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"Dreams are like fireflies, glowing points of light we chase across the fields of our lives." - Captain Robert Allen Cutright, Commander - Daedalus-i Part One: Pad 34 The path ahead led through the high grass to the place where his crew would all meet together for the last time before the launch at 07:15 hours tomorrow. A quick glance at his wristwatch confirmed that it was now 17:31, a minute later than the scheduled rendezvous. No matter. Captain’s immunity to be fashionably late, he thought. Tiny pebbles scattered in all directions under his feet as the Captain made his way toward the crumbling concrete framework that stood like a looming space age version of Stonehenge amidst the overgrown support building foundations and discarded relics from the doomed moon rocket. This was Pad 34, the place where mankind tried to take the first giant leap toward the stars, a place where mankind’s hopes for a brave new world ignited in a fireball that nearly turned moonbeams into lost dreams. Cutright spotted the first of his shipmates standing in the center of the launch pedestal, staring up through the circular opening at the sky. Ironically, his First Officer’s name was Apollo. Apollo S. “Moonlight” Mayberry, no less. While the first name recalls the thunder of the legendary Saturn V rockets of long ago, his last name brings to mind a small town and a simpler time, a boy going fishing with his dad. Interesting mix, Cutright thought to himself, but then, descriptive metaphors aside, Mayberry was an interesting mix in his own right. A Commander in the United States Marine Corps and twice decorated with NASA’s Distinguished Star Cluster for gallantry, Mayberry was one of those “hot dog” pilots who was always flying it too fast, too far and too hard. He’s the kind of pilot who believes it was his God-given destiny to be the best to ever grace a cockpit. He’s the kind of pilot you want at the controls when he’s the only thing that stands between you and the danger that is hurling at your spacecraft from the black depths of space. As Cutright stepped up to stand next to his First officer he also turned his gaze skyward and was amazed to see the full moon, framed perfectly in the opening above. A majestic cloud formation transformed the entire scene into a moment in time that Cutright imagined would make this meeting the kind of fond memory he had hoped it would turn out to be. “As you were Commander,” Cutright said out of the corner of his mouth while they both stood there. “Thank you Sir,” Mayberry retorted without even so much as a glance sideways. “Don’t tell me you’re the only one here, Commander,” Cutright said. “No Sir,” Mayberry responded. “They’re all here, over there by the blockhouse.” “I’ve never known you to be antisocial, Moonlight.” Mayberry looked over at the Captain, a wide smile forming across his face. “No Sir, not antisocial at all. Just taking in the moment. Funny the kinds of thoughts that swirl around in a man’s mind being someplace like this. It does make you wonder.” “What’s on your mind?” Cutright asked. Mayberry bent down and picked up a fist-sized piece of broken concrete and ran his fingers across the jagged edges of the memento. “Just wondered if the view was the same for Gus, Roger and Ed… you know… that night when…” Cutright interrupted, “They’re the reason we’re here Moonlight. The reason we’re going. That’s why I wanted us all to spend our last evening on earth out here on Pad 34. Come on, let’s get everyone rounded up.” Cutright clapped his First Officer on the back and together they strolled out from under the concrete structure in the direction of a pair of aging blast deflectors that lay discarded nearby. On the way across the platform, Mayberry stuck two fingers in his mouth and blew a loud whistle to the rest of the crew a short distance away. Cutright sat down on the curved base of one of the blast deflectors and placed the shiny aluminum briefcase he’d been carrying next to him and flipped open the latches. Inside were 12 LCD flatpanel datapads and a small glass ball jar with a tarnished metal lid. The lid of the jar was perforated with several holes punctured haphazardly around the surface. From inside the jar, the yellow-green glow of tiny fireflies illuminated the Captain’s briefcase in a dim luminescent light. Cutright lifted the jar up to his face and examined the insects, counting all of them to make sure that all 13 were still present and accounted for. He had painstakingly captured and transported his collection of lightning bugs here from his hometown of Evenston, Illinois for a very special purpose and he knew that if a single one of them had not survived the journey it might be viewed as a bad omen. Cutright had asked everyone to bring along something to this last meeting on earth that carried a special meaning for them and catching fireflies had been his contribution. His father had told him the first time they went out in a field armed with nets and a bug jar, “Dreams are like fireflies Son. Glowing points of light that we chase across the field of our lives.” Now, Jonathan Cutright held that dream in his hands. In less than 24 hours he would be in command of the second manned mission to Mars. He and his 12-person crew would be chasing those tiny points of light into the heavens, chasing far across a field of stars. For a moment, the Captain fought back a tear as he pulled himself away from a fond and distant memory to focus on the group that was now beginning to congregate around him. He placed the jar containing the fireflies back inside the briefcase and took out the datapads. Page 1
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