Space: Above and Beyond 1 - Space: Above and Beyond Read online

  Though wearing his flight suit, Nathan tried to scratch away the gooseflesh fanning across his left breast. He passed gloved fingers over the Tellus Colony Mission emblem on the suit, but wasn't getting anywhere near his icy chest.

  "We are GO!" the EFT commander announced.

  "T-minus twenty... Auxiliary Power Unit start..."

  "GO!" the APU commander replied.

  "T-minus fifteen seconds ... Tellus, you have a GO for auto sequence start. Lock your visors and initiate O2 flow... ten..."

  Nathan pulled his clear helmet visor over his eyes. He engaged a knob on the helmet, allowing a gentle hiss of oxygen to flow. His heart raced, and he swore that if he were fifty-five instead of twenty-two his runaway pulse would be the end of him. He drew in a long, slow breath, then counted to himself along with the mission commander.

  "Nine... eight... seven..."

  He turned his head slightly right and looked across the other colonists seated next to him. Their flight suits were, like his, centered with Earth flag patches, and, to someone making a cursory glance, the colonists looked alike, that is unless one focused on the faces. Among those faces Nathan found Kylen. She beamed at him from behind her visor, then gave him a subtle "thumbs up." Kylen Celina. She was twenty-one and the one for Nathan. Period. Nathan's mother had always told him: "You'll know when you know."

  Nathan knew. And as he looked into the light in Kylen's eyes, a light that her visor could not contain, Nathan knew even more.

  "Six... five... four... three..."

  He smiled and nodded to Kylen—

  An alarm buzzed.

  "Countdown HOLD! T-minus three seconds."

  There are some things Nathan would rather have not heard while sitting atop a forty-five-story launch vehicle encircled by ten solid rocket boosters. An emergency buzzer was number one on his list.

  But this one had been planned. He reached up and flipped down the double-trio of toggles, and the cabin fell silent.

  "Tellus colony... this is Mission Comm... simulated launch sequence complete... all systems are nominal. Reset countdown for nine hours, four minutes and twelve seconds... you are GO for launch."

  Yes!

  Nathan's comlink reverberated with a cheer from the colonists. He shot a glance at Kylen. She flipped up her visor and blew him a kiss.

  As he and the rest of the colonists unstrapped themselves, Nathan knew that by now the techs already had the launch tower access arm in place and were in the white room unsealing the vehicle's hatch. Nathan fell in behind Drake, a doctor, and Kylen. Drake crawled into the tunnel of the hatch, then took the hand of a tech standing on the other side. As he passed out of view, the mission commander's voice echoed from a speaker:

  "Tellus colonists shall report to the launch vehicle by 2140 hours."

  Kylen moved into the tunnel. Nathan smacked her butt.

  "Hey!"

  "Get in there, girl."

  While he waited for Kylen to exit, Nathan overheard a conversation in the white room.

  "Vesta colony never went this smoothly," Drake said.

  "They're still having problems. We lost communication with Vesta this morning," a tech or engineer answered.

  "Probably just solar flare interference again," another one chipped in.

  Kylen passed through the hatch, then Nathan saw her turn and wait for him. He wiggled into the tube, and when he reached its end, he waved off a tech offering to help and made it alone through the hatch. He emerged into the white room, exhilarated.

  "Man, if I'm this pumped by a test launch I won't need a rocket."

  Kylen grinned, then her attention was directed to a wall clock digitally running off the countdown. Nathan noted that Kylen's usually roseate cheeks had faded as completely as her grin. "Final countdown," she said, sounding a little scared.

  Nathan studied her a moment further, then nodded. "I know. Just think, most people don't know if their dreams will ever come true. Our dream is definitely eight hours and fifty-nine minutes away."

  With that, Kylen's gaze ignited, and suddenly there was a trace of color back in her cheeks. Nathan moved in to kiss her, but the rims of their helmets kept them inches apart. Nathan laughed. He and Kylen had sacrificed a lot more than kisses to get where they were.

  "Attention colonists Ausbury, Brown, Nuckols, Gonzales, Palladino, Heim, Larlee, Manesis, Vitaris, West, and Celina..."

