Pathfinder – Part 1: Lightning Run

By T M Romanelli

The Pathfinder exited the distal end of the supraluminal conduit, its transition back into standard space eased by the stabilizers that had been installed and calibrated prior to the ship’s departure from its base in the Kuiper Belt. The exploration platform had arrived at its programmed destination after executing a series of sub-space transits over the preceding months, and the displacement drive began to power down as the vessel was bathed in the warm light of a distant star not yet seen with the naked eye.

Constructed of two major assemblies, the primary hull was a 450 meter cylinder with a spin cycle that could generate simulated gravity for long-duration missions, and was further sub- divided into two decks: the inner level closest to the central axis included the flight deck, crew quarters, medical facility and engineering while the surrounding exterior level contained the labs, fabricators, drone hangars and all of the thermoelectric umbilicals that supported them. Each deck was encased in a self-sealing nanocarbon mesh that protected the surfaces from micrometeorite impacts. A network of expandable water bladders and bulk storage containers on the exterior surface created a passive radiation barrier to augment Pathfinder’s powerful EM field generators. The latticed frame of the secondary hull created a cone-shaped sleeve that wrapped around the central cylinder and tapered at the forward end where the largest Krasnikov projector was installed. Smaller projectors installed at equidistant points along the secondary hull were synchronized so the displacement drive could pierce the sub-space membrane and maintain a stable envelope for the ship within it to cross the interstellar void.

 When the coordinates were confirmed, the onboard AI began to activate multiple sub-systems that would cycle air throughout the various compartments, adjusting temperature and humidity suitable for the crew that would soon emerge from cryosleep. Two replicants had remained active during the transit to monitor the ship and its embarked complement, and now moved smoothly among the cryotubes, examining the occupants and making minor adjustments to the emergence protocol.

Dema Vahn, Pathfinder’s captain and the mission commander was the first to awaken.

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An experienced officer who had started in the Merchant Marine but transitioned to the System Fleet, Vahn possessed a small but muscular physique and a professional temperament that had given her a favorable reputation within the veteran community. She had tried to sell her services as a reconnaissance pilot, but there were too many captains who offered their ships as private transports, fast couriers and evacuation platforms that the wealthy had hired to insulate themselves from the growing chaos of the Helionox. There were simply not enough contracts to maintain her ship’s title, and she lost a number of jobs because she was underbid by scheming competitors or unwilling to do the kind of activities sought by unscrupulous clients. After years of poor margins and the occasional threat against her life, she sold her registry and ship back to the Commerce Ministry at a loss and tried to navigate an uncertain future.

Some time later, she awaited the arrival of a new client who had requested a personal meeting at Vahn’s rented space within the perimeter of Tycho base, a vast complex of mixed commercial and military activity located at Luna’s south polar region. Vahn considered the possibility that she had been vetted without her knowledge, and presumably met whatever criteria was required for the job. It had happened once before, and when it did Vahn made it clear that she wasn’t an organ trafficker or syndorphin mule. After a terse exchange and a focused strike to the trachea, the client was assisted out of the office by his bodyguard. He threatened to have her killed, but the squeaky voice with which he delegated his act of revenge failed to inspire a credible menace. Unwilling to concede the last word, Vahn reminded him that she had friends in the service who would entertain themselves by using his shuttle for target practice. She then wished Mr. Shitbird a blessed day and slammed the door behind him.

Vahn felt prepared for any stranger that would walk through the door of her cramped office, but was totally blind-sided by the quiet woman dressed in modest robes who sought an extended contract for a skilled pilot and recon specialist. The client was of pan-asian ethnicity with an olive complexion and dark hair collected in a simple braid that gently followed the line of her collar. She was taller than Vahn by several inches but leaner, and projected a quiet confidence that implied ex-military or ministry training. The client had arrived alone, and while her clothes advertised her as an easy mark for the dealers and criminals that did their business around Tycho Base, Vahn saw through the facade and sensed the woman was capable of lethal self-defense.

