Music of the Spheres (The Interstellar Age Book 2)

by Daniels, Valmore

  “I know you meant it,” she said to him. “But it’s been a very complicated couple of years.”

  “So that’s a ‘no’?” he asked, but he said it with a half smile, as if he’d been expecting the answer all along.

  “It’s not a ‘no’,” she said. “It’s not a ‘yes’; but it’s not a ‘no’.” She squeezed him a little tighter and buried her head in his shoulder. “I just need to get a little more comfortable with who I am now before I can make that kind of decision.”

  After a moment, he spoke in a quiet voice. “You won’t mind I ask again at a later date?”

  Justine laughed and gave him a playful slap. “I’d be upset if you didn’t.”

  They held each other in silence for long minutes.

  “This is nice,” he said after a time. “Not quite La Dance Des Étoiles, but it’s still cozy.”

  She playfully slapped his arm. “You’re such a liar!”

  “Ha.” He laughed. “So, what’s this supposed to do anyway? To Alex?”

  “I don’t really know how this works for sure,” Justine said, “but I think it has something to do with how he was exposed to Kinemet the first time. It imbued him with its inherent radiation which changed his physiology. Now he needs it like we need Vitamin C.”

  Clive said, “I’m not sure I completely understand.”

  “No one does. That’s why he’s gone so long without it; why he’s deteriorating physically. No one believes he needs Kinemet to survive.”

  “He seems content now.”

  Justine couldn’t see anything. “Does he?”

  “Yes. He looks like he’s sleeping, but there’s a serenity about him.”

  Justine could feel herself smiling. “That’s good.”

  “How much longer do you think he’ll need?” Clive asked. “The liner is set to reload passengers in a couple hours. We’ll have to get him off before anyone sees him.”

  ∞

  They sat together for two more hours, enjoying one another’s company and talking about nothing and everything.

  Though she just wanted to rest in Clive’s arms forever, Justine finally squeezed his hand, indicating it was time to go. They had things to do.

  She stood up and headed back to Alex, and could hear Clive following.

  Alex sat up on the cot. “Thank you so much, Justine.”

  “You’re welcome, but really, Clive arranged it all.” She felt around for the door of the container and pushed it shut. It locked automatically, and Justine quickly removed her sweater.

  As the Kinemetic radiation was cut off once more, Justine’s main optilink connection came back online, and she immediately turned on her harness. At last she could look on Alex and Clive’s faces with those electronic eyes, courtesy of Optimedia.

  Putting his hand out for Clive to shake, Alex said, “Thank you, Clive.”

  The two shook, and Clive stepped back and put an arm around Justine. “Not a problem, young man. I just wish there was a more permanent solution for you.”

  “This was good enough,” Alex said. “I feel much better.”

  “How long will it last?” Justine asked.

  Alex shrugged. “I don’t know. But one thing I do know: I won’t be needing these braces for the time being.”

  Justine watched as he undid the biomechatronic device from his legs.

  Alex stood to give Justine a hug, and she blinked away tears. “If I could find a better way,” she said.

  “I know.”

  Justine heard footsteps approaching.

  “Are we about wrapped up here?” asked Lieutenant Jeffries.

  Nodding, Justine said, “Yes. We need to escort Alex out before the passengers embark. Thank you, Lieutenant. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

  “Uh, I really didn’t do anything,” he said to her in a modest voice, and checked the lock on the container.

  “Sometimes,” she said, “that’s more than enough.”

  Justine put her hands on Alex’s shoulders, and then pulled him close for a hug. It was difficult to explain to people why she cared so much for this boy. Although she never had any children of her own, that maternal instinct was still there.

  Alex was like a foster child to her in some ways, and she didn’t realize how much his deteriorating health had affected her until this very moment. Seeing him looking hale and happy brought a sudden torrent of tears to her eyes, and she hugged him even tighter.

  “I feel much better,” he said to her in a low voice. “Thank you.”

  Justine gave him one more squeeze, then stepped back, but still kept one hand on his shoulder.

  “We need to figure out a way to make it permanent.”

  Alex smiled. “Working on it. Now I have a little more time. And,” he added, “now I have something that might help Kenny.”

  “Kenny?” she asked.

  With a subtle glance at Lieutenant Jeffries, Alex spoke in a low voice. “Kenny Harriman. He’s the new physicist they sent up from Vancouver. He’s trying to figure me out. Since I haven’t been able to use any of my gifts, I don’t think he fully believed my story. Maybe now if I demonstrate, it might give him some ideas.”

  Justine was one of the few people who had witnessed firsthand Alex’s ability to manipulate electricity and his uncanny capability to see far beyond the normal range of human vision.

  It had not occurred to her until that moment that those gifts would once again be restored to Alex once he was recharged with the Kinemetic radiation. He was connected to that element in a fundamental way. As Alex said often, he needed it.

  For the past few years, as Alex’s capabilities diminished along with his health, it had been harder and harder to convince the corporate governments to take an interest in Alex. Justine hoped that this new physicist, Kenny, would be able to help in time; she had no idea how or when Alex would have access to more of the superluminal metal.

