Orb by Gary Tarulli Read Free Book Online

the day’s initial excitement was being tempered by nervous tension, and with good reason: Expectations for the mission, and therefore the crew’s performance, had been set exceptionally high, perhaps unreasonably so.
    In the months prior to our departure, the mission was the object of intense debate by a scrutinizing public that had divided itself into two distinct groups: Those who were intrigued by exploring the wonders of a new planet and those who believed the king’s ransom it cost to explore that planet were better spent reducing misery on planet Earth. The latter group already considered the expedition a failure; the former might join them if an extraordinary discovery was not made. This typically translated into either finding a highly evolved (if not downright transcendent) life-form or classifying the new world as suitable for human exploitation and colonization.
    The crew recognized that the weight placed on their shoulders by a demanding public was high. It was only exceeded by the unrecognized pressure each member of the crew placed on his or her self. I knew this to be true not only from sharing with them each and every recycled molecule of air and water for the last three months, but also because it is human nature for individuals whom society considers successful to be self-motivated and driven. The mission was, without doubt, the high point in their professional careers, a golden opportunity not to be squandered. Accordingly, there was a silent, but constant, voice reminding each of the scientists that they were expected to conduct pioneering work in their particular field. The scientific community sums up this relentless need to produce with one concise and merciless phrase: “Publish or perish.”
    And so it logically follows that very much indeed was expected of, and by, Doctor Larry Melhaus, one of the world’s preeminent physicists and chemists. He did not have a double standard: What he demanded of himself, he expected from others.
    As for myself, I was not totally immune to the same career pressures, societal or self-imposed, for I, too, had a function to perform on the
Desio
. And, having to earn a living as a writer, I was certainly no stranger to the fear of not being published. To that aim, and because my forte was not expounding on the hard science (though I did try to keep up) I would, from time to time, attempt to elicit personal details from the crew. They understood this, and usually the conversations that ensued from my prodding were enjoyable divertissement.
    But not always.
    With the planet looming as a backdrop, our meeting just about concluded, Kelly absently said, “I miss Earth.” And all talking stopped. “Sorry all,” she quickly added, as if the topic was forbidden. “But seeing this planet, the ocean, the clouds, makes me long that much more for home.”
    “You only said exactly what I was feeling,” replied Diana.
    “Isn’t this what we all feel?” I added. “So why fight against it? Why not, at least for the moment, go with it?”
    “Perhaps,” responded Melhaus, impatience adding an intolerant edge to his voice, “because some of us have better things to do?”
    I decided not to press on, and the conversation would have ended right then and there, but Thompson chimed in. “Kyle’s looking to see which of us has some sort of emotional catharsis.”
    “That would be good material,” I said, “so don’t hold back.” I decided to persist. “Come on, any of you, what’s the hardest thing you had to leave behind on Earth? What do you miss most, excluding family, friends, and lovers? That’s too easy.”
    “I miss going to the theater!” Diana blurted out. “The excitement of a Broadway show, taking in a play on London’s West End!” No sooner had she finished her eyes lit up and her mouth started moving again. “Wait! Wait! Can I change my answer?”
    “No,” said Thompson.
    “Then can I have two things? Please?”
    “No,” Thompson repeated,