by Ron S. Nolan
Genie held up a bottle of beer, took a long swig and then shouted, “I hereby declare this bar open for business...and yes even you crazy lunatic lovers are welcome. Feel free to order your favorite concoctions."
The bar erupted in a new chant. "Genie, Genie, Genie."
Someone picked up one of the CREOS armbands from the pile on the bar and threw it at her. Others joined in until she was bent over and laughing hysterically enveloped in a blizzard of flying armbands. Gradually the background chatter was replaced by mockingbird calls, lion roars, cricket chirps mixed with the sounds of humans laughing and getting along together.
Genie dimmed the lights and activated the ceiling-wide vidscreen. Planet Earth had never before looked quite so far away...so beautiful...and yet so very fragile.
-- CHAPTER 32 --
Once the Reverend and his wife were strapped into the shuttle for the trip back to Earth, he put in a call to Horowitz at BioGenetics International. There was no connection so he tried his number at Forever, Inc. and was immediately put through. “Dr. Horowitz, I am ashamed to admit that I have failed God, the Seekers of Divine Light and you as well. The missing locket in which Dr. Sturtevant hid her research results is sequestered in the Ark and the Ark is on its way out of the solar system on that blasted comet. It will not return for nineteen years.”
His confession was met with silence, so he added, "Please take heart, if Dr. Sturtevant could find the immortality gene working on her own, I am confident that your team will eventually succeed as well. You may rest assured that my wife and I will continue to provide generous support for your research. Was there any damage to our facility?”
Horowitz brightened up with the prospect of more funding. “No damage here, but the Bay Area is a disaster and BGI’s campus was completely demolished. The only good news is that most of the strikes were conventional–not thermonuclear. A few of those decision makers must have used some degree of restraint.“
The Reverend made the sign of the cross. “God be with you, my friend. I will contact you when I return.”
******
Torch tried to get Astra moving toward the lounge exit, but she wrapped her arms around him and sobbed against his shoulder. He pulled back, gave her a little shake and whispered in her ear, “Remember when Sabien said green light minus twenty minutes?”
“Yes, what did that mean?”
“It means that we need to suit up and get outside pronto. Sabien will be contacting us on the laser system.”
Torch had barely setup the laser and targeted the shuttle when Sabien’s smiling face appeared on the screen.
Sabien’s voice sounded relieved. “Good now we can really talk. First, you should disregard pretty much everything that I just said in the lounge.
This laser COM system is the only way I feel we can be guaranteed to have a private conversation.”
Astra’s jaw dropped, “You mean you are not going to land on that comet then freeze to death?”
“Well…yes to the first part, but no to the second–we are actually heading for Europa.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Remember the cram course Vladamir gave me in celestial navigation when we went on the mission to insert our pods into Earth orbit?"
"Well, sort of...As I recall you went all over the base looking for a slide rule and calculator and it turned out that Miguel had a set that belonged to his granddad. But what about Europa? I don't get the connection."
"After he crash landed his bird, Vladamir was very insistent on me mastering the use of gravitational slingshots to decelerate into an orbit around a planet–all he allowed me to use was Miguel's old hand calculator. Jupiter was one of exercise targets he selected which led me to do some thinking and I came up with a new idea.”
Torch was confused. “But didn't you say that you are heading for Europa? Why? That doesn’t compute. A shuttle could never make it that far.”
“Normally that’s true, but the idea is to land on the comet and then hitch a ride to Jupiter’s moon, Europa. The elliptical orbits of Jupiter and its moons will soon be at the closest point in their solar orbits. Our plan is to catch up with the comet at its slowest speed, anchor to the ice and then ride along as it accelerates. The trip to Europa should only take about twelve months.”
Astra asked, ”How can you survive that long? How will you get back home?”
