Conrad watched as Zawas led his men out of the silo, leaving him alone. He strained at the ties that bound his hands. And he burned with desperation as he watched the Solar Bark rumble to life and prepare to lift off with Serena and the obelisk.
Inside the Solar Bark, Serena found herself with Yeats on a circular platform surrounded by four magnificent golden columns of light. Each column throbbed with energy. Yeats, still holding the remote to the C-4 in one hand, set the scepter down with the other. Suddenly the platform began to take them up.
“Yeats, if we don’t reset the star chamber the whole earth will shift,” she said, her voice spiked with anger and desperation. “Billions will die. You can’t just take off.”
“It’s futile to go back,” he said dismissively. His gaze was locked on the chamber above them. “You heard Conrad. Whatever the Secret of First Time is, it sure as hell ain’t on earth. The survival of the human race dictates that we launch.”
She looked at him. He wore the expression of a cocky warrior, pleased with himself and sure that nobody could stop him. His jaw was set and his eyes glinted in the dim glow of four light-filled columns. It made her furious-his complete unconcern for people who were about to lose their lives.
She said, “How do you know we’ll even get off the ground?”
“What you see all around you is some kind of heliogyro system,” Yeats said. “Those massive columns are an array of four unbelievably long heliogyro blades, like a helicopter’s but on a massive scale. As soon as we leave Earth’s orbit on an escape trajectory into space, they’ll fan out and unfurl the solar sail.”
Clearly she was in Yeats’s world now, and however crazy the former astronaut was, he was the native in the terrain and she was the alien.
“Once deployed,” Yeats went on, “the sail will function like a highly reflective mirror. When photons hit the surface, they impart pressure on it, creating a force to push the sail. The bigger the sail, the greater the force. And by tilting the mirror in different directions, we can direct the force wherever we choose.”
“Don’t tell me you actually think you can fly this thing.”
“Like Columbus sailed the Pinta,” he said. “I’m sure all measurements, orbit determinations, equations of motion, and velocity corrections have been factored into the ship’s navigation system.”
She said nothing as the platform locked. Yeats shoved her with the tip of the obelisk down a long corridor that ended in a metallic door with strange carvings.
“Why would they build the ship like this?” she heard herself asking. She had to keep him talking, had to buy time so she could figure out a way to stop him.
“You’ll have to ask them when we get there,” Yeats said. “But I’m assuming this ship was built as a lifeboat and designed to travel long distances with minimal power. That’s the beauty of this baby: it may be low thrust, but it has infinite exhaust velocity, since it uses no propellant. The solar sail is the perfect vehicle for interstellar travel.”
“Except that it requires sunlight,” Serena observed, “which we’ll run out of as soon as we leave the solar system. Just like a sailboat on a windless ocean.”
Yeats stopped at the door and said, “Gravity assist.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s how we’ll coast without light,” he explained. He spoke so calmly and rationally it both frightened and infuriated her. “We’ll fly around Jupiter close enough to use its gravity to boost ourselves into a faster trajectory toward the sun. Then we’ll slingshot around the sun and pick up even more speed as we exit the solar system. At any rate, I’m sure this thing is packing an array of masers and lasers whose microwaves can generate huge accelerations and speeds in the sails.”
“You seem to have convinced yourself, Yeats,” she said. “How long will it take?”
Yeats paused. “At conventional speed, probably a year.”
A year? Serena thought. “At that speed we wouldn’t reach the next star for…”
“Anywhere between two hundred fifty to six thousand six hundred years.”
Serena didn’t even want to think how long it would be until they reached the target star. Or who would be there to greet them. “Any plans on staying alive in the meantime?”
“Yes.”
Yeats stabbed the scepter into the wall and the door split open to reveal a chamber filled with cool mist. Serena stared inside and could make out what looked like an open coffin in the rear. The mold was of a shapely woman about Serena’s size.
“Seems the builders thought of everything,” Yeats said. “Welcome to your cryocrypt.”
