“This way, sir.”
Smith led him over to join the aviation crew. He introduced him to the chief engineer, a stocky man in grease-covered clothes and TSA ball cap, then to the flight coordinator. She looked like she recently graduated high school, except for the faint crow’s feet around her eyes.
“Are you the pilot?”
She laughed and said, “No, no, I’m strictly on the ground, but you’ll hear my voice a lot during the initial stages of flight.”
Another woman entered from the main door, tall with reddish-brown hair, and joined them.
“Here’s your pilot,” the coordinator said.
Atteberry shook hands with Captain Amanda Dumas, and she wasted no time getting the flight details from the crew. Within minutes, he followed her through a secondary door to the apron where a 6-seat hypersonic copter waited for them, looking like something out of the future he’d only read about in his astronomy journals.
“Have you ever flown in one of these birds?” she shouted over the roar of a jet aircraft taking off from the adjacent airport.
“I’m afraid I’ve done little flying in anything.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Then you’re in for an awesome ride, Mr. Atteberry.”
Captain Dumas helped strap him in to the seat beside her and handed him a set of headphones. The first thing he heard after putting them on was the cheerful voice of the flight coordinator singing out various instructions, weather data and other technical information he didn’t understand. The captain responded, running through a holographic checklist displayed on the windscreen, and fired up the engines.
The copter roared and white-knuckle fear replaced Atteberry’s initial anxiety. He held onto the armrests for his life. Dumas must have noticed his face. She smiled, patted his arm, and exuded confidence he only wished he could muster.
Within moments, the copter’s thrusters powered up another level and the craft shot vertically a couple hundred meters, hovered for a moment before the hypersonics kicked in and thrust Atteberry deep into his seat as they blasted into the sky.
Mary
After pondering the question of why one of the mining habitat builders would have a UHF radio, Mary concluded it must have been for the love of the hobby and nothing more. There wouldn’t have been any operational reason for it: the evidence of corporate comms devices only around here was clear, and they all worked on different frequencies. So, it was reasonable that a builder—or manager—brought the radio for their own pleasure.
She understood a little about Earth-Moon-Earth communications in the amateur radio world because her dad had spoken of it from time to time. An operator on Earth would beam a signal to the Moon, and bounce it off the lunar surface back to Earth, to contact someone. For many years, it was the challenge of bouncing a signal off Luna that intrigued these hams . . . nothing else. Perhaps the owner of this gear bounced signals off passing ships or one of the satellites. It didn’t really matter: powering the radio suggested a way to communicate with Earth.
So now what? She’d watched Kate work methodically on various problems: filling several oxygen canisters, determining the integrity of the habitat, surveying the destroyed lunar lab site for answers . . . and that kind of systematic approach was what she needed to incorporate into her own operational experience. The scientific method could only teach her so much in a classroom. Only by living the experience would she understand the importance of resourcefulness, of making something from nothing, like Kate.
Kate brought the Yagi in from the scooter. This antenna functioned well when they first contacted her dad through the modified indie-comm, but its dimensions were all wrong for the UHF band. Mary studied the lengths of each element and worked out in her head what the new measurements needed to be to make the transmitter operational. Seven elements in the antenna: the directors, the reflector, and everything in between. Still, there were no task-specific tools around to cut the metal to the required lengths, and she wasn’t completely comfortable trimming them too much lest she overshoot the most efficient lengths all together.
I wish Dad was here to help.
Kate kept reminding her to focus on first things first, the most important steps, one at a time. With that in mind, Mary discovered that the small UHF radio worked. She’d hooked it into a miniature power port and briefly fired up the rig. Using the suit probe, she measured the output voltages and currents from the various signal stages and judged the UHF transceiver functional. That was the first thing.
Following that, she needed to confirm whether the unit could transmit a signal into the universe, and determine if someone might receive it. Her dad told her this was the greatest thrill in radio: to send a general CQ call into the darkness and hope a station came back. It was a lot like fishing. You throw your line into the water and see if anything bites.
The Yagi sat in front of her at the main console. It was built to resonate at 222 MHz, but the radio she had operated at 430 MHz. Useless, unless she trimmed the antenna to operate in that new frequency range.
In her suit belt, various tools and probes were available, but the only thing capable of cutting the aluminum elements on the antenna was a three inch pocket saw—no heavy-duty cutter at all. This could take some time.
“You didn’t come across any wire cutters in your travels through this place, did you?”
Kate leaned against the console, studying the readings from the main console viewscreen. “Nothing that could handle those.”
“Then I’ll to have to saw these elements individually.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
Mary studied the antenna in front of her. “Yes, if you hold it down while I cut, that would really help.”
Kate scuttled over along the console until she sat beside Mary.
“We’ll start with the director element first.”
She jammed the smaller end of the antenna under Kate’s thighs and, using the tiny belt saw, she hacked away at the rod with her good arm, cutting it to the required length. After several minutes of heavy strokes, the element yielded, and a three inch piece of aluminum dropped off. She did the same to the other side of the director.
