Chapter 2: What About Now

Now that we're here
Now that we've come this far, just hold on
There is nothing to fear for I am right beside you
For all my life I am yours

"Were you going to even say goodbye before you went off searching for a way back to the twentieth century?" Miriam stood in the doorway to Virdon's quarters, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face.

Alan had not expected word of the message to spread so quickly, while he was still trying to absorb the news himself. His smile at seeing her at his door fell into a grimace. "You heard. Please come in and let me explain." He stood aside to let her enter. "You're angry."

"You're damn right I am, Alan." Although she crossed her arms tight across her chest, she entered and took a seat in a chair next to the sofa, denying him the ability to sit next to her. He sat on the sofa, their knees almost touching. He didn't need to be an empath to feel the hurt radiating from her. But her eyes were flashing with anger, not threatening tears. "You said you were done looking for a way home." The last word held so much bitterness that he internally flinched as if he'd been slapped.

"I'm sorry." He'd learned the hard way long ago that excuses and explanations were hollow words unless he acknowledged that he'd messed up, especially on something as big as this. "I… I spoke without thinking, Miriam." His words had been echoing in his own head for the last half-hour, trying to process the mysterious message from another ship from Earth's past. The dream he'd chased for so long and so recently abandoned still haunted him.

"Go on," she said. Her voice was still steely and cold, but her body language relaxed considerably.

Alan shifted a little closer and reached out to take her hand that now rested on the arm of the chair. "Hearing that message, a mayday call from other astronauts from my time, it threw me back into my military training. The crew on that ship could be people I knew at NASA. People I trained with, worked with, maybe even commanded when I was on Titan. The Astraeus mission was on deck when I left, scheduled to launch in 1985, five years after ours. Now, I don't know if that scheduled changed after our mission didn't return. It could be that the whole program was scrapped, leaving Artemis and Astraeus in limbo. It could be that NASA didn't go into space again for decades.

"But the history of NASA has other failed missions that didn't stop the march of exploration. Other crews were lost, but their bodies were recovered. The causes of those accidents were able to be investigated. Since our ship never returned, they have no idea what happened to us. So if we can find these astronauts, they can at least bring us news about what happened after we left. Maybe bring some closure." His voice cracked on the last sentence.

Miriam's lips pursed, and the hand under Alan's twitched but didn't withdraw. "Do you really think knowing what happened to your family is going to bring you closure? Or will it make you more determined to get back to them?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure. But I need to find out."

She finally shook off his hand and stood. "Well, at least now you are being honest with yourself." Her words were clipped but otherwise emotionless. Startled, Virdon sat back, his jaw slack. "And now I've got to be honest with myself. I think until you get the closure you need to find peace, we should put this," she waved her hand between the two of them, "whatever this is—on hold."

Alan felt his stomach drop. "Miriam, please—"

Shaking her head, she hugged her arms around herself. "No Alan. Look, I really care about you. More than I have anyone since Timotheus. After he died, I needed to learn to live again. I get it. It wouldn't have been fair to anyone to have to compete with his ghost. And it's not fair for me to have to compete with Sally's memory."

"You don't—," he started to object, but she cut him off again with another shake of her head.

"I know you don't mean to, and I'm not really angry with you. But my heart can't take losing someone else I love because he can't let go of the past." Watching her lip tremble and eyes mist over, Virdon's own heart lurched sideways in his chest.

He didn't want to hurt her. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that he was done with the past and wasn't going to walk away from her in pursuit of an impossible dream. But a life in the service and then at NASA had taught him not to make promises that he couldn't keep. The first time he'd tried to promise Sally that he would return from a combat deployment overseas, she'd berated him. "Don't you dare blow sunshine and rainbows up my ass, Alan Virdon, by telling me everything is going to be fine." He'd been a Captain at the time, and she knew he'd be flying combat missions over hostile desert territory, leading a squadron of fighter jets. "Just tell me that you are going to not take any unnecessary risks. That's all I ask. That if you don't," she'd choked on the words, but pushed them out with fierce determination, "if you don't make it back, I want to know that you did everything you could. I don't care if you have to walk, crawl, or be carried through the fires of Hell itself, you get your ass back here. That's the only promise I want to hear."

"Yes, ma'am," he'd responded, and it was the only promise he'd ever made to her about his missions. It was also the bond that had driven him since his ship had crashed. If he stopped trying and finally let himself make a life in Alba, he'd have failed to keep that promise. But there was no way Sally could have anticipated their present situation, part of him rationalized. How could she have ever imagined that her husband's mission would be thrown a thousand years into the future and stranded on an Earth cast into a Dark Age by an apocalypse of their own making? Surely that qualified as crawling through hellfire. Didn't it?

