Solitude: Dimension Space Book One

by Dean M. Cole

  "I am alone and stranded on the ISS with no descent module, no way to get to the surface. Please reply on this frequency at twelve hundred Zulu or twenty-four hundred Zulu. That's noon and midnight Greenwich Mean Time. I will monitor the frequency both times each day."

  Vaughn's shoulders slumped, but the grin stayed on his face. "I can't believe it! She's alive."

  He pulled out his phone and checked the time. The last cell tower had dropped offline a month ago, but he imagined the smartphone's clock was still pretty accurate. According to its display, the current local time was eleven AM, which meant it was 1800 Zulu.

  Or was it?

  Had his phone automatically sprung forward? Had it shifted to Mountain Daylight Saving Time? Vaughn didn't know. If the time was eleven MDT, then it was currently 1700 Zulu. The commander would listen for a reply in six or seven hours.

  There wasn't enough fuel for the generator to run that long.

  If … No, when the commander came on line, even if it was sooner, Vaughn wanted to be monitoring this radio. And now that he had it powered up, he was loath to shut down the radio.

  "Shit!"

  After a final forlorn glance at the console, Vaughn held up a finger. Employing his best Schwarzenegger impression, he said, "I'll be back."

  An hour later, the Hummer skidded back into its parking spot. Vaughn dragged a couple of gas cans into the makeshift generator room down the hall from NASA. He topped off the machine's fuel tank and then returned to the radio room. He dropped back into the console's chair and slid the headset over his ears.

  The commander's recorded voice repeated its message. Vaughn smiled and sighed. He thought about his cardboard friends. "No offense, Jack and Marilyn, but recorded or not, it's good to hear the voice of a real, living human being."

  Vaughn leaned back in the comfortable armchair and opened the newspaper he'd taken from the drugstore. Apparently, on the day of the Disappearance, Commander Angela Brown and Major Bill Peterson were scheduled to do a historic EVA. The spacewalk's anticipated duration would smash the current record for an EVA completed by a female astronaut.

  At the end of the page, USA Today invited Vaughn to continue reading the article on page B-12.

  He turned to the specified page and then his eyebrows raised.

  "Wow! Who knew?"

  Beautiful dark eyes—probably brown, but impossible to tell from the black and white image—stared out from a smiling face. The caption above it said, "What Can Brown Do For You?"

  "Me," Vaughn said. Then he looked around self-consciously. After a moment, he shook his head and laughed.

  For the last two months, only Siri had answered his questions. And without a data connection, her responses were frustratingly limited. However, Vaughn had reasoned that talking to her was a damn sight better than conversing with a green-haired volleyball or even a well-dressed mannequin, although in a lingerie store, Vaughn had seen a few of the latter that elicited a disturbing desire to do more than talk. He'd also started to worry that, eventually, Jack and Marilyn would start answering him. Fortunately, he hadn't slipped that far … yet.

  With a quick head shake, Vaughn pushed out the thoughts. He looked into the eyes at the center of the black and white image. "Hello, Commander Brown. Pleased to meet you." He nodded. "Captain Vaughn Singleton at your service. How may I help?"

  "Oh, that's right. You need saving," he said with exaggerated understanding. "That's what the director told me." Then the man's eyes dropped, as did his shoulders. "I was just too stupid to understand, too damned self-absorbed." He shook his head. "Sorry."

  After a long moment, his face brightened. Vaughn looked up with a smile. "But I think I know how to help, how to rescue you! When you hear it, you'll probably think I'm crazy, but it's actually something I've thought about doing just for fun."

  Vaughn's smile faltered as the commander's message repeated. He tilted his head. "But why don't you have a way down? What happened to your descent module?"

  The man sat up in his chair. "And for that matter, why are you alone?"

  Then a possibility occurred to him. "The rest of the crew must have abandoned station, taken the module." He nodded slowly, his eyes becoming unfocused. "She got left behind."

  Vaughn frowned. He knew how that felt.

