“I can,” X said, and unlike Marco’s claim, Stacy saw no doubt in X’s clear, hazel eyes. He walked to the far side of the cabin, opened a panel, and slid out a knee-high spool of black cord. He unwound some of the pencil-thin line and held it up. It glittered in dark blues and purples in the bright light as if its surface were mica.
“If I use a freefall bungee,” X said as he slid the cord through his fingers, “it will absorb the extra energy and release it in an uncontrollable manner, shooting them either into us or past us.” He unhooked the end of the spool and drew the line out. “Shooting past us in that mess of debris, they could easily hit something. Right now they’re relative to the debris. When we change their course and speed, they could easily encounter collisions. We have to bring them out in a controlled manner behind us, so we clear debris for them.” He held up the luminous line. “This is made from synthesized spider silk.” It bent liquidly in his fingers. “As tough as a steel cable six times thicker, yet it’s soft and pliable. With this as my trailing line on an air-bearing deployment system, I can make the shot.”
Stacy took the end of the cord, sliding its cool softness through her fingers. “Okay, so how do we deploy the net?”
X said, “We’ll have to use the standard rocket pack to vector and deploy the net. As we pull away,” X held up the cord, “I keep this playing out, slowly putting the brakes on the spool, speeding up the target and giving the folks inside a somewhat smooth acceleration up to our speed.”
“That’s not going to be easy to pull off,” Stacy said.
X shrugged. “Those folks are as good as home already.” He looked over Stacy’s shoulder. “Marco…”
Marco lifted his chin in acknowledgement.
“Get me as close as you can. I’ll net it and bring them home.”
A slightly doubtful scowl formed on Marco’s face as he said, “I’ll get you close…” He fell silent, but Stacy could see he wanted to say more. She felt the same thing. …but there’s no way you’re going to make that shot.
X lifted the spool onto its side and rolled it to the back of the cabin to the gunnery chair hatch in the floor. He opened the hatch, climbed down, and drew the spool in after him like a squirrel loading an oversized nut into the hollow of a tree.
“When do we need to launch?” Stacy asked Marco.
Marco turned back to the Nav-Con, tapped it a few times, and looked back to her. “We have to be en route in seven minutes.”
“Let’s get locked and loaded folks,” Stacy said clapping her hands together. The other members of the team moved to the jump seats as Marco walked into the cockpit. As Stacy strapped herself in, she felt the docking couplers let go, freeing the warthog from the gravity drum.
Stacy braced herself as the flipping weightlessness came to her belly and shoulders and her feet floated free of the floor. No matter how many times she experienced it, she hated the first few seconds of nerve-trilling weightlessness. Eyes closed, she let her breath out slowly as she tugged her harness tighter.
“You’re not having trouble with the weightlessness are you O.C.?”
Turning to the voice, she found Horace giving her a ribbing smile.
“Apparently screwing a teammate keeps you from feeling the weightlessness so bad,” she said to him, keeping her eyes flat. Horace paled as she heard Jacqueline chuckle from across the cabin.
The genuine hurt in the consummate player’s expression surprised her. Perhaps Horace felt more for Adanna than she’d guessed.
Despite the moment, Stacy couldn’t contain herself. “I don’t need shit like this right now.” She looked to Adanna, whose eyes dropped to the floor. “You both know that. We’re up for review. A lot of eyes are on us, and you two are playing grab ass behind my back.”
“There’re a lot of men and women on the Rhadamanthus to blow off steam with. I mean what the hell?” But even as she said it, she understood that somehow the frosty Adanna and the hustler in Horace had gravitated into something that neither had experienced before, and it had been powerful enough to risk their positions on the team.
Horace said, “O.C., I just want to say that I wouldn’t put my career at risk over something casual—”
A faint smile flickered on Adanna’s lips.
“I don’t damn well want to hear it right now, Horace,” Stacy said, regretting having brought it up at all. “One of you is going when we get back, but…” Stacy let her frustrated anger fade, “I’m glad it wasn’t just a casual fling.”
