Finally, Ian sighed and Lancaster’s eyes brightened even more.
“Good, that’s good,” Lancaster said.
“I don’t know if we can do it,” Ian said but his brain was already turning. “It’ll cost a hell of a lot.”
“My grandfather once told me that with every project there are three ways of doing anything. Quick, cheap, and well. And you always have to pick no more than two at a time.” Lancaster pushed himself up out of the chair with a grunt.
Ian rose to shake the old man’s hand. “Speaking of things venerable old men said, I’m more reminded of Einstein’s comment on insanity, doing the same thing over again and expecting different results.”
Lancaster’s grip was stronger than the old man looked, his papery skin dry and warm. He turned from Ian and stared at the wall of news clippings for a moment.
“They were wrong, you know.” He motioned to an article with the headline “Prometheus? Or Icarus?”
“I don’t know, I kind of liked that one. More clever than the others. After all, the whole thing ended burning in the sea.”
“Ah, but Icarus was just the son. Everyone ignores that the designer of the wings was Daedalus, and he flew far and landed safely.”
Ian stared after him as the man collected his assistant and left. He felt more like Icarus at that moment, flying ever higher and higher, a strange joy warring with fear in his heart.
He pulled out his phone and called Carla Sykes, one of the few people from the old days who still worked for him.
“Call Nick, and Heidi,” he told her, “and Blake and Adam and hell, just call everyone who used to be on the board, ask them if they want their job back, okay? Set a meeting here for Monday, we’ll use the office. Fly them out if they aren’t in Kansas. What? No, don’t call Jack, I’ll call Jack.”
Ian was about to make his brother’s day, and it’d been nearly a decade since he’d been able to do that. They were going back into space.
* * *
182 days until launch
“Jack!” Heidi Walker was a lovely black woman who looked younger than her fifty years. She’d lost weight since Ian had last seen her. She embraced his brother awkwardly; bending over to accommodate Jack’s sitting position.
Jack was tanned and healthy looking from the last year he’d spent surfing in Nicaragua. Ian still envied his younger brother’s blonde and blue-eyed good looks, his huge arms and easy smile. He didn’t envy the wheelchair, or the missing legs.
“Good to see you, Heidi.” Jack nodded to the others and then took up a position in the old employee lounge just in the periphery of Ian’s vision.
“All right, guys, we’re all here. Carla already filled you in on the basics, so let’s get to details.” Ian raised his hands, motioning for quiet.
Nine pairs of eyes stared back at him. He swallowed.
“Is it true we’ve got funding again?” Blake Sharpe, a chemist and environmental systems expert, asked.
Ian already had the operating fund account pulled up on his phone. He rotated the screen and handed it around. “Yeah, that’s just the down payment to get working.”
“Jesus, I could buy my ex husband a house with that. On the moon.”
“I could pay off Bruno.”
“I could own a Tesla in every color and the garages to put them in.”
“I could buy a ranch in Wyoming.”
“A ranch? Why not the state? I think that was the state budget last year.”
“I could go Christmas shopping, in Paris. Twice.”
“Guys, guys. Okay.” Ian shook his head. He couldn’t blame them for being a little silly, not after all his team had been through. It didn’t feel real to him either, and he’d seen the rest of the paperwork. Jack looked at the number and then leaned over, handing the phone back to Ian.
“We’ve got six months and the clock is ticking now. I’ve gone over the specs and the ship is nearly done. That’s the good news. The bad is that this last 10% is going to take a lot of work and time we don’t have. I don’t care what it costs, figure out ways to get things finished and ready, understand?”
“Six months? Is that even enough time to train the crew?” Heidi asked.
“Yes, since three out of the four going have been up already. Blake, I need you and your team to teach Nick here everything you can about the recycling and reclamation systems.” Ian handed Blake the folder with his instructions in it.
“Wait, me? Why me? I’m not going up there. Nick Vang belongs right here, on the ground.”