  "But why did any of them evacuate? NASA had to know that everyone hit by the light had vanished. The director had said as much."

  Another realization slammed into Vaughn.

  The presence of a looped recording was not proof of life. The woman could have succumbed to any number of maladies in the two months since the Disappearance. Vaughn knew all too well that suicide sat high up on that grim list. He was a self-centered loner who generally disliked people—at least that was what he'd always told himself. On the face of it, he was the ideal candidate for this solo act. However, suicide had almost claimed him.

  After a long moment, Vaughn shook his head and leaned back in the chair. He checked his watch. In a few hours, he'd know the answer to that and more.

  He hoped.

  Oh, how he hoped.

  Vaughn rubbed his eyes. Then he blinked them in the silent darkness, trying to remember where he was. The man shifted his weight, and a faint metallic squeak came from beneath him. Groping in the dark, he discovered he was sitting in an office chair.

  Vaughn shot to his feet.

  "Oh shit!"

  He'd fallen asleep!

  Too quiet…

  "The generator!"

  NASA's part of the building had no outside windows. However, a modicum of light shone under its main entry door.

  Vaughn started to run toward the luminous sliver, but in the darkness, he tripped over a linear shadow that he belatedly recognized as the generator's power cord. He sprawled head first into the door, knocking it open.

  Golden rays of a setting sun shone through the windows of an adjacent room. Rubbing his head, Vaughn squinted aching eyes. Finally, he surged out of the dust-filled radiant beams and into the dark hallway beyond.

  Probing with his hands, the man followed the power cable to the generator room. He pulled open its door, and another solar blast burned into his eyes.

  Vaughn squinted against the glare and ran to the west-facing windows. He grabbed one of the deposited fuel cans. After a quick refill and several yanks on a reluctant cord, he finally had the generator running again.

  When Vaughn trotted back into NASA's office, he saw light shining from the radio. He stepped to the console and then slid the headset over his ears.

  The woman's voice had died.

  Vaughn frantically checked all of the knobs.

  The volume was up. He should be able to hear her!

  "Shit!"

  Vaughn stared at the radio's glowing face, unsure of what to do.

  Had the electricity surged when the generator died?

  Had he fried the receiver?!

  "No, no, no," he whispered. "Please, no."

  The man swung his body around to the back of the console.

  Lying on the floor, he stared into the cabinet's dark interior, trying to see any signs that some component had burned out or if a breaker had tripped.

  Suddenly, a crackling pop came from the top of the console.

  Vaughn froze.

  "This is Angela Brown," said a frail, raspy feminine voice. "Is anybody out there?"

  Chapter 18

  Angela released the transmit key and shook her head. Who the hell was she fooling? Nobody was ever going to answer the call.

  Tears flowed freely now. Pooled liquid completely covered her eyes, making it look as if water had flooded the entire Cupola. Angela didn't bother batting away the moisture.

  "Enough already."

  Through the murk, she watched her wavering hand reach for the radio's power button.

  Just as Angela's extended index finger touched the round switch, a short burst of static crackled in her ears.

  "Commander Brown?" a male voice said tentatively. "Can yo
u hear me?"

  Angela yanked her hand from the radio so quickly that the movement sent her tumbling. The rolling motion of her body ripped the headset from her ears. A panicked thrashing moment later, she snatched it out of the air and slid them back on.

  "Hello?" she said softly, worried she'd imagined the voice, wished it into existence.

  "Yes!" the man yelled. "Thank you!"

  His shouted words escaped the headset's small ear cups and echoed harshly within the confines of the Cupola. She heard him laugh and bang on something.

  Wide-eyed and shocked into silence, Angela stared at the now quiet radio.

  Had she just imagined all that?

  Had she snapped?

  The radio crackled again.

  "Oh shit … Hello? Are you there?" The panicked edge in the man's voice pulled Angela out of her trance.

  "You're real?" she whispered, as if talking too loud might break the connection.

  "What?" the man said in American-accented English.

  "Are you real?" Angela said louder, her voice cracking.

