“Cheers to your fans,” Harley said, taking a drink, and only then looking at the bottle: near beer. “O’Doul’s? Damn, Wade, I thought we were going to commemorate the serious shit we were in by getting loaded!”
“Not since 2012 for me, unfortunately.” He got a faraway look in his eye. “Still, just holding the bottle—the weight of it—helps me think.”
“And what are you thinking? I presume you and the team heard—”
“—All of it, the whole sorry mess.” The old man rubbed a hand across the stubble on his face. “I’ll say this for you, Drake. You and NASA sure know how to pack a thousand years of thrills into a few days.”
“It’s all kind of hard to believe, isn’t it? Last week we were thinking we were just damn lucky to have a chance to do a NEO landing without sending a crew on a nine-month mission, and now . . .”
“You’ve had First Encounter, Re-Encounter, Close Encounter—”
“—And Stupid, Senseless, What-Else-Can-I-Do-Wrong Encounter. That would be today’s.”
Williams actually shook with amusement. “I won’t ask you to believe that I’m in any way eager to stop living, but my gratitude at my continued existence has been seriously enhanced by this week . . . even allowing for the, uh . . .” He waved his hand at Harley. “What-Else-Can-Go-Wrong aspects?” He chuckled. “I lived through 9/ 11, but always thought that Pearl Harbor might have been more shocking. With this . . . now I have some idea.”
“This,” Harley said, “is like living through the week of the Crucifixion . . . or when that big asteroid killed off the dinosaurs.”
“True. Either way, it’s sort of a privilege to bear witness.”
“What was it Mark Twain said? About a man being tarred, feathered, then ridden out of town on a rail?”
“‘If not for the honor of the thing, I’d rather walk.’ Actually, it was Abraham Lincoln.”
“You’re the writer.” Harley looked at his bottle. “Are you sure this is nonalcoholic?”
“Fatigue and terror do strange things to the mind. Speaking of which,” Williams said, shifting to the lecture mode Harley knew so well, and hated, “I’ve been thinking. Thinking about what those fine folks you gathered have come up with.”
“Given that, so far, all I’ve gotten are some cute names—”
“Oh, we’ve got a model for your Revenants and such. The idea is, just as there is no true physical separation between your body and the universe—even when your core organism ceases to function, there are still atoms of moisture and skin and exhalation that linger, float off, whatever—the same thing applies to your mind, your soul, your life force. There is also some kind of physical connection between the electrical field that is you, Harley Drake, and the universe.
“Your carrier might be shut off. That is, you die. But the information lingers . . . like cloud computing, it’s all around us . . . accessible.”
“So our souls are some new kind of matter, is that what you’re saying?”
“That’s one way to look at it. I mean, hell, the universe is largely made up of dark matter and energy, and we still don’t have a terrific handle on what that is or does. Why not some other kind of energy or information? It’s probably affected by gravity, too. The cloud of souls travels with the Sun.”
“Sounds like the opening line of your next novel.”
“Those days are gone, my friend. But the image is elegant, is it not?” He let the contents of the bottle slosh. “Everything that ever lived on Earth—or in the solar system—is still with us, in some fashion. It’s all information . . . the folks who built Keanu just know how to access it and repackage it.”
“They must have a pretty impressive search engine to pull Zack Stewart’s wife out of a library like that.”
“We suspect they got some clues or information from the arriving astronauts. We think the, ah, markers help. Scanned them, I think. Then they’re retrieved the same way the National Security Agency plucks a single cell phone conversation out of an entire city’s signals. Random frequency tracking, amped up a bit.”
“Yeah, a bit,” Harley said. “Then, of course, there’s the whole business of growing new bodies.”
“That’s just twenty-second-century Earth biotech, don’t you think? If we live long enough, we could have new carcasses, too.” Williams wheezed, tipped his bottle toward Harley. “We both could certainly use one.”
In shadow, another person came around the corner—female, tall, and, from the lingering odor, just off a cigarette. “Oh!” Sasha Blaine said. “There you are.”