He had made more promises when Chris had come along years later. To be a good father. To teach his son to be an honorable man. Maybe he should have retired once his son was born, or at least taken a desk job that wouldn't have separated him from his family for long months at a time. Maybe. Maybe. Too many doubts. Too many regrets.

"Miriam, I know I haven't done my best to give you the peace of mind you deserve. I feel like no matter what I do, I'm failing someone—you, Sally," he paused as the next word stuck in his throat. "Chris."

Her face softened and she laid a hand on his cheek. "Maybe that's the problem, Alan. You are so busy trying to live up to the expectations of everyone else that you forgot the part about trying to live for yourself." Then she turned and walked out of his quarters, leaving him with wet cheeks and the memory of her touch.

"We require immediate assistance. We have three persons aboard. Over."

Malachi's brows furrowed as he listened to the recording of the distress signal. "Have you pinpointed the origin of this message?" he asked Levi.

Levi touched a screen set in the surface of Malachi's desk. A map of the area surrounding Alba lit up, highlighting the rough terrain. With a two-fingered swipe, the view on the screen changed, zooming out until the ruins of Albuquerque appeared on the edge to the south, then continued to rush past as the view focused still farther south. He pointed at a spot in a flat area just east of a small mountain range. "About two hundred thirty miles southeast."

"That's a long way, even in Joshua's vehicle." Malachi scratched absently at his beard. "I presume our young friends want to go rushing down there?"

With a gusty sigh, Levi rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. "They think this ship might have been sent as a rescue attempt. They said a mission by that name had already been scheduled to launch five years after theirs."

The angel sat back and steepled his fingers. His steely gaze locked on Levi's face. "Alan sees it as a possible way back to their time." It wasn't a question. A frown pulled the corners of his mouth.

"He did mention something to that effect." Levi took a seat opposite his spouse and rested his forearms on the desk. "I'm not sure if it was a serious consideration or said from habit."

"Damn it." Mal thumped a fist on the desk. "We were making real progress in his therapy. His heart is so entrenched in his past; I don't know if he'll ever truly accept that it's gone."

"He's right about one thing; if any of the crewmembers of that ship survived, they are going to need help. That area of the desert is thick with danger. If the predators don't get them, they'll eventually die from the heat and lack of water." Levi sat back and crossed his arms. "Now is not the time to bury our heads back in the sand, Malachi."

The angel's eyebrows shot up and his eyes narrowed. "You think me so heartless that I would abandon those men to the desert?"

"Of course not. But we don't exactly have the best track record with our excursions to the outside world. I can understand that you might be," he paused, choosing his next words carefully, "reluctant to send our people out there again." Levi sat forward and reached across the table to take his spouse's hand. "I don't have to be an empath to understand that you're afraid, ahuvi. I'm not happy about sending our children back out into that kind of danger, either."

"Do not handle me, Leviticus!" Mal objected, biting the words into staccato notes, pulling his hand free. "It's obvious we can't ignore the world around us without it crashing through our doors. Those kids," he stabbed a finger in the general direction of the door, "are the future of this community. Someday, I hope that Ezekiel will take my place to serve on the council. He needs to start thinking about what best serves our people."

Levi quirked an eyebrow. "I hope you aren't disappointed."

The icy look Mal shot him spoke to a long-standing disagreement. "I know full well Ezekiel's objections, but now that he is settling down into marriage, he won't be able to run from his responsibilities any longer."

"Wait, when did this discussion about a rescue mission suddenly become all about our son's 'lack of responsibility'? Becoming a member of the council is your dream for him, not his, eeshi. Let our boy find his own way!"

"I am not going to have this argument again right now." Mal took a deep breath to ground his thoughts and recenter himself. "But your point is taken."

Levi knew an apology when he heard one from Malachi. He waved his hand, dismissing the argument. "Fine. Back to the issue at hand. What do you think of me leading this rescue mission myself?"

Malachi pressed his lips together, considering. The silence grew between them. "I thought," he began in a tightly measured tone, "that you wanted to bring Eliana back in the fold by giving her a command again."

"Well, she could be in command, and I could just be along to advise."

"And you don't think that would undermine her authority? That you were coming along because you didn't trust her to be on her own?"

"I do trust her; she knows that. There was nothing she could have done differently at Kirtland that would have prevented Jed's death."

"I know that. And the Council agreed. But getting her to believe that is the tricky part. It's her lack of trust in her abilities that concerns me, Leviticus. She needs to regain confidence."

Levi's eyes narrowed as he considered his spouse's words. "So your only objection is that my presence might undermine Eliana's confidence?" The rest of the thought was left unspoken.

Leaning back in his chair, Mal's gaze locked with Levi's. "If by that you're asking if I'm fine with sending my spouse out into unknown dangers, the answer is, 'no, I am not'. Am I afraid of losing you in the unforgiving desert? Yes, I am."

