by L. E. Howel
"Course confirmed", he announced, "begin command module separation sequence." Karla nodded and began tapping at the keyboard in front of her.
"Separation sequence begun", Karla stated evenly, "final separation in six seconds… five… four… three…" Birch could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, "two… one…" The sound of grinding metal and a sudden lurch to the left announced their separation. Karla confirmed it; "We're free of all moorings, separation complete".
The small ship, freed now from the burden of its fuel cells, arced gracefully under Birch's guidance and came into position, preparing for re-entry. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and glanced at the screen in front of him. Two minutes. He would have to hold position here until the window opened.
He balanced the controls effortlessly as the ship hovered expectantly. Birch looked hopefully down at his screen again, one minute forty. He tried not to think too much, this procedure always depended much more on instinct than thought. Too much thought could get you killed. His mind wasn't co-operating though. As he tried to empty his mind of all distracting thoughts, images of Earth and his hopes for it crowded in on him. This wasn't a good way to approach an Earth landing. Hope always gave birth to fear and fear to failure. He had to concentrate.
He looked at the screen again, fifty-three seconds. Glancing at the others he could see the strain in their faces, DeSante smiled nervously at him. Birch scowled and looked down at his screen again, twenty seconds. This wasn't working, he wasn't focused enough. Opening and closing his hands rhythmically Birch grabbed the control stick and stared un-blinkingly at the screen before him. He had to be one with the ship, instinctive control. He watched the numbers change, eleven… ten…, concentrate, nine… eight…, think, seven… six…, he was ready now. Thoughts of failure or success were gone, all that remained was the task ahead, two… one… there it was. Their chance was here.
FIVE
The tiny ship wove deftly through the debris, barely missing at times. Birch knew that size wasn’t the issue, the small fragments could prove equally as fatal as any of those huge monoliths. In fact it was the small ones you really had to worry about. Anyone could dodge the big ones, they were slow, cumbersome mountains that were easy to see and avoid. No, it was the small ones you had to watch out for. They could tear a hole through your vital systems and leave you dead at the critical point of reentry, like a twig drifting aimlessly in the currents atop mighty Niagara Falls.
Computers and sensors helped. They laid out courses and planned trajectories, but they were only a part of the event, a small part. It still had a lot to do with instinct; you had to feel your way through. Now the display on Birch’s console plotted the independent course of thousands of objects in Earth’s orbit and displayed a safe path through them, but the task of navigating that course lay with Birch. Computers could deal with the theory; humanity had to deal with the reality.
Jane closely watched his progress on her own screen. As the co-pilot she had to be ready to take over instantly if, for any reason, the pilot should be incapacitated. She had to be as much involved in their progress as the pilot and the strain was showing on her face as she winced at another near miss. Birch’s face showed no emotion. He stared unblinkingly at the screen, his only movement the sudden twist of his hand at the controls and the thoughtful chewing of his lower lip.
Another near miss, Jane flinched instinctively. The others sat stiffly, watching their own panels for any signs of damage, all the time hoping against it. Karla, her eyes closed and fists tightly clenched, sat rigidly in her seat. DeSante swallowed nervously and gripped the sides of his chair.
“We’re almost through,” Jane announced, the relief evident in her voice. Birch blinked twice and his head snapped back from the console. He glanced angrily at Jane and then back at his screen, trying to regain his concentration. His faced paled suddenly and he pulled wildly at the controls. The ship plunged instantly, just missing a fragment but moving into the path of another. Birch desperately wrestled with the controls and the craft veered away, but the crash and sudden lurching of the ship made it clear that it had not been a successful maneuver.
Karla screamed as smoke poured into the cockpit. Birch looked down at his display. They were clear of the debris field but now they had the atmosphere to deal with. Lights flashing on his screen pointed to a damaged wing, one fuel line ruptured, and a weakened hull. Miraculously what was left of their heat shield was untouched, but that was already critical enough. They were falling apart.
Birch glared at Jane. What he saw startled him. He had never seen her like that before. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide with fear. She had the look of death. “Jane,” he shouted above the sound of alarms and the sputtering engines, “if we’re going to do this I’ll need your help. I’ve had to close one fuel line and I’m going to need you to balance the fuel flow to the engines and try to baby them enough to get us down, I’ll have my hands full just trying to get us back into the atmosphere with this damaged wing, the ships responding pretty sluggishly now.” Jane nodded mutely and began typing at her keyboard.
Birch looked again at his screen. The heat shield was already problem enough, but now he had to calculate in this new damage and hope it all held together long enough to get them down. His display panel was lit like a city skyline indicating the necessary repairs that they didn’t have the time or material to effect; he ignored it. At best this was going to be a very uncomfortable ride; at worst it was going to be death.
If this had been a fairground roller-coaster this would have been the point at which the chain would have clicked you to the very brow of the hill and your eyes strained forward to glimpse what you both wanted and feared at the same time. The same mixture met Birch now, but with a far greater sense of calamity. This was the moment he had worked toward but it had a bitter taste. He ran his fingers through his graying black hair and, adjusting his position in his seat. He pulled the controls toward himself. “Here we go,” he muttered and pushed the stick forward.
