by Jerry Oltion
"Fine," she said. "Why don't you make yourself useful and set the table?"
"Yes ma'am." He set his beer on the table and got four place mats from the top of the refrigerator, set out plates and silverware and napkins, then sat back down while Judy helped Donna mash the potatoes and make gravy. By the time they put the food on the table, Judy's stomach was growling like a cornered wolf.
Trent finished his beer and crushed the can with a single squeeze of his right hand, then tossed it in the garbage can under the sink. Allen tried to copy him, but it took two hands. Trent didn't even let on that he'd noticed; he just set out fresh beers all around, and when everyone had taken a seat he held up his can and said, "Here's to going where no man—or woman—has gone before."
"Hear hear!" Allen said, and everyone drank. Judy caught Donna's eye and raised an eyebrow in question, but Donna just smiled and offered her the first pick of the pork chops. Trent and Allen took off right after dinner, leaving Judy and Donna to clean up. Domesticity was new to Judy, but she found a certain pleasure in the simple repetition of washing dishes. At the moment, that was all she wanted to do. She and Donna talked about inconsequential things: the weather, Donna's job in the mall, family. They compared genealogies and discovered that they were distant relatives, either third cousins or cousins thrice removed, neither knew which. Judy said she wasn't surprised, given that everyone on Earth was supposedly only six degrees of separation from everyone else, and then they played that game for a while, trying to see who was more closely connected to various celebrities. Judy won practically every round—being an astronaut put her in some far-ranging circles—but Donna surprised her with one connection.
"You're only two people away from the Dalai Lama?"
"Yep," Donna said. "My brother went mounting climbing in Tibet with someone who knew him." She laughed, then said, "But here's the question nobody can answer me: when he dies and gets reincarnated somewhere else, are we still only two degrees apart or do we have to start all over again?" Judy thought it over for a moment while she dried the last of the silverware. "Well, you can just rock me to sleep tonight," she said at last.
Donna smiled. "It's a stumper, isn't it?"
When they finished in the kitchen, they went into the living room to watch the news. Judy and Allen were the top story on every channel, but the official word was still that the whole hyperdrive thing was a hoax. Judy felt her blood starting to boil as one anchor, a fiftyish man with the network standard touch of gray at the temples and the "trust me" dark blue suit, said in his officious voice, "NASA investigators have uncovered evidence of a conspiracy between Gallagher and Meisner that was hatched nearly two years ago, just months before Meisner applied for a crew position on board the space shuttle. It is still unclear what role the computer virus plays in their conspiracy, but top government officials . . ." He stopped speaking, but his eyes continued to scan left and right, obviously reading ahead on his teleprompter. He narrowed his eyes, then said, "Who wrote this crap, anyway? We all know that's not true. The truth is, the Space Shuttle Discovery disappeared from radar yesterday, reappeared eleven minutes later in a completely different orbit, got hit by a missile defense laser, then went to the Moon. We've got confirmation of that from half a dozen different sources, including NASA's own flight telemetry. And the original email message wasn't a virus at all. I've checked it out myself and it appears to be exactly what it says it is: detailed plans for the engine that allowed—" A loud beep drowned out his voice and the picture swirled into static, to be replaced a moment later by a text message in white on a blue background: Network Difficulties: Please Stand By.
"Network difficulties, my ass," Judy said. "The only difficulty they've got right now is the government trying to stomp all over the first amendment." She looked at the message on the screen, imagining the chaos in the TV studio at the moment. Was the anchor being sacked? Arrested? Were there soldiers rushing through the station with automatic rifles, shooting up the broadcast equipment?
Suddenly she didn't feel quite so smug about the anchor's slick persona. If he'd had any idea how much trouble he was getting himself into, he had just shown the courage of a war correspondent. She looked over at Donna, who was sitting beside her on the couch with the remote control in her hand and a surprised expression on her face. After a moment Donna switched the channel, but the other news stations were still regurgitating the official story. "This is starting to get scary," she said after the fifth or sixth reassurance that nothing unusual had happened in space.