  Nathan pulled back from Kylen. She looked as immediately concerned as he felt.

  The mission commander continued, "Report to Governor Overmeyer's office immediately."

  "Oh God, we're too close for something to go wrong now," Kylen said, then sighed disgustedly.

  Though Nathan felt his stomach twisting and his heart jetting back to its runaway pace, he did his best to conceal his anxiety from her. "Gotta be a last-minute pep talk. That's all it is."

  Kylen squinted into a thought. "I don't see what we all have in common. The names seem random. It's not like we're all in the same sub-team or anything."

  "Stop worrying. Let's go."

  Nathan stood in Governor Overmeyer's sparsely furnished office, staring out the window at the Tellus colony launch tower, a mighty scepter thrust into the dusk. A single metropolis of clouds floated over the tower, its underbelly stained a burning orange. Farther above the clouds, the stars were beginning to flicker on.

  Behind him, he listened to Kylen pace. Twice he had asked her to sit down.

  "We're told to report immediately," she blurted into the silent room. "And then they make us wait two hours. The others didn't have to wait."

  Nathan sighed long and hard. The first five minutes had been tense. After an hour he had classified the wait as excruciating. By ninety minutes he had searched the room for some sort of weapon to use on whomever had subjected them to the torture. But now that the two-hour mark had been breached, there was only a sickening numbness.

  "What do you think could be—"

  Kylen's question was cut short by the opening of the door. Nathan turned from the window to see Colonial Governor Jonathan Overmeyer enter the room. He had grown to respect Overmeyer, a respect the governor had earned from every colonist. The man was strong and inspirational, and Overmeyer knew the three keys to successful leadership: to have a vision, to share it with others, and to execute it. The governor reminded Nathan of his father.

  Yet now Overmeyer did not look strong. He crossed to his large glass desk, and as he did so, his gaze never met Nathan's.

  "Good evening, sir. The launch simulation went perfectly," Nathan said.

  Overmeyer nodded absently.

  Nathan swallowed. "We are still a 'GO'?"

  Without answering, Overmeyer slid his chair out from under his desk and sat. He set his elbows on the glass surface and steepled his fingers. Then—finally—he looked at both of them. "I know you are aware of the growing rights movement for In Vitroes, those conceived and born in artificial gestation tanks, uh, artificial gestation chambers..."

  Nathan subtly glanced at Kylen. Back in the white room she had looked as concerned as he felt. Now she appeared as stiff.

  "Is this regarding the rally we attended?" Nathan asked.

  Overmeyer pursed his lips then said, "In a way... the rally has brought about... a problem."

  Nathan took a step toward the governor's desk. "Sir, we have every right to support In Vitroes. We stand by what we did."

  The governor closed his eyes and paused.

  To Nathan, Overmeyer's silence meant the man was irritated, and Nathan felt his guard go up.

  Kylen took a step forward to join him. "They are human beings, sir. Just like us, only conceived from parents who never lived. Farmed by the government as slaves to fight in the A.I. War after too many of us were killed. It's not their fault it didn't succeed. They are equal."

  "If anything, we owe them," Nathan added.

  A handful of heartbeats passed, and then Overmeyer opened his eyes and lowered his hands to the desk. "Last evening the Tellus Bo
ard of Governors was issued a directive from the United States Senate. The launch will be scratched unless ten In Vitroes are aboard."

  Nathan's stomach found a new home between his ankles. "What?"

  "Given the restrictions on weight, rations, and personnel capacity—"

  "Are you saying we're being replaced?" Kylen asked.

  Overmeyer averted his gaze. "It is my sincere regret to inform you... that... one... of you will not be on board."

  "Jesus!" Nathan tore away from the governor's desk. It was only now that the irony fully hit him. "I don't believe this!" He faced Overmeyer. "One of us?"

  The governor raised his voice. "Nine colonists have been released. Deciding factors include age, experience—"

  "Postpone the mission."

  "If we don't go in six hours the forecasted wormhole passage to Tellus won't open for another twelve years."