Sabien continued. “Vladamir loaned me the team of tech mechanics that Sanders had assigned him to rebuild Vlad’s Explorer. We made extensive modifications to one of the Deep Space Mining shuttles–including the addition of a cryo sleep chamber for me. Jasmine claims that she can hibernate at will, so we loaded on board all the tools and provisions that the shuttle could handle. I expect to be alternately thawed and re-frozen at different stages in the voyage."
As the impact of Sabien's plan unfolded, Astra began weeping. She choked, "How will you survive when you get there? Will we ever see you again?"
Sabien tried to sound upbeat. "To give us more cargo space, Vladamir attached one of the company’s ore haulers to our stern. It’s totally packed with solar panels, tools and enough food, oxygen and water to get to Europa–plus about a year on the surface if we conserve our resources."
"But what about when they run out?"
"The container also has a state of the art hydroponic system to grow our own crops and there should be plenty of ice that we can thaw for water.”
Torch said, “Sabien I don’t know how you pulled this off with no one noticing and in the short time you had available, but you are a definitely a genius.”
Sabien replied, “We owe all this to Vladamir and Melinda. They footed the bill for the entire mission. This was all pretty much haphazardly thrown together, but we will have plenty of time talk on the laser system about next steps as we move forward. Maybe we can persuade Vladamir to bring supplies…or bring us back if we can’t make it on our own. We won’t know until we get there and do some exploring.”
Torch was impressed. ”Wow! The CREOS will think that what you claimed in the bar was true. That the comet is taking the Ark out of the solar system for nineteen years when in fact, it will remain in our own backyard–relatively speaking that is.”
Sabien nodded. “It was only a coincidence that Vladamir used Jupiter as a lesson, but all my life I have been hearing from space junkies how Europa is a prime candidate for extraterrestrial life–yet after decades of planning and sending many generations of Juno space probes–humans still have yet to set foot on Europa. Jasmine and I plan to be the first! Please tell everyone we love them and goodbye.”
Astra reminded Jasmine to rescue her locket from the Ark and keep it safe until it could be returned to her. Jasmine agreed and said, “No problem.”
”Then she poked Sabien in the ribs. “Tell them!”
“All right…Sis, we’re going to have a new addition to the Sturtevant family line.”
She answered, “You’ve got to be kidding. How did that happen?"
Sabien shook his head. “I’m not really sure….”
Jasmine interrupted, “We made human love. I am now carrying his child.”
Sabien joked, “If it’s a boy, I want to name him ‘Cedar’. That way if it turns out to be a tree, then the name still works. Right?”
Astra laughed, “And if it’s a girl…I would call her ‘Solara’. The name 'Solara Sturtevant’ has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
Jasmine leaned forward, cupped her hands around her mouth so Sabien couldn’t see and then silently mouthed the words, “It's...a...girl.” Everyone laughed except for Sabien who wondered what he had just missed.
Torch said, “Congrats, buddy. You’re going to be a dad.”
Sabien grinned and chuckled, “I’m not the only one buddy.”
It was Torch’s turn to be confused. He looked at Sabien and spurted, “What?”
Suddenly, Astra wrapped her arms around him and touched her helmet next to his. She whispered, “How do you like the n
ame ‘Luz’? It means light.”
Torch looked up at the stars. What have I gotten myself into this time?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ron S. Nolan, Ph.D. lives in Aptos, California near the sunken ship at the end of the pier in SeaCliff Beach. He spends his days working out, running, writing and performing tech patent research.... quite a leap from his early days in Western Kansas where he shared the farm outhouse with a nest of half frozen rattlesnakes and learned to read by the light of a Coleman lantern! To learn more about his latest novels and screenplays, please visit…
Planetropolis Publishing
www.planetropolis.com
******
An engaging adventure about
a pair of paranormal dolphins!
Preview
E-Book and paperback versions
are available at www.planetropolis.com.
