by S. K. Vaughn
“To where? There was nothing even remotely in range.”
said rescue ship coming
“And they were desperate enough to believe you. How did you hide on the ship?”
biogarden disabled cam and motion sensors
“Did you cause the hull breach in there?”
no stress fracture
“Indirectly caused by you. So, here’s the million-dollar question: Why didn’t you finish the job when you realized I was still alive and had cock-blocked your first attempt to scuttle the ship?”
sick almost died warren said wait for when u contacted mission ctrl
“He waited till he found out I remembered nothing and then gave the order.”
Jon nodded.
“Was anyone else involved besides you?”
Jon paused and looked down. May hit him with nearly thirty seconds of searing pain. When she brought him back, tears tinged with blood rolled down his face.
“Jon, you’re going to die no matter what. So it can either be that way or I can send you off with an overdose of happy juice. At this point, it’s idiotic for you to be loyal to anyone other than me.”
someone mission ctrl don’t know
“Bullshit.”
warrens man classified
“You expect me to believe that?”
He nodded and tried to say yes, but nearly coughed himself to death.
“Let’s test it.”
He tried to shake his head, but she gave him zero pain meds for a full minute. When she turned them back on, his face had fresh bleeding cracks crisscrossing his blackened skin.
“Okay, I believe you.”
May wondered what kind of person would agree to that level of dirty work, and a task that involved his surrendering his own life in the process. But she didn’t have to think too hard. She’d been in the military and knew the type. The powers that be did too. They could spot a lapdog a mile away. All they needed was a little psychological conditioning to cement the mind-set, and they had a robot who would do whatever they said. It hadn’t occurred to May that Robert and the powers behind the Europa mission would stoop this low, but it made sense in a sick way. This had been the first mission of its kind. Europa had long been believed to have the right conditions for organic life, even if it was microscopic and lived in an ocean twelve miles below solid ice. And it made sense that men in Robert’s position would sprint down the path of least resistance if things went sideways. After all, if you didn’t belong to their country clubs and run in their circles of wealth and influence, you were less than human, a simple means to their ends.
“Does Robert know I’m still alive now?”
He shook his head.
“There’s no rescue mission, is there?”
He typed:
never was
May had to sit and breathe for several minutes to keep her cool.
“I hope you fully understand what you’ve done here. You’re not a soldier. Or a patriot. You’re a mercenary, a killer for hire. You sold your soul to people who used you like a piece of meat, which is literally what you are right now . . . a charred piece of brainless fucking hamburger. All because you’re heartless, your mind is weak, and you have no balls. And if I make it through this, rest assured I will find everyone who has ever been important to you—family, friends, everyone you’ve ever loved—and I will tell them exactly who you were. You’re a disgrace to yourself and the uniform, and I hope you rot in hell.”
She switched off the pain meds and watched Jon Escher die in agony. When his chest stopped moving and he went limp, May wept. Not for him, but for everyone he’d betrayed and slaughtered in cold blood, including herself and her unborn child. May gave him the same burial he had given the others: a one-way trip into the eternal nothingness of the void. Given the state of things, she figured she and her stowaway wouldn’t be far behind.
54
Stephen and Raj sat in uncomfortable folding chairs at a secret memorial service for May and the Hawking II passengers and crew. It was a small ceremony for their families and colleagues, held on the lawn near the mirror memorial at Kennedy Space Center in Florida. NASA brass had ordered it closed to the public but allowed a handful of press to observe and record the event from what looked to Stephen like an animal holding pen. It was hot and damp, and Stephen just wanted it to be over. A raised podium faced the mourners. Robert was up there, addressing them in a somber tone, occasionally resorting to dramatic pauses to ensure they were fully ingesting the steaming pile of horseshit he was shoveling.
Raj had to remind Stephen several times to maintain his composure; clearly the rhetoric and the utterly false pretense behind it was driving him to a murderous rage. In turn, he had to remind himself to keep his cool, because any show of hostility toward Robert would arouse the man’s suspicions, which were undoubtedly already on high alert. As soon as she was able, May had sent a message to the two of them informing them about Jon Escher, his ties to Robert, and the existence of a third person, Robert’s man at Mission Control, who was also involved. Their coordinated, covertly managed actions as self-appointed dictator and death squad were as repugnant and morally unforgivable as the funeral service Stephen had to endure. But May’s life was still on the line, and Stephen’s need for blood would have to wait.
“I’d like to play something Commander Knox recorded for all of you just before her passing. As she fought to survive in the face of incredible adversity, she never lost sight of her duties as commander. The steadfast loyalty and genuine camaraderie she felt for the crew is best summed up in the eulogy she wrote for all of you to hear.”
Robert ceremoniously motioned for his AV tech to play the recording. Within a few seconds, May’s voice rang out through the speakers, and everyone held their breath.
