Interstellar

by Bob Mayer

Turcotte was puzzled. “Then why did you help us fight the Swarm?”

  “I wanted to die because I was afraid.” She glanced at Labby. “And then I wanted to live because someone once told me to be the change.”

  Turcotte pointed at the ka on a chain around her neck. “Is that your essence?”

  Nyx reached up and touched it. “No. It is my research data on humans. On canis lupus. It is forbidden for Airlia to use regeneration.”

  AREA 51

  A SHORT TIME LATER, BUT STILL THE PAST

  Rows of Airlia sleep tubes extended as far as one could see, rack upon rack, filling the large space deep inside the interior of the mothership. Mentors were guiding the Chosen, one to each tube, in a carefully choreographed maneuver that had long been planned and was now finally being implemented.

  There were exactly 5,000 tubes.

  Mrs. Parrish had known that number for many years, based on data siphoned from Majestic-12’s Area 51 files. It had been fed into Ethos and become an integral part of the Strategy. Asha had advocated for more than 5,000 Chosen, pointing out that ten thousand was the optimal number genetically, but this practicality had overwhelmed her chief biologist’s arguments.

  The Mentors hadn’t known that number, and because each was assigned their specific bloc, and the sleep hold so large, they still didn’t. It was located in the center of the mothership, just below the long central passageway that ran the length of the spaceship. It was the most heavily armored and protected place on the ship.

  Despite the planning, the math wasn’t exact. The Strategy had started with 5,000 Chosen. Over the years, 2,057 had been tagged as metabols and purged. Replacements had been brought in, but the system had not been able to stay current. The number of Chosen stood at 4,312.

  The Strategy was currently spitting out a list of names: the 688 Mentors who would occupy the other sleep tubes. These were picked based on their skills for starting a human colony on another planet, thus the list was a bit different than the one from just a few days ago when the priority had been for re-occupying the Earth after the Danse was released.

  The other Mentors had not been informed they were being left behind.

  On a platform at the front of the sleep hold, Maria, Mrs. Parrish’s blind assistant, stood to Mrs. Parrish’s right, one step back, as always. George, an old black Labrador retriever guide dog, with a gray speckled snout, was next to Maria on her right, so close, he was pressing against her leg. Julius, the nominal ‘captain’ of the mothership was to Parrish’s left.

  Julius gave a status report. “A large number of personnel are still inbound, but all are airborne so it’s only a few hours until they are here. The seeds are being loaded. Once they are on board, we are at one hundred percent in supplies.”

  “Except for the ruby sphere,” Mrs. Parrish said.

  Julius didn’t respond.

  “And the regeneration tube,” Mrs. Parrish added. “Maria, have you sent Turcotte the re-entry point where he is to release the pod?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She was quiet for a few moments. “Do you wish to talk to Major Turcotte about the regeneration tube?”

  Mrs. Parrish turned away and started walking briskly toward the exit. “I’ve already talked to him about it. All the talk was nonproductive. That phase is over. He has to come to me now. Julius, prepare your crew. We will be departing soon.”

  Julius was puzzled. “But the inbound—“

  “Prepare your crew,” Mrs. Parrish said. She gave an order to Maria. “Have security escort the unnecessary Mentors off ship.”

  EARTH ORBIT

  A SHORT TIME LATER, BUT STILL THE PAST

  Turcotte turned the Fynbar so they could watch the untethered pod containing the ruby sphere enter the upper reaches of the atmosphere.

  “Leahy is still playing her cards in her chest,” Yakov groused.

  “Close to her chest,” Nyx corrected.

  They both looked at her.

  “I have studied all human languages,” Nyx said. “And much of your literature, film, and art. It is—“

  Yakov cut her explanation off. “Closer to her chest. Whichever. She didn’t think we needed to know we were going to give up the ruby sphere?”

  “Would it have changed anything we did?” Turcotte asked.

  Yakov considered that. “It would have kept me from complaining right now. But what if Mrs. Parrish suddenly decides she wants a divorce from a dead man? When she gets the sphere, she controls the fate of the human race. Is one man that important?”

  “Seems to be to her,” Turcotte said.

