by CJ Williams
“This is what is left of the Solar Princess,” Singleton replied somberly. “As we feared, the vessel lost structural integrity while in lightspeed and literally came apart. The military reported that they did retrieve a number of human remains from the debris field. However, positive identification will require DNA analysis. It’s a gruesome business and not something we want to dwell on for morning TV.”
“Did they recover the black box?” Russell asked. “Did that tell us anything?”
“Yes, it did. The data mostly confirmed what we already know.” Singleton looked at the camera sympathetically. “I understand that the families of those who are still unaccounted for were hoping for hard evidence that their loved ones got off the ship, but that kind of specific detail is not included in the Space Data Recorder. The navy was able to extract some additional information from other modules, but a lot of the files were corrupt.”
“But is that the final word?” Cassie asked. “Have all the Solar Princess lifeboats been accounted for?”
“They just can’t tell. As we have discussed, some of the lifeboats ejected after the cruise liner went to lightspeed. The black box confirmed that fact, but it does not contain a complete account of every single lifeboat. The military believes the disintegration of the Solar Princess may have occurred before the separations of the last few lifeboats. If that were the case, anyone in them would have experienced fatal gee forces. And in any case, we have already accounted for all the crash beacons and cross-referenced them to known survivors.”
“But that’s not certain,” Cassie argued. “Those last lifeboats might have ejected normally. We can’t be sure.”
“That’s true,” Singleton said. “We can’t be one hundred percent sure. But in fairness to the families, the odds are not good. And like I said, no crash beacons.”
“But what about that other man?” Cassie insisted. “He didn’t have a crash beacon, and we know he’s alive. He’s gotten hundreds of views on those love letters to his wife.”
Singleton smiled. “Ah, yes. The mysterious Mr. X. He seems to be the exception. I watched several of his videos myself. He is a remarkable story, especially with the discovery of alien technology. It must be frustrating to have such resources so close at hand yet be unable to take advantage of them. Frankly, I’m not sure I accept the ship’s claim that it has interstellar capability. I wonder if we will ever find out. At the very least, Mr. X will have a lot of followers from academia.”
“And the media,” Russell added. “We have people keeping tabs. His videos are amazing because it shows he is surviving…but I have to say, they are so boring!”
The anchors and guests shared a quiet laugh; not of ridicule, but more of affection for the elderly gentleman who was doing the best he could in an impossible situation.
“I know,” Cassie said. “Even though, I must have watched at least a dozen of them. They are a fascinating study of the human spirit. He’s always blowing kisses to his wife and saying how much he loves her. He acts like he’ll be home next week.” A few tears welled up in her eyes. “But it’s not true, is it? They say there is no way he’ll ever be found.”
Singleton nodded. “I’m afraid that’s the case. Several law firms are suing the Star Group to make them keep searching, but realistically, it’s just not possible. The cost for even a fraction of such an effort would be astronomical; no pun intended.” Singleton turned to Cassie. “But the underlying point is that even if other people got out in a lifeboat similar to Mr. X, and that’s a stretch on its own merit, there is almost no chance they will ever be found. The main reason is that we haven’t heard from them. Even if they are alive, they must not have communications. Space is too big and the distances too vast. The military will process all the human remains recovered so far to positively ID the victims, but even if the authorities are not able to account for every single person, those whose status cannot be determined will eventually be declared lost and presumed dead. People need to accept that.”
*.*.*.*
Gus blew a kiss at the camera. “That’s all for today, my love. This marks our first full month apart, and I’m ready to be home now. I know you’re sticking it to those morons who put me here, so keep after it. Tomorrow I’ll show you some more of the plants I’ve discovered on this crazy island.” He shut off the handiphone and carefully stowed it in the padded container.
With the unit safely stored in his lean-to, it was time to head over to Nineteen for another bag of groceries. During the past thirty days, he had salvaged quite a lot from the lifeboat.
