Who Are The Pathfinders?

Voice of Africa

Who Are The Pathfinders? An In Depth Interview With One of The Men and Women Who Saved The Heavens

Tom Adayemi - Malindi, Kenya - 11.10.2143
Sergei Markov couldn’t stop staring at the Memory Frame in his hands as we began our interview. Though your average consumer might fill their Frame’s hard drive with a slideshow or a few video clips, Sergei had only one picture in his: a dozen smiling men and women hailing from almost as many nations, clad in orange space suits. The Pathfinder patch, an angel charging skyward holding a lantern against the dark, featured prominently on their chests.
The picture had been taken, he told me, in front of Launch Pad 7 of the Uhuru Spaceport, situated a hundred kilometers up the coast from Malindi. Sergei’s apartment is on the right side of town to see launches from Uhuru on a clear day.
One thousand and thirty four Pathfinders took off over the last ten years. Less than six hundred now remain. Sergei was among the few willing to speak with us, a tall but unassuming Russian man with dark hair and blue eyes. He was only twenty-six, but he looked as though he had already lived a lifetime. Perhaps a hundred years ago he would have stuck out like an albino panther in Malindi, but today he blends right in with thousands of other refugees from The War.
“What made you decide to become a Pathfinder?” I asked him.
He took a long time to respond, perhaps lost in his memories or summoning up the strength to speak. “My father and mother fought in the War. He was fourteen years old and serving in the People’s Militia. That’s how desperate we were. He was proud. He always assured me they would have held the line at Ozyorsk, but she was older, wiser, and knew better. She told me if it hadn’t been for the armistice, I wouldn’t have been born.
“My grandfather, her father, also served. He was a Lieutenant aboard the Gagarin.”
The Gagarin was the flagship of the Russian space fleet, lost with all hands in the opening days of the war. It broke into millions of pieces which spread across Low Earth Orbit, as had most satellites, stations, and ships that didn’t manage to land before the debris cascade isolated the Earth.
“My family had a hand in salting the Earth and Sky. I felt it was my obligation to help fix it.”
Sergei’s connection to The War seemed common among the Pathfinders. Our research determined that more than half of the Pathfinders came from countries and former countries directly involved in the fighting, while only twenty-five percent came from Kenya itself.
At this point I asked him about the picture and those in it. As I spoke of his comrades, Sergei rubbed his thumb over their faces as if he could still reach out and touch them through the glass screen.
“We were Leviathan Sixteen, the tenth successful expedition… that is.. We were the tenth to make it to orbit. I remember all of their names. Christina Mueller, Germany. Albert Corrigan, America. Nils Borg, Sweden. Jun Pao, China. Isabelle Sanchez… Robert Magoro... Rene Carter… Mohammed Amin… Shiro Sagi… Harry Nguyen,” He paused before saying the last name, “Yulia Yurievna.”
He broke down in tears for almost a minute. I considered ending the interview out of respect, but he insisted we continue.
“It hurts to remember, but I can’t let myself forget,” Sergei finally continued, “They were my family.”
“The world won’t forget them either,” I assured him, “We owe so much to every last one of you. Tell me, did you know how dangerous it was when you signed up?”
“Yes, of course. Leviathan One’s crash was all over the news when I applied. A few of the applicants walked out of the room when confronted with what might await them. The people on Luna were counting on us though. Our ancestors who gave us the heavens were counting on us. Future generations were counting on us. I didn’t hesitate for a moment.”
“Many people wonder why risk human lives,” I said, “Machines are cleaning up the cities here on Earth. Why couldn’t we just send autonomous drones controlled from Earth?”
Sergei sounded insulted at the prospect, “Of course we used drones, but controlling them from Earth would have been impossible. Every millisecond of response time was needed, and debris clouds could cut out the signal from Earth without warning. Local control was the only option. Maintenance was a factor too. That was my job. Yulia and I… we kept the drones running. If a Skysweeper broke down, it had to be fixed promptly or it would be bombarded to pieces and become part of the problem. Every loss up there makes our job that much harder and take that much longer.”
“How long were you in space?”
“Four months before the incident. We had cleared six hundred tons of debris. Most of Corridor One was our handiwork.”
Corridor One has since become the primary launch vector for traffic into space. Only one manned mission and two unmanned payloads were lost to debris collisions in the year since it was declared safe.