  "Oh! Sorry. Yes, I'm real. Scout's honor."

  Angela shuddered, and then she felt a knot unravel within her. Pent-up breath released in a long sigh.

  "Thank you," she said, whispering again. "Thank you, thank you, th-thank you."

  The woman began to cry uncontrollably as two months of unrealized emotions poured from her tortured mind and body.

  Finally, she took a deep, hitching breath and then sighed.

  The man's voice returned, now thick with emotion. "Don't thank me, Commander." He paused and then added, "I should have figured this out a long time ago."

  Angela thought she heard tears in the man's words. She dabbed her eyes and then pressed the transmit button. "Who is this?"

  "Sorry. Army Captain Vaughn Singleton … uh, at your service … At least, I hope I can be."

  "Oh, you already have been, Captain." Angela sniffed and dabbed her eyes and nose. "I can't tell you how good it is just to hear another voice."

  "You don't have to, Commander," Captain Singleton said. After a long, wet sniff, he added, "I know exactly what you mean."

  Angela blinked. The man couldn't be alone, could he?

  "Are you there, ma'am?"

  She smiled. "Please, call me Angela."

  "Okay, Angela." His voice reflected her smile. "Call me Vaughn."

  "Hello, Vaughn. Pleased to meet you, sir."

  "Pleased to meet you as well, Commander … I mean, Angela."

  She laughed. It felt good—wonderful, actually. Then she heard him laugh, too, and her heart glowed with it.

  For a long moment, they laughed together. It was a beautiful sound, the prettiest thing she'd ever heard.

  Finally, an awkward silence fell across them. The woman wiped moisture from her eyes—tears of joy this time.

  "If you don't mind me asking, Angela, why are you still up there? … And why alone?"

  She had a million questions for Vaughn, but the woman answered his. She explained the evacuation. Told him how the director discovered too late that he should've ordered all of them to remain aboard the ISS. Then Angela told Vaughn what she'd seen, how the wave had swept across the entire planet.

  "So," Angela said. "Where are you, Vaughn? D.C.?"

  "D.C.?"

  "Yeah, were you in the President's bunker?"

  "No … No … I'm sorry, Angela, but I don't think anybody on the planet survived." A fresh wave of emotions washed through the man's words. "Everybody died … Well, other than Mark and I." His voice fell to a whisper. "But now, he's dead, too. It's just me."

  Angela floated silently for a long moment. She felt her face flush. Then she shook her head vigorously.

  "No! You can't know that! I refuse to accept it, Vaughn. You were on the planet. If you survived, so could others!"

  "Actually, I wasn't."

  "What? What do you mean?"

  "I … We were in space."

  "No," Angela said. "My crew were the only people in orbit that day. After last year's mishap, even the Chinese didn't have anyone up."

  "Mark and I weren't in orbit."

  "That doesn't make sense, Vaughn."

  The radio fell silent. Through knitted eyebrows, Angela watched the planet scroll across the Cupola's window.

  Finally, the man's voice returned. "It's not my fault."

  "What? … You need to tell me what—"

  "I'm trying, Angela! … Sorry … Listen, Mark and I were at the Space Power Annex. You probably know him. He was an astronaut, like you. Lieutenant Colonel Mark Hennessy."

  Angela nodded. "Yeah. I know … I knew Mark, but nobody goes up from Glenn Research. It's not a launch facility. It's in the center of Cleveland."

  "We didn't go up, not far anyway." After a brief pause, the man told her about a thruster test that they'd performed in NASA's vacuum chamber, about seeing the light and losing touch with everyone. Then he told her about their conversation with Director McCree and how they'd then lost contact with him as well.

  Angela's eyes widened. "It was you," she said with dawning realization.

  "What?"

  "All this time, I've been thinking some people had survived the light because that's the last thing the director told me." She paused, struggling to rein in the emotions that were trying to breach her weakened defenses. Finally, she managed to say, "I'm so sorry I snapped at you, Vaughn. You were the one who saved me."

