by JE Gurley
Costas’ statement summed up the general air of the entire crew. Waiting had taken the edge off. No one believed he or she would survive the mission. Some thought it doomed from the beginning, an enterprise undertaken solely to appease the masses on Earth promised a quick victory by the politicians. The myth of the mysterious unseen Nazir had grown larger than the Kaijus destroying Earth’s cities. Walker had seen such pessimism infect entire companies in Iraq where every person encountered on the streets could be a suicide bomber or an ISIS operative, every car, truck, or garbage can an IED. It raised doubts about the mission. Survival became more important than solution, shooting first more effective than waiting.
“That shit stops right now,” he snapped at Costas, who jumped in surprise. “You’re too good a soldier for that. If we die, we die, but we do the job first. Dying isn’t hard. You just forget why you’re fighting, and death will find you in a heartbeat.” He looked around the suddenly quiet galley and raised his voice so that all could hear. “We came to do a job – stop the enemy. Stop the enemy. We can’t win this war at home.” He pointed toward the front of the ship. “The enemy is that direction – Haumea. That’s where we’re going. When we get there, we stop them any way we can.
“You all volunteered for this mission. I want all of you to make it home. Some won’t. Maybe none of us will, but we’ll complete the mission first if it’s humanly possible. The mission is all. It’s why we came. If you think your life more important than some civilian’s on Earth whose city is under attack by the Kaiju, then you can remain on the ship with the technicians. It’s no safer, but maybe you’ll feel better. I only want men and women ready to do the job beside me when I put boots on the ground.”
The silence that followed concerned him. He hadn’t meant it to be a rousing speech; he was just venting, but he did expect some reaction, good or bad. Finally, one soldier in the corner called out, “Hoo ah!” Others quickly chimed in. Soon, the entire ship resonated with the call. He didn’t know if he had stirred their hearts or won their minds, but he had gotten their attention. Sometimes that was enough.
Costas looked up with a sheepish grin on his face. “Sorry. I’ve always been by your side, Major. I just don’t like this damned, insufferable waiting.” He clenched his fists and waved them in front of him. “In Iraq, we choppered in, hiked in, drove in, or whatever, but we got there and the mission started. This being cooped up for days on end gives you too much time to think about things. I don’t like it. It fucks with your head.”
“This, coming from a man who lay in a puddle of his own urine for twelve hours to get a shot at an ISIS leader.” He reached out and clasped Costas’ shoulder. “I never doubted you’d do your job. I just want you to make that date with the Demarcos twins.”
Costas grinned. “Yeah, they’re both double-jointed. You wouldn’t believe how they can –”
Walker released Costas’ shoulder and chopped his hand in the air. “I don’t want to hear it. Save it for your memoirs.”
“Memoirs, schmemoirs, I’m gonna sell it to HBO for a movie of the week.”
“You do that, but after you eat, have the team clean their suits. They probably need it.”
After leaving Costas, he went forward to the bridge and found Sakiri already there. Both members of the Assegai crew were with NATO, Captain Stefan Renatto and Lieutenant Ki Ngabe. Blivens and Worthen had lost their bridge bunk space and now shared quarters with the Lance crew. Goodman, who operated the ship’s environmental systems, had retained his berth, but he looked uncomfortable around so many military personnel.
“Thanks for picking us up,” Walker said to Captain Renatto.
Renatto threw him a wave. “No problem. It was going to be a long trip with only Ki to talk to.”
“You made good time.”
Ngabe grinned. “We decided to push the engines a bit past the limits. They performed excellently.”
“Can we reach Haumea in five days instead of seven?” Walker asked. Losing almost two days waiting had put them behind schedule.
Ngabe’s frown spoke volumes. “That might be unwise. I can perhaps increase speed another two or three percent. It will shave a few hours off the trip.” He glanced at Sakiri. “With the colonel’s permission, of course, but any higher might compromise our magnetic shield.”