He had gone back to the galleon only twice since his first trip. Except for the tools, most of the material on it was not that useful. Besides that, it always put him in a bad mood; the AI was so obstinate about helping. Maybe he’d go over there tomorrow. Today, though, he would visit the lifeboat.
Nineteen greeted him when he arrived. “Good afternoon. It’s good that you stopped by.”
“I’m here almost every morning,” Gus said. “Why are you so happy about it today?”
“Another lifeboat is approaching. It will arrive within the next thirty minutes…hopefully.”
“Really? Does it have a beacon?” Gus’s hope skyrocketed.
“I’m sorry. The lifeboat in question is in worse condition than me. It does not have a beacon or subspace communication. I received my first contact from it only an hour ago. I say that it will arrive hopefully because that is uncertain at this time.”
It took a moment for Gus’s disappointment to recede. He was surprised by how quickly his emotions got out of control these days. It underscored how much he was pushing back on the fact he might be here for the rest of his life. Day-to-day, he focused on creating a modest lifestyle for himself and avoided admitting how tenuous his permanent situation was.
If nothing else, the new arrivals would give him other matters to worry about. Another thirty-five people would stretch the resources of the island. But then again, with that many people, maybe they could figure out a way to restore the galleon and get it into the water. He pushed the thought aside and focused on the matter at hand.
“What’s the problem?” he asked Nineteen.
“The geometry of their arrival into this solar system was unfortunate. The lifeboat had difficulty achieving the necessary slingshot slowdown orbits around the outer planets. Without getting into a lot of mathematics, the result is that it is approaching this planet in a less than favorable angle to reach our island.”
“Well hang on, Nineteen. The main priority is to get them down safely. Don’t kill anyone just because you think I need company.”
“That is understood. I did not make it clear that this island is the passenger’s only hope. If the attempt by Lifeboat Two Nine Six is unsuccessful, the occupants will surely be lost at sea.”
“Okay, then. Anything I should do?” Gus asked.
“I suggest that you be ready to render first aid. Two Nine Six is going to delay deploying the drogue chute until the last second. I predict a rough landing.”
“Tell Two Nine Six to make sure the passengers are strapped in securely. And remind him that us humans are pretty fragile. My nose still hurts, thanks to your late warning.”
“I apologize once again for your injury. Your concerns have been relayed. We are fortunate that the weather to the north is clear today. If you look in that direction, their bearing is approximately three-one-zero. Their approach should be visible soon.”
Gus moved outside and gazed at the sky. “What am I looking for?” he asked.
“When it first enters the atmosphere, it may look like a shooting star due to the heat of reentry, but I suspect it will be too far away for you to witness that phase. Later, as it descends through the upper troposphere, it might leave a contrail. Once it descends below twenty thousand feet, it should be visible as a small dot in the sky.”
Gus mumbled to himself, “I don’t think my old peepers will see any of that.” After several minutes of scanning the heavens,
he said, “I see it! How far away is it now?”
“Its range is currently twelve thousand miles.”
“Probably not it then.”
“I think not. I will advise you when it is two hundred miles out.”
Nineteen called out the two-hundred-mile point and then every fifty miles of the descent. Gus saw nothing but blue sky and wisps of clouds. At fifty miles Nineteen started calling every ten miles and then every five miles.
“Are you sure this damn thing is coming?” Gus asked.
“I am positive. Lifeboat Two Nine Six is now at fifteen miles. Perhaps you are looking too high. It is very low on the horizon.”
Gus stopped craning his neck upward and looked straight out to sea.
“I got it!” he shouted. The lifeboat was visible but already quite low, maybe two or three hand’s widths above sea level. “He’s never going to make it. That thing is going to hit the drink any second.”
“Not quite yet,” Nineteen said. “His forward speed is still significant. Two Nine Six estimates water contact approximately four-point-three miles from shore. My own calculations confirm his estimates.”
“That’s a fair swim,” Gus said. “Unless the lifeboat can make headway in the ocean, those folks are history.”
