Confusion. Finally …
[This is an unhappy pretense. This was not in the deal.]
“Trust me. Play along, it’ll get better. Just relax and let me pretense it for you until you see what’s happening. Sometimes in pretenses, you make things, uh, disharmonious, just for the fun of making them go better later.”
[This can happen: a disharmony precedes a good?]
“Uh, I’ll show you. For now, just go with this, okay? You’ll see.”
[Waiting.]
Mother smiles, not worried at all. “Listen, Raef, I’ve got a wonderful idea. Let’s go down to the bakery and splurge. I got really good tips yesterday; we can afford it. Go on, go get your jacket. We’ll walk. It’s a beautiful day.”
Raef runs and gets his denim jacket. It’s a really good one, faded denim with neat patches sewn all over it, old military patches, and ski resort patches, and baseball teams patches. He buys them or trades for them, and his mom always sews them on. She’s a really good mom. When he gets back to the kitchen, his mom has her favorite sweater on. It’s blue and really soft; Raef and his dad got it for her on her last birthday. The buttons are shaped like flowers. Raef takes her hand, and they go out together, letting the screen door slam behind them.
Connie watched John through her faceplate, constantly aware that the thick transparency was all that stood between her and the great emptiness they worked in.
She loved it.
John’s gloved fingers looked thick and awkward as he worked the catches that secured the access panels. Connie was still impressed with how quickly he had diagnosed the malfunction. Her mind darted back to the moment the alarm had gone off on board the Evangeline. Even as it jerked her awake, John had cut it off. His voice on the intercom had sounded so calm. “Connie, we’ve got a satellite malfunction. Report immediately.”
She’d flung herself from her personal quarters, been in the command chamber in moments. Then she’d clung silently to a rung, heart thumping, as John swiftly requisitioned from Tug all the details of the satellite malfunction. He’d listened, and then as he tersely outlined his plan of action, even the sarcasm in Tug’s voice had faded and been replaced by respect. Almost relief, Connie had thought at the time.
She’d stood behind John as he called up the manual, and entered details of the malfunction. The computer had furnished them with seven possible problem areas. Connie had almost despaired, but John had quietly and competently narrowed it down to one. “Orientation sensor unit,” he’d said with quiet calm. “We have duplicate units. Merely a matter of replacing the bad one.” He’d called up the procedure, scanned it quickly, and then requested a printout of required tools and supplies.
He’d swiveled his lounger away from the screen and handed her the film. “Load these, and then perform these tasks,” he’d told her, and as he’d listed them, she’d felt a sneaking gratitude for the grinding hours of maintenance he’d made her put in. The equipment she’d loaded into the shuttle was familiar to her hands. She’d racked the modified suits with calm assurance that they were space-worthy and fitted well. Then there had been the argument with John; he hadn’t wanted her to go, he’d expected her to stay on the ship with Tug and just sit there and wait. She’d surprised herself with how insistent she’d been, and somehow, she’d made John let her go along. And as she’d boarded the shuttle and strapped herself in, it came to her that her heart was thudding not with the terror she’d once have felt, but with suppressed excitement.
Dammit, it was fun!
Something about John’s quiet assurance made it so. She’d seconded his signal to Tug that they were ready to depart. The ceiling of the shuttle bay had opened and suddenly become the floor as Evangeline’s gondola gently ejected them. For long moments they’d drifted, shadowed by the immense bulk of the gondola, and the impossibly larger form of Evangeline herself. As they became a separate unit, Connie had suddenly perceived what it was to be a captain of a Beastship. It was this quiet competence, this depth of knowledge and the ability to make decisions based on it, that differentiated between her and John. Not merely the titles of captain and crew, as she would have told anyone a few months ago. This ability to handle an emergency as if it were a planned and expected part of the mission was what set him apart from her. This was the skill he’d been trying to foster in her when he’d demanded that she see what needed doing and do it, rather than waiting for his commands.