“Caught,” Harley said. “We were about to head back in. . . .”
“Before you do,” Sasha said. “I’ve just had this mad cool idea and you should hear it in case it’s more mad than cool.”
“Hit me with it.” Harley was no longer convinced that the O’Doul’s was actually near beer; either that, or in his fatigued, stressed-out state, he was all raw emotion . . . because he suddenly, instantly wanted to hold Sasha Blaine. Gawky, too tall, too jumpy, it didn’t matter. He was in love with her . . . and there was a testament to the persistence of human emotions in the face of crisis.
Blaine blinked. “We heard that even though Venture and Brahma are gone, Destiny is still in orbit.”
“Yes.”
“And that five of the astronauts might still be alive.”
“Still good.”
“Which doesn’t mean much, because without Venture and Brahma, they’re trapped, and nobody has a vehicle that could be prepped and launched on a rescue for at least six months.”
“That would sum it up.” Harley had been so focused on the horror of this nuke that he had not gotten his head around the real collateral damage . . . the fact that the survivors were stranded with no hope of rescue.
Eyes closed, Blaine hugged herself, a set of gestures Harley always associated with brilliant, socially awkward types who were about to tell you something insane. Williams saw it, too, nudging Harley.
“Sasha,” Harley said, realizing he would have to drag it out of her. “What’s on your mind?”
“Why don’t we land Destiny on Keanu?”
What does it mean when you see the director of the Johnson Space Center collapsed in a corner? :( [ Wish I had a stronger emoticon]
POSTER JSC GUY AT NEOMISSION.COM
Tea’s run to rendezvous, even though she was barefoot and wearing nothing more than panties and a tank top, was quick and exhilarating. Maybe part of that was due to her near-naked state. She felt primal. Eve in Eden, maybe.
The only techie part of the experience was the Zeiss unit slapping at her back. (She had looped its strap over her chest, bandolier style.)
It was also helpful to find smooth running surfaces inside the chamber. Nothing would kill the runner’s high, amplified by danger and novelty, more quickly than bloodied feet.
The danger and novelty were enhanced by the apparent change in conditions. The interior seemed to be growing dark—it was difficult for Tea to see the glowworms through the overhanging vegetation, but it seemed redder and, though this could have been an illusion, briefly black, switched off or in some kind of Keanu eclipse.
The temperature seemed to be dropping, too, though that could have been due to her lack of clothing. And the oxygen content was changing—or was she feeling that because she was running hard while horribly fatigued, dehydrated, and out of shape?
Either way, though Tea wasn’t in love with the Keanu environment, given the unattractive options at the moment, she really wanted it to stay human-friendly.
After emerging from the Beehive, she made a quick pass through the campsite, where she stopped long enough to reorient herself. There was no high ground that would allow for a broader view . . . the best she could do was plunge back into the jungle on the same path she and Taj had used in returning from the Temple.
As she ran, she felt occasional flutters on her skin. . . . Keanu insects? Or just vegetative debris being blown by what was now a stead
y wind? None of it stuck to her long enough for her to tell, and she sure wasn’t going to stop to conduct a biotic study. Aside from the Zeiss, the only other piece of technical equipment she carried was her watch, and she had already been gone from the membrane for twenty minutes.
There it was, up ahead, the stony top of the Temple, still maybe a mile or more away—
—And here was Zack Stewart, no more than twenty meters in front of her, standing in a clearing with Lucas and Natalia.
“Zack!” She couldn’t believe how weak her voice sounded, how tired she felt! She had to stop, panting, watching helplessly as the other three reacted with what appeared to be confusion.
It was Zack who reached her first. “What’s wrong? Where’s your suit?”
“That’s what you’ve got to ask? ‘Where’s your suit?’”
In their time together, Zack Stewart had shown Tea that he would see humor any time, under any circumstances.
Until now. “It wasn’t what I asked, goddammit!” he snapped. “Why are you here? And what the hell is going on?”
