Jack sighed, they had been over this ground before. When the Peggy Sue departed its construction dock in West Texas it had on board a squad of U.S. Marines. These Marines were not part of the ship’s complement but rather, a boarding party sent by the government to seize the ship. With half of the squad incapacitated by injuries at takeoff—the squad’s lieutenant among them—Captain Jack was able to strike a deal with Jennifer Rodriguez, the Gunnery Sergeant left in charge. During the voyage, the Marines fought heroically along side the crew against the threatening aliens, tragically losing two of their number in the process.
Jack offered to let the survivors stay with the ship as its detachment of Marines but Lt. Merryweather, the unit’s commander, had regained consciousness on the trip home and was now back in charge. He saw it his duty to bring the squad back to the U.S. and the Marine Corps. As a former Navy officer, Jack had to grudgingly admit that Merryweather was doing the correct thing—not necessarily the right thing, but the correct thing. “I’m afraid that Lt. Merryweather is quite insistent, and I gave my word that I would return them to Earth at the end of the mission.”
“If you got the squad alone, without the Lieutenant, you know that they would opt to stay with the ship,” Gretchen said. More than anyone else on the crew, with the possible exception of Bear and JT, she had bonded with the Marines. Seeing them leave was like saying goodbye to family.
“The Lieutenant has his duty, and they are all Marines,” Jack said resignedly. “I would expect nothing less of them than to follow their officer’s orders.”
As much as it pains me to see them go,
he added silently. “The Chief has them assembled in the cargo hold, wearing their original uniforms. Their weapons and ammo have been boxed up and can be dropped off with them.”
No need to tempt Lt. Merryweather into doing anything rash, like try to take over the landing shuttle.
The thought was unvoiced but understood by both of them. Gretchen nodded her assent, “Then there’s nothing for it, except to take them home.”
“I’m afraid so, Lieutenant. Take them back to Earth and drop them where they got on, at TK Parker’s ranch. When you are clear we can contact the authorities.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
Astronomy Department, University of Padua, Italy
It was another glorious summer day in the north of Italy, replete with golden sunshine, verdant foliage and singing birds. Dr. Lucrezia Piscopia, Professore Associato in the Departimento di Astronomia, Universita degli Studi de Padova, was staring wistfully out of her office window overlooking the Riviera Paleocapa. Flowing slowly beneath her third floor perch in the Astronomy Department building the waters of the Bacchiglione river moved unhurriedly as they had for centuries. Lucrezia, or Elena, as she was known to her colleagues in the department, was frustrated and dissatisfied with her lot in life.
Being an Associate Professor at one of the oldest and most prestigious universities in the world would have been a crowning achievement for most scholars. After all, Elena performed research and taught astronomy at the same university where Galileo Galilei once taught. Indeed, the University of Padua is credited with being the second oldest university in Italy, generally dated to the year 1222 AD. It was founded by a large group of disgruntled students and professors from the University of Bologna, Italy’s oldest university. Evidently, disagreements among scholars are nothing new.
Though her office was in a relatively new addition, that building was adjacent to the original university observatory, known as La Specola. The Specola itself was a tower, part of the old medieval castle of Padova, which dated from the 13
th
century. It was a famous landmark in a city of famous landmarks.
Close to the renaissance city walls surrounding the old town of Padova and in the heart of modern Padua, the old building sets on a point of land where the Bacchiglione river splits into two. The left branch, called Tronco Maestro, travels along the medieval walls towards the ancient Carmine Church and runs under Molino Bridge, just down stream from the Astronomy Department.
In the 18
th
century, the Venetian republic decided to give Padova’s university an astronomic observatory. Dedicated by the University as the seat of astronomical studies, the Observatory started its activity in 1779 after a renovation of the tower was completed. The Observatory continued its academic activity until December 31
st
, 1923, when it was separated from the University and established as an autonomous institution attached to the INAF, the Istituto Nazionale di Astrofisica.