 The woman introduced herself as Lysirah, and briefly described the mission and its expected duration. The way that this stranger had suddenly appeared with the perfect job offer was too coincidental, and smelling a set-up Vahn made to cut the meeting short. Vahn told her that she no longer had a ship, but the client had a vessel and crew standing by for her to assume command. Vahn would need time to shut down the office, only to learn that Lysirah had already paid off the property manager. When Vahn claimed her services were very expensive, the woman casually tossed her a credit disk, saying that the twenty thousand credits on it was for her time and discretion in the unlikely event she declined the offer. Vahn thumbed the index to confirm the amount, and with her excuses depleted the client delivered her closing proposition.

“I need a capable captain that can lead an expedition team to places the System Fleet can’t reach,” Lysirah began, speaking with an even cadence and never breaking eye contact with Vahn. “The mission is dangerous, but within the scope of your Fleet experience. You’ll have your own ship, a fair amount of autonomy and more credits than you could spend in a single lifetime. You may even rediscover a sense of purpose, and use it to help me build a future far from here. I’m not at liberty to discuss those details yet, but it was important that we met in person so that you knew I was authentic, and that my offer was genuine. If you accept it, we leave immediately and you won’t ever need to come back to this place. What I’m asking from you is nothing less than a leap of faith. Are you ready to take one?”

Lysirah didn’t have to wait long for an answer, and Vahn turned off the lights for the last time when they left the office together.

______________________________________________________________________________

In the year that followed, Vahn had led numerous deep space expeditions to locate and catalog habitable planets for the mass migration that humanity would need to escape the increasingly disruptive effects of the Helionox. The missions included “lightning runs” that had the Pathfinder dart into a system with its chasm jumper drive and launch probes to collect data on multiple Goldilocks candidates; and the “looking glass” planetary surveys during which specialists deployed to the surface for environmental analysis and specimen collection. The latter activity carried its own risks, but it was also necessary to determine if the site could sustain a human colony. Vahn strictly enforced the exploration and safety procedures she had helped to create, leveraging her experience and the advanced equipment Lysirah provided to protect her crew. Pathfinder carried twenty souls, and Vahn had always brought everyone home.

The Captain was the first to be awoken from cryosleep following the jump, and used the opportunity to assess the ship’s status and conditions for the crew. The early restoration also provided some extra time for the side effects to abate, as Vahn considered it inappropriate to be seen unsteady on her feet and vomiting in front of her crew. Now recovered and in her duty uniform, she patrolled the lines of cryotubes, observing the activity in the ship’s medical section.

 Ashto and Tamil, the replicants that had cared for the ship and its complement during the voyage, moved from station to station and assisted each crew member as they emerged from their induced state of hibernation. Vertigo, nausea and mild psychomotor disturbances were common problems associated with the physiologic stress of cryosleep, and the replicants provided medical care for these temporary conditions. The section was permeated with the clinical scent of the life- preserving cryofluid, and small puddles of it had congealed on the deck making passage mildly treacherous for those who were still regaining their balance. Vahn heard someone wretch farther down the line.

Vahn approached Galen, the ship’s Chief Flight Officer and her XO, and asked how he felt. Galen was slowly picking small globs of the congealed stuff out of his thick, red hair as he considered an answer.

“I’ll be fully operational soon,” he responded with an informal salute. “And ready to fulfill the professional and personal needs of my Captain.”

“You know I crapped out a cryofluid bolus when I emerged a few hours ago, right?” Vahn said, sharing a detail that was meant to temper her subordinate’s desire for a private assignation. “It was a big one, and stringy with all the residuals stuck to it. It must have been fermenting in my gut since our last meal before we got tubed. Still think I’m sexy?”

“Yeah,” Galen responded immediately.

“Stay on mission, Chief,” she redirected him, and then lowered her voice. “And when it’s done, you will report to my cabin so I can personally assess your aptitude and endurance.”