That was the understatement of the year. Judy felt goosebumps on her goosebumps, and she wasn't even cold. "Allen and I should go," she said. "We're putting you and Trent in danger." Donna switched the channel back to the "Network Difficulties" screen. "No," she said. "I won't send anyone out in the cold to fend for themselves when I can help them. And we're not in nearly as much danger as you are."
Judy wasn't sure if she should take heart at that comment or not. Donna was right, but only because Judy and Allen were in more trouble than practically anybody.
"Well, I can't argue with you there," she said. "But all the same, I don't want to drag you into something just because you were nice enough to pick up a couple of hitchhikers."
"You didn't. Trent and I talked about it last night, and we want to help." Judy bit her lower lip, trying to decide whether to say anything more or not, but Donna saw her indecision and said, "What?"
"I was just thinking that it sounds like Trent wants to build a spaceship of his own. How do you feel about that?"
Donna laughed. "I've been living in this one-horse town all my life. I used to dream about going off to college or running away to Los Angeles and trying to get into the movies, but I never did. Once in a while I'll drive down to Salt Lake to go shopping, but that's about as exciting as it gets around here. If Trent wants to take me to Mars, I'm all for it."
"It's dangerous, you know. More dangerous than you can imagine."
"I know." Donna took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "We'll read up on it. Well, I will. Trent's not much of a reader. But I'll make sure we're ready before we go anywhere." She hesitated a moment, then added, "And I'd listen to any advice you want to give me." Judy leaned back in the couch. What advice did she have for someone who had never been into space before?
"Take Dramamine."
17
Trent and Allen returned just after midnight. The pickup rolled silently into the garage, but the two men burst into the house with enough exuberance to wake the town.
"Wee-haw!" Trent shouted, removing his fleece-lined leather jacket and flinging it haphazardly over the back of a kitchen chair. "Was that a kick in the butt or what?"
"That was definitely a kick in the butt," Allen said, swinging his arms wide for emphasis and nearly knocking over the lamp beside the couch. Judy steadied it, then steadied Allen when he lurched backward and nearly fell onto her lap.
"And in the kidneys, and the top of the head, and just about every other part of the anatomy," he added. He turned to Judy. "I tried to explain the purpose of sush . . . pension, but Trent wasn't impressed by the concept."
"Who wants a soft ride in a four-wheeler?" Trent asked.
"Have you been drinking?" Judy asked.
Allen tilted his head sideways. "Yes, I believe what we were doing would qualify for that dish . . . cription."
"Drinking and driving?" Donna asked.
"Just a couple o' beers," Trent said. "I was in perfect control the whole time." Allen laughed. "Control? Half the time we were in the air!"
"Yep," Trent said proudly.
"Sounds like you had fun," Donna said. "Did you find the capsule?" Their faces lost a little enthusiasm. "We found where it was," Trent said, "but somebody beat us to it."
Allen sat down on the arm of the couch. "We got the parachute, at least. Whoever took the EDM
didn't bother to gather it up. They just cut it loose and left it snagged on the sagebrush."
"Must have been the Feds," Judy s
aid. "Anybody after a ready-made spaceship would have taken the parachute, too."
"Yep. So we, um, came home by a roundabout method, just in case anybody was watching the site." He sounded so proud of himself that Judy couldn't resist smiling. Neither could Donna, though she rolled her eyes and said, "Men," in a voice that would make a dog hang its head.
Judy told them about the news reports. Donna switched to the channel whose anchor had defied the censors, but the station was back on the air with an old Jackie Chan movie as if nothing had happened.
"Censorship," Allen said. "Who'd have thought they'd stoop to that? All the more reason to get the heck out of Dodge."
"Dodge?" Judy asked.
"Finger of speech. 'Scuse me." Allen staggered off to the bathroom, scattering his coat and hat and gloves along the way.