“You’ve got the chemistry background, Nick. You’re going. You, me, Jack, and Heidi. I’m not taking no for an answer unless you want to walk off this project.”
“Jack?” The name slipped out of Nick’s mouth before he could stop himself.
Everyone had started trying to talk at once, but at Ian’s words and Jack’s name, they stopped and silence descended.
“Yeah, me,” said Jack. He stared every single person down in turn until he got to his brother. Ian met Jack’s bright blue eyes with his own brown ones. “Ian already tried to pick that battle years ago. I can get around fine, especially in low gravity, and I’ve got the most hours in flight logged of anyone here.”
“Good. It’s settled. Give Carla your lists of people, I’m leaving team hiring up to you. Just get good ones and get them fast. I’ve already contacted Jamie Briden and his guys to do the documentation. Make use of them.” Ian finished handing out the folders with everything he could compile from the old project. The files were fairly thin, most of the data on the usb drives clipped inside.
“Oh, and guys, one final thing,” he stopped them as they rose to leave, “No media. I’m serious. If you get contacted give them Bryce’s number, it’s in the files. He and Carla are handling the PR.”
They all nodded, looking half dazed but excited. Ian put his hand on Nick’s shoulder and pushed him back down onto the beige suede couch. Jack didn’t move, and Heidi took the hint at Ian’s look and lagged behind, closing the door after the others had left.
“So we’re the crew,” she said, folding her arms.
“Yes. We’ve got the training, even if it is a little rusty. Jack’ll help us out.” Ian smiled at his brother.
“Don’t patronize me, Ian.” Jack tipped his head back and looked at them through slitted eyes.
“Um, hate to ruin the reunion with logic, but I don’t have the training,” said Nick.
“You are possibly the smartest person I’ve ever met, Nick. You’ll learn.” Ian sighed and shifted so he could see them all at once. “This dream started with the four of us, I think it only fair we see the rekindling of that fire through.”
“Good choice of words there, boss,” Nick said, wincing.
I can’t do anything right. Ian took a deep breath. But I can do this; I’m not letting Jack go back into that crushing nothing without me. Not again. Not ever again.
“Heidi has ideas, good ideas, for how to prevent the same issues. We learned a lot from Prometheus II. At too great a cost, but we did learn and we won’t repeat our mistakes.” Hopefully.
“Besides, Nick, cheer up,” Jack said, finally taking his eyes off Ian. “You’ll have as much training as the crazy old man funding this and coming along for the ride.”
“Great, a tourist, yeah, that’s cheery as hell.”
“I’m going to get to work, Ian. I’ve got to start figuring out what kind of process we’ll need to get the IDG safely into the new hull. Good to see you, Jack. And I’ll try not to kill Nick by the second week of the journey, okay?” Heidi grinned.
“Me too,” Jack said, “I’ve got people to call.”
Ian let them leave without comment, sinking down onto the couch beside Nick. Once they were alone he sighed.
“Bruno?”
Nick shrugged. “Yeah. Cards have been bad on me lately, really cold decks.”
“How bad?”
“Two hundred.”
“Dollars?”
�
�Thousand.”
Ian pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “Okay, Nick. I’ll cut you an advance check. But no more gambling until we get back. Don’t make me put a babysitter on you.”
“Woah, buddy, no babysitters.” Nick licked his lips and then punched Ian’s arm lightly. “It’s good to be back in business, Ian. Real good. Even if you plan to chuck me across the solar system in a buckyball death trap.”
Ian shook his head. “You and me both, Nick. You and me both.”
* * *
165 days until launch
It was nearly midnight and the warehouse holding the Prometheus III stood deserted except for Ian Talley. He hadn’t bothered turning on any of the overhead lights, guiding himself by memory and the small red running lights along the walkways and walls.
The ship was covered in white tarps for the night, the red light lending them a macabre, bloody tinge. Or maybe that was just Ian’s thoughts, he wasn’t sure. He was exhausted from running all over, from meeting after meeting with teams of people he hoped were a lot smarter than he was.
