Project Sail by Anthony DeCosmo

it contained little information about this Lieutenant Thomas, it did explain where to collect his charge.
    “Oh shit.”
    ---
    “That was a dick move,” Wren said to Fisk as they rounded a corner after having left Hawthorne. “He wasn’t even paying attention.”
    “He’s the first officer,” Fisk justified although Wren did not seem too upset.
    The two came to a narrower passageway lined with hotel fronts. At the center of the hall gathered a circle of worn and battered people, some dressed in gray military BDUs, others in civilian garb.
    Fisk stopped and remarked, “This is not what I expected.”
    Wren said, “If it surprises to you, think how these people feel. The fucking brochures promised them opportunity and easy living, but what they got were rocks to crack and gas pockets to tap. Shit man, it’s the same story on every colony: the domes are always breaking down and overcrowded. That is why these fucking outposts are stupid.”
    Despite his surprise at the conditions, Fisk fired back, “That’s crazy. They are pioneers, carving out a new future for themselves and the human race. I admire their hard work and bravery.”
    “Fucking stupid,” Wren repeated. “Resources wasted trying to live where we can’t even breathe the air, when we need shit back home. Give me the money they spend on this base to use in England and we could clean up the country in months.”
    “That’s not the point.”
    “Yeah, no one cares except for those of us who used to live there. We are just a bunch of fucking nomads and refugees; the world turned its back on England.”
    “Now is not the time—”
    “There are only a handful of us left to speak for the fucking ashes my country got turned into, and the dead entombed there. Until England is clean and living again, it is always the time.”
    As much as Wren enjoyed listing the evils perpetrated against his people, a voice from the center of the crowd caught their attention.
    “Oh lord, give us the strength to survive another day. Give us the vision to see the good no matter how desolate our surroundings or how heavy our heart!”
    “That’s just fucking great,” Wren said as they circumvented the gathering. “A fucking bible-thumper.”
    “Do you have to swear every other sentence?”
    “Do I have to swear every other sentence? Fuck no. Do I choose too? Fuck yes.”
    Fisk huffed and then checked the file again to pinpoint their destination. He led Wren to the Phoebe Inn where a glass awning played a loop of videos promoting the spa, holographic tennis courts, and private bathrooms available to guests who choose the Phoebe Inn. There also happened to be a marijuana bar and access to Earth’s web network depending on planetary alignment.
    As they approached the counter, the sermon went on behind them.
    “God cannot live for us. God cannot pay our bills or keep us safe from ourselves. God will not choose sides in a football game.” The last part drew chuckles. “But when we believe in our Lord and savior, when we accept that we are part of something far greater, then we will know a strength that cannot be taken from us through labor or stolen by disease. A strength that is personal and universal at the same time.”
    “What a load of shit,” Wren reacted.
    Fisk did not respond to his traveling companion. Instead, he addressed an older, slender woman with gray hair and violet eyes working for the hotel.
    “Excuse me, we are searching for a guest named Dr. Ira King.”
    She flashed a smile and tapped a small computer that projected information above the counter.
    While the attendant worked, Wren asked, “So we’re here to recruit a doctor? A doctor of what?”
    “We need a ship’s physician,” Fisk answered.
    The woman behind the counter looked away from her monitor and pointed toward the congregation saying, “She is right out there.”
    The preacher spoke loud but did not shout, “How many of you have taken god into your heart?”
    Several responded,