The ship dove steeply toward Earth, hurtling down, down. Birch twisted the controls, trying to adjust position for entry, but they were slow to respond. With so much damage to the ship it was hard to say that he had control at all. It was little better than a controlled freefall, suicide would have been a more accurate description. He glanced up for a brief last look at the others, and wished he hadn’t. Karla was crying openly now, the others had a wretched look of despair. They knew their chances. Even Jane seemed limp, lifeless. Was she losing her battle to keep the engines running? If she was they were dead anyway. He turned to look at his own screen again; they had reached Earth’s upper atmosphere.
A deafening noise engulfed the cabin and a red light seared Birch’s eyes as he rigidly held the controls in position. For three minutes he sweated, prayed, and hoped as the ship passed into the atmosphere. His monitor flashed red as the temperature climbed critically on the ship’s exterior. His arms throbbed painfully but held firm, protecting them from the searching heat.
Finally, like the birth of a new dawn, natural sunlight poured through the window and Birch’s arms went limp in relief. They had made it. Now all they had to do was crawl slowly home.
“Bad news Major,” Jane’s words hit him hard, “the strain of reentry was too much, we’re losing the engines!” Birch struggled to recover, to overcome his exhaustion and the simple desire to just give up. He was crushed by the sudden rational belief that no matter how hard he tried he would lose. But he couldn’t accept that. He hadn’t done all of this for a pointless death. If life and existence meant anything they had to survive.
Birch forced his eyes to focus again on the screen before him. Jane was right, the engines were almost finished, and there wasn’t much he could do about it. He could transfer power from non-critical functions. That wouldn’t help much, still even that little might make a difference, he barked out the order.
DeSante and Lauren quickly moved to power down their consoles. Jane looked
questioningly at Birch, he nodded and she too switched off her display. Karla was unconscious; there wasn’t anything he could do about that. It would have to do.
“I’d better head for water,” Birch announced to no one in particular, “we may need to use it for an emergency landing.” The engines sputtered, but continued. Their descent was steady, until moments later when they finally coughed and died. The sound of the wind whistling over the hull of the ship sounded like cruel laughter to Birch as they began a steep, sharp dive toward the surface. Someone screamed. It might have been Jane; it might even have been him. He struggled with the engine start-up sequence, it wasn’t any good. He pulled back on the controls; they didn’t function. The quiet blue waters were approaching. He braced for impact; maybe there wasn’t any purpose to life after all, Birch thought to himself as black mists engulfed his mind.
SIX
It was his favorite spot and in the peace of the moment Chief Keeper James Edwards contemplated the day ahead. It was early and only a few people had arrived to gape at his animals. He loved this place, this time of the day. A small hillock overlooking the ocean at the back of the compound, untouched by the commercial grasp of the financial backers with their plastic animals, souvenir stands, and food kiosks, this was where he sought reality. The people who came to the zoo only saw through a glass darkly. They saw the animals. They saw some approximation of their life poured into the smallest of containers for their personal enjoyment, but what they saw was no more real than the distorted plastic animals that leered at them along the concourse. Certainly those that were within the cages were animated, unlike their plastic counterparts, but they were not alive. They still breathed. They hungered. They ate, and the simple fulfillment of that basic desire remained a joy, but they did not live.
Technology had changed the face of zoos many years ago. No longer were they the high security prisons they once were. Cells and bars were replaced by the envirodome that used virtual reality to simulate their natural habitat so well that the animals weren’t even aware of their captivity. They might be born, live, and die within the confines of their hundred-foot enclosure, constantly observed by the zoo’s patrons, but never know it. To them life seemed to continue just as it should, but really it didn’t continue at all. Every event, every experience, everything was an illusion, and so they lived a life of blissful non-existence.
They were safe, protected, but nothing really happened. Born and raised in captivity from generation to generation it seemed that the essence of what it had been to be themselves had subtly dissolved under the unobservant eyes of their masters. Edwards knew he was the only one who could see it, but it was happening. There was no need to dream, enfeebled by their surroundings the animals had withered away until all that remained was what could be seen. It went no deeper. But that was fine, that’s all that anyone wanted anyway, no one ever paid to see an animal’s soul, and so the half-maddened pacing of the deranged beasts registered as little more to the observers than as an excellent photo-opportunity.
The peace he felt on this hilltop, with his back to a tree and his face toward the boundless ocean was always a precious, but short-lived, experience. Here fresh opportunities for life seemed to fill his lungs, but soon he would be amongst them again, another dot like so many others, all seemingly different, and yet fundamentally the same. He had watched the crowds watching the animals and wondered if there was really anything that separated them beyond the reinforced glass that protected the domes.
