“We’ve got your daily equipment next.” The quartermaster cocked her head. “You an Apple or Android kind of dude?”
“Doesn’t matter. I use both.”
The quartermaster nodded. “Great. Pick one.”
“Um, Apple, I guess.” Dash really didn’t care what he used. Phones were tools, not toys. At least this device would be faster than the string of gas station mobile phones he’d used over the past few days.
“Fantastic. Here’s your phone. We’ll issue laptops after launch and linkup. Here’s a flashlight, keep it with you at all times, and a multitool, keep it with you, too.”
“Who are we going to call from space?” Dash asked.
She pointed at an antenna in the corner of the compartment. “Internal wireless network for voice-over-IP calls.”
Dash nodded. “Fair enough.”
The quartermaster held up a pair of thin mylar envelopes.
“These are slap patches. Keep them with you at all times. If the ship is holed, loss of atmosphere could kill everyone. If you see a hole, peel this open, slap the sticky side against the puncture and hold it there for five seconds.”
Dash looked at the packets with dread. Even if they escaped Erebus, the rest of his life would be a struggle for survival. He flashed ahead to the future, seeing himself using a pathetic remnant of a toothbrush, wearing threadbare flight suits, and walking around in shoes held together with duct tape.
Was that living or surviving—and were either worth pursuing?
“Sir?” The quartermaster waved her head in front of Dash’s face.
“Sorry. Still processing the whole choking to death in space thing.”
“Yes, sir.” The quartermaster didn’t miss a beat. “Sign for the electronics.”
Dash complied.
“Three sealable bags in case you get space sickness. I suggest carrying at least one on you at all times.”
“Space sickness?”
“It’s like being airsick, but your vomit won’t hit the deck in zero gravity.”
Dash blanched but took the bags.
“Last, but not least, we have your 600-milliliter bottle, memory foam pillow, and bedding set. Sign here and you can return to your bunk.” The quartermaster smiled.
The electronics didn’t fit in the bag, nor did the bedding. Dash stuffed as many items into the bag as possible, then carried the rest in his arms.
“Think you can find your way back, sir?” Gersbacher asked with a smirk.
“You’ve got to be kidding. This place is a maze.”
Gersbacher chuckled and guided Dash back to his berthing compartment. Glimpses looked familiar as they walked, but so many things looked identical that Dash couldn’t be sure he recognized anything at all.
“How long have you been aboard Enterprise?” He asked.
“Two months, sir.” Gersbacher held a hatch open for him.
“Do you still get lost?”
Gersbacher shrugged. “Not really. I was aboard Carl Vinson for two years before this, so I’ve got a good sense for how carriers are laid out.” He winked. “You’ll figure it out soon enough. Don’t worry.”
Moray wasn’t in the compartment when he returned. Dash set his equipment on top of the bunk, then heaved his sea bag up.
“Do we have more places to go?” He asked Gersbacher.
“Yes, sir. Several stops to go before you can take a break.”
“Wow.” Dash pulled the curtain across his bunk and said, “Okay. I’ll unpack later.”
“I suggest, sir, that you carry your gear at all times.”
Dash arched an eyebrow. “I have to carry all this stuff?”
“No, sir. I just meant the equipment that might be useful in an emergency. Your knife, light, slap patch, and bottle would be smart. Phone wouldn’t be bad, either.” Gersbacher shrugged.
“Okay.” Dash scrambled to retrieve the items from his bag, then find homes for them in his flight suit. He put the water bottle into his thigh pocket, while the slap patches went into the other one. The knife went into his front pocket, his flashlight into the other, and he stuffed a barf bag in his chest pocket.
“Get used to that, sir. Gotta be prepared at all times.”
Dash nodded. “Thanks. Hey, um, where’s the toilet?”
“In the head, sir. There’s a head here in your berthing compartment, but they’re all disabled for launch. There’s portable units set up on the flight deck.”
