Claire Holroyde - The Effort

Two people standing in the bend both turned to greet Zhen with utmost respect. Zhen had yet to meet any of the Europeans on the Ariane integration team. The man introduced himself as Marcel, the director of the spaceport, or what was the spaceport before it was transformed into the Effort. He was a substantial man with distinguished wrinkles around freakishly blue eyes. The woman introduced herself as Anneke, the assistant director. She was the tallest woman Zhen had ever seen.

“We’ve taken good care of it,” Anneke said, lifting her strong chin toward the HYCIV already nestled within the main stage of the rocket.

Zhen walked over for one last look. She could see the top of the HYCIV’s box shape with its two high-gain antennas like foil-wrapped dinner platters. On its side, there was the ion engine of her Tianlong ready to power through space to save precious, precious time. Zhen knew every circuit, every centimeter of its structure. Its image blurred as her eyes watered.

“I dreamed it would find alien life on an asteroid,” Zhen said wistfully. “But its destiny is the destruction of a comet.”

“It will destroy a destroyer, yes?” Anneke said.

Zhen had to smile. Yes.

The sound of weeping made her turn around. Jin-soo was a mess of tears.

“I am amazed …” he gasped.

Marcel patted his shoulder and nodded in agreement.

“I turned out to be a better scientist than even my most arrogant imaginations. And I’m a Frenchman!” he laughed. “I suppose we all have UD3 to thank.”

But no one wanted to agree out loud. Anneke took his hand in her own and smiled to show she understood. Marcel took her hand gratefully and brought it to his mask, forgetting the fabric in front of his lips. Of course , thought Zhen. Under these extremes, acquaintances became intense lovers or enemies, or both. And how could they not, even if the woman was a full foot taller, which Zhen couldn’t help finding awkward.

Marcel gave the order to lower the rocket’s six-meter conical nose from a ceiling crane. They watched in silence that was broken with a loud “Zhen!”

Only one person would shout with such a rough and raspy voice in such a large echo chamber: Amy. Zhen steeled herself and leaned over the guardrail to look all the way down. Most of the suited figures on the floor were indistinguishable except for the two waving up at her. Amy was one, of course. Love the interpreter was probably the other. Zhen waved back as Amy made her way to the lift elevator.

“Zhen!” she heard Dewei call out from the opposite end of the floor.

Everyone wanted her attention. Zhen’s raw emotions were sparkling-hot colors, like fireworks.

“Zhen!”

She saw him standing by the mobile launch table, pointing to the side of the rocket and bouncing on his feet with excitement. Technicians had just peeled a sheet of adhesive off its glossy white surface, leaving three black stencils. The first was a black rectangle, but the other two were Chinese characters.

“Usually we require a six-month lead time for artwork,” Anneke said, “but we made an allowance.”

Zhen assumed she was joking but couldn’t be sure.

“Now, will you tell us what everything means?” Anneke prodded.

Zhen was honored with naming rights for the rocket. Ben Schwartz insisted until she agreed and submitted two Hanzi characters. The first represented a stretched animal hide, starting with a head of horns and ending with the tail:

革

The second represented a turtle shell and could signify armor, a protective shell, or fingernails.

甲

Paired together they were gé jiǎ , or skin armor, in the literal English translation. Zhen explained to the Europeans that their HYCIV spacecraft was the armor that would save the planet from UD3, if all went according to plan.

What Zhen didn’t explain was the name’s personal significance. Be brave , her mother said of the insults raining down on her daughter. Remember this and wear your skin armor…

And here was that same shameful girl now a woman and the Effort’s hero, the Professor’s deus ex machina—scars and all. Her mother would stand tall and burn bright with vindication if she knew, in the small chance that she was still alive.

Amy exited the lift at the top platform and strode over, speaking to Anneke and Marcel like she was already in the middle of their conversation.

“Zhen gave the rocket a name and I gave it a flag—but not for any one nation. The Effort is international, and honestly, there are no nations anymore,” Amy added. “This is bigger. This is everything.”

Everyone on the platform looked to the black rectangle, the new flag of their defense effort, and saw a cut-out circle exposing the white surface of the rocket. Here was planet Earth centered in a dark universe, everything surrounded by nothing.

Amy joined Zhen at the guardrail and leaned against her shoulder. Zhen was always surprised at how easily and confidently Amy touched people—surprised and also pleased with the comfort it gave. They hadn’t spoken about the world outside the bubble of the Effort and probably never would. Dr. Clayton had checked in on Zhen a few times to pull her into a quiet corner of a room and ask how she was coping. The doctor’s blue eyes pierced Zhen like a needle: to extract in as painless a way as possible. But Zhen didn’t say much, wanting to focus all her energy on the Effort to reach moments like this.

A narrow section of the wall slowly slid upward, eventually leaving a rocket-sized opening speckled with stars. The fully integrated Ariane rocket was ready to travel by rail to the launch pad, marking twelve hours to scheduled launch.

It was such a grand spectacle, such a hopeful step toward survival as an Earth-bound species, that no one noticed the Disasters step from the lift elevator onto the platform. Amy only turned around when Dr. Clayton touched her lightly on the arm. Amy blinked at the doctor’s Red Cross vest as the realization sank in. She asked what she always asked: “Is it Ben?”

This time the answer was yes.

ZHEN NUDGED HER way through tightly packed, camo-clad bodies in the Jupiter building’s VIP room. The air-conditioning blasted to combat the rising heat. Maximum capacity had to be capped at a squished 275 occupants; only the Effort’s team leadership could gain entry and witness the mission control room on the other side of the glass partition. Others had to watch the monitors mounted in all the space center buildings or listen to the countdown by radio.

“Move aside!”

Zhen looked toward the direction of the voice and saw Stan from the HYCIV team. Ben always referred to him as “Ponytail Guy,” but here he was with a fresh buzz cut close to the scalp. Stan continued to shout at people to move out of Zhen’s path. No one complained once they turned, saw her thin scars, and realized who she was. Bodies parted to make a narrow path toward the glass partition. As Zhen squeezed through, she saw more familiar faces. Ziggy from the nuclear team lit up with a smile to see her.

“So close,” he whispered with shaking fists.

Jin-soo said nothing as she passed, but he reached out to graze her cheek lovingly. Zhen had never been touched this way. She had to turn and look ahead to stay in control of her emotions. Chuck waved her over to his side, where he was speaking with Marcel in front of the glass partition. His paunch tightly stretched against the middle fabric of his jumpsuit. Both men paused their conversation to offer nervous smiles. Marcel looked ill.

“I’ve launched more than five hundred Ariane rockets from that room, but I’ve never felt like this. Wish I had a cigarette.”