But whatever the "rationale" – white men's words being a regular part of his vocabulary now – living in a mansion and pretending to be wealthy member of the establishment suited him just fine. Sipping expensive wine poolside while dining regular on prime-grade pussy was one helluva a way to run a revolution.
"You sure you know what you're doing, pretending to be a white man?"
Tyler had come up beside him, sharing the sumptuous view.
"You ever gonna stop worrying, T?"
"No."
"Good. 'Cause I need you to keep me from getting too confident, brother."
"Which be a full-time job. Nigger could be hanging upside down over a cliff and still be dreamin' about rulin' the world."
Thomas laughed and clapped his old friend on his massive shoulders. Funny how almost every super fool around him could rip his friend into tiny pieces without working up a sweat, but his huge, muscular bulk still felt comforting, a source of solidity and strength.
"Nigger always gotta dream," Thomas chuckled.
Now Steven joined him on his other side, gazing past their opulent environs to the far horizon. But that was Steven: always looking beyond what other people saw.
"With regard to our IDE infiltration program," he said. "I just learned that one of our people was promoted to Team Two."
Thomas snapped out of his reverie and stared at the smaller man. "Not Team One? I was hoping to get one of ours workin' with the Blond Bitch and her elite motherfucking commandos."
"I know. But we already have new information as a consequence – something neither the press nor the Morgan Administration has mentioned: the Object contained a warning, and part of an explanation."
"No shit. Lay it on me."
"The belief is symbols found within the Object indicate a future alien attack of some kind and that the genetic and biological re-engineering caused by the Object is to serve a protective purpose against this attack."
Thomas opened his mouth, but couldn't seem to find the words – a rarity. He turned to Tyler, whose flinty dark eyes now truly appeared worried.
"When's this attack supposed to happen?" Tyler asked.
"That's unknown. Also unknown is the specific nature of the attack and the beings that will be responsible."
"Well, ain't that somethin'." Thomas watched his dreams of imperial glory exploding in flames under a barrage of alien death rays. Then his optimistic nature reasserted itself. "But the messages say we're strong enough to fight it off?"
"That is the logical implication."
"Then I don't see no point in frettin' about it. What alien motherfuckers be crazy enough to take us on as we are now? Besides, they might not show up for a thousand years."
"If that were the case, our technology then would presumably offer weapons far deadlier than any of our augmented powers. The current uplift would be pointless." Steven paused, an uncharacteristic hint of a frown in his fine features. "And course that logic applies reciprocally: a sufficiently advanced alien technology would render our powers pointless."
Thomas rested a hand on the teak coffee table before him. Steven had a way of making you feel good one moment while pulling the carpet out from under your feet the next. His logic just never stopped coming. Thomas had found that cutting logic off on a happy note worked better for him.
"So you're saying..." Thomas rested another hand on the teak table. "It's gonna be sooner than later."
"That seems likely. There are many variables."
Thomas clamped down on his impatience. No point in being impatient with Steven. "What's your gut instinct? What do you see ahead?"
"Interesting times."
NASA'S MANNED mission to Mars was unfolding about two decades ahead of time.
Or in this case, Jamie thought, eyeing the small reddish orb apprehensively, a womanned mission, since she was the only eligible astronaut.
After five days of mulling over the results and licking their wounds, the brass at NASA and DARE, under powerful pressure from President Morgan, were ready to proceed with phase two of Operation Icarus – so named by their own in-house brilliant scientist, Randy Wilde, tongue fully loaded in cheek. No one had expected the name to stick, but the more Jamie objected the more entrenched it became.
Jamie gazed at the red planet across a chilling 92.4 million miles of space. 92 million miles and counting, since their orbits were moving apart. Could've been worse. With both planets at their aphelion – their farthest points from the sun – they might've been an impossible 250 million miles apart. Or, if they'd been incredibly lucky, Mars could've been a mere 34 million miles distant. But everyone was happy to take the 92 million miles under the circumstances. Though Jamie couldn't work up much gratitude.
The current estimate courtesy of NASA engineers was that her top speed was roughly a half-million miles per hour, based on tracking her flight to and from the moon. At that speed, minus the approximate 13000 MPH current speed of their separation – it would take her about 180 hours or 7.5 days. Just over a week without breathing, eating, drinking, or watching cable television. Without conversation or human touch. Specifically, Zachary's. But this time, at least, she'd have a satellite communication and camera system along. She wouldn't be able to talk vocally to them, but she could make funny and obscene gestures to the camera and type in messages on the fold-out keyboard - while receiving messages and video images with subtitles from home.
Of course, if she were an optimist, she might be able to travel faster than 804672 kilometers per hour (she liked that kilometers sounded faster than miles). Maybe she'd be able to double or triple that. Or, more pessimistically, maybe she'd die a lonely and hideous death in space? The trip itself didn't offer much by way of exciting prospects. Most likely, once she was up to top speed and on target, she'd be spending a lot of time sleeping. Too bad she hardly needed to sleep these days.
