amazement, other than his forehead and nose and the arm they smacked into, he did not feel any intense pain. He had even managed not to hit his head on the sludgy ground he was lying in. How many times can one man get this lucky? He pressed his hand into his landing pad and rubbed the contents between his fingers. Not sand, finer. Silt, he thought. It was wet, but there was no standing water. The mountain had excellent drainage. He sat up in the darkness and looked above. He could still see the pin and watched it fade and blink out. The darkness was complete.
It would be eight hours at least, but probably ten before he could hope for any light, and he suspected when that time came, it would not be much. He abandoned his vision for the time being and mapped the area by touch. He slowly and carefully navigated around on his hands and knees, touching the floor and the walls. The room was disturbingly small. He knew there were no drop-off points, ledges, or any other dangers of the sort, and also that the muck was only on one half of the floor. He stood up slowly and retraced his crawling assessment of the entire space. It was round and six paces in diameter. He went around again, paying close attention to the condition of the surrounding walls. They were all sheer. The only material in the place was the silt. No small or large rocks to build a set of stairs. No cracks in the walls, no ledges or steps, nothing to grip with either hand or foot. He was trapped.
I’m going to die here. As he tried to think of escape strategies, the thought kept repeating itself. He closed his eyes, not that it made any difference visually but for the comfort of it. He told himself to think. There has to be a way out of this. And there was. There were two, actually. “The pill or the still,” his fellow envoy, Tom Holly, had always been fond of saying in the meetings they had with Dr. Ben Estes, the survival theorist. Tom alone thought it was clever and said it often. When in a dire situation, “the pill” would kill you, and “the still” was a reference to the fact that one did not move while under the influence of Sterilex.
“The pill or the still, Tom. I think I’ve finally reached that point,” the Envoy spoke only to thin air. One way or the other, he did not have to decide right then, so he laid down to sleep, waiting to get a good look in the morning, when there was light.
16
When the light finally came, it was miserably dim. Even though he understood that the source was dim to begin with, it did not ease his frustration. His pupils were at maximum dilation, yet he could make out little but dark shadows among slightly darker shadows. There was one sharply black vertical line on what he suspected was the west wall, had he not entirely lost his bearings. That’s where the water goes, he thought, and since I’m not a quarter of an inch thick, I can’t perform the same trick.
“Why would anyone take the pill?” It surprised him to find he was speaking out loud. If the option is pill or still, why wouldn’t you just risk ‘the still?’ He thought about it for a few minutes. Cowards. It’s the only answer, at least in a situation like this. He took his bag off his back and walked to the rockier side of the small room. There was no way he would go under while lying under the same gap he had dropped through.
The light was getting to its brightest point, but it was still inadequate. The only saving grace was that the administering rod was glass, and very reflective. As long as he didn’t wait, he could put himself under with an accurate dose. A big dose, he thought. There was only one positive to going under for a long time: the large dose of Sterilex took you out quickly. The dreams were fast, and then you were gone. There was no panic. Waking up was hell.
The Envoy rolled out his blanket and opened the salve and his satchel, the contents of which had survived the fall. He also tossed a full bottle of water onto the blanket. I know I’ll need it as soon as I wake up. Why not make it easy? He walked over to the far side of the hole and urinated into the silt. Once he was back, he applied the salve to his body and prepared the administration devices. Head bag on, he dipped the rod into the Sterilex up to the “five” hash and applied it to his tongue. He quickly did it again, this time to the “six” hashmark. G11 achieved. It was time to start the long run.
17
He was in his cocoon, awaiting the inevitable nightmare. His breathing was slowing noticeably. Before he slept, he could hear a soft sound that at first sounded like radio static but got louder and louder and he recognized it as solid rocket fire. He could see stars and…
SOMETHING’S WRONG!
no, there isn’t, you’re fine.
He was orbiting Sochee, the people of Osa’s nickname for their sun. Sochee was growing, and he could see Osa in the distance, a blue dot. Sochee grew and swelled and burned Osa to ash, and then further burned the ash into nothing at all. Sochee came, and Sochee took it all. Sochee took every fiber of what once was Osa, his home. And then Sochee died. All that remained was a tiny white dwarf, an eternity away from the Envoy’s hole.
