The Pioneer
Page 26
Mom shoots me a mischievous grin.
“Nope.” She turns left at the next intersection. This road leads to the airfield. I can see our new shuttle from here. Trailblazer is stenciled on its side in green. The ramp is down, waiting to be boarded.
“You want me to come to the Pioneer with you?”
“Leela has requested a transfer back into the marine squadron,” Mom says. “Since we’re very short on marines, and I have another excellent cadet pilot available, I’d like to approve her request. But I need to clear you for orbital flight first. You game?”
I look up at the Trailblazer. Do I really want to be Cadet Pilot Joanna Watson again? Does it matter? We need Leela out there, protecting us. Which means Mom needs me to get back in the pilot seat. Actually, the whole human race is going to need me. If we have any hope of moving three billion people to another planet, we’re going to need every space pilot we have, and then some. That’s scary, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t kind of exciting, too.
I walk through the airlock into the passenger cabin. I strap myself into the pilot’s seat. I look up in time to catch the ghost of a smile darting across Mom’s lips as she follows me and settles into the copilot’s seat next to me.
“Preflight safety checks, please,” I call to the computer.
“Of course, Joanna,” it says. The navigation app appears on the wall screen in front of me. The list of safety checks starts turning green, one item at a time. I swipe through the important ones, manually confirming the tests. I don’t look up at Mom, but I can feel her watching. Nervous sparks pop under my shoulder blades as I complete the checks and request a go for launch from Ground Control. Suddenly, I want to be airborne so badly I can hardly sit still.
Dad’s voice replies. “Trailblazer, you are a go. Happy trails, ladies.”
“Computer,” I say, “begin ignition sequence, please.”
“My pleasure, Joanna,” the computer says. “Ignition in three . . . two . . . one . . . liftoff!”
The engine rumbles to life under us. My body gets heavier as the landing struts shove against the ground and the Trailblazer blasts upward.
The wall screens are still a blank gray. I almost forgot the best part.
“Display exterior cameras, computer. Please.”
Tau Ceti e opens up below us in a single burst of light and color. It’s so beautiful, it makes my throat ache all over again.
“Sometimes I wish I’d just stuck to construction duty,” I say as the turquoise sky starts to thin out above us and turn sparkling black.
“Me too,” Mom says. “But the Sorrow would have meant trouble for us, eventually. And we would have been a disaster for them. It would have taken us a long time to admit it, if not for you. You always were braver than me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh yeah?” she says. “Then why were you the one who figured out that one of you could get to the engine room and manually eject the core? I didn’t even consider it.”
“I didn’t know better,” I say. “I didn’t think . . . I didn’t realize what might happen to us. I think Teddy did. But I didn’t.”
“Would you have done it?” Mom asks. “If you’d known?”
I turn to look at her. She looks older than she did on Tau Day One, and younger too, somehow. She doesn’t look like “Mom” anymore. Or the commander. She just looks like a person. It’s weird. Alarming. But . . . I don’t know, satisfying, I guess. Like an unfamiliar telemetry equation that I’m finally beginning to understand.
“I hope so,” I say. “I hope I’m as brave as he was.”
Pink and blue flames are starting to lick the hull now. We’re breaking through the atmosphere.
“You are,” she says. “You’re so much more than we ever expected you to be.” There are so many unspoken things layered in her words. Pride. Grief. Resignation. Maybe fear.
Before I can figure out what to do with all that, Trailblazer bursts free of Tau’s atmosphere and we’re in space.
The nav app projects a glowing line across the wall screens that swings out around the planet and ends in the Pioneer. I double-check the telemetry, but then I let the autopilot guide us into orbit.
I look out to deep space. Our future home is out there, somewhere. Is it Proxima Centauri b, or will we find another place with a warm blue sky and wide green land? I hope so. It won’t be easy to find another world like Tau. There’s a good chance I’ll spend most of my life searching. But I think I’m okay with that.
We’re approaching the Pioneer. I take manual control back from the computer. I could let autopilot bring us in, but this is my favorite part. Besides, there won’t be a better time to test my rusty skills than right now, with Mom right next to me.
I pivot my fingers on the navigation app to put the Trailblazer into a spin, matching the Pioneer’s rotation. I don’t know this shuttle yet, not the way I did the Wagon. It’s the same design, but the thrum of metal and carbon is fundamentally different under my fingers. Still, I can feel it when we’re lined up properly—it’s like a tuning fork inside my head, letting me know the pitch is just right. There’s barely a shimmy as our docking port connects with the Pioneer.
I can feel the grin on my face all over my body. The joy is still there. I wasn’t sure it would be.
“Shall we?” Mom says, releasing her harness.
We cross into the Pioneer together. The ship sings quietly around us. She’s been waiting. The exterior cameras are already on three-sixty mode in the bridge. Tau Ceti c and a are eclipsing Tau Ceti right now. They look tiny in the fiery embrace of the star.
Mom asks the computer to run a diagnostic of the superluminal transponder.
