Survive

by Vera Nazarian

At once, we reach for our gear buckets.

  A few minutes later I’ve managed to put on all my suit components correctly. Putting on the helmet gives me a weird instant of claustrophobia, but the sensation passes as soon as I connect it properly to the suit, and take a deep, steadying breath.

  No air . . . no air.

  Panic!

  Not true. Air will flow just fine, as soon as I plug the hoses into the ports. . . .

  And so, I adjust . . . and twist . . . and snap on . . . and seal . . . and plug things in—breathing shallow and trying not to fog up the visor while the air is still not circulating. Then I put my gloves on. The gloves feel thick and weird on my fingers, overly heavy and cumbersome.

  Helplessness. Panic!

  Cut it out, Gwen, numbskull Lark—ahem, Kassiopei.

  It’s not like I’ll be doing microscopic surgery with these gloves. All I need is to be able to push a few easy buttons.

  When I’m finally done, I tap the button sequence to pressurize the suit, then start the life-support pack. At once a pleasant, cool flow of air starts to flow gently in my face, and the fogged-up interior of my helmet visor clears up.

  I look out through the clear plexiglass—or whatever the Atlantean material is. Everyone is sitting, fully suited, and looking at me.

  Oalla taps at her wrist repeatedly and points at me.

  I stare in momentary confusion. Then I have to remind myself she’s not asking for the time with that classic Earth gesture. No, she means I need to enable my wrist communication system.

  Duh. . . .

  I nod, then raise my arm and press the needed controls.

  Immediately Oalla’s voice sounds from the helmet interior, near my ears. “About time, Gwen. Imperial Lady, let’s go.”

  Oalla engages controls in the center panel with the fingertips of her thick gloves. “Depressurizing cockpit now.” Then she manipulates more controls. I know that part of what she’s doing will cause the plasma shield to fade away. “Opening hatch. Axela, you now have the ship. Xurut, you are second.”

  The viewport to the outside goes dark as the holographic display mode goes off—reminding me we’re inside a small, dark, metal can and these are fake, digital windows. And then the hatch sails upward in perfect silence—not that I would know, being inside the soundproof, airtight space suit.

  Oalla stands up, and carefully climbs out of the cockpit, setting a clear example for me.

  She hops lightly onto the regolith surface, and turns to nod at me. “Your turn. Carefully and slowly, please.”

  I follow her lead, stand up awkwardly, but then feel far more comfortable than I expected in this lighter, near-Earth gravity.

  I climb over the edge of the khepri, then lower myself onto the moon surface.

  My boot makes an immediate footprint impression in the regolith. It probably makes a crunch that no one will ever hear.

  One giant step for Gwenkind. . . .

  And then the other boot.

  Holy crap! I am walking on Mar-Yan!

  I take three careful, slow steps, then look up. I see an alien, black sky overhead. I see Atlantis, low on the horizon, like an oversized Christmas ornament. I squint and try not to look at Hel, looking like a large, round lightbulb, as it burns angry-white at me from on-high, surrounded by the delicate net of the alien grid.

  “Gwen! This way!” Oalla’s voice in my ears is businesslike and commanding. “Follow me, try to use my footprints. The last thing we need is for you to step wrong and twist your ankle.” And she begins walking slowly in the direction of the habitat.

  Fortunately, it is only about a hundred meters away.

  We arrive at the habitat inside its little crater, and I realize, up-close, how small the unit really is.

  The whole thing is the size of a two-car garage. The upper hemisphere portion of it has a small hatch opening on top, and Oalla walks on the roof of the sphere then bends down carefully. She manipulates the locking mechanism and the hatch opens upward, revealing a stairway going down into darkness.

  Oalla steps inside and starts descending. The moment she steps on the first stair, light sensors kick in and I see a faint glow of illumination bloom forth.

  “Come on, Imperial Lady Gwen.”

  I take my first, careful step down.

  “Follow me, keep going.”

  I descend as she tells me, and find myself inside a perfectly spherical chamber.