Walker nodded. The magnetic shield produced by the gravity drive protected them from deadly cosmic rays and micrometeorites. “I see. I will appreciate anything you can do. My men are getting antsy.” He did not want to admit that he, too, was growing restless.
“The Javelin succeeded. Only one pod escaped.”
The news was a welcome relief. “Have you picked up Lieutenant Peter’s Lance?”
“Nothing yet, but if he’s out there, we will find him.”
Walker nodded. He hoped they were right.
“A bit of bad news, I’m afraid. They’re at the far edge of our scanners, but it appears the second group of Kaiju has increased speed.”
“Any change of direction?” Sakiri asked.
“No, still on course for Earth. They may arrive a few hours earlier than expected. It might affect where they land.”
“Have you notified command?”
“Yes, they are aware of the situation.”
Whatever the situation on Earth, there was little that Walker could do about it. For the next seven days, he was just a passenger. All he could do was sit and hope they found Gate.
Costas burst onto the bridge a short while later. The sergeant’s ruddy cheeks were even redder, his eyes flashing with anger, his voice almost a low growl, as he held out a soggy piece of paper.
“I found this in the toilet. Someone tried to flush it.”
Walker was reluctant to take the wet paper, but something in Costas’ voice told him it was important. He glanced at it and his stomach rolled. It was part of a Judgment Day recruitment pamphlet. Someone on the ship had brought it aboard. He looked at Costas. “This isn’t good, Sergeant. We can’t afford to allow a Judgment Day acolyte to sabotage the mission.”
“How do we find him, or her?” Costas added.
That was the problem. They would need many pairs of eyes to watch the group, but whom could they trust? “Colonel?”
Sakiri’s dour expression matched his own. “I’ll review personnel files. I have one or two of my team I trust implicitly. I’ll ask them to move about discretely and make observations. We should not make anyone else aware of this. If there is an acolyte aboard, he or she will become more difficult to ferret out.”
Walker stared at Costas. “Sergeant, you don’t have a discrete bone in your body. Talk to Cantrell. She’s a little more subtle. She might have more luck.”
“Yes, sir.”
Costas’ news disturbed him. They faced enough perils without the risk of sabotage by a religious fanatic. The means of destroying the ship or its killing its occupants were too numerous to list. The severity of the danger depended on who the fanatic was. As if fighting an alien army wasn’t enough.
18
August 16, Aboard a Lance adrift in space–
Staring at the relative position of the unmoving stars, Gate was certain the Lance was stationary; however, Peters insisted the gravity drive was operating at near 100 percent. Unless the gravity distortion bubble that shut down their power had subverted all the laws of physics, they were speeding at close to 40,000 mph toward their rendezvous point with Assegai. He couldn’t be certain of anything, except the fact that each breath reduced their chances of survival. In a movie, one of them would insist on dying so that the other might have all the oxygen and live long enough for a dramatic rescue. That was the movies. Even if either wanted to, they couldn’t exchange their suit tanks while they were moving.
He had almost depleted the battery on his laptop trying unsuccessfully to pinpoint their exact location. He had used the last few minutes of power to record a message for Walker, unsure if he would ever hear it. Part of the message was technical data concer
ning the gravity drive overload. The rest was of a more personal nature, things he could not tell Walker in person. As he had spoken into the microphone, he had tried to put his disjointed thoughts into a coherent form. Now, as he listened to his own shaky voice, stared into his gaunt, worried face, he wasn’t certain he had succeeded.
“Walker, the data I’ve included might help our war effort. I hope so. Earth deserves better than it has received, at least, most of it does. There are still a lot of selfish, foolish people who never seem to learn, even when the end of the world is likely. You’re not one of them. You’re one of the most decent human beings I’ve met. We’re poles apart, but we share the same goals, and I’d like to think we’ve become good friends. I would venture inside a Kaiju with few people. In fact, you’re it, you and Costas.
