She blushed a bit and slowly slicked back her ponytail as she looked at the floor. “Sorry, I’ve just gotten that reaction a lot tonight.”
“No, it’s okay! I get it. That asshole behind me,” I pointed over my shoulder at the man and said it loud enough for him to hear, “told me to ‘go do my farming gig somewhere else.’ What a jerk! People are terrible, but don’t let them get to you. You are here for a reason.”
The man twisted in his chair and gave me a disgusted look before turning back.
“Thanks.” Jane giggled. “So, you’re a farmer?”
“Well, kind of. I’m an agronomist.”
“Oh! So, you’re a pretty important person here. If we’re going to survive up there very long, we are going to have to eat!” She smiled. “What made you want to be a part of this whole thing?”
“It’s cheesy, but I just want to be a part of something bigger than me. From the look of things so far, though, this is going to be a mess.”
Looking around the room, we noticed tons of professionals dressed to the ‘T’ for the new adventure. The premise of the program was important to them, but the organizers and funders looked like they were in a panic. The funding was already being used, but no return would be seen for a while.
Another speaker walked up to the podium. It was the director of Grow, Leslie Marshal. He was a short man with a big attitude. He straightened his jacket and brushed his blonde comb-over once more before clearing his throat to speak.
“Welcome, everyone! My name is Leslie Marshal. I’m sure you have heard of me!” He bowed as he spoke, his lips curling into a smile. “In case you have been living under a rock, I am the director for our new series, Grow. The network and I will be working together closely to ensure that we are providing viewers with great entertainment and a brand-new experience on Circadia. We look forward to growing Circadia our way, and watching you all work together to get it done. If anyone has any questions, we will hear them now.”
Immediately, every hand in the room went up.
“Whoa! I know everyone is very excited for my adventure, but let’s do this one at a time!” he exclaimed. “You there, sir, please stand up and introduce yourself. Then you can ask your question.” He pointed at the man sitting near the front.
A slender young man stood up from his table and slicked his suit. After clearing his throat, he said, “My name is Ronald Walsey. I am an architect. I specialize in building rudimentary housing from available resources, most recently fifteen-hundred and sixty houses in East Africa.” His chin lifted a bit higher. “My question is, do we know what resources can be found on Circadia?” He remained standing, waiting for an answer.
Leslie’s eyes dashed back and forth, as if looking for the answer in the oblivious crowd. “Well, I don’t think we exactly know that yet, but we are working on it! Good question. Next, please.”
“Yes, sir. My name is Derek Naples and I am a solar engineer. I would like to know if we have a measure of the solar irradiance on the surface of Circadia yet.”
Once again, Leslie looked around and then kicked at the ground for a bit. The room began to fill with a chaotic din of voices as everyone started to realize the director of the program had no idea what was going on, or what needed to be done.
A large, tall man with bulging muscles and jet-black skin who was dressed in a tactical outfit quickly approached the podium. His neatly-cut hair, edged to perfection, shone in the bright overhead lights. He whispered in the director’s ear, then the two men stared each other down until Leslie finally stepped away from the podium and stood to the side.
The tall gentleman stepped up and lifted the microphone. His voice was deep and distinctly British. “To answer previous questions, we have good intel from our telescopes and other imaging that there may be trees much like ours on Circadia. There appears to be some damage from traveling, but some seem to still be intact, and we could possibly grow more. Also, most of our scientists theorize that there will be precious metals on Circadia.” He nodded to the architect, who then took a seat, satisfied. “About the solar irradiance, we have some semblance of an idea, but we won’t know for sure until we have landed our first ship and placed a pyranometer. I believe we are working on obtaining one now and are currently working on gathering more data on the times of day and night. I am sorry I don’t have more information for you right now.” He raised a hand as though asking for forgiveness. The solar engineer nodded and took his seat.
“Are there any more questions?” He looked around the room, then pointed to the man with thick rimmed glasses seated toward the back.
“Hello, my name is Darcy Mayhew. I am a physician and surgeon. I have heard that the main livestock being transported to Circadia will be pigs. Is this correct?”
The tall man’s lips pulled to one side as he leaned on the podium. “Yes, it is. Why do you ask?”
“I ask simply because swine is a huge deal in the medical field. Insulin creation and even organ transplants are possible. I was hoping this was the primary livestock, as it will be a great resource. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I hadn’t even thought of that when they told me we were taking all these pigs into space. What a great idea!” His deep voice grew louder. “Spencer,” he looked out into the crowd and addressed a man dressed in jeans and a nice shirt, “did you realize this when you were discussing what type of