"So," Trent said, coming into the living room and settling in beside Donna. "Sounds like it's plan B
for sure. Allen told me what you're going to use for a spaceship, and I told him he was nuts, but he says the two of you've got it all figured out."
"Pretty much," Judy admitted. "Of course we're open to suggestion if you've got a better idea." He laughed softly. "I learned a long time ago not to offer advice to a ... to a person who knows what they're doing."
Donna poked him in the ribs. "Nice recovery, there, Butch."
"Jeez, woman, I said—"
"I heard what you said, and I heard your tone of voice, so don't you 'Jeez woman' me." If they hadn't been poking at one another and smiling like newlyweds, Judy would have sworn they were about to start throwing crockery, but instead they launched into a ticklefest that had Judy scooting away on the couch to avoid flailing limbs.
"Yow!" Trent shouted. "Hey! Stop that!"
Donna giggled like a teenager and pressed the attack. Trent fought back with a sofa pillow, whacking her on the head and sides with it until she shrieked for mercy. They were still at it when Allen popped open the bathroom door and said, "What's going on out there?" He stood in the hallway, his hands on his hips.
Judy snatched up another pillow and flung it at him, catching him square in the chest before he could react. His face went through an amazing contortion from surprise to confusion to realization to revelry, then he flung the pillow back at her and followed it with arms outstretched for action. Judy dodged the pillow, but she couldn't squirm away from his roving hands. "No fair!" she cried when she tried unsuccessfully to tickle him back. "You're still wearing your coat!"
"All's fair in love and war," he replied, pressing the attack. Trent and Donna were no help. They were engaged in a protracted battle of their own—one which frequently spilled over into Judy and Allen's territory. The house rang with shrieks and giggles, slowly subsiding to hiccups and sniffles as they finally wore out their nervous energy. Things didn't seem quite so cheery in the morning. Trent and Donna had to go to work again, and so did Allen and Judy. The men had to do it with hangovers, too, which didn't help their dispositions any. Allen and Judy went over their equipment list again, adding a couple dozen more last-minute items to it. Despite Trent's statement that he didn't offer advice to people who knew what they were doing, he had apparently had some good suggestions on the drive out to the landing site and back, so Allen added those to the list as well, then he stood up from the kitchen table where they were working and took the phone off the wall.
"What do you think?" he asked. "Should we call him?" Judy grimaced. "I don't like taking bank robbery money, even if we let him charge it to your credit card. But we're in worse trouble than I thought, and the sooner we get back into space, the better I'll like it."
"Was that a 'yes'?"
"I guess so."
Allen dialed the number, blocking the caller ID first.
"Hi, Dale? Allen Meisner. We've got a shopping list. Got a pencil?" It took nearly five minutes to read everything. When he was done, Allen said, "Yes, I know that's a lot of stuff, and yes, we do need all of it. The cable is to reinforce the tank so it won't balloon out under air pressure, and the foam insulation will provide a cushion so it won't crack when it lands. That's right; we'll be coming down under a parachute. No, we've already got one." He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know a spare would be nice, but do you know where to get one big enough to do the job? A regular sport parachute won't cut it."
He listened for a moment, then said, "Well, I'll be damned. Sure, that ought to do. Get us one. No, wait, get us three. Because we're building a second starship for a friend, that's why." Allen told him to buy three sets of all the electronic parts in the list he had broadcast, as well.
"There is a Radio Shack in this town, isn't there? Good. Sure, buy some for yourself, too." He laughed.
"Yeah, maybe I'll hold classes."
They discussed logistics, including where to have all the stuff delivered. Trent had suggested the building site where he was working; it wouldn't seem out of the ordinary to have a septic tank delivered there, nor most of the other equipment, for that matter, as long as it was boxed up. Trent could bring it all home in his pickup after dark, and claim it had been stolen if anyone asked where it had gone. Finally, Allen reeled off a credit card number from memory, and told Dale to charge an extra couple of thousand dollars to it for his trouble. Dale protested, but Allen insisted, and they went back and forth on it until they sounded as if they were about to call off the whole deal and hang up on each other, but Dale eventually gave in and they finished the conversation on a friendly note.