  "Okay," Vaughn said, drawing out the word. "You've lost me, Angela."

  "The director was talking with me when he got a call from someone inside the affected zone. I never heard back from him, but that call gave me hope." Angela paused, thinking about the electrical fire and the destroyed solar arrays. "Without that hope, that reason to believe rescue was possible, I never would have made it this long. I would have packed it in six weeks ago, Vaughn."

  She dabbed moisture from her eyes.

  The man remained silent.

  "Don't you see, Captain? You gave me reason to live … You saved me."

  Singleton's voice returned thick with emotion. "It wasn't me, Angela. You have Mark to thank for that."

  Something in the man's tone startled her. It didn't sound like just grief for the loss of a friend. It sounded like some deeper issue lay beneath the words, almost like … self-loathing.

  Angela remembered her mental state from a few minutes ago and shook her head. "No, Captain. It's you that survived, regardless of the why or the how. The idea of you kept me going, the thought that someone down there would find me." She wiped a dingy, damp sleeve across her eyes. "And you did, Vaughn! You found me!" She smiled with trembling lips. "Regardless of what happens now, you've already saved me. You, Captain."

  After a long silence, his voice returned, this time without the underlying negative tone. "Thank you, Angela." He took a deep breath and then let it out in a long sigh. "I wish I could say that the director had spoken with someone else, that there might be other survivors, but I think you're right. It had to be us. He seemed pretty certain that the light had erased everyone connected to the planet."

  "Yeah," Angela said, nodding. "And for all practical purposes, you were in space." As she said the words, a thought occurred to her. "It's like something changed the nature of matter, as if a cascading quantum shift worked its way through the entire planet."

  The sound of light chuckling pulled the astronaut from her thoughts. "Okay … Uh, sure," Captain Singleton said. "Guess you really are a theoretical physicist."

  Angela blushed. "Pretty much."

  Chewing her lower lip, the woman considered her next question. In spite of her proclamation that the man had already saved her, Angela really did want to get the hell off of this station.

  "So, Vaughn. I take it you're not an astronaut?"

  A long silence greeted her words. Finally, the man said, "No … And I already know your next question."

  After another pause, his voice returned, this time with a new air of c
onfidence.

  "But I think I know how to get you home."

  Angela hoisted her eyebrows. "You have my undivided attention, Captain."

  He took a deep breath and then said, "Since humankind just … vanished, all of its toys are still lying around, just waiting to be played with."

  "Yeah," Angela said in a tone that said 'Go ahead.'

  "Well, there's one in particular that I've been thinking about taking for a test spin. And now I have the best reason in the world to do it."

  "Okay … and what might that be?"

  "Aurora."

  "The city? Aren't you close to there now?"

  "No, the plane."

  "The Aurora? You think the spaceplane is real?"

  "Yes, Angela. Yes, I do. And I think I know just where to find it."

  After Vaughn had told her of his admittedly crazy plan—a plan that Angela thought just might work—she'd told him of her predicament, about her basically nonexistent food supply.

  For the last couple of weeks, ketchup seasoned with salt and sugar had provided the majority of her sustenance.

  She hadn't wanted to pile on with news of her emaciation, but she was worried that, should preparations take too long, a stroke might debilitate her before the man could get to her.

  As he absorbed the news of her situation, Vaughn's words became choked.

  "It's not that bad," Angela lied. Then she smiled. "Just wanted you to know not to lollygag. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi; you're my only hope."

  Vaughn's wonderful laugh echoed in the Cupola. "Okay, Princess Leia. I'll hurry every chance I get."

  A few minutes later, Commander Brown floated in a now silent Cupola. She had signed off the radio only moments before, but she already missed the sound of Vaughn's voice.

  Smiling, Angela pulled the hoodie over her head and left the Cupola, its radio idle for the first time in months. She would return tomorrow at their agreed-upon check-in time. For now, she wanted to get back to the JEM. Angela couldn't wait to share the news with Nadine as well as Nate Junior and his siblings.

  Hopefully, she wouldn't lick her lips.