“Aye, Captain!” he replied with respectful enthusiasm.

Vahn visited with her Quartermaster, who was acclimating quickly and rarely experienced the discomforting side effects of cryostasis. Rojaan was nibbling on an energy bar and sipping a bright green electrolyte supplement. He had been with Pleida for a long time, even before Lysirah was recruited to the ranks of the Conservators, and remained a close advisor to the individual who had funded the technology and logistics that would save them from extinction. Despite his lack of formal rank, everyone understood that he was effectively second-in- command, as he maintained regular contact with the Undying Sovereign and his Adopted Protege through the cortical interface.

“You’re looking well, Dema,” he said, seeing her approach, then caught himself for not addressing her appropriately. “Excuse me, Captain.”

“Just call me by my first name, Rojaan,” she offered, addressing the role of his seniority within Pleida’s organization. The Captain and her Quartermaster appeared to be of similar age, although the truth was far more complicated. “Remind me, how old are you again?”

 “122 years,” he answered after a moment. The disparity between Rojaan’s chronological and biological age had accrued during the intermittent decades spent in cryostasis from the time of the Perdition and the start of the Helionox. There were also stories that the Undying Sovereign had bestowed some of the highly restricted life-extension therapies upon a select group of followers to help them complete their work. Looking at Rojaan, Vahn believed the rumors were true.

“Well, you don’t look a day over 85,” she quipped, and he laughed softly before finishing his hydration. “I’ll see you in the briefing room after everyone gets themselves sorted out.”

At the end of the starboard row of cryotubes was a young woman who sat hunched over her station, cradling a disposable emesis bag and staring at the contents within. She was the source of the wretching that Vahn had heard earlier, but the episode seemed to have passed. Ashto attended to Haru Chiaki, Pathfinder’s astrogeologist, and after consulting the biotelemetry device attached to the woman’s forearm, administered an injection which elicited a high-pitched yelp.

“Fuzakeru na!” she exclaimed, rubbing the area where the pneumatic injector had contacted the skin and gave the replicant a disapproving look. “Are you trying to poison me, Ashto? Is pain supposed to make the nausea go away faster?”

“I administered a serotonin analogue and pulsed steroid suspended in a concentrated Dextrose solution,” the replicant reported, returning the injector to its place in the medkit. “This will alleviate the symptoms and return you to your baseline status.”

“How many jumps is this for you, Haru-chan?” Vahn asked.

“I’ve lost count, but my stomach has never adapted,” she said with a sigh. Then she giggled. “I call it my ‘e-purgence’ from cryosleep!”

“Phook me, that pun was nasty,” Vahn observed, but was satisfied that the wiry and vaguely androgynous specialist seemed to be perking up. Then another thought crossed her mind, and she fixed Haru with a penetrating stare. “Is there any chance that you’re pregnant?”

“What!? Gods no,” she answered with some indignation. Haru turned to the replicant and placed a hand on their shoulder while addressing the Captain. “Unless Ashto here took advantage of me in my cryotube, and gave me his synthetic seed. Tell me, were you a naughty boy, Ashto?”

“My behavioral moderators do not permit non-consensual activity,” the replicant explained. “I do not possess the functional anatomy or biological substrate required for a successful genetic admixture.”

 “I think we need to upgrade your humor module,” Haru said, rolling her eyes. Ashto examined the biotelemetry monitor again and documented her clinical improvement on a data slate. He moved to another station to care for the occupant there.

“Think you can manage some chow in the galley before the mission brief?” Vahn asked, as more color returned to Haru’s face.

“I’m going to my quarters first so I can change,” she said. “And then I want to check on the drones and Cosmo in the drone hangar.”

“Haru-chan! Please tell me that you did not bring that relic aboard my ship!” Vahn scolded the young scientist. “Petra needed a NuDerm graft after that lumbering monstrosity nearly took off her foot last time.”

