He frowned. “Hang on. Don’t we still need a rem-focusing device?”
“We already have one. You’re not thinking fast enough, Professor Goldberg.” Professor Malden was smiling at him.
“Huh?”
Malden glanced over at Professor Harrison, then back at Nathan. “Stop me if I’m wrong, Kingsley, but unless I’m mistaken, we already have one. The International Space Station. Should do us just fine—a few tweaks here and there to their satellite-dish receivers, and we’ll have one rather large rem-focusing tool ready-to-go.”
Professor Harrison nodded. “Ted’s right. Maybe not quite as straightforward as a few tweaks here and there, but yes, in essence, I believe it could work for our purposes.”
Nathan’s mouth hung open for a moment. “Unbelievable. The International Space Station. I’ve always dreamed of going there. I never thought one day I’d—”
“You’re not.” Professor Harrison gave him a sympathetic look. “And neither am I for that matter. Two reasons: the Soyuz only takes three persons, and at least one of them must be an experienced space engineer. That makes Ted and Sarina the obvious choices.”
Sarina spun around. “What?”
Nathan was shaking his head. “No. I can’t believe it. Wait.” He looked up at the Professor. “You said there were two reasons? What’s the second?”
“They only have one child-sized spacesuit available at short notice.”
Sarina was puzzled—and feeling very light-headed. Her entire plan had spiralled out of control, and now she was going up into space? Strange details preoccupied her. Why was there only one child-size spacesuit? “Only one spacesuit?”
Harrison shrugged. “You’d have to ask President Fox about that, I’m afraid. I have no idea.”
Nathan was shaking his head again, staring at the floor. “I still can’t believe it. Here we are, being offered a free ride up to the most advanced space station ever—and guess who gets to go? Someone who’d rather have a sleepover in the Louvre than a trip into space. Ripped off.”
Sarina looked at her friend: he was angry and upset, she could see it eating at him. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t exactly volunteer.”
“I know! That just makes it worse.” He looked over at Professor Harrison. “But I’ll get over it. Maybe if we succeed and save the universe, good old President Fox will let me have a go in a rocket too.”
The words sunk in. Maybe. If. For Nathan, this would be the trip of a lifetime. For her, it could be her last trip ... ever.
“Who’s the third person? Do we know? The space engineer?” Nathan looked hopeful. Maybe he thought he still had a chance of a seat if the third person took ill, or something.
Professor Harrison looked at him carefully. “Even though they can fly these things remotely, and almost always do, you’re never going to talk them into letting you on. Especially without a spacesuit. But since you ask, the President has apparently requested a non-American who has a huge International following—”
Nathan groaned. “No. It can’t be possible.”
“—that way, he feels the rest of the world won’t think this entire project has been hijacked by the Americans, although I must say, he’s done some mighty impressive string-pulling to get this to happen at short notice. They don’t call the US President the most powerful man in the world for nothing, I guess.”
“Please put me out of my misery,” Nathan said, “and tell me.”
Harrison nodded. “He’s requested the experienced Canadian engineer, Chris Hadfield, to come out of retirement. Fantastic idea. He’s agreed, of course.”
Nathan buried his head in his hands. “I knew it. It gets worse. Not only do you steal my dream experience, but my hero will be going there with you. And you don’t even like science!”
Sarina wondered how an astronaut could draw such adulation. “I’ve never heard of him,” she said.
Nathan lifted a hand away and looked at her through one eye. “I rest my case.”
~ 73 ~
The Drawing
Rona gritted her teeth and forced her way through the rocky pass, grateful for the rags wrapped around her feet. Despite her comfort with running barefoot and taking pains to avoid the sharp stones and rocks where she could, the rough terrain had cut her soles. She had stopped to tie some leaves under her feet, from the forest-litter blown around them, when Paolo saw what she was doing and tore strips from his tunic. The tough sack-like fabric made all the difference, though it wasn’t long before the cloth was stained with blood.
They’d been lucky, and so far they had avoided the twisters. But they had come close on a couple of occasions, and she and Paolo had thrown themselves flat to the ground, hoping the twister would sidestep them. They had already spent a frightening night wedged under rocks to prevent being blown away in the dark, waiting for daylight to arrive, both suffering from exhaustion from the effort of resisting the extreme forces that had pulled at them every step of the way.
She stopped, squatted for protection from the wind, held tight to a boulder at her feet and waited for Paolo.
Paolo trudged up the steep incline and squatted next to her. He leaned in close. “Do you see the next rise now?”
She nodded. “Yes. I think we’re some way from it yet. Perhaps a few more hours? I don’t know how long that is in your—this world.”
“Many many cries of the crow. Do you think this is the place?”
She nodded, sweeping the straggling hairs away from her brow and peering into the distance. “Yes. Lucio has been our guiding light. Let’s just hope we can get there in time.” And let’s hope back on Earth, Sarina and Professor Malden have found the rift opening.
