by Mark Kraver
“What happened?” she asked DeYoung.
“What?”
“It’s all gone. God will be mad at me. What happened to the rocket?”
“Nothing, why?” he asked, looking up at what could be seen of the rocket in the distance.
She took another quick scan around the observation deck. No one seemed even slightly alarmed. “Did everything go as planned?”
“Yes, the solids separated on time and, pretty soon, the first stage will separate.”
Relief swept across her face realizing her folly. “Oh yeah, the rocket has stages. I knew that.”
She heard that voice in her head again and put her hand to her forehead. “Tom,” she said, “I have to go home now. Vince is the one who loves me. Goodbye.” She ignored DeYoung’s confused expression and moved to a corner of the observation deck and sat down on the ground. She faced the ocean, feeling the waves swirling in her head as too many antipsychotics played with her blood chemistry.
DeYoung frowned and returned to some of the scientists still hanging around after Mr. Musk and most of the other VIPs had left. After a short conversation, they all turned and looked at Logan with concern.
She could feel them watching her and assumed they were saying the usual: “What’s the matter with her? Can’t you handle the Evil Satellite Queen? Is she’s having a psychological break? Call the paramedics.”
But she stayed still, down in her little corner, dazed and looking toward the ceaseless ocean, thinking about God and waiting for men in white coats to carry her away.
“Save the world. Save the world. Save the world,” she was repeating in her mind when she finally collapsed unconscious to the floor, her world becoming a broken movie on its last frame as each distant wave ended its monotonous life in a climactic slash of white foam.
The connectome bloomed with thought as the BrainNet streamed vivid memories through their unconscious eyes.
“How could you possibly hope to build a transplant station to move the Earth to Heaven with this primitive technology?” Nadira inquired.
“Strong determination can strike a moral blow to the heart of failure,” Yahweh said, letting his story unfold.
Chapter 5
Health is not valued until sickness comes.
Thomas Fuller, 1608-1661, Earth
Library of Souls
Jet Propulsion Laboratory
Pasadena, California
Morning came later on the West Coast, but Dr. Vincent Conrad had arrived at the laboratory long before sunrise to monitor the satellite’s progress. He paced the hallway, waiting for the last member of his team to report in from Florida. He’d gotten even less sleep than Logan, he imagined, watching the satellite ascend and then park itself in geosynchronous orbit over the eastern Atlantic Ocean. Two long days remotely coordinating the satellite team as they conducted their final checks at the launch site, and then arranging to get their butts back home, was taking its toll on his health. This was supposed to be Logan’s job, but she got sick, again.
He knew he wasn’t alone in the building, but Conrad hadn’t seen anyone else since he’d arrived this morning at the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence Satellite Division, and his pacing feet were echoing loudly through the silent hallway. He paused and slumped against a wall, his sunken eyes shut, holding a pencil with its eraser pointing straight out from his waist.
He was tall and lanky like Logan, which had made them a comfortable match from the start. He used to frequent the gym but had slimmed down over the last few months and his clothes hung more loosely across his chest and back side. He rubbed his cheek sleepily, where a perpetual five o’clock shadow covered his pasty white skin and resumed his pacing.
Conrad went from one side of the hall to the other until the pencil eraser touched the facing opposite wall. Then he rotated his body one hundred eighty degrees and returned to the facing wall without opening his eyes. Back and forth he walked, trying to meditate about his life with Logan, but the dull ache in his belly demanded a share of his concentration.
When the music coming from a radio in the next room was interrupted by a newscast, Conrad gave up on the meditation entirely and stepped into the doorway to listen.
“According to the Islamic Republic News Agency, four Israeli warplanes have been shot down while attempting to bomb nuclear sites around Iran. Sources inside the Iranian embassy indicated that several sites were hit, but none severely damaged. The warplanes were shot down trying to escape Iranian airspace. One pilot was captured after he ejected. The commander of the Iranian Republican Guard, General Mohammad Fard, has declared a state of emergency and enacted martial law.
“Fard has issued a statement, saying, ‘Our reaction to this act of war will be fast and decisive. The pilot was executed, and the Straits of Hormuz is closed to international traffic as punishment to the world for letting the Israeli government get away with murder. We invite the IAEA to inspect the research sites bombed by the Israeli. They will see for themselves that we are peaceful and have been wronged.’
“The US State Department has been quiet. US/Israeli relationships have been strained since this administration took office, which may account for the Israelis’ unilateral action. Sources inside the Pentagon say it is a response to Iran’s recent nuclear weapons testing.”
Conrad sighed. It was hard to fathom how, with his sights firmly set on the stars, so much conflict was festering around the globe. It was depressing. He stepped into the room to change the station, but hesitated.
“. . . and in Kazakhstan, the world’s largest farming conglomerate, Ivolga, was purchased by investment firm RealmCo Galactica for an unknown sum. Creditors had forced the Royal Bank of Scotland to secure new ownership for the conglomerate, which has struggled because of the worldwide recession, plummeting grain prices, devastating fires, and poor management.
