Heaven's War

by David S. Goyer

  So he had had an up-close-and-personal view of the approach of the first Object. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the stunned reactions of the control team when they realized it was heading straight for them.

  Only then had Pav directly disobeyed an order. He had tried to get out of the building and run, and while running, jump onto the back of a truck or a car that was making an escape.

  He hadn’t made it.

  And here he was.

  Sitting on the ground, which did, indeed, look like good old Earth dirt, he kicked off his sandals and rubbed his feet. He wondered how long they were all going to be on Keanu. Weeks? Months? Years?

  The rest of their sorry lives?

  How long would his sandals last? Would he wind up running around barefoot and naked?

  Or would he die of starvation?

  All he had been hearing from the other Bangalores—none of the Brahma control people, though—were rumors that NASA or ISRO would send a rescue ship. How they had any way of knowing that, Pav couldn’t imagine.

  It wasn’t as though they were using their Slates. He had turned his on at various times and wasn’t getting a link from anywhere or anything, not that he’d expected to. He’d disabled the Wi-Fi anyway, to save on battery life.

  Pav knew the batteries on his Slate were running down, that there was no place he would be able to recharge them, and that once they were gone, they were likely gone forever. And along with it, his stories, his pictures, and especially his tunes.

  He would have them in his head, that’s all.

  For now, though, he pulled the Slate out of its case and thumbed the on switch. He was tempted to let the speakers thump and wail, but that might let one of the others know where he was. He was just as tempted to access his private folder of female favorites....

  He didn’t want to see or talk to anyone else right now. He wanted to slip in his earbuds, close his eyes, and pretend he was back in his bedroom in Delhi.

  Or, at least, Vikram Nayar’s big office.

  Thinking about the office got him thinking about Nayar’s attractive secretary, and, without the added spice of his collection of babes, next thing he knew his hand was sliding into his pants. Then he unzipped them. The potential shame of discovery was outweighed by the wicked certainty that he would score the first orgasm on Keanu.

  Talk about your giant leap for mankind—

  What was that?

  Something had flown across his field of view!

  Or had it? The light here was so low—like perpetual twilight—that he couldn’t be sure.

  Carefully returning his half-erect penis to his pants, he scanned the scene...a slightly uneven landscape, part dirt, a few rocks, and some bushes. In the far distance was a hazy suggestion of a wall of some kind.

  But close up? Nothing. No rustling leaves, no chittering birds, no buzzing insects.

  Just the very clear whump of his heart in his chest...and the insane rhythms of Summer Jihad in his buds.

  Nothing else.

  He sat down again. No possible way he was going to resume the quest for the Keanu jack. All he could do was relax, and think about...how the fuck this had happened.

  It was his father’s job, of course. Pav could barely remember the time before Taj joined the space program. He had been a fairly young Indian Air Force pilot, where your long-term goal was to be able to drop a nuke on Karachi or Islamabad, when the Indian Space Research Organization made a deal with the Russians to fly a vyomanaut on a Soyuz, one step toward the building and launch of an indigenous craft of its own.

  Taj and Wing Commander Asahi had been selected...and the whole Radhakrishnan family had relocated to Star City outside Moscow.

  Pav had been eight at the time, and what he remembered most about the new home was that it was cold and dark, and nobody spoke Hindi.

  ISRO sent a small support team to Star City; they were the only people the family could talk to, and not one of them was under the age of twenty-seven. They were forced to depend on each other—perhaps too much, because Pav’s mother, Amita, had fallen in love with...Vikram Nayar. When that got discovered, Taj had thrown her out—and Nayar had, too.

  Amita had taken up with a Russian guy at Star City. And Pav’s life, not especially good at that time, had gotten much, much worse.

  Pav had had to learn Russian in a hurry. His first words were chorny mat—“black ass,” the charming term his Russian classmates had for a person of color.

  Eventually things had gotten better (Russians would still roll over for anyone who could play classical piano, which was Pav’s big skill), though never great, or even good. In fact, at the moment, Pav still thought the insane floating smelly ride in the Object and the crazy weird day on Keanu weren’t as bad as those first months in Russia.

  Another one! Something had definitely hit the fucking ground about ten meters in front of him.

  Pav slowly got to his feet, slipping on the sandals. He was going to have to check this out—

  Carefully, he crossed the distance to the landing spot....

  Two objects lay in the dirt. Pav picked them up...a lipstick and a coin, an American quarter—

  “Boo!”

  He had been ready for it, but he still started. “Goddammit,” he said. Really, it was all he could think to say.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. You’re Pav, right?” It was Rachel, Zack Stewart’s daughter. They had met at least twice back on Earth, but years ago, when she was, like, eleven. She’d grown up and filled out. But so had Pav; he stood almost six feet now.

  “How long have you been watching me?”

  “Not long.” Rachel’s voice was neutral, and in this fucked-up half-light it was impossible for Pav to tell whether she was giving him an I-saw-you-playing-with-yourself smirk.

  “Do you want your things back?” He held out the lipstick and the quarter.

  “Not unless you can show me where I can use them.”

