Second Chance Read Online Free Page B

said Bobb, and everyone laughed.
    Everyone but me. I found their doubled slang pointless and childish. Usually I could puzzle it out—“otcha otcha” was “gotcha”, just as “kay kay” was “okay” and “ojer ojer” was “hold your horses”—but it didn’t seem worth the effort. I sighed to myself and took another swallow of my tomato soup. It was too salty. When it was my turn to cook I’d show them how much better it could be with less salt and more herbs.
    And then I noticed what I was thinking. “Them.” How had this happened? When did I start thinking of my crewmates as “them”?
    It had been so different six months ago... six months ago in my memories, that is; six months before first scan, which turned out to be my last. That was when the crew had taken its first meal together, right after the press conference where our selection had been announced to the world. The President had been there, and representatives of all the other countries participating in the project, and we were all in our finest formal clothing, but even as the tuxedoed waiters brought out the fish course on chilled china with the White House seal we couldn’t help peering at each other and grinning our fool heads off.
    We’d made it!
    That dinner was the culmination of a selection process that had taken almost three years. This was the first crew of astronauts ever to be selected entirely on the basis of experience and intellect rather than physical fitness, and tens of thousands of scientists worldwide who’d never before considered themselves astronaut material had applied. The chosen seven who’d emerged from that process ranged in age from forty-eight to eighty-three, and many were fat or frail, but that didn’t matter—after two and a half years of intensive training together, we would return to our previous lives, sending copies of our memories and skills to Tau Ceti in fresh young bodies.
    On that evening the seven of us might as well have been one person. Despite our different ages, backgrounds, and races, we were all intensely committed to science, showed great mental agility and world-class expertise in two or more fields, and were prepared to commit the next two and a half years of our lives to the Cassiopeia mission. Not to mention we’d all survived the same gantlet of tests, interviews, and simulations. As each of us faced the same questions from the reporters and politicians, we gave similar modest answers, but we saw in each other’s eyes the same triumphant gleam. And when, after the formalities had concluded, we withdrew to our hotel, we stayed up talking and laughing until nearly dawn, too amazed at our good fortune to sleep. The next day we’d flown to Dallas to begin our training.
    It had all started out so well. But the rest of the crew had been through two more years of training than I had... two years to build up skills and tools and slang that tied them together into a single functioning unit. A unit that didn’t include me.
    Fine. It wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t really their fault either. I would just have to make the best of it—to try to fit in as best I could.

    -o0o-

    I continued to study the planet Achebe, delving into the mystery of its tectonic activity. New satellite photos—this time properly scheduled via the chromo—confirmed that the thing I’d thought was an ancient crater torn apart by crustal drift really was what it seemed to be. But scans for radioactivity turned up negative, and there were no nearby large bodies to produce heat by tidal squeezing. So what was the source of the energy that kept the mantle fluid enough for the tectonic movement I’d seen?
    I stretched in the air and stuck my stylus back in its holder. Maybe a short break would refresh my mind. I shoved myself away from my work station, turned in the air, and grabbed a strut to propel myself to the habitation bay.
    I floated through the habitation bay’s central space and into the airlock in the