Barriers

by Patrick Skelton

  Jake applied more pressure. Collin grunted.

  “Martinez!” Jillian shouted, getting in his face. “I’m the captain of this crew, and I’m ordering you to release him.”

  Jake cursed, then let go.

  “Can you believe this?” he said, flinging his arms wildly. “Collin sold us out. We’re dead. All of us.”

  “Stop talking like that,” Jillian said. “Nobody is going to die.”

  Jake floated toward her. “This mission is completely compromised and you know it. If Kendall got to Vance like he got to Collin, that means Leland Kronemeyer knows everything: launch site, itineraries, landing coordinates.”

  Jillian turned to Collin. “What do you suggest we do now?”

  “I suggest we chain him to the bay door before he decides to stab us in the backs…literally,” Jake interjected.

  Collin clenched his teeth. “I told you I didn’t intend for this to happen. Kendall promised me his client had no interest in Zathcore’s dealings and was only trying to locate Elliot Gareth.”

  “What’s done is done,” Jillian said. “Suggestions on how to disarm the detonator?”

  “You can’t,” Collin said. “It’s hard-wired into the thruster systems. Disconnect it and it blows.”

  “What kind of damage are we talking about?” Jake asked.

  “Enough to make the aft port steering thruster no longer functional.”

  Jake slammed his fist against the bay door. “Which means we’ll have no way to steer Encounter Five once we enter the atmosphere of Ellis Three.”

  Jillian raised her palm to Jake and turned to Collin. “So, if the detonator goes off before we enter orbit, the worst-case scenario is we’re stranded in space?”

  Collin nodded. “Staying put is my official suggestion if you want to save this crew. We could send out a distress call to the seven other missions currently underway on Ellis Three. Somebody down there would help us.”

  “We’ve got plenty of oxygen,” Jake added.

  “Based on the detonator display,” Collin said, “it’s timed to go off as we enter Ellis Three’s atmosphere in five days, resulting in an inoperable steering thruster.”

  Jake sighed. “And a crash landing that will kill us all and appear to be an accident caused by a mechanical malfunction.”

  “Any other options?” Jillian asked.

  “Not that I know of,” Collin said.

  Jillian rubbed her chin. “What if we tried to beat the detonator?”

  “What do you mean?” Jake asked.

  “Increase thrusters to maximum and get to Ellis Three before the detonator discharges. After we land, we’ll assess the damage and make the necessary repairs.”

  “It’s an idea, but we’ve already killed four hours parked here,” Jake said. “And thrusters have been at ninety-five percent for the last two days.”

  Jillian looked both men in the eyes. “We’re going in. This mission will succeed.”

  “Are you crazy, Jillian?” Collin said. “What you’re talking about is beating the detonator by a matter of minutes.”

  Jillian stiffened her jaw and stuck a finger against Collin’s chest. “You might not care about the success of this mission, Collin, but some of us do. Now take your seat up front and strap in.”

  She ordered the crew to prepare for maximum thrust, then took her seat next to Collin, ignoring him.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Collin looking at her. “I’m sorry, Jillian. You believe what I said back there, right? I never meant any harm to come to the crew.”

  “Compensate for our delay and adjust the logs,” Jillian said, putting her helmet on and strapping in. “Report that we stopped to repair a faulty heat shield and will adjust velocity to compensate for the lost time.”

  Collin tapped at a side console. “Done.”

  “At full thrusters, how far will we be ahead of schedule once we reach Ellis Three’s orbit in five days?”

  “Twenty-two minutes—that’s not enough time to land before the detonator goes off.”

  “We can do it,” Jillian said. “It’s mathematically possible. We’ll have to make a course correction at orbital burn and begin entry at a more aggressive angle.”

  “You believe me, right?” Collin asked again.

  Jillian studied the log data on a screen above her head. “It’s irrelevant what I believe, Collin. Help me save this mission and perhaps you’ll eventually earn the crew’s trust back.”

  The thrusters roared, shook the cockpit, and Encounter Five bulleted toward Ellis Three.

