Bernard's Dream: A Hayden's World Novel (Hayden's World Origins Book 8)

by S. D. Falchetti

  “Impressive,” Isaac says. “Deuterium processing plant.”

  “They sure like big things,” Hitoshi adds.

  Underneath the water's surface, lights shimmer along the tracks of pipelines connecting the offshore platforms to the shore. Large, hexagonal buildings cluster along the coast and the land here flattens to a slick and glossy plating that looks like wet stone. Up ahead, a trapezoidal opening looms from the tower’s base. Their Star escort flies towards it.

  “HPT-E17 Bernard’s Promise, cleared for landing,” James says. “I’m guessing that’s what our buddy is trying to tell us.”

  At five kilometers tall, the Star’s tower is twice the height of the tallest building on Earth, and the scale of it is a bit overwhelming. The structure’s skin is layered platinum slats, like tree bark, curving towards the tower’s apex. Both visible blue and ultraviolet light pour out of the interior, revealing a structure built like a strange industrial facility. Inside, a ribcage of massive support beams lines the walls. Platforms extend at irregular tiers, some with geodesic shapes and others with rods like clusters of radio antennae.

  Promise slows and glides into the entrance, its forward landing lights casting yellow pools on the serene blue room. James flicks them off. Down below, silent rows of Stars are arranged on the deck like a company of soldiers. Ahead, platinum beams stretch along the floor like train tracks, extending a quarter of a kilometer. The floor under the tracks is a pin-cushion of articulated vertical rods. As James watches, the rods undulate like a caterpillar, lifting one of the platinum rods and smoothly moving it near the others.

  “Looks like some of the cage parts,” Hitoshi says.

  The Star steers them away from the cage area. Ahead, twelve of the floor’s hexagon tiles brighten. The cluster of illuminated tiles is twice Promise’s size. The Star descends past them and hovers, waiting.

  “Prep for landing,” James says. He fires a few stabilizing bursts with his hand on the maneuvering thrusters, lining up Promise with the target. Easing off the RF drive, he watches the floor drift up to meet him, the landing struts groaning as the ship’s weight settles. Sao’s gravity tugs him down into his seat, and it feels good to be under planetary gravity once again.

  The hovering Star spins slowly for a moment before strobing its rod lights.

  Ananke’s screen swirls blue. “It says: You can leave your ship but do not leave the part of the floor that has lights. This room is dangerous. It is so that you are not damaged. Stars can always see you if you speak.”

  James says, “Ask it if it would like to meet us.”

  Beckman leans towards James, looking a bit uncomfortable.

  No. Stars' purpose is to bring you here. The Star drifts up as if to depart, but slows and stops. Humans work with Stars to save Star ship?

  James says to Ananke, “Was it giving us instructions there or asking a question?”

  “Asking a question,” Ananke says. “It used the query conditional.”

  “Yes,” James says. “We’ll work together and get the ice to the ship in time. It’s a good plan.”

  The Star floats there, rotating, seeming to process what he just said. After a long moment, it spins off to Promise’s port and flies out of the tower, disappearing into the dawn sky.

  A red RECORD icon blinks in the corner of James’s EV faceplate. The text reads 16:23 11.6.94 LOCAL - Hayden, James. EV Suit 2 Camera. Mission Day 35. James walks down the metal ramp of Promise’s starboard airlock and steps onto the hexagonal alien floor plating. “Hey, Will,” he says. “So, a lot has happened since we last spoke.” He pans his head around, framing the bulk of Promise against the receding trapezoidal perspective of the tower. Lines of Stars are parked in the distance — spare exosuits, they’ve discovered. Along the right wall, the octagonal frame of the ice cage is taking shape, tended by articulated rods that rise and fall from the floor and walls, undulating like a battalion of robot arms. James smiles. “And I really mean a lot. So, we’re parked inside of a Star’s factory on Sao, and I’ve got Beckman following me around like an honor guard.” He turns, and Beckman is standing behind him in his combat armor with a pulse rifle slung over his back.

  “Will,” Beckman says, nodding, “your partner is nuts.”