  Nathan beat his fist into his palm. "They're not even trained—send them on the next—"

  "The next colonial expedition won't be ready for five years. There are members of Congress who need to look good—now."

  "We'll both resign," Kylen said, her tone suggesting that tears would follow.

  "Not going is not an option. You have a commitment to execute vital assignments on the mission, duties which one of you could cover, but for which no one else is trained. Not to mention the severe legal consequences of breaking your contract."

  Nathan looked at Kylen; she looked as if there was a sea of glass in her eyes. They had made the commitment How could only one of them keep it?

  "I know both of you..." Overmeyer groped for words. "It's your dream to go to space."

  Kylen sniffled and still fought desperately against her tears. "The dream was to go together."

  Overmeyer nodded slightly, and his expression grew sympathetic. "I know of the intense feelings you have for each other. The fact you entered the program—together—with the intent of colonizing—together—and ultimately both being accepted over ten thousand applicants... is a testament to your devotion..." The governor raked fingers through his hair, then rubbed his nape. "The world was so much simpler twenty years ago. I'm on record as saying this directive stinks. I fought it all the way... and lost."

  I'll bet you would've fought it a little harder if your own ass was on the line....

  "Off the record," Overmeyer added, "because of your situation... rather than issuing an order... I'm allowing the two of you to decide who will remain."

  Meeting Kylen's gaze was never more painful. Her lower lip trembled slightly; what was left of her composure hung on by unraveling threads. Nathan lowered his head and rubbed his eyelids.

  "There is an alternative," Overmeyer said.

  Nathan looked up.

  "Your Colonial certificates are immediately transferable for entrance into the Marine Corps Air and Space Cavalry."

  Kylen snickered in disbelief. "The military?"

  Nathan added his own question to hers. "You call that an alternative? Maybe you haven't heard, but there's no longer a need for the military. We're beyond war."

  "Yes, but there's a possibility the Marine Corps Space Cavalry may be assigned duty as Colonial sentries."

  Kylen snickered again. "'Possibility?' You want us to bet our lives on a 'possibility'?"

  Nathan wanted to know the answer to just one question: What do you do when the whole world drops out from under you, when everything you've worked for, everything that held time and place in your life, is ripped from your guts and thrown to the ground and stomped on as if all of it really meant nothing, as if all of it was only a paper airplane in the rain?

  If there was an answer, Nathan considered strangling it out of Overmeyer. He lifted an index finger and took aim at the governor. "We did it the way you wanted! We followed the rules! These... In Vitroes didn't train. These... senators haven't sacrificed. Why should we pay for a mistake they made before we were even born? You're letting them throw away our lives! We believed in you!"

  Overmeyer did not go on the defensive. He looked saddened by Nathan's outburst, and his expression woke a pang of guilt in Nathan. "I'm sorry you feel that way," the governor said. "All you can believe in now... is each other."

  Kylen turned away from Overmeyer, crossed to the window and bowed her head, still in control of her tears. As Nathan turned to go to her, Overmeyer stood. "Please arrive at your decision by 2130—today," the governor said, then headed for the door.

  Though Nathan was sure Overmeyer hadn't meant to do it, it sounded as if the governor had slammed the door behind him.

  Nathan put a hand on Kylen's shoulder. The room was a hollow, empty box, and he wanted to fill it with words, words that would mean something. He searched for something to say. Then he realized the search would take a lifetime. He slid in front of Kylen, closed his eyes and embraced her. He felt a life-and-death intensity about the hug.

  After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked out at the rocket. Lights on the launch tower now twinkled like stars, and soon great spotlights would come on and bathe the vehicle so intensely in light that it would take on the sheen of a diamond. The billboard-sized digital clock posted near the observation stand read:

  LAUNCH COUNTDOWN 06:02:29

  He glanced at the rocket and began to lose his breath as he wondered which of them would be aboard in six hours. He would fight for Kylen to go, and she would, of course, try to convince him that he was much more passionate about colonizing than she. They could lie to each other as long as they liked. Nothing, nothing would change.

  two

  The billboard depicted the architectural concept of a sleek, 145-story skyscraper, beneath which were the words:

  PHILADELPHIA CENTER. COMPLETION:

  SPRING 2106.