Gersbacher took Dash up to the hangar deck. He’d seen the inside of a carrier in pictures, but it hadn’t looked anything like this. Massive stacks of containers went from the deck to the ceiling, wall to wall. Massive webbing arrays secured the containers in place. It occurred to him that all of this was the last chance effort to keep humanity alive. Everything in these crates would have to last the crew until replacements could be manufactured or grown.
A simple flashlight would be a priceless artifact in the months and years to come.
A crowd waited beside a massive elevator as dozens of other people in uniforms and flight suits filed off.
“It’ll be like this all day,” Gersbacher said. “With no working heads, everything has to be done up here. Not much fun.”
“What about after launch?” Dash asked.
Gersbacher grinned. “That’s your next appointment.
After taking a much-needed break to relieve himself, Gersbacher led Dash to one of the galleys aboard Enterprise.
“This one’s set up as a classroom for the next day or so,” he explained. “You’ll remain here for the next two hours, then it’s dinner time and the evening is yours.”
Without his guide, Dash’s nerves got the better of him. The cavernous galley held several dozen men and women in flight suits of all colors. He crept towards the back of the group but didn’t escape notice.
“Name?” A man at the front in navy fatigues called out.
“Dash Riordan.” His cheeks burned as all eyes turned to him.
“Find a partner, Riordan.” The man glanced around. “Anyone not have a partner yet?”
Six women raised their hands at once. One man did the same, rolling his eyes at the ladies.
“Nice try,” the instructor said as he shook his head. “You six pair off. Riordan, join Taber.”
Riordan moved over to the seat next to Taber. Taber was tall, with the sort of muscular build professional dancers possessed.
“Dash,” he whispered to introduce himself.
“Elias.”
They shook hands.
“What are we doing here?” Dash asked.
“All right ladies and gentlemen,” the instructor said. “Let’s get started. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Frey, a NASA astronaut with two missions to the International Space Station under my belt. I’m also a flight surgeon with the Air Force.”
Excited murmurs spread through the class.
“Today, I’m going to give you a crash course on the basics you need to survive in space.” Frey opened his box. “You’re going to need all of this, so pay attention. In twenty-four hours, this ship will leave the Earth and until we can mate up with Kennedy, you’re going to be living, working, and pooping in zero-gravity.”
People squirmed in their seats.
Frey chuckled. “Yeah, space is exciting and wonderful, but there’s not a lot of dignity to be had. Eating, drinking, urinating—everything you do without thinking on Earth—will require special procedures when you’re floating.”
A man smirked and raised his hand.
Frey snapped, “Put your hand down. This class will not cover sex in zero gravity. You’re just going to have to figure that out on your own. Now, let’s get serious. There’s a lot to cover and not a lot of time.”
He pointed to the far wall.
“All men to that corner. Unmarried women to the other corner. You’ll find curtains to separate the galley. You’re going to get very comfortable with each other today.”
The group broke up and went to their d
esignated places, squirming and blushing.
Frey held up a collection of straps with a bag and a funnel. “Now, let’s get you potty-trained, shall we?”
His brains seemed to turn to lead when he sat down in a different galley for dinner. The faces of his foster brother and father floated in his mind. They stared at him with inscrutable expressions. He just remembered to say, “Bismillah” over his food before he stabbed a chunk of steak and cut off a slice. Well-marbled and medium, the steak should have tasted delicious, but Dash didn’t notice the flavor.
Exhaustion fogged his mind. The stress and strain of the past four days had caught up with him and used up his reserves. Moving one step at a time was the best he could manage and, now, one mouthful.
Moray set his tray down. “Hey, roomie. Mind if I join you?”
Dash smiled. “Did you take Space Poop 101 today, too?”
“Hah. No, thank God.” Moray opened a can of Mountain Dew. “I did that a week ago, the whole crew did. Now, it’s the passengers’ turn.”
Dash ate a mouthful of something soft. Didn’t have much flavor. All he could think about was his mother and brother. Rasul was dead and guilt ripped at his heart for not breaking the story that would have vindicated him. He hadn’t spoken to his mother yet and might not have a chance. One of the ship’s crew had said that they’d be given the opportunity to record a message, but that wasn’t the same thing as a conversation.