Then the thought that had nestled in her head arose, and now was as good a time to pursue it as any.
“Kate, could you ever see yourself getting together with my dad?”
Kate’s sputtered and croaked, “Jesus, Mary, what are you talking about?”
She continued cutting the element. “I’m asking because, like, he trusts you so much and we all get along great, and there’s a huge gap in his life right now. So . . .”
Kate’s hand reached out and covered the saw. “Mares, I told you this already. I can’t feel the same way about him or anyone else that you do. I’m not built like that, remember? It’s not that I’m completely unfeeling . . . I just . . . don’t share what you have. Besides,” she said, releasing her hand, “I have nothing to offer him.”
Mary held her thoughts inside for a moment, so Kate continued. “Look, I’ve thought about it before, okay? Oddly, I do have feelings for him—I like him a lot—but love? I wish I knew what that meant.”
After trimming two more elements, Mary straightened up and stretched her back. “Sorry. Half the time I don’t know what I’m talking about. Your private life is none of my business.” A few awkward moments passed between them.
“Have you ever had a real boyfriend, Mares?”
She chuckled. “I’ve kissed a couple of boys, you know, fooled around a bit, but nothing serious. No sex, if that’s what you mean.”
“Huh. You’re a smart, science type. Explain physiologically what it was like.”
Mary dropped the saw and considered the question. “It’s like something heightened all my senses. The world around me came alive, as if I’d been given this amazing insight into how life worked, if that makes any sense. Colors were brighter. Um, I was, I don’t know . . . connected.”
“Wow.”
“But that’s not
love, not in the way I’m talking about with you and Dad. That was just instinctual, hormonal activity. Physical and emotional lust rather than love.”
Kate eyed her ruefully. “You learn all that from books too?”
“Yup, and real life, such as I’ve lived it so far. My dad always told me why put your faith in something as fleeting as instinct when there’s a richer, deeper love available? I learned more about that kind of love from reading and my dad than I have with any person.”
She resumed cutting the antenna elements, and grinned.
Katie
Two years of intense training had come to this: scrabbling over a rogue satellite orbiting the Earth with a mission to repair a faulty communications panel. Hardly what she had in mind to celebrate her twelfth birthday, but the work itself thrilled her.
Her dad would be so proud if he only knew; if he only cared. Screw him. Both of them.
“Katie, there’s an access latch to your right. You need to reach that one.”
She wriggled around the satellite, the bulky worksuit constraining her movements like thick, oversized clothing. “I see it now.”
“Perfect. You remember what to do from here?”
“Yes, Juan,” she grumbled with a hint of sarcasm. “I put this thingie in that doodad and run.” She smiled as she tugged on the access latch keys.
“You’re a big bag of laughs. Just keep moving fast. We need the new panel in there pronto.”
She focused on the task. She trained for two weeks on this mission, everything from basic movements and tools in the worksuit, to replacing the comms panel in this particular military satellite. Survival actions, contingencies if the flight pack failed, the detailed visuals on the helmet visor—all information she’d have to understand in case anything went awry.
The protocol for replacing the board was simple: she learned that the first time the trainer went through it. The survival and contingency protocols fascinated her. They considered all possible scenarios, and the bulk of her mission training centered on those, learning what to do, how to respond without hesitation. The delicate balance between intriguing work and extreme danger filled her with excitement, despite her reduced adrenal secretion.
“I’m opening the access panel now.”
“Roger.”
Katie lifted the latches and yanked the board up.
Curious . . . all the operating lights showed green.
“Juan, are you seeing this? The comms unit seems to work fine.” She zoomed in on the various boards and plug-ins with her helmet cam. “All green.”
“Roger, nevertheless the mission is to replace the board. Please proceed.”
Katie shrugged and thought whatever to herself, then released the clamps holding the comms panel in place. One of the amber system lights flickered, then flashed red. She wrestled a bit with the board before it yielded to her fingers. After securing it in her carryall, she installed the replacement and pushed it in. The system light returned to amber.
“Hang on, I don’t think the panel’s in properly. I got this amber light going.”
“Yeah, Katie, I see it, but everything’s showing here as fully operational. It’s working perfectly. Well done.”
She shook her head inside the helmet. This made no sense. The old board worked fine, and the replacement didn’t, but Juan said all’s good?
“The light’s still amber. Maybe I need to test—”
“Never mind that, all systems are green here. Probably a bum light. Re-latch the access panel and return to the orbiter.”
“But—”
“Return to the orbiter now, Kate.” His voice became darker with a hint of impatience and something she couldn’t quite place.
No one calls me Kate.
It didn’t add up, but she’d find out why.
