He knew this cigar was important because it was probably his last.
Just as this was quite possibly the final day of his life.
16
T
his concept of subdonic stream frightened and confused Lara.
“How would this affect our communication problem?” She asked.
“Simple,” Miguel said. “Subdonic stream would not use any of the conventional bands to which we're accustomed. It's possible, for instance, that satellites would not even be necessary to maintain global links. If, somehow, this stream technology has been universally implemented, we could be talking to a planet that doesn't realize it is supposed to be listening.”
“But surely,” Daniel interjected, “ASTROcom would have made considerations for our return.”
There were nods of agreement, and Miguel frowned. “That part concerns me most. If the problem is not technological, then the most likely scenario is political. In that case, I shudder to think of the possibilities. There are too many unknowns. If we consider how rapidly the geopolitical landscape has changed over the past 100 years and the ...”
Miguel's voice trailed off when others' eyes looked beyond him. He pivoted.
Susan Morehouse, tall and lean and tucked in a tight-fitting creme bodysuit, stepped from a SlipTube. She walked slowly but with poise, and she revealed her stained teeth in a grandiose smile.
“So wonderful to be back with all of you, loves. I'm not sure how long it has been, but I seem to remember everyone's name, so it can't have been that long.”
Her Carib dialect sounded softer, happier to Lara than it did less than an hour earlier. The woman stepped ahead to the forward viewport and looked out upon the Earth.
“I see it there!” Susan raised her voice and pointed. “The peninsula of Florida. But I can't quite make out my tiny little island just to the ... clouds. Heavy storms, it would appear. Would have been very hard to make her out anyway. Dominica is a small island. How far north of an equatorial orbit are we, love?”
“We're not there ...” Lara started, but Mifuro said with no emotion:
“Orbit will be achieved in 4 hours, 45 minutes.”
“Thank you, love. So glad I’ll be here for the big event.”
Lara felt cold. Had the loss of that baby meant absolutely nothing to this woman? Without question, she planned this – the pregnancy, the early termination. And now, all she had to present were her smiles.
At first, Lara thought she and Susan must have been the only ones on the command deck to know the procedure performed on the Dominican biologist. But when she saw eye contact between Susan and Fran, she realized there was a third. She needed Daniel's comfort.
The debate over subdonic stream went on, although Lara could sense that the more it was discussed, the more her crewmates wanted to shoo away the possibility. There simply wasn't enough information, and paranoia was slipping into the conversation.
The next few minutes were subdued. Daniel came to Lara and kissed her, announced that the stasis chamber had been repaired – for now.
“It was what we suspected. Hydrothermic regulators in the first stage of failure. Parts replacement would do the trick for good, but why bother? They’ll last a few more days, and that’s the most we’ll need. Replacement would take at least four hours, even with viop.”
They said little else until approached by Miguel.
“I should congratulate you both,” the former captain said. “I knew that couples would form on a mission of this length, but I must admit I would not have matched the two of you. Nonetheless, I trust you have big plans when we return to Earth?”
They smiled, embarrassed, and Lara said: “We really haven't settled anything.”
“We must find out what's waiting for us down there,” Daniel added.
Miguel nodded. All of them were wondering the same thing. The Brazilian snapped his fingers and turned to the crew.
“Do any of you remember the promise we made to ourselves the day we departed Earth? What we would do upon our return?”
There was silence, some confused smiles. “We agreed to open that one bottle of champagne we brought onboard and together drink a toast to our success. Now, I realize all is not as we would want it to be right now, but we do have much to celebrate. We have accomplished what most did not think possible. Olivia and Anatoly should be up here soon, and that would be the lot of us.” He sighed hard, swallowed. “And I never had a chance to acknowledge the courage and sacrifice of a man named Michaud Pousson.”
“Here, here!” Peter said, and others concurred.
“Should only take a few minutes to the Commons and back. I could use some help with the glasses.”
Peter volunteered.
Daniel whispered to Lara: “Listening to him, I would think time itself had stopped for 15 years.”
“It is remarkable,” she replied.
“Is it too remarkable, you think?”
“He worries you?”
Daniel opened his mouth, held up for a moment, then shook his head. “No. He doesn't worry me.”
Lara didn't entirely believe him, but she had no time to probe for specifics. Mifuro glanced over his shoulder and beckoned her with the flex of an eyebrow.
“I thought you should know this before the entire crew does,” the Japanese prince told her as he studied his workstation. “The timing is not good. But while Navarro is not here is best, as you are the captain.”
“You've discovered something. Haven't you?”
“I believe so. As we've grown closer to Earth, I've been able to narrow the focus of my diagnostics. I'm also able to study ground transmissions more precisely.”
“Is it true about this subdonic stream?”
“I can't determine that. However, I'm sure someone is aware we are here. I have discovered a transmission which is interfering with the integrity of our own, and it is leaving a Grayson-Ridder signature.”
“Which is?”
“A G-R signature is a wave carrier that can scatter the TM emissions of most frequencies in the Chameleon band. It's a phenomenon found occasionally in nature, but only those that are manufactured can severely cripple communications.”
