Deutronium
* * *
Dr. John Robinson was a man unaccustomed to failure. This was evident in his bearing, in the way he held himself and the way he talked and the way he listened. The results were evident too; John could proudly point to achievements dating, one after another, all the way back into his childhood.
It hadn't been an easy childhood, of course. His family had always danced on the edge of poverty and he could still remember wearing the hand-me-downs of his older brothers, could still remember the taunts from his first day at school, could still remember the stinging pain of the bloody nose from his first encounter with a playground bully. More than this John Robinson could still recall vividly the shame his mother wore the day she had been forced to pay for the week's groceries with food stamps.
Yet as he reflected back on his youth, John would still smile, because he had not folded to the pressure but rather had risen against it. His old clothes taught him the lesson that things were less important than achievements, because the latter were a part of you, the former ephemeral. His early bloody noses taught him that success takes patience and dedication, and that it is not the battle that you must win but the war.
And the shame of poverty taught him that shame must be avoided. You must always win, he learned to tell himself, whatever the game. Less than perfect is not good enough and will never be good enough, and once you set a goal you must never stop until you have achieved it.
Never.
#
He was setting up the drill now, adjusting it as Don checked the scanner. The two men spoke little; drilling for deutronium had long ago become such habit that there was little need for words.
The scanner had indicated a rich vein. With any luck they would have enough fuel to run the Jupiter II for months on this find alone.
Success.
John remembered now, as the drill bit into the soft dirt and then penetrated the rock below. Alpha Control. The first photos from Alpha Centauri, photos of new worlds, ripe for colonization. But to John these were more than just worlds; they were challenges, and on that day he set himself the goal of being the first there.
It was an audacious goal. But this was John Robinson. He was aware, of course, that the Earth was overcrowded, overexploited. He was aware that competition for the Jupiter Program would be steep. But thoughts of failure did not come; in their place he simply worked himself hard, and worked his family hard, never doubting that they would be selected to be the first family in space.
And he knew, also, the potential of his wife, of their children. Smart, able. Even as they socialized with the other Jupiter Program families, with the Allens and the Simpsons and the Raels, he was always comparing himself to them, his family to theirs. He had liked them all well enough; they were all well motivated, intelligent, well suited to the rigors of a new world. They would make good friends and colleagues on Alpha Centauri.
But his family would be the first.
#
"Got it," Don said.
John shut down the drill, engaged the pump.
"Looks good," he answered.
The pilot nodded. "Enough to last quite a while."
They checked the equipment a last time and then returned to the Chariot to rest. Don was a good man, a good husband for Judy. He was the reason she was with them at all, was the reason she had finally agreed to come, and for this John was grateful. He loved his oldest daughter and couldn't imagine life without her near.
Her, and the others as well. He had good kids, a good wife. He could be proud of them; they had each achieved so much.
Don pulled out a thermos of coffee, poured John a cup and then one for himself. It wasn't real coffee, of course, but rather a kind of rich tea brewed from leaves that would otherwise have been used as mulch in the hydroponic garden. But it tasted not unlike coffee, and it could keep you warm when the nights grew cold.
Are the nights cold on the worlds of Alpha Centauri?
John sighed. He supposed they could be.
The first, he thought. We were to have been the first.
He knew, of course, that this dream at least had escaped him. They had been lost in space for too long and the other Jupiter missions would have reached the Alpha Centauri system by now. But even as this goal had faded, another had taken on much greater importance for John Robinson.
They would make it there, to Alpha Centauri. They would arrive late, but they would arrive. John Robinson would compete his mission, because that was what he had set out to do.
* * *
Dr. John Robinson was a man unaccustomed to failure. This was evident in his bearing, in the way he held himself and the way he talked and the way he listened. The results were evident too; John could proudly point to achievements dating, one after another, all the way back into his childhood.
It hadn't been an easy childhood, of course. His family had always danced on the edge of poverty and he could still remember wearing the hand-me-downs of his older brothers, could still remember the taunts from his first day at school, could still remember the stinging pain of the bloody nose from his first encounter with a playground bully. More than this John Robinson could still recall vividly the shame his mother wore the day she had been forced to pay for the week's groceries with food stamps.
Yet as he reflected back on his youth, John would still smile, because he had not folded to the pressure but rather had risen against it. His old clothes taught him the lesson that things were less important than achievements, because the latter were a part of you, the former ephemeral. His early bloody noses taught him that success takes patience and dedication, and that it is not the battle that you must win but the war.
And the shame of poverty taught him that shame must be avoided. You must always win, he learned to tell himself, whatever the game. Less than perfect is not good enough and will never be good enough, and once you set a goal you must never stop until you have achieved it.
Never.
#
He was setting up the drill now, adjusting it as Don checked the scanner. The two men spoke little; drilling for deutronium had long ago become such habit that there was little need for words.
The scanner had indicated a rich vein. With any luck they would have enough fuel to run the Jupiter II for months on this find alone.
Success.
John remembered now, as the drill bit into the soft dirt and then penetrated the rock below. Alpha Control. The first photos from Alpha Centauri, photos of new worlds, ripe for colonization. But to John these were more than just worlds; they were challenges, and on that day he set himself the goal of being the first there.
It was an audacious goal. But this was John Robinson. He was aware, of course, that the Earth was overcrowded, overexploited. He was aware that competition for the Jupiter Program would be steep. But thoughts of failure did not come; in their place he simply worked himself hard, and worked his family hard, never doubting that they would be selected to be the first family in space.
And he knew, also, the potential of his wife, of their children. Smart, able. Even as they socialized with the other Jupiter Program families, with the Allens and the Simpsons and the Raels, he was always comparing himself to them, his family to theirs. He had liked them all well enough; they were all well motivated, intelligent, well suited to the rigors of a new world. They would make good friends and colleagues on Alpha Centauri.
But his family would be the first.
#
"Got it," Don said.
John shut down the drill, engaged the pump.
"Looks good," he answered.
The pilot nodded. "Enough to last quite a while."
They checked the equipment a last time and then returned to the Chariot to rest. Don was a good man, a good husband for Judy. He was the reason she was with them at all, was the reason she had finally agreed to come, and for this John was grateful. He loved his oldest daughter and couldn't imagine life without her near.
Her, and the others as well. He had good kids, a good wife. He could be proud of them; they had each achieved so much.
Don pulled out a thermos of coffee, poured John a cup and then one for himself. It wasn't real coffee, of course, but rather a kind of rich tea brewed from leaves that would otherwise have been used as mulch in the hydroponic garden. But it tasted not unlike coffee, and it could keep you warm when the nights grew cold.
Are the nights cold on the worlds of Alpha Centauri?
John sighed. He supposed they could be.
The first, he thought. We were to have been the first.
He knew, of course, that this dream at least had escaped him. They had been lost in space for too long and the other Jupiter missions would have reached the Alpha Centauri system by now. But even as this goal had faded, another had taken on much greater importance for John Robinson.
They would make it there, to Alpha Centauri. They would arrive late, but they would arrive. John Robinson would compete his mission, because that was what he had set out to do.