“What are you going to do if she says no?”
He was impertinent too. “Young man, I do not fail. That’s why you’re here answering to me, not the other way around. Now, go find us an elevator.”
Passing through several airlocks, they arrived outside the thick shock glass of Advanced Kinetic Chemical Lab 1. Beyond it, about fifteen chemists toiled. Some working with beakers, flasks, microscopes, and other lab accoutrement. Others manipulated test equipment that pulled, punched, deformed, skewed, and otherwise tortured the dark licorice strands of some new polymer. On the far side, three interacted with a holofield, much like the one in Williams’ office, teasing apart molecule images and recombining them into strange atomic tectrices in an effort to bend electrons into a stable form.
Bernard pressed the intercom, and its chime brought all activity to a halt. He cleared his throat. “Ah, may I speak to Dr. Medina Karimov?”
An attractive, dark-haired thirty-something woman stepped from the circle of three. “Bernard Hubert?”
As she wove across the room passing her colleagues, their activity resumed. She opened the inner airlock to greet them and quickly sealed it behind her.
“No worries, there’s nothing harmful in there.” She pointed at Justin. “But allowing an O.L. employ to see any of our proprietary work for Space Oasis would violate dozens of contract clauses. What say we continue this in my office?”
Bernard liked her already. “Lead the way.”
“And, by the way, welcome! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Hubert.”
“You, as well, Dr. Karimov. Please, call me Bernard.”
“Well, Bernard, I must confess. I already know why you’re here.”
Is security this bad already? The crew isn’t even fully recruited. On the flip-side, this could be another easy chat.
Despite some slight surprise, Bernard remained poker-faced. “I see, and how did that come to pass?”
“Ava gave me a call about ten minutes after she left your dinner.”
Once again, he wasn’t terribly surprised. “Funny, I didn’t say anything about you to her.”
“No, but it stands to reason that the world’s best natural scientist would want the best physical one to develop the neurodigital interfaces5 you requested.”
“My, no matter how big the work, we travel in small circles.” He gestured toward the glass. “Since you know my secrets, can you tell me what you’ve got going here?”
She appraised Justin with a dismissive nod. “As I said…”
Bernard liked her more and more. “Justin, how about you give yourself an extended tour of the center.”
“Why? I already I have a full rendering available digitally…”
Bernard raised a finger. “Exactly! You won’t need a guide.”
He stared at Justin until he wandered off scowling, then turned back to Medina. “Where were we?”
Without missing a beat, she said, “It’s a kinetic absorption weave capable of deflecting or absorbing physical impacts and redirecting them outward in controlled bursts. Basically, what that comic book character, Black Panther’s, vibranium suit is made out of but for real.”
“Intriguing. I can already see about seventeen different applications for it.”
“Oh, we’re well beyond a hundred.”
They passed a second viewing window that looked in on a centrifuge with a male test subject strapped to its arm. As it spun, Bernard paused to read the g-force on a large screen against the back wall: 4gs, 5gs, 7gs, 8.5gs. The volunteer was still going strong.
Medina kept moving. “I have a second team working on a g-force reinforcing serum. The biggest initial hurdle was toxicity.”
If that was some sort of warning, it didn’t work. The useful discovery itself made Bernard gleeful.
Another step and they reached her office. “You didn’t dismiss that lackey to talk shop. This is a recruitment. So, recruit me!”
He waited until they were inside. “Ava gave you details?”
“A five-year space mission to Kuiper. Assuming you know I have two small children, a husband, and a billion dollar playground lab, how could you possibly think I’d say yes?”
She really is cutting to the chase. Alright, then.
“You are the best chemist in the world, are you not?’’
She easily agreed. “I am.”
“We’re gathering the best to represent humanity at its best on the most important journey our species has ever undertaken.”
Medina waved a hand deflecting the monologue of humanity. “Bernard, I took this meeting out of respect for you, but, clearly, my answer is no.”
If you think that will stop me…
“If interstellar travel is to become a reality in a hundred years, then we need to develop cryosleep, and what better multi-billion dollar zero-g lab is there for your research than the Nomad?”
