by Mark Wandrey
One fine September morning, Aaron joined her for her morning run. She had a hard time keeping up because of the tears in her eyes. It was like watching a bird first learning to fly. Running, jumping, hopping around like a teenager newly in love, Aaron was a man reborn.
That afternoon in their cabin, Minu found him standing by the closet holding his old Chosen uniform. “Credit for your thoughts?” she asked from the door.
“Thinking about going back.”
“I’m sure they’d take you. Good scouts are hard to find.”
“You wouldn’t have a problem with that? Dangerous job.”
“So is flying prototype space planes.”
He grunted and nodded.
“I fell in love with you when you faced death every day, what kind of wife would I be if I tried to keep you from what you loved?”
“Thanks. I don’t think I’m ready to put this back on just yet though,” he admitted and put the uniform back in the closet. “I think I have a horse to get back on first.”
Minu smiled and nodded, but deep in the pit of her stomach the muscles clenched, and the little girl in her mind started to moan piteously.
It was because of those words that Minu was an honored guest, sitting in a comfortable chair in the Groves Industries flight control center, almost five years to the day after her husband lost his legs, once again listening to the controllers talk about orbital insertion.
“His flight track is nominal,” an anonymous voice said over the PA to quiet applause from those assembled. Minu’s oldest friend, Cherise, was sitting next to her, just as nervous, and dozens of the company’s financial backers filled the other chairs. The new space plane, the AX-2, represented more than a financial venture to her family, it was a statement that humanity was returning to space on its own terms.
The Concordia had taught them precious little about the construction of the craft. They had gleaned vast amounts of the technical know-how from the petabytes of data her ancestor, Mindy Harper, had spirited away from their dying world. Ted Hurt had explained a long time ago that it wasn’t truly the ‘sum of human knowledge to that date,’ but it was damned close. And since Mindy was a scientist, she’d targeted scientific knowledge above all else.
The sight of the plane was an emphatic statement to that truth. Minu smiled as she thought, ‘the damned thing looks human!’ It wasn’t nearly as sleek or angular as a Concordian shuttle, or as needle-like as the shuttles from The People the Kaatan carried. The AX-2 had more sweeping curves, a blocky body, and wide, forward-swept wings meant to bite into the atmosphere for control.
Concordian tech relied much more heavily on gravitic technology, while the AX-2 used high-energy, plasma-driven control thrusters and ion propulsion technology that was only a theory before Earth died.
“How’s it look from up there?” Minu asked quietly, knowing only the tiny crystal behind her ear would hear the question.
“I concur with the fight directors,” Lilith answered immediately. “Father’s flight path is nominal.” The knowledge that her daughter was in high orbit, ready to launch a rescue mission at a moment’s notice, assuaged a small amount of Minu’s nervousness.
“Much better control responses than the AX-1,” her husband’s voice came over the PA, clear and crisp, as if he were sitting in the next room. “Spool up on the main drive is much quicker too. We’ve got those ion drives nailed.”
“Roger that, AX-2, ready for first programmed OPT.”
Minu took a deep breath. The Orbital Performance Tests were where things had begun to go wrong last time, even if they hadn’t known it at the time. Micro fractures had developed in the control surfaces, altering the airflow imperceptibly. The craft was so naturally unstable, the computer did most of the flying. The characteristic profiles in the programs couldn’t handle the unnatural disruptions caused by the variance in the flight surfaces, though, which doomed the plane on approach.
For this flight, they had added a web of thousands of microscopic sensors. The Concordian tech was only for monitoring performance and would not be needed on the final version, if everything worked as advertised.
An hour went by as the AX-2 went through its paces. It climbed to higher orbit and descended to lower orbit. Roll, pitch, and yaw were all tested in various combinations, with increasing power settings.
“Kinda like a rollercoaster at Leavenworth!” Aaron joked, making many in the control room laugh. Minu and Cherise sat quietly and listened and waited.
“Ready for de-orbit maneuver,” he announced finally. Minu’s right hand found Cherise’s without thinking.
“Roger that, AX-2. De-orbit in five.”
Five minutes stretched into an eternity as Minu watched the huge displays, one of which showed an over-the-shoulder shot of Aaron in the roomy cockpit working the controls, tapping touch screens, and making notes on a tablet stuck to his thigh.
Like the last time, he was wearing an environmental suit. But unlike last time, this one had many modern Chosen improvements, including an energy dissipation array, up-scaled armor, and strength enhancements. Even with the improvements, it wouldn’t have protected him from injury the first time though, something Minu was painfully aware of.
The door to the room opened, and the familiar figure of Ted Hurt slipped in quietly. Minu released Cherise’s hand and jumped up to give him a nervous hug.
“How’s it going?” he asked after apologizing for being late.
“Fine so far,” she said and led him over to her chair. She gave the random functionary sitting in the chair next to hers the patented ‘death stare,’ and he relinquished his seat to the distinguished elder dean of the University of Tranquility.
“I think half the people in Tranquility are watching on TV,” Ted told her. “About half of those are hoping for a repeat of last time, I’m afraid.”