“Well, Petra should watch where she’s going when Cosmo is active,” Haru said, as she stood up and began to gather her belongings around the cryotube station. “I thought you of all people would appreciate vintage hardware.”

“And what, exactly, does THAT mean?” Vahn asked, uncertain if the comment hid a subtle insult. “You didn’t even ask for permission.”

“I most certainly did,” Haru answered with a coy smile. “Rojaan gave it to me.”

Vahn considered this clever act of subterfuge, and tried to reconcile the scientist’s contradictory qualities. Haru Chiaki was intelligent, skilled and the first to offer help to other teammates if it was needed. She could also be rudely dismissive of contrarian opinions even if she was the person that had requested them. Haru’s most notable trait was her devotion to the small drone army she used to assist with her field work, and the special affection she held for the obsolete but continuously refurbished Cosmo. The specialist was savvy enough to have gotten Rojaan to approve her equipment inventory, which prevented Cosmo’s potential rejection by the Captain while still being compliant with mission planning procedures. Vahn had a sneaking admiration for the way Haru-chan had the centenarian wrapped around her little finger.

“Briefing in 90 minutes,” Vahn told her, and then watched as Haru nodded and walked out of medical towards the crew quarters.

“I have a great ship and fine crew,” the Captain said under her breath. “And Haru-chan…” ______________________________________________________________________________

“Shift left about 2 meters,” Haru instructed, watching the diagnostics display on her data slate as the drone followed the command.

 The squat, weathered hexapod was 1000 kilograms of tempered alloy and articulated appendages, and a soft whirring sound emanated from the actuators that enabled its surprisingly nimble scuttle. Cosmo began as a Unified Dynamics series E6 semi-autonomous rover, designed to map surface features and collect mineral samples during short-duration missions in the high- pressure, corrosive environment of Venus. The E6 series was designed to be robust but expendable, making it an economically sound investment for commercial surveyors.

Haru had purchased the rover as surplus and spent much of her free time refurbishing its degraded parts, and over the course of years an almost completely new machine was created as obsolete components were supplanted by their newer analogs. Each new upgrade subtly influenced the system in unpredictable ways, and Cosmo began to demonstrate a pattern of self- prompting responses that defied the boundaries of Haru’s obvious anthropomorphic bias. The emergent behaviors blurred the line between semi-autonomous regulation and independent cognition, and Haru became considerably more hesitant with further modifications to Cosmo’s AI system because she did not want to dictate her companion’s development.

Haru stopped her tinkering, allowing Cosmo to establish its own… personality.

The decision also prevented Haru from replacing key elements of the processor architecture, and thus limited the options for Cosmo’s sensor integration. The rover was equipped with advanced multispectral optics and a microwave emitter to facilitate sub-surface imaging, but its designers never intended for anyone to install a language synthesizer. Haru would have to replace the entire AI module to make the upgrade possible, and in doing so risk losing whatever it was that made her companion unique. She had considered installing a synspeech filter, but realized it would be an arbitrary substitute for the true inner voice she yearned to hear from Cosmo.

The turret emitted a series of light impulses, synchronized to its narrow band transmission, and the signal was captured by the visor Haru wore. The receiver in the eye frame decrypted the signal to create a scrolling dialog on the virtual screen controlled by her eye movements, and Haru could engage with Cosmo through simple, verbal transmissions on the same frequency. An outside observer might think that Haru was talking to herself, whereas most of the crew just assumed that this idiosyncrasy was consistent with her neurodiverse traits.

“Good,” she said. “Now advance 2 meters, please.”

Sproing!

“God’s blood,” Haru muttered, poking at her data slate to highlight the system that had proven impossible to fix even after several replacement parts. The problem did not affect Cosmo’s mobility, and did not even register on the primary diagnostic. It would lay dormant for months and then suddenly appear during normal activity. Haru remained very frustrated by the whole issue, in no small part because she could not explain it. “There’s no spring there! Just pistons, and pistons don’t make that springy sound!”