“This is Maryam Knox, commander of the Hawking II. I want to say to the families of my crew and passengers—our friends and comrades—that I am so very sorry for your loss. Although the events that led to the demise of so many great men and women are still unknown, I take full responsibility, and the sorrow of this catastrophe will remain heavy in my heart until the day I die. It is my sworn duty to ensure that all your loved ones are returned to Earth for proper burial. You have my word that I will do everything in my power to fulfill this duty and pay each of you a personal visit upon my return. As you mourn your loss, please know that everyone on this vessel experienced incredible joy in the completion of the Europa expedition, a monumental endeavor that would never have been achieved without them. I am forever grateful for their service, and God bless you all.”
The mourners cried an ocean of bitter tears, their broken hearts swelling with pride. Although he wanted to wipe Robert’s false tears away with both barrels of a twelve-gauge shotgun, Stephen was proud of May. The irony was impenetrably thick—that someone so noble and worthy of the Europa mission could be betrayed by her superiors in the worst possible way, then falsely exalted by the same. Welcome to American history, Stephen thought. There’s no mass grave in the universe that can’t be plowed into patriotic propaganda by some well-crafted spin. May’s life was still at stake, but so was the memory of her crew.
“The Europa mission,” Robert continued, “will be regarded as one of the great tragedies in the pioneering years of deep-space exploration. However, your loved ones, the passengers and crew of the Hawking II, will go down in history as great heroes. Their lives were not lost in vain but in the noble pursuit of knowledge to advance the human race. Thank you all, and God bless America.”
Some of the mourners awkwardly applauded, and the crowd began to disperse. On their way to the sagging lemonade table with its cheap, plastic-coated American flag runner, they tried to comfort each other, holding photos of the honored deceased close to their chests. Some of them saw Stephen, and he could tell they had targeted him to offer their condolences as soon as they could make their way over. He wished he could simply disappear and be relieved of the obligation of being there, but he felt for them, and
he needed to keep up appearances for Robert.
“You must be very proud of Commander Knox.”
Someone had come up behind him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. When he turned, he saw it was a young woman wearing a press badge. No fucking way, he thought to himself. That was a fate worse than having to hold court with a huddle of grieving parents and spouses.
She gave him her best friendly, nonthreatening smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, that’s okay. I was just looking for someone,” he said, trying to stare a hole into Raj’s neck so he could be rescued.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine what it must be like,” she said, baiting.
“Stephen.” Robert’s booming voice preceded his arrival. “Will you please excuse us,” he said pointedly to the journalist.
“Of course,” she said, half scowling, and walked away.
Robert’s hand patted Stephen’s back in a show of conspicuous compassion. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m taking it one day at a time, Robert,” Stephen said, having heard that from another mourner.
“That’s all you can do,” Robert said, nodding sagely.
Stephen kept his eyes lowered for fear that looking into Robert’s might drive him over the edge. Raj finally got the hint that Stephen needed backup and walked over. “Hello, Director Warren,” Raj said, taking one for the team.
“Nice to see you,” Robert said, shaking his hand the way one would hold a dead rat.
“Thank you for this service,” Stephen said, making his own ass-kissing contribution.
“Of course,” Robert said. “I just wish NASA weren’t such a stick-in-the-mud about serving alcohol. At the very least, everyone deserves a drink or two on us.”
“Yeah,” Stephen said through gritted teeth.
“At the very least,” Raj agreed.
“Speaking of which, why don’t you guys take a walk with me? I wanted to talk to you anyway, and I know a place nearby.”
“Robert, I’d love to, but—”
“I insist, Stephen. As I said, it’s the least I can do.”
While Robert hugged a few more mothers and wives and firmly shook the hands of the fathers and husbands, Stephen saw someone he recognized getting a cup of lemonade in the shadows of the refreshment tent—a tall man with long, graying hair, wearing sunglasses and a black pinstripe suit that must have been sweltering.
“Ian Albright,” he said to himself.
“Yeah, I saw him earlier. He sat in the back,” Raj said.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Dude, I already thought you were going to go ballistic. I wasn’t going to stoke that fire. He seems to be keeping to himself anyway.”
“I can’t believe Robert let him in here. This is supposed to be strictly for families.”
“Rich people are their own family, dude.”
“I can’t take this anymore,” Stephen said.
He was about to bolt when Robert appeared, having finished his rounds.
“Shall we, gentlemen?”
55
The three of them sat in a private cigar room at a luxury hotel. At least it was the kind of place people with bad taste, people like Robert, considered luxurious. Hunter-green carpeting with casino-style patterns and flecks of gold met dark wood-paneled walls adorned with paintings of English fox hunts and prize thoroughbreds. The staff was very familiar with Robert, much to his satisfaction, offering him one of the more well-appointed rooms off the beaten path. After the drinks had been delivered and the soundproof, leather-lined French doors closed, Robert scrutinized his martini and lit up a dark, acrid-smelling Robusto.
“Would you gents like a smoke? They have an excellent selection here.”
“No, thank you,” Stephen said. “I feel like I’m already having yours.”
Raj shot him a look. Robert laughed. “Raj, you know there’s no reason whatsoever for either of you to be obsequious.”
“Meaning?”