“Not happening,” Cherise said with more confidence than Minu felt. “That man will get out and flap his arms to land that thing if he has too.”
“Atmospheric interface,” Aaron announced. On the monitor looking over his shoulder, red and white flares of plasma danced across the moliplas windows as the space plane bit into the atmosphere. “Gs are building.”
“Roger that, AX-2. Everything looks nominal.” The reception broke up a little bit, a side effect of the ionization the shuttle caused as it burned back into the atmosphere, then cleared up. “AX-2, prepare to deploy flight surfaces.”
“Standby,” Aaron replied. The cameras showed the delta-wings beginning to push out from the curved hull. The view outside was now light blue instead of the darkness of space, and tiny curls of white ribboned off the sharp edges of the wing. “I’m getting response from the controls, leveling her descent.”
The plane altered its belly-in approach and began flying less like a brick. This was when it had all gone horribly wrong last time.
“Flight characteristics nominal,” the announcer told everyone. Minu gasped and drew in a deep breath. She didn’t know how long she’d been holding it. Ted took one hand and Cherise the other. It helped.
“AX-2, initiate APT.”
“Atmospheric Performance Test is underway.” This test posed a slight risk, considering the catastrophic failure of the AX-1 that had not been stressed as much. But it was also prudent, as the test would further prove to potential customers the stability of the new space plane. And, should the worst happen and a problem develop, the plane would be many miles up, giving them more chances to work through any malfunctions.
On the monitor, the sky pitched from side to side then spun lazily as Aaron put the plane through its final paces. After a minute he announced his opinion. “We’ve got a slight deviation on the port outside aileron, but not more than five percent from nominal. The program is handling it fine.”
“Roger that, AX-2, we see it as well. Engineering says they believe it’s a sensor misreport from the feedback loop.”
“Okay, let’s get this thing on the ground,” Aaron replied. “I
’m getting hungry.”
The room broke out in laughter, and even Minu chuckled despite the tears running down her cheeks. She’d never been prouder of the brave man she’d married. With the plane on approach but working perfectly, most of the tension dissipated.
Minu sat on the edge of her seat and looked out the wide, moliplas vista-window as the AX-2 swept in from the east, effected a wide, graceful turn and lined up on the five-kilometer-long ceramic concrete field.
The field and hangers were the only part of Groves Industries still located in New Jerusalem. Aaron’s father bought the field when it was a dirigible maintenance field going broke after the widespread introduction of the maglev lines that now crisscrossed the planet.
The smooth bottom of the AX-2, now streaked with carbon scoring from reentry, split in three places, and the landing gear smoothly descended and locked into place. A minute later, three puffs of smoke announced the wheels’ contact with the ground, and the plane rolled out and taxied toward the waiting maintenance vehicles. Not far away, a small fleet of leased emergency vehicles sat, unused.
As soon as the AX-2 turned off the taxiway, the room broke out in subdued, then much louder, applause and, finally, cheers. Minu wasn’t there to hear it; she was already halfway down the stairs. As Aaron stepped down from the pilot’s ladder, a fifty-five kilo, red-haired missile crashed into him, almost knocking him back into the still-smoking fuselage of the space plane.
Minu kissed him over and over, her face slick with tears. “You can stop crying now, baby, I’m fine.”
“That’s why I’m crying,” she sobbed and wrapped both arms and legs around him.
He stood there holding her, the ground crew applauding as the press showed up to take some pics of a sentimental moment between the CEO of Groves Industries and his world-famous wife.
* * *
Minu stayed in the back of the conference room and worked on her personal tablet, one from the Kaatan, and kept half an ear open to the discussion underway. The test flight had been a complete success and orders were already rolling in for both the AX-2, now officially dubbed the Groves Industries A-1 Phoenix, and its innovative forced ion power-plant. Agencies ranging from planetary government for both R&D and research to private concerns looking for high speed orbital transport were interested.
Minu looked up when she heard a proposal about a startup in the Boglands that wanted to explore the moons. She smiled privately at that one. Sorry my friends, Romulus is already spoken for. But then another proposal made note of mining on Remus, and she thought that was a good idea.
Her tablet chirped with another email requesting an interview with the wife of CEO Groves. She deleted it, unread. This was Aaron’s time, not hers. She’d jabber at the talking heads in a few weeks once things had calmed down. With any luck, by then, they’d completely leave her alone.
The Chosen were interested in a dozen of the planes, six for the Rangers and six for the service in general. Cherise had mentioned eight, so the number was a pleasant surprise, especially since the Phoenix was too big to fit through a Portal. That relegated them to service on Bellatrix only.
Aaron complained he was not a businessman, but evidence was beginning to prove him wrong. Construction firms all over the planet were beginning work, and the final assembly plant in New Jerusalem was nearly complete. “In six months, we’ll be completing one Phoenix a week,” he announced to the tumultuous applause of the board and visitors. “And the design team tells me they already have two variants in the works, one cargo and one research platform.”
She smiled at the additional applause as others on his team added details and the coming months’ plans began to take shape. All through it, Aaron stood at the head of the conference table, strong and in charge. She could see that his legs were bothering him, but only a little this time. She knew very well how excitement and adrenaline could carry you through almost anything uncomfortable.