"Eeshi—,"

"No, don't tell me my fear is unfounded. I cannot lose another spouse, eeshi."

"But—,"

"But I think your addition to this mission will mitigate some of the risk," the angel admitted with a growl. "I don't like it, but I agree that you should go. In an advisory capacity. Eliana should still lead."

"Thank you. Don't worry, I'll be back. You can't get rid of me that easily, old bird."

Pete could feel the anger and hurt radiating off of Zeke as they made their way back to their quarters. He had to practically lope to keep up with the angel's long, rapid strides. Zeke slapped the entry mechanism on the door, barely slowing to wait for it to open. By the time Pete crossed into the room, his fiancé was rounding the table to face him.

"So your first reaction, straight from our bed, is 'this could be our trip home'?" Zeke shouted once the door closed.

"Hey, Alan said that, not me!" Burke yelled back.

"But you thought it! Does our betrothal mean nothing to you?"

"Zeke, I admit it crossed my mind for about two seconds! Then I remembered this is my home. You are my home! You are my Rubicon, besheirt. There is no going back from here." He stepped closer to Zeke as the angel deflated, his anger defused by Pete's declaration. He grabbed Zeke's hand and pressed it to his heart. "Alan may still be thinking about travelling back to 1980, but I'm not. The past can stay dead and buried for all I care." His voice softened more, and he leaned his forehead against the other's. "Give me a little credit, huh? I'm yours, now and forever. I told you before, you are stuck with me."

Zeke took a shuddering breath and his eyelashes glistened with unshed tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I do know you love me, I really do. Just hearing those voices from the past—your past, I guess I panicked. I've been so close to losing you too many times already, and I saw this as just another… threat…to our life together."

Burke pulled him into an embrace, resting his head on Zeke's shoulder. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere. The ol' Burke luck is still unbroken." He chuckled, the rumble in his chest soothing them both.

They stood like that while the minutes passed, until both their minds and bodies calmed.

Disengaging from the embrace, Pete stroked Zeke's cheek and caught his gaze. When he spoke again, his voice was still soft and warm, "But all of that doesn't change the fact that some NASA crew just crashed out there in the desert and needs help."

"Another trip into the desert." Zeke's sigh conveyed so much—fear, regret, grief. "Is it selfish of me to say that I wish it didn't have to be us?"

"Yes. But I think you deserve to indulge in a little selfishness." He paused and a smirk twitched on his lips. "Just remember, if you hadn't been willing to come out to that collapsed train station to answer a distress call, we never would have met."

"True," he admitted, his own mischievous expression blooming. "Maybe there's an even more handsome twentieth-century astronaut out there waiting to be found. Maybe I could trade up."

Pete reached around and playfully smacked Zeke's behind. "Impossible. I was definitively the most handsome astronaut in the NASA program. There was an independent survey, published in a famous magazine with world-wide circulation. 'Sexiest Astronaut Alive' was the headline, as I recall. Conclusive, irrefutable scientific evidence. So just forget about the idea of 'trading up', mister.

"Once you've had the best, you forget the rest!"

The ship rose effortlessly through the atmosphere, easily escaping the gravity of the planet below. There was no roar of rocket engines, no feeling of riding a barely-controlled fireball, just a quiet hum and smooth acceleration. The compressive forces they should have felt at the rate of acceleration were absorbed by a dampening field. Virdon looked to his right at his simian friend with a wide grin. Galen, on the other hand, gaped with wide eyes at the wonder of the entire situation—the foreignness of the cockpit of the alien ship as well as the quickly darkening view outside the windows as the planet beneath them shrank to a sphere that fills one porthole.

The old man twisted in his sleep, hands grappling with controls long lost and destroyed.

When the ship began to spin out of control, familiar panic-inducing sounds filled the cockpit. Stressed metal squealed. A klaxon shrieked. A subaudible whump rattled Virdon's teeth and squeezed his chest. He turned automatically to bark orders at his co-pilots, but instead of Burke and Jones, a chimpanzee sat in the other chair, gripping the armrests and rigid with terror.

Overlapping images flooded his dreams, mingling events from the crash of the Hyperion with the fateful flight he undertook in a desperate bid to return to his family.

The view out the window lurched to one side, the starfield blurring as the ship began to spin. The bright atmosphere of the planet below them flashed by as the spin turned into a spiraling descent. Struggling against the pressure pushing him into his chair, Virdon forced his arms toward the controls to frantically push buttons and turn knobs to regain some maneuverability of the craft. The luminous blue glow grew quickly larger in the window, even as it continued to spin. Virdon heard the chimpanzee cry out his name, panic and dread mixed in equal measures. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ship's chronometer inexorably creeping backwards, the numbers blurring as they changed faster and faster. 'Not again,' he thought briefly before the g-forces took his consciousness.