~~~
After a fitful few hours sleep on the well-appointed private jet, they descended into Baikonur’s dark airport next to the cosmodrome. Through the jet’s window, Sarina could see the glare of football-field-style lights in the distance, and a tall gantry supporting a rocket. Her stomach flipped a little. Before boarding the plane they’d had a hasty induction to the stresses and strains of earth-orbit travel, and someone had taken her and Professor Malden’s measurements. Apparently, without training, there was a good chance they would black out on the launch. There’d been plenty of concerned expressions on the faces of those attending Professor Malden. Nathan confided in her that there was no way under normal conditions the Professor would have passed the most basic of fitness tests. But these were not normal conditions. Normal conditions didn’t mean mass-assembly of Dreamer Kids from all around the world into key broadcast locations: from stadiums to theatres; auditoriums to village halls; community centres to churches, synagogues, mosques and temples; they’d all be waiting on her signal to join together.
The plane jolted on touchdown and braked heavily, and the jet came to a halt. Within minutes the bright cabin lights were on and everyone stood to stretch.
Nathan looked at Sarina, wide-eyed. “Did you see the Soyuz rocket? It’s huge in real life, isn’t it?”
Thanks for reminding me. She nodded, the tension in her stomach preventing her from speaking.
Agent Blanchard waved to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, folks, listen up. They’re going to take us all to the suit-fitting room. It will be our last chance to discuss any plans face-to-face.”
What you really mean is, this might be the last time we see each other. So make sure you say goodbye.
Blanchard beckoned Sarina to him. She walked along the narrow aisle, a question in her eyes. He bent and whispered. “Your mother is here. She’ll be waiting for us in the suiting-up room. I thought you’d like advance warning. I’m sure it will be tough enough without that shock.”
She nodded and gave Blanchard a weak smile, trying to fight back the tears.
They had a short ride in a spartan shuttle-bus, then they were escorted into the ground floor of a dull-grey brick building that reminded her more of an old hospital than a spaceport. A tense and silent ride up in an elevator led them to a stark wh
ite corridor, where they walked single-file down to a room protected by a double set of entry doors—some kind of sterile lock, she supposed.
The room on the other side of the doors was large, and busy. Technicians scurried around and attended to electronic equipment festooned with blinking lights, computer screens flashed incomprehensible messages everywhere ... and there, gazing out of a window overlooking the rocket gantry and wringing her hands was her mother. Sarina ignored everyone and rushed across. “Mum!”
“Sarina!” Her mother spun around and hugged her tight. “Under normal circumstances, you’d be grounded for months—but nothing seems to be normal anymore. My darling brave girl.” The tears took over again. Her mother pulled away and pulled out a tissue, dabbing her eyes. “My own daughter, on national TV, telling everyone she’ll save the world. Your father would have been as proud as punch.” She bent down and rummaged around in her overnight bag. “Here”—she thrust a large envelope at Sarina—“I’d been waiting for the right time to give you this, but just in case ... ” and she broke down in tears.
Sarina opened the envelope. Inside was a beautifully precise black-and-white pencil drawing of an orchid, in close up relief, from the root to the spectacular flower. There was a very cute image of a tiny baby, sleeping in one of the orchid’s cupped petals. She was intrigued by the incredible attention to detail, and the lifelike appearance of both baby and plant. She looked up at her mother. “Who?—”
“Look at the signature, sweetie.”
She looked down and noticed what she had overlooked in her awe of the drawing’s beauty.
Our baby!
Yours, forever, John xxx
John? John Metcalfe?
“Dad?” she whispered, looking at her mother, who nodded.
“He drew it not long before—”
“Mum! What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She felt someone tap her on her shoulder, and turned to see a female technician, who smiled at them both. “I’m sorry, Miss. We have to fit the suit undergarments. Can you please follow me? You may continue your conversation while we work.” She spoke impeccable English with a trace of an American accent.
She followed the woman into a sizeable anteroom. Her mother joined her. The technician manoeuvred her onto a black mat, and she stood there, staring at her mother. “Dad was an artist?”
Her mother shook her head. “Yes and no. He was a botanist—a good one. But he loved to draw, and he had an eye almost as good as yours.”
Better maybe, Sarina thought.
The technician spoke. “Please change into these.” She held out a one-piece jumpsuit festooned with tubes. “Once it’s on, I’ll make sure you’re comfortable and explain how it works, and attach the nappy.”
Oh boy, this was getting very embarrassing. “Um ... I should make a quick trip to—”
The technician smiled and pointed to the bathroom. “Of course. But be quick.”
She returned from the comfort-stop and pulled on the jumpsuit. The technician fussed around her making adjustments. Sarina turned her attention back to her mother. “He was a botanist? A scientist?”
Her mother nodded. “All his life. He loved it with a passion.” She sighed. “A passion that showed in his drawings. Not a day went by without him sketching something or other—that’s what you and he had in common. He drew that”—she pointed to the orchid pencil drawing on the bench next to Sarina—“when I was pregnant with you.” She wiped her eyes.
“What happened? You never told me. You didn’t tell me he was a botanist; you didn’t tell me how he ... how he died.”
Her mother surveyed her. She wondered what she must look like in the unflattering off-white jumpsuit and tubing. Her mother spoke at last. “I was worried. You’ve been so ... anti science the last few years I’ve been putting off what I’d intended to share with you years ago. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I suppose I thought you might hate me—and him—and find some way to blame science, like you always do.”
