by S. K. Vaughn
“Damning, but that’s not the bad news. I mean it is bad news, but it’s not the worst news.”
“What could be worse than that? Our fearless leader is at best a lying piece of shit and at worst a cold-blooded killer. We can’t trust—”
“May’s on the cargo rig; your eighteen-wheeler. That’s why she put ‘eighteen’ on the end of that original SOS message.”
“She must’ve seen the NanoSphere generator we activated.”
“Exactly. She sent me the vehicle status. Take a look.”
Raj pulled it up on the screen. Stephen’s heart sank.
“How the hell did it get damaged so badly? The explosion?”
“No, she was in the hangar and the emergency purge was activated. Blew the damn hangar door off, and it took some of the ship with it. She was out cold when the cargo rig and everything else in the hangar got sucked out into space. She thinks that’s why it’s damaged.”
Stephen sat down on the back of the couch, completely deflated. “She’s dead in the water. She and the . . .”
“I’m so sorry.”
“How long?”
“The message took an hour to get here, and she said she was down to around six when she sent it.”
“This isn’t happening, Raj,” Stephen said angrily. “We found her. We did it. They tried to sweep her under the rug, and we didn’t let them. We can’t let them.”
“We’re out of options, Stephen.”
“No. I’m going to Robert. He’s going to fix this, or I’m going to destroy him.”
“He can’t fix it. Even with your gun to his head. No one can. This is the cold equation, man. Only one answer.”
“I can’t . . . I don’t believe that.”
Raj sat in silence, not wanting to give Stephen anything else to fight.
“You should, uh, you know, sit here and talk to her. Make the best of . . . be with her right now. I’ll leave you so you can . . . you know.”
Stephen nodded and sat back down next to Raj. He stared at the screen, reading what May had written. It sounded like a suicide note. Everything had come down on her at once; everything was against her. She had crawled, tooth and nail, out of one grave, just to fall into another. It was a cruel joke. That was why Stephen couldn’t accept it. She had told him once that, no matter how bad things got, in the end everything evened out. Nobody had nothing but bad luck. He was looking right at evidence to the contrary, but refused to see it as such. His first physics professor taught him about the law of opposites. Everything in existence is a combination or unity of opposites. Without light, there is no darkness.
“Light,” Stephen said to Raj.
“I told you, those fluorescents they have here hurt my eyes.”
“No, sunlight. The NanoSphere. Billions of intelligent little machines with a hard-on for sunlight.”
“Holy shit,” Raj said, his eyes lighting up. “Solar sail?”
Stephen nodded. “Unlimited power. Even out there in the dark.”
“You tell May the plan and that we’re already on it,” Raj said, hopping with nervous energy, “so she doesn’t lose hope. Then, while you figure out how to create the sail and walk May through deploying it—uh, side note, she’ll have to use some of her ship’s power to buy a little EVA time, which will be scary but necessary. While you do that, I’m going to figure out how to connect the sail to the cargo rig’s internal power. That will buy us enough life support time. And, yeah, we definitely need to attach it properly—wait, she’s going the wrong way, toward the sun . . .”
“I can orient the nanomachines at any angle, so this won’t be anything like a normal solar sail,” Stephen said. “Keep in mind that we want to push her toward Mars—more specifically, toward the Hawking II’s Mars course. If you can calculate the red planet’s orbital path in relation to her, I can constantly shift the angle of the machines back and forth, drawing power and building momentum. And I can control her velocity to some degree. Essentially it’ll be like tacking the ship like a sailboat, something I know very well.”
“That’s just fucking sexy,” Raj said, and looked at his watch. “Cool. So, taking into consideration how much time we have till the rig runs out of internal power, travel time for our comms, and other factors my brain knows exist but won’t allow me to articulate verbally, we need to get all of this done in about . . . fifteen minutes. Oh, and don’t forget to tell her about Robert and not to trust anyone at NASA. From now on, we are Mission Control.”
45
May checked her EVA suit power. She had a full hour, having drained some of the cargo rig’s precious internal power so she could go out and deploy Stephen’s nanomachines. There were four NanoSphere generators, and she needed two. Thankfully, they were well charged, and were designed to use some of the solar radiation they gathered to continually recharge themselves. The plan was to attach them to the fore of the vessel, one on either side of the flight deck, to create two large sails. Because of the time it took to send data, Stephen had to send preprogrammed telemeter information to the generators in order to control her flight path and put her on track to intercept the Hawking II’s course for Mars.
It was dizzyingly complicated, factoring in Mars’s orbital path in relation to the sun and the Hawking II’s estimated position. The only confirmation they had that the Hawking II still existed was a heat signature Raj had detected that was consistent with what its engines would produce. May had likened it to following a fart to find someone in the dark. Add to that the fact that the NanoSphere, although more than adequate to perform such a task, had never been used as a solar sail. May tried not to think of all the towering ifs that could be the weakest links leading to failure. Instead, she thought of the 2.73 hours of life support she was down to and how she much preferred to go out swinging.
“Hey, you,” she said, patting her belly. “Ready for this? Just try not to make me want to barf out there, okay? I think that’s the least one can expect from a stowaway.”
