SKYEYES
Page 30
As everyone stands, Patricia, sitting at the organ, begins the hymn and sings as the rest join.
My life goes on in endless song,
Above Earth’s lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.
Through all the tumult and the strife,
I hear it’s music ringing.
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?
The rain builds to a crescendo, running down the windows in sheets. The double doors of the church blow open, though the music still plays and most continue to sing. As the congregation turns around, they are struck still. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from outside, is the figure of a girl. Because of the backlight, her features are not visible, but it’s clear she’s soaked head to foot, her white dress with the red trim dripping on the floor.
While though the tempest loudly roars,
I hear the truth, it liveth.
And though the darkness ‘round me close,
Songs in the night it giveth.
No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that rock I’m clinging.
Since love is Lord of Heaven and Earth,
How can I keep from singing?
Gradually, she takes a step at a time until a collective gasp rises. Noelle steps into the aisle as Melody walks toward her. Melody approaches, stops, and gazes into her eyes. Noelle strokes her cheek, as if to see if she’s real, and Melody gently touches her hand, then looks toward the altar and walks further. As she continues up the aisle, awe, tears, and joy spread down each pew. In one row, standing in a line, are Tall Tree, Sam, and Matt. Mrs. Barry swoons, catching herself on the back of the pew.
When tyrants tremble in their fear,
And hear their death knell ringing,
When friends rejoice, both far and near,
How can I keep from singing?
In prison cell and dungeon vile,
Our thoughts to them are winging,
When friends by shame are undefiled,
How can I keep from singing?
Melody stands directly in front of the altar, staring up at Pastor Neal as the hymn ends. She walks up the two steps to the open sanctuary, bathed in sunlight that cascades through the glass wall, and looks out at the monumental view of Kinesava. The light, reflected off the orange-white cliff and cast through the waving angel tree, sprays flickering iridescent rays into the sanctuary and upon her. Neal walks up to her, puts his hand on her shoulder, and leads her as she sits in the front pew for the first time.
Several parishioners rise and run out the doors as Pastor Neal stares at Melody, his eyes glazed over. He looks down at the podium, smiles, and tosses the notes of his sermon over his shoulder, bringing on a relief of laughter that spreads through the church. After looking nearly everyone in the eye, he turns to Melody again as he contemplates. “Join me, please, Psalm 139, verses 14 through 16.” He waits as the shuffling of thin Bible pages adorns the spiritual silence that fell upon Emmanuel, decorated with an occasional sniffle. Neal recites from memory and the congregation joins:
“‘I praise thee, for thou art fearful and wonderful.
Wonderful are thy works!
Though knowest me right well;
My frame was not hidden from thee,
When I was being made in secret,
intricately wrought in the depths of the Earth.
Thine eyes beheld my unformed substance;
In thy book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there were none of them.’”
He pauses. “‘Thine eyes beheld my unformed substance.’ You know, I saw Melody on TV, as I’m sure you all did, when she so boldly announced to the world that it had no business telling her, or anybody else who has faith, that there was no hope. Because, where is the source of hope? It is surely from He who can behold who we are, who we will be, and who we were, when we were not even formed yet. Those who were dead rose, those who were blind saw. Those who were lame walked. But you know, they walked, and they rose, and they saw, while they were still ‘unformed substance’. We go through every day living a grand illusion, thinking we know what’s going on around us because of what we think we see, what we think we know, when in fact it’s what we can’t see, what we fail to know, that is most important. Things are not what they appear to be. Ever. Because only He knows ‘the days that were formed when as yet there was none of them.’ And today, Melody, whom we all knew to be afflicted, is not what she appeared to be.”
Neal contemplates as he searches for a passage. “Let me just read this to you. It was a guiding passage to my accountability group. Proverbs 8:23:
‘Ages ago I was set up, at the first, before the beginning of the Earth.
When there were no depths I was brought forth, when there were no springs abounding with water.
Before the mountains had been shaped, before the hills, I was brought forth;
Before he had made the Earth with its fields, or the first of the dust of the world.
When he established the heavens, I was there, when he drew a circle on the face of the deep,
When he made firm the skies above, when he established the fountains of the deep, when he assigned to the sea its limit, so that the waters might not transgress his command,
When he marked out the foundations of the Earth.
Then I was before him, like a little child.’”
He turns toward Francisco, seated at a grand piano near the right side of the sanctuary, and Francisco performs Children of the Living God. Melody stands, eyes closed, head bowed, and hands clasped. She begins rocking to the music and the congregation stands with her.
Children of the living God,
Come and sing, sing out loud.
Children of the living God,
Sing to the living God.
Sing of the wonders He has made,
Bird in flight, falling rain,
Sing of the wonders He has made,
Sing to the living God.
On the forward deck of the ship, the wheelchair is in the same place where Isabel watched the child in it the day before. Now, however, the wheelchair is empty as it rolls forward and back with the pitching of the ship. The child stands at the bowsprit, leaning forward into the wind.