When Stacy looked to Adanna, an uncharacteristically bashful smile crossed the young woman’s face. “It hasn’t been casual for months O.C.”
Stacy shook her head. “Months? Wonderful.” She looked at the other team members. They all looked away. Her accusing tone mixed with disbelief, she said, “You all knew.” Before anyone could speak, she held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear another word.”
Chapter Five
Drifting in darkness, Leif bumped into something yielding, which he assumed to be Phillip, and floated back into nothingness. He could feel the cold, now surely nearing negative two hundred Celsius, leaching the heat from him. He turned the valve on his oxygen slightly, and the extra air, tinged with the fresh-vinyl smell of the soft-edged mask, allowed his body to warm itself.
More comfortable, his mind wandered again to Sarah. He recalled her green eyes, beautiful even in the final storm. Their argument had been such a foolish waste of that last moment. If only he’d known. If only he hadn’t been so stupid about… What they’d argued about, forgotten in the heat of the moment, came back to him like a sledgehammer. A baby… a son or daughter… gone. He would never know what sort of child it would have been. Bold like his father? Quiet like him? Tears filled his eyes, pooling in the zero G. Wiping them away, he shoved the thoughts of the child out. His subconscious, seemingly intent on torturing him, brought him to the first moment he’d been captured by her storm-sea eyes. Such a fierce beauty. So sincerely herself.
His first day at MIT, two months after leaving the Army, he walked among the boisterous eighteen-year-olds wishing he’d chosen to live off-campus. He felt out of place in the pine-cleaner and sunscreen scented hallway. Reaching his assigned room, he pushed the door open. A tall young man, whose angled, gangly features would one day be considered ruggedly handsome, stood in the center of the small space.
He held out his hand. “I’m Ian.”
Leif shook his hand, only then noticing a woman with pale skin and long, red hair sitting at one of the two desks.
Ian indicated the woman with his thumb, “That’s my sister, Sarah.”
As she turned to look at him, her hair drew over her shoulder, catching the light as if liquefied fire, silk infused with magma. When the illuminating heat of her jade-green eyes caught his, he knew he’d love her the rest of his life.
“She’s a chem sophomore,” Ian said with the dismissive tone of a younger brother.
Leif, feeling as though he didn’t have the strength to stand, faltered onto the bare mattress. He’d long since forgotten what he’d said to her. He did, however, remember every detail of her, every shift and expression in those first few moments. His heart had hammered in his chest. It was as though he’d never seen a beautiful woman before that moment.
The day after he met her, he saw her walking hand in hand with an athletic man. As they parted ways, she kissed him on his unshaven cheek. Witnessing that small peck, Leif felt a crushing hopelessness. After a few agonizing days, he swore to himself he would put her out of his mind. It was an oath he failed to keep within a few moments.
On an early December night, as he left the physics department in the dark, his breath billowing in the cold air, he saw her walking across the courtyard. Snow-scented wind gusted her hair behind her. He jogged to catch up with her, and as he approached, she turned on him, her eyes wary.
“Hey,” he’d said, “where are you going by yourself in the dark?” and felt as though it was the creepiest thing he’d ever said.
Whe
n she saw who he was, she smiled politely and said, “I’m going to my boyfriend’s place.”
Leif held out his arm, desperate to put her at ease. “We best make sure you get there safely then.”
As she shoved his arm aside, her smile became a bit more sincere. She walked on.
He ran a few steps to catch up with her. As he walked with her, he stole glances at the curve of her hip and the delicate shape of her shoulders and scarf-wrapped neck. He could think of nothing to say.
The gusting wind flushed her hair around her face, and she drew it away from her lips with nimble fingers. With each step, with every word she spoke, his heart quickened until it pounded in his chest with hope and fear. They’d walked in silence for some time, until he—after glancing at her body again—found her staring at him with darkness in her eyes. He looked quickly to the path ahead.