For a few minutes today, it really had felt like the old days, the days when the dream was alive and anything was possible.
The days before he’d gotten Carlos and Levi and Devin and Bryan killed.
Carlos hadn’t died in the accident. Like Jack, he’d survived, though worse off with a crushed spine and permanent nerve damage to much of his body. Carlos had taken years to die, bitter and addicted to pain medication. He’d overdosed, the police calling it an accident. Ian knew better. Everyone at Prometheus did.
When Carlos let go, gave up, it was like the air whooshed out of the dream. The Prometheus Project, dwindling for years, finally gave its last gasp. Two years later the Department of Defense dropped their contract, declaring the Inertial Dampening Gel too dangerous for adaptation and practical use here on Earth.
Jack left after yet another huge fight. Then Ian had stopped coming into the office, preferring to just go to the remaining factory outside Wichita, if he came into work at all. They still had patents and a few research projects going. But the dream was dead.
“And now a dying man gives us life again.” Ian walked up the ramp and leaned his hands against the ship. “We should name you Lazarus.”
Lancaster had put in the contract that the ship name was to be Solomon, and he refused to explain why. Ian had caught Nick and Blake joking they should name the ship Charon. He hoped it was because of Pluto’s moon and not the more morbid reasons.
In his heart, however, this would always be Prometheus, bringing good to mankind.
“You and me,” he whispered, “and this time we’re going to bring everyone back safe.”
* * *
123 days until launch
“Doctor, you are brilliant!” Nick grinned at Heidi.
“Why, thank you, Doctor, couldn’t have done it without you.” She grinned back.
“Of course not, Doctor.”
They passed Ian in the hallway coming down from the cafeteria.
“I’m going to fire both of you in about four months,” Ian said. “I take it everything is on track?”
“Nick helped me design a cell system for inside the hull, which should help the integrity and allow us to cordon off areas in case of an IDG leak,” Heidi said, her smiling fading a little.
“Good. I knew there was a reason I hired you away from NASA.”
“Ha,” she said, “other than the fact they were being phased out, you mean?”
“Oh, Ian, Carla said she had a present for you.” Nick threaded his arm through Heidi’s and the two of them resumed their discussion.
While everyone else he’d encountered that day looked as though they either needed a nap or had just gotten up from one, Carla looked unwholesomely tidy and put together. Her caramel skin was perfectly made up, her salon-lightened brown hair pulled up in a knot that looked effortless and pristine. Her grey pin-striped suit had probably been ironed in the last twenty-four hours. Ian felt rumpled and tired just sitting down across from her.
She smiled and handed across a mug of coffee. She favored the heavy, chicory-laced kind she’d grown up with in the south. Ian thought it smelled like heaven today. Or at least another hour of brain function.
“Please tell me you have good news?” he said after taking a deep gulp and burning his tongue.
“Very, very good news.” Carla swiveled her computer monitor around. She’d staggered a few pictures and then a spreadsheet.
“You got the uranium hexafluoride for the MDH torch drives? How? Wait,” Ian read more of the sheet. “That’s the stuff we had before. I thought we were supposed to turn it over after the DoD canceled and we lost our ‘privileges’.”
“Loophole in the contract. I double and triple checked. It’s not weapon’s grade anyway, so no one has gotten around to actually picking it up. The rockets are go.” She smiled like a cat amidst a pile of bright feathers. Ian could only imagine how the government had really not “gotten around to picking up” the uranium. But he didn’t care.
As she’d said, the rockets were go.
* * *
26 days until launch
Mr. Lancaster’s attorneys were a divorced couple named Rowland and Fry. They had a very posh office with a very posh New York address. Ian found himself waiting in the reception area with his black loafers buried in a painfully white shag carpet with artistic circles mowed into it. He was pretty sure shag had gone out of style about a century before and hoped this wasn’t some 1970’s reemergence.
Fry, a woman who’d seen her forties slip by but not without the help of a gifted plastic surgeon, poked her head out of her office, saw Ian and ducked back inside.