Tears welled up in his eyes as he saw Rasul’s skull blasted apart in front of him, then flashed to his mother’s face, hiding behind her Coach sunglasses. Dash’s fork clattered to the table as he buried his face in his hands.
“Hey, hey!” Moray hurried around the table and wrapped a meaty palm over Dash’s shaking shoulders.
“What am I doing?” Dash sobbed. “Abandoning my mother? Giving up on my brother?” A jagged shard of glass seemed lodged in his throat, aching each time he swallowed. Tears streamed down his cheeks as his nose ran. “I’m a journalist, but I traded away the story of a lifetime, of everyone’s lifetime for a chance to come on this ship. What kind of coward am I?” Dash wailed.
Moray sat down next to him. “You’re not a coward, all right?” He squeezed Dash’s shoulder.
“I could have warned them,” Dash said. “I should have warned them. People have a right to know.”
“I know, buddy, but telling everyone about this isn’t going to make anyone happy or safe.” Moray shook his head. “Trust me. I was in New Orleans during Katrina. Once people lose hope, they turn brutal and savage fast.” He leaned back and turned Dash to face him. “Erebus is still weeks away. If they know what’s going to happen, there won’t be anything left of civilization by the time that rock slams into the Earth.”
“Then I should at least wait with my Mom. I don’t have a family. I’m not a scientist. I’m a writer—Mars isn’t going to need those!”
Moray shook his head. “Mars is going to need everything, my man. Like, f’real. There’s nothing there but rust and salt, yet it’s still going to be safer there than staying here. Our world might be gone in a few years, but we’ll have a chance to survive on Mars. If your mama’s like anyone else’s, she’ll want you to live.”
“Maybe, but I’m still just a writer. I doubt there’ll be a magazine on Mars.”
“True, but I bet pretty much everyone who isn’t a nuclear engineer will have new jobs once we get to Mars.” Moray nodded. “You’ll find your role.”
Dash didn’t believe it. He’d already traded his duty to tell the world about its impending doom. What could he possibly do in the future?
Twenty-Six
DASH WOKE IN DARKNESS. The strange setting confused him, and he sat up, smacking his head on the railing over the bunk. He hissed as he rubbed his scalp, then scooted down a bit and turned to his side. Dash heard machinery sounds, the distant thrum of helicopter blades, and footfalls on the metal deck.
“Where are you, Yifei?” He murmured. “Did you make it to the ship?”
It was just after five in the morning according to his phone. He’d been asleep for nearly nine hours, but the rest had done him a world of good. He slipped out of the bunk and made the long journey to the flight deck to relieve himself.
He still saw his family’s faces. His brother had died to warn him about the coming disaster. His father had died so that he might escape and learn the truth. One a man of principle and courage, the other a man of violence and cunning.
Yet both shared the same devotion to their faith.
A flash of memory from the Crowne Plaza hotel room. His brother blurting out an answer. 1-1-2-3.
Dash climbed up the side of his bunk, grabbed his bag from the locker, and retrieved the copy of the Qur’an he’d taken from the hotel. He opened it to Surah eleven, then searched for the twenty-third verse. He wracked his mind to translate the Arabic script, sheepish that he hadn’t tried to do so in more than a decade.
“Rasul…” Dash’s eyes watered as he reread the line.
Indeed, they who have believed and done righteous deeds and humbled themselves to their Lord - those are the companions of Paradise; they will abide eternally therein.
“I’m sorry, my brother. I failed you, but I know how I will honor you—and Fasil.”
Dash closed the book and put it in the locker under the bunk. He’d want it later but didn’t need it right now.
“Forgive me for my pride and let me try to live up to the standards you set for me in life.”
Another deep breath.
“Ash‐hadu anlaa ilaaha ill‐Allah, wa ash‐hadu anna Muhammadan rasulu ilah.”