“You’re saying without me the mission can’t happen? That I’m indispensable?”
Was the show of ego a chink in her armor? “No. I absolutely want you on the team, but I wouldn’t design anything that hinged on a single-point failure. No one’s indispensable, not even me.”
“Do you have children, Bernard?”
“Isaac, a son.”
“What did he say when you told him you’d be gone five years?”
“That he loved me, that he was proud of me, that he knew he couldn’t stop me. Then he got to work helping design our ship.” Bernard started out matter-of-fact but was surprised to feel a tear trickle down his face. Pretending to clean his glasses, he brushed it away.
Medina was incredulous. “Really? You’re ready and willing to abandon those you love and blithely expect others to do the same?”
“It’s bigger than me, Medina, bigger than any of us. This is about defining the future for our children. Love isn’t an obstacle; it’s a motive. I’m doing this because I love Isaac. If missing your family is what holds you back, I don’t see that as a legitimate reason.”
“Then you’ve read too many science fiction novels.”
He hadn’t expected that. Did she see him as a foolish child, some sort of robot, or a ridiculous combination? “Medina, don’t you understand? This could be first contact. Fate is calling as it has to only a handful of humans. Do it for your children. Do it for Earth.”
She was moved but still shaking her head. Under other circumstances, he’d admire her stalwartness. Impatient, he clicked his tongue.
“I’m not going to drag this out. I can’t force you to come. But we both know that at the end of the day it’s the things we didn’t do that we’ll regret, not the things we did. All the earth bound breakthroughs are nothing compared to knowledge of the universe. If you turn this down, mother or not, will YOU be able to sleep at night?” Growing emotional again, he lowered his voice. “Truth to tell, I fear that thought more than the thought of never hugging Isaac again.”
That was it. He said his piece, perhaps, too honestly. The silence lingered.
“My choice is my own.” Her words sounded final.
Bernard nodded. “Then, thank you for your time. Good day, Doctor Karimov.”
Without a backwards glance, he strode toward the door. Maybe he was wrong; maybe even great minds couldn’t see what was so plain to him.
His hand was on the doorknob when a voice called from behind. “Five years…that’s it?”
He smiled at the door admiring its wood inlay. The beautiful grain caught the light in golden, flowing layers. “Five years. That’s it. This isn’t Interstellar after all.”
As the helicopter zoomed above mesas and canyons, he wondered how William and Angelika were faring. Godric drew too much attention to take part in the invitations, but having the CEO of Outer Limits, a famous mathematician and a world-hated astrophysicist, move about covertly was no small task, either. The last few months, they’d been scattered across the globe: communication strictly limited until they reconvened.
Still, Bernard could ea
sily picture what they were up to. Right now, Angelika was tromping through Borneo, deep in the Kayan Mentarang rainforest, to find Odin Tiberius King. Part of what made him the foremost botanist was his endless field work in uninhabited environs. That meant he was in a jungle months of the year and hard to find.
Angelika wouldn’t mind. There always was a wildness to her that office walls could not contain. She loved driving her board crazy by dropping off the grid and leaving nothing behind but a pickup time and location—her “mental health days” as she often joked. Amongst the trees, she’d feel alive and unburdened.
He imagined her quadcopter touching down in a sweltering meadow surrounded by dense forest. As she trekked through the thick growth, her perfect hair would frizz into a wild blonde mane. She’d have to manage a tropical waterfall or two before finally finding Odin King.
Tall and handsome as his Viking namesake, he’d be in a tree delicately collecting seeds. Surrounded by serenity, they’d talk for hours about his work with the Regrowth & Restoration of Original Species program. It wouldn’t be their first, second, or third time. They’d met in Finland while rescuing a seed ark from the glacier melt and kept in touch ever since. Not that they were together, per se. They existed, by preference, in occasionally crossing orbits which made each reunion an oasis of passionate simplicity.
He’d give her a dazzling blossom from a new plant he’d yet to name. She’d tell him about Nomad: the journey of a lifetime. No matter how many different ways Bernard imagined it, there was no variation in which King refused.