Elena had worked closely with scholars from INAF over the years and there was a lot of crossover work between the Department and the Observatory staff. The main telescopes and other instruments belonging to the Observatory and to the Department of Astronomy were located in Asiago, on a 1000 meter high plateau 90 km from Padua. But here, next to the old Observatory, one could really sense the history of the place—nearly 800 years of teaching and scholarship. Elena was proud to be a part of that tradition, and that was why she was feeling depressed.
In recent years the Italian economy had been terrible, the nation barely able to avoid defaulting on its financial obligations. Since Italy’s universities were all state run, with students paying little or nothing to attend, the University had fallen on hard times. And though she loved her job, both the research and the teaching, there was no possibility that she would ever become a tenured full professor in the foreseeable future.
Not that prospects for astronomy professors were good anywhere in Europe these days. She should have made a move several years back, when she was something of a minor celebrity. Standing five foot nine in three inch stiletto heals and partial to short cut, clingy dresses, Elena did not look like a typical astronomer. With a tawny main of thick unruly hair, deeply tanned olive skin and blazing dark eyes, Elena more closely fit the image of an Italian starlet—at least she did a decade ago.
At that time she was the host of a science show on Italian TV called
Cacciatori di Stelle,
the Star Hunter. While she was trying to promote astronomy, the network was trying to make science sexy, and for a while it had worked. But nothing lasts forever, and once the novelty of a smart woman in a real short skirt wore off the ratings plummeted. Still, it had been an intoxicating experience. Now nearing the end of her fourth decade, Elena could still stop men in their tracks when wearing a skimpy bathing suit. But she had no illusions, time and nature affected everything and everyone—even stars grow old and die.
Elena’s building funk was interrupted by a lively Baroque tune from her cellphone. The snippet of Scarlatti ended abruptly as she answered the call, “Departimento di Astronomia, Professore Piscopia.”
“Dr. Elena Piscopia?”
“Si?” Then, realizing that the caller had a foreign accent she switched to English. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, hello Elena. This is Rajiv Gupta. You may remember me from CERN two summers ago.”
Two years ago Elena attended a month long workshop at the CERN Laboratory, which sits astride the Franco–Swiss border near Geneva. Also visiting, but for a different program, was Dr. Gupta, a renown particle physicist from America. Their paths had crossed at a number of social functions held by the Lab.
“Si, ciao Rajiv, how have you been?” She could not recall what institution he was with or where he was from in the U.S., limiting her conversational response. Moreover, she could not think of a reason for him to be calling her, though they were both physicists they worked in different fields.
“Good to speak with you as well, Elena,” the mysterious scientist continued. “I was wondering if you would be attending the conference in Melbourne next week?”
“Melbourne? Australia?” she replied, even more confused.
“Yes, I was hoping to talk with you there, if you were going to be in attendance. I have a line on some work that is right down your alley.”
“
Vi chiedo scusa?
I beg your pardon? Down my what?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, American slang. I have an opportunity that you might be interested in and it appears to be a good fit with your areas of expertise and recent research. Specifically, the search for habitable exosolar planets.”
Ah, now that made more sense,
Elena thought, much of her recent work had centered on detecting potentially habitable worlds circling other stars. “Really? What type of work would it be? Consulting, a visiting scholar position?”
Or possibly a longer-term opening?
She pleaded silently.
Would that be too much to ask for?
“The project is a long-term one, but we could use your expertise on whatever terms you could offer. It really is too complicated to describe over the phone, which is why I was hoping to see you at the conference. I can say that we have some top notch people and a unique observation platform.”
Elena had not planned on attending the Melbourne Astrophysical conference but she knew there was still some travel money in her research budget. And getting an Australian visitor’s visa for such events could be accomplished via the Internet.
Come on, girl!
She chided herself,
this is a sign. Seize the day!
“Yes, I am going to attend the conference. I will look for you there, Dr. Gupta.”