The Shahada, the testimony of faith spoken by millions daily, was the only real requirement to become a Muslim. Dash had said it thousands of times in his life, largely because he had been compelled to by his foster father.
Not once because he had so wanted.
Today was different. If it was going to be the end of all things, he would have to begin again, too. This is what he wanted.
Afterwards, his limbs shaky, he stopped by the galley to fill his bottle, then went into an empty head, ignoring the caution tape that warned everyone to keep out.
Alone, he performed wudu, the ritual cleansing Muslims did prior to prayer. Enterprise didn’t have a bathtub and the showers didn’t yield a drop of water, so he improvised and hoped Allah would forgive him and understand the limitations he’d have to live with. He dried himself, then hurried back to the compartment and dressed.
He didn’t have a prayer rug, but that wasn’t a huge problem. He didn’t know which direction to pray to ensure he faced qibla, the black meteorite all Muslims oriented themselves with when offering their prayers to God. He would just to fake it and trust that his sincerity would cover any failings in his prayer.
Dash took a deep breath and let it out, then made his intention and prayed.
“Bismillah, ar-rahman, ir-raheem.” He began with the invocation that opened all prayers.
As he prayed, the fear and doubts that plagued his mind drifted away. His heart, still burdened with guilt and pain, hurt less. He hadn’t prayed like this in a long, long time, but didn’t worry. His mother had always promised him that God’s capacity for mercy and forgiveness was greater than anything. He would accept his prayers again.
After finishing the required rakkah, he took a few minutes to supplicate. He knew what he needed to do now but wanted the wisdom and courage to see it through.
Grabbing his laptop, he slipped out of the berthing compartment and walked aft toward the center of the ship, then went down to the next deck. The pipes and protrusions everywhere he looked fascinated him. It wasn’t every day one got to see the interior of an aircraft carrier. Unfortunately, his interest in Enterprise didn’t make him proficient at navigating the maze of corridors.
“Excuse me!” He stopped a crewman. “I’m a little lost.”
“Yes, sir. Where ya headed?”
Time to see if his lie would fly. “I’m looking for
the communications center.”
The sailor glanced at his flight suit, then nodded. “Sure thing. You’re on the right deck. Turn right down there, go the end of the corridor and turn left. It’s the third or fourth hatch on the left.”
“Thanks.”
The sailor nodded and walked off. Dash followed the instructions and opened a gray metal door with COMMS stenciled above it.
Despite the early hour, twelve people manned their consoles in the room, but Dash realized he’d erred. This was all radio and satellite communications, not network. Plus, too many people crowded the compartment for what he needed to do. Still, techies were techies, he figured. If they didn’t have what he needed, they would know where to find it. Dash looked for someone older, figuring them to be in charge.
“Can I help you, sir?” A wiry Latino asked him.
“Yes, I’m with the morale department,” Dash replied. “We’re recording and transmitting the farewells to the families this morning, but I don’t know where the computer room is. I need to set up the FTP connection.”
“Sorry, sir. I’m not sure where your department is located. Give me a second. Let me check with the OOD.”
Dash smiled. “Thank you.” He hoped his nervousness didn’t show.
The communications specialist grabbed a phone and dialed a number. Dash glanced around the room, surprised at the amount of activity so early in the morning. It didn’t seem real that, in a few hours, the ship would somehow launch itself into space, riding on a steady stream of nuclear explosions.
All that to cross the vast gulf of space to reach Mars and, hopefully, a new cradle for humanity.
“Sir, you’re looking for the broadcast studio. We use it for internal television, but that’s also where your department is setting up. There’s computers set up in there. It’s aft, on deck three.”
“Is it something anyone could guide me to?”
He laughed. “Probably not on this crew, sir. Lot of new faces on a new ship. It’s compartment number 3204. Go back out the hatch, then head forward about fifty feet. There’s a ladder going down. Get off at the next deck, then walk backwards. If you hit the reactor area, you’ve gone too far.”
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