Copyright © 2017
by Ron S. Nolan
Key West, Florida 1965
Newcomers to Key West–at least those who came in search of island history, often as not received directions to the order of, "It's near the center of the grounds...just look for the birds. You'll find it." And looking up they would seem to notice for the first time the gaggles of gulls circling and screaming–a kind of parody of nearby Duval street along which shuttled disoriented tourists in a never ending, back and forth, coast to coast rush. Homing in towards the center of attraction, the visitors would find a full-sized, steam-powered locomotive, a relic of Averell Harriman's inter-island railroad, standing rock-solid on a short section of track, baking waves of searing heat from its shiny black plate. Seagulls perpetually slid and crisscrossed overhead, sometimes landing briefly before lifting off towards the crystalline sand of Baker Beach and the rich fishing grounds of the Gulf. The train served as a social commons for the birds; a strutting ground where newly formed pairs enacted their preprogrammed rituals of courtship–leaving beneath their perches frozen drips, like vanilla frosting melting in the hot sun. Small well-kept clapboard houses crafted in the classic style of historic Key West bordered Mac Arthur Park. Like most of the homes in the neighborhood, the Grant residence was washed chalk-white. The front porch was screened as protection against Florida's ravenous mosquitoes and remained cool even in the heat of the afternoon.
Overhead, suspended by brass links, a carved wooden sign in bright paint announced 'GRANT’S PET SHOP.' A green and red enameled parrot grasped the top of the ‘O’ in the word ‘SHOP’ hanging tight with yellow talons. A busy jungle of tropical banana, pink and red bougainvillea, and blazing birds of paradise engulfed the small yard separated from the sidewalk by a cedar hedge. Cement birdbaths and low benches were stashed haphazardly in the lush foliage. Looking more like a home than a business, a passerby would have never guessed the extent of the menagerie within–especially in the middle of a very quiet neighborhood in Key West, Florida during the summer of 1965.
Past the porch packed with faded wicker furniture and choked waist-high with neat stacks of yellowed newspapers, a wooden door with a cracked white porcelain knob led into the shop proper. Assorted bamboo birdcages, small and large, jammed side-by-side, harbored chirping, and flitting, tropical birds in effulgent plumage. A chorus of demanding minas, punctuated by piercing monkey screams, blended with whirling hamster wheels and the rhythmic throbbing of electric aquarium pumps. The whistles, chirps, and whisper of fine bubbles bursting free from row upon row of fish tanks laid a matte finish synthesis upon which grew warm earthy smells reminiscent of a moist, tropical rain forest spiced with the aroma of fragrant pipe tobacco.
Grandma Erma Grant sat on her favorite wooden stool, hidden behind a forest of suspended aquarium nets, dog brushes and red and yellow displays of Hartz Mountain parakeet seed. As usual, she was absorbed by the shop's ambiance, daydreaming amidst the collage of sounds, motions and smells and listening to the dialog of the animals as they freely expressed themselves in languages that she seemed to fully comprehend.
As a rule, she favored loose-fitting flowered blouses and long skirts which gave plenty of breathing room to her ample girth, but she never appeared in the shop without her forest green, full-length apron with pockets bulging with thermometers, sunflower seeds, yellow wooden pencils and cellophane-wrapped packets of Kleenex. She wore her thick silver hair braided and wrapped tightly in a bun just barely restrained by sturdy hairpins. She was the kind of person that people liked immediately upon meeting for the first time.
Grandma Grant stooped over gingerly and looked down into the cardboard box lying on the floor behind the counter. Seeing just an empty bowl of water and a few wilted lettuce leaves, she frowned and then called in a deep, rich voice toward the back of the shop, "Grandpa, I just knew it. I knew something was wrong around here. He's got out again, that little rascal. Shut the back screen and help me find him, will you dear?"
Her husband, Roland Grant, was five years older than she. Tall and thin, his bristly jaw was forever clenched to the stem of a briar pipe filled with tobacco. And like most pipe smokers, he enjoyed the ceremony of filling, lighting, tamping and scraping almost as much as the taste of the Wedgeworth tobacco smoke. Grandpa Grant could either be jovial or cantankerous and sometimes a little bit of both at the same time. He was set in his ways and accustomed to doing things according to his own well-established routine. So like many people do for some reason, he pretended not to hear her on the first call even though his hearing was as sharp as ever.
