The Far Shore

by Glenn Damato

  21:16:38 PCT 16 Taurus 53

  Is that some kind of date and time? It goes to thirty-nine then forty then forty-one as I watch—definitely a clock. But twenty-one hours? After nine at night?

  “This can’t be right,” I mumble.

  The technician chuckles. “You’re on Mars time, my love.”

  Shuko sticks his head through the access. “Hello!”

  Paige and Mikki follow and take the seats behind me. They’re close enough to touch my head. The control center seems to shrink as more people enter. Confined in this little place for forty-two days? No, much longer than that—until we build some sort of housing structure on the surface of Mars. How long will that take?

  The mamina positions a black elastic cap around everyone’s head to hold a microphone and earpiece. She shows me a round button on the left edge of the nav panel. “This is your com VHF voice channel, and it’s pre-set. Push this to talk. You’re linked to launch control and the other five spacecraft.”

  Ryder quietly positions Alison into her seat. How did he get her down that little hatch? I turn toward her as far as I can and force a smile. Her eyes are open but she’s not seeing anything at all.

  “Whoa, that’s tight!” Ryder complains, tugging at his harness.

  Mamina tells him, “It’s a big rocket.”

  She says into the com, “Launch control, Liberty. Closing out the cabin.”

  “Copy, Liberty.”

  The male tech places his hand on my shoulder. He whispers into my ear, “Launch control, Liberty. VHF voice check.”

  I repeat the words, but forget to press the push-to-talk. I try again.

  David’s words explode in my ear. “Voice check loud and clear, Liberty.”

  The tech squeezes my hand. “You’re doing beautifully, my precious love.” He indicates three display screens on the main panel. “You got sight angles at ninety degrees, two-seventy, and straight down. And a window seat. Enjoy the view.”

  Both techs stare at us for a few seconds then vanish into the equipment bay. There’s a faint thud followed by two clicks, then a second thud from far away.

  “Liberty, confirm both airlock hatches indicate shut.” It’s David’s voice again.

  Shuko jerks his head left and right searching for the indicator. He nods, and I repeat into the com, “Liberty . . . I mean, launch control, hatches indicate shut.”

  “Liberty, you should now be in recirc mode. In a few seconds your GNC will start to gradually drop cabin pressure. It should stabilize at seventy-five kp.”

  “Recirc mode,” I repeat. I ask Shuko, “What does that mean?”

  He runs his eyes over his panel and shrugs.

  Along with the outside vids, the nav panel has a flat rectangle screen displaying continuously changing information. BYPASSED and CANCELED up and down, absolutely everywhere. The warning panel has a similar screen, with too many CAUTION messages to count.

  “David, all these warnings . . .”

  “Ignore them. Tanking’s completed! Soon on your way.”

  Something’s happening far above us. Out the topmost window, a meter overhead, a thin line of daylight? It’s wider—the ceiling a hundred meters above us splits into two huge pieces that separate left and right. Clear sky, pale blue because the sun isn’t up yet, with cloud wisps the orange color of dawn.

  Shuko peers upward, too. “They dropped the tops of the dummy tanks straight into the ocean.”

  Crack crack crack crack crack . . . far-off gunfire? Curls of smoke drift past our windows.

  “David . . .”

  “Explosive bolts, should have warned you!”

  A female voice on the com yells, “Tower stations stand by! Release! Release! Release!”

  BA-BOOM . . . everything jerks sideways, as if the whole rocket and support structure just jumped free. The control center jolts to the right as the ship rolls. A distant rumble of machinery comes through the seats and vibrates my spine.

  Ryder asks, “Are we there yet?”

  “Liberty, you’re going to feel some motion,” David tells us.

  Mikki shouts, “Yeah, no shit!”

  A deeper, brawnier vibration shakes us. The com announces, “Commencing tower rotate at zero seven four two local.”

  “This is it,” Shuko mutters.

  “Liberty, be aware we got some uninvited guests out there,” reports David. “There’s that cruiser on us since last night, and now there’s a couple more. They’re getting nosy. Just ignore them.”

