The day finally came. Deep down in the gravity well of the Sun, concentrated sunlight from square kilometers of collector were injected into a block-long laser in orbit about the innermost planet. Glowing warmly, the laser flickered into life, followed by another and another until a thousand lamps were lit. The invisible beams flashed outward and two hours later their presence was felt by the thin reflecting sail on Prometheus waiting patiently in space. The sail tugged at its rigging, dragging its precious cargo out into the darkness of space.
The human race was going to the stars!
Two days after launch, Jinjur heard the door to her room slide open, then shut quickly again. She turned off the scan-book on the view-screen in her bedroom ceiling and listened. It wasn't anywhere near time for dinner and usually the Christmas Bush left her alone except when it was bringing her meals.
"Hello?" said a voice tentatively.
She rolled off her bed, the sticky patch on the back of her coveralls coming loose with a rip.
"Alan?" she said. She went to the door of her bedroom and looked out. Alan Armstrong was standing in the middle of her room, looking elated.
"What are you doing in here?" Jinjur said. "Although I'm nearly over the mumps, I'm technically still under quarantine."
"I had to see you," Alan said, quite intent on his own business. "It's important."
"What is it?" she asked impatiently.
"I just got a private message from Senator Winthrop," he said. "You'll be hearing about it tomorrow in the coded official mail, but I wanted to talk to you about it now, before the rest of the crew finds out."
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"No! Something is right!" he exclaimed. "Senator Winthrop just informed me that a special board has promoted me to Brigadier General. I've got my star!"
Jinjur took a deep breath, then muttered to herself, "That conniving skunk. He must have demanded that in exchange for giving up gracefully instead of filibustering. Well, I'd better make the best of it."
"Congratulations," she said, coming out of her bedroom. She extended her hand in order to shake his, then quickly withdrew it. "I'd better not shake. Might give you the mumps. Say..." she added. "With no Base Exchange you're going to have a hard time finding a star for your collar. I could give you one of mine and you could have the Christmas Bush cut it in two and make fasteners for it."
"Thanks, anyway," said Alan. "I brought a set with me."
Jinjur raised her eyebrows as she thought about what a cocksure cock Alan was. Then she said, "Now! Out of here before we have two generals in quarantine."
"No!" Alan protested. "I've got to talk with you. Since I'm now a Brigadier General, and George is still a Colonel, I outrank him, and it is obvious that I should be second-in-command."
Jinjur stared at Alan quizzically, as if she had never looked beyond his pretty face before. At first she thought he was kidding, and was just in her room to use his new rank to garner a special "favor". Then she finally realized that all he was interested in was that title—"Second-in-command".
"You realize, Alan, that George was named for this mission by the President himself," she said.
"But that was when we were both Colonels," said Alan. "I'm a General now, and he should be third-in-command."
"Alan..." she paused as she tried to figure out how to explain it to him. "The Second-in-command is supposed to be in charge of the landing crews, while the Commander stays aboard the sailship. George has a flight instructor's certificate, and has been checked out in heavy landers. Your hottest license is for a motorcycle."
"I can still be landing commander. The pilots can fly the ships, they don't need me for that," he protested. "Besides, with my star I outrank George."
"Alan. George is the one that made this mission possible. If it hadn't been for his foresight and courage decades ago, there would be no mission now. Are you going to take that away from him?"
"I'm not taking anything away from him. He's on the mission isn't he? It's just that he should recognize his place. You don't mean to tell me that you are going to allow a Colonel to order a Brigadier General around, are you?"
Jinjur looked at the emotion-flushed face of the darling of the Pentagon. "He thinks he's so right," she thought to herself. "Yet he's so wrong, so very wrong."
"No, Alan," she said quietly. "I'm not going to let a Colonel order a Brigadier General around."
"Good!" said Alan. "I'll see you tomorrow when my promotion is announced in the official mail." He started to leave.
"Alan!" Jinjur called to him firmly. He turned to look at her. "You have broken Dr. Wang's quarantine. As Major General Virginia Jones, I order you, Brigadier General Alan Armstrong, to go to your quarters immediately. I know this will be a hardship on you, General, since you will want to receive personal congratulations from your crew-mates, but I am sure that you, as a General Officer, realize the need for strictest health measures on a mission such as this."