  Wiping away her tears, she said, “I’ll be interested in hearing about it all when I come back. Speaking of which, I have one more surprise.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve arranged to take a few weeks’ vacation time, and on the return trip, I’ll start them here on CS3.”

  Alex’s smile stretched wide. “That’s great!”

  His delight in the news touched a chord in her, and she realized that she had just as strong a connection to Alex as he had to the Kinemet. It was a good reason to reconsider Clive’s offer. If she took a position on Luna, she would be much closer to Alex on CS3. There were daily flights between the Moon and the space station.

  “Maybe we’ll go on a tour of the Kordylewski clouds or something,” Justine suggested.

  “I would love that.”

  Clive tapped Justine on the arm and repeated, “We should get Alex off before the passengers embark.”

  Justine nodded, and the three of them started back toward the elevator. She mouthed a silent thank you to Lieutenant Jeffries, who gave her a salute in return.

  Justine noticed that Alex was no longer walking like an old man. Once again, he seemed to be an energetic youth.

  When they all got to the upper level and reached the gangway, Alex stopped and turned around.

  “Thank you both again. I don’t know how much longer I would have been able to last if not for today.”

  “No need to thank us,” Justine said. “I just wish we could do more.”

  They hugged and, as Alex left the liner, Justine felt an acute pang of guilt. She had spent the past few years clinging to the hope that she could once again recapture the glory of her days in NASA. She had nothing to prove to anyone in that regard, and it was time for her to make some realistic choices.

  She followed Clive back to the elevator, and as he gestured for her to go first, Justine hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?” Clive asked.

  Shaking her head, Justine smiled at him. “Nothing. I think I’ve made up my mind.”

  ∞

  Justine and Clive returned
to the kitchen area and she enlisted his help to restock the refreshment cart with cold beverages and snacks. She brewed an urn of coffee and liberated a couple plates of fresh pastries for the soldiers.

  When she and Clive had descended to the cargo area and distributed the snacks, the men expressed their gratitude as they helped themselves to the donuts, Danishes, and crullers. Their morale seemed high.

  Lieutenant Jeffries, flicking icing residue off his uniform as he finished a bear claw, approached Justine.

  “Thank you for this.”

  “No problem,” she said. “I’m just sorry none of you got a chance to visit the station.”

  “Goes with the territory.” He held his smile for a moment, then turned serious. “Do you mind if I ask what that was all about, with the boy?”

  Justine hesitated to answer. Any explanation she offered would only raise more questions, and she wasn’t certain how much she should reveal.

  The lieutenant added, “I will have to make a report. I just want to be sure to get my story straight.”

  She glanced at Clive, who nodded his assent. Clive had cleared the visit with administration, but Alex’s status was still classified.

  To Lieutenant Jeffries, she said, “Do you remember the news a few years back about the pilot who returned from Centauri System?”

  The lieutenant blinked in surprise. “From the Quanta flight?”

  “Yes. You just met him.”

  He looked back and forth between Justine and Clive, disbelieving. “But he’s only a kid.”

  “It would appear so,” Clive said in a low voice, “and that information is strictly on a need-to-know basis. When you make your debrief, you can report that Captain Alex Manez, retired, performed an unscheduled inspection of the cargo. Make no mention of his apparent age.”

  “Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said, and if he was uncomfortable with that, he kept it to himself.

  A soft chime sounded, indicating the liner was beginning launch procedures. A pre-recorded voice came on the loudspeaker and encouraged everyone to find their seats.

  Justine and Clive found their way to the temporary webbed seating that had been installed for the troops, and buckled themselves in opposite Lieutenant Jeffries.

  Justine knew she owed the lieutenant more of an explanation, if for no other reason than plain courtesy.

  As the liner fired its engines and eased out of the docking bay, Justine told Jeffries how exposure to the Kinemet had affected Alex on a cellular level, and now he required a certain proximity to the element to maintain his health.

  She also explained that, because of the shortage of Kinemet, obtaining it for Alex had been near impossible. Justine and Clive had understandably taken advantage of the situation just to help out a friend.

  “Most of your superiors are aware of Alex and his condition,” Justine said. “However, I would suggest you keep this information in confidence. I don’t think it’s something you want to be drawn into.”

  “ ‘Unscheduled military inspection’ sounds good to me,” Lieutenant Jeffries said, one side of his mouth turned up in a half smile.

  The voice that suddenly spoke through the cargo hold’s holoslate was not pre-recorded, and was not recognizable by Justine as one of the crew; it had a thick Spanish accent.

  “Attention American soldiers. Remain calm. Because of the corruption of the corporate countries who have kept humankind in ignorance for far too long, the Cruzados have liberated this vessel and its cargo.

  “Cooperate, and you will not be harmed. Resist us and you will be ejected into space.”

  14

  Tegucigalpa :

  Honduras :

  Central American Conglomeration :

  His Mayan name was Te’irjiil, but only his grandfather ever addressed him as such. Most Hondurans spoke only Spanish and had difficulty pronouncing his given name, so he went by the name Terry Fernandez. That was the name he gave to the desk clerk of the hostel in Tegucigalpa, the capital of Honduras, after he ran away from home in Copán Departmental.