  James crosses under one of Promise’s nacelles. Betty II is a three meter tall treaded construction robot currently folded over backward like she’s doing the limbo so she can fit under the ship’s belly. A picture of the twentieth-century aviator Betty Gillies is painted on her side like a World War II bomber illustration. Two of the robot’s hands are inside a rectangular hole Betty’s cut in the hull. Flashes flicker from the cavity and a row of matching holes runs the entire length of Promise.

  James says, “You can see we’re modifying Promise to be a lift vehicle. In two days, we’re going to strap that cage…” He pans over to the Stars’ work-in-progress. “…to our ship and lift four million kilos of deuterium-ice into orbit. If all goes well, we’ll save the crew of the Star’s ship. If it doesn’t, well, then this is the end of the adventure.”

  He crosses back under the nacelle and unclips his slate from his belt. The video feed changes to an up-camera view of James’s face with Promise framed behind him. “We’ve been parked here two days, and our hosts have been a bit skittish. They require us to stay in this lit-up patch of floor. They’re still chatty — guess I should get you up to speed on how we cracked their language — but they don’t want to do a face-to-face. They just reply Stars working whenever we ask. In fairness, they are working, all up in orbit, modifying their ship. We still haven’t seen what they look like inside their exosuits, so that’s the big question. Hope we get it answered.” James glances around, taking in the wonder of his surrounding, and his expression telegraphs that even he can’t believe he’s here. A wide grin pulls across his face. “I’ve got a hell-of-a-lot to catch you up on, buddy, so let’s get to it.”

  Hitoshi is on the bridge with James and Lin. On the bridge screen, the completed ice cage rests on its construction platform. It’s not a truss design like humans would make, but instead reminds James of a mesh cable protector that has been flattened. The silvery lines forming its mesh are elegant like a filigree, and the entire structure simultaneously seems too light to hold the ice while also appearing high-tech enough actually to succeed. Nubs extend from the top spine, awaiting Promise’s connection, and dozens of disks are spaced along its surface, waiting for Stars.

  “So,” Hitoshi says, “you may have noticed that their floor is alive.”

  James smiles. “It’s pretty cool, huh?”

  “It is. I kind of want one.”

  Lin says, “You know at a concert when a fan gets up on stage and crowd-surfs over everyone’s hands? Well, the Stars just invited you to a rave, and Promise is that fan. Woot!”

  “Come again?”

  “No slight against your piloting skills,” Hitoshi says, “but they don’t think we’re going to be able to fly Promise precisely enough to hover over the connections and get them all properly engaged without damaging the cage.”

  “I’ll give them that,” James says. “It’s going to be some hardcore finesse flying to do it right. So what’s their proposal?”

  “The floor can easily pick up Promise and precisely position it. That’s, like, its thing,” Hitoshi says.

  James catches on. “They want me to park Promise on the floor, and then it’ll lift it and move it into position.”

  “Right,” Hitoshi says. “Starship body-surfing. It does solve a lot of problems.”

  James squints. “Involves a lot of trust letting them pick up my ship.”

  “I’m, uh, feeling like we made the trust leap a few days ago when we flew into the maw of the alien outpost.”

  James smiles. “Point taken.”

  Hitoshi motions to the nubs on the cage’s spine. “The matching connections on Promise are electromechanical. Once they’re engaged, they’re mechanically locked, and it’ll take power to unlock
them. When we get to orbit, you can unlock them and jettison the cage from your console. The Stars will fly it to their ship.” Hitoshi points to the connection controls icon on James’s panel.

  “Roger. I like it.”

  Hitoshi hesitates, looking a bit uncomfortable.

  After a pause, Lin says, “You gotta tell him.”

  James is lost. “What?”

  Hitoshi shifts and takes a sigh. “There’s a million things that can go wrong on this launch. If something fails in the cage, the ice can shift and nose-over Promise at Mach speeds, turning us into supersonic confetti. We’re maxing out our engines, and we could have a failure. If any of that happens, the cage will be our death-anchor.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  Hitoshi points at the connection controls icon.