"Oh! Yes! You're right, Jinjur. I guess I did break the quarantine, but it was important I see you, you know."
"Yes, I agree," said Jinjur. "It was very important that you came to see me when you did."
"You won't forget about Colonels ordering Generals around, will you?"
"No," said Jinjur. "I won't forget. Now will you get to your quarters?"
"Sure," said Alan, greatly relieved. He started to salute, then stopped and grinned. "Us Generals don't have to salute each other, do we?"
"No," said Jinjur. "Except in special cases, like when we are saying goodby for a long time."
Alan turned and awkwardly made his way out her door.
"Go right to your room now!" she reminded him.
"Right!" said Alan with a glance back at her. He neglected to palm her door shut and she heard him as he started to whistle. The tune continued as he jumped up to the next crew deck, made his way around the railing circling the lift shaft, and palmed open his door with a loud splat. The whistle was cut off in mid-note by the swish of his door as it closed. Jinjur was sure she knew the tune, but her brain seemed to resist finding the name. She had to ask James.
"It is from an ancient Disney movie," James informed her. "The title is: 'When You Wish Upon a Star.' "
"I've got to get him off this ship!" Jinjur said as she palmed her door shut and flicked her fingers furiously over the screen of her console. "There's something wrong with the way that guy thinks. I've got to get him off my ship!!!"
Two days later General Jones spoke to her imp.
"Set up a direct link to General Armstrong, and turn up the volume," she commanded.
She heard a rapid breathing and the sound of a brush running briskly through short hair.
"General Alan Armstrong," she barked, and a flash of satisfaction flickered over her face as she heard a sharp gasp before the spoken response. James must have set the volume at maximum and its imp was shouting her voice into his ear.
"Yes, General Jones?" came the hesitant reply.
"I want you in my room in five minutes!" she commanded.
"Yes'm," came the prompt reply. She could hear him sliding back the door to his storage closet. She moved her fingers up near her imp, twisted them in the air like they were turning down an invisible volume control knob, and the imp, interpreting the signal, turned off the link.
Jinjur padded her way into her bedroom area, changed the view-wall into a mirror with a flick of her fingertip, and looked her image over critically. Many a dressing-down had lost its impact when the inflictor had neglected dressing-up for the occasion. She was in a freshly-pressed Space Marine uniform, designed and tailored to look impressive even in the wishy-washy environment of free fall. It looked like the regulation summer dress shirt and tie in Gyrene green, but there were subtle patches of elastic and velcro that kept everything properly tucked away on its proper position on the body even after strenuous exercise in zero gee. Two stars glistened on each collar and across her left chest was a thin metal board containing the full panoply of ribbons she had become entitled to during her many years in the Ground and Space Marines.
The one she was most proud of was the special Presidential Citation she had received when she was just a Lieutenant. Seemingly stuck forever in an assignment at the Women's Section of the Marine Corps Training Camp in San Diego, she had despaired of ever seeing any action when the action came to her. One weekend every fuel distributor in Southern California went on strike over a special transportation tax. After two days, all air, car, bus, train, and small ship traffic in or out of San Diego had stopped. Within hours, hungry bands of frustrated tourists had formed into riotous mobs. The President foolishly flew into this mess to "investigate". Shortly after landing at Lindberg Field in San Diego, Air Force One was surrounded by angry mobs of affluent voters. They got uglier and uglier as they absorbed booze stolen from ransacked liquor stores. The Secret Service and Lindberg Field Security were still arguing about what to do when Jinjur took over. At her order, holes were cut in the fence between the Marine Base and Lindberg Field. Her parade-ground voice reverberating from barracks wall to barracks wall, she soon had every female recruit out in formation in tee shirts, shorts, and sneakers. She handed out pugil sticks and wooden drill rifles, formed her command into a narrow flying wedge, herself at the point, and with the strange chant of "Excuse me, please. Excuse me, please.", the troop of nubile young women easily penetrated the mostly male mob, formed a protective circle five women deep about Air Force One and led the president off to safety in their nearby barracks. It had meant a ribbon, an instant promotion to Captain, and the start of the meteoric rise of one of the best line commanders in all the services.