A moment later the plump twenty-something brunette secretary told Ian he could go in.
Fry perched with one hip on a huge mahogany desk. Ian wondered what part of the scant rainforest had died to create that status symbol. Rowland sat slightly to one side of the endangered desk, peering around his ex-wife as she motioned Ian into a backless white leather chair. The carpet in here was a non-offensive light green with a subtle leaf pattern in it and the picture window behind the desk stared out over buildings toward Central Park.
Ian thought it telling that the impressive view was left facing the clients.
“We’re glad you could come out, Mr. Talley. We wanted to make sure that you understand the terms of your contract and Mr. Lancaster’s final wishes.” Fry smiled and it only increased the feeling Ian had of watching vultures circle.
His discomfort made him brave. “Since I’m likely to be one of the last people to see him alive, you mean,” he said with a raised eyebrow.
The lawyers exchanged a cryptic glance but appeared unruffled.
“Baldly put, but yes. Now, your contract states that you stand to inherit just over 100 billion dollars, the bulk of which is contingent on your making a good faith effort to transport Mr. Lancaster to Pluto.” Fry’s smile had slipped.
“I’ve read the contract, Ms. Fry. My lawyers have read the contract; they’ve even read it to me. I understand.” Fifty things he could, no should, have been doing besides meeting vulture lawyers in New York crowded into Ian’s mind.
“Let us be perfectly clear, then.” Rowland sat up and opened a drawer in the desk. He removed a sheaf of papers held together with a paperclip.
Ian took the papers when Rowland rose to his impressive height and handed them across. He looked down, confused. After a moment he looked up.
“If I’m not mistaken, these are medical records, Mr. Lancaster’s medical records. And I definitely shouldn’t be seeing this.” Ian’s brain turned and turned. He’d read just enough. He knew Lancaster had cancer, though not the specifics. Bone cancer. Ian recalled his first impression of the old man. An invisible and overwhelming force resting in his bones.
“Read the part I’ve highlighted for you, page two,” said Rowland.
Ian flipped the page with a sigh and read. The
n he flipped back and looked at the date on the papers.
“This says his doctors gave him at best six months to live. Five months ago.” Ian tossed the papers onto the floor, watching both lawyers, his jaw tight.
“It is highly unlikely Mr. Lancaster will survive the entirety of the voyage, though I believe him stubborn enough to survive until he’s left this planet.” There, a faint hint of a genuine smile on Fry’s face, affection touching her eyes. “I realize that a venture such as you pursue entails a great deal of risk, especially such a long voyage. A shorter one might be better, when just starting over again after such a,” she paused, “tragic hiatus.”
Ian sat frozen. The lawyer’s words pried open a door he kept mostly closed inside his mind and the doubts and fears that twisted his stomach and left him weak in the hours before dawn threatened to overpower him for a moment. He forced them back, but it was like trying to dam a creek with his hands.
“What’s your stake in this,” he asked, finally. “I know the benefit of a shorter voyage for us, but what do you care if we get the money in six months or in two and a half years?” His brain was already doing the calculations. The best place to turn back would be Jupiter, they’d already be on the trajectory to it since they intended to use the gas giant’s gravity well as a slingshot to speed themselves up on the way to Pluto. Roughly two months there, then another four or so back counting the time needed to slow themselves down.
“Rowland and I get a healthy percentage when we administer the final estate payments and selling off. We, of course, don’t get this until you complete your ‘good faith effort’.”
“What if we don’t return?” Ian leaned forward, resisting the urge to press his fingers into his suddenly aching forehead.
“After five years, the balance will be paid to the Prometheus Project in care of Carla Sykes as per your lawyer’s instructions,” Rowland answered. He steepled his long fingers, looking more like a retired pro basketball star than a lawyer with his near seven foot frame and close cropped hair atop a head that looked too small for his broad shoulders.
Galactic - Ten Book Space Opera Sci-Fi Boxset Page 136