  CELEBRATING 425 YEARS OF BROTHERLY LOVE!

  In the lower-right corner was the well-known Aero-Tech construction company rocket logo.

  Cooper Hawkes looked away from the sign and moved into the sun-soaked construction yard. The building, presently a seven-story skeleton of polymeric graphite girders encompassed by scaffolding, would take up, with its environs, two or three city blocks. At least a hundred laborers in powersuits shifted I-bars, girders, and struts around as if the materials weighed only ounces instead of hundreds of kilos. Two anti-grav cranes hung motionless over the structure. Then one hummed to life and floated two girders down to a pair of men standing on the seventh floor, one of whom gave hand signals to the crane's operator.

  "Hey, you the new guy?"

  Hawkes stopped and turned around. The man before him was in his twenties, about Hawkes's age, and had obviously spent too much time on construction sites or in the gym. There were no curves about him, only sharp angles. "Yeah, I guess I am."

  "Hope you've got experience and hope you're good."

  Hawkes grinned at the man's challenge. "I'm both." Well, he was good, if not experienced. He thrust his hand forward. "Cooper Hawkes."

  "You just call me Davis," the other said without lifting his hand. "And I'm not here to make friends. I'll tell you flat out that I don't need any more help—even though the foreman thinks I do. And I don't trust anyone."

  Hawkes balled his hand into a fist before lowering it. "We won't have any problems."

  "Good," Davis said, then stared at Hawkes oddly for a moment.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "No," Davis said, but there was something visibly bothering the man. "Hey, why don't you get up to the seventh and relieve Mike. I need him in the trailer to go over some holoprints."

  "On my way." Hawkes turned on his heel and strode toward the building. He thought he heard Davis utter something under his breath, but couldn't be sure, for the drone of the powersuits grew louder the farther he moved.

  The disc about anti-grav crane signals that Hawkes had studied the night before was, in a word, dated. All day the operator squinted at him and shouted over the link that "We don't use that signal anymore, boy! Ain't you been around sites lately?" It was
fortunate for Hawkes that the operator was somewhat familiar with the signals of the disc. By dusk, Hawkes was directing the operator to set the last girder down atop two vertical I-bars. A powersuited laborer stood next to each bar, ready to heat-seal the girder into place. Hawkes felt triumphant for the first time in many months. Finally, he had made it through a first day on the job and had not been fired. Not only that, with this job, he got to work around people. He would never be alone.

  "Hey! He's going wide! He's going wide!" one of the laborers shouted.

  Hawkes hadn't noticed it, but the operator, who did not have a clear line of sight down onto the bars, had let the girder go wide, and now the anti-grav field between the crane's nozzle and the girder fluctuated violently, turning the air into billowy heat waves of friction. Hawkes struggled to remember the signal for the operator to increase the anti-grav field, but hadn't had to use that signal all day; it was tucked too deeply into his memory.

  A sound like a scream erupted from the crane.

  "It's coming down!" one of the laborers shouted.

  "Otto! Get the hell—"

  Under a twilit sky that seemed at peace with the universe, Hawkes watched in horror as the girder broke free from the crane's field and plunged toward a point between the two I-bars, a point presently occupied by one of the laborers. Sparks and blue spiderwebs of random energy encompassed the man's suit as the girder swiped him—but miraculously—did not pin him to the concrete floor. The other laborer went to his friend. Hawkes dropped to his knees, grasped the girder and slid off to let himself be suspended three meters in the air. He dropped to the floor and ran to the two laborers.

  The man who had been hit leaned against an I-bar for support. "I'm all right, Shell," he said to his coworker. "Suit caught most of it." The hydraulic pump casings that ran across his shoulder and down the back of his suit's left arm were smashed and bubbling with fluid.

  Shooting him a scowl, Shell stepped up to Hawkes. "What the hell happened? Didn't you see him going wide?"

  "It's not his fault," someone said from above. Hawkes looked up to see the burly crane operator staring down from a girder. "I've been telling Davis that beast ain't been holding a charge all week. Wouldn't have been any field problem were she fully charged."