William, meanwhile, was in the Sinai where the New Alexandria Library6 had been constructed over St. Catherine’s Monastery protectively conserving the world’s oldest continuously operating library. It was a center for ancient languages as well as chief verification site for recovered artifacts. After the looting during the Darkness, many forgeries appeared necessitating a cautious evaluation.
He’d be alongside the Linguist Premier, Nawal Hawass. Wearing those absurd cotton monogrammed gloves Aubree gave him many Christmases ago, he’d be handling manuscript fragments from the original library. They alluded to some tantalizing ancient mathematics, his stated reason for making the trip, leading to a debate on whether mathematics was a universal language.
“But it could never convey the emotion that makes us human,” Nawal would say over Turkish coffee.
William would agree, to an extent. “But to presume another species’ consciousness would use human emotional constructs is a big leap.”
“True. At the same time, if we’re talking carbon-based life crawling out of the mud on another world and developing sentience, I’d bet my copy of the Magna Carta they didn’t start out talking in numbers.”
By then, she’d know he wasn’t here to see the fragments or chat hypotheticals. So, he’d tell her he was going to space possibly to meet the otherworldly life she’d mentioned.
She’d joke how science fiction had such a childish, oversimplified view of interspecies communication and ask. “William, how would you try to talk with them?”
“Why, Nawal, that would be your job.” He’d smile and drain his cup.
She’d smirk, argue against the idea for a while, then give in to the boyish charm she could never resist. It was why they sent William after all.
“There’s a ping on the infrared!” The pilot’s announcement snapped Bernard back to the moment.
What would this meeting be like? Was there a strategy? A simple hook? A key? Would emotion hold Ilya back, or would they play chess? Not knowing set his adrenaline pumping.
The helicopter followed the signal, on and on, until the pilot pointed to a rock column. “To the northwest, atop one of those spires, I can see a small figure. It’s him.”
Aghast, one P.K. whispered to the others. “He must have climbed 300 feet on vertical slickrock to reach that spot. Unreal.”
As the chopper approached, Bernard made the figure against the desert horizon. Sunlight glinted off his goggles and some odd metallic portions of his faded clothing. Unphased by the noise or the wind whipping the sand at his feet, he raised his arm and waved.
P.K. Williams grit his teeth. “Bastard picked a spot too small for us to land.”
Bernard sensed a will to rival his own. He chose his board well—a chess game, then.
“Maintain a close perimeter,” Williams barked to the pilot.
Below, Ilya raised a radio and pointed to it. Signaling, he raised three fingers, five, then two. Cheyenne figured it out. “Go to open channel 123.5.”
After a crackle of changing frequencies, they heard a loud yet smooth voice. “Cheyenne, that you?”
“Yes, Ilya. I’m with… some officials who’d like a word.”
“Goodness me.” Despite the noise of the chopper blade, the sarcasm came through clearly.
“This is P.K. Commander Williams, Mr. O’Connell. We’ll need you to come with us.”
Ilya waived gaily. “Phillip, how’ve you been? Didn’t think you’d be back. Thought you knew better. I made it very clear last time I wanted to be left alone.”
They were close enough for Bernard to see Ilya hiding a smile.
Williams’ face soured. “My orders are straight from the top.”
“Ah. In that case, my friend, I’m sorry to say, it’ll be another disappointing day for you.”
What did Ilya do last time?
Fearing things could go sideways, Bernard hit his mic. “Ilya, this is Bernard.”
There was a pause. Ilya frowned. “Hubert? That really you?”
“Yes. In fact, I’m the reason we’re here. It’s important that I talk to you, Skil. Think of it as another Brooklyn rooftop chat.”
As the agents and Peacekeepers tried to decode his remarks, Ilya’s interest was piqued. He hadn’t heard the nickname since Brooklyn.
“I’ll only talk to you, Bernie. The rest can stay on the chopper, high in the sky. Option two, you can all leave, and there’s always option three. You can ask Phillip about that one.”
Bernard turned to the commander. “What is option three?”
