Joan D Vinge - Lost in Space

by Unknown

  The hybrid's falling body struck the burning plasma ring of the conduit's perimeter, instead of plunging on through to Earth.

  John choked on a sob of relief.

  He looked down then, hearing the hybrid's screams. His gaze was as pitiless and cold, his mind as empty, as the space between the stars. Payback's a bitch, his father had always said. At last he knew, in his gut as well as his mind, why Don West had needed to destroy the Proteus___

  "Take all the time you want to die," he muttered, as the inferno immolated the hybrid's monstrous form.

  John pulled his battered body up the gantry's frame, centimeter by painful centimeter, searching the maze of metal struts for hand- and footholds. He had to reach the console; stop the countdown and get the core material before—

  A sudden gleam of light caught his eye, far down the ramp that fed into the hyperdrive basin. He stopped climbing, and looked down. A human form lay below him, sprawled motionless on the ramp.

  Will. It was his son—his grown son—lying on the slope. Will's unconscious body was kept from sliding into the basin below by nothing more than the silver chain caught in a seam of the metal grillwork___By the

  dogtags he still wore, after all these years.

  Even as John looked down, another spasm shook the engine room. Will's body slipped a millimeter as the chain began to separate.

  Will… he had to save him —

  He looked up again. The core cylinder had descended almost completely. There was no time left. Another moment, and he would be too late to stop it-He couldn't do both.

  Duty or love … It had always come down to that, in his life. He had always chosen the big picture: the greater good, the burden of responsibility, the vain belief that he alone could save the world. He had sacrificed so many of the things that he really wanted, missed so many of the moments that really mattered: the real, profoundly human experiences that made life worth living, and human beings worth saving from themselves.

  And look where it had gotten him.

  John swung out over the ramp, and let go.

  He dropped down beside Will just as the weak link in the chain snapped; caught his son's wrist as Will began to slide. With the last of his strength, John dragged his son clear of the plasma hellfire that had claimed the hybrid.

  His legs buckled; he sat down on the floor. Holding Will in his arms, he stroked his son's hair, mumuring, "Come on, son… wake up…"

  Don watched the ground outside the Jupiter Two spew magma, convulsed by the death throes of this nameless world. He was looking at Hell…

  He checked the com displays again; the ship was fully powered up—as fully as it was going to get—waiting for his signal. His fingers rapped nervously on the panel; he chewed his lip. There was nothing recognizable left out there; no one caught in that could possibly still be alive___

  Maureen dropped into John's vacant seat beside him and strapped in. "I kept hoping somehow he'd appear," she murmured, not looking at him. She stared out at another world brought to ruin by human fallibility.

  At last she looked back again, as if she had finally accepted the inevitable. "Let's go, Major," she said, her gaze direct and clear. She nodded at the com.

  Don hit the burton; heard/felt the thrusters firing, ready to give him all they had in his attempt to get this ship back into space where it belonged.

  But it wouldn't be enough— He strangled the thought. John Robinson had sacrificed his life to give the family he loved into Don's safekeeping… because he was the best there was at what he did.

  He was going to save the family John loved… his family, now. He'd seen things today he still couldn't believe; what was one more miracle, after all he'd seen? "Piece of cake…" he murmured, under his breath. Piece of cake—

  The ]upiter rocked on its struts as the land mass began to give way, falling out from under the ship on all sides.

  "Good-bye, my love," Maureen said quietly.

  He looked up, and saw the unshed tears gleaming in her eyes. He looked back at the com. "Engaging primary thrusters," he said. "Now!"

  The vibration of the ship's drive engaging overwhelmed the quaking of the ground; the landing struts retracted on command. The Jupiter Two wrenched free of the crumbling crater wall, and began to rise.

  "Come on, son. Wake up…" John cradled Will in his arms, protecting him as best he could from the tremors that shook the floor and set the spider's web of conduits and cables swaying.

  At last his son's eyes flickered open. "Dad—?" Will said incredulously.