He looked at his watch, another five minutes he told himself as he settled back against the tree. Looking to the sky he watched the clouds drift silently past and caught a glimpse of birds, effortlessly floating on a stiff sea breeze. Birds were beautiful when they were free. They were meant to fly. There were birds at the zoo, beautiful and astonishing in their variety and colors, but none seemed to match the appearance of those scavenging gulls supported by the invisible force of air.
Closing his eyes for a moment he allowed his ears to enjoy the sound of the ocean and the cry of the gulls overhead. A breeze passed through the leaves and they rustled quietly.
A sudden harsh beeping noise jolted Edwards back from his reverie. He glared down at his watch, it was a signal from the office; he was needed there. Probably another parent complaining that the elephants were no longer on display because of the breeding program, he thought to himself. How many complaints had he had from parents who seemed to value their child's entertainment above the future of an endangered species? All they seemed to think about was that little Johnny would suffer some deep psychological damage if he didn't get to throw a peanut to Jumbo. Edwards sighed, got up, and slowly walked down the hill.
Passing the zoo's main entrance he continued beyond the enclosures to his office. The crowd was beginning to file through the turnstiles and the peaceful emptiness of early morning was being replaced with the crowded excitement of day.
Edwards walked into the small one-level building that housed his office. His secretary smiled nervously up at him from her desk as he entered. She looked worried. "You have an important visitor Mr. Edwards", she stated flatly. "A man from the DA, I sent him into your office".
Edwards sighed, Durus Authority men usually meant trouble one way or another. He wondered what form his trouble would take.
"Thank-you, Mrs. Grange", Edwards replied, moving toward the office door. He had played the DA game all his life. Most people did. You had to if you wanted to get anywhere. College entrance had required it, and so he had buried his doubts and taken the bitter pill. Against his worst fears it had seemed to work. His Faustian deal had only given him a good position in life, and had required nothing of him in exchange, until now at least. Every DA member knew how it worked. Once you made the deal it was a lifelong commitment, and if at any time the Authority should find a use for you they could make you do it, whatever it entailed. There was no room for questions, no room for excuses. You had signed your life over to them and it was theirs to take up and leave off whenever it was required.
Forcing an insincere smile Edwards opened the door and walked in to face a well-dressed, kindly looking older man. He was a little less than Edwards had expected. His actual contact with the DA in college had been minimal, and since then he had certainly not sought any opportunity to deal with them. From his limited experience most active DA men tended to be those who filled their jackets with muscle and their head with very little beyond rudimentary dogma. This must be the acceptable public face, he thought to himself as he greeted the man.
"Good morning sir, what can I do for you?" Edwards asked a little too jovially as he extended his hand toward the visitor. The man looked through him, a distant, distracted look in his eyes. He smiled thinly and finally glanced down at Edwards’ outstretched hand, but did not shake it. For a moment Edwards stood dumbly, his hand frozen in a futile gesture of friendship, until the rejection registered. His face flushed and he hurried to sit behind his desk. Not so friendly after all, he mused bitterly, as he sat quietly waiting for the agent to speak.
For some time they both sat in silence, the old man smiling quietly to himself while Edwards squirmed nervously in his seat, this was not what he had expected from the DA at all.
"So", Edwards finally began, struggling for something to say to break the uncomfortable silence, "what brings you to our zoo today, I don't suppose you're here to see the monkeys, are you?" The man's smile remained constant.
"Mr. Edwards", he began evenly, "I am here to return you to the active agent list.”
Edwards shuddered. This was it, what every inactive agent feared most, The Call. Edwards shrank instinctively behind his desk. “As of this moment,” the man continued, “you are a fully authorized DA agent with all of the privileges and responsibilities that entails. Do you understand?”
Edwards sighed. He did. All too well he did. He had made the deal and now it was time to repay the debt. Edwards knew he would never have been Head Keeper without his DA background, it was that k
ind of job, but he had always hoped the nature of his work would have made a recall unlikely. The DA weren’t exactly the zoological type, but now something about his work was useful to them. He couldn’t imagine why they needed him, but he knew he was stuck. The DA had made his work possible and now, because of them, it didn't look like he would get the chance to do it for some time now.
"What’s my assignment to be?" Edwards asked. His mind had been racing, trying to think of a way out; he knew there wasn't one. He didn't waste any effort arguing with the man. He didn't want the assignment, but he was wise enough to know that all DA decisions were non-negotiable. He might as well appear willing, even if he wasn't.
"Very good", the man responded in the same impassive tone. "This is a Code One mission. I have sealed orders for you direct from the governor; you are not to open these until you arrive at the location indicated on the datamaps which I have here for you. You will tell no one about any of this. You will leave tomorrow morning, details of the arrangements are in the datamaps. Do you have any questions?"
"Yes, I do." Edwards was sweating now. Code One missions were big. They were reserved for the most important assignments, global stuff, and so now one question thundered through his mind.
“Why me?” The question almost sounded accusatory, as though it must be a mistake, some clerical error. “Code One is a little out of my league you know. Have you seen my record? I've never handled anything like this."