"Why do guys always do that?" Judy asked him.
"Do what?"
"Get all macho about who pays for what."
He grinned sheepishly as he set the phone back in its cradle. "I don't know. I guess it's how we keep score. You don't want to be the one left owing the other guy a favor."
"Why not? It means you're the one who just got a favor, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, but . . ." He shrugged. "It's not something I've ever thought out. It's just the way we do things."
She could tell she wasn't going to learn anything more from him about it. "So what was that about parachutes? He's got a source for those, too?"
"Yeah. He's apparently in the National Guard. They've got a whole bunch of 'chutes they use for airlifting supplies into disaster areas. Designed for great big cargo containers." Judy had seen those before: they were huge. Having one for a backup in case the first one fouled made her feel a great deal better about their impending expedition. The whole setup was such a haphazard affair that she hadn't even been thinking of redundancy, but her astronaut training had made her nervous at the idea of flying without fail-safes. There were still a couple of dozen criticality-one failure modes that they couldn't provide backup for, but at least this one was covered.
"So what do we do until our spaceship is delivered?" she asked. Allen nodded toward the door into the garage. "I thought I'd go through the hyperdrive and make sure it's okay. Maybe you could do the same for the spacesuits?"
"Sure."
The garage wasn't heated, so they brought their work inside. Allen set the getaway special canister beside the computer desk and opened it up, angling the light into it so he could see the electronics. He didn't have any specialized test equipment, but he did have the computer itself, so he hooked up the serial cable to the hyperdrive's communications port and started querying the status of its various subsystems that way.
The spacesuits were smeared with soot from the EDM and the boots were grimy from their hike, so Judy found a bright blue plastic tarp and unfolded it on the living room floor, then laid the suits on that and set to work cleaning them up and checking them for problems.
It seemed odd to have equipment in someone's living room that was normally allowed only in an environmentally controlled clean room. As Judy sat cross-legged on the tarp and cleaned the spacesuits with a light blue sponge she'd found under the kitchen sink, she imagined herself as a nomadic tribeswoman sitting in her tent and preparing her family's possessions for the summer's travels. When she thought of
it in those terms, it didn't seem quite so strange. People had been expanding into new territory for millennia. Going into space had always seemed so daunting that it took an entire nation to do it, but now that Allen had lowered the barrier, things had gone right back to the way they had always been. It was a lot more comfortable working cross-legged on a padded carpet than in a clean room. Sunlight slanted in through the front window and warmed her as well as cheered her up. She brewed a pot of tea, and she and Allen turned on the TV to keep an eye on the news while they worked. The news hadn't changed, but the reporting of it had. Commentators were still regurgitating the official story, but they were doing everything in their power to make sure people knew it was a lie. Judy just about laughed up a lung when she heard one anchor say, "This just in from the department of censorship" before reading the teleprompter in a monotone and twitching his head in jerky movements like a robot. Others ended their reports with "Yeah, right," or "Nudge-nudge, wink-wink." One station didn't even report; their cameras merely panned back and forth through the studio, revealing the armed soldiers standing guard in every doorway.
"Jesus," Allen said when he saw it. "How can they get away with that?"
"Who? The army, or the TV station?"
"Both. I mean, don't they have to declare martial law in order to suspend the Constitution? And since they didn't, why are the military guys letting the TV guys film them breaking the law?" Judy watched the silent exhibition of military presence and media defiance. "I'm guessing Stevenson wants to have his cake and eat it too. He doesn't want the political damage that would come from declaring martial law over something like this, but he can get the same result without it. When this gets hashed out in court in years to come, we'll probably find that all the orders can be traced back to a single fall guy."
Allen nodded. "Ollie North takes the heat, and the President gets off scot-free."
"Right. In the meantime, the individual soldiers are probably just as pissed about their orders as the TV stations are. So until they're ordered to stop this particular kind of broadcast, they're going to let it go."