How He loves us with great love,
He who sits enthroned above.
For our lives He spilled His blood,
Sent His spirit like a flood.
Children of the living God,
Sing to the living God.
Children of the living God,
Sing to the living God.
In a one-room shack in an Ecuadorian ghetto, a mother calls for her child, looking for her frantically in the small room, then notices the open door slamming in the wind. As she walks toward it she sees wooden crutches lying in the doorway and looks outside, her expression turning from worry to astonishment.
Sing of His gentle healing hands,
How they found the lowliest man.
Sing of His gentle healing hands,
Sing to the living God.
Sing of the mercy that He gives,
Though we sin, He forgives.
Sing of the mercy that He gives,
Sing to the living God.
In a hospital room, a nurse enters to find an empty bed with wires dangling from a monitor. Over at the window, a child stands on a chair, straining to see outside, the Sun shining on her face.
How He loves us with great love,
He who sits enthroned above.
For our lives He spilled his blood,
Sent His spirit like a flood.
Children of the living God,
Sing to the living God.
Sing for the morning when He comes,
In the clouds, glorious Son.
Sing for the morning when He
comes,
Sing to the living God.
Isabel sleeps soundly until awakened by the ringing of the phone. She squints at the clock, realizes how late it is, rubs her eyes, and answers. “Hello?… Yeah, Nonna, I know. I can’t believe I slept this late. I never... What?… He’s what?... But that’s impossible, isn’t it?” She sits up on the edge of the bed, looking around, lost. “OK, OK. The Captain’s cabin... Yes, I’ll hurry.”
Isabel wonders if she’s still asleep. Some kind of cruel dream, Tom coming home. A few more moments of looking around convince her that it isn’t a dream. Instead, perhaps, a dream come true.
Out in the hallway, the door to Isabel’s suite flies open and she bolts out, barely thrown together. She makes her way down the narrow hallway to an intersection where she’s nearly bowled over by Walter, who stops just short of impact and looks at her. Instantly she sees something in his eyes. The clouded look that accompanied his condition is gone.
“Walter?”
“Hi, Miss Isabel. How are you this morning?”
Isabel looks at him sideways. “Never better, Walter. How about you?”
“Same here.” As he walks away their eyes remain fixed until he turns and runs off.
Captain Wright stands by his window, staring at the rolling sea outside while Nonna sits in her wheelchair, eyes closed. A forceful knock shakes the door and he walks over and opens it. Isabel stands there, then enters the room. Nonna watches her enter and looks into her eyes. The Captain lets the door close, and as they both turn toward him, purses his lips at the lack of explanation for any of it.
Inside the warehouse, equipment still stands from the last press conference and the same crowd has gathered. Only the mood has changed. Small groups talk in whispers of skepticism, bordering on impatience. Kirshner appears from the offices accompanied by Sam, Noelle, and Sid, all sensing the tension as the crowd silences and moves toward the chairs. Kirshner approaches the podium with his supporters on each side, and Noelle walks to the microphone.
“Please, be seated. I realize that my presence up here is a bit unorthodox, but I want you all to know I’m here today as Dr. Kirshner’s friend, not as a journalist. We’re aware of the questions most of you have in regard to the events of last night, and I’ll let the Doctor explain. But I want to tell you that I stand behind him, and I put my professional reputation on anything he says here today.” This meets with muted glances among the audience, now faced with the testimonial of one of their own.
Kirshner walks to the podium. “Before you ask any questions, I would like to make a statement.” He reaches over to the laptop and brings up the path projector on the screen behind him, showing the capsule on its way to Earth. Then he turns on an overhead projector sitting next to it on the table, slightly washing out the screen, takes a grease pencil, and writes on the projector in large letters, the formula: E=MC2.
“I am fully aware that most of you look upon the events of last night with great confusion, skepticism, and even distrust, and I understand. I am here to tell you today that what has happened is as unexplainable to me as it is to you, although I have come up with a modest theory which, I’m afraid, will further subject me to criticism from the scientific community, and from the public as well. But frankly, it’s the best I can do.
“To begin with, I will state categorically that any allegations of fraud, deception, or manipulation are unfounded, and I will not stand here and defend myself or anyone else as to those accusations. As Almighty God is my witness, what I have said in the past regarding this mission and the events that transpired are absolutely true.” He turns to Noelle. “Miss Crane and others have been kind enough to stand up for me, and I assure you I would not allow them to do so if this were not the case.”
A whisper floats through the warehouse. “When Mr. Holmes’ vehicle transitioned behind the Moon, it indeed had no fuel for any kind of deceleration burn, other than the single burn, solid fuel retro engine designed solely for the purpose of deceleration into an Earth recovery path at the end of the mission, had we remained in, or returned to, Earth orbit. It would have been useless to utilize that engine, and in fact it remains intact, unused. The projected path was as we described it, into an interplanetary trajectory with no hope, or I should say now, no apparent hope for recovery due to the increased kinetic energy caused by the uncontrolled translunar correction burn. And by the way, all the flight path data as I described it was independently verified by Dr. Terry Cole at NASA.”