She told him about the strange event. “We felt something, too.” By then Natalia and Lucas had joined them. All three seemed subdued and lost . . . Tea wanted to ask about the Revenants but knew that she needed to stay on message.
Once she’d told them all about conditions on the other side of the membrane—and the lack of contact with either Venture or Brahma—she wished she hadn’t. Zack accepted the loss of the trip home stoically, the way he accepted most bad news. Well, he’d had practice.
But Natalia sank to the ground, as if to say, Kill me now. She was completely spent, emotionally and physically.
Lucas was a different case, flailing between disbelief and open hysteria. “What do you mean, gone? What about Dennis? Did you even try to contact him? Where is Taj?” He seemed incapable of comprehending the situation—even though he was still speaking English, it was as if he were suffering temporary aphasia.
It was understandable, but hardly worthy, in Tea’s view, of the world’s greatest astronaut. Or any astronaut.
But then Zack told her what had happened to Megan and Camilla, rolled up and swept away by Sentries. And she wanted to join Natalia in an exhausted, Daddy-make-it-go-away crouch. Or start babbling like Lucas.
Zack saw it, too. He slipped his arm around her, offering (and likely taking) comfort while providing actual support.
Then, calmly, rationally, he examined the situation—and the options going forward. “Assume the worst: Both spacecraft are gone. What would you do? Natalia?”
She only shook her head. “Lucas?”
Lucas was still struggling. “Are we sure they’re gone?”
Zack turned to Tea, his whole manner pleading for her to give him something. “I think we all go to the membrane.”
He actually smiled. God help him, he liked a debate. “That’s the logical step. But if both landers are gone, what’s the point?”
“Eventually someone from Earth will come after us.” Tea turned to Natalia and Lucas. “There’s another Brahma that could be ready, right?”
Natalia nodded. Lucas was slower to react, and even then, Tea wouldn’t have called it a response.
“Come on, Tea, that’s bullshit,” Zack said. “NASA couldn’t have another Des tiny- Venture ready for launch within six months. A second Brahma is at least a year away.”
But Tea liked an argument, too. She had been waiting to have one with Zack ever since entering Keanu’s environment, and this subject was as good as any. “NASA could push Destiny-8 forward to maybe a hundred days, darling.”
“So we’ll be, what, only ninety-five days dead as opposed to a hundred and eighty?”
“This environment might support us. There’s air, there’s water.”
“Which is why I gave us five days. A, we’ve found no food. B, how long is the environment going to stay ‘human-friendly’?”
“Don’t be such a pessimist.”
Tea saw the expression on Zack’s face—the pre-shock to the quake to come. But he suppressed it, smiling, even though it must have almost killed him. “You’re right. Let’s be positive.”
He pointed at Natalia and Lucas. “You two, go with Tea. Grab your suits and stage with Taj and the rover at the membrane.”
“Where will you be?” Tea said.
“I’m going after Megan and Camilla.”
So there it was. Tea knew Zack well enough to know he was not likely to change his mind. “So you believe that’s really Megan.”
“I guess I do.”
Tea didn’t know whether to punch Zack or kiss him. She was impressed by the enduring nature of love—and just as pissed off at him as she could possibly be. “You won’t have any way to communicate, no weapons. Even if you . . . free her? Is that the plan? You could make it to the membrane and find us gone!”
She knew he was already thinking a step beyond her. “If what you’re saying is true, a few hours or days won’t make any difference.”
“You’ll be going in with no backup.”
“Backup hasn’t made any difference.”
She took him by the shoulders and spoke quietly but firmly. “Listen, Zachary. One of the reasons I fell in love with you was that, you know, forget Lucas here . . . you were the World’s Greatest Astronaut. If you took a risk, it was informed and reasonable. You knew where the line was, and you never crossed it.
“But this caper—this is nuts. If you don’t come with us, you’ll die.”
He put his hands on hers, squeezed them. His voice grew softer, almost dreamlike. “It may have looked calculating, but I’ve always followed my instincts. And all of them say to go after Megan. If she lives, I’ll live. And if she dies . . .”