  _____

  Space Traffic Control noted the four-hour delay reported by Zathcore’s logs and thought nothing of it.

  Vance Tremont did.

  He had orders from Kendall Rouhoff to contact him immediately if anything out of the ordinary arose. Vance wished there was some way he could back out, but even if he could, it was too late now; he’d sold out Zathcore months ago. What was one more phone call in the grand scheme of things? At least he was happier than he’d been in years, now that his little girl was back. He’d even met a wonderfully sane woman who treated his little girl like her own daughter. They resembled a normal family. Things had never been better, and soon, this whole ordeal with Kendall Rouhoff would be over.

  He picked up the phone and made the call.

  Hopefully his last.

  _____

  Five days later, Encounter Five entered Ellis Three’s orbit. Red landscape filled the windows.

  Jillian alerted the crew over the intercom to prepare for entry.

  Collin turned to Jillian. “Are you sure you want to do this? There’s still time to wait it out and let the detonator go off. Orbiting this planet until help arrives wouldn’t be a bad deal for any of us. We’ve got plenty of oxygen and rations.”

  She refused to look at him.

  “Come on, Jillian. Why put the crew in jeopardy and attempt a landing with a compromised steering thruster?”

  “We’re doing this, Collin, and we’re doing it now. Start the landing procedures.”

  The spacecraft shook as it entered the atmosphere. Flames and sparks blew over the nose.

  “We’re approaching too fast,” Collin shouted over the rumble, his head shaking and smacking against his seat. “We’re not allowing enough time for orbital burn. We’re going to break apart.”

  “We’ve performed this maneuver a dozen times in simulators. It’s possible. She’ll hold up.”

  “Possible, yes, but not recommended.”

  “We have to beat the detonator, Collin. How many minutes until landing?”

  “Eight minutes, twenty-one seconds.”

  At an altitude of eleven thousand feet, Jillian started to say they were going to make it, but was interrupted by a loud boom from the rear of the spacecraft.

  Complete loss of steering.

  “That was it! We’re done. The detonator blew!” Collin shouted over the deafening alarms.

  “I thought we had another eight minutes?” Jillian shouted back.

  “Maybe someone adjusted the timer remotely. Vance must have informed his contact of our increase in velocity.”

  “Everyone brace for impact!” Jillian belted over the intercom, desperately trying to regain control of Encounter Five as it careened toward a red mountain range.

  “We’re not going to survive this, Jillian,” Collin yelled. “We shouldn’t have left orbit. You should have listened to me.”

  For a split second, Jillian thought they would miss the approaching mountain by several feet, but she was wrong. As they sped by, the starboard wing clipped jagged rock and the cockpit shook violently.

  Then everything went black.

  19

  The tram approached a desolate terminal outside the south entrance of the Mt. Rushmore ruins. The trip was only four hours from Kansas City, but to Nathan it had felt like an eternity, considering every passing second was a second closer to Ian’s death.

  He fished the folded yellow note fr
om his jacket pocket and read it for the umpteenth time.

  Dear Nathan,

  I wrote you this note the old fashioned way to stay off the grid, so sorry about the sloppy handwriting.

  My man has been following you and Bennie for the last week. Are you aware you’re complicating things? There are urgent matters we need to discuss regarding Ian’s synaptic device, but at this point, it’s best we do so in person.

  Enclosed you will find a wrist-watch with a LifeTracker scrambler microchip. For the rest of the day your identity is Chadwick Hendricks, Real Estate Agent from De Moines, Iowa. Nice, huh? I’ve always thought Chadwick had a pleasant ring to it, but your mother insisted on Nathan.

  Anyway, these LifeTracker scramblers aren’t one hundred percent reliable, but it should keep you under the radar long enough for a quick rendevous. Put it on your right wrist and leave no later than noon. Make sure you switch off your SyncSheet, it’s about as traceable as your LifeTracker chip.