  “I do not understand,” Nyx said.

  “No time to explain,” Turcotte said. “Let’s play the next card.”

  He pushed the Fynbar into the atmosphere, taking a steep descent.

  “It is getting hot in here,” Yakov said.

  “No, it’s not,” Turcotte said. “It’s just your Russian imagination.”

  “I believe Mister Yakov is correct,” Nyx said. “The temperature is slightly higher.”

  “Great, two of you,” Turcotte muttered.

  “I do not have an imagination,” Yakov said. “At least we will get Leahy in hand. I do not trust her.”

  “She sent us a grid where to meet,” Turcotte said. “It’s close to where we dropped her off.” He was piloting by sight, which meant seeing the west coast of the United States and adjusting. “Bring that grid up, please.”

  Yakov entered it and Turcotte adjusted the flight path.

  Yakov pointed to the left. “Look.”

  A reentry fire trail from the pod stretched behind it for over a mile, and the pod was intact.

  Turcotte banked right slightly, heading for Texas while the pod descended toward Area 51. The flexpad was buzzing.

  Yakov answered. “Yes?”

  “Are you following the pod down?” Mrs. Parrish asked. “Our window of departure is closing.”

  Yakov glanced at Turcotte.

  “We’re busy,” Turcotte yelled, then indicated for Yakov to turn it off.

  TESLA LAB, DAVIS MOUNTAINS, TEXAS

  A SHORT TIME LATER, BUT STILL THE PAST

  Turcotte stood on top of the grounded Fynbar looking up at the Battle Core. It was beyond the orbit of the moon, but appeared as large as a full moon. Nyx was on one side, Yakov on the other. Labby was sitting in front of them.

  “This is not good,” Yakov said.

  “I have seen images,” Nyx said. “But nothing can prepare one for the real thing.”

  “That’s a universal truth,” Turcotte said. “You were right, Nyx. I don’t believe anything can stop it.”

  “Thank you, Major,” Nyx said. “And thank you for using my name. I-“

  A voice caused all of them to turn.

  “Who is that? Why do you have an Airlia with you?” Leahy was striding toward them; out of a dark opening that had not been there a minute earlier.

  “She saved our ass on Mars,” Turcotte said. “Nyx, meet Leahy. Leahy, Nyx. And this is Labby.”

  Leahy stopped short of the Fynbar. “This is most unusual. Not part of my Strategy.”

  “What’s in there?” Turcotte asked, pointing at the opening. The door slid shut and there was no sign of it.

  “Nothing of importance,” Leahy said. She indicated a small pile of gear, including the Tesla computer. “We need to load that. And,” she pointed at a Tesla cannon, “that has been specifically designed to be mounted on your ship, Major Turcotte. You will find it useful. Then we visit Area 51.”

  “It’s gonna be more than a visit,” Turcotte promised.

  AREA 51

  A SHORT TIME LATER, BUT STILL THE PAST

  Smoke drifted above the pod containing the all-important ruby sphere, the heat tiles on the outer hull releasing the burn of reentry. A heavy lift crane was crunching toward it, treads tearing up runway tarmac. A half mile away, the opening to Hangar Two revealed the mothership resting in its cradle. It was loaded, ready. All except one hatch, which led to the
center of the FTLT drive, where an empty space waited for the ruby sphere. The opening in the closest leg of the cradle contained the elevator to a personnel airlock in the mothership. The gash in the side of the mothership was repaired.

  Mrs. Parrish stood outside of Hangar Two, Maria and George in attendance.

  Parrish tapped her flexpad with supreme irritation. “Major Turcotte. You are pushing this too far. Where are you?”

  Bradley Fighting vehicles held a perimeter around the pod and Hangar Two. Apache gunships flitted about, guarding the air perimeter. Scores of mercenaries on foot were closer in, weapons at the ready.

  There was no response to Parrish’s call.

  “Ma’am,” Maria said. “Outer security reports Route 375 is packed with vehicles. They’re halting them at the gates. A rumor has spread about the mothership. That it is the only way to survive. Most likely started by the truckers we flew back to Las Vegas.”