 Haru stood next to Cosmo in the large drone hangar, and then crouched beside her companion to examine the complex articulated structure that she believed was the source of this persistent fault. Holding a probe over the surface of several joints, she consulted the measurements on the slate but found nothing out of spec. Cosmo shifted its turret and flashed a rapid sequence of lights, informing her of a visitor.

“But whatever happens, Cosmo, don’t tell Petra,” Haru said loudly, then turned around and feigned surprise as the telemetric engineer stood in the doorway that connected the drone hanger to the main corridor running the length of the primary hull. “Oh… Petra! You’re here. I was just working on Cosmo.”

“Were the two of you talking about me just now?” the engineer inquired, hesitant to enter the hangar and risk another injury from Haru’s mechanical minion.

“Absolutely not,” Haru replied, but nodded her head in an exaggerated manner to confuse the other woman and make her even more uncomfortable than she already appeared to be.

“I don’t know why the Captain even tolerates your-“

“Because I’m brilliant,” Haru stated quickly, cutting her off. “And you are… not.”

“Not what?” Petra asked. The question elicited a facepalm from Haru. “Never mind. The Captain sent me to remind you that the next Lightning Run starts at 05:00. She wants you ready on the flight deck when we commence the dispersal pattern.”

Haru nodded and the engineer turned to leave.

“Just a minute, Petra,” Haru called out. “Cosmo, activate protocol three.”

The drone shifted its mass towards Haru, the turret turning from side to side as the emitter flashed briefly, which was Cosmo’s way of expressing ‘no’. Haru repeated her instructions, but added ‘pretty please’. The optics module in the turret lowered, as Cosmo resigned itself to complete the requested task.

Cosmo swiveled to face the engineer, and its turret slowly rotated until the optics module was focused on Petra. She looked from Haru to the imposing rover, and as her uncertainty morphed into apprehension, Petra started to back out of the drone hangar.

Six elongated vanes suddenly fanned from Cosmo’s armored chassis and locked into place with a loud clang that reverberated throughout the hangar, startling the engineer who promptly lost her footing and fell on her ass into the main corridor. The vanes began to glow red as Cosmo’s paneled radiators, designed for the efficient transfer of excess heat into the hostile environment

 of Venus, energized the IR spectrum emitters. In just a few seconds, the rover had transformed into a gigantic, angry-looking bug.

“Toss off, Haru!” Petra exclaimed, angry and embarrassed by her reaction to the mock display of aggression from Cosmo. She picked herself off the deck and left, casting a final remark over her shoulder. “If you’re so smart then maybe you can figure out why you don’t have any friends.”

Haru’s smirk slowly dissolved as the engineer’s footsteps receded down the corridor. The radiator panels powered down and returned to their stowed positions, while the two manipulator arms mounted at the front of Cosmo’s chassis moved in a slow circular pattern, as if the rover was wringing its hands in a display of contrition. Cosmo pivoted towards Haru, its emitter flashing a long sequence.

“No, that wasn’t necessary. But… she deserved it,” Haru explained to her companion. The lights flashed again briefly. “Why? She ate the last piece of chocolate cake in the galley, and I wanted it for myself.”

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The flight deck was a hive of activity as the crew deployed telescopic instruments and numerous probes to map the orbital range of the main sequence star’s habitable zone. Haru would then coordinate a small fleet of specialized drones to perform surveys on any Goldilocks candidates they found- planetary bodies or large moons that possessed the right balance of radiant flux, barometric pressure and hydration that could support human life. During the time that the Pathfinder and its crew had searched for a new home for humanity, they found only a few systems that had potential sites within the habitable zone, even fewer planets that had a viable atmosphere and fewer still that possessed enough liquid water on the surface.