“I’ve watched a lot of people die, too many, and it made me angry enough to want to do something. Looking back, I was foolish to insist on tagging along when you went inside Nusku. I couldn’t take care of myself and probably cost the lives of some of your men watching out for me. For that, I’m deeply sorry. I learned things about myself inside that, that monster. You probably went through the same kind of catharsis in your line of work – your first mission, your first kill, wondering if you were making a difference. You came out the other side a hero. No, don’t be modest, Aiden. You are a hero in every sense of the word. You walk into a situation fully aware you might die, knowing only that you will do your best and save lives whenever possible. That’s what a hero does.
“I came out cowed and afraid, a deep, cold fear that wrapped itself around my bones and wouldn’t let go. The memories haunted my sleep and some of my waking moments. If the Nazir hadn’t sent Kaiju Kiribati, I don’t know what would have happened. I hate to think about it. There were times, late at night when I was alone … Well, I didn’t. Maybe I was too afraid for that way out too. Kaiju Kiribati dropped me back into the fray, kept me from thinking. I buried myself in my work, but it didn’t help. Did you know I went to a shrink, Aiden? I guess not. I didn’t tell anyone. I surprised myself. She diagnosed it as depression and prescribed Celexa. The drugs screwed with my mind so badly I had to stop taking it. Acupuncture helped a little, but not enough to face the needles. I’ve always hated needles. In the end, I chose alcohol and jazz.
“I tell myself the director backed me into a corner when she convinced me to come on the Javelin mission, but in truth, I was already in one, a corner I walked willingly into. I guess I wanted revenge more than I was afraid of dying. Have you ever felt that way? Has that kept you going when others might falter? I’m glad I came. I think I did some good. Maybe a few more people on Earth will live because of what I did, what Peters and I did. I hope I haven’t killed you and the others with this plan. I would like to have been in on the end, but I guess –”
The image flickered a few times and the screen went blank. He glanced at the flashing low battery light. The rest hadn’t been important anyway. He checked his watch – twenty-one hours had passed since the explosion. That left another hour before they would have to rely on suit oxygen. He did not want to spend his last hours inside his suit breathing canned air. How should he spend his last day on Earth, or, at least near Earth?
“Did I hear you talking back there?” Peters asked.
“Just listening to a recording. I was hoping for some jazz, but my battery’s dead.”
“I prefer classic rock myself, you know, Aerosmith, Guns and Roses, Zeppelin. Something I can dance to.”
“You won’t do much dancing out here.”
“You got that right. My seat is as tight as a Scot’s purse. At least you can spin in circles in your seat.”
Gate smiled. “Not anymore. No power.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. What do the stars tell you?”
Gate sighed. “We’re still on course.”
“You think.”
Gate caught the sarcasm in Peters’ voice. “We’re headed in the right direction. We should reach the rendezvous point in two hours. Then, we wait for our ride.”
“Sounds easy when you say it real fast, but, really, what are our chances?”
Gate considered the question. “Sixty-forty.”
“I think you’re being generous. If the Assegai was delayed or anything happened … Well, at least we won’t have to wait too long.”
“And the view is spectacular,” Gate added. “I’m sorry, Peters.”
“Not your fault. I volunteered. You were right. We did some good. I always knew one mission would be my last. It looks like this is the one.”
The finality in Peters’ voice disturbed him. “Don’t cash in your chips yet. We still have a chance.”
“With no radio or sensors, we wouldn’t know if they flew past us. We make a pretty small blip on a radar screen.”
“As long as the jump drive is working, they can pick us up on a gravity wave detector.”
“Maybe, if Jupiter doesn’t mask our drive. I’ll have to shut it down soon, or we’ll continue well beyond our rendezvous spot. I can’t even circle because without a visual it might become a spiral. That could doom us as surely as missing our rendezvous. Without the drive, we’re just another speck floating in space.”
“They’ll come,” Gate replied, but he wasn’t sure if the queasy feeling in his stomach was from his nagging doubt or his last meal.
* * * *
“It’s time to cut the drive,” Peters announced.
