The director turned to Mark and lowered her voice. “The general would be gratified to see you get these insignia.”
No he wouldn’t.
The two leaders flanked Mark and each affixed the antique golden oak leaf major’s insignia to an opposite collar of his U.S. Air Force space jumpsuit. The director and the ArmCon took a step back and both snapped a sharp salute. Mark returned the salute and, as he held it, tried to discern whether ArmCon Little’s expression was one of respect or amusement.
The director extended her hand and gave Mark a firm handshake. “Congratulations Major.”
The assembly applauded.
“Your dad,” the ArmCon echoed, “would’ve been proud to see this.”
“My dad?” The newly minted major was not of the same mind. Major Mark Martelli struggled to feel anything of merit in this promotion. Mark knew that General Martelli had many feelings about his youngest black sheep son. Pride was never one of them.
“Yes,” the ArmCon continued oblivious to Mark’s consternation. He flipped the index card over. “The general wrote a short note I’ll read for the crew.”
Oh God please… no. Mark could only stand in front of the assembly helpless as the torture continued. The effect of his multi-generational legacy shouldn’t have mattered after the gamma ray burst. But it did. The burden of expectation rose to unbearable weight.
“The general wrote this note months ago, right after the major’s board selected Mark for promotion. General Martelli sent the century-old major’s insignia with the last launch.” ArmCon Little cleared his throat with genuine emotion. “I knew General Martelli well and it’s right that his heritage continue here on the moon with his son.”
Mark wanted to vomit. He felt beads of sweat form on his forehead. He inhaled and felt lightheaded. He unlocked his knees to avoid fainting. Let this end, please.
“To my son, Major Mark Martelli,” the ArmCon read the general’s note. “These major’s insignia convey the great honor of carrying on the Martelli tradition on the fantastic adventure of the first moon colony. May they prod you to display worthy courage and leadership.” With that short exhortation, the ArmCon handed the note to Mark and shook his hand. “Again, congratulations Major Martelli.”
Mark exhaled slow and steady. The assembly applauded. The new major did an about face, looked at the applauding crew, and did his level best to smile. He wondered who in the assembly caught the implied scolding of the note; that he needed the prod to courage, that he needed the prod to leadership. He was sure his father intended that to be a private note — not to be read in front of the entire moon base crew.
The new major faced the applause and he knew many of those clapping doubted he had either courage or ability to lead. He knew most there were happy that Director Collier and ArmCon Little were in charge. So was he.
15
The director and the ArmCon grabbed Chuck, Doug, Art, Sally, Zeke, Jerry, Tina, and Thad. The group converged in Mark’s quarters after the ceremony. The ArmCon wielded four bottles of 2019 vintage Dom Perignon champagne. “Break out the glasses we’re going to celebrate!” ArmCon Little bellowed.
Celebration was the last thing that Mark wanted but the director and the ArmCon couldn’t be denied. As the group piled in he looked at his domain. He always viewed his quarters as spacious but, with ten inside, it was crowded. He turned to Director Collier and pointed to the champagne. “2019?”
“Fiftieth anniversary of Neil Armstrong’s first steps on the moon,” the director said with a flair. “I’ve got six cases of 2019 vintage stored in my quarters. This is the first event where I’ve pulled out the champagne for a toast.” She turned to her Manufacturing Pod Manager. “Jerry, you better figure out how to produce some local champagne before we run out.”
“Um… grapes are Tina’s specialty,” Jerry said and turned to Christina Bennet.
Tina was in the back leaning against the wall next to the pneumatic door. She saw Jerry’s wave and jostled amongst the group until she was beside Jerry. “What did you say?”
“Champagne!” ArmCon Little thundered. “We need to be making lunar champagne in six months.”
Tina Bennet frowned, attempting to measure the seriousness of the request. “Grapes are luxury, not staples. And they take more water than we’ve allotted.” She looked from the director to Jerry. “Are you guys kidding?”
“No,” the director answered. “We’re going to get this base up and running in a full luxury mode.” She pointed to Thad. “Thad found the ice. Mark and Thad are going to have us swimming in water.”
At this point Mark wondered if the director and the ArmCon imbibed before the ceremony. It was nuts to put a rah-rah cover on the most epic tragedy imaginable. He looked around the room and then realized it wasn’t nuts. It was genius. The group was smiling and laughing as lined up glasses were filled with Dom Perignon. The unimaginable enormity of the earth’s destruction was pushed out of the moment.
Once everyone had a glass of bubbling champagne Director Collier lifted hers. “To Major Mark Martelli and the success of Moon Base Armstrong.”
“To Mark and Armstrong.” ArmCon Little led the chorus.
“To not just surviving but to thriving.” The director lifted her glass again.
“To thriving,” the gathering boomed in unison.
Mark took handshakes from the group. The director and the ArmCon excused themselves after the toasts. Mark felt buzzed after downing three glasses.
“Good thing your dad was a general, eh?” an unfamiliar voice said behind Mark.
Mark turned and faced Shift Manager Douglas Graham, the second shift lead. “Excuse me?”
“I saw you got passed over for major when there was an earth. Good thing Daddy pulled some strings before it all happened.” Doug Graham said this in a warm convivial tone.
“Hey,” Thad Rudzinski elbowed Doug to the side in a none too gentle manner. “This is my boss and he damn sure outranks you.” Thad had one of the bottles of champagne in his hand and he topped off Mark’s glass. “That disastrous decision in 2010 on the space program let all you civilians in and cost us ten years of colonization. The old Apollo astronauts were right. We should have kept the space program out of civilian hands and invested like crazy. That 2010 decision put us in a pickle.”
“Easy on the politics,” Doctor Zeke chimed in. “Me, Tina, Jim Staid, and Chuck are all civilians along with control room managers Doug and Art. And Doctor McCarthy and several others are from the European Space Agency.” He looked around. “Where is Doctor McCarthy anyway?”
“Still in the med-bay tending our flu outbreak,” Chuck answered. “I got to spend some quality time in the med-bay thanks to our new major.” Chuck looked at Mark while rubbing his jaw. Mark ignored him. Chuck turned back to Zeke. “Viruses made it up here and there are always a few cycling through with flu symptoms.”
“That’s a concern,” Zeke replied. He turned to Thad. “We rolled the governance of Moon Base Armstrong under a hierarchical military command structure but always planned a broad vision. Once we unite with Japan Station, we’ll have representatives of all but China here.”
“You know what that means,” Doug said. “The U.S. Military doesn’t drive everything.”
“Well,” Thad said without apology, “I’m the last in a military legacy back to World War II like Mark here.” He raised his glass. “My grandfather was on the ground in the sands of Iraq when his grandfather was screaming overhead in his F-15 Eagle.”