“Hopefully that will not be the case. Two Nine Six will attempt to skip off the water for additional range. The crew member in command has authorized the attempt.”
With the lifeboat in sight, Gus had a better feel for how fast it was moving. “He’s really hauling ass,” Gus observed.
Nineteen said, “The drogue chute deployed nine seconds ago. Their first touchdown will be slightly above eight hundred miles per hour. The water impact will slow the craft somewhat. Two Nine Six will then immediately deploy the main chute. My concern is that even their reduced velocity will exceed the maximum allowable speed for parachute employment.”
“If they survive the bounce,” Gus said, shaking his head. “Talk about last-ditch maneuvers.”
The lifeboat descended toward the surface and then touched the water. It disappeared for a fraction of a second and then reappeared in a cloud of spray. The main chute began trailing the fuselage and then blossomed.
“It’s too fast,” Gus said loudly, his nerves tingling. “They’re going to bust up for sure.”
The lifeboat’s phenomenal speed was visibly lessening as it approached. “It’s slowing,” Gus decided. The ship would impact the island very near his location where the rise of ground was more pronounced.
“Passenger Gus!” Nineteen warned loudly. “Please come back inside until after touchdown. There may be shrapnel or flying debris.”
“Okay,” Gus said, standing still, frozen by the impending crash. “They might make it. Start filming this. Carol will want a record.” At the last second, lifeboat Two Nine Six touched down once more, this time a hundred yards from shore. The main chute dragged across the ocean’s surface and dug in, further slowing the vessel.
The lifeboat skimmed on top of the water toward the shoreline and slammed into the rising terrain with a horrific crash. The impact smashed the entire nose section fifteen feet back into the fuselage. The little ship rebounded off the crater’s rim, back into the rocky surf. A tear in the fuselage let the knee-deep water flow into the interior.
“Jesus!” Gus exclaimed. “No one could survive that.” Still, he hurried toward the stricken vessel, slipping and sliding across frost-covered slabs. A wave rolled in, making it wallow unsteadily.
The gash in the rear fuselage was wide enough for him to slip through. Inside was a disaster. The pilot’s position, crushed by the lifeboat’s collapsed nose, was still occupied. A uniformed woman dangled in the seat’s straps. She wore a name tag that read Rebecca. Gus checked her for life signs, but she was clearly dead.
In the main passenger bay, a young woman in shorty pajamas was on her knees, coughing and sputtering. She leaned weakly against the side bench and muttered a few words that sounded German. Another woman dressed in sweats floated facedown in the rising water. Gus knelt and lifted her up and pushed her blonde hair out of the way. He put a finger against her neck and detected a faint pulse.
The lifeboat lurched toward the sea. It was time to evacuate. He hoisted the blonde over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
“Come on,” Gus shouted at the German. She gave him a confused glance but didn’t budge. She was too much out of it. He grabbed the back of her collar to drag her out of the lifeboat. She tried to rise but kept tripping, unable to get to her feet.
“We gotta move it!” Gus yelled. The lifeboat shifted again, sliding deeper into the water with a jerking motion. A riptide had caught the parachute. It was pulling the vessel toward deeper water, away from the shoreline. “Stand up! We have to get out of here!” He yanked on the girl once more.
“Lass mich los,” she groaned. Let go of me.
Gus had no idea what she said, so he put his arm around her waist, gathering her up like a wet blanket. He got both women out of the lifeboat as it moved again, sliding into waist deep water.
He made it clear of the wreckage just as one last wave pulled the mangled lifeboat beneath the surface. The German girl wriggled free of his grasp and stood on her own. Gus let her go and headed toward Nineteen.
Inside he laid the blonde on one of the side benches. Her pulse was faint, but she had stopped breathing. He began CPR, digging the rule of thumb from his memory: thirty pushes in the center of her chest and then two quick breaths. The German shouted at him incomprehensibly but would not come inside Nineteen. After a moment the blonde jerked spasmodically. Gus rolled her on her side, and she vomited sea water. He moved to the opposite bench where he sat heavily, panting with exhaustion.
