“Mission specialist? Why won’t I be chief science officer?”
Franklin looked up from his potato chips, which he’d been cheerfully consuming at Mach 1, brows drawn together. “You’ll be on the ground, guiding her work.”
Nevaeh set down her sandwich. The momentary joy she’d felt was replaced by fury. She had to swallow, hard, to not start screaming about the unfairness. Finally, she said, “Why won’t I be on the shuttle, sir? I haven’t been out of training for very long. It won’t take much to get me space ready again.”
“Nevaeh, you’ve been permanently grounded. You knew that. We sent the letter after Dr. Holloway heard from—”
“I haven’t received a letter. Who did Dr. Holloway talk to?”
He stumbled through the next few words, then cleared his throat. The who didn’t matter. He said, “I thought you’d received your letter and were writing us off. This is why I was so happy to hear from you. To hear you’re willing to come back and work with us, to lend your expertise, to help shape the missions to come—you’re too invaluable to lose.”
“I’m invaluable, but not worthy of going back to space.”
He looked at his hands, fisted in his lap. She was never going to forgive him, he could see it in her eyes. Dark, fathomless, and furious. Perhaps he should have stood up to Holloway, but in matters of the astronauts’ minds, she was the final authority. And it was costing him a good woman.
“You are worthy, Nevaeh. But Dr. Holloway put a permanent hold on your flight status.”
“She’s never liked me.”
“No, she hasn’t, you’re right there. Her animus is unwarranted, but her opinions matter and her decision is final. You’ve been out of training for too long. And—I shouldn’t tell you this, but she investigated when you asked for your records. She had to, we needed to know what you were going to do—perhaps you were going to mount a legal defense against us, or you were preparing to go public. And you sought out an independent psychiatric consult from a doctor who is well known for treating schizophrenia. Rebecca drew her own conclusions, but I believe the two of them talked.”
The anger continued to rise, but she managed to keep her voice low and calm. “Those records are confidential.”
“Nevaeh, your mental health is tied to your security clearance. You know that. You sought treatment outside the program. It sent the wrong message.”
“But the doctor told me I wasn’t schizophrenic. She didn’t treat me, didn’t give me meds. Nothing.”
“You went to her because you were still hearing voices, yes?”
She didn’t answer, and he reached across the table, took her hand.
“Nevaeh, I want to help you. Come back to work for us. We’ll get you the best care, the best medication therapies, and you will have a hand in shaping the future of space as we know it. We can work around the hallucinations.”
She stood, knocking the food wrappings onto the floor. “I am not hallucinating. And if you won’t strap me to a rocket and get me back up there, I have nothing to offer NASA.”
Norgate spread his hands in front of him, looked helpless. “I’m sorry, Nevaeh. It’s out of my hands.”
She left the restaurant at a near run. She ignored Norgate’s calls.
She could no longer contain her fury. She kicked the side of her car, again and again, causing a massive, boot-shaped dent.
It wasn’t fair, what they were doing to her. Not fair at all. She wanted to tell the world. She’d never felt such anger, such hatred, toward another creature. It almost surprised her, but at the same time, she understood her emotions. She was being stripped of her status, her livelihood, her mission in life. It was natural to feel violent loathing toward the person standing in her way. One person had destroyed her: Rebecca Holloway.
No, there was another, too. Dr. Fontaine in New York had sold her out.
She got in the car, turned the air-conditioning on high, slammed the car into gear, tried to breathe, to think.
As she drove away, she knew she was going to have to find a way to put herself back in space. And she had no idea how to make that happen. Maybe the Russians? Perhaps they’d take her on, allow her to fly with their cosmonaut program. Would she have to become a Russian agent? Spy for them on the United States, give away the secrets of the American space program, and more, get them access to everything her clearance gave her? Maybe. And she would do it happily, if they could give her what she needed.
She knew she’d have to tell the Numen she’d failed. Would they desert her? Would they find another astronaut who was more capable? When she next went into the chamber, she knew she had no choice, they were her partners, they had a right to know.