Her tablet chirped, and she prepared to delete another solicitation from a journalist, only to find an email from the Plateau Historical Society. She read it with interest.
Mrs. Minu Groves
The Plateau Historical Society would like the chance to visit the ancestral Harper retreat on Sanctuary Island (so named by Mindy Harper in Year 29 of the colonization). A great deal of information is still missing about your storied ancestor from the planetary records. Your previous ancestors have been unwilling to allow us to visit and examine Sanctuary Island and its buildings. It would be a great service to history, and to generations to come, if you were to allow this visit to take place.
Alexandra Porter
Director—Founder Research
Plateau Historical Society
Minu smiled because her father had always called them the Hysterical Society. “They take things way too seriously,” he quipped more than once about some ludicrous request on their part. She had only once seen him get angry with them when they had wanted to do some genetic testing on Minu.
“They go too far with their prying,” Chriso had raged. Her mother had been indifferent. She’d married into the famous family, not been born into it like Minu.
Something interesting had happened at the meeting which caused some excitement and discussion, and she’d missed it while reading the message. With a pang of annoyance, she gave a quick reply. “Yes, contact me and we’ll set it up.”
A few minutes later, she’d completely forgotten about the entire message.
* * *
The celebration gala was subdued, in keeping with the decorum of Groves Industries that Aaron insisted upon. More of a reception than a celebration, it still had more than a few trappings of success. Giant ice sculptures in the shape of the Phoenix adorned both heavily-loaded banquet tables.
A tux-clad Aaron thought those were bad enough, but when he entered the hall with Minu in a green floor-length gown on his arm, he saw a three-meter-tall ice sculpture of himself at the far end.
“What the fuck...” he growled. “I will fire whoever did that, I swear.”
Minu pinched one butt cheek, making him jump slightly. “Go ahead and try. It was me, Mr. Grumblebutt.”
“Minu, why?” As they moved into the hall, the room filled with applause, and digital cameras began to flash, capturing his surprised look forever. The statue was accurate in facial detail, but the figure was much taller than Aaron’s one hundred seventy-five centimeters. The carving leaned back slightly, looking upward, with one hand outstretched toward the window and the stars outside.
He was still shaking his head and trying to speak when Gregg approached. Faye was just behind him, resplendent in a green, floor-length dress that set off her blonde hair perfectly. Gregg wore his Chosen dress uniform with blood red piping down the arms and legs, and three gleaming gold stars on his cuffs. Aaron shook off his annoyance to clasp his friend’s hand. “So,” Gregg said and gestured toward the bigger-than-life sculpture, “do we call you Zephram Cochran now?”
Aaron’s face changed from smile to frown in a second. When he placed the old Earth origin of the name, there was a little flash of anger. “It wasn’t my idea,” he said and shot a couple of daggers with his eyes at his wife before detaching himself and heading for the bar.
“At least we’re not going to have to shoot him with a phaser,” Minu quipped and shrugged.
“I knew the pose was too familiar,” Gregg laughed. Faye looked confused but grinned anyway. She always enjoyed the way the two men went at each other. So like kids, she often thought. “I guess the Cochran sculpture wasn’t such a great idea.”
“I thought it was hilarious.” Minu turned and saw Pip, a plate piled high with shrimp in one hand, a glass of mead in the other.
“You know those shrimp cost forty credits a kilo?” Pip shrugged as he munched, and Minu laughed. “Feels like old home week.”
“How else would it feel?” Cherise asked. Minu hadn’t seen her come up from behind. They laughed and hugged.
“You know, I really m
iss the old days.” The friends exchanged nods.
“You ever wish we could just take off to the frontier for a little side trip?” Gregg asked. Faye looked away, but Minu couldn’t help but smile and lightly sigh.
“I never liked field work until we didn’t do it anymore,” Pip commented around a mouthful of expensive shrimp. Gregg shrugged. He was the only one among them who still got all the field work he wanted. “So, now that you’re going to be stinking rich, what are you going to do with all that money?”
Minu shrugged. First, she didn’t know if all the hard work would convert to real wealth. The intricacies of finance were beyond her. And second, she’d never had a lot of use for money. As Chosen, most of her needs were taken care of. The only significant thing she’d ever bought was her aerocar; her cabin was something she’d inherited from her father. Stinking rich?
“Take a vacation, I guess.”
* * * * *
Chapter 8
February 11th, 534 AE
War College, University of Plateau, Tranquility, Plateau Tribe, Bellatrix
Minu Groves’ birthday came and went in Octember. According to the world’s calendar, she turned thirty-four. But according to her body, she was only twenty-nine. To keep things simple, she continued to acknowledge her subjective age. It was easier than trying to explain that she’d leapfrogged over five years on her home planet.
It was mid-February before Minu saw any of her friends again. As luck would have it, Pip once again made an appearance. She’d just finished a marathon lecture series, the same presentation to three separate classes in the War College, and she was returning to her office. Ariana was at lunch, so the outer office was empty. Minu stopped to hang her floppy hat in the closet before opening the inner door, and she almost jumped out of her skin when she found Pip standing there.