  James follows his gaze to the icon, and as it dawns on him, he pulls back slowly. “We can’t do that.”

  “I’m not saying we should, but you need to know your options. It’ll be your call if it happens.”

  James presses his lips together. “We jettison the cage to save ourselves, and all of the Stars will die.”

  “I know. I didn’t even want to tell you about it, but it’s my job to serve you the options.”

  James nods. “No, you’re right. I needed to know.”

  Lin sets her hand on Hitoshi’s forearm, giving him a soft smile. The tension in Hitoshi’s shoulders loosens a bit.

  “You know,” Hitoshi begins, “I used to be kind of terrified of the Stars, but now I want to see the silver guys make it.”

  “Me too,” James says. “It’ll work. I know it. It’s not like there’s a mountain-sized Mimic chasing us this time.”

  Hitoshi chuckles. “Yeah, at least there’s that.”

  James is in the shower, hot water cascading down over his shoulders. He leans on the wall with his hands, closes his eyes, and lets the tension melt. It’s ten p.m. on Mission Day 37, the night before the launch, and he’s just finished a late run on the gym’s treadmill trying to blow off some stress. Through the pitter-patter of the shower’s white noise, Ava’s voice carries from his quarter’s living room. From the bits and pieces he hears, she’s sending a message to her sister. Everyone knows they may not survive tomorrow. He’s gotten the sense that the crew is optimistic about the plan, but the reality is that this may be their last chance to send a message back home. They’ve been in danger before, but this is different. This time, they’re putting themselves in danger. It’s the right thing to do, he thinks. It’s the most human thing to do.

  When he’s done, he activates the drying sequence and exits, pulling on some pajamas before heading over to his bed. Ava sits in bed with the lights on, reading a physical hardcover book. When James looks curiously at the book, she smiles and tilts the cover so that he can see it. Red text is set against a black sky with a lunar lander descending towards the gray rock. The Apollo Murders, Chris Hadfield.

  James raises an eyebrow. “I must’ve missed something in the Apollo missions.”

  Ava chuckles. “It’s fiction. A little decadent indulgence.”

  “Is that the same Chris Hadfield that wrote the astronaut book that you lent me?”

  “It is. It’s the next book he wrote in 2021.” She holds up the hardcover. “My sister gave it to me as a gift for this trip. Signed first edition.”

  “Nice.” He thinks. “You know, I never did return your book.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be returned,” Ava says.

  He crosses over and sits on his side of the bed. “So, uh, who gets murdered in your Apollo mission?”

  “Haven’t reached that part yet. But I think it’s going to be a really fun book. It’s like historical fiction, giving me a glimpse into what life was like during the early space age. Imagine spending six days in a cramped capsule traveling through the black of space on nothing but momentum. They actually used sextants for some of their navigation, just like sailors on ancient wooden ships.”

  “You and Lin would have a lot to talk about. I think she would have loved to be a 1960s aeronautical engineer.”

  “Just like you would have loved to be a 1940s pilot.”

  “What about you? What would you love to be?”

  She leans in. “It’s pretty hard to beat what we’re doing right now.”

  “That is true. Have to admit, I was a little surprised to see you reading. You seem so relaxed.”

  “Reading is how I relax. A little escapism soothes the mind. Besides, if I don’t find out who gets murdered tonight…” She taps the book. “…it means I’ll have to keep reading it tomorrow night, which means everything is going to be okay on our mission tomorrow.”

  “Pressure’s on.” He leans over. “You’ll have to tell me tomorrow what happens next in your book.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  James smiles, watching her curiously. He’s always relied upon his strength to get him through things, but here Ava was, again and again, lending him some of hers. He reaches over to his counter and retrieves his slate, leafing through it to find a book he’d back-burnered forever. As he swipes up, letting his mind engage the narrative and decouple from reality for a bit, it strikes him how much he enjoys reading here in bed with Ava, as if they were a married couple settling into their home for the evening. James Hayden, reading in bed. It could be his last night alive, yet there’s nothing else he’d want to do more right now, because, up to this point, this has been the one thing in his life he hasn’t had, or perhaps allowed himself to have. He realizes that he’s had this idealized version of Kate that he’s held all other women up against, keeping them at arm’s length. Ava has neither pushed against that arm nor yielded. Instead, she’s been a steady, gentle beacon, waiting for him to find his way.