“You’re chasing a fantasy!”
There . . . she had said it. She did not really believe the Revenant was the real Megan Stewart.
“Tea—”
“Zack! Do the math! Alien beings. Big smart spacecraft! The ability to replicate living things. Add them up and what do you fucking know? You’ve got a familiar face to talk to!
“That’s what these Revenants are, guys. Sorry, Lucas. I mean, if I went to Brazil, I’d learn Portuguese. I’d wear something that looked Brazilian. I’d try to connect . . . Revenants are just their way of doing it.”
For a moment, Zack looked cowed. It was the first time Tea had ever seen him in that posture. “She knows things she shouldn’t know.”
“She isn’t Megan,” she said, firmly, feeling that she was this close to hauling him back from the edge. “But I’m me and you know that. I love you. Come with me . . . come where you belong. . . .”
“Right now I belong here.”
Tea Nowinski had a sentimental side. It had hurt her in many relationships and was probably going to do the same now. But not yet.
“This time you’re wrong, Zack. Wrong, wrong, wrong. You stay here or go gallivanting after . . . what looks like Megan, you will never see Earth again. You’ll never see your daughter again. Have you thought about that?”
“That’s actually all I’m thinking about.”
“Okay, then, what do I tell her? ‘Sorry, kid, your father chose not to come back to you because he had to chase—’”
“Stop it.” He was cold now, another Zack state she knew. There would be no explanations now, only orders. “You need to get going. All of you.”
Well, hell. If Tea looked at it realistically, she and Lucas and Natalia—and Zack and Megan and the others—were already doomed.
In that case, why not spend your final hours doing what you wanted?
“Okay, Zack, do your thing. I hope it works.” She gave him what she knew would be the last kiss they shared. “At least you should take Taj’s magic radio.”
There’s a freaky—hell, terrifying—rumor on the Net that the flash on Keanu was caused by a NUKE. Did the U.S. launch something? Has some kind of space war started? Has someone gone INSANE?
POSTER JERMAINE AT NEOMISSION.COM<
br />
The U.S. has nothing nuclear that could hit Keanu, so relax. And what would be the point, anyway?
POSTER BELLANCA FAN, MOMENTS LATER
“Take all your knowledge about mission operations and set it aside,” Harley Drake told Shane Weldon and Josh Kennedy, as Sasha Blaine and Wade Williams looked on. “And I’ll have a vodka tonic.”
He addressed his second order to a bored-looking young woman wearing an apron and holding an order pad. Above the bar behind her, a muted television was interviewing a Buddhist monk about “alien reincarnation.” “Everyone else?”
Harley had finally escaped from the three rooms where he had been forced to spend his last three days. Home Team, Vault, mission control—none of these venues suited this presentation.
He had gone off campus, to the New Outpost, a bar across NASA Parkway from the Johnson Space Center. The original Outpost, a shack in the middle of a parking lot that had more craters than a similar plot of land on the Moon, had been a fixture in the community for decades but had been torn down.
Now there was this slick new hangout, with autographed astronaut photos on the walls, glassed-in memorabilia.
As far as Harley knew, no astronaut ever went into the place. Which was why he’d suggested it this day. There was little chance he would see anyone he worked with.
By now JSC was crawling with reporters—and dozens of staffers whose curiosity and self-importance had overwhelmed their adherence to the privacy code. If a security guard or assistant cook spotted Weldon, Drake, Bynum, and the others huddled in conference, word was going to be on the Web within seconds.
“Besides,” Weldon had said, “I need to get outside that gate.”
So here they were, Harley setting the tone with his order of an alcoholic drink at lunch, and that was stretching the lunch hour to late morning. Very 1960s, Apollo-era. Weldon unbent enough to order a beer, and so did Sasha Blaine. (Harley was liking this girl more with each new revelation.) Williams, with his years on the wagon, stuck to club soda, and Kennedy ignored the offer.
“So,” Harley said, once the waitress had returned to the bar, “are we clear on the proposal?”
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