Her tone now reserved, she asked, “Why did you come to MIT?”
“To study engineering.”
“Which discipline?”
“Mechanical mostly, but particle physics will be important.”
“Particle physics? Important to what?”
“I want to develop weapons systems.”
The look she gave him was exactly why men go into poetry and arts majors; women don’t dream of marrying weapons engineers.
She said, “Don’t you think there’s not much call for weapons these days?”
He nodded. “Yes. As long as they don’t come back.”
“They won’t come back.”
“I would love for that to be true, but we can’t really count on that can we?”
She was silent for a few steps before saying, “No, we can’t.” Then she sighed, “I suppose even people like you have a place in the world.”
People like me.
He considered challenging the comment but, knowing it would do no good, let it go.
They walked along in silence, seeming to have nothing more to discuss. In the gap he felt the urge to talk about his father, to justify his vision for a super-weapon based on the limitations of light speed, which could prevent billions of deaths. He remained silent, afraid talking about his father would come across as bragging.
Instead he settled on, “What do you plan to do with your Chemistry?”
She shrugged, “Not totally sure yet.”
He felt that she was the kind of woman who understood herself and what she wanted in life perfectly. In her lack of further discussion, he felt a clear message: she had no interest in him. Standing in dumbfounded silence, he felt something invaluable slipping out of reach.
“My dad was a Hammerhead.” It leapt from him the moment his mind touched on it, and he felt like a kid on a playground, chest out, thumbs in armpits, one tooth missing.
She stopped walking. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you messing with me?”
“No.”
“I thought they were all dead.”
“He’s one of the last.”
“It’s not… Holt?”
He nodded.
“Wait… You’re Leif Holt?”
He shrugged, but she’d brightened, and in that smile he held his hope close.
“Oh my God,” she said covering her mouth with her hands. “How did I not recognize you?” She touched his forearm, and he felt his face flush with that slight contact. “I remember seeing you on TV,” she looked him over, and a brilliant smile came finally to her face, “I had a bit of a crush on you.”
He thought he might fall over.
She blushed, and covered with, “But I was only sixteen. What do we know at sixteen?”
He let out a quiet laugh in the uncomfortable silence.
She laughed as well, and said, her tone had gone from a position of authority to unsureness, “But look at you now.”
But look at me now? What kind of a mess do I look like to her?
“Where’d that skinny kid go? You look more like your father than yourself.”
Whether it was a desperate attempt to keep the conversation rolling or the wash of emotions she brought out in him, he said, “I had a bit of a thing for Stacy Zack.”
“The special forces woman you saved?”
“Well, I didn’t really do the saving, that was my dad’s doing.”
“That’s not how the newsfeeds told it.”
Her easy smile returned at that, which made him feel wonderful. “You’ve seen her. She’s a badass. So I started working out in the hopes of catching up to her.”
“Did it work?”
He looked down at Sarah’s delicate fingers, so much different than Stacy’s more compact hands. He laughed with the kind of honest humor one has in the face of reality. “Not in the slightest, but it became a bit of a habit for me, and I stuck with it.”
She scowled as she looked him over. “It suits you.”
“Too bad you have a boyfriend I suppose.” He couldn’t believe he’d been bold enough to say it, but having done so, didn’t really regret it.
Blushing, she looked away, shrugged, and said, “Well, I better get going.”
Chiding himself for speaking so impulsively, he jogged to catch up to her. When he reached her, the look she gave him held renewed distrust.
He said, “I told you I’d walk you, and I will.”
“I don’t need a protector you know.”
“I’m only here to protect you from boredom.”
The wit appeared to fall dead on her, but after a time, they returned to simple conversation.
Approaching a gated complex of condominiums, she stopped and said, “Well here we are.” She smiled and touched his elbow. “Thanks for walking with me.”