Williams hissed. “Last time, he remotely disabled the chopper. We don’t know how.”
“Since he’s clearly holding all the cards, I’ll go down alone, yes? It is why Angelika sent me.”
After the commander’s begrudging nod, the Black Hawk descended low enough for Bernard to hop out. Then, buzzing like an angry wasp, it dipped, pulled away from the rock, and hovered high above.
Ilya gave Bernard a strong handshake, then removed his goggles for a clearer view. Hubert looked a lot older since he’d seen him last—not surprising after what must have been some very stressful years, but his eyes were still just as fiery. Whatever this was, it was significant.
Still, men with causes had a habit of stepping on, or through, anyone in their way.
“Dr. Hubert, it’s been a long time. Hope you brought more mezcal, or at least a joint.”
Bernard removed his sunglasses. “The mezcal wouldn’t fit in my pocket, but it just so happens…” He pulled a thick, rolled tarantula from his pocket. “I have this old thing we can smoke.”
Taking the joint with a smile, Ilya took out a four-centimeter glass sphere and used it to focus sunlight on the tip. Once it ignited, he took a massive hit. He held it for the longest while exhaling as he spoke.
“So far so good. How about we start our rooftop chat with why you’re in an O.L. Chopper with W.C. Peacekeepers? Not your usual company. Unless… things have changed? Oh, I took the liberty of activating a localized jammer in case you were bugged. You can speak freely.”
“I will, then.” Bernard gestured at the naked sandstone. “But where should I sit?”
“Ah, where are my manners?” Ilya took two small metal rods from his pack and tossed them. At the peak of their trajectory, they unfolded and snapped into place like tent poles over and over. The rods grew, hinged, and clicked. By the time they landed, they were semi transparent chairs composed of sco
res of tiny struts that made their solidity seem almost an illusion.
Surveying Ilya’s handiwork, Bernard took a puff, passed the joint back, and sat. As the smoke curled from the desert man’s mouth, he couldn’t help but admire the show of force. Clearly, Ilya assumed Bernard had become beholden to higher powers. While it was a reasonable assumption, it wasn’t helpful. Keeping their brains from those who might misuse them was a shared ideology.
Ilya’s desert freedom must be his own doing. Why else be so assured in it? He was also the type who’d screw up the world’s most important mission just to stick it to the powers that be. Bernard had to be careful how he framed things.
“The P.K.’s weren’t my decision. The Council seems to think contacting you requires… precautions.”
“Do they?”
“As for O.L., well, sometimes the devil you know is the only one who can do what’s needed.”
Ilya gave him a sideways glance. “Excuse me, but I’m having trouble imagining any scenario in which O.L. would risk the PR nightmare of bringing you back onboard.”
“Probably the same sort that’d make the Council risk using you again.”
Ilya gave off a jovial hoot. “Touché! Okay, next question. You said you wanted to talk, but the jarheads above are laboring under the delusion I’ll be leaving with them. I like it here. Why would I need to go anywhere else, Bernard?”
“Because I’m leading a group of very smart people, and we need a mechanical engineer. Your name came up as the best for building… well, quite honestly, anything but more specifically, an interplanetary ship. Oh, and you’d be part of the crew for a journey to the edge of the solar system.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow. “To do what, exactly? Play Bob the Builder on Titan?”
Bernard smirked. “Ha! Yes. That and, you know, search for extraterrestrial life.”
Ilya took a long drag and closed his eyes. He appeared to be doing something Bernard most definitely knew he was not—praying.
Rather, he was taking the pieces he had, putting them together, and making highly educated guesses about what was missing: O.L. must be providing resources, but even if he gave Angelika a Klingon phone number, she wouldn’t stick her neck out without something big in return. Whatever it is, she wouldn’t share it with the W.C. So, what’s their angle? For a government pushing an earth-centric agenda, a big space trip would be seen as a waste of resources. Which means… Bernard has some heavy hitting political support, too. Not an astrophysicist’s usual pattern. This has long-game written all over it.
Beyond Kuiper: The Galactic Star Alliance Page 17