Always do? Was that what she’d been doing?
“You can tell me now, Mum.” She couldn’t believe in the midst of getting ready to fix two universes, she was having a deep-and-meaningful with her mother. But maybe there wouldn’t be another chance.
“Step into these please.” The technician held out a pair of comfortable-looking suede-style grey boots with rubber soles. Sarina placed one foot at a time into them. They were even more comfortable than they looked. There were some privileges to being an astronaut after all.
“We’d been for our second pregnancy check-up. You know, scans and tests and such. He loved that—the science of natural events. How you could see even more of the wonder of nature. We were laughing and joking and on our way back to the car when ... when he saved me. And you.”
Sarina was in a daze. “He saved you?”
Her mother nodded. “Neither of us saw the van—it was going too fast of course, but you don’t have time to do anything. He ... he shoved me out of the way. I stumbled and fell, and at the time I thought I’d lost you. I remember hearing a car screech and I heard other people on the street scream ... then after that I don’t remember much at all.”
The technician interrupted. “I’m really sorry,” she said gently. “We have to go and suit up. It’s almost launch time.”
Sarina grabbed the drawing from the bench. “May I take this with me?”
The technician smiled. “Under the circumstances, I can hardly say no, can I?” She turned and beckoned Sarina to follow.
Sarina clutched the drawing to her chest with one hand, held her mother’s with the other, and walked out of the room.
~ 74 ~
Countdown
The rest of the preparation passed in a blur. They’d stepped back out into the main room, where Professor Malden had also changed and was in earnest discussion with another well-built man in a launch suit. They stood next to Professor Harrison and Nathan, who was soaking everything up wide-eyed, and gaping at the other man. Sarina guessed he was the astronaut, Chris Hadfield. She’d imagined a cold, stern military-type scientist, but he seemed relaxed and chatty with the other three. He must have seen her out of the corner of his eye, because he excused himself and moved to meet her.
“Miss Sarina Metcalfe?” He gave her a deep smile, and held out his hand. She shook his hand—warm, and gentle yet firm at the same time. “I’ll be doing my best to look after you and the Prof on the way up and on the way down. It will be my pleasure to assist you in any way I can: after what I witnessed on your live broadcast, I think we can all learn a thing or two from you. But let’s save the world first, eh? I’ll let you get into your launch suit, so you don’t have to spend any more time parading around in your space underwear.” He bowed ceremoniously, still smiling, and walked back to the others. How did these people stay so calm? She shook her head. Now was not the time for doubt, for uncertainty or intimidation—she and Professor Malden had a job to do. A big one. She’d taken a deep breath and followed the technician to where a smaller launch suit was hanging.
And now they were in the rocket, and preparing to take-off for the six-hour trip.
Colonel Chris Hadfield—who had insisted she call him Chris even after she found out he was a real Colonel—was busy with messages and switches and keyboards and keypads and then people were fussing around in a final blur of activity making her head spin and the door was closed and she was holding her breath and the lights flashed and machines rumbled and a low growling noise broke out from deep below and then there was a lull before someone started to countdown then the rocket shuddered violently and the brutal thunder kicked her from underneath and she lost consciousness—
“Sarina?” A voice in her ear. Coming through something that sounded like a radio. Where was she? She opened her eyes to a bank of dials and screens and blinking green lights. Outside, what looked like a window was black. She tried to turn her head, but couldn’t. Some huge weight had pinned her entire body down in her seat.
She forced her eyes to move and saw two men squeezed in next to her. They were positioned in a semi-circle. The man in the middle was the astronaut, Chris Hadfield, she remembered. They were in a rocket, and on their way to save the world. Which sounded quite implausible when you put it like that. She could see past Colonel Hadfield to Professor Malden, who was still out for the count.
“He might be out for a while. He’s not as young as you, but he’ll be okay. You’ll be pleased to know everything has gone very smoothly, and we should be there in about four hours.”
He may as well have been a cabin attendant on a routine flight: The local time on the International Space Station is—she realised she had no idea what time zone they used, and that Nathan would chide her for that—around four-thirty am. Shortly we will be floating breakfast to you. Please remain seated at all times, as there is nowhere for anyone to walk or stand up. If we encounter turbulence ... you’re on your own.
Chris Hadfield was smiling at her. “Perhaps we can get to know one another, since there’s not much else for us to do over the next four hours. All you have to do is talk—the radio is voice-activated.”
She realised the only thing she could do was talk—nothing else would move. “My friend Nathan showed me your video. I really liked it.” Nathan hadn’t shut up about his hero, who had made history posting YouTube videos from space, the most famous of which was one where he played guitar and sang an old song about some astronaut guy called Major Tom. But she was telling the truth: she really had liked the song, and the video.
He grinned through his spacesuit’s helmet bubble. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? Over thirty-five years of service to space science, and this being my fourth trip into space, and I’m more well-known for doing a bad cover-version.”
The Dreamer Chronicles Trilogy Boxed Set Vol I - III: A Sci-Fi Parallel Universe Adventure (The Dreamer Chronicles - Science Fiction For Kids And Adults) Page 96