  John smiled down at him. "I thought I'd lost you."

  A wondering smile slowly formed on Will's lips. But abruptly his expression changed, and he said, "The core—" He struggled to his knees, in time for them both to see the core cylinder sink into the control panel. A blinding beam of amplified coherent light lanced from the hyperdrive initiator, striking the basin; siphoning every joule of power from the cylinder's radioactive core to stabilize the space/time conduit below them. The monitor on the platform flashed PORTAL COMPLETE.

  Slowly Will turned back to John, shaking his head. "You could have taken the core and left, before it was too late… You saved me, instead…"

  John looked at his son, at his son's disbelief, and felt something inside him break. It filled him with a pain more excruciating than any he had ever known, as it set him free… "There wasn't any choice," he whispered. "I couldn't let you fall. You're my boy."

  Will opened his mouth, but before he could answer, the ceiling above them ripped open like a paper box, and they were gazing up at a portal. The sky beyond it was burning, a maelstrom of red and gold, as if the world beyond had been inundated by a massive storm of fire.

  Don fought the controls as the Jupiter Two labored futilely to throw off the weight of eight miles of sky and escape the planet's surface.

  Below them the land rolled and billowed, vomiting magma, torn by blinding explosions. Solid rock folded like plastic, giving violent birth to mountains that were as suddenly swallowed down again into the planet's core. The ship was shaking so badly he thought her damaged hull would rip apart at the seams, and still they were getting nowhere. "We're not getting any altitude!" he shouted hoarsely, although Maureen could see that clearly enough.

  A tidal wave of stone heaved up directly in their path, towering over them, and he could only stare, his mind empty, as it began to break: as giant slabs of rock split off from its crest, falling toward them…

  A shadow fell across him, across the com. He turned in his seat for a last look… saw Judy take Will and Penny into her arms, saw them all—each stricken face a mirror of death.

  He looked back at Maureen, his eyes burning with grief. His last words were, "I'm sorry—"

  The avalanche of stone smashed down on them like the fist of God. The ]upiter Two exploded, consumed in fire, as the dying planet claimed its revenge.

  Will stood with his father on the control platform, watched with him, as beyond the blazing portal the Jupiter Two straggled to lift off, to do the impossible… only to be swatted from the sky, obliterated inside a fireball of light.

  His father sagged against the platform rail; Will saw in his eyes the naked agony of a man who had lost every-thing—his family, his hope, his dreams. "I couldn't save them," his father whispered.

  Will looked away, unable to bear the sight. His eyes fell on the time corridor, still held stable by the core material's focused energy beaming down on it from overhead. Now it showed him the inside of the launch dome, the day of the mission… himself, ten years old, walking toward the Jupiter in his cryo suit. Innocent, hopeful; with no knowledge of the future that lay in wait for him…

  "So many years ago," he said softly, "and I can still feel it. Our sun. Our Earth. It's all I've thought about. Going home…" He turned to the control console and began inputting new instructions, altering the spacial and temporal paradigms. The images in the time gate blurred and fragmented, flickering past like pages in a windblown book.

>   "A long time ago," he went on, although his father wasn't listening, "you told a small boy that one day he'd understand how much his father loved him."

  Now this world lay inside the conduit: He saw the Jupiter Two appear, the ship still powering up, still intact… moments before its destruction.

  "All I could see was your need to go forward at any cost." He turned back to his father. "What you never showed me was your love. I lost that. Robbed by time…" He shook his head. "I could never see how much you cared… until now." He began to smile. Now, he was going to take back everything that he had lost to time.

  Another portal tore through the room like a chain saw, taking away walls and more of the ceiling; a churning, terrifying darkness lay beyond it.

  Will reached out for his father's hand, and drew him across the platform toward the waiting conduit.

  Maureen dropped into John's vacant seat beside Don and strapped in. "I kept hoping somehow he'd appear," she murmured, not looking at him. She stared out at another world brought to ruin by human fallibility.