A massive fracture of his life rose before him with two very different paths—one with her and one without. His heart pounded in his chest, and his arms and shoulders went light. He felt dizzy.
If you let her walk away from you right now, you’ll regret it forever.
He reached out to her, pulled her to him, and kissed her. Her cold, soft lips parted. As the heat of her tongue brushed his, her fingers slid into his hair in tingling trails of nails on skin. For a moment, he experienced nothing save her, not even the ground under his feet.
She shoved him away. Out of the darkness, her hand cracked across his face. The quickness of his heart and the force of the slap caused him to stumble backward. His heel caught on a root, and he fell backward onto the wet grass.
“Bastard,” she said through gritted teeth. With her eyes narrowed and lips in a slight snarl, she was even more stunning. She kicked his leg. “Don’t ever touch me.”
Putting his hands up, he said, “Okay, I’m sorry,” and remained seated while she pressed the call box, spoke into it, and the gate clacked open. She glared at him one final time as she walked into the complex.
He made his way home, head down, hands in pockets.
Entering his room, he found Ian standing with crossed arms. “What the hell did you do to Sarah?”
All Leif could think to do was ask, “Why?”
“Why? She called me furious, said you were an asshole. When I asked why, she hung up the phone.”
Leif felt sick. “I don’t know; I’m sorry. I must have said something, but I didn’t—.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Leif lied.
Ian stepped up to him, jabbed him in the chest. “Stay away from my sister.”
Leif, taller and stronger than Ian, looked back at the door. He wanted to leave in embarrassment. “Okay, no problem, I never meant to do anything wrong. I’ll give her all the space in the world. I won’t say another word to her.”
Ian shouldered past Leif and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Leif, feeling like a damn fool, sat down on his bed and put his face in his hands.
Falling back onto the mattress, he stared at the ceiling. It had been a stupid thing, and yet he considered that it was good to have taken the risk. He regretted making her feel uncomfortable, but now he knew. He didn’t have to live his life w
ondering what could have been if he’d had the nerve. What could have been was what was. Sarah hated him.
He tried to accept that, but for the next several nights he drifted off to sleep thinking about the brush of her tongue on his. When her fingers ran through his hair, there had been a half-second in which she had drawn him to her. But a half-second wasn’t enough.
Later in the week, while walking under the bare oaks of the south-quad, his attention on a wet leaf stuck to the toe of his boot, he heard a distant man’s voice say, “There’s your brother’s roommate. Holt, right?”
He looked up to find Sarah, eyes livid, pulling her boyfriend down another path.
As she walked him away from Leif, her boyfriend gave an apologetic wave.
She hadn’t told her boyfriend what had happened… but had talked about meeting him. That understanding tortured him as he couldn’t understand what it might mean.
A week later Leif sat studying in his room. The sky framed in the window hung in an even slate of gray, darkening as night came on. A knock sounded on the door. Feeling irritated by the interruption, he tossed his tablet onto the bed and opened the door. Sarah stood in the hallway, arms crossed.
His heart raced.
“Is Ian here?” Her eyes leveled flat hate at him.
“No.” Leif said trying to keep his eyes off of her, feeling as though he had done her a great wrong, but he couldn’t keep himself from stealing glances at her storm-green eyes, and her hair, flustered by the wind.
“Where is he?”
In a quiet, defeated voice, he said, “He went to see a movie.”
Her jaw tightened, and her face reddened. With her fury somehow renewed, he felt sure she would strike out at him again. Stepping back, ready to close the door, he said, “I’m really sorry Sarah. I never meant to—”
“To what?” she asked through her teeth as she stepped into the doorway, up close to him, “ruin my fucking life?”
“It was just a kiss.”
“Everything was going great for Stephan and me.”
Anger awoke in Leif. “I respect that Sarah. I—.”
She balled her hands into fists and, looking up to the ceiling, said, “You don’t get it, do you?”
Hammerhead Resurrection Page 4