  27

  Ascent

  Like the entire crew, James is in his flight suit with a colorful collection of mission patches adorning his left sleeve. He pauses at Ava’s science station and sets his hand on her shoulder. Ava returns his smile before he heads over to the pilot’s seat. On the screen, the Stars have moved the ice slat into its home within the cage. The block looks exactly as he imagined it, a giant rectangle of white ice that sits on a gunmetal gray slat. His analogy of the cage looking like a mesh cable protector is apt — the cage exactly fits the ice block and seems to lock it into place like a puzzle piece. A parabolic heat shield protects the nose-end of the ice block. The Stars have illuminated a patch of the Magic Floor — Hitoshi’s name for it — a short distance from the cage, waiting for Promise.

  Everyone is chattering around him, running through checklists and prep. James awakens Promise’s running lights. After a few minutes, everything’s buttoned up, and he glances around. “Okay, everyone. Game on. Ready for lift-off. Just a short repositioning, and then we’ll get connected.” He sets his hand on the thrust controls. “Engaging thrusters…now.”

  Promise rises slowly from its parking spot. James brings up the aft thrusters, and the ship slides towards their new touchdown location. The illuminated patch of magic floor grows nearer, slipping under the ship, and James fires the retro thrusters. He touches down on the landing zone as lightly as a feather.

  A Star flies in the tower’s entrance and hovers a few meters in front of Promise. It strobes: We are lifting your ship now.

  Something groans from Promise’s belly, and James’s seat presses up against him with the faintest of acceleration. The view from the bridge screen drops slowly.

  Retract your landing struts, the Star instructs.

  James smiles. “Positive rate, gear up. Not usually how I get a positive rate, but we are indeed going up.”

  When Promise levels out, the floor undulates, sliding the ship as if it were on ice. The entire experience is silky-smooth. Promise is wider than the cage, and the floor shifts to holding it by its nacelles. In the bridge’s belly-camera display, the cage’s nubs perfectly slide into Promise’s locks and clank shut. A dozen green icons indicating successful
mating.

  “Nicely done, Star guys,” Hitoshi says.

  Stars are connecting to cage now, the hovering Star says.

  A Star fleet tumbles in and swarms around the cage. Each rotates itself into one of the silvery disks on the cage’s surface. Jame isn’t sure how they’re attaching, but they seem solidly connected. The lone hovering Star takes its place in front of Promise. Weather is poor and will not improve for days. Are Humans able to see from orbit?

  “Yes,” James says. “Our satellites have been watching. Looks like we’ve got some gusts, sleet, and lightning to deal with. We’ll manage.”

  Humans are ready?

  James looks at Ananke’s screen. Orange, purple, and a little silver swirl on it. “I’m ready,” she says.

  He turns to the crew. “Okay, everyone. We know our parts, and we’re going to nail it. You are the bravest crew I could hope for, and I’m proud of what we’re doing today. Now, let’s get the Stars their ice. Ananke, tell them we’re ready.”

  Ananke says, “On your mark.”

  James rests his hands on the RF controls. “Mark.”

  For the first few seconds, the drive hums but nothing happens. Promise groans. Hull plates flex and rumble like thunder as a subtle vibration shakes James’s console. He continues to up the power, fifty percent, sixty, seventy, then he can feel it, a secondary force pushing up on the cage that he’s trying to lift. The Stars are helping. Eighty percent. Ninety. Something shifts under Promise with a worrying snap. One hundred percent. The bridge screen view shifts imperceptibly lower.

  “Lift-off,” Isaac reports. “Two centimeters. Three. Five. Eight.”

  In the belly-cam video, the floor’s fingers retract and flatten. The ice cage suspends beneath Promise.

  “Okay, Ananke,” James says. “Let them know I’m going to level out and ease it forward.”