  At last she looked back again, as if she had finally accepted the inevitable. "Let's go, Major," she said, her gaze direct and clear. She nodded at the com.

  Don hit the button; heard/felt the thrusters firing, ready to give him all they had in his attempt to get this ship back into space where it belonged.

  The Jupiter rocked on its struts as the land mass began to give way, falling out from under the ship on all sides.

  "Good-bye, my love," Maureen said quietly.

  Behind them, Penny gasped. "Look!" she cried.

  Don looked up with Maureen as the ceiling began to swirl, becoming translucent, as if some alchemical change had transformed it into water.

  And beyond its rippling surface stood John, gazing down at them, and beside him the grown man who was Will, smiling. Will laid a hand on his father's shoulder and looked deeply into his eyes. "Don't make me wait another lifetime to know how you feel," he said gently, his smile filled with longing.

  Suddenly, he pushed John forward, sending him over the edge of the platform, into the conduit—

  * * *

  — and through it to the other end.

  John plunged through the fluid ceiling, landing hard on the floor. Maureen was out of her seat and down on her knees beside him before Don could finish his astonished double take. She looked up through the portal again, and the joy in her face turned to sudden grief as she saw her son—her long-lost son—so near, and yet unreachable. Her other children gathered around her, staring up at him in silent wonder.

  "Come with us!" John called, lifting his hand. But the conduit was already breaking up, like the world beyond it, disintegrating as they watched.

  "I can't!" Will shook his head. "There was only enough power for one person, one trip, remember?"

  "Will-?" Maureen called, getting to her feet, helping John to his.

  "It's good to see you again, Mom," Will said, smiling down at her. "It's good to see you alive." His image blurred, as the limpid surface of the portal began to cloud over. "Don't forget me…"

  "Never, baby boy. Never—" Maureen climbed the ledges of the console beside her, her face wet with tears as she strained to reach the hand that blurred downward toward hers. John's arms held her steady, lifting her until their fingers were almost touching…

  The portal closed then, and he was gone. Forever.

  Don bit his lip, looking away.

  Penny stood wide-eyed and motionless, with Blawp clutched tightly in her arms; Will stood blinking beside her. Judy put her hand on Don's arm, as if she needed to prove they were both still flesh and blood. He put his arm around her.

  John drew Maureen gently down from the ledge where she still stood, gazing up at the empty ceiling. "He sacrificed everything, for his family…"

  She looked back at him through her tears. "He learned that from his father," she whispered, her voice breaking. She threw her arms around him, burying her face against his shoulder.

  Will came to their side, stood staring up at them. "Dad?" he asked, almost hesitantly, as his mother moved away again, wiping her eyes. He reached up as his father looked down, and placed the dog tags in his hand. "I'm glad you came back," he said, still blinking too much.

  John kneeled down beside Will, hugging him. "I just wanted you to know," he said, "I love you, son. I love you very much." Will hugged him back; the way it always should have been, was always meant to be.

  Outside, the ground heaved and crumbled, making the ship lurch as its struts unbalanced. Don let go of Judy and headed back to the com. "The planet is breaking up around us—"

  John stood up, as they all scattered to their stations. "Status?" he asked.

  A tremendous crash outside the hull gave him his answer.

  "We're doomed," Smith groaned, as Don passed by him.

  Don stopped, wheeling around as he was suddenly and unpleasantly reminded of the other man's continued existence—and the fact that the Jupiter's fuel cylinders were still half empty.

  "We're doomed— "

  Don hauled off and punched him.

  He looked down at Smith's body, sprawled unconscious on the floor. He shook out his hand. "Boy, that felt good." Rubbing his knuckles, he stepped over Smith and finished crossing to his post.

  John's expression held a mixture of exasperation and profound empathy. "Get us airborne."

  Don dropped into his chair, slammed in a CD, and with music jolting his brain like adrenaline, he engaged the primary thrusters.

  The vibration of the ship's drive engaging replaced the shaking of the ground. The Jupiter Two wrenched free of the violently morphing crater wall and began to rise, as the crumbling surface below the ship imploded with a deafening roar.