  Paige blurts, “Gonna be a problem?”

  “Thumbs up their asses,” David answers. “They don’t know what we are. Our transmissions are encrypted. By the time they figure anything out, you’ll be far away. We’re turning the convoy into the wind. Just expect them to take a closer look as the tower comes up.”

  I crane my neck to see out the window to my left. It will become a downward view when the spacecraft is vertical. The inside of the ship moves backwards—or it seems that way, because the massive cradle that supports the rocket is pivoting on end in order to stand the spacecraft upright.

  A spotter! A big one, with a single red star. It hovers like a wasp just outside the top window and peers in at us.

  Mikki mumbles, “Hello, there.”

  Ryder thrusts out his middle finger.

  Out my side window, the top deck of the ship. The relative motion sends it downward and backwards. The ocean! Hundreds of waves roll in the same direction and the wind beats up white foam. The ship runs fast, the water slicing past in a blur. The spacecraft heaves to the right and rumbles like a beast confined in a cage. The structure transmits growls and tremors on every roll.

  Mikki murmurs, “Slow down, please.”

  Ryder asks, “How long until we reach vertical?”

  “Fifteen minutes,” answers David on the com.

  Three silver and black ships close by—the military cruisers. On the right, most of the far window is blocked by Shuko and his seat. The ship David called Enterprise is over his shoulder, small and far away, but close enough to tell that their launch tower is about forty-five degrees up. My vid panels show more ships far behind us, plus swarms of military spotters darting everywhere. The one on our window watches with a black insect eye.

  The steel lattice supporting the rocket rotates steadily higher. As the tilt grows steeper our seats recline further backwards. The center of gravity of the ship also rises. That means the rocking motion becomes an enormous upside-down pendulum. Worse, every time the spacecraft reaches the extreme left or right side of the swing, the whole rocket stack jolts inside the cradle as if it’s about to break free and fall apart.

  Big Fucking Rocket.

  Ryder yells, “I want to shake the hand of whoever came up with this idea!” He’s smiling but his words shiver.

  The rocket vents gas and the wind blows it away in delicate streams. Every time the ship rolls the tower sways a little bit farther. What’s it going to be like when we’re vertical?

  “We’re going to tip right over,” Mikki mumbles.

  “We’re fine!” I shout back. “Look at Enterprise! They’re straight up!”

  “Keep your cool,” David’s tells us. “Cristina, you see the snap launch icon? It’s at the lower left corner of the nav panel.”

  “See it!”

  “It’ll be enabled a few seconds after you reach vertical.”

  Loud panting from behind, audible even over the creaking and the wind. I loosen my harness and twist around. Mikki’s eyes are closed, and her hands clutch the sides of her seat so hard her fingers are pink.

  “Mikki! You okay?”

  No answer, just rapid huffs and wheezes. Shuko watches her too. “Hyperventilating,” he declares. “A precursor to panic attack.”

  The ship leans a ridiculous amount to the left. Beyond the window, a hundred meters below, a wall of blue and pink wind-beaten waves. I grab the edge of my seat.

  Mikki gasps. She sputters “Fuck this shit,” between pants. Alison
looks like she’s about to fall asleep again. Why didn’t they sedate us all? Not a good idea; we’re supposed to be alert in case something goes wrong.

  Ryder reaches out for Mikki’s forearm but his own straps prevent him from moving far enough. He tells her, “Mikki, relax, think about good things. We can all use that bottle of wine right now.”

  She snarls, “Fuck,” draws a breath, then, “You!”

  Shuko turns to me. “I can sedate her but I need to get the kit.”

  David orders, “Stay in your seat!”

  The tilt must be over half-way to vertical. What if the constant rolling causes one of the fuel or oxygen tanks to burst?

  Mikki gasps deep and hard and her eyes screw even more tightly shut. She fumbles with her restraint harness. “Getting out of here . . . before . . . whole thing falls over.”

  Ryder growls, “Mick, no!”

  I release my harness, twist backwards, reach behind me and pull her hand away from her release. I cover it with my own hand so she can’t get at it. But I can’t stay like this. I shout over the racket of the creaking launch tower, “I know what we’re going to do! We’re going to sing!”