Chapter 4
Sterritt & Paige
1
“It kills you, technically.” Arthur Sterritt was speaking to a group of eleven envoys, the nine from Group 1 and the first and second position from Group 2 who had also agreed to be alternates. Sterritt’s office was poorly lit with the shades drawn and the only artificial light resting on his desk. Arthur had arranged folding chairs in a circle with no table centered between them, like they were attending group therapy. Dr. Christine Paige sat opposite Sterritt. “I don’t say that to scare you. I say that because I want to be honest with you. It kills every cell in your body, it kills the bacteria between your teeth and in your gut, it kills the fungus in your hair follicles.” The group stirred. Flanking Garrett were Thomas Holly on his right and Kyle Gellar on his left, positions three and eight, respectively. Two days before, at the Migration Division’s general orientation, they were told their position numbers would only determine launch order. The positions were descending, putting Garrett last to launch in Group 1. “But yet, I sit here before you, clearly alive, or at least I hope that’s clear.” A small ruffle of laughter.
“Sterilex does a lot more than just kill you,” Sterritt continued. “It is a powerful preservative, and it has a shelf life. That is to say, it decays. The duration of time that you will be ‘under’ is directly tied to how much you administer. Within a handful of minutes after the last of the Sterilex decays, the cells will respire again and resume their function as though nothing had happened. The same cannot be said for your body as a whole.
“The first thing to react to being alive again is your medulla oblongata, which will immediately begin sending pulses to your heart. The heart will pump mostly deoxygenated blood through your system. A moment later, it will activate your pulmonary system and your diaphragm will begin its rhythm, rapidly at first, then slowing. You won’t know any of this. Even though consciousness returns a few moments after that, you won’t have any of your senses. You will be a prisoner in your own mind. You will breathe, but you won’t know it, you won’t feel it, and you certainly won’t hear it. Hearing is one of the last senses to return,” he said. The group fidgeted and stirred when Dr. Paige interrupted.
“How long, Mr. Sterritt? How long does it take to come back?”
Arthur’s expression was blank at first and then he looked at the floor in front of him, calculating. “I was down for one hundred and fifty-three years and seven months. I can only estimate the duration of the experience, but if I had to guess, I would put it at ten minutes, between the time that my mind woke up and the time I regained my vision.” Arthur had been addressing her directly but began looking around at the envoys in the group again. “Which is the last sense to return, understand.”
Dr. Paige seemed surprised. “Oh! So, it’s not that bad, then. Ten minutes. I imagine any of these men could handle ten minutes of discomfort. It doesn’t sound so horrible after all.”
“Every part is horrible,” Arthur said, again addressing Dr. Paige. “Christine, I was under for a hundred and fifty years. These men could be under for millions or billions of years at a time. I want to offer them any comfort I can, but I can only estimate and make educated guesses based on my research, and I will not lie to them.”
It was Dr. Paige’s turn to stir and fidget. “I certainly was not suggesting that, Mr. Sterritt. I guess the next question is, what can they expect at much longer durations under the influence of Sterilex? What estimations could you make for a million- or a billion-year stint?” she asked, looking hopeful, but her ankles were crossed under her chair and her hands were clasped on her lap.
“Well, I could never say for sure, but one thing I can say is that it is definitely not a linear correlation. I believe there is an upper limit, and I believe that upper limit to be between thirty and forty minutes, even for a three- or four-billion-year stint. But being gone for that long presents challenges much more dire than what it would be like to wake up,” he chuckled. “Waking time would be the least of your concerns at that point, I think.”
Garrett reacted and was speaking before taking the time to consider if his question was appropriate. “But that’s an actual possibility for us, Arthur. For every one of us here. Unless we’re the luckiest men in the universe, we’re all going to do a billion-plus year stint and maybe more than once. So, what are you saying? Why are you laughing? Do you think it will kill us permanently if we take that much? What are you saying?” Garrett was speaking louder than usual. Among persistent agreement from the other envoys, Arthur was shaking his head.
“No, no, no. Not with the Sterilex. I have no reason to believe that the Sterilex will cause any permanent damage. It’s the environment. I don’t know how anyone in a frail body could survive that long without being swallowed up by the planet on which they reside. It seems like everyone piled onto the idea of Sterilex being a magic potion that could keep people alive forever, but it isn’t! There’s no magic here!” Arthur was getting loud and pointed at Joe Burkman. “You could have a rock fall on your head, dead! Forever dead!” Randy Vila, “You could get trapped in a landslide, dead!” Jonroe Daniels, “You could freeze to death, yeah! That would still kill you! Dead!” Ken Chase, “The very floor you lay on could collapse, and you’d fall to your death, dead!” his focus turned back to Garrett, “And you Mr. Rhodes? One thing, two things? Thousands of things could kill you while you’re under. Ten thousand. You’re all just bugs. The crap in the bottle that I give you will keep you alive only if you don’t get squashed! You all have to understand that!” Arthur had stood and was pacing around the room. Next, he seemed to talk to himself. “I hate this. I hate it. I told them I didn’t want to have any part in this. This is a stupid idea, and it’s going to get people killed.” He took a few more steps and stopped with his back to the group. “That’s all for today. I will see you all at ten tomorrow morning.” He walked out of the room.