The cargo rig was not set up for EVA, so prepping that part had been tricky. Because she needed to open the bay doors to deploy the generators on the outside of the ship, she sealed off the flight deck and slowly bled atmosphere from the cargo bay. When it was pressurized for space, she blew the emergency bolts and opened the cargo bay door.
Unlike the Hawking II, the cargo rig had very few external lights, so she had to work in relative darkness, detaching the nanogenerators from the floor and carrying each one outside to the top of the ship. They were large and cumbersome, shaped like huge fire hydrants, and not easy to maneuver, even weightless. Following Stephen’s detailed instructions on the inside of her helmet screen, she secured them to the docking plates on either side of the flight deck. The plates were like the frame of a car, the strongest attachment points for crane-lifting the vehicle in gravity.
After making sure they were properly attached, May powered them up. The nanomachines started moving within the housing immediately, making a very loud buzzing sound that settled into a deep hum she could feel in her chest. Having fed Stephen’s command lines into the generators while still on board, she just had to activate them.
“Well, these babies are either going to blow us to kingdom come or take us home.”
May knelt down by the first generator and held tightly to a safety bar. She activated the generator, then did the same to the other. The hum returned to a buzzing, which was ten times louder than before. She backed away slowly and tethered her suit to the ship. In a dazzling flash, clouds of nanomachines poured out of the generators. At first they flew around erratically, and May feared they were going to simply buzz off into space. Then they came together like a flock of birds, moving in unison. May was in awe as they settled into their final formations, two square-shaped sails, each the size of half a football field. Within minutes they were working, and May could feel the cargo rig picking up speed.
“Huzzah!” she yelled triumphantly. “Ahoy there and all that crap. We’re fucking sailing. Not
bad, Dr. Knox, not bad at all.”
Next, she pulled out the rig’s charger cables, normally used to draw power from the Hawking II, and attached them to the generators. When she got back into the cargo bay and checked the rig’s power levels, they had risen.
“Knock on wood,” she said excitedly, “but we might just get out of this yet.”
After closing the cargo bay door and repressurizing, she sent a message to Stephen and Raj confirming solar sail deployment and strapped herself back into the flight deck chair. The plan at that point was to pilot the ship to intercept the Hawking II using a combination of Stephen’s programmed flight path and the cargo rig’s orbital maneuvering thrusters. She just needed to wait a bit for internal power to juice up. May looked out the flight deck windows at the sails as they tacked by the angle of the sun and gathered momentum. Like an actual sail, they rippled elegantly, gently rocking the ship from side to side.
46
Key West, Florida
October 15, 2066
“I could just lie here forever.”
May was lounging on the fore tramp of a thirty-eight-foot catamaran while Stephen piloted her around the western edge of Wisteria Island. It was a pristine autumn day, with a cool, steady southerly wind cutting the heat. May was entranced by the light-gray clouds moving swiftly overhead, their edges glowing silver as they passed through the eye of the sun.
“Could you get me another iced tea? I love it with the mint leaves.”
“Excuse me,” Stephen said as he stood sweating over the wheel. “I thought this was my birthday present. Shouldn’t you be getting me iced tea while I relax in the sun?”
May sat up and playfully lowered her sunglasses to look at him. “But I thought you loved to sail,” she said, grinning.
“You’re funny.”
“I’m happy to, um, drive, if you like.”
“Drive? That’s all right. We don’t have enough provisions on board for an impromptu trip to Cuba.”
She lay back down and held up her glass, shaking the ice cubes expectantly. “Happy birthday,” she said, laughing.
To celebrate Stephen’s thirty-fourth, it had been May’s idea to fly down to Key West for a long weekend. When they had arrived a couple of days ago, May had rented a car and driven them down to Whitehead Spit. She’d parked in front of a quaint conch house with two porches and a water view.
“Surprise,” she said.
Stephen got out of the car and stared in disbelief.
“Oh my God. I don’t usually say that because I don’t really believe in God, but . . . oh my God.”
“You like it?” May asked coyly.
“How did you know about this place?”
“You told me about it on our third date. Winery tour. You were a bit sloshed on merlot, staggering down memory lane.”
“That’s nice,” Stephen said, distracted.
He walked up to the front porch and drank it all in. This was the beach house his parents had taken him to on winter vacations before they died. There was an old telescope next to the same Adirondack chairs he’d sat in with them.
He removed the cap and looked out at the ocean. “I used to spot boats from here. I kept a log of everything that passed.”
“A present from Raj. He made a point of letting me know he spent hours hunting one down on the dark web or the pirate web or some web only Raj and a few other geeks know about. He said you could use it to spy on beach babes.”
“Good old Raj. My genius degenerate best friend.”
They sat in the Adirondack chairs and looked out at the water. The sun splashed color on the waves as it clung to the horizon. The wood on the porch, gray and speckled with salt and age, was rough on May’s bare feet, warning her of splinters if she moved too quickly.
