CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Boston
July 26, 2012
Dr. Fontaine was right about one thing. A sensory deprivation tank was the closest she could get to being in space. Maybe it would bring the Numen, and there would be real communication, not short simple bursts.
After she left Dr. Fontaine, Nevaeh flew to Boston. She had friends at MIT, so she knew she could borrow a few hours in the psych lab’s sensory deprivation tank. She’d done some research, debated on chamber versus flotation REST—restricted environmental stimulation therapy—and decided for her purposes, flotation REST was the best option. She wanted to get herself into the theta brain-wave stage as quickly as possible, a meditative state that existed when she was not quite asleep, but relaxed and calm. From her experience with sensory deprivation, she’d always done better in water than a darkened room. She was an astronaut, after all—being weightless was second nature.
Even though she was a graduate of MIT and could have walked in the front gates with no problem, she didn’t want to be on anyone’s radar, particularly NASA’s, so she talked to one of her former professors she trusted not to give her away, and he set up an appointment in the lab. For good measure, she paid off the lab tech and went to the facility in disguise, a long wig and black glasses. She liked the way the glasses looked, thought she’d add them into her style rotation, but the blond wig made her look sallow, perhaps unwell. Perhaps she was. Hopefully she was about to find out.
The lab tech had been quite pleased with the money and more than happy to stay late and let her in, then let her out when she was finished. He brought her to the room, gave her a fluffy white bathrobe—as if she were entering a high-end spa—told her to press the button on the wall when she was ready for him to close her in, and disappeared to play a video game.
The sensory deprivation chamber looked like a silver coffin. She took off the wig and her clothes and changed into a bathing suit. She put in earplugs, tucked her long black hair under a cap so it wouldn’t float around her body and distract her, and climbed in.
The water was warm, heavily laced with Epsom salts, and the high saline content would keep her afloat. All she had to do was keep her face above water.
She relaxed back, resting her head against a pillow, let the water embrace her. The tech knocked on the door. “You ready?”
“I am.”
“You didn’t press the button.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. You want me to stay? It can be kind of freaky the first time.”
“No, thank you, I believe I’ll be fine.”
“When you’re ready to get out, don’t forget to hit the button inside the tank. If you don’t, I won’t know to come and get you.”
The button in question was a small red dot, impossible to miss, even in the dark.
“I’m ready. Close the lid.”
The lid was on a pneumatic hinge, it closed slowly, with a hiss.
The blackness was complete. Nothing but blackness. She waited for a few moments, expecting her eyes to adjust, but she still couldn’t see a thing except for that ridiculous red dot.
Relax, she told herself. You’re doing an experiment, nothing more You’re used to experiments. Not a problem.
She did some square breathing, then tried to empty her mind. Let go, she told herself. Let go.
* * *
Nevaeh was back on the space station. Her mission specialist, Gary Verlander, came out of the mess with a grin. “Hey, Nevaeh, today’s the big day. Are you ready for our walk?”
“I am. Let’s go!”
They high-fived and set off for the mission, propelling themselves through the hatches to the space lock. Being able to move in three dimensions was incredible, and her adrenaline and excitement made it feel even more like flying.
She executed a perfect somersault and put herself into the right position to move feetfirst into the control room. Verlander followed.
It felt like it took them almost as long to get into their suits as they would spend outside, going through the innumerable checks and balances to make sure they wouldn’t die when they stepped out into space away from the safety of the station. Walks were an event, and she was always excited. The views from inside the space station were amazing, sixteen sunsets and sunrises per day, orbiting the Earth every ninety minutes, incredible, yes. But knowing you were actually in space, standing on the edge of infinity; it had to be mind-boggling. She was always so ready.
They strapped her tools to her body and guided her to the airlock. They waited patiently while the airlock depressurized. Finally, the outer doors opened and she was free, Verlander floating alongside her.
The blackness, infinite blackness. It beckoned her, always. If she’d been an emotional woman, she might have cried a bit with the joy of it, but tears could cause major issues inside her suit, messing with her Snoopy cap and affecting her vision, so she refrained.
She stepped out carefully, watching her hand placement. There was a constant patter of communications from mission command in Houston, everyone checking, double-checking, triple-checking that things were nominal.
They were. She kept her breathing regulated, her heartbeat steady. This was what she’d trained for.
It took a while to get into position, but once they were there, they began the task—they were to run wires between modules. It was painstaking work, slowed by their clumsy suits. They’d rehearsed it, knew every step, but still, it required constant focus. She didn’t want to screw up.
Several hours later, they were finished, and started back. Nevaeh took one last look out into space, then turned for the ladder. She moved too quickly, and her hand slipped. Without warning, she was spinning, her body twisting, sailing away from the space station. She felt the small tethers holding her close to the station suddenly snap. Her heart rate spiked, but she kept calm, focused. She knew what to do. She had the long tether attached to her suit, they could use it to reel her in. She tried grabbing at the line but missed. She was shocked when there was a sudden tug. Verlander’s tether had crossed hers.
The unexpected pressure caused her main tether to snap.