  “Well, I think the quarter’s no good. But you might need that lipstick—”

  “When, for prom?”

  But she took it and jammed it in the pocket of her jeans.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked her.

  “Same as you,” she said, in a voice that was so noncommittal that he began to relax; he hadn’t been caught.

  “Just had to get away?”

  “Duh.” She saw the Slate in his hands. “God, you have music?”

  “For a while.”

  “Can I listen? Who is it?”

  “Summer Jihad.”

  “I know them!”

  “Really.” He didn’t believe her for a second, but he handed over the unit, anyway.

  “Shit, yeah! ‘Blow Me, Blow You,’ ‘Down, Up, Down,’ I’ve got them all on my Slate, too.”

  “Where’s yours?” he said, having to shout a little, because Rachel had the earbuds locked in and was actually dancing around, already immersed in music.

  “Buried it!” she said loudly. “In my mom’s grave!”

  Pav knew all about Megan Stewart’s death, of course; he and his father had been present at the Kennedy Space Center when Zack got the news of the accident...had stayed in the United States to attend the funeral.

  And in Bangalore Control, he had also heard the strange rumors that Megan Stewart had somehow been brought back to life here, on Keanu.

  “Which one?” he said, daring to joke about what was likely a very sensitive subject.

  And he hit home. Rachel removed the earbuds. “There only is one,” she said, suddenly very serious.

  “Well, what happened, then? They were saying all kinds of strange shit....”

  “Such as...”

  “That whoever is running this place had made some kind of copy of her—”

  Rachel was fiercely shaking her head. “No! No, it wasn’t a copy...it was my mother! She came back to life. I talked to her. I mean, she couldn’t fool me.” She was waiting for him to agree with her. “Wouldn’t you know your mother
anywhere?”

  “Not sure,” he said, “but my mother and I—”

  “Fine. Not that I care, but just trust me: She was back.”

  “And...?”

  “She died again.”

  She started to put the earbuds back on, but Pav stopped her. “Then where is she?”

  “We don’t know. I mean, my father said she...she...” Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. “We don’t know, okay? Why don’t you go back to beating off!” And she wrenched his Slate and earbuds away and put them on again.

  Which is why Pav heard the rumble, a groaning vibration that seemed to come from beneath them. It lasted maybe two seconds...but it freaked him out so completely that he forgot his embarrassment.

  “What the hell was that?”

  Rachel blinked and pulled off the buds. “What?”

  “Didn’t you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Wait...” He put an arm out to steady Rachel, and himself. “I thought it was starting again.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Some kind of quake.”

  “I didn’t feel anything.”

  “Well, no, not dancing around like that—”

  “Fine, then.” She shoved the Slate into his stomach.

  “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry. Keep it for a while. I just...felt something. It’s like this whole place shivered.”

  “You’re freaking me out.” She did look terrified. “What do you think is going on? Keanu’s a spaceship...do they even have things like quakes?”

  “It’s really a small planet,” he said, having heard Makali Pillay state this fact half a dozen times. “It not only has quakes, it probably has worse quakes than Earth.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Yeah. We understand earthquakes. An object this size would have a lot of them, just because it’s in a tug-of-war between two really bigger bodies. Earth and the Moon,” he added, unnecessarily, of course. (Her father was an astronaut, too!)

  Rachel stared at him. “What are you, some kind of astro geo guy?”

  He was embarrassed again. He wasn’t all that sure of his facts, for one thing. And he never talked science, ever. He was into music; that was what he talked about, especially with girls.

  Maybe he was just really changing the subject. “You know what it’s like when your family is in the space business. You can’t help hearing things like that.”

  Rachel said, “We should probably go back. My dad used to freak out when I was late coming home, and that was in Houston.” She smiled. “Things are a little different here....”

  “I hear you.”

  By silent agreement, they turned and began walking toward the Temple and the others.

  “Hey, what if that wasn’t a quake, though?” Rachel said. “What would all that shivering mean?”

  “It would probably be very bad. As in, the place is falling apart...or about to change, and if it changes, it’s not likely to be good for humans.”

  “You’re not very cheerful, Pav.”

  “Not lately.”

  ARRIVAL DAY: HARLEY

  The last thing Weldon said to Harley Drake, while helping Harley out of his wheelchair and onto a mat of some kind of leaves that Sasha had arranged, was, “Stick with me tomorrow.”

  “I ain’t going anywhere, Shane.”

  “You know what I mean. We’ve got a lot of folks who’ve gotten through the first day like stunned cattle. They’re going to be more agitated tomorrow, once it sinks in that we’re stuck here.”

  “Didn’t you listen to Zack? We aren’t necessarily stuck here, my friend.”

  “Stewart is a goddamn optimist,” Weldon said, using a tone more appropriate to describing him as registered sex offender. “These access vents could be twenty clicks away, across a frozen vacuum we can’t possibly cross.”

  “Or they could be ten clicks away, or right next door, if we just find the right passage.”

  “And even if we get to the next habitat, then what? We’ve only seen one, and aside from food, water, and one useless building, it doesn’t have much. Why would you assume you’re going to find Keanu mission control?”