Zachary wrapped his arms around her and held her close as if reading her morose thoughts.
"It's going to be okay," he said.
"I know."
Hulk Horner flavored the scene with mock violin-playing in the background. Tildie glared at him but some of the others chuckled. The entire Team One was in attendance tonight to see her off, including Mort and Director Boltman. The two NASA scientists, Walt Jennings and Reyanish Chambal, sat in folding chairs fidgeting with their computers, probably counting the miles Mars has traveled away from us as we stand here. Jamie shook her head. Mort Anderson made a throat-clearing sound.
"Whenever you're ready, Commander," he said.
Zachary stepped back, allowing Tildie and Belinda in for a hug. A final quick kiss and shoulder squeeze from Zach, and Jamie faced the communication array NASA had assembled for her maiden flight to Mars. The whole package probably weighed less than seven hundred pounds. Hardly more than a keychain in her pocket to her.
She turned to the group. "Talk to you all in a bit."
"Godspeed, Commander," said Morton.
Upon reaching what she judged to be the exosphere, Jamie put the "pedal to the metal." It was impossible to judge speed except by reference to the Earth and moon, but they seemed to be retreating faster than before. Wishful thinking? One thing she was sure was different was that she was accelerating for a longer period than before. She just kept pushing forward – it felt more like pulling, as if she were tugging herself along on a long tether attached to Mars – and she knew her speed was continuing to increase in the same way she would've known that she was walking up a hill.
An hour, then two, passed. She knew because she checked her Speedmaster X-36 "space watch" every few minutes. Except for an occasional break in concentration – needed to type in "doing fine so far" on the computer keyboard – she kept pushing the pace. Was it her imagination or did Mars already look larger? It felt weird but liberating to float there merrily typing messages as she and the communication array, thanks to Newton's first law, traveled in tandem without any telekinetic effort required. It was like an open-air apartment, exc
ept for the lack of walls and air.
Walt Jenning's face appeared on the computer screen.
"You are traveling 894.08 km/s," the subtitles read as his lips moved.
Kilometers per second. A very rough calculation told her that was freaking fast. She was pretty sure a lot faster than 500,000 MPH. She typed a response.
Could you translate that into MPH?
A tiny fraction under two million miles per hour.
Jamie's fingers hung over the keyboard. I'm traveling millions of miles an hour. Just sitting here, "chilling," in the velvety blackness of space, zipping silently along. It was a little like acknowledging that even while sitting at home in a rocking chair you were traveling thousands of miles per hour. It was all relative. But at her speed, she was moving really fast relative to anything. And it was possible she had more left in her "tank."
What would it be like to be struck by a rock traveling two million MPH? That might sting – or worse. The kinetic energy would be off the charts at that speed.
Only after Jamie had finished absorbing the wonder of it all did she acknowledge that her trip had just been cut by a fourth. She could make the whole trip there and back in four days or less! Unless she ran into a snag, which somehow seemed inevitable. There weren't a lot of free lunches being served up at DARE these days. One step forward, two-thirds of a step back seemed to be their unstated motto.
Zachary appeared on the computer screen to ask if she was having fun yet. "Just chilling" was her reply. Zach said they were taking bets on what her top speed would be.
Jamie pushed for another hour before running up against the first true physical fatigue she'd felt since the change. It was hard to pinpoint other than a general sense of being drained. NASA informed her that she and her communication system had reached 2.12 million miles per hour. With that accomplishment under her tool belt and the ever-growing Mars in clear sight, Jamie stopped pushing and let herself relax.
Two hours later, she opened her eyes. After the longest and most intense disorientation she'd ever experienced after waking up, she managed to piece together where she was and what she was doing. But just as she calmed her incipient panic, she noticed that Mars was gone. Which was, of course, impossible. But for a few panicked moments of spinning around, losing all frame of reference – not even sure she recognized Earth – Mars finally popped into view. She appeared now to be traveling past and away from it.
A string of messages on her computer greeted her when she unfolded it from the side of the communication array. Their main gist: You're flying off course! Please correct by visually reorienting yourself to Mars!
No kidding. While she was sleeping she obviously missed the small course corrections she'd been making subconsciously to stay on target. She realigned herself to the small red ball and breathed a figurative breath of relief. At worst, she'd cost herself a couple of hours. No big deal.
But what if she'd been traveling much faster and fallen asleep? What if she woke up and couldn't pick out Earth or Mars? She might drift through space lost forever...or until her body finally shut down. Right now she wished she'd spent a bit more time studying star charts.
Still, she thought, no point in worrying too much. She wasn't traveling that fast. Just fast enough to get this mission done and get home in a reasonable time, without everyone having aged twenty years because of time-dilation.
She typed some reassuring messages back to NASA, joking she'd "fallen asleep at the wheel." Her dad was onscreen now, his computer linked to her through NASA, asking her how she was feeling.
Not bad. It's good to see your face.
You must be lonely. ;) How's the view out there?
Jamie swiveled around 360 degrees.
Quite a panorama. It's gorgeous, but I'm glad I don't suffer from agoraphobia. Yet.