There were roars in her ears, instruction from every quarter, but Nevaeh froze. This was unthinkable. Impossible. She started to panic, tumbling now, free-falling, and there was nothing to stop her. She was free of the space station, of her tether, she was dead. Verlander was watching her with horror etched on his face. The voices kept calling her, but they were a jumble, she no longer understood them.
As quickly as she’d frozen, she pulled it together. There was a third failsafe. She activated the SAFER—her mini jet pack that could propel her back to the ship—but nothing happened. She smacked the button again and again. Nothing.
All the precautions had failed.
She could hear the calls now, mission control giving instructions—she heard Franklin Norgate’s voice, tried to listen, but something was wrong with her ears, nothing made sense.
She shut her eyes, accepted she was going to die out here. All she felt was numb and embarrassed she’d screwed up so badly. And that’s how it would go down in space history. The astronaut had screwed up.
Then, suddenly, there was a sort of ringing in her ears, then another voice, no, more than one voice, it was as if all the voices in the world had come together and coalesced into one.
You are not going to die today. But you must tell them we’re here.
She had no idea who was speaking these bizarre words, but she reached out blindly, astounded when her thick glove met with something hard. The spinning stopped. She opened her eyes, but all she saw was the same blackness of space. Still, her field of vision was limited, she couldn’t see anything except what was right in front of her. But she saw nothing. There was nothing. Only space.
She saw Verlander, hand outstretched. She was maybe fifty feet away from him. It was impossible. But then, she felt a gentle push, a
nd she was moving slowly, so slowly, back toward Verlander and the hand rungs that meant life.
The strange voice or voices spoke to her again. We are the Numen, and we bring peace. We would like you to tell people about us. We want to come to Earth, but we need you. You are the only one who can help us, Nevaeh.
“How do you know my name?”
We know everything about you. You have been sent to find us. We are here. We want to help. We bring peace. We bring endless understanding and love.
And suddenly, her hand found the hand rung, and she heard cheering in her headset. She vaguely realized her fellow astronauts and flight crew were all crying and shouting. But the words she’d heard—they weren’t coming from her headset. This voice—these voices—were coming both from inside her suit and outside, in the void, somehow.
Tell them we’re here waiting, Nevaeh. You must tell them to stop all the satellites coming into space. We can’t communicate, too much interference. Tell them we need to silence the heavens so we can come to you.
How many times had she thought this? So much junk in space, too much, surely too much. “I will tell them. Thank you for saving my life.”
Nevaeh couldn’t take it in, couldn’t believe it. The Numen? Aliens had saved her life? She was to be their messenger? She was safe, she was alive. She watched the space lock open. She felt strangely disoriented. There was Verlander motioning for her to go first. She could see the relief, the joy, in his eyes. He was talking but she couldn’t make out his words. She smiled at him, she didn’t feel capable of doing anything else. She felt a punch of outrageous pride, a joy so profound, that speech, for the moment at least, was beyond her. Her brain, her heart, all of her buzzed with the incredible feelings flooding through her. She had fulfilled NASA’s prime mission.
She had spoken with an extraterrestrial being.
She was to be their emissary.
She was the chosen one.
* * *
She breathed deeply, waiting. Would the Numen come? It was dark, it was quiet. She heard the words reverberating through her body like a bell tolling, as strong and intense as she’d heard them the very first time.
We’re here, Nevaeh. We’re here. That is exactly what happened. You are the chosen one. You are the one to join with us to bring peace to a troubled world. At last we are together in peaceful quiet and we can more easily be with you. We know Dr. Fontaine was wrong and so was Dr. Holloway at NASA. We understand your anger, your frustration, but it doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. Forget them, they can’t touch you. Never believe you created us as a coping mechanism, never allow yourself to think that even for an instant. No, we are on a journey together and we will succeed. Give us the quiet we need so we may speak to you. You must find a way. We know you will find a way.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
T-MINUS 40 HOURS
Strait of Malacca
Off the Coast of Sumatra
Jean-Pierre Broussard yelled in Grant’s face, “You’re saying you heard Nevaeh’s name before The Griffon blew up? That’s utterly preposterous. Dr. Patel is a brilliant scientist with an extreme passion for space travel. She was a highly decorated and accomplished astronaut before she came to work for Galactus. There is simply no way she would do anything like this—this terrorist attack.”
No one said a word.
Broussard drew in a deep breath. “Take your seats, we’re diving.” Without waiting, he punched several buttons and the submersible dove, moving toward the rescue site.
Grant said calmly, “I understand you’re upset by this news, but how else could I know the name? Nevaeh isn’t a name you hear every day.”
Broussard didn’t spare him a glance, kept his eyes on the depth meter. “If you’re remotely decent at your job, you would have read her name in the dossier when you took this protection detail.”
“Jean-Pierre—sir—I most certainly did read the dossier, and her name wasn’t in it. You are the client, not your company. I’ll be happy to show it to you when we’re back on land.”
Now Broussard turned to stare at him. “Then you heard her name on the news, or you heard me mention her name. I simply refuse to believe she would do anything like this. And to say that she would hurt Devi—” He went into a spate of French curses. Grant looked at Nicholas and Mike, shrugged.