Her respect had grown as he’d piloted the shuttle to a position alongside the recalcitrant satellite, and held steady as she operated the grappler that plucked it from its orbit and then secured it to the work deck of the shuttle. She’d caught herself grinning at him as she suited up, and was almost unsurprised when he returned the smile. They’d checked each other’s suits, performing the safety ritual precisely to manual standards, but Connie had felt more than mere competence as John called off each checklist item and okay for it. Camaraderie.
Now as he lifted the access panel free and passed it to her, she wondered if he felt it, too. Maybe this was routine to him, but it was her first time outside of a ship when it hadn’t been carefully scheduled as maintenance or training. She clipped the panel to its retainer, knew without his saying what tool to hand him next. She felt competent, that was it, and it went to her head like a drug. A fierce pride she didn’t know she’d harbored lifted its head inside her. She tried to see his face through the double barrier of her faceplate and his. You’ve made this change in me, she thought at him, and wondered if he knew she was aware of it, and how it made her feel. He glanced up at her as he passed a tool back to her, and though his features were indistinct inside his helmet, she felt the impact of his gaze.
She found herself grinning foolishly as he held out his hand for the orientation sensor unit and she passed it to him. A team. Somehow they’d become a team, and he sensed it as strongly as she did. She took the defective unit and placed it in the net bag for repair or recycling. She watched as he snapped the new one into place, secured the connections, and then used a probe to verify that all contacts were good and the unit operational. It seemed but moments later that they refastened the access panel. It had all gone precisely and perfectly.
She unhooked the safety retainer, stood up slowly. It occurred to her then that they’d hardly spoken. They hadn’t needed to. She didn’t spoil it by talking as they headed back toward the hatch, or as they cycled through the air-lock. They helped each other unsuit, and then racked the heavy garments.
“So I guess we just re-release it, and then we can head back to Evangeline,” she finally ventured into the silence.
“That’s putting it a bit simply, but you’re right,” John conceded. There was an easy bantering to his tone that Connie had never heard before. It was almost as if he were suppressing laughter.
Returning the satellite to orbit was a great deal easier than picking it up had been. Yet Connie went carefully, checking and double-checking every move she made. She wanted it to be perfect, as John’s repair had been perfect. Not a wasted moment, not a false movement. And wonder of wonders, it went that way. A deep satisfaction welled up in her when she finally released it and carefully retracted her grapplers. Not a wobble. She leaned back in her lounger, then swiveled toward John. He raised one eyebrow and gave her a nod of congratulations. For the first time she noticed how light glanced off the fine hairs on his skull. She watched him thumb open the communications link.
“Tug, all repairs are completed. We’ll be heading back your way now. Have the welcome mat ready.”
Connie switched her gaze, stared greedily out of a real porthole to the Earth below. This was no screen image but the real thing. Blue and green, brown and yellow and white swirled over the face of the planet, so unlike Castor’s and Pollux’s green and brown visages. It was only two-thirds the size of either of the twin planets, but there, framed in the window, it loomed larger than eternity. Now that the tension of repairing the satellite was past, she felt she could really look at it. It made h
er shiver, though she couldn’t say why.
“Tug, cut out the games and answer me. We’ve finished our work here and we’re headed back to you. Have the bay ready to receive us. Over.”
Connie blinked her eyes, and turned to stare at John. Like him, she listened to the silence. He glanced at her and their eyes met in his unspoken request. The edges of her newfound respect for him crumbled slightly at his appeal, but she obeyed.
“Tug. Please answer. We’ve finished our work here and we’re headed back to you, but we need to know the bay is ready for us. Please reply.”
The silence grew very long.
John cleared his throat. “Two possibilities. Tug is either playing games, or our communications equipment is acting up. Connie, punch in ship-to-ship communication. See if Evangeline will respond to the shuttle on the Beast channel.”