“The smell is what really takes me back,” Stephen said with tears in his eyes. “When I was still little, my dad and I sailed in the afternoons on our twenty-five-foot raised deck cutter, just gliding through whitecaps, sometimes fishing if the wind was down. When we came back at dinnertime, my mom would always be reading on the porch. The air was thick and sweet from the flowers opening. Almost every night we had this same ocean breeze. It would kind of sweep up through the sand into the garden, then up here on the porch. After being in the heat all day, we’d get a little chilly.”
“Those sound like very fond memories,” May said, holding his hand.
“This place is . . . it is my childhood.”
“So I done good?”
“You done damn good.” He pulled May in for a kiss and quickly went inside to have a look.
“I guess I’ll bring in the bags then, Peter Pan,” May laughed, pleased at his reaction.
When she walked inside, Stephen was wandering around, rediscovering everything. “It hasn’t changed a bit. It’s like a time capsule.”
May instantly fell in love with the place. Its sheer white curtains glowed with fingers of light as they waved gently against the gray window frames and leaded glass. Old, fraying rugs with faded colors and patterns were still spread across the thin oak flooring, covering the years of scratches and burn marks underneath. The walls were freshly painted, white with blue trim.
Electric lights, running water, and an ancient stove were the extent of the creature comforts. There were no phones to ring, no screens to watch, and no data invisibly bombarding them from every angle. It took both of them a while to get used to the silence, but then they relished it. That night they took a walk on the moonlit beach.
“Best birthday present ever,” Stephen said.
“Really? Better than the birthday when you got a new dirt bike?”
“Wow. You really listen to me and remember things I say. In great detail.”
“Uh, yeah. I’m your wife, so I have to listen to your boring stories and laugh at your terrible jokes. It’s my job.”
“Just like my job as your husband is to ignore all of yours.”
“Exactly. We’re well on our way to becoming the old married couple we’ve always dreamed we could be.”
“We are the weirdest people I know,” Stephen said, laughing.
“Hallelujah. Speaking of that, where’s the dock you used to sneak out and fish from at night while your mom and dad were asleep?”
“My God, your memory is like a steel trap,” Stephen said, amazed.
They walked to the beach near the dock and stood next to the pylons, the warm waves rushing over their feet and sinking them deeper into the sand.
“Look at the moon on the water,” Stephen said, walking out farther.
“Watch out,” May yelled back just before a wave knocked him off his feet.
Stephen fell backward under the wave and struggled to his feet, coughing and sputtering. May helped him up, screeching with laughter.
“I meant to do that,” he joked, spitting out the salt water.
“Thought you’d go for a casual dip, eh?” she said.
He kissed her. “Hey, let’s go up on the dock where all the teenagers used to make out.”
“So Raj was right about you and that telescope,” she joked, and took his hand.
They walked to the end of the dock and sat with their feet dangling. Down in the dark water, hundreds of tiny blue-green lights glowed just below the surface.
“That’s amazing,” May exclaimed. “They’re like ocean stars.”
“Dinoflagellates,” Stephen said. “Single-celled organisms. They create that light, kind of like fireflies. Bioluminescence.”
“Don’t ruin it with your science. They’re ocean stars.”
“Look, there’s the Big Dipper, ha ha ha,” Stephen said in a goofy voice.
“Hilarious.”
May lay down on the dock and pulled Stephen down next to her. The high clouds were breaking up, revealing the bright half-moon and stars.
“There, that’s better,” May said. “The real thing.”
Stephen rolled to the side and touched May’s belly. She pulled up her T-shirt, and he p
ut his ear to her belly button.
“Hear anything?” she asked.
“Only grumbling,” Stephen said.
“Surprise, surprise; the beast within has made me hungry again.”
Stephen lay back down and watched the stars intensely.
“What’s going on in that massive brain of yours?” she asked. “I can hear the gears grinding.”
“Really?”
“It’s deafening.”
“I’m not looking forward to going back to work.”
“It’ll be fine,” she said. “Besides, one of us has to be gainfully employed so I can sit around the house watching television and getting fat on chocolates.”
“I just hate the idea of being up there on the station, so far away. It’s not like I can just hop on a plane and come home whenever I want.”
“Are you worried about me?”
“No, I’m—”
“You are. That is so sweet. But you know I’m a badass and can take care of myself.”
“Yes,” he said, sighing. “I know.”
“So stop worrying. I’m going to be fine. The baby is going to be fine. We are going to be just fine. Say it, please.”
“We are going to be just fine.”
“See? It’s that simple. Now stop ruining the vibe and look at the stars.”
He did, and they lay there for a long time, their hands clasped over May’s belly. Stephen turned on his side to face her again. She did the same, propping herself up on her elbow to face him. She could see he was still ruminating about something.
“What now, Dr. Knox?”
“I know you’ve told me this already, but I like to check in from time to time to make sure you don’t have any—”
“Regrets?” she asked, rolling her eyes.
“Sorry. I’ll shut up now.”
“The answer is still no,” she said firmly, looking him in the eyes. “I have no regrets.”
“Good.”
They kissed, and Stephen lay back down. May sat up, pretending to look down at her glowing sea creatures so Stephen wouldn’t see the tears running down her cheeks. She thought of what she really wanted to say but didn’t dare, knowing what it would do to him.