He said quietly, “I know what I heard.”
Nicholas said, “Gentlemen, please. We’ll have plenty of time to research Galactus and Dr. Patel. We should surface now, we’re near the lifeboats.”
Mike couldn’t agree more, she couldn’t see anything but bubbles and rushing water, and it was disconcerting, considering they’d been on the other side of this glass only minutes before.
Broussard brought the sub back up to the surface, stepped to the periscope, peered through the eyepiece, then slapped the handles back into place and nodded. Mike watched as they broke the surface of the water fifty yards from a lifeboat and lifted the top. The people aboard waved wildly.
She was relieved to see the rescue area was quickly becoming mobbed with helicopters and boats. There was even a frigate in the mix. The deck of a ship would feel more secure to her than this bubble-faced submarine. She noted the name on the side of the frigate with a smile—the RSS Tenacious.
Grant was still angry, but he pulled himself together, said to Broussard, “Take us to that frigate, sir.” No more Jean-Pierre. “We can coordinate from there better than being in the water with the lifeboats.”
A few minutes later, they were on the deck of the frigate. It was much more stable, a blessed relief. Mike felt as if the waves that had slapped against the sub with such terrifying force were now only barely breaking against the ship.
A sailor handed them emergency blankets. They wrapped themselves in the specially treated fabric, grateful for the sudden warmth. Mike said to Nicholas, “Never thought I’d be so happy to be standing on a floating hunk of metal.”
He gave a tug on her wet ponytail. “You and me both, Dame Caine, you and me both.”
A short, portly man in a dark green uniform strode toward them, a lopsided smile on his face. In accented, somewhat broken English, he said, “I am Captain Heng of the Singapore Navy’s RSS Tenacious. You are welcome aboard. We have food, drink, and warm clothing inside. If you will follow my sailors’ directions?”
Captain Heng started to turn away but Nicholas caught his arm. “Captain Heng, we’re Agents Drummond and Caine, Federal Bureau of Investigation in the United States. We need to make for land immediately. It is a matter of national security. Can we take your rescue chopper? Ours is somewhere out there, unfortunately.” He pointed at the ocean. “We went down on approach.”
The captain’s face registered shock. “I am sorry to hear that. Your pilot? He has been rescued as well?”
“I’m afraid he died in the crash. This is Mr. Broussard. He can give you the exact coordinates so you can attempt a retrieval of his body. Captain, I am sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but we need to leave your ship immediately.”
Either the captain recognized the urgency in Nicholas’s voice or he was a good-natured man, because he nodded and said, “Very well. I will arrange it to be here in ten minutes. I will have my pilots take you to Singapore.”
“Phuket, sir. Thailand is the closest. We have a plane waiting in Kuala Lumpur, we can have them meet us there.”
“This will take more arranging.”
“Sir, the circumstances are critical. We must get to land, and fly to Europe, and we need to do it before this typhoon strikes and we get stuck here for the next twenty-four hours. Many lives depend on our actions.”
“Very well. Have your plane moved to Phuket, and we will talk to the Thailand SAR and arrange for them to take you. They have ships nearby.” Another small lopsided smile. “We all cooperate when people are at risk in the Strait. As you say, the typhoon is coming, we must all be prepared.”
Nicholas already had his satellite phone out, remarkably still worki
ng. “Isn’t this a lovely surprise? These phones are indestructible, apparently. Even an ocean swim doesn’t kill the signal. I lost my tablet, but at least this was zipped in a waterproof pocket inside my suit.”
Mike sighed. “Mine didn’t make it.”
“Come now, Agent Caine. We rescued Grant, which will make Kitsune very happy, all because of your brilliant idea. We’re batting a thousand so far.”
“Except we almost died. Again.”
“Once we stop this nuke we’ll talk about that.” He tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear. “If you weren’t such an adrenaline junkie—”
“Me? An adrenaline junkie? Oh no, you don’t. I’m just along for the ride this time. Well, maybe. Okay, maybe not.”
He was still grinning when he spoke to the pilots of the Blue Mountain jet and got their assurances they would head to Phuket immediately. A few minutes later, a steel-gray Seahawk chopper landed on the deck of the Tenacious, the flag of Thailand painted on its side.
“There’s our ride.”
Grant and Broussard joined them, both still damp but drinking down hot coffee.
Grant said, “We’re going with you.”
Broussard said, “That’s right. Don’t try to ditch us. We’re coming, no argument.”
Nicholas said, “That’s fine with us. Mr. Broussard, we will need all the information you can provide on your second-in-command, this Dr. Nevaeh Patel.”
Mike didn’t want to get into yet another helicopter, but no choice. She said over her shoulder, “I’m going to start having a phobia about these things if we’re not careful,” and jumped aboard and settled in, put on her harness and headset. She accepted a cup of the strong coffee, swallowed, and was surprised to see the world was suddenly much brighter.
Grant sat down next to her, strapped in. Nicholas was opposite, Broussard beside him. They lifted off and one of the pilots said over their headsets, “We will be in Phuket in fifteen minutes.”
The Last Second Page 14