  “Does it hurt to give people hope?”

  “Not until they realize it’s bullshit, and then it hurts a whole lot.”

  “So they’ll be hurting later rather than sooner.”

  He was flat on his back now, and Jesus, did it feel good.

  “Are you fucking arguing with me, Harls?” Weldon and Harley had always had a commander-pilot relationship, with Weldon in the commander’s seat. Which was funny, because Harley’s chops and flying experience were substantially more varied and flashy...but Weldon had commanded Marine units, then moved into NASA management. Harley had commanded an airplane and did not enjoy telling other people what to do.

  “Just helping you shape your argument, my friend.” He was troubled by Weldon’s reversals on the subject. Usually, once consensus was reached, he was Mr. Consistent. “Besides, didn’t you sign on to Zack’s bit about sending a signal?”

  Weldon chose not to answer, finding another distraction.

  Which was fine with Harley. They were all too worn out and stressed to have rational discussions. What they needed was sleep.

  Assuming that was possible on the slatelike floor, even with the “cushion” Sasha had so thoughtfully provided. “You’re too good to me,” he had told her. Harley was, in fact, astonished to realize that he and the woman from Yale had been inseparable since the Keanu crisis went critical...four days ago?

  “Oh, don’t worry: I know,” she said, rubbing a smudge of dirt off her face.

  “What I can’t figure out is why.” He knew this was a stupid question. If she starts asking herself that, she’ll be gone!

  “You mean, why is this goddess of a woman spending all her time with...?” She made a comic gesture toward Harley, including his useless legs.

  “I know I’ve got tons of charm, but—”

  “Well, sure. And fame. Let’s not forget the fame.”

  “Yeah, me and your local member of the state assembly. Can you name him?”

  “Her. Actually, I can.” She blinked, and he couldn’t tell whether she was joking. “But I take your point.” She thought for a moment. “Are you at least rich?”

  “I make a living.” He had a pension and a little money put away in an IRA. No significant property, no anticipated inheritance.

  And no sense of just how and why a casual conversation had turned into a game of Where Is This Relationship Going?

  “Don’t worry, I have money.” She smiled.

  “The question remains.”

  “Well...maybe I was just between boyfriends.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “And you are kind of cute and funny.” She actually reached down to muss his hair. “Aren’t you just totally fucking tired, though?”

  “I’ll shut up.” Just in time, too.

  The moment Sasha was on the mat next to him, however, she said, “What do you mean, other vents and habitats?”

  So he told her. And was gratified by her interest. In spite of his public position supporting Zack, fatigue, or innate pessimism, had convinced him that Weldon was essentially correct: Zack was giving them false hope. They were trapped here inside Keanu and would die sooner rather than later...new victims of the space age, like the Challenger and Columbia crews...just more numerous. Even getting back in touch with mission control—hell, anyone on Earth—meant little.

  Barring some miracle, Keanu was where they would spend the rest of their lives. The challenge was to make that time less than “nasty, brutish, and short.”

  Food, water, consumables—that was one major and likely ongoing challenge. And, in spite of what Zack Stewart had pitched, lack of rescue, lack of hope.

  No one was talking about danger! About the fact that one of the first astronauts to enter Keanu had actually been killed...and that two of the othe
rs hadn’t survived the mission, either.

  They’d been brought here against their will. Told nothing. Helped in no way that he could see, other than the simple fact that the environment wasn’t immediately fatal.

  “Hey!” Sasha said. “Look who’s here!”

  Camilla had approached them. The Brazilian girl looked unfazed by the suicide or accident or whatever she thought had happened.

  “Hi!” Harley said, in his best tourist-friendly voice. He knew Camilla didn’t speak English.

  Then the girl rattled off a phrase in a language that Harley recognized. “Is that German?”

  “Yep,” Sasha said, and spoke quickly to Camilla. “I did two years of grad work in Geneva. I’m pretty fluent.”

  “Lucky for her.”

  Sasha didn’t miss the sarcasm. “Come on, she’s nine years old and the only person who speaks Portuguese is that weird Russian woman. Would you like that?”

  “No,” Harley said, feeling selfish. He also felt that feeling selfish was a survival mechanism. “But I like so little these days.”

  “Ha,” Sasha said. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

  Harley accepted the new reality: He and Sasha were Camilla’s adoptive parents, much as the two of them had served in that role for Rachel Stewart back in mission control...four days ago.

  Four days, or an entire lifetime.

  As they reentered the cool, theoretically safer interior of the Temple, Harley noticed that Camilla was scratching at a place on the back of her left arm. Even a quick glance confirmed that it was lumpy and inflamed. “What happened there?” he said to Sasha, who had seen it, too.

  “Bug bite, I guess.”

  It wasn’t until they were all resting on their sides and backs, fighting off sleep, that Harley asked himself:

  What bug?

  Part Three

  To the people on Keanu:

  My name is Taj Radhakrishnan. I was the commander of the Brahma mission to the Near-Earth Object Keanu. My vehicle was destroyed two days after landing, two days after my crew and I joined Commander Stewart’s team in the first explorations of Keanu’s interior.