  “Should have killed all of them,” Parrish said. “That was an oversight.”

  “There are multiple aircraft heading this direction,” Maria added. “Most likely privately owned.”

  “Order the security on the east to hold those roads,” Parrish ordered. “And air defense is free to fire at any inbound aircraft except the Fynbar. Whenever Turcotte decides its time to make his appearance.” She hit the flexpad. “Turcotte. You will run out of time. Both you and your friends.”

  The crane reached the pod. Near the front of the bay was the crew compartment where the mercenaries sent to Mars had ridden in. It was blackened and burned from reentry.

  The ruby sphere was secure in its cradle. Workers clambered on board, cutting the tie downs, leaving the steel mesh in place. The crane operator brought the hook down and they attached it to the mesh.

  The ruby sphere was lifted clear.

  Slowly, carefully, the crane turned and trundled toward the mothership.

  “Hello, Mrs. Parrish.” Turcotte’s face was in the screen, back-dropped by the interior of the Fynbar, where Leahy and Nyx were visible.

  “You are making this very difficult,” Mrs. Parrish said.

  “Not really,” Turcotte said.

  Mrs. Parrish ignored the distractions. “Let me be plain. You want to live. I want the regeneration tube and the body in it. An easy exchange. A life for a life.”

  “Just my life?” Turcotte asked.

  “Yakov is acceptable,” Parrish said.

  Turcotte indicated the two behind him. “And my friends?”

  “You have poor choice in friends,” Parrish said. “You must have learned by now that Leahy can’t be trusted. I told you that. And—“ she sputtered, not sure what to say. “An Airlia? They are our enemy. Should have left it on Mars.”

  “No negotiation on that?” Turcotte asked. “Really? Just two more spots on such a big spaceship? You’re going to blow up this negotiation over that?”

  Mrs. Parrish snorted in disgust. The crane was going by, entering Hangar Two.

  “Fine. Your so-called friends too. Where are you? Time is short.”

  “I’m here,” Turcotte said.

  ******

  “Firing,” Yakov said.

  The plasma stream from the Tesla cannon was continuous as Yakov arced it from the first Apache he’d targeted through four more, before the power ceased.

  “How long does it take to charge?” Yakov asked Leahy.

  The Fynbar was hovering above Area 51, northeast of Hangar Two, directly over the long runway.

  Before Leahy could answer, Yakov’s flexpad flashed green and he centered the reticule on another Apache that was accelerating away. He fired short, fast bursts, taking out the last three. The screen was still green.

  “This is working very well,” Yakov said.

  “A Russian compliment,” Leahy said. “Thank you.”

  Yakov shifted to the Bradley fighting vehicles.

  ******

  “What the hell are you doing?” Parrish screamed.

  “For some odd reason,” Turcotte replied, “I don’t trust you. Just making sure the deal goes through as we’ve agreed.”

  Maria spoke: “Air defense requests permission to fire on the Fynbar.”

  “Negative!” Parrish yelled at her. “Negative!”

  *****

  The Bradley fighting vehicles were easier for Yakov to pick off. He was getting the hang of the Tesla cannon.

  *****

  “You are such a child,” Mrs. Parrish said. “Fine. I will keep my word.”

  “Still don’t believe you,” Turcotte said.

  Parrish muted the flexpad. “Inside the Hangar,” she ordered the commander of the surviving mercenaries. “Ambush them as we enter.”

  *****

  The airlock on the crew compartment inside the pod opened. The merc commander exited with his surviving men. They’d shed their useless TASC-suits but had their MK-98s in hand. They climbed out of the pod and headed for the Hangar.

  They were joined by other vehicles, forming a tight perimeter around the opening to the Hangar.

  The Fynbar landed. The hatch opened and Turcotte exited.

  Turcotte walked forward, past the betrayed mercenaries and New Zealand peacekeepers. He stopped in front of Mrs. Parrish.

  “Impressive,” the old woman said. “Very impressive.”

  “Tell your gunmen inside the Hangar to drop their weapons and come out.”

  “Give me the regeneration tube.”

