Promise the Girl

by Aidan Bruce Alberts

part 1

When the deep space probe launched, there was a widespread feeling that humanity had done something for the first time. There was a great sense of pride that the human race would finally poke its diminutive head outside of its cramped gopher hole. Engineered by the Requiem Corporation, the mission aspired to travel far beyond the outer reaches of the Solar System. Nations of the world were promised an answer to the ultimate question: Are we alone in this universe?

Well, the person strapped down to the probe's command seat certainly felt alone.

Shaking her head, Hymn took a breath and told herself that now was the time to focus. Having second thoughts in such a crucial moment could only lead to her death. A flood of memories surrounding her lifetime of training passed through her, and it felt bizarre to be here at launch.

The cold emptiness of the probe's pilot compartment was different this time. As if the scientists back at the mission control center could detect her panic, a soft voice projected unexpectedly from the speakers: “It's time for you to go now, sweetie. Everyone is waiting on you.”

Hymn flinched when she heard the voice of her father, Dave; she had not spoken to him in a year. “I didn't know you were going to be here. And I know, Dad; I'll be ready to launch, but I'm scared to go.”

“Why are you scared? You will do great. You’ve always had the nerve.”

“I'm not as sure as you. Requiem could have picked anyone, but they picked me. I think it could be a mistake,” her voice began to tremble as she continued. “M-my whole life feels like a mistake.”

“Hymn!” There was a sense of worry revealed in the way her father spoke. “Now is not the time for this.” In that callous yet concerned statement, there was truth. The deep space probe would launch in minutes, and her hesitation at such a moment would be catastrophic for his daughter.

* * *

Back at mission control, her father paused and shifted uneasily. Sitting in front of his cold microphone with scientists surrounding him, he thought of a memory from long ago. Dave had been Hymn's age when he learned that his girlfriend Vanessa was pregnant. He had hopelessly asked that she end the pregnancy, but she wanted to keep the child.

All those days of panic and pain while sitting outside of the pregnancy center. After hours of waiting, Vanessa would hurry back to the truck with updates of her pregnancy. Dave would hug her and rub her back as she wept. That was all the support he could give her. He remembered the weeks when he would stare at nothing for hours, debating whether he was a despicable person for not wanting a child. No one could have predicted that when the delivery came, it would be the end of his lover.

When his daughter was born, his girlfriend was gone. Hymn was the only thing good in his tiny one-room apartment, where termites ate the rotting wood in the walls and the sound of airplanes taking off rattled the tenement. The shaking would repeatedly wake his baby who cried out in fear. Every time he gave her a bath, he noticed the little bones in her rib cage becoming more and more prominent. He knew he had to make a change. This was no kind of life for his daughter.

Dave thought for a moment about the offer Requiem had made him: full-time care and the finest education for his daughter, and she would never have to worry about food or money. As a bonus, they said that they would send him a small annual stipend to show their gratitude. However, all this came with one catch. He could have no further contact with his daughter until the Requiem Corporation gave permission.

“Promise the girl,” is what the recruitment agent had demanded of Dave when Hymn had clutched his leg and begged him to stay with her. Looking at the agent's hardened and grim face, Dave knew he had no other choice than to comply. He promised Hymn that he would visit her, though he barely got the words out. Her small hand slipped away from his, and she sobbed as the agent carried her away. He never did get to see her until Requiem granted him clearance twelve years later. Breaking the terms of the strict contract would have ruined Hymn's shot at a better life.

* * *

Back in the probe, Hymn nervously tapped her feet on the cold metal of her footrest. Inside the mission control building in the New Mexican desert, her father held the receiver up to his ear. He looked at the computer screen although he wasn't really seeing anything. Having his only daughter about to rocket into space revived the awful burden of losing Vanessa.

Vanessa had been the best part of his life. Ever since her passing, his lonely nights were filled with dreams of a young hazel-eyed woman with strawberry hair. She always wore her favorite summer dress patterned with red and orange flowers, and she would come to him only to die again when the morning light filtered through his bedroom curtains.

The probe's chassis hummed as the launch mechanisms initiated. Tired and weary, Dave regretted how he had given Requiem rights to his daughter's life. A coughing spasm overtook him as the volume from the speakers began to decrease.