An alarm went off inside Serena’s head as it dawned on her that Yeats expected her to lie inside that machine. She stiffened at the door and refused to go in. Then she felt a clammy hand on her neck. There was no way in hell she was stepping into that chamber.
“You first,” she said, stomping the heel of her boot onto Yeats’s toe and jabbing him in the stomach with her elbow.
He groaned and she spun around and kneed him in the groin and clasped her hands together to deliver a crashing blow to his hunched-over back. She rose to catch her breath, but then Yeats whipped his head up, nabbing her in the jaw and splitting her lip. She staggered back into the chamber as he straightened up. He lifted his head to reveal cold, dead eyes in the dim light. His arm came up pointing his gun at her.
“Say your bedtime prayers, Sister.”
Yeats raised his boot and slammed it full force into her chest, driving her back into the crypt, which molded around her like clay. She felt a cold tingling inside her. It began in the small of her back, raced up her spine, and exploded throughout her entire body.
Suddenly everything began to go numb. She became very still, almost lifeless in the dark, but she could feel her heart pounding. Soon that started to fade. Then the crypt door shut and she felt nothing at all.
33
Dawn Minus Twenty Minutes
Conrad, still lashed to the column,could feel the walls of the silo throb as the powerful thrusters of the Solar Bark began to hum. The greasy air from inside the ship now seeped out and smothered Conrad. He could also feel it heating up. The sunken shrine’s open roof revealed the sky had turned overcast. Then the silo doors parted wider and loose rocks and debris began to fall.
Conrad closed his eyes as the dust came down. Blinking them open, he gazed out over the cavernous launch bay. For a moment, with all the smoke and confusion, Conrad couldn’t see the starship and feared she was gone. Then a curtain of smoke parted and he glimpsed the unreal image of the Solar Bark shimmering behind the smoke. He could also see an AK-47 lying on the ground, apparently dropped by one of Zawas’s soldiers in the panic of their retreat. But the machine gun was more than ten yards away, useless to him in his present predicament.
The air started to taste smoky. His eyes began to burn, his nose tingled in the grimy air. He struggled against the column, coughing on the smoke. With or without the Secret of First Time, he realized, the Scepter of Osiris was his only shot to reset the star chamber in P4 and stop the earth-crust displacement. And it was on board the starship. Somehow he had to break free and retrieve the scepter before the Solar Bark took off and fried him alive.
The thought of fire reminded him of the Zippo lighter Yeats had given him. He still had it in his breast pocket. If only he could figure out a way to get it into his hand, he could burn off the ropes. Conrad dropped his chin to his chest and pulled out his sunglasses with his teeth. He then slowly dug into his breast pocket with the glasses and attempted to lift the lighter. After a couple of minutes he gave up, his neck aching, but another jolt from the Solar Bark’s engines drove him to give it one more try.
This time it worked. He was able to scoop the lighter into one of the glasses’ lenses. Now with the glasses hanging from his mouth, the lighter balanced precariously, he decided to turn his head to the left and slip the extended goggle under the collar of his jacket and over his shoulder. If he could just reach t
he armpit of his sleeve…
The lighter slipped down his sleeve and with a few shakes landed in the palm of his hand. With some dexterity he flicked it on. The flame burned his hand and he cursed, almost dropping the lighter on the spot.
For a moment he froze, trying to figure out some way of burning the ropes off without inflicting third-degree burns on his wrists and hands. Finally, he concluded there was no way around it. He took a deep breath, clenched his teeth, and flicked the lighter. The flame stabbed his wrist as he worked on the ropes. Everything inside him wanted to drop the lighter but he forced himself to grip it tighter. Soon tears were streaming from his eyes. But he focused on the Solar Bark and the goal at hand.
The smell of his own charred flesh on the back of his hand-like burnt rubber-made him reel with nausea. Unable to bear it any longer, he felt the lighter slip from his fingers and heard it clank on the stone floor. The understanding sank in that he had lost his best chance for escape. Worse, he realized the smell of rubber had been the band of his wristwatch, which he had burned off.