She nearly asked what message to send. Then, turning to her console, she punched in a simple hail from shuttle to ship. She watched her readouts, expecting to see the shuttle’s computer register Evangeline’s acknowledgment. She watched for several long seconds past normal response time before she lifted her eyes to John’s. “No reply, sir,” she said, and the formality of the words took a little of the shakiness from her voice.
“Probably our communications system, then. Tug loves his little needling jokes, but I’ve never heard of a Beast ignoring a hail. Well, let’s proceed back to the ship. I’m sure Tug is monitoring us as best he can. In fact, now that I think about it, he’s been unnaturally silent for so long, he’s probably aware we have a problem. If we just go for a normal docking procedure, he’ll probably match us pretty well.”
John moved as he spoke. Connie watched his hands travel the board, summoning up information on the screens, comparing data, and making corrections. His hands moved surely, with only the barest of hesitations, and yet she could not, somehow, see the surety that had characterized his earlier actions. She didn’t doubt his competence, but somehow he didn’t seem as certain of the outcome as he had earlier. He glanced up at her and read her doubts.
“Keep trying to make contact, with Tug or Evangeline,” he directed her.
“Tug, please respond. If you can hear us, be aware we cannot hear you. We are going to attempt a normal docking. Please have the bay ready and do all you can to assist us. Be aware we are also trying to reach Evangeline, but showing no response. Tug, please respond.” She paused, gave him a long count, then began again. She watched the back of John’s neck as she spoke, saw the slow tracery of sweat begin. The old familiar clenching began in her stomach, worked its way up her spine.
Damn. It had all gone so well. The satellite had failed precisely on schedule, and he had repaired it exactly as planned. It had all been going so perfectly. And now this.
John tried to imagine that the communications breakdown was somehow part of the plan, but couldn’t convince himself. The sleep prep from Earth Affirmed had been very detailed, and meticulous in outlining every possible variation. With no communications, there was no way to get a possible landing site out of Evangeline. No way to even ask them to look for one, to tell them the kind of troubles they were in. The sleep prep was supposed to have left him ready for anything, covered every foreseeable circumstance.
This wasn’t one of them. Without communications with Evangeline, how the hell was he going to find any kind of a landing site on the planet? How were they going to return to Evangeline after their little stopover? He handled his controls as if they were made of the flimsiest film. There was, perhaps, the barest chance that the “scheduled” breakdown wouldn’t occur, that he’d be able to get the shuttle back to the Evangeline, and get her safely docked to the gondola. Worry about Earth Affirmed’s mission later.
He scratched the back of his neck, felt the tickling sweat there. He glanced at Connie, caught her looking at him with wide stricken eyes. He felt a sudden flash of irrational anger at her; what the hell gave her the right to look at him like that, like it was all his fault? She was the one who had nagged him into letting her come. He still couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid. He’d given into an impulse, told himself it would keep her safe from Tug. Safe. He tried to remember how he’d thought it would go, how he would land the shuttle and manage to take his samples without her being aware of what he was doing. Incredibly stupid. But at the time, it had seemed so logical. No, not logical. It had been the way she’d looked, alive and excited in a way he’d never seen her, so full of purpose, so eager to be part of what he was doing. He’d been flattered by that, and listened to his hormones, not his brain. They were right, it was just like being a kid again; it made you want what you wanted right now, with no recourse to logic or consequences. Despite all his training, all the warnings, the first time he’d had to deal with emotion versus intellect, he’d failed. And now he felt the weight of her expecting him to somehow miraculously fix things like a three-G drag. Stupid crew. Couldn’t she see there wasn’t a damn thing he could do?
He knew his anger wasn’t justified, but that only spurred it. It’s the change, he told himself, and couldn’t decide if that should excuse it or prompt him to control it. He glanced at the instrument panel, made a minor correction. He couldn’t afford to be angry right now, not at Connie, not at Earth Affirmed, not even at himself. Right now it was going to take all he had just to rendezvous with Evangeline.
And maybe more.