He dabs his forehead with his handkerchief. “When the capsule reappeared from loss of signal, it was on a perfect, and I mean that literally, perfect flight path that will return it precisely to the originally intended point of Earth gravitational capture and recovery. This data is also confirmed by NASA. What of course remains unanswered, is an explanation of this... change in events.”
Kirshner looks to his silent audience. “In the most simple terms, the only method of obtaining desired flight path is, always has been, and always will be, simple energy management by use of engines, either to accelerate or decelerate the vehicle. Along with trajectory corrections, of course. What was required to obtain the desired result in this case was deceleration, or a removal of kinetic energy, or force if you will, from Mr. Holmes’ capsule. This was conventionally unavailable, as I have said, because there was no fuel for the main engine to decelerate the capsule. So, energy had to have been dissipated in some other manner.”
Kirshner stops to take a sip of water. The CNN correspondent can’t contain himself any longer. “This is all a bit much. If this is what you say it is, it seems impossible. What are you getting at?”
“Please, bear with me. I’m now going to give you the only explanation I can. When the capsule regained communication with our systems, the only noticeably unusual data, other than the ‘impossible’ change in flight path, was a discrepancy in the clocks between the capsule and the time base here on Earth. Further, as incredible as it may seem, Mr. Holmes’ wristwatch matched that of the capsule.”
With this information, the entire audience catches its breath. Kirshner takes a laser pointer and points to the formula behind him, each letter in turn as he refers to it. “’E=MC2.’ Energy equals mass times speed of light, squared, one of the most basic concepts of physics. In order to decrease the energy, mathematically, either the mass of the vehicle or the speed of light must change. The mass of the capsule has not changed, and the speed of light is thought to be a constant. However, that factor itself contains a time element: feet per second, miles per hour, et cetera. Somehow stop time, and that factor would equal zero, for whatever duration time stopped, and consequently decrease the energy factor. There is also the theory, which has gone around for decades, that when one reaches the speed of light, time... stops.”
Kirshner pauses and another reporter stands, looks at Noelle, then up at the screen. “Are you trying to say, with this business of the clocks, that time stopped?”
“If it did, in the exact amount, then the capsule could have lost the energy necessary to return it to Earth, using the gravitational fields of both the Earth and Moon.”
“If I understand you correctly, not only would time have to stop, but stop exactly the right amount, to achieve what you say has happened.”
“Precisely. And when I say precisely, again, I mean that literally. Even if we had been able to execute our own deceleration burn, never could we have done it with the precision that has occurred here. This vehicle appears to be returning to the Earth recovery window without need for a correction. The retro rocket package will not be used. The traditional double-skip maneuver will be accomplished directly from the transearth segment into the atmosphere. This was accomplished with... unfathomable exactitude.” With this, a mixture of amazement and agitation passes through the crowd, emotions that often accompany exposure to the unexplainable.
“You expect us to believe, then, that time stopped up there, exa
ctly to the bizillionth of a second, so that Holmes will return to Earth on a dime? Sounds like some kind of cosmic circus act, doesn’t it?”
“Quite a concept, isn’t it? That of time ‘stopping’ for a measurable amount of time? In any event, I can’t expect you to believe anything. No person can understand what another thinks or believes. But I will tell you this. In my journey through science, the most grandiose, the most moving concepts, were always those that appeared unbelievable when contemplated. I’ve told you all that I know, and tried, in the most human, and therefore fallible way, to explain what I can’t even comprehend myself.”
Another reporter stands. “Has Mr. Holmes said anything about what happened back there? Is there any clue to what caused this?”
At this, Kirshner looks at Noelle, then back at the reporter. “He has said only that something happened, but will not discuss the details.”
“What’s going on here? Did he have a ‘close encounter’ or something?” the reporter snorts sarcastically.
A nervous, almost giddy laugh goes through the crowd. Kirshner turns more serious. “Whatever happened appears to be of a highly personal nature, and it will be his business to reveal it, if he so wishes.”
“Well, is he ever going to make a statement? He’s refused to appear to the public since this whole thing started. Don’t you think he owes it to all of us down here to say something? Honestly, you’re asking us to swallow a lot with not much explanation.”
Before Kirshner can respond, a female reporter stands up and aggressively turns. “You know, why is something like this so hard for everybody to accept? Surely you’ve heard all this stuff coming across the wires about kids getting healed. And then there’s Melody here in Springdale. I saw that little girl with my own eyes, before and after, and I tell you what, I don’t know what happened, but whatever it is, I believe it, and I thank God for helping her. Maybe we should all start believing what we see, instead of what we think we should see.” She turns back to the podium. “Doctor, what are Mr. Holmes’ chances of returning home safely?”
“Well, naturally, any sort of reentry maneuver is fraught with danger, particularly in an untested system. However, I must say that considering what has happened so far, I am of the feeling that things are... destined to turn out in our favor. Thank you for your patience.”