  Don fed the engines all the power the ship had left to give; the Jupiter bucked and shuddered, fighting with too much heart, and too little thrust, against the irre-sistable forces that dragged her down.

  He fought to stabilize the ship's pitch and yaw, to maintain enough altitude to survive and still achieve the speed and momentum they needed. "I'm going to try to reach escape velocity-" He looked out the viewport as a shadow fell across the com.

  "No/" John gasped. "We don't have the core material! The gravity well will drag us down-"

  Don veered the ]upiter desperately off his planned trajectory, as the planet's convulsions heaved up an impossible seven-mile-high wall of rock directly ahead; he wondered what the hell kind of choice Robinson thought he had. "We might—"

  "We won't make it!" John said, his face grim. "Trust me. I know." His expression froze the protest in Don's throat. "We've got to go down."

  "What?" Don gave an incredulous laugh.

  "Through the planet, as it breaks up—"

  "That's insane!" Don said angrily. The foundering ship fought his control like a deranged animal.

  "I don't have time to argue!" John snapped. "I'm giving you a direct order, Major."

  Robinson's face vanished down a hall of mirrors as Don met his eyes: seeing every arrogant, unyielding, stupid bastard who'd ever had too much power over his life…

  And then, suddenly, his vision cleared. He saw John Robinson. "Yes sir. Commander." He smiled.

  He turned back to the com, felt his heart stumble as he saw the impossible heights of the mountain wall cresting above them like a tidal wave, saw it beginning to fall…

  Below them a chasm split open in the planet's contorting crust, so vast and wide that the world seemed to be swallowing itself, and he thought he could see clear down to its molten core.

  He shut down the engines. For an agonizing moment the ship faltered, suspended between heaven and hell, while on every side of her the head-on collision of continental plates heaped up stratospheric mountain ranges like crumpled fenders. Skidding on an oil-slick surface of magma, the ponderous folds of stone poured toward the lips of the gaping split, closing in —

  And then the Jupiter Two plunged straight down into the chasm, and the planet sw
allowed it like a fly. Behind them the jaws of stone crashed shut, as pieces of the world collided and were consumed.

  The Jupiter and her crew fell down the rabbit hole like Alice, into a universe of blinding light and crushing pressure, bare seconds ahead of the planet's avalanching crust. Caught between a rock and a hot place—

  Don controlled their freefall, his mind surreally clear now; as though it had passed so far beyond the limits of recognizable experience that he had either gone insane, or gone completely rational. "Fly through the planet." That was completely insane. And yet they were still alive…

  For now. Their speed was increasing exponentially as gravity sucked the Jupiter down toward the planet's core. The temperature and pressure outside would keep on rising until one or the other killed them all.

  Damn it, he thought, didn't we just do this yesterday?

  They'd been using the sun's gravity well to boost their speed, when everything had gone wrong. He remembered the sun reeling them in: heat, pressure… and speed.

  He leaned forward in his seat to stare at the displays. Of course. That was what John had meant. Only, John had expected him to get it, too. John, he thought, if I live, 1 swear I'll go back to school for a Ph.D. in astrophysics___

  A shadow fell across his face. He looked up and out, his eyes widening.

  Above and ahead, an entire ocean poured down through a fissure in its shattered bed, falling toward the Jupiter like the primal flood.

  Just call me Noah— He flipped the ship like a silver pancake and hit the thrusters, sent them arcing through a high-gee parabola, up and away from the plummeting slabs of continental plate, toward the city-sized waterfall.

  "Everybody hold your noses," he yelled. Where there was a way in, there had to be a way out. The ship drove upward through the falling sea, slicing it like a laser beam as they flew upstream toward freedom.

  The Jupiter burst through the ocean's surface —into another vacuole; Don vectored wildly as an iceberg hurtled past them and fell away behind like the collapsing seabed. He aimed the ship at a spinning runnel of rock, not caring what it was, because at the other end of the hole he could see the stars.