  That grabs her attention. She pushes out each word. “You . . . fucking . . . crazy?”

  Paige cries, “Hey, let’s dance!”

  “We’re going to sing!” I tell them. “And yes, you will sing with me, Mikki. Yes you will. Just follow my lead.”

  Shuko says, “Singing calms. Defeats the fear response. Sing, Cristina!”

  “Got no wine!” Ryder calls out. “So yeah, sing!”

  Sing what? The control center jolts to the right. Paige shrieks.

  Magistrado Geraldo Diaz.

  What did he say? You have a beautiful voice, Cristina Flores.

  I whisper, “This is for you, hijo de puta.”

  I reach back as far as possible. “Mikki! Open your eyes.”

  Rapid head shake.

  “I think you can if you try. Look at me. What’s your favorite song?”

  Another head shake. Beads of sweat fly from her brow.

  “Then we'll make one up. But you're gonna have to help me. My singing ain’t great.”

  Think! Find some words, find a rhythm. Better yet, feel.

  I face forward. Ignore the endless stream of yellow WARNING messages. I shout, “Are we ready?”

  Ryder responds, “Sing it, sister!”

  The words come on their own.

  “On this day I am free! I can’t wait what my eyes will see!”

  Ryder repeats, adding his own rhythm, “On this day I am free! Can't wait what my eyes will see!”

  “I think we have it, Mikki! Let’s do this together.”

  Her eyes open a bit. I sing the words slowly so Ryder can keep up.

  On this day I am free!

  I can't wait what my eyes will see

  I dream about it wherever I may be

  It's a day that belongs to me

  On this day I am free!

  Paige and Shuko join in. The words flow out of my head.

  On this day I am free!

  I flew across the clear blue sky

  Never knew I could climb so high

  I close my eyes and begin to cry

  On this day I am free!

  Mikki moves her lips and mouths the words. No more panting. She’s singing, or trying hard.

  On this day I am free!

  Smile and look me in the eye

  If this is the day I am to die

  I know in my heart the reason why

  On this day I am free

  No matter what happens to me

  On this day I am free!

  Ryder screams out the last line two more times as Paige and Shuko applaud. Mikki grimaces at me but her breath is steady.

  I press down on her harness release and lock her eyes to mine. “On this day . . .”

  “On this day I am free,” we say together.

  Ryder yells, “We’re free! Now let’s go!”

  The rising sun glistens off the wave tops and turns the ocean foam pink. Still more pops and groans with every roll. Will there be an indication when the cradle is vertical? It has to be close.

  I squeeze Mikki’s hand, turn back into my seat and tighten my harness. “David!” I say into the com. “Do you hear me?”

  “Cristina! Tower at eight six degrees. You’re almost there!”

  He doesn’t sound like David. The voice that’s always calm now trembles.

  Paige cries out, “Look!”

  They turn toward the right-side window, which I can’t see. Ryder’s fist punches the air and he shouts, “Go!”

  The vid! A bright yellow flash and a wall of churning smoke. White smoke and orange flame swirl across the glistening ocean.

  A female voice on the com reports, “Enterprise, you are away at zero seven fifty-six local.”

  A new vibration hits our rocket and launch tower, a brisk and violent shaking. It’s the distant force of the other rocket transmitted through the air. Will it damage us? Then a BOOM strikes, solid and thunderous, like the roar of a Boeing Skylon on climb-out.

  The snap launch icon changes from gray to green. Active!

  Our turn when? Hit the snap launch now? How much longer before everything breaks apart?

  Another BOOM shakes us viciously. Enterprise rises majestically atop a massive pillar of yellow fire. A mountain of smoke spreads across the water.

  I hit the talk switch. “David! How much longer?”

  No response. I touch the bump of my rosies.

  A third BOOM vibrates through us, the loudest of all. Paige screams.

  Ryder cries, “Shit!”

  On the vid: An enormous fireball of orange and black. My gut tightens into a knot.

  “No!” Paige cries.