  That first night away was the most frightening experience in his life. He had to share a room with three others, one of whom looked pale and sickly and coughed throughout night. The second resident of the room snored heavily, and the third occupant wouldn’t stop talking about how he was going to plunge a knife into the next person who crossed him.

  It was the first time Terry had ever been alone, and the strangeness of the city was overwhelming. The pungent stink of the streets, the hard faces of the citizens, and the screams of police sirens and honking of horns all together nearly sent him running home with his tail between his legs.

  He had never seen a group of more than a hundred people in one place at one time before. Now in a city of millions, Terry felt incredibly small and insignificant. He told himself to be strong, and was proud that he survived the night.

  The next morning, as he stood on the sidewalk outside the hostel, he counted the few lempira he had saved over the past six months. He calculated the cost of the hostel and meals; he knew his money would not last him more than a week, even in the poverty-stricken barrios of the city.

  At twenty years of age, Terry’s only viable trade skill was as a laborer in the coffee plantations that employed more than half the population in his home departmental. He had no idea what he would do in the city, but when he spotted a truck with the name of Ruiz Coffee, the company he had worked for back home, he followed it to their warehouse and asked to speak with the foreman.

  “I’m young, strong and healthy,” Terry said after the foreman—an extremely grumpy-looking man with grizzled grey hair—initially told him they weren’t looking for help.

  “We already have too many workers,” the foreman said and flicked his hand at Terry. “Every day we turn good men away.”

  “I will work for free today,” Terry offered. “Just to prove myself.”

  The foreman sized him up and pressed his lips together as if tasting something sour. Finally, he said, “All right. We have a truck that needs to be loaded on dock three. Start there. See if you can keep up with the others. We’ll see how you do.”

  With a grin, Terry headed down to the loading docks and pitched right in.

  While waiting between trucks, one of the other laborers struck up a conversation with Terry.

  “I’m Humberto,” the man said. He was middle-aged and stocky, with short-cropped hair and a thick moustache. He sized Terry up a moment before extending his hand. They shook.

  “My name is Terry.”

  Humberto asked, “First time in the city?”

  Terry wasn’t sure whether he should reveal too much about himself, but he didn’t think he could come up with a believable fiction. “How can you tell?”

  Humberto pointed at his clothing. “I used to wear homespun outfits when I lived in the country, too.”

  Looking down at his rural-style clothing, Terry felt suddenly conspicuous. The other workers wore denim pants and factory-made shirts with logos and slogans on them.

  At first he suspected Humberto was making fun of him, but the other man did not have a smirk on his face. Instead, Humberto looked concerned and maybe a little sad.

  “Yes,” Terry admitted. “I don’t have enough money to buy new clothes. Yet.”

  “I know a place you can get jeans cheap, some sneakers and a shirt that doesn’t scream ‘country’. After the shift, I’ll take you there, if you like.”

  “I don’t know…” For a brief moment, Terry wondered if he should trust someone he’d just met. He’d heard stories about criminals in the city who preyed on unsuspecting victims.

  Humberto shrugged. “Offer’s open if you want.”

  A new truck arrived, and then they were too busy loading to talk.

  At noon break, Terry went and sat by himself to eat some fries he purchased from a lunch truck. He listened to the other workers joke and laugh, and though he wanted to join in, he kept to himself.

  Deep down he knew runnin
g away from home the way he had was childish. Though he wasn’t sure if he could make a life in the city, he knew there was nothing for him back in his village.

  For the longest time he had courted Itzel, whose grandfather, Artec, was friends with his own grandfather, Yaxche. Both of the old men had conspired to arrange the union, and Terry had been smitten from the start.

  His parents—who both worked long hours—had delegated Terry’s upbringing to his grandfather, and usually deferred to his authority. They approved the marriage, but that was the extent of their involvement.

  Terry and Itzel had spent many evenings sitting on the porch making plans for their future. Then Itzel became feverish with typhoid seven months ago.

  Honduras continued to be one of the most impoverished country corporations, and Copán Departmental was severely lacking in medical facilities and supplies. Within two days of the first symptoms, Itzel had succumbed to the disease. With her death, all hope Terry had for a future died as well.

  His anger, at first, was without direction. As the lonely days piled up, he realized that there had been a chance of Itzel’s survival had the village had proper sewage, treated water, or a qualified doctor—amenities that many other countries in the world enjoyed.

  Their village had had its chance. With so much interest from USA, Inc. and NASA in that ancient document, the leaders of the community could have negotiated access to it for better medical care, infrastructure and a better way of life. They also could have sold it outright, as the NASA officials had first wanted.

  Instead, his grandfather had chosen to keep the old scroll with him as a cultural and religious artifact, and he basked in the self-importance he received from his new status. It would be blasphemy to charge admission to view the relic, his grandfather had told Terry one time. The ancients had intended for all humankind to benefit from the knowledge contained within.

  But no one had figured out the meaning of the inscrutable words, and so no benefit had come from it, only a continued lack of medicine and technology that could have saved Itzel.