There is one thing a good commanding officer never does, and that is to let misfits get away with insurrection and insubordination. Jinjur strode out into her lounge and palmed the bedroom door shut. She set the view-wall to show a static background consisting of the Official Seals of GNASA and the Secretary of Defense. Below the seals was her official Major General's flag with its two stars. She stood in front of the view-wall at parade rest and waited. Court was in session and the judge was impatiently waiting for the defendant to arrive so she could sentence him up the river.
There was a firm knock on the door.
General Jones called out, "Come in."
General Armstrong palmed open the door and entered. The door slid shut again, closing off the view of two inquisitive faces peering into the room as they drifted upward past the door. Armstrong was in an Air Force blue version of the uniform that General Jones wore, although with fewer ribbons and a single bright new star on his collar points. His handsome face broke into his most charming smile as he tiptoed in on his velcro corridor boots, and gave a formal salute and a perfunctory "General Armstrong reporting, Ma'am." Looking behind him, he started to sit down on the lounge seat.
"At attention, General!" she barked. His smile dropped as he stumbled, lost contact with the carpet, then scrambled around in midair until he had planted both feet together onto the floor and stood at attention, his body swaying lightly as his rigid muscles attempted to maintain verticality in a room that almost had no vertical.
She stared up at him for a minute, her cold glance peering over his whitened cheeks that seemed to have lost their famed dimples. His eyes were properly staring straight ahead, right over her head and straight into the two-starred flag on the view-wall. She broke her parade rest position to stride two steps to the right, turned carefully around without losing her firm footgrip on the carpet, then paced back again. For the first five steps she didn't say anything, then she spoke.
"General Armstrong, I called you in here today to tell you that I have made a decision that is going to affect you and your career. The decision has been made, approved all the way up to the President, and the actions to initiate it began many hours ago. The decision is irrevocable, and nothing you say or do can prevent it. I felt the least I could do is to explain in detail why I have taken this decision, so that's why I called you here.
"Now it may not have occurred to your pinquito-bean-sized brain that we are on a dangerous scientific voyage, not some nerdling Pentagon paperchase where pusillanimous wit and a few judicious backstabbings can insure a rapid advance up the ladder.
"For too long you have survived on those watery blue eyes with their waddy-wiping eyelashes, that baby-bottom face, and the hunk of muscle-bound meat you call a body. You've survived so long on your looks that you have lost your brain and your soul." She stopped pacing and turned to yell at the frigid figure.
"What do think we're living in!?! A pot-boiler science fiction novel...with good guys and bad guys, personal feuds, treachery, and insubordination?"
"That kind of nonsense may be necessary in stories where the scenery is so dull the characters must struggle with each other to get some action going. In the real world of space missions, it's the deadly scenery of space that produces the action, and the characters must work together as a team to overcome it. If the characters start fighting each other, that almost inevitably leads to danger and death. There may be room for trouble-makers in the movies, but there's no room for one in this mission."
There was a pause as they both felt the small amount of acceleration from the laser-driven sail stop. Armstrong broke his rigid position slightly to glance down at General Jones's face.
"The laser drive was stopped four hours ago," she reported solemnly. "I've aborted the mission and there's an ion ship coming out with your replacement."
"But..." started Armstrong.
"SILENCE!!!" roared Jinjur, and Armstrong resumed his rigid stance, eyes straight ahead.
"In case those elven ears of yours didn't hear, or in case that midget brain of yours is so small that your ears can't find it in that vacuum-filled swollen skull of yours, I told you at the start that this decision was irrevocable. No amount of flattering words from those pouty lips and no pleading glances from that imitation Adonis face is going to change it. It's going to cost GNASA over two hundred million dollars to replace you, but it's going to be worth every cent. We found someone qualified on Titan, only ten AU away, but even at one gee it will take them nearly a week to get here."
Jinjur stopped her tirade, and her voice changed from that of an annoyed commander to that of an administrator patiently explaining a dull plan to a dull subordinate.
"The official story for the record is that the mumps that you picked up from me had such a permanent debilitating effect on your body that it is now doubtful that you would survive the flight phase of the mission without extensive medical care. For your own benefit we will be transferring you back to Earth where you can receive the medical care that you will need. With a medical discharge from the mission, you should be able to reestablish contacts with your Pentagon pals.
