Welcome to semi-sequel week! For the next two days Sean and I will be writing sequels for our favorite stories on the blog. For my first story I chose to write a sequel to my debut story, Blue Peril [Working Title], continuing on with Richard's struggle with the horrible discovery that humanity's last hope for survival, interstellar travel, is impossible. Be sure to subscribe or tell your friends about our blog for more daily stories!
The conference room was as dark as the void of space just
outside the station’s hull. The only light source was that of the holographic
projector in the center of the ovoid table, surrounded by seven dimly lit faces,
the eighth chair remained empty but not for long. Disappointed, stern, concerned,
ashamed, worried, melancholy, sullen; each face wore a different expression of
defeat, like a child who disappointed his parents, or an employee who was about
to be fired, but only this time the consequences would be much worse.
Richard wore the stern face. He gazed into the blue light
of the holographic H surrounded by eight orbiting spheres representing each
planet of the solar system, the Helios logo. Originally a symbol of the
significance of the project, the H in the center represented the importance of
the project that the future of humanity literally revolved around the R&D
that happened in the station, and that was too true. The entire human species
was about to reach extinction because of the project’s significant failure.
In his head he played out every possible route
the meeting could go: maybe the ISP representative would understand that their
research was sound and that Project Escape Rope was dead in the water due to
the laws of physics. No that wouldn’t
work, Richard thought. He’s a political
representative, not a scientist. The alternative: He would demand us to
work more hours, possibly in an environment even more isolated than the orbit
of Neptune in a desperate attempt to set things right. No, too extreme even during times like these. Next: The oldest
political trick in the book, a scapegoat, maybe the Mercury brain. What’s a
better thing to blame than a dead god? Nothing.
Bright
light filled the room, momentarily the dark oak of the conference table was visible,
only to fade back to darkness. A woman walked in, her back held high while she
walked to the empty ISP seat and sat down.
“God
its dark in here,” she said, “can we get some light?”
“Yes
ma’am,” Al said. He adjusted the intensity to a dim setting.
“Brighter
please.”
The
lighting increased. Richard could make out her features; the smoothness of her
skin gave away her general age or status. She was either no older than
thirty-five or at least rich enough for gene therapy, you can never tell these
days. Young or rich, Richard didn’t like either.
“That’s
good,” she said. “Now I can say ‘Nice to see you’ without lying.” She laughed
silently at her joke, no one else did. “Well, as you are all aware of I am the
ISP representative for the conclusion of the Escape Rope project, my name is
Dr. Julia Moore. I obtained my bachelors in Interstellar Engineering from Luna University,
my masters in Mass Communications from Harvard, and my doctorate in Forensics
with a focus on crisis prevention from the Earth Institute. For the past seven
years I have been serving on the ISP’s board of Interstellar Crisis’s. So
before any of you assume anything based on my looks or age, I want you to soak
that in before we go on. Understood?”
The
air was filled with silence. Richard’s face remained stern, like his muscles
had forgotten any other emotion, but inside he felt a sense of relief. Maybe, he thought, maybe there is a chance we can get out of this unscaved.
