by Jay Posey
“Second aft right now,” Wright answered. “Then just reactor left. Ten minutes, max.”
“Roger that,” Lincoln said. “I expect about the same for me, Thumper.”
“Understood. Let us know as soon as you’re clear.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Lincoln said. “Guidance is set, moving to forward thrusters now.”
Lincoln continued his way forward, stopping and turning to follow a branching tunnel with a long ladder. Looking at that thing made him glad for the first time to be operating in zero-g, or close enough to it. As he followed the yellow ladder’s trail, he kept having to boost his microthrusters to maintain his movement. Soon enough, he found himself pulling himself along as much as flying, and not long after, his arms were doing more of the work. Within another minute, he shut the thrusters off completely and was forced to actually climb the ladder.
“Thumper,” Lincoln said, “what’s going on? I need an update.”
“Still accelerating, Lincoln. You’re up over a full g now.”
Lincoln looked up at how much more ladder he had to climb, and as foolish as it was, hoped SUNGRAZER would reach her strike velocity soon. He activated the suit’s motion-assist systems, lending his limbs some extra muscle against the increasing g-forces, and started climbing as fast as he could manage. By the time he reached his destination, acceleration forces had climbed to twice Earth’s pull, and it was beginning to fatigue his whole body, even with the support of the suit.
It took considerable effort for him to get the charges in place at the forward steering thrusters, but he managed it. As he was placing the last of them, it seemed like the acceleration had stabilized. Still a little over two-g, but at least it wasn’t getting any higher. It was exhausting, but manageable.
“Forward three in place,” he reported. “I’m wrapped and headed back to the exit. Wright, what’s your status?”
“Aft’s complete,” Wright answered. “That’s everything but the main reactor. I haven’t gotten there yet.”
“How far are you?”
“I can get to it,” she said. He could hear the effort in her voice, and her breathing. “You get on out.”
It was down for him. Up for her.
“I’m on the way.”
“Lincoln,” she said.
“I’m on the way, Amira,” he answered. “I’ll take topside, you get the base. We’ll go out together.”
He rerouted the map on his display, and started following the tunnel back down towards the reactor. The hardest portions were the cross-tunnels that forced him to hop from his ladder to a different surface, or from a surface to a new ladder. Nothing that would have been particularly difficult or worrisome under normal circumstances, but the elevated gravitational pull made it hard to judge the jumps.
There, finally, below him, he could see the top of the reactor.
“Lincoln,” Thumper said, her voice measured. “SUNGRAZER just kicked off her preparation for firing. You’ve got five, maybe seven minutes to finish up and get out.”
“Understood,” Lincoln said. “Sahil, what’s the absolute minimum number of charges we need on this reactor to get good effect.”
“Four,” Sahil answered after a moment. “Two up top, two down low. Forget the backups. If you get the two centermost, that should be good enough.”
“Be sure, Sahil,” Lincoln said. “We still need to get the job done.”
“It’s good, Link, get ‘em down, and get out.”
“Wright,” Lincoln said. “You got that?”
“I got it, I’m almost there.”
Lincoln worked as quickly as he could, sweating profusely despite his suit’s attempts to keep him cool. As he was placing the second charge, he started to feel lighter. A sure sign that SUNGRAZER was nearing her strike velocity. It was a mixed blessing. Time was short, but their escape would be much faster.
“Second upper charge is set,” Lincoln reported. “Sahil, you’re sure that’s good?”
“It’s good, cap’n, get out!”
“Roger that,” Lincoln said. “Wright?”
“Placing now. Right behind you.”
“Understood. I’m on my way out.”
G-forces continued to drop as he clambered his way back out towards the access hatch they’d used.
“I’m going to light my beacon,” Lincoln said. “I don’t think we’re going to have time to rig up the star-hook.”
“That’s fine,” Thumper answered. “We’ll pick you up, just make sure you go off aft of the ship, thrust away from the ship, to aft.”
“Bail to aft, understood,” Lincoln said. He was bounding now, using his microthrusters to help him make superhuman leaps. “Wright, status?”
“Finishing the second charge now,” she replied. Her voice was steady, calm. But there was intensity behind it. She knew how close they were cutting it.
“Move it, Amira!” Lincoln called.
“Done,” she said a few moments later. “Coming up.”
Below one-g now, and steadily falling. Lincoln had to force himself to slow down, to adjust and not pull himself along too hard and risk losing control. The exit was painfully close, but there was no straight route to it. He still had a couple hundred meters of service tunnel to navigate.
“Munitions bay just opened,” Thumper called, her voice loud with urgency. “Are you clear yet?”
“Almost,” Lincoln said.
“SUNGRAZER’s hot! She’s prepping to fire!”
“Almost,” Lincoln said. “Come on, Amira, come on!”
He risked a glance back down the tunnel, fearing it would be empty.
It was. She wasn’t going to make it. And he couldn’t leave her. He couldn’t leave Amira to die alone.
And the moment before he turned back around, she came hurtling into the tunnel, used her momentum to bound off the wall and rocket herself his direction.
The exit was there. He could see it, twenty meters ahead, towards the front of the ship. Fifteen.
Ten.