"You are to stay in quarantine. You will have contact with the rest of the crew only through James. I would suggest you not try anything funny. James is programmed to 'interrupt' anything blatantly subversive, and I'll be monitoring everything you say. I'm letting you off with this medical excuse since you were put up to it by Winthrop, but try anything funny before your replacement comes and everyone will know that you were kicked off the mission and why. That would be the end of you and probably Winthrop. Do you understand me, Armstrong?"
"Yes, General Jones."
There was a rustle at the door, and the Christmas Bush trotted in holding a plastic decontamination suit. Jinjur took it and handed it to Armstrong.
"Put this on General. The Christmas Bush will lead you to your room. You're to stay there until your replacement arrives, and you're to wear the suit when you leave."
"I feel sorry for you Alan. For the sake of some points in a game of inter-office politics, you blew a chance to be one of the legendary heroes of the human race." She watched Alan don the suit. Then silently, the Christmas Bush leading, he floated out the door.
She saluted the departing back. Small minds have small goals, she thought sadly. She turned and pushed herself back to the view-wall controls where she arranged a waterfall scene to replace the forbidding courtroom wall. She then asked James to call a crew meeting in the lounge to explain why the light drive had stopped.
"That's right, Operator. Carmen Cortez calling Señorita Cortez, Mexico City, Area Code 905-876-1432."
"Hello Mom. This is Carmen... I'm calling from the Space Station on Titan, Mom... It will take ninety minutes before I can hear what you say, so just listen for a while. Now Mom, don't panic. It doesn't cost anything. The Space Agency is paying for the call.
"Mom, do you remember the story in the newspapers about the plans to send a human crew to the star called Barnard? One of the crew has gotten sick or something, and I was backup. I never thought I would get a chance to be on this mission, but now I'm going. Yes, Mom, I'm taking another trip into space with a bunch of people. There will be twenty of us—including some men. I know you don't approve, since there will be no chaperones, but it will be all right. Mom, I will be good. Don't worry." Carmen pushed the off button and went to the lounge for a drink. Even the kaleidoscopic evening sky of Titan didn't attract her attention while she thought through what she would say next. Three hours later she was back at the communications console. She waited through the interminable crackling and thunder. Finally her mother was on the phone, asking questions.
"When will I be back? Mom, I'm going to be all right, but the trip is going to take a long time. No, I'm afraid I won't be back for Rose's birthday. Mom, you've got to understand that a trip to the stars takes a long, long time... many years. Mom... I won't be coming back... ever. It just takes so long, that I will be too old to come back." She didn't know what else to say. Tears welling in her eyes, she viciously jabbed the comm-off button. Three hours later she was back again, eyes still red.
"Mom... Please don't cry... Mom... I do too love you... Mom! I've got to go to the stars!"
A week later, James reported that it had the ion ship in sight on radar. A few hours later the ship had rendezvoused with Prometheus and two spacesuited figures interchanged places. As the new crew member came through the hatch, it was obvious that the new suit was much smaller than the one that had exited.
Jinjur watched as the excited crew of Prometheus gathered around the hatch.
"There is one thing that I will never forgive that petty-minded brain of yours, Alan. It took away from us women one beautiful hunk of man—and gave us this..."
A curvaceous brunette wiggled out of her spacesuit. Her tailored jumpsuit tightly covered an ample bust and rounded hips connected by a wasp-waist that Jinjur had long since lost. The new member of the crew was very young, only 28 years old. She had been in training for the second mission that was leaving for Alpha Centauri in about three years.
"Hi! Everybody," she said cheerfully, her coquettish eyelashes batting unconsciously at all the males, "I'm Carmen."
"May a perpetual plague of pimples prey on your pubescent proboscis, Alan!" murmured Jinjur under her breath. "I could forgive you the troubles you caused. I could forgive you the two hundred million dollars it cost. But I'll never forgive you for lousing up the sex ratio, it's now eleven females to nine males." She went forward to greet the new crew member as Carmen gave a little sneeze.
"Excuse me!" said Carmen, "I seemed to have picked up a little cold from one of the crew on the ion ship." She looked around—bewildered at the chorus of groans.