“Excellent! I look forward to talking with you then. Good bye.”
“Arrivederci!”
What a timely happenstance!
Even a temporary position for a semester or two would be a welcome break from her normal schedule. And even if the job does not work out, a trip to Australia was just what she needed to erase her gloomy mood. Italian immigrants arrived down under in large numbers during the decades immediately following World War II, and were now the fifth largest ethnic group in Australia. Melbourne in particular attracted many immigrants and as a result, Lygon Street now boasted the biggest selection of Italian restaurants and cafes of anywhere in Australia. In Melbourne, she could leave home and never feel homesick.
Happily humming to herself, Elena grabbed her bag and headed out of the Department, stopping by the administrative secretary’s office to arrange reservations for the trip. Then she headed home to begin packing. Walking past the ancient walls of the Specola, across the arched stone bridge from the Ponte dell’ Osservatorio to the Piazza Accedemia Delia to wait for a shuttle bus back to her apartment, her conspicuously short dress attracted admiring glances from a number of men—both students and older. Elena didn’t even notice them.
Parker’s Station, The Australian Outback
Rajiv Gupta ended his call to Dr. Piscopia and turned to face his colleagues. Among them were Dr. Yuki Saito, astrophysicist and formerly an astronaut on the International Space Station, Dieter Schmitt, a brilliant if somewhat eccentric chemist, and most importantly, TK Parker, the money and driving force behind the whole enterprise. They were in the ranch house of Parker’s Station, a gigantic cattle ranch located in the Australian Outback.
Australian cattle ranches, called stations, are by far the largest in the world. In fact, some Australian stations are bigger than entire countries. Anna Creek Station, well known as the biggest Australian cattle ranch, covers 6,000,000 acres in the Outback of South Australia. By comparison, the biggest American ranch is the famous King Ranch, located in south Texas between Corpus Christi and Brownsville. It claims only 825,000 acres. That a Texas billionaire had to come to Australia to buy a really big ranch was a matter of considerable mirth locally.
The Australian style of farming cattle is also very different from that used in America and other places around the world. The Outback is so dry and the vegetation so sparse that large amounts of land are needed to support enough cattle for the economics to work. Because the areas involved are so large, Australian cattle are essentially “free range.” Meaning they are basically wild animals, often being born and growing up without ever seeing a human. Raised on grass and rarely given any chemical supplements, Australians claim their beef is the best in the world.
Arguments between Texans and Aussies over whose beef is best aside, the main attraction of Parker’s Station was its privacy. Life on any station is isolated, with the nearest neighbors often a full day’s drive away. Most contact with the outside world is by radio and the mail planes that also deliver supplies to the widely scattered station houses. Even medical emergencies are handled by the RFDS, the Royal Flying Doctor Service.
This lack of outside contact was exactly what TK Parker had in mind when he bought his station in the Outback. TK was less interested in raising cattle than he was in building a small fleet of space shuttles to complement his spaceship. In the decade that TK had owned the station, he never once told the local Jackaroos, as Australian cowboys are called, what to do. He was a strictly hands off owner, letting his hired manager run the place for a share of the profits.
What interested TK most lie under the land near the station house. A vast complex of laboratories and construction areas lurked just beneath the hot dry surface scrub. There, safe from prying eyes and the occasional spy satellite, Parker had slowly built up a staff of highly skilled workers. There were scientists—physicists, chemists, biologists, geologists, material scientists, etc.—along with information theorists, linguists, code breakers, computer scientists and engineers of all stripe.
The excavated rubble from Parker’s mad scientist’s lair had been carefully graded into the surrounding landscape, though no one would have thought it strange to have piles of excavated dirt scattered about. At the town of Coober Pedy, several hundred kilometers to the south, there were piles of dirt everywhere. There everyone lived in houses underground, converted from working opal mines. Even so, TK was a cautious man, and nowadays it was unlikely that anyone would remember when excavation work was going on at Parker’s Station.