“I still don't follow you, Mifuro.”
“I believe our transmissions are being jammed, quite possibly since the first signals we relayed to Earth.”
“You're positive?”
“Almost. I'm running a backup diagnostic to confirm the findings. I doubt I'm wrong.” He turned his swivel. “Someone doesn't want us to be here, Lara.”
She closed her eyes for a few seconds. “How long before you know for certain?”
“Thirty minutes.”
He agreed to hold his silence. Lara felt increasingly weary, and she needed to talk this through with Daniel and Miguel before proceeding. It wasn't the worst-case scenario they had envisioned, but it was damn near close.
What she didn't need on top of this was to see the snarl created by Daniel as he talked with Fran.
“More trouble?" She asked.
“Yep. Problems in the stasis chamber again. Hydrothermic regulators on the same unit are fluctuating like mad.”
“I thought you repaired them?”
“Apparently not. Looks as if they might fail entirely this time. Damn! We didn't come this far to hand over a decayed Fyal specimen.”
“How long before they fail?”
“Probably not for another hour. I'll check them out after we're finished here ...”
And as if on cue, Miguel and Peter stepped from a SlipTube.
Glasses were passed out, and Lara caught an odd movement out of the side of one eye – Susan was licking her own glass. Lara felt a chill and told herself to ignore it.
“Olivia and Anatoly will be here any second,” Miguel announced as he began to pour. His motion was fluid, gentle, even regal, and each glass was filled exactly to half.
Miguel poured an extra pair of
glasses, and he was ready as the final crew members stepped from a SlipTube. Boris stepped lively to Olivia, his lover. Anatoly Tryvinsky, a stout although hardly overweight man in his forties, featuring hazel eyes and a crew cut of his brown hair, walked gingerly. The color was still coming back into this face as a result of revival.
“Just in time, I see,” Anatoly said softly and took a glass from Miguel. It took a few seconds to dawn on either of the late arrivals that Miguel wasn't supposed to be there. Miguel laughed. “It's all right, really. I'll explain everything to both of you.”
For a few seconds, there was silence on the command deck of Andorran. This was the first time all of them had been able to look into each other's eyes since shortly before the final descent to Centauri III.
“I will be brief.” Miguel raised his glass. “To each of you, and to your persistence to accomplish the greatest feat in the history of our people. And to my friend, Michaud Pousson: I lost part of my heart 15 years ago, and I will not regain it until we meet again.”
They shipped champagne in silence, and Lara expected the next moment to be filled with awkward glances, small talk.
She did not at first notice that Susan had swallowed her champagne in a single gulp, and now dangled the empty glass clumsily between her fingers. The Dominican woman stepped behind Anatoly.
“So good to see you, love,” she said, lough enough for all to hear. “We haven't been this close in five years. Have you missed me, love?”
“Susan, now really isn't ...” Olivia started, but Susan was quick to continue:
“Have a surprise for you, Nat. Actually, I had one, you might say. A baby. And a boy, at that!”
Anatoly froze, and his eyes turned down when he realized the focus of the command deck was upon him. He was silent.
“Of course, it really wasn't a baby, now was it, Liv?”
The doctor lowered her face, whispered something indecipherable and turned to Boris. Susan continued:
“Actually, it was just a fetus. So to speak. The problem, you see, is that a fetus doesn't do so well in hibersleep. Neurological trouble and such.”
Anatoly turned to her, his teeth gnashed. “What are you saying to me, Sue?”
“It was all over rather quickly. The laser Liv used was efficient, broke down the fetal tissue instantly, and soon it washed out of me as bloody dung. I didn't have a chance to name him. So sorry, love.”
In between a chorus of groans, Olivia smashed her glass against the deck and moved in on Susan. “Gods, how could you be so vicious?”
She tried to pull Susan away, but was shoved back herself. Anatoly held up his hands to his sides and tried to say something.
Lara put her glass down and felt sick. She turned to Daniel, and he was also without words. She did not see Susan lunge.
“What the hell?!” Someone said as they all rushed toward the former lovers. Susan had her large, powerful hands passionately around Anatoly's neck, and alone he could not push her off.
Peter, Boris and Daniel triple-teamed the woman and pried her hands from the Georgian, then grappled her to the deck. Olivia caught Anatoly before he collapsed. His face was ashen.
Lara turned to Fran, and the biologist sighed, took a seat and turned to face her workstation.
Mifuro stood beside Lara, and she saw, as usual, no visible emotion. He spoke softly, then returned to his own workstation:
“Welcome home, Captain.”
Part Three
Falling into the Sky
17
4:40 p.m. CCS time
Second Sunrise base of operations
Badlands, the Dakota Territory
T
he book was Discours de la méthode. The author was René Descartes. The copy was 174 years old, produced by a small press in Avignon, France. The paper was fraying. The binding was beginning to separate. And the man who was losing his grip upon it was lightly asleep, his 65-year-old body wrapped awkwardly in an uncomfortable chair, his gracious locks of moonlight hair draping over the back of the chair and down his chest.
And in that first instant when the klaxons stole the silence and his body wriggled awake as if showered in cold water, his hands jerked and the book fell.