“Was it difficult, working on such a diverse team?”
“Of course there were challenges… frustrations… most of us could speak English pretty well but a few things were lost in translation on occasion. Yulia and I didn't have these problems because we were so close… er, that is to say because we were both Russian”
“Was it comforting having a fellow Russian on your team?”
“I had trouble calling myself Russian before I met her. I was very little when we left for better opportunities in Africa. I have no memories of our old home. I couldn't tell you what snow feels like… but she showed me that Russia is more about what's in your blood than where you grew up. And some things follow you no matter where you go: the taste of mother's borscht, the nursery songs, our sense of humor, the instinct we both had to smuggle alcohol aboard. Her vodka was better than my beer, though!”
Sergei laughed heartily, but it soon gave way to a wistful sigh. He stood up and hobbled over to the kitchen. I thought the interview might be over but he eventually returned with a bottle of liquor.
“Her favorite brand,” he explained as he poured three shots of vodka. One for each of us and one, I assumed, for her. I declined his offer, so he made a toast in Russian and drank both of our shots.
“Do you get recognized in public?”
“Recognized?”
“The Pathfinders, as a whole, have the world’s admiration. Project Director Abraham Layeni once said of you ‘They will never have to buy a meal or drink in any town anywhere in the world for as long as they live.’ Does anyone ever recognize you individually? Do they thank you for your service to humanity?”
“No. Well, at reunions, we all recognize each other... but in public, no. When I wear a shirt or hat from the mission, I get some smiles of acknowledgement. Mostly from the young kids racing around the streets holding toy rocket ships. I stopped wearing them when I felt like I was getting special treatment at bars or restaurants. If the other refugees here are being treated like dirt, why should I be any different?”
“I mean, you’re a hero--”
Sergei cut me off, “No! I am not! I am no hero,” he pointed at the ceiling, “The ones still up there, they’re the heroes.”
“I know it must be difficult, but can you talk about what happened that day? January Third, 2137?”
He took another shot.
“You’re wondering why I’m here and my team is up there.”
“I didn’t mean--”
“I ask myself every day, and every night when I lie awake in bed. The doctors called it Survivor’s Guilt, PTSD, whatever… I call it a sober understanding of the odds. One tiny piece of metal being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“I had been on EVA… space walk. I was patching up the collection net of Skysweeper 16-5. I felt a sting, like a bee, but all the way through my leg. The alarms went off a moment later. Puncture. From a micrometeorite travelling tens of thousands of meters a second.”
He lifted his left leg onto the table and rolled up his trouser leg to show me a scar on his shin the size of a dime. Turning his leg over, he showed me the matching wound on his calf where the medics extracted the piece of debris that was less than 6 mm in diameter. It had passed almost all the way through his leg.
“I panicked at first. You never want to hear alarms in your ear when only a few layers of insulation stand between you and the cold black abyss. But Yulia calmed me down, talked me through the emergency protocol, and maneuvered the shuttle closer so I wouldn’t have to jump far.
“Robert… Commander Magoro told her to take me directly to the Mothership instead of having Rene take a look at it on our Command Ship.”
The Mothership was a small space station for coordinating the Pathfinder teams. While each team had a flight medic aboard their Command Ship for minor ailments, the Mothership had more resources for serious injuries.
“I should have begged Yulia to stay by my side while they patched me up. Hell, I don’t think it would have made a difference. She would have kept working even if it was *her* leg with a hole in it.”
“So she took the shuttle back to the Command Ship?”
“Yes. She had to pick up a replacement for me to continue our work.”
“Who was it?”
“It probably would have been Jun or Nils. It doesn’t matter though. None of them made it off of the Command Ship.”
Another shot. Then another.
“We… they should have seen it coming. A Magnitude Three debris cloud. We navigate around them all the time. This one... It was on top of them before anyone had time to take evasive action. Large fragments, some more than a meter wide, tore through the hull like a giant shotgun blast and vented the atmosphere. No one had time to suit up.”
He contemplated another shot, but instead spun the glass around in his hand before setting it down.
“And just like that, Leviathan 16 became part of the mess. Eight hours earlier and I would have been with them.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Sergei. I can’t imagine… When did you learn what had happened?”
