Golden Fleece

If we head back now, the world we return to will be a familiar one, the home each of us dreams of fondly every night. Surely this is preferable to returning to a world that is a century older. Our only hope of having normal lives is to return home as quickly as we can—and that means heading back immediately.

Some have argued that we owe it to the United Nations to complete this mission. They, after all, have invested considerable time, money, and resources in the Argo project. Perhaps that is true. But remember, all through the history of spaceflight, the initial missions have been simple tests, not full-blown excursions. The first crewed vessel to visit the moon, Apollo VIII, did not land; the first reusable spaceship, the Shuttle Enterprise, did not go into space at all; the first Venus mission, Athena I, was simply an orbital survey flight. We are being asked to accomplish what no other initial journey has been called upon to do in the past.

Even if we return now, we will bring back much valuable information that will be of great help to the UN Space Agency, including this vitally important fact: It is inhumane to force people to spend year after year locked aboard a spaceship.

It is pointless to go on, to throw the rest of our lives away on this ill-conceived survey mission. We, the undersigned, urge you to support Proposition Three. When the referendum is called tonight, vote YES to return to Earth.

The announcement was made in the Starcology’s luxurious council chambers. The furnishing and decorations were a gift from the people of Greece, a proud reminder that twenty-six hundred years ago their ancestors had originated the concept of democratic government. The architecture was that of ancient Athens, Doric columns—Ionic and Corinthian considered too busy for contemporary tastes—creating niches around the perimeter of the great circular room. In every other niche stood a white marble statue, in classical Greek style, of the great men and women of democracy throughout the centuries. First was Pericles. Above his bearded visage were carved the Greek words, POWER DOES NOT REST WITH THE FEW BUT WITH THE MANY. A little farther along, Abraham Lincoln, looking gaunt and awkward without the beard and stovepipe hat he had worn in his later years. Above his head, in English: GOVERNMENT OF THE PEOPLE, BY THE PEOPLE, FOR THE PEOPLE. Farther still, Mikhail Gorbachev, oddly undistinguished, the plain marble not showing the large marking he had had on his forehead. Above his bald pate, in Russian: GOVERNMENT IS THE SERVANT OF THE PEOPLE, NOT THE OTHER WAY around. Then Lao-Tsing, smaller than the rest, but her words, in Mandarin, just as tall: THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE CAN BEND IRON.

In the intervening niches were copies of the great fundamental documents of human rights, including the Magna Carta, the Constitution of the United States, the French proclamation of the Rights of Man and the Citizen, the Charter of the United Nations, the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, the Azanian Bill of Rights and Equalities, and the Constitution of the Russian Federation. Each was behind glare-free glass, the frames plated with gold.

There were no doors to the chamber, the idea being that a truly responsible government should be freely accessible to all. Instead, eight radial corridors simply ran into it from outside. Three hundred and forty-eight people had actually come down to the chamber to hear the reading of the results in person. Almost everybody else on board was watching on a monitor screen. In the center of the chamber was a small podium. Behind it stood Gennady Gorlov.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Argo,” he said in his stentorian voice into my camera pair, “it gives me great pleasure to announce the results of the referendum on Proposition Three.” He pressed a button on the podium, signaling me to present the tally. He looked down at the monitor laid into the fine olive wood of the podium’s sloping surface, read the results once, then again. His EEG and EKG danced in discomfort. At last he looked up. “Of the 10,033 members of the crew, 8,987 cast votes.”

There were a few muttered questions from members of the crowd, people wondering about the figure for the size of the crew. Some of those asking were quickly told that with the death of Diana Chandler—“you know, the astrophysicist who killed herself because of the breakup of her marriage”—the population count had been decremented by one. Others just shhshed the questioners, and soon everyone was again waiting intently for Gorlov to continue.

“In favor of Proposition Three”—Gorlov paused, swallowed, then continued—“3,212. Against, 5,775.” He looked down at the monitor one last time, as if he couldn’t quite believe that he’d read the figures correctly. Finally he spoke again, and for once his voice was faint. “Proposition Three is defeated.”