“UNSOC, we, uh, that is, I, uh forgot to name it.”
There was a long silence normally called 'pregnant' but should really be called 'overdue and time to induce labor.'
“Let's just hope this is all the bad luck you're going to have on this voyage,” said McCrary softly. “I named the first three after the Apollo 13 astronauts, how about we start calling yours the Odyssey? That was their Command Module.”
“That's acceptable,” Harel barely got out.
“I should have Panjar start talking to her,” said McCrary. “Make her feel better.”
Harel, already far too embarrassed to reply, sat silently. The radio continued to sound off with static, then the crooning voice of the unassuming Panjar started murmuring to the craft.
Gus started petting—there was no other word for it—the control panel.
This went on for some five minutes, then McCrary took over the microphone again.
“Got some news. Looks like you're landing across the pond. That bounce off the atmosphere is going to decay and put you into a reentry glide that you can stretch up to Gibraltar. We've notified Morón Air Base in Spain, and they're going to take over when you get close. You cannot make Florida, so don't even try.”
“Roger, UNSOC,” said Gus.
Celine's voice sounded in their ears. “McCrary's left, you're stuck with me for the rest of the voyage. Telemetry looks good. You should be hitting Entry Interface again in the next five minutes. Please verify your attitude and coordinates.”
Gus rattled off the requested data while Harel wondered why McCrary left. Was he trying to get from Germany to the coast?
“Looks, good, Odyssey,” said Celine. “Let us know when you see plasma.”
Three minutes later, Gus reported the first faint flames of plasma streaking past the camera. Within seconds, the entire screen filled with flames.
Harel said goodbye to freefall as the brutal hand of gravity grabbed his body and stuffed it into his seat.
***
Harel tried to pop the hatch in the roof as the Odyssey wallowed in the waves five kilometers off the coast of Spain. It took him three times to lift the suddenly heavy hatch and slide it away. The cliffs of Gibraltar were just barely visible off to the east.
Harel was suddenly aware of the pitching craft and was fortunate enough to clamp his jaws tightly until his stomach subsided. There was no ship in sight.
“How are we doing down there?” he asked into the main cabin.
“Fortunate,” said Kevin Yankowski, one of the men assigned patching detail. “It looks like we got all the holes the debris punched in us patched. There's no water in here, yet. See anything?”
“No,” said Harel. “But I think there's a helicopter up there, and there's definitely a plane circling above us.” A pause. “Huh. Both have pontoons. Ah, the plane's thrown out a life raft. Does not look like it would hold fifty, though.”
“Don't think we could swim even if we knew how,” said Kevin. “It's like I'm carrying my brother all around.”
Harel looked inside. Everyone remained in their couches. “Stay there. Unless you have water coming in.” He popped back out to wave laboriously at the plane. He felt like he was waving with a bag of cement in his hand.
The plane landed, as did the helicopter. The plane stood off from the Odyssey. A couple of frogmen did that back-first dive out of the open hatch of the helicopter and swam over to the Odyssey.
“Greetings, and welcome to Spain,” said the first one to reach the craft. “The tug boat had a problem and returned to port. They are getting another one out here. In the meantime, how is everyone? Does anyone need medical assistance?”
Harel was startled. “You speak English?”
“Of course! You didn't think we're barbarians over here, did you?”
“No, no. We're fine here. Maybe a touch seasick, but there's no medical issues, except for David McLeod who might need some help with his leg.”
“That's good!” said the frogman. “I don't suppose you have any documentation on you. No? Illegal immigrants!” he called over to the pilot of the plane, who grinned in response.
“The tug boat should be here in a half hour. We're here to make sure you don't sink in the meantime, or try to infiltrate the mother country.”
Harel made a silent promise to pound this guy in his autobiography.
A flock of seagulls, attracted by the commotion, circled the floating craft. Another helicopter approached, scattering the birds who, in their panic, defecated on the bobbing aircraft.
Harel was lucky enough to avoid being crapped on. The frogman, not so much. Perhaps there was justice in the world, after all.
Then he caught sight of who was in the helicopter. McCrary.
He wore a tight shirt and shorts, and swam competently up to the Odyssey, climbing up the opposite side of the craft from the frogman trying to clean his wetsuit.
“Welcome aboard, sir,” said Harel guardedly.
“Welcome home, Harel,” said McCrary. “Everyone OK?”
“Alive and well.”
“Well done, Harel,” said McCrary, bestowing his rarely given top praise phrase on Harel. “Well done.”
McCrary seemed to sag slightly, no longer the imperious commander. With his task over, just the tug to shore to complete, he was morphing before Harel's eyes into just another man, older than most but still quite formidable. “Now I can go home for good.”
Thank you for buying TEARS OF SELENE.
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Whether you loved it, or hated it, if you could write a review for my book, I would really appreciate it
Amazon review page
I am very interested in your reaction to my work.
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Reviews don’t have to be NYT Review of Books high falutin’ kind of essay. Just flat out say what you liked and didn’t like. You might want to give spoiler alerts if you’re going to talk about surprise plot points, but otherwise, just say what you feel.
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If you do NOT want to go public, I welcome email reactions. Just hit me up at [email protected], and my phone will go off. I won’t give you grief if you don’t like it, so feel free to tell me where things might have gone off the rails for you.
Thank you!
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Why am I asking for reviews? Am I that desperate for an ego-stroke? Isn't getting paid enough?
There are very prosaic reasons that authors want reviews.
Feedback Mechanism: I want to know how my readers feel about my work. Do you want more of this and less of that? If you don't email me (by, for instance, replying to my newsletter) and you don't write a review, how am I to know what you want? Now, while I prefer that criticism is in email, and praise is in reviews, you are completely free to do what you wish.
Promotional Eligibility: Many promotional services (like Book Barbarian, InstaFreebie, and others) require a work to have at least 10 reviews, and a certain average rating, in order to make the work eligible for their particular megaphone. There are other criteria, too, but without reviews, I'm shut out of those ways of promoting my work.
Industry Notice: Industry awards are also dependent, at least in part, on reviews. It would be nice to win an award. I was nominated once for an award from the British Science Fiction Association, and I can't describe the lift that gave me.
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DEDICATIONS
To Edwin Dennis Patterson, Sr. The most honorable, brave, and dedicated man I ever knew. I was privileged to be his son. This book is launched on what would have been his ninety-third birthday. Thank you, Dad, for everything you did for me, including setting the bar that I am still trying to live up to.
Acknowledgements
The first acknowledgement is always to The Wonderful Wife. Thank you, Barb, for the long nights of author widowhood you have endured in order that this work might be written.
To the incomporable Jessica West, Editrix Extraordinare, for catching all of my heinous gaffes. If you find a typo, remember, it’s my fault for making the mistake, not Jessica’s for not catching it.
About the Author
Bill Patterson is the author of a computer-aided design software book, and a former magazine columnist. His fiction has been traditionally published in 90 Minutes to Live (JournalStone, 2011), and his nonfiction in Rocket Science (Mutation Press, 2012), where his piece "A Ray of Sunshine" was nominated for the British Science Fiction Association's Award for Non-Fiction.
He is also one of two Municipal Liaisons for the Central NJ Region of the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) challenge. Bill also serves as an Event Host for the Princeton Writing Group.
He and his wife of 35+ years, Barbara, live in Central New Jersey.
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