The crew was frustrated by the lack of progress, and Vahn was under immense time pressure to locate a prime candidate for colonization. The Helionox had created a toxic mix of religious extremism, political impotence, resource depletion and progressive societal collapse that threatened an extinction level event. No one really knew how much time they had left. The isolation and risk associated with deep space exploration was compounded by the procedural tedium that Haru had cynically abbreviated as eat, cryosleep, probe, repeat, and which soon became the crew’s unofficial mantra. Vahn frequently reminded them that Pathfinder was the first ship to have traveled this far beyond the light of Sol, so on a galactic scale, they had barely left their own neighborhood. A new home was out there, just waiting for them to find it.

Lysirah coined the term “exo-scout” to describe the scope of Vahn’s responsibilities, and Dema then used her extensive experience to establish the Lightning Run and Looking Glass tactics- a duality of operational concepts that maximized efficiency and resource utilization so they could locate and assess more potential sites in less time. It required highly trained personnel and advanced equipment, and Lysirah had provided both. The crew was personally selected by Vahn

 from the pool of available experts in the relevant scientific or technical fields, which sometimes meant accommodating personnel that would have failed the System Fleet minimum requirements. Haru with her delicate constitution was one such exception, but Vahn never regretted recruiting her because Haru-chan’s ability to coordinate the drones and rapidly analyze complex data had become essential for their success.

The high mission tempo created a blurry montage of unsuitable planets in Vahn’s memory, with Haru examining the drones’ remote data before giving the briefest of technical answers and telling the Captain they could advance to the next system. Too hot. Too cold. Too much gravity. Not enough gravity. Too dry. Too dark. Too much pressure. Too irradiated. Too many active volcanoes. Too much tectonic activity. It’s Tuesday. The last pronouncement was Haru’s way of making sure the Captain was paying attention, before Vahn and the flight crew prepared a gravshot to the next closet system to repeat the process all over again.

Although the universe theoretically offered a near infinite amount of potential new homes for humanity, practical limitations shaped a harsher reality. It was uncommon for a Lightning Run to evolve into a Looking Glass planetary survey, but that’s exactly what happened three weeks into Pathfinder’s latest expedition.

PCS57-31, the designation for the planet beneath them, was a beautiful but harsh world sandwiched in the habitable zone between the orbits of two gas giants, with most of its polar masses covered in deep snow and expansive ice fields. The thin atmosphere contained just enough oxygen to avoid the need for environmental suits. The most significant feature was the large equatorial zone of irregular oceans and temperate forests that stretched to the arctic boundaries. The presence of liquid water was a discovery which filled the flight deck with cheering, applause and lots of hugs.

The detailed surface survey now began in earnest, as Haru and two other specialists operated the fleet of drones needed by each section leader to map terrain and gather specimens from the areas they explored. It was difficult work, but Haru seemed to embrace the challenge of supporting the diverse missions of various teams and keeping a watchful eye on them while on the surface. Haru was also responsible for her own assigned surveys, and she enjoyed her time working with Cosmo, deploying its portable drill and gathering samples for geochemical analysis. The usually acerbic and socially awkward woman was less so as she focused on her work, and this shift in Haru’s demeanor did not go unnoticed by the crew.

As enormous volumes of data were collected and analyzed, Pathfinder’s complement would assemble for the evening conference to share their findings and refine the mission plans for the following day. Each section leader would present their current progress and amend their mission goals, which invariably meant more work for Haru and the drone fleet, and Vahn would remind all the specialists to requisition the appropriate equipment and support from Haru and her team so they could keep pace with an expanding task schedule that was rapidly depleting their resources.

 Haru was responsible for prioritizing the various submissions and their related tasks, which is why she was best positioned to see the troubling pattern in the data sets that could not be explained by statistical variation or standard error compensation. Her own analysis had uncovered some conflicting data regarding the geologic composition of the sites she and Cosmo had surveyed. Haru realized how important this place was for their colonization effort, but she was reluctant to raise her concerns at the evening conferences because she lacked sufficient evidence to justify her gut feeling about the planet they now explored. She considered her mediocre reputation among the crew and how that made it more likely that her concerns would be dismissed as the crew increasingly embraced the notion that PCS57-31 was to become their new home and sanctuary from the Helionox.