“All systems are functional, Commander,” the computer replies, almost instantly.
“That’s impossible,” Mom says. “We haven’t been able to send or receive data from Earth in fifty-two days. Something is wrong with the transponder.”
“I do not detect a malfunction, Commander,” the computer says.
“Then run the diagnostic again,” Mom snaps.
My heart thuds against my ribs as the computer works. Once. Twice. Three times. Four.
“All systems are functioning within normal parameters, Commander,” the computer says, calmly. Of course it’s calm. It’s a computer. It doesn’t have a setting for panic.
“Fine,” Mom says, pulling up the manual diagnostic panel as she speaks. “Send a ping to the Earth beacon. Request immediate response.”
“Yes, Commander,” the computer says.
I turn to look down at Tau Ceti e. The Southern Continent is below us now—vast and almost black-green in places, it’s so rich with vegetation. Beyond it the ocean drapes the orbital horizon in a thousand shades of green-blue. That’s when I see them. A cluster of brilliant lights rising behind the planet. They aren’t stars. They’re too close.
Anxiety prickles over my skin like a thousand tiny spiders.
“Is that a ship?”
Mom follows my gaze.
“What the f—”
“I have an incoming transmission, Commander,” the computer says. “From the ISA Prairie.”
“On-screen,” Mom says. It’s almost a whisper.
Grandpa’s face flickers onto the wall screen in front of us. His head is still shaved and sticky with drying inso goo. “Alice, thank Christ.”
“What are you doing here, Dad?” Mom says. “We aren’t ready for a second wave. There have been complications—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, cutting her off. “The Earth . . .” He swallows hard, like he has to brace himself to say it out loud. “The Earth Restoration Project . . . things went wrong, Alice. Horribly, horribly wrong. Earth is uninhabitable. This is all that’s left of humanity. Tau is our home now.”
Acknowledgments
It’s possible that I am the luckiest woman on Earth. I was born to parents who love me and have always challenged me to follow my path wherever it leads. I’ve managed
to collect a group of friends along the way who are there for me no matter how big or small the problem, no matter how far away we happen to be from each other at the time. I’m married to a wonderful man who makes me a better person, and together we have somehow managed to produce a tiny human who is better than either of us. And as if that wasn’t enough, I have the supreme privilege of writing stories that other people get to read. I have so much gratitude for that, and for all the people in my life who make that possible.
A few of them have been particularly active in supporting the creation of this book. First, The Pioneer would not exist without the impossible persistence of Petersen Harris. So . . .
Thanks, Pete.
I must also say a heartfelt thank-you to Wyck Godfrey for his inspiration and guidance in crafting this story. Also, Marty Bowen and Isaac Klausner at Temple Hill for helping The Pioneer find its way in the world. And, of course, many thanks to Emilia Rhodes and Alice Jerman at HarperTeen, first for saying yes and then for helping me shape the world of The Pioneer into a novel. I’m also deeply grateful for Simon Lipskar and Genevieve Gagne-Hawes at Writer’s House, who have tirelessly read my drafts and advocated for me and for this book.
But they aren’t the only ones. A number of generous and talented people have contributed their thoughts, feelings, and time to help me make this book what it is. Without Alli Dyer, this book would not be nearly as cool. It would also have far too many commas. Menaka Chandukar has listened to me talk about the fictional planet of Tau Ceti e and its inhabitants far more than it’s reasonable to ask of anyone. And Tom Brady has always offered his clear eyes and guidance through the wilderness of draft writing. Then there’s Katie Lovejoy, Kaitlyn Wittig Menguc, Janice Kao, Nicola Monat-Jacobs, Jane Nelson, Amber Berdie, Dr. Kagan Tumer, Dr. Liney Arnadottir, First Officer Kevin Millard, and Dr. Manda Clair Jost. Thank you all for lending me your expertise to make this world, and this future, as authentic and accurate as possible.
And last, but certainly not least, my family: My parents, Connie and Kenneth Tyler, who have always given me their ears, their eyes, and their constant support. My husband, Dr. Geoff Hollinger, who provided both his scientific expertise and his imagination in helping me create the world of The Pioneer and hardly ever complained about me typing in bed until all hours of the night. And my daughter, Toni, for whom the adventure of life is just beginning.
About the Author
Photo credit Alison Smith Thistledown Photography
BRIDGET TYLER grew up in Berkeley, California. She went on to attend NYU, living in New York and London before completing her degree and moving to Los Angeles to work in the film and television industry as an executive and writer. She now lives in Oregon with her husband, a robotics professor at Oregon State University, and her daughter.
Visit her online at
www.bridgettyler.com.
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Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE PIONEER. Copyright © 2019 by Temple Hill Publishing LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Cover photograph © 2019 by Jalese Ayana, Pavel Chukhov / Shutterstock (stars), and Vadim Sadovski / Shutterstock (planets)
Cover design by Jenna Stempel-Lobell
Digital Edition MARCH 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-265808-1
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-265806-7
1920212223PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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