  There is only one large room. No apparent furnishings, except for a waist-high column in the very center, resembling a podium topped with a control panel. The walls are rounded, the ceiling is rounded, and the floor is rounded. A standing platform rises above the concave floor like a flat, circular shelf. It is attached to the same central podium column. The column cuts through the platform and disappears into the floor of the sphere.

  Oalla and I step off the last rung of the suspended staircase onto the flat platform. “Give me a moment, let me pressurize this place,” Oalla says, approaching the central control panel podium.

  She places her hand on the panel and sings a sequence from inside her suit. At once, the resonance chamber lights up fully and the walls brighten with hair-thin filaments of golden light. The hatch above our heads starts descending and seals us in.

  As soon as the seal is complete, the control panel signals us by lighting up green and gold in a special sequence. “Atmosphere is normalizing,” Oalla tells me inside my helmet.

  Apparently, breathable air is created and then pumped inside through hidden vents in the column near the floor. I cannot hear its hiss, but I can imagine how it must be filling this chamber. . . . According to Oalla, the increase in pressure is reflected in the light code sequence she’s watching on the panel.

  Moments later, it is completed. The control panel lights stop flickering. A large indicator goes solid green.

  Oalla takes off her gloves. She presses the control buttons on her life-support pack then removes her helmet. She takes several deep breaths and smiles calmly at me.

  Here we go. . . .

  I take a steadying breath of my own and carefully remove my gloves, feeling a sensation of cool-to-lukewarm air along my bare skin. Then I disable my portable life-support and take off my helmet.

  Normal, sterile, shipboard air fills my lungs—the same kind of air I used to breathe on the ark-ships.

  I can breathe. I’m alive.

  “Congratulations, Imperial Lady Gwen,” Oalla says. “You managed very well. It is now a little after twelfth hour of Ra and this resonance chamber is fully functional. We made good time and are now ready to proceed with our mission.”

  For the next half-hour Oalla prepares the resonance chamber for my upcoming task. She calls up hovering chairs for us from hidden wall panels, so that we can rest while we wait. Our suits are set up to recycle body waste, so at least there’s no need for a bathroom.

  Next Oalla keys the control panel for advanced voice commands and enables interstellar communication from this console.

  “What about Axela and Xurut?” I ask. “Will they remain in the ship all this time?”

  “Yes, that’s the protocol,” Oalla says, looking up from her work. “We work here, they maintain the ship for us. Don’t worry about them.”

  “Okay.” I nod, watching her enable a holo-grid that rises in a light cube to hover over the panel controls. It’s the same kind of command grid that’s inside the ship.

  At some point Oalla pauses, as if considering. Then she turns in her hover-chair to glance at me with a thoughtful expression.

  “My Imperial Lady Gwen. I know this might be an unusual time to do it, but I want to thank you—on behalf of Kass.”

  I look up from examining my gear. “Oh?”

  Oalla gives me the faintest, particularly meaningful smile. “You’ve made him very happy, you know,” she says. “Ker and I have been talking about it and—well, we can tell. Kass is different now.”

  “Different how?” I say, with a minor twinge of worry.
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  “Different in a good way. As in, good. Happy. Relaxed. The eternal distance and aloofness that he’s borne ever since his death and return from Ae-Leiterra is now diminished. I think you opened up something in him—a healthy will to live, for his own sake. Not just to exist and endure but to live and enjoy life.”

  “Oh, God. . . .” I breathe shallow breaths, sudden emotions stirring my features. “I—I don’t know what to say. Thank you, I suppose. And also, thank you for telling me this! I am so glad he is—or at least you think he is feeling better—”

  “Oh, he’s definitely better.” Oalla makes a sound of amusement. “Married life really agrees with him. But in particular, married life with you. You truly are the love of his life.”

  At her words I feel a sudden pricking burn in my eyes. A lump is forming in the back of my throat and I mustn’t fall apart, not now. I’ve got work to do.

  “Are you okay, Gwen?” Oalla asks in a gentle tone, seeing me struggling emotionally.

  I nod and smile awkwardly, keeping tears at bay. “Sorry, I think these things you brought up—painful things about Aeson—they really affected me. I want to do everything I can for him, to make him happy indeed.”