And then, without warning, the side of the tunnel spiraled up and crashed into him hard enough to disorient him. When he got his bearings, he realized he was pinned to the tunnel, an invisible hand crushing him into it, grinding him down the side. He glanced up and saw the access hatch. Getting farther away.
“No, no, no!” Thumper cried over comms, her words matching Lincoln’s thoughts.
SUNGRAZER was accelerating again, harder this time, adjusting her trajectory. Achieving her strike vector.
The pressure was too much; three and half, maybe even four gs. They weren’t going to make it.
“Sahil,” Lincoln said. “Blow the charges!”
“You clear?” Sahil said.
“Sahil,” Lincoln said, as calmly as he could manage. “Blow the charges.”
The response didn’t come immediately.
“Fire, fire, fire,” Sahil said. And Lincoln heard in his teammate’s voice that he understood what was unfolding.
Lincoln felt SUNGRAZER shudder, felt the vibration from somewhere deep in her belly roll up and through him. Another, stronger shockwave followed, and from above him, Lincoln saw an orange star blossom into existence.
TWENTY-NINE
Lincoln woke to warm feet, a pleasant hum, and the unmistakable antiseptic scent of a medical facility. When he opened his eyes he didn’t recognize his surroundings exactly, but they were familiar enough. The dim lighting, the various machines, the rough white sheets. A military hospital.
He couldn’t remember how he’d ended up there. The last thing he could recall was calling in that he’d finished placing the third of three charges on the forward steering thruster controls aboard SUNGRAZER. Wright had responded that she’d completed charges to aft, and was moving towards the reactor. And then, warm feet, a pleasant hum, and an antiseptic scent.
Lincoln tried to imagine that they’d found him somehow, that the blast had thrown him clear of the ship, and his teammates had picked him up and
brought him home. But the gap in his memories was too clean. Too surgical.
He picked his hands up, looked at them, ran his thumbs across his fingertips feeling the sensation. He sure felt like himself. There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” he said.
A woman poked her head in the room.
“Good afternoon, captain,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
Lincoln took stock. A little thirsty. But other than that, he was surprised to find he actually felt pretty good. Really good, in fact. As if he’d just had the best night’s sleep of his life.
“Not bad,” he answered. “Could use a swig of water, maybe.”
The woman entered and extended her hand.
“Dr Marcos,” she said.
Lincoln sat up and shook the woman’s hand.
“Lincoln Suh,” he said. She smiled, and he realized the introduction had been obviously unnecessary.
“You understand why you’re here,” she said.
“I believe so,” Lincoln said. “It’s safe to talk about?”
“Yes, captain,” Marcos replied. “We’re in a secure facility. You’re back on base.”
“Then yeah,” he answered. “You had to put me through the Process.”
“That’s correct. How do you feel about that?”
“Fine,” Lincoln said, with a little shrug. “Is that weird?”
“No,” the doctor answered with a chuckle. “That’s what we always hope for. But it is, unfortunately, not always the reaction we get. Obviously, you may experience some emotional impact, particularly over the next week or two. We have a number of specialists you can talk with at any time, if you feel that any sort of counseling might benefit you. We have a packet of information prepared, which we’ll give you on discharge. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a quick look at you.”
She pulled out a pen light and gave him a check over. Between her soft tones and gentle way of directing him to turn his head this way or that, Lincoln felt like he was being treated by a pediatrician.
“All your vitals look good,” she said. “Look very strong. Have you noticed any metallic taste in your mouth, or ringing in your ears?”
“No ma’am,” he said.
“Good, good. Well if you do have either those, or a sudden loss of balance, let us know immediately, OK?”
“Sure.” Lincoln remembered that bit from his inaugural run through the Process, during one of the last stages of selection for that other unit he’d been hoping to make. If he recalled correctly, any of those symptoms could indicate an incomplete sync with his nervous system. He’d never actually followed up on what the long term effects of an incomplete sync would be.
“Good, good. Any questions for me?”
“That’s it?”
Dr Marcos smiled and nodded. She was probably the most relaxed and cheerful doctor he’d ever met.
“Were you expecting something more?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “I don’t guess so. Just seems like it ought to be a bigger deal, I guess.”
“We hear that a lot. But, of course, our ultimate goal is to make these transitions as seamless as possible. So if it seems a little underwhelming, we’re OK with that. Anything else?”
“No ma’am.”
“Great. A nurse should be around shortly to handle your discharge papers. You can go ahead and get dressed, it shouldn’t be long.”
“OK, thanks, doc.”
She nodded, smiled once more, and started to leave.
“Oh, Dr Marcos,” Lincoln said before she could close the door.
“Yes?”
“What about memory loss?” Lincoln asked.
“Oh, a good question, captain. A certain amount is to be expected,” she said with a kindly smile. “We do excise a certain portion deliberately, which I believe you’ve been briefed about?” Lincoln nodded. “Good. And things may be a little fuzzy for a couple of days, that’s perfectly normal. But if you notice anything you’re especially concerned about, just give us a call. OK?”
“All right,” he said. “Thanks again.”
“Mm-hmm.”