“You're starting to fade away, Hymn. We have to say goodbye soon, but I wanted to tell you that I appreciate all the little moments we’ve had. I'll never forget holding your little hand at all those playgrounds and camping at night when you were scared of the stars. I hope that one day, you will get more time with your child than I had.”

Dave glanced at the neon red countdown clock winding down to launch.

“You've got to go now. There’s a journey ahead of you. Just know that, when it's all over, you did the best you could have done. Nothing is worse than having known that it was in you, and you never let it out.”

“I...” — her voice broke, and she bit her lower lip — “thank you, Dad.” She flipped down her gold visor and began pressing buttons above her head. “Your voice is slipping away. Good—” she tried to finish her sentence, but the communication was broken for the start of the launch sequence. “Goodbye, Dad,” she said, even though she knew her dad couldn't hear it. Lowering her microphone, Hymn could only hear the roaring sounds of a spacecraft powering up.

“T-minus three minutes,” said the flight director from the mission control center.

The air inside the probe had become as humid as a rainforest. Secured by a sandpaper-like harness, Hymn winced as it pressed and cut into her shoulders. Her lower back was already sore from her spine’s digging into the flat, metallic surface of her commander’s seat. She still had to turn on the probe's auxiliary power units, switch off the fuel valve heaters and double-check on the fuel engines. Throughout all this, she was afraid of failing.

However, she was not the only decision-maker on board. Chant was the name of the artificial intelligence operating system that would aid in guiding the probe's trajectories and flight mechanisms. Chant appeared before Hymn's monitor as a blue holographic image of a man in his early twenties. He was standing still with closed eyes and an expression of fatigue. For weeks the engineers at Requiem had been overloading his memory cells with itinerary data. The hologram's face sagged with exhaustion and depletion. Though his robotic nature was much more apparent than his humanity, he had the distinctive mark of human creators.

“T-minus two minutes,” said the intercom. Hymn triple-checked the air tightness of her golden visor. Automatic launch procedures took over the apparatus. The only thing left to do was to wait for the launch's acceleration pushing her deeper into the rigid seat. She was also acutely aware that the other possibility was instant death because of an unforeseen failure. Hymn listened to the creaking and groaning as she slid off the mounted position on the umbilical tower. The spacecraft was now free standing on the launch pad.

“Hello, world,” said Chant.

The first words of Hymn’s sole companion echoed in her cramped pilot chambers. Various flight control levers and red buttons were pulled and pushed as if controlled by some poltergeist. Hymn gripped the seat straps until her hands were white. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breath as the aroma of heated metal filled the air. Flashing thoughts of grand success, utter failure and last-resort prayer to some personal god resounded in Hymn's mind.

“T-minus thirty-one seconds,” said the flight director.

Chant outstretched his azure limbs patterned with binary code. The indifferent hologram shook out his stiff legs, reluctantly looked down at his projection platform, and disappeared into the ship's computing system. Double-checking safety protocols and opening engine cowl flaps, he prepared the probe to launch.

“T-minus sixteen seconds,” said the flight director.

A loud bass noise emitted from the shock and thermal absorption water system beneath the probe. Cooling fluid cascaded as a display of waterworks rushed out of the mechanical pumps under the spacecraft, shaking the frame of the ship. The water slammed into the probe's titanium walls like a tidal wave engulfing a corrugated hut on an unfortunate beach. The water system enveloped the bottom of the probe's booster rockets, ready to suppress the coming sonic boom. Hymn's bowels rumbled uncontrollably.

“T-minus six seconds,” said the flight director.

In the New Mexico desert, the midday sun beamed down on the metallic silver frame of the probe and threatened to overheat Requiem’s aspirations. Only one thing stood between the death grip of the star and humanity. The consciousness of Chant flowed through every cord, wire, and device of the probe. He saw data running through the probe's crochet of vermillion, azure, and gold-threaded circuitry. Lines of translucent code grew outwards from the origin point of Chant's arachnid web. A robotic intelligence answered his commands.

Turning over the complex enigma of launch code in his mind, Chant waited for all the simultaneous processing to transform into a true or false statement. The processing power of the probe presented his digital eyes with the code:

Answer = input ("Enter yes or no")
if Answer = ("yes")
print ("Have a safe flight")
else Question = ("no")
print ("Try again")

Selecting “yes,” Chant activated the rocket engines.

Proceed to part 2...