He forced himself to check the instrument panel. There it was. The warning light winked on, just as scheduled. It was the scheduled malfunction, loss of the automatic docking systems that communicated directly with Evangeline. A malfunction barely big enough for him to opt to land on the planet instead of going back with his ship. If he’d still had vocal communication with Tug, he’d probably actually have been able to dock anyway. He wasn’t that rusty as a pilot. Some little demon in his head wondered to him if this was Earth Affirmed’s way of assuring he’d complete their mission. No. That was stupid. They’d have known he’d have no way of getting a landing site from Tug. This whole mess was unforeseen, unplanned by anyone. A genuine crisis, and no one was going to get him out of it but himself. His hands moved automatically over the controls, performing the corrections he’d been schooled in during the sleep prep. His subconscious tried to feed him the feelings of competence and optimism that were also part of the Mariner training, designed to keep panic at bay. He rejected them. All he felt was a cold sickness in the pit of his stomach as the shuttle’s flight became more and more erratic, wobbled ever farther from the preset course. The warning light began a rapid flashing as a buzzer began to sound. He reached numbly to slap it off.
“What was that?” Connie was out of her lounger, holding to a brace behind him.
“A warning buzzer,” he told her, coldly sarcastic. Why couldn’t she leave him alone? How could he cope with anything with those huge scared eyes focused on his hands?
“What’s it mean?” Breathless little voice, scared of him but determined to have the truth.
“That we’re in a mess.” He didn’t try to keep his feelings out of his voice. “Have you reached Tug yet?”
“No.” She whispered, but a wail lurked in her voice. He felt her hands grip the back of his neck support.
“Then get back to your post and keep trying.” He tried to bark out the command, but couldn’t keep the edge of desperation from his voice. The hope that she could get through and that Tug could do something to help them, to keep them from spiraling down to Earth blind clutched at his thin control of himself. “Dammit, Crew, I mean now!” he added savagely.
His harshness seemed to reassure her. She returned to her station and took up her litany. “Tug, this is Connie. Please reply. We’ve lost reception, we’ll need your help to dock. Please, Tug, reply. Please, Tug …”
John hunched his shoulders, tried not to hear the imminent tears in Connie’s voice. He felt a sudden overpowering anger that flooded him with physical strength. Heedless of common sense, he slammed the controls over, then
overcorrected wildly, all in silence. The coldness came back to him and he watched numbly as his actions made only a minor difference in the board.
“We’re not going to be able to dock,” he heard himself say. Some part of him still blithely followed Earth Affirmed’s script. “We’re going to have to land on the planet. Make repairs there.”
“We can’t!” Connie wailed. “We’re blind, with no link to Evangeline. If you try to land down there, we’ll die!”
Her voice was breaking under the stress of her emotions. He said the next prescribed line. “If we try to dock like this, we’ll wreck the gondola. Maybe even injure Evangeline. And if that happens, we definitely die. Landing on Earth and attempting repairs is our only chance.” Even to him, it sounded stupid.
“John …” she protested.
“Shut up.”
He couldn’t listen to her and keep command of himself. Not when he wanted to fall apart just as much as she did. “Keep trying to make contact with Tug.”
A whole bank of indicators blinked out. No readings for fuel, temperatures, atmosphere … just as suddenly, the panel came back to life, functioned steadily for a moment, and then began to flutter. Digital readouts changed illegibly, warning lights danced over the board, then died. Whatever little sabotage Earth Affirmed had scheduled had somehow fed over into the other biologics, triggering their decay as well. Wonderful.
“It’s okay now?” Connie asked hopefully.
“We can’t trust anything now,” he told her truthfully. “Damn degradables. This new generation of equipment is too damn easy to break down biologically. Something’s decided to rot ahead of schedule, and it’s taking the rest with it.”
No use in confessing now, no use in telling her it was all a conspiracy gone wrong. It wouldn’t calm her down any. It would probably only make her mad as well as scared.
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