Go Get It

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. The scientists, engineers, and technicians did not let slip a sound on Earth, either. No one else could figure out how a ten billion dollar orbiter could be travelling at nearly nine hundred and eighty thousand kilometers an hour away from the blue-green orb.

The team leader, Hodges Jockowicz approached Glover Forsyth. Forsyth was the color of cedar and sported a bald head.

“I know you’re able. I know you can do this, Glove.’”

“I’m supposed to fetch your probe after my design was denied time and time again? You expect me to believe that you need my assistance now?” Forsyth’s tone remained even, calm.

“Glover, you are the assistant engineer. You are the only one who knows the correct figures that can bring this thing back. You’re going to go up there and retrieve that spacecraft.”

“I’m not going to go get it. We graduated in the same class back at DIT. We were neck and neck at Cadet School. You advanced to team leader based on your skill, not because you’re white. As a black man in a field where few share my shade, I can understand that you would want me to be the black savior for this mission. I’m not doing it.”

Miss Loretta Sadiq knocked on the door.

“Good morning gentlemen, I have the coordinates of the spacecraft. It’s headed towards Neptune. It will likely continue until it enters with the Neptune orbit. It will be a few years before it is absorbed in the gas planet. That is if we don’t program it to reverse course and orbit around Venus.”

“Goddamnit, Loretta. You can do this,” Jackowicz brightened.

“No, this isn’t even close to my paygrade. I just wanted to relay the current status of the probe.”

Jackowicz and Loretta shot glances at Forsyth.

“Okay, you twisted my arm until it turned red.”

The team leader and the technician rejoiced.

Forsyth placed his badge over his head like a shield of honor.

“If I’m going to do this, it’s got to be done my way. I want my engineers to take control and fix the English scale to metric. It’s happened before, but this time we will be able to corral this probe and put it back on track.”

The engineers scrambled like jets flying overhead. They set out to correct the figures and put together a plan to reverse Venus Climate Orbiter’s trajectory.

“But he’s just an assistant,” whispered a light-skinned technician named Grant Rilling.

“You know I can hear you, Rilling, right?” Forsyth said.

“I didn’t—” Rilling started.

“Pack it up. I don’t need subjectivists on my team. You’re done for the day. You’ll get your pay and then you can look for another job.”

“He’s right though,” Brett Dennett stood and spoke next.

“Oh, so you want to follow him? I don’t need anyone white black or other to disrupt this mission.”

Dennett lowered slowly and returned back to his work.

“Alright, if we don’t have any more objections, shall we continue?”

The room looked like warriors prepared to go into battle with the XO.

“Let’s go over the newton-seconds.”

“Sir, we’re currently converting the English system. The units are being turned to metric with speed.”

The room applauded.

“Hey, hey, hey. This isn’t over yet, folks. We’ve got a disconnect with the government who insisted we use English in a place it really has no further business. There is no God but thank God for a proper private system. We’re all we have,” Forsyth said with conviction.

“Sir, we’ve got a chance to input the data and still salvage the spacecraft,” Loretta mentioned. “We may lose half of it in the process, however.”

“That’s five billion dollars of the American taxpayers’ money literally lost in space,” Forsyth observed. “Give me eyes on where this probe is headed,” Forsyth commanded.

On huge screens with stellar views, the expanse of space looked like a black soup of stars and other celestial bodies. Jockowicz covered his mustache. Forsyth forged onward.

“With these last few coordinates, we can stop the probe. Once we slow it down to about fifty thousand kilometers, we can begin the reversion process,” Dennett announced.

“Well, let’s go,” Forsyth said.

The crew all converged to form a formidable force for correcting the probe’s trajectory. Successfully, they lowered the speed to about forty-seven thousand kilometers an hour.

The room did not burst into shouting and applause. People looked at Forsyth, awaiting his word.

“Celebrate.” The room erupted in cheers and hugs and high fives.

Jackowicz shook Forsyth’s hand. “I see a promotion for you Glove’. Even if it means taking my position.”

“I don’t want your job, Hodges. I’m too focused on designing sports cars. I’ll not mix government and private sectors like this again. Trust me.”