Kate
Kate reflected on Mary’s words. It was a curious, perhaps naïve take on things: instinct versus intention applied to many human activities, not only love. Still, where she was concerned, for as long as she could remember, Kate felt cut off from those around her—Mary, included—by emotions and experiences she simply did not share with them. Some of her old Spacer colleagues who’d kept a semblance of health followed sports or politics, and their passions took them far into those schemes, but she held nothing but ambivalence toward most matters.
Do I lack the capacity for passion in anything other than science?
When she was chosen for the original Spacer Program as a 10-year-old, she thought she’d be trained in computer science and programming to support humanity’s push to the inner planets and beyond—a fast-tracked, personal curriculum based on her scores in the Aptitudes. Instead, she never saw her parents again and worked for ambiguous, toxic leaders involved in the development of underhanded political espionage and God knows what else. That, and the surgery that removed her reproductive organs.
She studied Mary working diligently on reconfiguring the antenna for use with the radio, with feelings comprising admiration, jealousy, and . . . what was it? Despair. She first buried the trauma of losing her parents by throwing herself into the work. Then, punted from the Spacer Program after the civil war, she busied herself with teaching at City College, and now with mind-numbing geophysical surveys on Luna.
It’s come to this.
Mary challenged her. She recognized that. Forced her to stop running around and to look at—actually observe—the world and open up to those emotions she vowed subconsciously never to allow into her thoughts.
Damn you, Mary.
And where had it taken her? Kate fiddled with her suit, feigning busy-ness, monitoring the environmental parameters on the console’s main screen, wondering whether someone would rescue them—but more importantly, wondering if she actually wanted to be rescued. If so, for what purpose? To return to Earth and some moronic research position or ridiculous classroom? Why continue doing what she’d been doing for the past how many years, running away from all those painful feelings that continued to gouge her? What was the point of it all?
Perhaps something more, something larger, hid behind this experience. Kate had never been a spiritual or religious person: she eschewed reliance on ideas as nebulous as belief in a higher power—believed those who did were ignorant and passive, allowing life to happen to them instead of going out and taking charge of their own destinies. Yet, Mary had insight into nature that she did not have, and it fueled her with insatiable optimism and drive. Is that what she wanted?
“When Marshall Whitt and his cronies detained us—before Esther and the California soldiers arrived when the whole Ross 128 signal was going down—he and I shared something.”
Mary looked up from her work, her eyes wide.
“Before we escaped and ran up to Mount Sutro where your mom and her team blew the thing up, we were in holding cells, both covered in dirt from stealing around the transmitter site, and for a few moments, we held each other’s hands.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, it was odd. I figured he really liked Esther and wanted to pursue a relationship with her, but at the same time, I wondered about . . . I don’t know what you’d call it . . . if there was an understanding between us.”
Mary peered into her eyes, and Kate held her gaze for longer than she thought was normal.
“What happened?”
“Well, you know the rest, I’m sure. Esther and the soldiers got us out of there and back up to the transmitter site at Mount Sutro where we tried to contact the alien ship. Anyway, I’m sharing this because I didn’t experience the physiological things you talked about. That kind of emotion you describe is nothing more than what I get from a poached egg. But I sensed that I was, er, what’s the word I’m looking for . . .” Kate turned away, searching desperately to attach the right word, the correct word to what she knew then. “Safe, Mary. For the first time since I was a kid.” She eyed her cautiously. “Is that love?”
Mary smiled, nodded and said, “If I had to guess, I can’t imagine it being anythin
g else.”
TWENTY
Carter
The sun blushed lazily in the southwest sky as the Titanius corporate heli-jet screamed over the Atlantic seaboard at an altitude of 2,500 meters, en route to the private spaceport at the Royal Canadian Air Force facilities outside Dartmouth. Clayton Carter checked his watch every few minutes, mentally coaxing the aircraft faster. It was his style to squeeze more, a little extra not only from his machines but from his people too. He sat directly behind the pilot in the second row of seats, his long legs struggling with inadequate space, Esther beside him. They both wore the standard issue flight suits, breathable Kevlar skins that his astronauts depended on all the time, and looser jackets over top. He couldn’t help eyeing Esther’s curves, and he glanced at his own flat stomach, wondering if she’d noticed him as she stared out the small, side window at the green and blue landscape below. Last night with her seemed a distant, almost forgotten memory, but still a sweet one.
Esther turned to him and pressed the mic button pinned to her collar. “Why did you build your space port in Nova Scotia, Clayton? You could have chosen anywhere along here, somewhere in Maine, for example.” Her voice sounded machine-like through the headphones.
“Well, you’re right. Lots of places on the coast were more than happy to accommodate us. But being in Canada—a non-party to the civil war—offered an extra level of distance and security, and sharing space with the RCAF was a bonus. Any action taken against us would seem like an attack on Canadians.” He checked his watch again. “There aren’t any guarantees about safety, but they share many of our Northern Democratic values, don’t you think? It was a logical choice, and more affordable than anything else.”
Echoes In The Grey Page 18