What if she was wrong?

Theses unanswered questions and their potential impact on everyone’s future consumed her waking hours (and many of the ones she should have spent asleep in her bunk), until Haru determined that she needed expertise that she did not possess. With no small amount of trepidation, she privately approached Petra and asked the telemetric engineer for help. Once Petra had overcome her shock at this uncharacteristic request, she provided information about the system’s orbital mechanics that would allow Haru to model and test her theory. The results of Haru’s simulations seemed to support her theory, but she needed to be sure before she informed the Captain. Unfortunately, the level of certainty Haru desired was not achievable unless she had a time machine to examine the last thirty thousand years of the planet’s geoclimatic variance.

Cosmo informed her that no time machine existed in their cargo inventory, but they did have the next best tool for the job. Haru quickly created a complete mission plan including equipment requirements, personnel assignments and risk assessments before she submitted it to the Captain for her approval.

______________________________________________________________________________

“Stop right there. Tell us that last part again,” the Captain instructed. The officers and crew sat together in the briefing room to review Haru’s mission plan. They had already started to murmur among themselves as Haru presented the mission objectives and deployment schedules. “Specifically, the part where you just asked for my permission to do something insanely dangerous, Haru.”

“In my opinion, the known risks are manageable,” the astrogeologist offered. “If we assign teams of three to the sub-arctic areas of interest, we can collect the required data to make a sound, binary decision about the site’s colony potential with a high confidence interval.”

“What did she just say?” Galen asked, breaking the silence that had followed Haru’s assertion.

 “We need the information to know for sure if the planet could support a colony,” Vahn answered quickly. “But you’ll be by yourself at the furthest site, without back-up?”

“Yes. I’ll deploy to the northern-most area and execute the survey procedure, but I won’t be alone,” Haru explained, trying to convince them that the risk was necessary and acceptable. She used terminology that she hoped would appeal to the Captain’s more martial nature. “Each team will have drone overwatch, and the surface activities are arranged to minimize time on target. As each team completes their procedure, they will fall back to the next southerly site until all personnel have rendezvoused at the staging area before returning to the ship. Pathfinder will be positioned in synchronous low orbit to provide a secondary extraction plan in case there’s a problem.”

Vahn considered the plan, and consulted the officers sitting next to her at the table. Galen and Rojaan were uneasy about the proposed departure from standard operating procedures, but conceded that there were no other viable alternatives. The ultimate responsibility for the mission and safety of the crew belonged to Vahn alone, a condition she accepted as Captain, but she silently wished that there was better information on which to base her decision.

“Before you ask, Captain, Lysirah trusts your judgment and will support whatever you decide about Haru’s proposal,” Rojaan stated openly. Vahn nodded.

“I’d also like to share something to make your decision a little easier,” Haru said as she stood up to address the entire crew, and then gently cleared her throat. “I’m self-aware enough to know that I haven’t won any popularity contests. I think differently, and I don’t observe the social pleasantries when I explain why other people are wrong. It’s the way I’m wired, like my drones, and that’s my unapologetic acknowledgment of my own inadequacy. This mission isn’t about my ego, as difficult as that may be for some of you to accept. But it’s important we do this to make sure we all have a secure and sustainable future on this planet.”

The officers and crew sat quietly as they absorbed Haru’s candor, but no one questioned her conviction about the mission’s necessity. For every lightning run performed in a distant system, the astrogeologist had rapidly identified deficient planetary candidates, even if her findings were not always delivered politely. If Haru was worried about this planet’s potential to be their home, it was prudent to let her investigate her concerns.

Vahn looked at the specialist, and found a new appreciation for her talents and flaws. The missions they conducted were complex and difficult, but they were possible in large part because of Haru’s scientific skill and insights. Most importantly, the Captain felt she now had enough information to make the best possible decision.

“Your plan is approved,” the Captain announced. “Haru, prep your teams and their equipment to deploy in one hour.”