CHAPTER FORTY
Nevaeh found a sensory deprivation tank at the University of Houston. Here, she didn’t have to disguise herself, she used an old teacher ID from a summer class she’d taught once upon a time, and let herself into the psych building. A little sweet-talking, a hundred-dollar bill, and she was into the technician’s good graces, with assurances she could use the sensory deprivation tank anytime she wanted.
In the tank, she tried to clear her mind. It took longer than usual to find her calm; she was consumed with thoughts of Rebecca Holloway’s perfidy.
When she finally felt herself relax into a theta state, she found the Numen were waiting for her.
She couldn’t keep the desolation from her voice. “NASA isn’t going to let me come back. It’s that bitch, Holloway, she’s always been jealous of me.”
We know of her behavior, her jealousy of you, you who are a bright light and honest, who only want good for the Earth. NASA deserted you, believed her, and look what you achieved, and you brought them news of us and yet they were too afraid to listen. You will find another way, you must find another way.
And they went silent.
Yes, Nevaeh thought, I will find another way. It came to her suddenly, and she believed she heard the Numen humming in agreement.
Nevaeh emailed Jean-Pierre Broussard the next day.
* * *
The following day, her phone rang. A man, clearly French, introduced himself as Jean-Pierre Broussard. She closed her eyes and thanked the Numen, for she knew it was they who’d pushed him to her. She knew all about him, of course, a brilliant aeronautical engineer, published in respected scientific journals. He currently worked for Arianespace in France, ah, but he had plans, big plans, and she wanted to be part of them. He was also known as a playboy, but to Nevaeh, he was a contradiction in terms—as much as he loved the center stage, none knew about his private life and he never spoke of it.
Nevaeh clutched her cell. “Yes, Monsieur Broussard, thank you for calling me back.”
“I look at your email like a sign from God. Dr. Patel, I need your brain.”
Her heart began to pound, slow, heavy strokes. “My brain?”
“Your brain. As I said, I hadn’t known what I needed, then—an email from the exactly right person. I’d like to make you an offer. I’m starting my own aerospace firm, and I want to put you back into space.”
And they talked and talked. He told her he wanted to revolutionize space travel—“starting with dropping the cost to get a rocket into space. It shouldn’t cost billions, and it shouldn’t have to go through government approval hoops, not if we bring in the raw materials and build them ourselves. And these rockets are going to be reusable, further driving down costs. We will undercut the prices of our competitors, and send rockets up weekly. I would say, if we’re successful, we will be able to start shipping supplies to the ISS within five years, and put a manned pod into orbit to dock with the ISS within the decade. And you would be first in line to man the mission. Of course,” he continued cheerfully, “this will probably take us ten years, but that’s nothing, given my goals.”
Ten years? No, she couldn’t wait ten years to return to the Numen.
“Dr. Patel? Are you still there?”
“I am, sir.” She drew a deep breath. “I think w
e can do it in five years.”
He burst out in a big belly laugh. “I hope that means you still want to come work for me? I promise the salary will be worth your while, loads of vacation—why, you can even join me on my yacht for off-site work anytime you please. I spend a great deal of time on the seas—in addition to my aerospace work. I’m a treasure hunter.”
“Yes, sir, I’m aware of that.” The world was suddenly bright, full of promise. “Mr. Broussard, I would love to come work for you.”
“Excellent. Let’s get you on The Griffon as soon as possible and we can start our plans. Oh, and it’s Galactus, Dr. Patel. The company’s name is Galactus.”
* * *
She told the Numen, “I must know, I must be certain what she did.” And they agreed.
She made one last appointment with Dr. Fontaine.
Fontaine met her at the door, smiling. She wore a cream linen blazer and black slacks. She looked fit and sharp, and Nevaeh, still hopeful, complimented her new hairstyle. Blah, blah, blah, she only wanted the truth, wanted to hear it from Fontaine’s mouth.
When they were settled, Dr. Fontaine gave her that sweet, noncommittal smile and said, “How have you been, Nevaeh?”