“Well then,” Dr. Paige said, “I think it’s clear to all of you that Mr. Sterritt is under some stress regarding the totality of this project. Let’s all take a long break for lunch and we can meet in my office at one o’clock for the first psych roundtable. Okay? See you all then.” She stood, and everyone followed suit, shuffling out of the room.
2
There was a large cafeteria in the back of the building on the first floor. The ceiling was as high as the reception area and huge glass panels lined the back wall, letting the natural light flood the space. Garrett got in a long line to get a sandwich when one of the other envoys, rock-on-head-guy Joe Burkman, walked up to him.
“Hey, Garrett, right?” Garrett nodded and extended his hand. Joe, an average-looking man from his height to his weight to his side-parted light brown hair and dull hazel eyes, shook it. “Joe Burkman. Hey, there’s hot food down at the end there, if you want something better than a sandwich.” He pointed toward the glass windows in the back corner of the large cafeteria.
“Yeah, that sounds great.” Garrett split from the line he was in, and the two walked to the back corner of the room. “I’m surprised there’s no line. That means the sandwiches are fantastic, or this food is garbage, which do you think?”
Joe laughed. “No, it means that the sandwiches are cheap and the good food is not. But it doesn’t matter to us.” It was a point of discomfort for Garrett, knowing that the division paid for everything. Envoys had no salary. They had a badge. Besides the badge, the division made one-time, tax-free payments to each of the envoy’s direct blood relatives. Garrett checked, and even though his nephew was still in gestation, he also qualified for the payment, as they calculated it the day after launch. He would be ten months old. It was not a paltry sum; his nephew would be a wealthy baby boy.
The two selected their meals and turned to find a table. “Do you want to find the other guys or sit?” Joe asked.
Garrett saw an empty table by the windows with two chairs and nodded toward it. “I’m hungry, let’s just sit over there.” They sat, and Garrett scanned the close tables for any familiar faces. He saw none.
They had barely begun eating when Joe started a conversation. “I know that we’re not supposed to talk about the selection order, but you’re the only one I can talk to about it. You’re the only one that beat me,” Joe said, and looked excited. Garrett rolled his eyes, but Joe continued. “Seriously though, I’m not a person who likes to toot his own horn, but I didn’t think anyone would beat me. Do you know how you got the top spot?”
Garrett shifted in his seat. “How did you do on the application exam?” he asked. It was the only genuine answer he could give without feeling like he was criticizing his counterpart.
“I got 99% right! That’s what I mean, I only got four questions wrong on a four hundred question exam! Tom Holly was right behind me and he got eleven wrong. I know, he told me. So, it wasn’t even close! How did you do? You must have done even better than I did!” Joe’s animation was making Garrett even more uncomfortable with the topic.
“I’ll tell you I got fewer than four wrong. But I’ll never tell you the real number.” Garrett felt the ambiguity would…
“Get the hell out of here. You aced it,” Joe said. He was not asking. “You aced an extremely complex, four hundred question exam. You just… killed it.”
Garrett looked down at his plate, not wanting to lie to his colleague. His embarrassment escalated when he saw Joe bowing to him. “I am not worthy to be in the presence of such a great man!” He spoke at a volume louder than Garrett was comfortable with; Garrett flushed red and wadded up his napkin and threw it at Joe.
“Come on, man, keep it down. It’s not information I want to spread.”
Joe looked confused. “What? Why? You’re a genius, you didn’t punch a baby!” Joe smiled at his own joke, not understanding Garrett’s concern.
“If that gets around, everyone will look to me for every answer, like I’m some all-knowing being, a God. I can assure you I am not, and I want no part of that.”
“Sorry, pal, and I say this as a friend. Even though the division told us to ignore the positions, they’re public. Everyone already knows you’re number one, and you really solidified that when you spoke up in the meeting today with Sterritt. You are the king of the envoys, and I am your number two, your pathetic sidekick.”
Garrett laughed. “Pathetic sidekick? Joe, you’re probably one of the smartest people on the planet,” Garrett said with genuine sincerity.
“Next to you, pal? I’m your everyday citizen. No one special.”
Garrett laughed hard. It took him a few minutes to calm down before he could speak again. “Seriously though, Joe, taking this job is difficult for a huge number of reasons. It’s nice to talk to someone who has gone through all the things I have.”