  They both turned and watched as an antiaircraft missile was launched from one of the batteries on Groom Mountain. It hit an inbound Lear Jet that was lined up to land on the runway. The jet disintegrated.

  “We don’t have much time,” Mrs. Parrish said. “My outer security won’t be able to hold the mobs at the gates. There are tens of thousands of people trying to get in here.”

  “We saw them on the way in,” Turcotte said. “Tell your men to put their weapons down.” He indicated the force behind him. “We will fight our way in if we have to. And you will never get the regeneration tube.”

  A muscle twitched on Parrish’s cheek. “Do it, Maria.”

  Her assistant relayed the order. The men seemed relieved to give up, some of them recognizing their comrades among the attackers. The crane was backing away from the mothership. The ruby sphere was in place.

  A voice came out of Mrs. Parrish’s flexpad. “Ma’am? Are you loading? We’ve initiated the power up for the sphere. But we’re having some problems closing the hatch.”

  Parrish muted her flexpad. “I always believed you were a man of your word, Major Turcotte. I will honor my deal. Will you honor yours?”

  “Of course,” Turcotte said. He indicated the Fynbar. “You can have the regeneration tube. See?”

  Yakov, Nyx and Leahy were dragging the tube out of a maintenance hatch on the side of the spacecraft.

  “We checked,” Turcotte said. “It will work. Its power unit is charged.”

  “We’ll load it,” Mrs. Parrish said.

  “Really?” Turcotte replied.

  Another ground-to-air missile launched, destroying an incoming jet.

  Her flexpad vibrated.

  “Gonna take that?” Turcotte asked.

  “No,” Parrish said.

  Maria spoke. “Ma’am, the outer perimeter has been breached. Some of the security forces have joined the mob.”

  Another missile was fired. Another plane destroyed.

  Mrs. Parrish yelled at several of her unarmed mercenaries. “Bring that tube into the hangar and into the ship!”

  The men hesitated, but Turcotte waved, indicating they could do so.

  As they ran over and began to manhandle the tube, Yakov, Leahy, Nyx and Labby joined him, facing Parrish. Colonels Mickell and Rennie also came up, along with the commander of the mercenary force.

  Leahy spoke first. “Are you completely loaded?

  Parrish pointed at the regeneration tube. “With that on board we will be.”

  “And our people,” Tur
cotte said, indicating the others standing with him. “And their soldiers.”

  “There is a limit—“ Mrs. Parrish began, but Leahy cut her off.

  “We can make it work.”

  Nyx’s singsong voice interrupted. “I am sorry to intrude. But are you aware of how long it takes to power up the mothership?”

  Everyone turned to her.

  Turcotte said: “We can at least get out of here before the mobs get us. Use the STL drive to get off the planet and start moving away.”

  Nyx shook her head. “You cannot do that now. All drives, FTLT and STL, will be offline while the ruby sphere boots the FTLT system. You cannot engage STL at the same time. A safety precaution. I lived next to a space field for many years.”

  Mrs. Parrish hit the screen of her flexpad. “Julius. Test the STL drive.”

  “We can’t close the hatch for the ruby sphere,” Julius replies. “The controls won’t respond.”

  “The hatch will not close,” Nyx said, “until the entire system comes back on line. Ruby sphere refuels are significant maintenance events and occur rarely. They always take place at a space field. On the ground.”

  “How long does it take to power up?” Turcotte said. “How long until we can get out of here?” His question was punctuated by another ground-to-air missile blasting an incoming plane.

  “I do not know,” Nyx said. “I understand some of the engineering from listening to techs. I have watched motherships repowered on the ground with fresh ruby spheres. But it is not my area. I am an astrobiologist as I explained.”

  Yakov cursed in Russian.

  Mickell pointed at the ship. “You all load up and shut the ship. The mob can’t get to you.”

  Leahy indicated the open hatch. “She just told us it won’t shut. What if they attack that?”

  “We need a perimeter,” Turcotte said. He faced Mickell and Rennie and the merc commander. “Can you coordinate that?”

  The three men were soldiers, used to quick, hard decisions.

  Rennie answered. “We’ll do it, mate.”

  Rennie and the merc commander ran toward their men, shouting orders.