“I’m quite well, actually. I’m taking a new job, working for Galactus Space Industries. They are starting a program to perfect reusable rockets, which will help drive down the cost of putting material—and people—into space.” She paused a moment, crossed her legs, gave Fontaine a smile full of teeth. “As you can imagine, my day-to-day life will be demanding from morning to night—endless responsibilities, endless decisions, deadlines, in other words, constant stress.” She paused, leaned forward, lowered her voice. “Dr. Fontaine, if I were schizophrenic, or suffering from delusions or dissociative episodes, would I dare to take on this challenge? Would I dare to work hard to make this company a powerhouse in space exploration?”
Fontaine didn’t appear to notice the clip to her words. “I’m thrilled for you. So the REST therapy worked for you?”
“Evidently something worked.”
“I am so glad to hear it. A brilliant mind like your own—well, it’s wonderful to see you getting back to your life, Dr. Patel.”
Was the woman tone-deaf? Nevaeh slowly rose to her feet, leaned over the desk. “Dr. Fontaine, I have only one question.”
“Anything.”
“Why did you sell me out to Dr. Holloway at NASA?”
The doctor’s face grew wary, her eyes shifted away. “I’m sorry?”
“I know you consulted with her. I also know speaking with her was unethical, immoral, and illegal. I should be filing a lawsuit against you, so you wouldn’t be able to betray anyone else coming to you seeking help. I should complain to the medical board, make sure your license to practice is revoked.”
She saw fear in Fontaine’s eyes, and alarm. It was wonderful to see. “I—I—”
Nevaeh straightened, walked slowly to the door. She turned, said over her shoulder, “You sold me out. You are despicable. Do you know, some dark night, when you least expect it, I could slip a knife into your ribs, or poison your evening glass of wine? It would be so simple for me to end you. It’s the justice you deserve.”
Fontaine’s face was white, she was trembling.
Nevaeh said quietly, “Dr. Fontaine, you should pray we don’t meet again.”
She closed the door quietly behind her. She heard the Numen humming. “Yes,” she told them, “I faced down that unethical, deceiving bitch.”
Soon, soon. She was restarting her life. Ah, but her goals were clear.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
T-MINUS 32 HOURS
In Wolfram’s account, the Grail is a stone that fell from the heavens. It is by the power of this stone that the phoenix rises from the ashes. Hence Wagner’s reference to the “meteoric stone” in the mosque at Mecca.
—www.monsalvat.no
Blue Mountain Gulfstream
Somewhere over Israel
Mike jerked awake when they hit turbulence. She saw Nicholas and Grant were still dead to the world, but Broussard’s eyes were open. He stretched his arms over his head, nodded to her. He looked clear and calm; the short rest had done him good.
He said quietly, “I must apologize to you and your partner for my shortness with you. You’re doing your jobs, and believe me, I do appreciate your help. I have lost so much, I fear I lost my manners as well.” He looked down at his clasped hands. “It is not an excuse, but I lost four of my crew, men I’ve known for years.” He paused, then swallowed, and his voice sounded raw with pain. “Devi. If it turns out she betrayed me, well, there has to be a reason. Grant believes her sister was being held as a hostage.”
Mike said, “You also lost the—stone.”
“Call it by its name, Mike. The Holy Grail.”
She nodded. “It’s difficult.”
“Yes, I know. But it is real and its loss is more than I can bear.” He turned away, said no more.
“Jean-Pierre, how did you know the Holy Grail was in the wreckage of the Flor de la Mar? Why would something so magical, mystical, if you will, be aboard a ship that went down in the Strait of Malacca?”
He settled more comfortably in his seat, and she saw his powerful intelligence focus on her question. “I’ve studied the possible whereabouts of the Grail all my life, but really immersed myself for over three years now. And I found the journals of the captain of the Flor de la Mar, Afonso de Albuquerque. He spoke of a black stone he carried home from Siam, encased in a great sphere, not of this Earth. He believed it was the cause of the boat going down. No one had ever found the wreckage, and many have tried, since it’s known as one of the most valuable in the world. We found it and it does hold an astonishing amount. We retrieved quite a bit over the course of our two weeks of dives, but now, of course, it’s lost again.”