Conrad groaned. With nothing left to lose, he attempted to pull his wrists apart. He felt the charred rope give a little before the sensation of it sliding across his wrists reached his brain and he shouted in agony.
One last time he pulled his hands apart, giving it all he had. His scorched, tender wrists strained at the ends of the rough ropes until finally the toasted strands began to shred, and suddenly his hands broke free.
Conrad lurched forward and stared at the rings around his trembling hands. He then tore two strips of cloth from his uniform and tied them around his wrists. He grabbed the AK-47 off the ground and ran wildly through the dust toward the Solar Bark.
He entered the rotunda and reached the outer door to the ship that he had found with Yeats earlier. It was closed tight, throbbing with energy that encompassed the entire giant obelisk. He placed his hand on the square pad.
The platform carrying Conrad emerged into the cool cryogenics level a minute later. Directly overhead he could see the hatch that led into the ship’s command module. The circle of lights told him that Yeats was up there with the obelisk.
He looked to his left down the corridor that led to the Osiris chamber and to his right down the corridor that ended with the Isis chamber. He turned right.
At the end of the dark tunnel was an eerie blue light. As he approached the cryocrypt door, Conrad could see that it was closed and that the grooves carved into its metallic surface were glowing. In an instant he knew “Isis” was inside. Yeats had frozen Serena.
“Damn you, Yeats,” he growled and struck the door with the butt of the AK-47.
He examined the square pad next to the door. He placed his hand on it and heard a high-pitched hum. The lights behind the grooves suddenly grew brighter, glowing with such intensity he had to shade his eyes and step back in the corridor. Then just as quickly the brightness faded to a dull glow, flickered like the last embers of a fire burning out, and finally went black.
Oh, God, Conrad thought. What have I done?
He struck the thick door, colder than ever, with his hands. He tried in vain to move it. But he knew it was futile. He gave up and let his body slide down the door to the floor when he felt it vibrate. The door was moving! He jumped to his feet and watched as the cryocrypt cracked open, an icy mist flowing out into the corridor. He didn’t wait for it to clear before he plunged in to search for Serena.
She was in the crypt, her translucent skin almost blue when he grabbed her and carried her out over his shoulder into the corridor. He set her on the floor and began to massage her arms and legs. She was barely breathing.
Oh, God, he prayed under his breath. Don’t let her die. “Come on, baby, come on,” he repeated. “You can do it.”
Slowly the color came back to her cheeks and her breathing became deeper and more rhythmic. When she opened her eyes, Conrad was shocked by their empty, lifeless quality.
“Serena, it’s me, Conrad,” he said. “Do you know where you are?”
She moaned. He brought his ears to her lips. “If you’re Conrad Yeats, then this must be hell.”
“Thank God.” He breathed a huge sigh of relief. “You’re OK.”
She struggled to sit up and get her bearings. “Yeats?”
“Up in the capsule,” he told her. “But he’s going to come down before the launch to put himself into the Osiris cryocrypt. When he does, I’ll be waiting for him.”
“And me?”
“While he’s with me, you go up into the capsule and get the scepter. Whatever happens to me, you’ve got to stop this ship from launching and get back to P4. Understood?”
She rubbed her temples. “So you really think we can stop the displacement?”
“I don’t know, but we have to try,” he said when the circle of lights above the central platform flashed.
“He’s coming down,” Conrad said. “I’ve got to take my position. You wait until he’s well along the other corridor before you go up.”
She nodded.
Conrad ran down the corridor toward the Osiris cryocrypt. By the time he got to the central shaft, the platform was on its way down with Yeats. Conrad ran through the mist into the open Osiris crypt and waited for Yeats.
Breathing hard, back against the wall, he felt something along his shoulder and turned to see the alien harness. The last thing he needed was to accidentally lock himself in the cryocrypt for the better part of eternity. Then he heard the chamber door open.