Grandma smiled, knowing his tricks, she repeated her request, but a notch louder this time.
From the rear of the shop, over the effervescence of aquarium air stones, she heard his deep baritone answer, "Old Gopher Brain is back here, dear."
Grandpa, wearing a blue work shirt and faded overalls, shuffled up the aisle hefting a struggling ten-pound desert terrapin whose stubby legs vainly breaststroked in empty space.
As he lowered the AWOL tortoise back into the box, he continued, "He's just getting senile like the rest of us. Didn't get back 'fore you noticed he was gone this time did he?"
Grandpa gave the turtle a gentle rap on the top of its shell. "Here you go old Gopher Brain, you are a tricky fella, aren't ya? ‘Bout time for Sandra to be comin' home, ain't it? Bet she stopped off at the park. She sure loves that train, doesn't she Grandma?"
"Grandpa, I love that child. I just wish her parents could have lived to see how she is turning out. She's a real charmer, and sharp too! Some young man is going to thank his lucky stars when she says ‘yes’."
"You're right, but I don't think that's gonna..."
Grandma's eyes suddenly rolled up into the back of her head and she slumped forward. Her broad elbows landed with a thud on the wooden counter. She cradled her head in her palms and slowly rocked back and forth.
Cut off in mid-sentence, Grandpa snapped his jaw shut and puffed a cloud of blue-gray smoke from the stem of his pipe. It was another one of her ‘spells’ and he had learned to keep still at moments like this. Not until several years into their marriage had she cautiously revealed her secret–that she often heard voices from another place and time. By now Grandpa was convinced that she often did. The best thing he could was to relight his pipe and sit tight.
Roland...Grandpa...I just had the most wonderful vision about Sandra. I've known for years that she has my psychic gift. She is already starting to develop a power like mine in some ways, but different in others. I saw her grown into a beautiful young woman and swimming in the sea with dolphins. There was a very handsome man falling in love with her...and so were the dolphins."
"But Grandma, Sandra told me that she was going to wait for me until she grows up," laughed Grandpa. “But since she's only in junior high school, I don't think we have to worry about marrying her off quite yet. She still insists she wants to go to the University of Miami and become a psychologist. She sure has your way with the critters around here, I'll vouch for that."
Grandpa exclaimed "Hey! I just heard the front door slam. I bet that's her
. Let's get the milk and the cookies going. This jabbering is making me mighty hungry for some of those wonderful, home-made chocolate chips you just baked."
Randamount College
Santa Rosa, California 1991
Dr. Sandra Grant, Assistant Professor of Parapsychology at Randamount College had been waiting on pins and needles for a call from Robert McCord, a long-time friend that she had known from way back in her high schools days in Key West. If they had chosen different career paths–he to become a corporate lobbyist for defense contractors and she to become a researcher studying the paranormal, they might have hooked up. But that was water under the bridge.
Still, their friendship remained strong. Two weeks ago when Sandra explained to Robert that she was having difficulties raising funds for her research on dolphin behavior, he requested a copy of her proposal and promised to do what he could to help.
When they spoke a week later, they went over a list of Robert’s questions and he told her, “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I have a possible lead for you. I am meeting with General Pratt Houston this evening and I will call you as soon as I get his answer.”
Sandra oscillated between pacing back and forth and staring at the phone. But after waiting until midnight on the East Coast with no call, she figured it was a no go and went to bed. Just as she closed her eyes the phone rang.
She prayed, let it be Robert with good news.
It was Robert and he had very good news. His voice boomed, "Sandra, I apologize for the late hour, but I gave your proposal to the source I mentioned. You got it. Full funding...one hundred percent of your proposed budget and two bottlenosed dolphins to boot courtesy of the NUC!"