  Take a tram to Keystone, South Dakota and exit at the terminal near the south entrance of the Mt. Rushmore ruins. When you get there, look for an overgrown path behind an old ranger station. Follow the path for 1.8 miles until you reach the ruins of a maintenance building. Meet me there at 4:30 Mountain Time and don’t be late. It’s imperative you take the hover-rail and not fly. The LifeTracker scrambler will never make it through airport security.

  One more thing, Nathan…come alone and make sure you aren’t followed. Bennie might mean well, but if it wasn’t for him coming to my funeral and dragging you into this mess, things might be going smoother for all of us.

  Sincerely,

  Dad

  Nathan twisted the watch on his wrist. It was either too loose or too tight. He tested it before boarding the hover-rail, and it did appear to function as the note suggested. The public LifeTracker database reported his last whereabouts a few blocks from his house over four hours ago, when he’d slipped on the watch and hugged Sarah goodbye, promising her he’d come back in one piece. And hopefully with Ian’s synaptic device.

  The tram stopped and he stepped off alone, swiping his thumb at the terminal kiosk, noting that the screen correctly displayed his identity as Chadwick Hendricks.

  After the tram sped off and disappeared behind a mountain range, he took a good look around him, making sure he was alone. He didn’t see anyone in a Royals cap, that was for certain. He was no fool. He knew this was risky, but how could he have ignored his father’s letter? Without a doubt it was his handwriting.

  A vulture circled high above in the dusk-filled sky. A sign near the thumb-scan kiosk noted that a public Barrier canopied the Mt. Rushmore ruins in a one-mile radius and was donated and maintained by Rankcon Corporation. Nathan spotted Lincoln’s high forehead in the distance, charred and eroded by decades of flares. The Mt. Rushmore Barrier had been erected twenty years too late. Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Washington were in piles of rubble at the base of the mountain.

  He left the terminal and located the old ranger station several hundred feet away. With minimal effort, he found the overgrown path mentioned in his father’s note. It snaked up a steep incline into the burnt forest of the Black Hills.

  Nathan looked every direction one last time, making sure he hadn’t been followed. As he began the ascent, he reminded himself why he was here. Maybe his father could still help. With any luck, he’d finished the synaptic device and it worked spectacularly. And maybe, just maybe, his father had figured out how to sneak it into Ian’s room and get him walking and moving again on his own. Enough to persuade Sanctuary Admin to call off Ian’s death sentence and let him return to the Kansas City Barrier.

  Wild wishes perhaps, but that was all Nathan had left.

  Thirty minutes later, Nathan stopped to catch his breath. According to the pedometer on the watch, he’d hiked the 1.8 miles the note had instructed. He drank from his water bottle and scanned the surroundings. The old ranger station was now a dot in the valley. He looked further up the mountain, blinded by the sun as it began its descent behind the Black Hills. A concrete structure in a clearing ahead hooked his eyes. That had to be it—the abandoned maintenance building.

  He hiked several hundred feet more through the rocky terrain and stopped at the entrance. A wooden door was opened, creaking in the autumn wind on its rusted hinges.

  He walked inside the building and quickly looked around. The space was empty except for several shovels leaning against an ancient ATV. Four concrete walls barely held up blackened wooden beams that once supported a roof. His heart pounded as the wind wailed outside. November twilight was falling, and the orange horizon would be black within the hour. How would he get back? Would he even be able to get back?

  He paced the dirt floor and glanced at his scrambler watch: 4:35 p.m.

  Where are you dad?

  A moving shadow outside the doorway caught his attention. A silhouette in a dark trench coat and a cowboy hat emerged from the thicket, walking stick tapping the ground with each step. Right-leaning stride…

  Dad!

  He rushed to embrace his father, but the silhouette put up his hand, motioning Nathan to stop.

  Nathan halted and Aidan came into clear view. Strands of white hair flowed out from under a black cowboy hat, blending with a scraggly beard.

  “It’s best we talk inside the building, son,” Aidan said with a stern voice, grabbing Nathan’s elbow and ushering him inside. “You made sure you weren’t followed?”

  Nathan nodded.

  “You’re wearing the LifeTracker scrambler I sent you?” He grabbed Nathan’s right arm and rolled up his jacket sleeve. “Good, son.”

