A satire of dysfunctional politics and economic disparity.
Chapter V: Day/Page 38 CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY. . . .
CHAPTER V: A Rescue Mission
“Be the change that you wish to see in the world.”
― Mahatma Gandhi [1869-1948]
Professor Hawkeye joins Pils and Sofia at the lab thirty minutes later. “It’s not your fault, Pils,” he tells him, after hearing what happened. “I approved the launch and I take full responsibility. But what matters now is getting Dr. Thrush back safely.”
“How?” Pils says, shaking his head. “The supernova knocked her pod off-course and now she is on the bottom of the ocean and thousands of miles from where Dr. Phalan and Swift are.”
“Then we need to get a message to them,” interjects Sofia. “Swift is smart. He and Dr. Phalan will figure out something.”
“But there’s not enough time,” cries Pils. “Dr. Thrush is down in the central part of the planet, and they’re both up north. Neither of them has checked in yet. And even when they do—so what? They are a continent away. They just landed on a planet they know nothing about. They don’t speak the language yet. So how are they going to get to her, and then out into the ocean and down through fifty feet of water to her pod—all in a day and a half? How the hell are they going to do that?” he shouts. “They’re not! That’s how.”
His shoulders slump, he stares blankly at the floor.
“He’s right,” says the Professor. “There is no way they can get to her in time. The pod won’t open under water, and with the pod unopened the life-force charge on the crystal will only last seventy-seven hours, then it will fade and go out. We have to get the pod out of the water and open before then. So, let’s see, we launched yesterday at six o’clock. It’s now five-thirty. That means we have about fifty-three hours left.”
“No,” mumbles Pils. “We transferred everyone’s life-force over at midnight, remember, so it’s already been thirty hours. She only has forty-seven hours left.”
“Ok, that’s doable. I’ll call the military now. We’ll need their help.”
The Professor starts towards the door.
“Less eleven hours of travel,” Pils says softly, without looking up.
The Professor turns back. “What?”
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW. . . .
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Gregory James
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