He held himself back for only a second, just to know that what he was hearing was anything but imagination. These were the horns that could only be sounded in one of two emergencies, and he did not know which one his people now faced. Either way, they would be afraid, and so was he.
Yet, in these first seconds of chaos, he knew it was OK to experience this fear. For no matter which of the fates was coming toward them, the important thing was that the most consequential day of all their lives was finally at hand.
They could live again, Dr. Adam Smith thought. Even if only to die.
He felt the rush, and he was consumed by it. The mad Scramble of colleagues through the narrow corridor that passed his quarters only added to the pulse of adrenaline. The mountain they were all deep within seemed to vibrate, and he knew there could be no error – there had never been a moment with this frenetic excitement.
The intercom carried a repeating message direct from the command pod. “This is not a drill. We have a go on Dance. We have a go on Dance. This is not a drill. All personnel, take positions per project specs. Landing teams, prep and report to armored Sprints.”
His fellow rebels seemed as confused, excited and stunned as he, and some of them stepped out of their quarters hesitantly. All Adam could do was offer them half-heartedly reassuring nods and the occasional, “To your station,” as he sprinted down the long, winding corridor that was the facility's habitation ring. The ragged, gray and fur-lined trench coat that he seemed to sport every waking minute was ruffling in his wake.
He was not surprised when his oldest surviving friend and co-founder of Second Sunrise intercepted him at the tunnel junction to the command pod.
Rand McNichols was struggling to regain his breath, but the youthful passion within the man's green eyes contradicted the many wrinkles decorating his 75-year-old face. Adam slapped a hand against his compatriot.
“You have confirmation?” Adam asked. “This is the real thing?”
“No doubt.” Rand inhaled deeply. “It's Janise Albright. She sent us the signal once her Sprint passed through the shield. It came with the verification code. Scared the hell out of me at first.”
“Did she offer any details? Andorran? Our window to act?”
“Negative. Said she'd fill us in on arrival. Her Sprint should be docking in Shaft 3 as we speak.”
“Good, good. So much to do.” Adam raised his voice an octave, then along with Rand started down the corridor toward the hub of operations, pacing themselves at a jog.
“Have we established countdowns?”
“Yes. Began at T-minus 60 minutes for the armored Sprints, and 120 minutes for New Terra.”
“Good, good. We need to make sure the Quinnian rods are loaded into New Terra's propulsion and engaged for stimulation within the next 20 minutes if we hope to hold to that launch window.”
“Yep, Sam is overseeing that. I told him there weren't to be any delays. This time lag worries me.”
It bothered Adam as well, even though he knew it couldn't be helped. The orbital shuttle New Terra was in every bit as good a condition as the day it was smuggled out from under the PAC's rapidly-expanding tentacles, but there was no chance it was going to escape Earth's gravity well and reach orbit without properly stimulated Quinnian fusion rods. And those rods needed a window of at least 90 minutes to reach the temperature necessary to power the shuttle's Sprintjet boosters. New Terra was the only realistic chance they had to reach Andorran before the PAC, so shortcuts simply weren't going to be acceptable, even if utilizing them could have sped up the timetable.
“And what of Sam? Is this one of his better days?” Adam pursued.
“Saw him this morning. He wasn't combative, and that's something.”
&nbs
p; “Have you spoken to Cleopolous and Kreveld?” Adam asked between rapid breaths, referring to New Terra’s pilots. He ducked behind Rand to allow another colleague to pass at a full gallop.
“No. They've been on sentry rotation in the upper platform this week. It's possible they're with the reception crew in Shaft 3. At any rate, they should know to report to the conference chamber.”
Adam muffled a mocking laugh. “Cleopolous for certain. Let's just pray that Kreveld is right there so Cleopolous can tow him in.”
“You're not sure Kreveld can handle the real thing?”
“Hmmph! I've never known a man with his attitude who wasn't scared as all hell deep inside. And if it weren't for the vallors, he wouldn't be the one link I'm most worried about.”
“I have a good feeling,” Rand said as they jogged into the control pod. “He'll come through for us.”
Adam got the reception he would have expected from the on-shift crew of the command pod: Steeled, desperate eyes turning in unison to face their co-leaders, as if waiting for some kind of assurance that this was indeed happening. Finally. Horribly.
Most eyes found connection only with Adam, and he understood them all. Dr. Adam Smith was, after all, the spiritual force who guided them to this day. He had always been the one with the vision, the one who could hoist their spirits during the many long droughts where the one-two punch of frustration and claustrophobia threatened to corrupt their goals. Rand McNichols, on the other hand, was more of a procedural leader, a tactician and a supervisor. He was a good man, well-respected, but not the one perceived to be endowed with as thorough a passion for fulfilling the dream.
“You've all been trained extensively for this day,” Adam said with delicacy. “Success depends on every link in the chain performing with precision and dedication to the project specs. Let's have everything in place for the launches. Do this for each other, as you know you can.”
Smiles broke through the fear of some, and the rest simply returned slowly to their workstations. Adam paused for a moment to study them at their work.
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