“One of the medics was tending to me after surgery. Her colleague floated in with a horrified look on her face. They exchanged whispers, glanced in my direction. I thought it was bad news about my surgery, but I eventually convinced her to tell me: they had lost contact with Leviathan 16. I ripped out my IVs and stormed into the command module for answers. I demanded they put me on the search and rescue mission. They said there wouldn’t be one, only a cleanup and recovery. I said it didn’t matter. I had to be there.”
“Did they let you?”
“Hell itself couldn’t have stopped me, but… the Captain offered a compromise. If I stayed in the Medbay for 24 hours he would put me on the next flight out to the debris field. The next day I joined Leviathan 20 to pick up the pieces of my home.”
“But your leg.”
“Like I said, hell itself. By God’s grace the fragment missed my bone, and microgravity meant I wouldn’t have to use [my leg] much. Still, an extra dose of localized painkillers didn’t hurt. They had me take control of Leviathan 16’s remaining Skysweepers so I wouldn’t have to go outside much.”
“What did you find when you got there?”
“Fragments. Both from our ship and the original cloud. No bodies. Leviathan Twelve must have taken care of them, or whatever was left of them. But there were personal belongings everywhere: Shiro’s little cat doll, the neck of Albert’s guitar, my father’s medals, Yulia… Yulia’s vodka bottle.”
He broke down sobbing again, “I don’t… I just… can’t understand how it survived! This little fragile glass bottle was floating along like someone had just tossed it out an airlock! When I close my eyes I see it staring at me, the red label and clear body catching the light as it tumbled. I think… It must have been hidden under her bunk. The cushions and linens must have protected it. Still… what are the odds?”
“Did they let you keep it?”
“No, they confiscated everything. All of the debris had to go through the proper channels. All except for this.”
Sergei grabbed a small charcoal gray box off the corner table, a KeepSafe. Those from countries touched by The War may be familiar with the brand of lead lined boxes used to safely store irradiated items with sentimental value. As he touched the box all six sides lit up to display corresponding camera perspectives of the object inside.
I was hesitant to take the box when he offered it to me. He had more faith in KeepSafe’s quality control than I did. With a little coaxing I took it and finally got a good look at what it contained: a tiny partially melted metallic fragment the size of a pea.
“That’s it. The piece they took out of me. When I got back to Earth I took it to be tested. I compared the readings with the data from the debris cloud. It matched metallic signatures. My fragment was an early arrival. A warning we ignored.”
“The chances of it hitting you were… astronomical!”
“There’s more,” he held a finger up to pause our conversation as he took a tablet off of the table between us. He began swiping through images of catalogued metal fragments before landing on the one he wanted to show me. It was a single piece of hull plating less than a meter wide. Though much of the paint had been scorched off, you could still make out what at one point had been writing. It looked like a capital “L”, but mirrored. One might have assumed it was the greek letter “Gamma”, but Sergei was convinced that it was the cyrillic letter for “G”.
“My sample came back to alloys of Russian origin. I searched every historical record and manifest I could find. Not a ship had a G in their name… the Federovich, the Tereshkova, the Putin, the Leonov. All except for one…”
He waited a moment, perhaps hoping I would say it for him.
“The debris that destroyed Leviathan 16… that killed my crew… my *family*… it came from the Gagarin.”
He let the revelation hang in the air between us. The awkward moment broken only by a sobbing laugh as he shook his head in disbelief. I couldn’t imagine the pain he felt, knowing, or at least believing the stars had aligned to torment him with the loss of his grandfather and his Pathfinder brothers and sisters in one fell swoop.
I had more questions for him, about the future, about the detractors who say we shouldn’t go back to space, about the new wave of Pathfinders operating with considerably less risk than the Leviathan, Agamemnon, or Prometheus missions now that Corridor One is safe. I wouldn’t get the chance to ask them. He had told his story and had nothing more to say.
Sergei apologized and retreated into his room with the bottle of Vodka. His fiancee Naomi, a local Kenyan woman, saw us out.
The tragedy of Sergei’s loss, the destruction of Leviathan 16, is one of many that paved our way back into space. It is easy to forget their sacrifice against the backdrop of The War’s billions, but without their efforts, we would still be trapped on this ball of rock and water. Imagery, communication, and positioning satellites would be a relic of the past. The last survivors of the Lunar colony would have perished of starvation. Our technological advancement would have been forever stunted by the sins of the past.
We owe our future to the Pathfinders.