“Ivolga was bought almost entirely with precious metals and gems. RealmCo Galactica is reportedly in negotiations with other large farming conglomerates, including El Tejar in Argentina and Bell’s Farm in Canada. Earlier this month, RealmCo Galactica acquired Archer Daniels Xavier’s 240 processing plants to convert corn, oil seeds, wheat, and other crops into foods and fuels. ADX’s network connects crops and markets in more than sixty countries.”
His hand hovered over the radio as he listened to the news about farming conglomerates he’d never even heard of. Okay, he thought, that’s enough of— He stopped, three fingers just barely touching the little black knob, as the words “From our science desk” grabbed his attention. He stood back and listened.
“. . . the impact of recent solar flares will be felt the heaviest through Saturday. Five solar flares erupted on the surface of the sun on Wednesday and have resulted in the strongest electromagnetic shocks ever recorded. They were detected by the early warning ACE satellite, which measures radiation bursts before they interact with the Earth’s magnetosphere. Consequently, there will be unprecedented and spectacular northern and southern lights. According to Joseph Koppe, a scientist at NOAA’s Space Weather Prediction Center in Boulder, Colorado, most of the United States will see this event.
“A spokesperson for the agency said the impact of so many solar flares at one time is unknown and may affect communications and electronic equipment around the globe over the next few weeks or months. It has been postulated that the sun may be going through a ‘cooling down’ phase, and the ramifications could be catastrophic. The eruptions today are due to processes that occurred inside the sun as far back as ten thousand years ago.
“This is Gary Chekhov, National Public Radio.”
Conrad stood still another moment, looking at the radio as music began flowing out of it again. He closed his eyes and thought, Hum, cooling down phase?
Startled by the slamming of a distant door, he opened his sleepy blue bloodshot eyes and stepped quickly back into the doorway. Looking down the long hallway toward the building’s front doors, he could see the distinctive figure of Logan striding
towards him. As she got closer, he focused on the large coffee cup in her hand. His heart began to pound in his throat. If he didn’t get in the first few words, shit would hit the fan, and she’d be pissed off for the rest of the day.
“Sorry I couldn’t pick you up at the airport,” he said. “Satellite was deploying the solar panels.”
She waved her hand dismissively, as if she hadn’t even noticed having to get her own taxi to the SETI building. “Did it hit the target?” she barked. “Is the orbit at the right altitude, and inclination? Those launch boys didn’t screw anything up, did they? Did everyone make it back? What does the data look like?”
He held his hands up and walked backwards, trying to slow her down and get in a word, but she maneuvered past him. He grabbed the back of her shirt to stop her, splashing a small wave of coffee over her hand and onto the hallway floor.
“Hey, what?” Logan shouted out. She was clearly annoyed, but she stood still and steadied her coffee cup.
Conrad let go of her shirt and breathed. “Calm down,” he said, anger simmering in his low voice. “Just calm down, will you?”
She frowned and wiped the back of her hand on her jeans.
“Everything is okay,” he said, his voice softening a little, “including those stupid dog-eared solar panels you insisted on installing. Everyone’s tired, and we don’t need to put up with your bullshit.”
Logan’s eyes went wide. “My bullshit is it?” she shouted. “I spent the last three years busting my butt for this project!”
“That’s right, you did. Now sit on it,” he said, pulling up a chair. “How many cups of coffee have you had today? You’re already driving me crazy. How are you feeling? You shouldn’t have left the hospital like that.”
“It was just a visit. I needed an adjustment in my meds, that’s all. Nothing to get excited about. You know, stress and all that stuff. I don’t need a babysitter,” she scoffed, glancing disdainfully at the chair. Swallowing the last gulp of her coffee, she narrowed her eyes. “Wait, how did you even know I went?”
Conrad shrugged. “I’m your emergency contact. You gave them my number. You HIPAA approved me and everything”
Logan shook her head. “I barely remember it. Apparently, I passed out after the launch.”
Conrad nodded. “No kidding. And you left without medical approval from the hospital. That’s one of the reasons they called. That’s going to piss off the insurance company. And that could have been really dangerous.”
“What? They wanted to keep me for observation. Shoot, I saved them money, and I needed to get back here,” she said reaching for the coffee pot.
“Hey, the doctors want you to cut out the caffeine,” Conrad said, putting his hand out to stop her. A big smile spread across his face blocking the handle of the coffee pot. “Besides, all this stress can’t be good for the baby.”
“What?”
He watched the marbles roll around inside her head before they fell into their right slots. “That was the other reason they called,” he continued. “You were there long enough to pee in a cup, I guess. They always test urine for the possibility of pregnancy and yours came back positive.”
“What,” she repeated in a ghostly whisper, sinking weak kneed into the nearby chair.
“If you’d waited until they were finished or left them your cell number, maybe you’d have gotten the good news yourself.”
“I don’t believe it. Maybe we should repeat the test? I can’t be pregnant now, can I?” she asked snapping back to reality.
“You mean my cancer?”
She nodded.
“The doctors said I still have one functioning testicle. Time will tell if they got it out of my lymph nodes. Come on,” he said, pretending to laugh, “I feel fine.”
“Yeah, but why now?”