  “I’ve no doubt that you will—you are. And—sorry, my Imperial Lady, I did not intend to make you upset right now, in fact, the opposite, I wanted to tell you this as heartfelt encouragement.”

  “Oh, I get it,” I whisper, my voice cracking after all. “I . . . love him . . . so much.” And then I take a deep breath and force myself to get a grip, even as Oalla watches me with warmth and sympathy.

  I have work to do.

  Chapter 78

  Good thing we brought small water bottles with us in our gear boxes, because at this rate my voice is parched and I need to prepare myself for the vocal command work ahead.

  It’s now after thirteenth hour on Poseidon, and we’ve entered Noon Ghost Time. The alignment will happen in about half an hour from now. Aeson still hasn’t called.

  Maybe because we’ve just had that highly emotional talk, I am feeling a new pang of worry on his behalf. Is he okay?

  “Oalla,” I say. “Do you think maybe you can try calling him from here yourself? Did he arrive safely on Amrevet? What is it—you called Astroctadra mission control? And Phoebos—that’s his pilot call sign, right?”

  “That’s right.” Oalla nods.

  “And you are Bast? Is that your call sign?”

  “Correct.” And Oalla gives me an amused glance.

  “Please call him, Bast!” I bemoan suddenly.

  And just as I do, a faint crackle sound issues from in the walls. And then Aeson’s voice comes in loud and clear, rebounding with echoes from the highly acoustic surfaces of the resonance chamber. “This is Phoebos connecting five units to Astroctadra mission control. If you can hear this, you are now connected—please confirm.”

  “Aha! There he is!” Oalla exclaims, and I sense an undercurrent of relief in her voice also.

  “Oh, thank God,” I whisper.

  In that moment another familiar voice breaks in. “This is Sobek confirming on behalf of First Speaker Anen Qur on board War-6.” The voice belongs to Keruvat.

  Oalla taps a control and speaks loudly, “This is Bast, confirming on behalf of Lark on Mar-Yan.”

  I watch her curiously, and she raises one brow at my expression. “What? You may be Kassiopei now, but in this one particular way you’re still Lark. We’ve decided, that’s your call sign.”

  My mouth parts in a mixture of surprise and wonder.

  Before I can say anything, we hear another vocal confirmation coming through. “This is Shamash,” Xelio’s smooth, deep voice says. “Confirming on behalf of Imperial Princess Manala on board War-5.”

  And then, a few seconds later, we hear: “This is Tefnut, confirming on behalf of Gordon Lark on Pegasus.”

  What a relief! Erita just confirmed that my brother is safe.

  And then, after another pause, longer than the others, we hear a dark, deep, serpentine, terribly familiar voice of power: “This is Kassiopei on Atlantis.”

  A pause.

  “This is Phoebos,” Aeson says. “Now transferring Astroctadra mission control to the authority of Imperial Kassiopei.”

  “Kassiopei acknowledging,” the Imperator says. “It is now first hour and one daydream of Khe. We have precisely ten daydreams—ten minutes, for the benefit of the Gebi—before the apex of alignment. At the apex, we will all perform the keying sequence followed by the command sequence, simultaneously. We will have only one chance—two at best—before the optimal degree of alignment passes. It is critical that we do this correctly.”

  He pauses, for impact. “We now begin the final preparation for the sequence. Vocalists, have your tech advisors invoke the resonance grid. Once you have it, I want to hear each one of you respond with your own voice, letting me know. Proceed now.”

  I glance at Oalla who nods and reaches out to the holo-grid that’s already floating over the control panel. She engages elements of the grid until the grid changes in color to a never-before-seen purple. “This is the vocal resonance grid,” Oalla says to me. “It is now ready for your input.”

  “Okay, how does it work exactly?” I ask.

  “The grid is enabled to translate the sound of your voice and amplify it through this acoustic chamber, then transmit it to the specific cosmic coordinates. I already preset the directional vector coordinates to the location of the Ghost Moon, so it’s all ready to go. . . . Simply place your hand on the control panel to establish a physical link with the resonance chamber, and then sing whatever commands you need.”