  Nathan stood frozen. Was he having a dream or was he actually experiencing his father’s flesh-and-blood hand on his wrist? It sure felt real…warm and strong.

  “I’m glad you listened to mom,” Nathan said. “I hate my new name.”

  Aidan reached out and clutched Nathan’s shoulders, pulling him tight against his chest. “You look like a wreck, Nathan. When’s the last time you slept?”

  “And you look like an old country singer,” Nathan said, tears wetting his cheeks.”

  “How’s my grandson doing in Sanctuary 87? Are they taking proper care of him?”

  “That’s what we need to discuss. We’ve been desperate to find you. Where have you been hiding for the last month?”

  “An abandoned fallout shelter nearby.” His father aimed his walking stick in the direction of the Mt. Rushmore ruins. “Ironic that old Abe’s the only president left, don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Abe’s the only one who had his head battered in real life, yet he’s the only one left up there with his face still intact. Maybe the Great Emancipator still has something to say.”

  Nathan had no idea what his father meant, nor did he care to ask him to expound. “Dad, Ian’s synaptic device, do you have it?”

  Aidan looked away.

  “Dad?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. “The device doesn’t work, Nathan. I’m sorry. That’s why I decided to meet you here today…to tell you in person, man to man.”

  Nathan stepped backward, the air suddenly gone from his chest. He thought he’d mentally prepared himself for this news, but he was wrong. “You said it was close to completion…that’s what you told me two days before you disappeared, remember?”

  “I thought it would work, but it seems I bit off more than I can chew. I finally had two free hours this morning to run some preliminary assessments. My design has a fatal algorithmic flaw, and the device will need to be rebuilt from scratch.” Aidan placed a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “I wish there was more I could do, son. Building a synaptic machine of this magnitude isn’t a walk in the park, even under normal circumstances. Glitches are part of the process, and they take time to sort out.”

  “How long will that take?”

  Aidan hung his head. “I’m not sure if I’m the right person to finish bui
lding Ian’s synaptic device, Nathan. I’m sorry to get your hopes up. And Ian’s.”

  Nathan didn’t know what to say. “Terrific, dad,” he choked. “Ian only has four days.”

  Aidan stepped back, looking aghast. “What do you mean, four days? I thought we had plenty of time to work on the device.”

  “Ian has a Bedside Compassion date. They’re going to kill him in four days.”

  “Dear God,” Aidan stammered, embracing Nathan. “I had no idea. I would have communicated with you sooner had I known. I’ve been preoccupied with this mission for weeks and didn’t want to blow my cover. Alkott’s got eyes everywhere…but I’ve also had my eyes on you and Bennie.”

  “Mind telling me why?”

  Aidan slammed his walking stick hard against the dirt floor. “Because I was concerned about your safety, that’s why. After you two gumshoes started sticking your noses where they didn’t belong, I suspected Chairman Alkott might be following you boys around, hoping you and Bennie would inadvertently lead him to me.”

  “Well here we are, dad. Looks like it’s just us.”

  “For now…doesn’t mean you weren’t followed.” Aidan shot a nervous glance at the opened door. “I wish we had time for a real conversation, son, but there are many things I can’t discuss right now.”

  “I know about the missile. Bennie told me everything.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “So the bearded man in the Royals hat was working for Alkott?”

  “No, knucklehead. That’s my guy—Rodney. He’s been keeping an eye on my family members since my funeral. I was concerned that Alkott might try to hold one of you hostage to coax me out of hiding.”

  Nathan recalled the first time he spotted Rodney on the bike path with Bennie in downtown Kansas City. Now that his father mentioned it, he had seen him before that day. At the funeral.

  “Rodney’s been following you and Bennie for weeks,” Aidan continued. “Alkott almost snagged him after he split in that old seaplane we rented. Rodney parachuted out and let the plane fly on and crash into the Alaskan wilderness.”

  Nathan stepped back, trying to piece all this together. “The article that Preston wrote, you had him write it, didn’t you?”