That would be awkward. How far away does Mars look now?
About twice its usual size. The size of a small pebble.
Do me a favor when you get there? Check it out for pyramids and artificial structures? I know it's not part of your official mission, but it would be damn nice to have my suspicions confirmed or denied. Also, you should take a look at Phobos. There's something that resembles a monolith there.
Okay. In space, you can't hear someone sigh, Jamie thought. I'll check out Phobos and Mars. I'm not going all that distance without having a look around.
Thanks. I'd really appreciate it. This could be fascinating, apart from the aliens the government's interested in. I have to say, I was freaking out a little when I heard about your mission from Terry. I'm not sure I was even supposed to know. But they were cool about letting me talk to you. Of course, I said I'd call the New York Times if they didn't. ;)
How are things on the home front?
Boring, but in a good way. I'm glad DARE didn't hire me, to be honest. I don't think I'd make a very good G-man. I used a good chunk of my NBA money to buy Ralph's Hardware store, by the way. It makes a good profit, but the owner wanted to retire. Something to keep me busy. I miss running my own business.
That's great news, Dad.
How are Terry and his dad doing, by the way? And I haven't heard much about Kevin or his mom, either.
Terry's working with my team now, thank God. He's damn handy to have around if someone gets hurt. Kevin and his mom are both working with the Intelligence Division, by some coincidence. I'm not clear on exactly what Kevin does. He apparently has some kind of lie detection/pattern recognition ability that dovetails nicely with his mom's mind-reading and the clairvoyants they've got working there.
Quite an operation. Seen any sign of 'Mothra' yet? Any aliens come buzzing up to check you out? That happened a lot with our astronauts, I've read.
No one's checked me out. Nothing buzzing around except a few electrons.
How are you feeling?
Okay. I actually got a bit tired. Trying to reach my top speed took something out of me. A nap helped – though it probably threw me a million or two miles off course.
God, I wouldn't want to see you get lost out there!
You and me both. But not much chance of that happening, not while I can see Earth and other planets.
Well, I should let you get back to work. Take care of yourself. If Neil Armstrong or Edgar Mitchell stop by, please give them my regards. ;)
Will do.
Jamie closed up the computer feeling a little happy and a little tearful. Nothing like the vast blackness of space punctured by infinite pricks of light to make a person feel alone and out of touch. Jeez, she'd only been out here for half a day and she already felt like Robinson Crusoe. She didn't want to think of how it would feel without communication.
Something else she felt – noticed it definitely as she dragged herself and the communication array back on course – was weaker. Not weak or debilitated by any means, just not quite up to her usual power. Maybe it was the drain of acceleration, but as she stared at the sun, now a fraction smaller and paler, she wondered if she, like the Son of Krypton, might receive some of her power from the "yellow star." The source of her energy was an active topic for speculation among the scientists, including Zachary. Most were leaning to the fictionally tried and true solar power thesis for the core of her power, but since she spent a lot of her time underground without apparent power loss, they suspected there were other factors. Her space journey would no doubt provide more evidential grist for the scientists' mill.
Jamie set aside her worries and self-pity and focused on the orangish orb ahead, just now assuming a clear, spherical shape. She was about to be the first human being to visit and set foot on Mars. What could be more awesome than that?
MARS LAY at Jamie's feet.
It was though Mars was her chair as she typed away on her keyboard, reminding herself to keep her touch light as excitement burbled up in her. She was here! She couldn't resist sending her private joke: "One small journey for a woman, one giant leap for womankind." The big LOL from Reyansh Chambal, who happened to be onscreen at the mo
ment, seemed an underwhelming response, but she imagined hearty cheers rising from everywhere in NASA and DARE headquarters. The news media and general public had no awareness of her mission, so her claim to fame – happily – would have to wait.
For now, Jamie's first mission was to locate the five "live" satellites orbiting Mars – three NASA's, and one each from the ESA and ISRO (Indian Space Research Organization) - if they still existed. A NASA video simulation of the satellites and their orbits was playing on her screen. So far, nada. She'd had no trouble at all spotting Mars' two moons, Phobos and Deimos, brightly lit by the sun. In fact, Phobos was passing by at that moment not far outside her own orbit, if she was in fact in an orbit. She'd slowed way down, and seemed to be circling Mars without the aid of telekinetics, but it wasn't always easy to separate natural forces from those of her own mind.
Jamie followed Reyansh's suggestion to drop down closer to the planet on the dark side and look upward for moving lights in the night sky. Again, she had no problem spotting Phobos and with a bit more work, Deimos – both being about the size of the bluish Earth - but otherwise, nothing. "Keep looking," was Reyansh's suggestion.
And she did. But after ninety minutes of searching space from a variety of angles, NASA officially pronounced the satellites as "missing in action."
The next part of the mission was to look for an alien presence on Mars. Not the ancient artifacts her dad was so interested in, but the alien presence hinted at in the recent photos of Mars and in the Object. But searching for one would reveal the other, if there was anything to reveal.
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