  “I see.”

  “For as long as you maintain physical contact with the controls, the resonance chamber will translate whatever sounds are made in this chamber to input frequencies. So, don’t speak or sneeze or make random noise while you touch that panel!”

  “Oh, boy . . .” I make a small nervous sound.

  “Yes, just like that!” Oalla says with amusement. “Do not make little noises like that. If you must, first let go of the controls, then cough or whatever, then again place your hand on it and continue your voice commands. Otherwise you’ll be coughing at the Ghost Moon.”

  “Oh jeez. . . . All right.” I hold back a nervous idiot giggle.

  “Now,” Oalla continues. “See this big button control to the right on the panel, the one that’s lit up red? That’s your main interstellar comm. When you want to talk to mission control, you tap the button once. When it lights up green, then your connection is live, so talk. When done, tap it again until it’s red. Red means you are disconnected.”

  “Okay.”

  “Want privacy?” Oalla picks up a small earbud and hands it to me. “Press and hold the button for three heartbeats to transfer the comm conversation to this earpiece. The console button will flash green. Your voice will still transmit as you speak, but the replies come in your ear. Press and hold the button again to transfer it back to the speakers in this room.”

  “Ah, okay, got it.”

  “Also—right now, mission control is a conference line, so when you talk, everyone else at the other vertex locations will hear you—until mission control disconnects everyone. So, assume they are all in on the conversation—”

  As if to illustrate her point, I suddenly hear my brother Gordie’s familiar voice come crackling in, echoing in the chamber walls, and then Erita’s voice in the background. “Hey, hello?” Gordie says loudly. And then after a pause, “This is Gordon Lark . . . on Pegasus. I’m all set. Ready to go.”

  I bite my lip and nod.

  “You probably should tell mission control you’re ready,” Oalla says in a calm tone.

  I nod, taking a deep breath, and move closer to the panel.

  But before I can tap the comm button, I hear an unfamiliar male voice speaking in a confident, ringing tenor. “This is Anen Qur, First Speaker of the Ennead. I am on War-6, ready to proceed.”

  “Go!�
� Oalla gesticulates energetically to me. But we are once again pre-empted.

  “Father? Aeson? This is Manala Kassiopei. I am ready, Father.” Manala’s voice sounds a little lost and more high-pitched than normal.

  Poor girl, she must be terrified. . . .

  I reach out and press the comm button. “This is Gwen Kassiopei—”

  Just as I speak, and my voice is transmitted, I hear someone else get on the line. “This is Aeson, I am—”

  At once, both of us grow silent. Then I rush to say, “Oh, sorry! Aeson, it’s me, please go on.”

  “No, it’s all right, you go on,” im amrevu tells me, also in a hurry, and now there’s a tiny warm inflection in his voice.

  “No, you were first, I think—”

  “Enough!” the Imperator’s voice cuts in with irritation, interrupting both of us. “It is clear you are both ready. Continue your charming honeymoon later.”

  Flustered, I glance at Oalla and see that she’s holding her mouth to keep herself from laughing. At the same time, she shakes her head and waves her other hand at me.

  Okay, this is clearly ridiculous.

  But then, the whole thing we’re about to do is pretty insane.

  Let me see—six people with near-magical voices are going to sing together, from different cosmic locations, at a noncorporeal moon in order to pull it out of another dimension. Yes, that’s our situation in a nutshell. No, not crazy at all.

  But then the Imperator speaks again, and all the nervous silliness evaporates from my mind.

  “We are approaching the moment of alignment,” he says. “Three daydreams and thirty heartbeats remain before optimum time. At ten heartbeats I will initiate a count down. When I reach zero count, we will begin the keying sequence.”

  My pulse starts racing.

  “Use an earpiece to isolate this comm transmission from the resonance chamber,” the Imperator says. “Place it in your ear to hear mission control. Each one of you will hear only my voice, and you will sing in tandem with me. But the chamber must receive only your voice.”

  Oalla has long since stopped laughing and now listens, while watching me seriously.