The German girl entered the lifeboat cautiously and sat beside her fellow passenger. She chattered away, seemingly explaining what happened as the blonde recovered from her unconscious state. The two girls fussed over each other, both of them speaking German. They looked about the same age as his granddaughter. The blonde was tall and beanpole thin. Gus pegged her as some sort of Swedish model. The German was a bit shorter and more rounded.
Finally, the blonde woman became aware of his presence. She gave him a bleary look. “Hannah said you saved my life. Thank you, Grandfather.”
“You’re welcome. You kids German?” Gus asked, nodding at her friend.
“Hannah is,” the blonde said. “She is from Hanover. Her name is Hannah Schubert. I am Kyoko Yoshimoto. And before you ask, no, I am not Scandinavian. I was born in Tokyo. I am Japanese.”
“The hell you say.”
“I would rather not,” Kyoko replied evenly. “I assume you are American?”
“How’d you know that?” Gus asked.
“A lucky guess.”
Hannah gasped suddenly in alarm. “Wo ist Rebecca?” Where is Rebecca?
“I don’t know,” Kyoko said, glancing around worriedly. “Grandfather, there was another woman…”
Gus shook his head. “I’m sorry. She was killed by the impact.”
“Are you sure?” Kyoko stood uncertainly. “We have to check.” She was still wobbly but made her way unsteadily to the aft hatch and looked out. The other lifeboat was nowhere in sight.
Hannah joined her, staring in shock at the empty beach. “Es war genau vor einer Sekunde.” It was right there a second ago.
Both of them ventured outside Nineteen as though they might find the lost vessel. Gus let them go. Sometimes it took a few minutes to come to grips with reality. A moment later they returned with tear-streaked faces.
“Du hättest sie retten sollen,” Hannah told Gus harshly. You should have saved her.
Gus shrugged and glanced at Kyoko. “What did she say?”
Kyoko didn’t translate and instead put her arms around Hannah.
“I’m sorry for the loss of Rebecca,” Gus said. “It was a miracle that she got you down safely. You can hold a memorial ceremony tomorrow if you want, but right now we need to l
eave. Both of you are shivering and the lifeboat here cannot be warmed up. I have a shelter nearby where it’s warm.”
Hannah argued with Kyoko that she didn’t want to go. When Kyoko translated, Gus said, “Don’t force it. You come with me and I expect she’ll follow. But we need to leave.”
Gus stopped and turned toward the pilot’s console. “Hey, Nineteen. Have you been recording this?”
“Affirmative. Should I send this record? You have eight minutes remaining for today.”
“Yeah but let me add something. Hi, honey. As you can see, I’ve got some company. Their names are…I can’t remember, but you probably heard them earlier. You know what to do better than me. Let their next of kin know. Can’t talk anymore. I’m freezing my butt off, and I don’t want to get hypothermia. I’ll update you in the morning.” He blew a kiss and instructed Nineteen to send the message.
*.*.*.*
Carol Cartwright was putting the last few mugs in the dishwasher when Grace came thumping hurriedly into the kitchen on her crutches. “Nana!” she said urgently. “They found two more passengers and they’re alive!”
“Are they okay?” Carol asked. “Did the military find them?” Please, God, it meant someone could find her husband too.
“No! I mean, yes! They’re fine, but it’s Grandpa. He found them! I mean they landed on the same planet. He saved them, I mean. I can’t believe this! Come look at his video!”
Carol nabbed Grace by the shoulders before she could dash off. “Slow down, honey, and tell me what you mean.”
After two failed attempts to explain—Grace was too excited—they both went into the living room and watched the message together. Grace was right. Gus had pulled the two girls from death’s door. Then she saw the view count. His first videos only had two or three views. That increased to a few hundred when they started talking about him on television. But this one had only been up a couple of hours and already had several thousand views.