Conrad blinked his eyes and saw Yeats’s figure in the mist. Conrad raised his AK-47 and stepped forward. “Mission aborted, Yeats.”
“Is that you, son?” he said. “I’m impressed. I knew you’d join us.”
“Give me the obelisk and Serena.”
Conrad could see Yeats’s eyes quickly take in the bandages on his wrists and note his unsteady grip on the AK-47. He couldn’t believe he was pointing a gun at his father. Even if Yeats wasn’t his biological father, and even if he hated him more often than not, Yeats was the only father Conrad had ever known.
“You’re not going to use that on me, son.”
“I’m not?”
“Kill me and you kill any chance of fulfilling your lifelong quest,” Yeats said. “Only by lifting off in this new obelisk-the starship-and taking it to its intended journey will you ever discover your true origins.”
“And what about my fellow man?”
“You’re not a man, and it’s too late to save Earth. The human race hasn’t proved itself worthy, and the Secret of First Time can only be found at the end of the Solar Bark’s celestial journey. You want to know it as much as I do. Hell, it’s probably been programmed into your genetic code.”
“Don’t bet on it.” Conrad pointed the AK-47 at him. “Remove your sidearm. Slowly. Two fingers.”
Yeats unfastened the leather strap on his belt and carefully removed the Glock 9 mm pistol from its holster.
“On the floor.”
Yeats placed the gun on the floor and lifted his hands up.
“Step back.”
Yeats managed a smile as Conrad kicked the Glock away. “You and I are more alike than you care to admit.”
“You’re dreaming, Yeats.” Conrad could tell Yeats was stalling for time, hoping to let the Solar Bark launch into its self-directed trajectory. But Conrad was waiting for Serena, hoping she’d hurry down with the Scepter of Osiris.
“I too am curious about a lot of things,” Yeats said. “Not just the origins of human civilization but the universe itself. Ever wonder just why I wanted to go to Mars in the first place?”
“To plant your flag on the planet and be the first man to piss in red dirt.”
“Comparative planetology, the scientists call it.” Yeats seemed to grow more confident as he assessed that Conrad wasn’t really going to shoot him. “They’d like to study the history of the solar system and the evolution of the planets by comparing evidence found on Earth, the Moon, and Mars. When we e
xplore other worlds, we really explore ourselves and learn more accurately how we fit in.”
Conrad said nothing, only watched in fascination as Yeats’s worn face lit up with an almost spiritual inner light.
“For centuries we were guided by the ideas of the Egyptian astronomer Ptolemy, who taught that Earth was the center of everything,” Yeats went on. “Then Galileo set us straight and we learned the sun is the local center about which we and the other planets revolve. But psychologically we still cling to the Ptolemaic view. Why not? As long as we stay here on Earth, we’re the de facto center of everything that matters. You don’t have to go to the Moon to understand this matter of watching Earth from afar. Space isn’t about some technological achievement but about the human spirit and our contribution to universal purpose. Space is a metaphor for expansiveness, opportunity, and freedom.”
Conrad raised his weapon again at Yeats’s chest. “I must have missed the pancake breakfast with the Boy Scouts where you delivered that bullshit speech.”
Yeats held his gaze, undeterred. “You want to know where this ends as much as I do.”
A voice from behind Yeats said, “It ends right here, General.”
Yeats spun around to see Serena, who was holding the Scepter of Osiris in her hand. Conrad could see Yeats’s back stiffen in rage.
Conrad said, “Now you know the cryocrypts work, Yeats. So you won’t mind stepping into this one for the time being.” Conrad gestured toward the Osiris chamber.
“I think you should drop your weapon, son.”
Conrad did a double take. Yeats had slipped his hand behind his back and produced a small pistol. Conrad never saw it coming. Neither did Serena.
Yeats smiled. “Be prepared, the Boy Scouts say.”
Serena said, “Shoot him, Conrad.”
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