A brave old world - chapter 6

Jean Pierre du Pont the French astronaut stared down in his bowl of escargot boiled in whine and garlic.
“What the hell of a kind of a name is Starchild anyway? What is it with those people and their names?”
Herman Munch, his German counterpart, had finished his meal halfway and was now making good way through the champagne instead. He leaned back and sighed as he relaxed.
“It is all politics”, he said. “Three years of training means nothing when it comes to prestige, and you should know that if anyone”, he said.
“What do you mean by that?”, Jean Pierre du Pont replied.
Hermann Munch smiled.
“I mean that you are French and that you care nothing about anything else when it comes to prestige”, Munch answered.
Jean Pierre du Pont the astronaut gave him an eye. Then he poured more champagne for them both. Jean Pierre was borne in La Barre, France. As a child he spent most of his time wanting to become a postman, just like his father. In his youth interests shifted and while he attended a university of natural sciences, his mind was at some point become an artist and live the decadent and extravagant life of the creating arts. After graduating he drifted the universities of the world for some time, though always without any brushes or canvas, not enough absinth, and definitely in lack off any bendy ballerina somewhere close to his sheets. When he passed thirty he got admitted at the ESA astronaut training, and he had been at the European space agency since. He had been commissioned to flight only ones so far, but then the Mars agenda came his way and suddenly astronauts where in demand. Therefore he got scheduled for a scientific flight somewhere in the middle of the second objective of the program.
Then Jupiter happened. Almost immediately the strategists of European politics saw their chance. If Mars, why not Jupiter? Of course it was every spacefarers dream to take on such a journey, but until recently, no one had ever really though of the possibility to go there within the next two centuries or so. All everybody ever talked about these days was the ongoing Mars mission. After Chinas moon landings and lunar base, however small it was, the West decided to step up the Mars agenda. Go to Mars – and to stay there, was the new deal. No red planet to the reds. A massive explorational program was drawn out and was already on its way to earths crimson brother.
Jean Pierre du Pont, was average height, black hair, brown eyes, average built, a handsome French face and strove through life with an educated sophistication. It was hard not to like him.
“What do you think will happen with Oskar?”, he asked. All Mars mission was already populated.
“I don’t know”, said the German, “I spoke to Mr Alexander earlier today in his office”.
Mr Alexander, director of ESA, was the ultimately responsible for taking the Swede of the historical mission and giving to the Americans.
“You did?”, asked du Pont, “So what did he say about it?”
“Not much. But I imagine he didn’t want to protest on higher ground. No fuss, more money has always been his philosophy. Not my personal way to handle things but I suppose it is right when coping with the bureaucratic world. Supposedly the Americans made some goodwill promise that let the Swedes exit the stage without loosing too much face. I suspect though not much money will come ESA’s way from them the coming decades”, said Hermann.
“From the Americans?”, du Pont broke in.
“No, Jean Pierre, the Swedes of course”, Hermann corrected.
“I heard their government had made an official complaint for ones”, du Pont continued.
“Yes it’s true. I guess it is mostly for the show”, Munch replied.
“Well, you never answered my question about Starchild”, said Jean Pierre with a smirk smile.
“She’s well trained, well educated, but have had some disciplinary issues in the past. Therefore, she has never been a candidate for the really important flights as I understood it”, Hermann informed Jean Pierre on his question.
“So they send her to Jupiter? It does not make sense”, thought Jean Pierre.
“They have no one else I suspect”, said Munch, “everyone is tied up in the Mars project”.
“Not a bad career move”, said du Pont, “benchwarmer on the Mars missions just to end up on an express train bound for Jupiter”.
“She has been up there four times, all on the ISS, she’s quite experienced”, said Munch and pointed towards the ceiling. “She will surely be their cover girl after this one”. For Jean Pierre du Pont space as a concept was still “up there”, but for Hermann Munch the endless dark was more a natural part of “here”. It didn’t matter much but the Frenchman had a tendency to comment Hermann when he brought space to earth, so he tried to avoid it.
“Ok, so I guess I will have to accept that they will send this hotshot our way then. Not much we can do.”
Jean Pierre du Pont moved a hand through his hair.
“Have some more champagne”, Hermann intercepted Pierre’s thoughts.
Hermann Munch sipped for a while on the bubbling drink and drifted in his thoughts. It was probably the last bottle of it for a long long time. He had always been something of dreamer, a fact that delayed his degree at the university well until after his thirties. For some reason however the government had sent him to ESAs training of astronauts. He had never really understood why, but it wasn’t the thing you asked about. He kept silent and went to the stars. Well, off world at least. He had felt that certain feeling of weightlessness two times now. Ones at a trip to the ISS, and ones at a repair mission to one of ESA’s orbiting telescopes. It was a bit like scuba diving. Just freedom, no gravity around to bother you. But neither of the flights could have prepared him for the journey to Mars of which he had trained some years now, or to Jupiter which were where he now seemed to end up, just distantly passing Mars on the way out. Further from home than any other human ever before.

Actually he had a hard time believing it. Could he really cope with the thought? What would happen when they got back? He had read all the reports of the astronauts that landed on the moon last century ending up in depression – everything else had seemed futile in comparison. How does one adjust from something so important to a dull and insignificant earthbound life afterwards? A radical thought slipped his mind. Perhaps he should see to it that they wouldn’t return home. Why not end the mission out there. Burn the ships, like the Greek heroes of old. He let it go again. No one knew anyway if there was any return ticket on this ride. They didn’t really know anything else than that that object suddenly had appeared close to Jupiter. And they were going there to check it out. He liked the thought of that, sailing across an unknown ocean, leaving at sunset. Europa, a brave old world.