After she was gone, Lincoln noticed a cup of water with a straw in it on a table by the bed. He sat there, sipping water for a couple of minutes, waiting for the truth to dawn on him. For the emotional wavefront to crash. But it didn’t. When his water was gone, he set the cup back on the table and got out of bed. His uniform was hanging on a hook on the back of the door. He was tying his boots when another knock sounded.
“Yeah?”
The door opened and Colonel Almeida strode in. When he saw Lincoln sitting there he let out a big breath and shook his head.
“Hey kiddo,” he said.
“Colonel,” Lincoln said, standing and saluting. The colonel flapped a return salute like he was annoyed at the formality. “How’d we do?”
Almeida nodded, furrowed his brow, and then nodded again. If Lincoln hadn’t known better, he could have believed the old warrior was trying to contain his emotions.
“That good, huh?”
“You got the job done, son,” Almeida answered. “You got it done. And I’m glad you’re all right.”
It was subtle; Lincoln almost missed it. But the Colonel had put the slightest emphasis on you’re. And now that he looked at Almeida, really looked at him, he realized he’d never seen the old man look so beaten down. Lincoln’s thoughts immediately went to Wright.
“Where’s Amira?” he asked.
Technically neither of them was supposed to be in the room, but no one was going to argue with the Colonel, not if they valued their lives or their careers. Almeida escorted Lincoln a few rooms down and scattered people out of the way. She was there, lying in a bed just like Lincoln’s. But she was hooked up to so many machines it was hard to tell it was her under all of it.
“What’s going on?” Lincoln said.
“Bad sync,” Almeida answered. “Been trying to get it under control all afternoon.”
They stood in silence for a few moments, the soft, rhythmic chirp of some monitor the only sound in the room.
“She already burned one replica, Lincoln,” the colonel said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means if they can’t get her here,” he said, “that she’s only got one more shot. And I gotta tell you, I’ve never seen it go like this. If it doesn’t work in two, chances aren’t good the third’s going to make any difference.”
Lincoln’s hand went over his mouth.
“Please don’t tell me…” he said, though he didn’t know who he was talking to. “Please don’t tell me I just killed our senior-most team member.”
“She’s not gone yet, son,” Almeida said, putting a hand on Lincoln’s shoulder. “And it wasn’t you. It wasn’t you. It was the mission. It was the job. You did what you had to do.”
The words had no meaning to Lincoln, not there, not in that room. Not with Master Sergeant Amira Wright lying there plugged into all those machines. Lincoln had made that call. He’d sent her to that fate. And not necessarily because she’d been the best one for the job. He’d done it because he was trying to protect Mike.
“What happened,” he asked.
“I think you can guess,” Almeida answered. “You and Mir went in, got the job done. Didn’t quite have time to make it back out. It was noble thing, Lincoln. They’d give you both the highest honors of the land for what you did, if anyone could ever know about it.”
“Probably gonna need a new suit.”
“Afraid so.”
“What happened to SUNGRAZER?”
“You mean the transport ship that had a catastrophic entry on approach to Mars,” Almeida said, “and ended up spilling most of its cargo across the upper atmosphere and out into space? I believe some portion of that vessel burned up on entry, and the other bits went on to parts unknown, captain. Terrible loss of the company. Pretty impressive show for people in the right areas.”
“Anyb
ody buying that?” Lincoln asked.
“The general public,” Almeida said. “Which is good enough, for now.”
“What about the security compromise? All that intel?”
“NID black ops managed to contain it,” he said. “Thanks to the work you did with Manes-King and the Internal Security systems, they were able to cover some tracks. Not all of them, of course. It wasn’t a perfect solution, bad guys got away with a lot of intelligence. We couldn’t hide the fact that they’d found something. But the cleanup effort made it look like they’d been targeting a less sensitive asset. It’s going to ruffle some diplomatic feathers of course, but given the posture of both planets right now we’ve all got to expect a little reconnaissance going on. Everybody seems to think we got off light on this one.”
Lincoln didn’t feel that way. Not looking at Wright in that bed. Two KIA, from a team of seven. In the grand scheme of things, he knew the numbers were right. A couple of deaths in the face of what might have been were hardly worth mentioning. But it was hard to take that perspective when one death had been his own and the other, the one that mattered most to him, was his dear friend. His sister-in-arms.
“Turns out the easiest way to keep a big secret,” Almeida said, “is to confess to a smaller, less damaging one.”
“Can I get a few minutes with her, sir?” Lincoln asked.
“Sure, of course,” the colonel said. He turned to leave, but paused at the door. “Lincoln…”
“Sir?”
Almeida stood there for a moment, looking for the words. But whatever he’d been about to say, he couldn’t articulate. “I’ll uh… I’ll be right out here.”
“Yes sir.”
After the colonel stepped out, Lincoln walked over and stood next to Wright’s bed. He could see her better from here, in the dim light. They had her on an oxygen mask and a number of IVs snaking into both arms. It seemed strange, because apart from all the medical paraphernalia, she looked in perfect health.
He knelt down by her bed then, reached up and took her hand in his.
“Come on, master sergeant,” he said. “Come on, Mir. Don’t do this to us. We need you here. I need you here.”