  I shout into the com, “David! Hear me?”

  The control center trembles. Ryder’s words are barely audible. “Blew up!”

  Flaming trails arc toward the water. The down-facing vid shows the edge of our ship swept by waves—we’re almost sunk. On the back-facing vid, two silver helicopters land and release a squad of spotters and soldiers.

  I yell, “What’s happening?”

  No answer comes.

  FIFTEEN

  I jab the snap launch icon and scream into the com, “Snap launch! Hear me? Snap launch now!” The navigation panel flashes orange.

  SNAP LAUNCH INITIATED

  RUNNING TMP PRE-SEQUENCE

  I snatch the rosies from of my pocket and wrap them around my fingers.

  Shit is happening. Multiple bangs and knocks from below. Big Fucking Rocket comes alive, rapidly. On the down-facing vid: struts, hoses, cables, and sheets of ice blow off the sides from top down, like a beast casting off the chains of captivity.

  CRACK . . . the entire launch tower falls away, trailing streams of vapor and tumbling shards of ice.

  Four hard, quick thumps. Paige screams. The rosies dig into my knuckles.

  Ryder yells, “Here! We—” But a giant BOOM cuts him off, a thunderous explosion like guaranteed death. My seat lurches upward, then falls backward, up and down again and again, then shakes side to side, more furious by the second.

  The massive rocket below us detonates—just like Enterprise. A fireball comes up fast to engulf us and burn us alive.

  Let it be over quick.

  The roar, the shaking, STOP!

  Another BOOM from below, then another, plenty more shaking—no chance the rocket can take this much stress and stay in one piece. We’re breaking up, that’s certain, I just don’t want to see it or feel it when the full fury of the explosions tear us apart.

  Redness through my eyelids. Sunlight? Is this death?

  I open my eyes. The swirling chaos of wind and fire is below us. Nav panel a jumble of yellow numbers and blinking icons. Altitude twenty-seven hundred meters, numbers changing almost too fast to read. Can’t be true! Three thousand meters, four thousand meters-something.

  My seat jerk
s back and forth as if shaken by a powerful, invisible hand. A force presses my head backwards. Speed, rising speed. A weird sensation, exhilarating and terrifying. The spotter’s gone, torn off by the force of moving air. Flashes of white and pink zip past as we climb through a wispy cloud layer.

  Another vicious rumble from below, plus new shakes and trembles. A boiling orange and black fireball fills the downward vid. The violent tremor subsides to jerking and quivering.

  Ryder screams something happy.

  I yell, “Ten thousand!” but the engine roar swallows my words. The nav panel displays more information than I can process and I can barely read anything because of the shaking. A green message flashes.

  TMP SEQUENCER ON OVERRIDE

  Shuko’s eyes are locked on his panel. He’s supposed to monitor cabin pressure and oxygen partial pressure. Does he remember all the specs?

  Getting a bit harder to breathe! The acceleration presses down on my entire body. The nav panel shows over two G’s and increasing. The ocean is silky smooth. Six fireballs, now far away. Altitude? Passing twenty-five thousand meters, ten times higher than a minute ago. The noise level declines to a dull roar but the side-to-side shudder doesn’t let up.

  The other rockets? One blew up. Should be four more besides us. Ryder points toward the vid screens. The side view shows two white vapor trails topped by yellow flame. He flashes five fingers for five rockets.

  A computer-generated female voice from the GNC panel announces, “Booster shutdown in three, two, one.”

  BOOM!

  Numerous sharp bumps, like a fast-moving bus rushing over potholes. I’m thrown forward hard enough to spray specks of spit across the nav panel. The harness bites into my shoulders.

  Ryder cries out, “Yeah!”

  The GNC declares pleasantly, “J2X ignition in three, two, one.”

  A grumble from below, then I’m shoved backward against my seat. A muscular hum, and acceleration returns. This stage feels different from the booster—a deep, angry drone compared to a savage rumble. The jerking is replaced by relentless vibration. Passing eighty-five kilometers, acceleration three G. I raise my arm a few centimeters. Heavy, as if holding an invisible weight.