He looked out the window into darkness, and when he turned back to her his face was alight with excitement. “When we found the sphere, it was precisely as Albuquerque described—large and black, not of this Earth. I believe it to be a natural asteroid of some kind, hollowed out, and those who had it initially knew it was the perfect home for the Grail. The stone was inside the sphere, in a lead-lined box suspended in the center, as if it had been placed in the asteroid and was merely waiting for someone worthy to retrieve it.”
“And you were worthy?”
“Yes, although I told the Grail I was only the messenger.”
“The messenger?”
“Never mind. You believe Nevaeh is behind all this, that she murdered Devi, stole the Grail. I will tell you over the past three years, Nevaeh and I have discussed the Grail extensively. She might know as much about it as I do. Her intensity, her desire to find it, rivaled my own. If she was behind this, well, this treachery, this betrayal, she wouldn’t be at all worthy, now would she? Thus I cannot believe the Grail would respond to her in any way at all. It would repudiate her, but what this would be like, I have no idea.”
“Wouldn’t she know that? Why would she take it if it wouldn’t gain her anything?”
“Mike, you know everyone has limitless ability to justify their own actions, believe them noble, believe them necessary. If she believed what she was doing was worthy, then I don’t believe it would even occur to her the Grail could reject her. I imagine she believes herself more worthy of the Grail than I.”
He sat back, closed his eyes a moment. “Listen, Mike, space can make you lose your mind. Just like the ocean. You have to be prepared for the concept of infinity. If you’re not, you can easily go mad. Trust me, many do. It’s possible Nevaeh did as well. After they brought her back down to Earth, grounded her, she was forced to have multiple meetings with the staff psychiatrist. They wanted to put her on medication to help her deal with the delusions brought on by her near-death experience.”
“Ah. I take it you heard my conversation with my coworker?”
“Some, yes.”
“So it’s possible her bosses at
NASA were right. She changed, went mad, up there.”
“Possibly. But I will be honest. I never saw anything that would give me pause. The woman is brilliant, focused, amazingly creative. I’ve always believed genius must be given the time and place to flourish, which is one of the reasons I stay out of the way at Galactus.” He took a drink of water, stared out the window at the blackness beyond the plane.
Mike said, “I know one of your goals is to get as many people to space as possible.”
“Yes. Do you disapprove? Why?”
“No, I don’t. It’s just that right now, I am very straightforward, no philosophical meanderings. I have to figure out how your company is tied to a nuclear EMP, and how I can stop it before it goes off and ends up killing millions of people.”
He stared at her a moment, slowly nodded. “I can help a little. I heard you asking your coworker about the woman standing behind Nevaeh. Her name is Kiera Byrne, the chief of security at Galactus. Let me say she has eyes only for Nevaeh, not that anyone cares, just a bit more information for you. You should know Kiera is slavishly devoted to Nevaeh. Perhaps dangerously so. If there’s anyone I know capable of murder, who finds murder pleasurable, it’s Kiera.”
Mike looked toward Nicholas. “The moment Nicholas and Grant wake up, we will put together a plan for how to approach Dr. Patel. Jean-Pierre, logically, I believe it’s irrefutable. Dr. Patel is involved. She might be the one in charge of it all. No, listen. If she is involved, she believes you dead. She’s stolen the Holy Grail. Why? We don’t know, you don’t know. She probably intends to set off an EMP. Jean-Pierre, do you actually believe the Grail gives immortality?”
“Yes, of course it does.”
As he said it, Mike saw his eyes lit with a desperate hope. What was going on here? She said slowly, “If Dr. Patel believes in the Grail, believes it brings immortality to the one who has it, and she was willing to kill to possess it, then she’s more dangerous than any of us can imagine.”
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