“Why not? People do it all the time. After all, your biological clock is ticking.”
“Screw the clock. This is terrible. I’m sick. You’re sick.” Logan rose and walked to the far side of the room where a window overlooked a small grassy courtyard. “What do we do now? Who will take care of it?” She turned to face Conrad, her voice growing shaky. “I’m not a mother. I’m a mad scientist, remember? I look for little green men, not rug-rats and curtain climbers. I don’t feel like a mother.” Her shoulders dropped, and she leaned back against the window.
Logan looked stifled, limp and defeated. Conrad realized again how much he had grown to love her. He took a step toward her. “Wait until you blow up like a big tick and start to rumble with every step you take,” he said. “Then you’ll feel the part.”
Logan smiled her crooked smile with the sparkle that few ever witnessed. “I feel much better now. Thank you very much.”
Conrad moved to her side, his eyes welling with tears of joy. “You know I love you very much.” He pulled her away from the window and into his embrace. As they kissed, he caressed her shoulders and backside with gentle hands. “This is the way we should have met in the hallway, don’t you think?” he whispered.
“I’m such a bitch,” she whispered back.
“Maybe,” he returned. “But you’re my bitch.”
She laughed out loud, stepping back from his arms smiling and pointing a finger in his face. “Don’t you ever call me a bitch again.”
They walked arm-in-arm toward the mission room down the hallway where various screens and systems and experts had been monitoring every move of the newly deployed SETI satellite since it launched into orbit days before.
“I’m sorry. It’s been insane these past weeks,” Logan said. “You don’t know what it’s like working with those nerds on the launch pad.” She closed her mouth as they walked through the door into a room dotted with worn-out and miserable-looking men, each staring at his own computer screen.
“Hi guys,” she said timidly. This was the team she had travelled to the Cape with, and—having missed the side trip to the hospital—they had arrived several hours before her. It appeared nobody had been to bed yet. “You got back from Florida okay, I see?” Three or four of them glanced up and nodded politely, but nobody said anything.
Logan got closer and touched the man at the end computer on the shoulder. In a lower, more menacing tone, she said, “Please tell me everything’s okay.”
At once all the men rose from their seats, each making his own vague assurance, and scurried to avoid contact with her.
Conrad quickly waved a reassuring hand to break up the possibility of confrontation. “Start the systems check as soon as we get the next set of telemetry on the orbit,” he said loudly, using his eyes to convey to the men still in the room that they should return to their seats. “I know this is your first satellite, so try to relax. You’ll be tired of this project before you know it.”
He escorted Logan out of the satellite room and back to his office. “That telemetry won’t be back for a few hours. Let’s go home and get a little rest. By the time we’re back, the data ought to be flowing in and then it will be nothing but work, work, work.”
She smiled, put her head on his shoulder and sighed. “Fine, take me home,” she said sleepily. She squeezed his hand, “You’re going to be a daddy.”
Inside the obituary chamber, Nadira felt uncomfortable.
“These hominin are so primitive,” she said. “How could you ever hope to survive?”
“Can you hope?” asked Yahweh.
“I can hope. I just don’t like to.”
Chapter 6
Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.
Sun Tzu, 496 BC, Earth
Library of Souls
Suez Canal Zone, Egypt
“Allah be praised. Allah be praised,” Yusef chanted the soothing words from the command deck of the cargo ship cruising through the Mediterranean mouth of the Suez Canal. Looking upon the distant iconic towering cupolas, backlit by a brilliant fiery red sunset, he thought about his extended family struggling for ea
ch meal in a desert refugee camp. Had darkness fallen there yet, he wondered? Or were they seeing the same stunning sky?
Yusef’s thoughts were interrupted by his uncle’s voice.
“How do you feel, nephew?” Saeed asked. Yusef felt his uncle’s hand on his nerve-racked shoulders. “No need to worry,” Saeed continued, not waiting for Yusef to answer. “We won’t face the great Satan for some time. Come, it is time for prayer.”
Yusef looked to his mentor for a sign that everything would be all right, that martyrdom was the way to heaven, but all he found in his uncle’s distant eyes was uncertainty. He couldn’t wait for prayer.
“Wait,” his uncle said, turning up the radio:
“This is Dicky Leiding with highlights from BBC World Service News.
Shortly before dawn, the US fleet stationed in the Arabian Sea fired more than two hundred and fifty cruise missiles at Iran’s coastal military facilities. The military campaign is aimed at opening the Straits of Hormuz to international traffic. US fighter jets, bombers and drones reportedly swarmed over Iran shooting down sixteen Iranian fighter jets and damaged several selected buildings and airfields.
“U.S. anti-submarine activity has crippled the three Iranian navy’s SSK Kilo-class Russian submarines, but many smaller submarines are still at large. The destruction in and around Tehran has been condemned as heavy-handed and the cause of an unnecessary loss of life. The Syrian Ambassador said in a telephone interview with Al Jazeera that the US was finishing what the Israelis started when they attacked Iranian civilian nuclear research stations.”
“Anyone who will say that religion is separate from politics is a fool; he does not know Islam or politics,” Saeed whispered under his breath.