“To kiss his ass,” Stephen said, downing half of his sickly-sweet old-fashioned.
“Oh, I wasn’t trying to—” Raj started.
“I saw how you looked at Stephen when he made his . . . comment. We’re all friends here. No need to stand on ceremony.”
Stephen drank more to keep his mouth from speaking.
“How are the drinks?”
“A little overdone for my taste,” Stephen said, finishing his.
“Kind of like me, huh?” Robert said, winking. “How was the speech? Sometimes it’s hard to know if you’re saying too much or not saying enough.”
“It was good,” Raj said, kissing ass. “I think people . . . it made them feel good.”
“Well, that’s good. But it wasn’t really me. May’s words were what made it special.”
Stephen held his tongue. Raj tried to fill the silence.
“Yeah. Very heartfelt. She’s . . . was a true hero.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Raj. She is a true hero. Right, Stephen?”
Robert’s tone had been different from the moment the waiter had closed the door to the smoking room, and it was continuing to change, becoming more acerbic, with none of his usually heavily lacquered formality. The look that came with the tone was more pointedly knowing.
“Yes, Robert. No question about it.”
“I’m glad we agree on something for once.”
Robert smoked some more and seemed to be pondering, or pretending to do so.
“I know it must be very hard to understand,” he said, “when awful things like this happen to such good people. We know they don’t deserve it, but that’s fate. We never know when it will tap us on the shoulder and deliver its grim prospects.”
“Robert, thank you for the drink,” Stephen said, “but—”
“Please hear me out, Stephen. I promise there’s a point to all of this.”
Stephen hung his head in frustration, then sat back impatiently.
“As I was saying, we never know when fate will deal its hand. All we know is that when it does, there’s nothing to be done. We’re powerless to fight it. That’s how May and her crew felt, I’m sure. It’s how you feel, without question. And, believe it or not, it’s how I feel. And if I could change things, rest assured, I would.”
“I’ve had enough of this bullshit,” Stephen said, standing.
“Sit,” Robert shouted forcefully. “Now.”
Stephen sat, stunned by the outburst.
“You may think that you have the power to change things, to change fate,” he said to Stephen with a malevolent tone as he bent forward in his chair to look him in the eye, “with your brilliant intellect, and your resourcefulness . . .”
The last part he shot directly at Raj, who froze when it made impact.
“But you don’t. The fate of the Hawking II, its commander and crew, has been decided . . . by powers greater than us. Their story has been told, and given a strong, hopeful ending. Those who don’t respect that, who arrogantly challenge it, do so at their own peril—perhaps even at the peril of their loved ones, living and passed.”
There was no longer any doubt in Stephen’s mind that this was not just one of Robert’s self-aggrandizing soliloquies. It was a threat, indirectly levied, but a threat nonetheless. He had to be aware of their actions, both past and present—hence the presence of Raj. Reinforcing this was Robert’s not so thinly veiled confession, or at least his confession of collusion with “powers greater than us.” It all resonated with an undercurrent of psychosis that made the man appear even more dangerous than Stephen had thought.
The urge to punch his way through the symbolic language and deliver a very literal and physically brutal retort was almost too powerful for Stephen to ignore. But he knew exactly what Robert was getting at when he spoke of the “story” of the Hawking II and her crew. Instead of heroism, May’s legacy could easily be altered to that of scapegoat if he and Raj continued their challenges. Robert k
new well enough that Stephen had no regard for himself. It was May he cared most about protecting.
“Are you finished?” Stephen asked, getting up with the intention of leaving.
Robert sat back, confident he’d made his point, and flicked his reptilian tongue across his bloodless mouth slit. “That’s a question better answered by the two of you.”
Stephen and Raj headed for the door.
“One last thing, gentlemen,” Robert said, his tone returning to its usual spokesman-for-officialdom mode. “The Department of Defense, in coordination with NASA, is conducting an investigation into what occurred on the Hawking II. From this point forward, everything associated with this mission, including all research data, is considered evidence, and is therefore classified. Failure to surrender any such materials that might be in your possession constitutes obstruction of justice. Distribution of said materials to the press or the general public could bring charges of treason. You have forty-eight hours to ensure you’re in compliance.
“It’s been a pleasure working with you, and I wish you both the best of luck in all your future endeavors.”
56
May was in the infirmary, trying to figure out how to use the ultrasound machine in the remote onboard surgery assistant’s bag of tricks. Igor had been powered back up when May restored the ship’s internal power. She was having trouble communicating with Stephen and Raj, and Eve’s processors were still warming up, so she decided it was time to do what she’d been dreading and see if the stowaway had truly survived her latest adventure. As she squirted the transponder gel on her belly, following Igor’s instructions, the fear that “the kid” might have passed ramped up, confirming, at least for May, that she had made the right decision.
“Okay, Igor, disgusting goo applied. Transpond away.”
“Please lie still, Commander.”
“Copy that.”
Igor’s arm, a metal snake covered in pearlescent rubber, moved fluidly out of its side with the ultrasound transponder attached.
“This might be a little cold,” Igor warned.