Gate checked his watch and hoped his estimate of their location was accurate. Some of it he derived from visual clues – the position of the stars, the location of Jupiter – but much of it was just a guess based on estimated speed. The only thing accurate about the entire process was the time. His watch didn’t lie and it said they had four hours of oxygen left. They had been on suit oxygen for two hours. By his best estimate, the Assegai would not arrive for another two hours. It would be much closer than he was comfortable with.
“Looks like the spot,” he remarked, trying to lighten the situation.
“Cutting the drive.” There was no sensation of speed reduction. The view outside the canopy did not change. “I guess we wait.”
“How long have you been flying, Peters?”
“Six years. I flew an F-18 in Afghanistan and made a few sorties into Syria before volunteering for the Lance project. I wouldn’t fly anything else now. These babies are great. I feel like Neil Armstrong every time I strap in.”
“Married?” As he asked, Gate kicked himself mentally for such a delicate question.
Peters answered without hesitation. “No. Times are too uncertain for a wife and kids. Maybe later.”
“Sure. Later.”
“How about you?” Peters asked.
“No wife, cat, dog, or girlfriend. No time for distractions.”
“Got that. There’s no certainty until we defeat the Nazir. I just want one more chance at them.”
“We struck quite a blow with the Javelin.”
Peters’ voice dripped rage, as he said, “Yeah, but I didn’t see them die. I want to see a real Nazir and watch him die under my guns. Then, I can die happy.”
“We’ll get there.”
“You believe that?”
Gate understood Peters’ skepticism. “With all my heart,” he answered. His answer surprised him. In spite of the odds, he believed he would see Haumea. Going home – that was too far beyond his scope of vision.
“I wish I had your conviction. All I got is hope.”
“Sometimes hope is enough.”
“We’ll see in about four hours.”
* * * *
They sat in silence, each man embroiled in his personal conflict between hopes and regrets. Gate’s gauge read 1.4 hours oxygen left – 84 minutes. At his normal 15 breaths per minute, he estimated he had 1,200-1,300 breaths left, less if he panicked. He had no desire to count them, tolling his death like counting rosary beads. He fought back the ghastly thought of choking, gasping for air that wasn’t there. It
was not a nice way to go. He wished his laptop were working. He badly wanted to hear some jazz to soothe his frayed nerves. At the lowest point in his life, he had toyed with the idea of suicide but could not go through with it. Now, it seemed the better option. He could shut down the air scrubber on his suit and choose to die of carbon dioxide poisoning instead of gasping for his last breath.
Maybe his last act should be to open the canopy of the Lance and float free of the ship to drift slowly toward the sun, and eventually to be spewed out again as new star stuff. He stared at Vega, 25-light years distant. Thousands of years ago, it had been Earth’s northern pole star. In 12,000 years, it would once again be the Pole Star. Would he still be drifting in space as the Earth slowly wobbled back into alignment with Vega?
He resisted looking at his watch, but the urge overwhelmed him. He now had 62 minutes of oxygen remaining. What if his gauge was wrong? What if this breath was his last one? He considered one last word with Peters, the man who had risked his life and would ultimately pay with it to offer him a chance to escape certain death aboard the Javelin, but he suspected Peters was preparing himself for the end. What if he was already dead? The thought created a surge of panic in his chest he at first mistook for lack of oxygen. He had waited long enough. If he had the courage to crawl inside a Kaiju, surely he had the courage to choose his own end.
He accessed his suit computer. After fumbling through the menu a couple of times, he located the suit functions parameters. He reduced the scrubber by thirty percent, hoping it would allow him time to drift into unconsciousness before his air ran out. He gazed out the canopy at Vega, deciding it was not a bad star to die under. It was in the Lyra constellation, the Harp. It was serenading him in frequencies he could not hear. It was twice as large as Sol but only a tenth as old. Vega was the fifth brightest star in the night sky. Because it burned bright, Vega and the sun would die near the same time.