Finally able to further re-edit! Sorry to take so long... And thanks, ED and Tikatu
62: Fast Forward
Endurance-
He was no judge of other people's reactions, but Lady Penelope hadn't sounded very upset. Or surprised.
In response to his cautiously worded query, she'd said (nearly two weeks later),
"Why of course, Darling! A holiday together would be most enjoyable. In Troy, perhaps? Or Knossos? A mere five days hardly seems enough, does it? I am ever so excited, John. Will you be a dear, and make our travel arrangements? If you contact the Hotel Imperial in Crete after the summer press, our private landing and beach will be assured. Do ring back soon. I've simply nothing of interest in Foxlyheath Manor to sustain me until your next call, and I shall be all attention. Je fin, I suppose… though, trust me, very much eager to see you again, love."
He listened through, once, then replayed the message, applying the filter she'd steganographically uploaded.
'I will make contact after landing/ Do nothing to call attention/ Trust (me?)
Right. She'd screwed up on the last part, trying to squeeze two words in… but the sense got through, regardless.
So… Five days till landing, from the Earthside perspective, and an unknown expanse from that of Endurance. Until then, he was to lie low and await contact, trusting that her 'Trojan and labyrinth' plot would come off. Well and good… but it never hurt to have a back-up plan, or six.
Very much, he wanted to call Scott; find a way to warn his older brother that would at once be understandable and secure. Tall order. Only one thing came to mind, and it was pretty scatter-shot.
Sending another message to Thunderbird 1 (which Scott seemed to have taken up permanent residence in), he replied to:
'Hey, John. Status report?'
With…
'You know how it is, Scott: All quiet on the Western Front. And I imagine pretty much the same over there.'
And then, because his youngest brother had still not replied…
'Alan okay?'
Didn't dare add any obvious key words such as 'red', 'crimson', 'scarlet', 'path', 'trail' or 'road'…. But maybe Scott would figure things out. In any case, he had to make an effort at warning the family. They couldn't be allowed to stumble into this disaster identified and blindfolded.
Nor was this all that went on. In the weeks that John waited for Lady Penelope's answer, two things of note occurred. One was the supply and fuel-core pass off from Kuiper to Endurance; critical, because on a long free-return trajectory they were using many more consumables than a powered crossing would have required. Had things gone as originally planned, Endurance would not have launched until after the arrival of her ESA sister ship. But trouble had struck, maiming Roger Thorpe, burying John Tracy alive and forcing the mission commander to scrap their flight plan.
In any event, having been chased off of Mars, they would now rendezvous with Kuiper 28 million miles from Earth. There were a few major issues with this plan, one of which was simply bringing the two ships together.
Besides the unknown warping event, spacetime was crumpled like a bed sheet into ridges, peaks and folds by the gravity of the Sun and Jupiter. Space travel was easier, used less fuel, along the 'down hill' folds. The Mars-to-Moon corridor was one such valley; the spacetime equivalent of the 'scenic route'. Kuiperlay on the interstate, eight lanes over and racing away in the opposite direction; a rendezvous challenge resolved by Hackenbacker,Tracyand Houston, with John's laptop and the NASA disk farms working most of the calculations.
Long before the actual encounter, John and Pete were suited up and back in their launch positions, while Roger stood ready to man the robot arm, and the doctors retreated to Endurance's storm shelter. Linda was becoming too bulky to strap into a seat or don a survival suit. NASA simply hadn't planned on a second trimester astronaut, and there was no other safe place to put her.
Up front, pilot and commander re-engaged thruster control, cleared disk-space and input the guidance program, John thinking wistfully of the AI he'd apparently hallucinated back on Mars.
(Imagine a portable quantum computer smart enough to make decisions on its own; able to run more than just four complex applications at a time without getting hosed. Have to keep working on that, he supposed…)
They went through one checklist after another, testing each relevant system long before making rendezvous. Sort of a rhythm arose. Point and counterpoint. McCord's sharp query and Tracy's brief response, familiar as Mass, or a seven-year-old's long ago bedtime prayer.
Two balking thrusters required immediate Marine Corps maintenance, Roger's specialty. Got that sorted out, and then the port-side cargo bay door didn't want to respond. Yeah. Life was good.
Once more, though, Roger came through. (John suspected that he'd simply pounded and cursed the door's motor into submission. Whatever. He got the job done.)
The cargo arm, by contrast, performed beautifully; had there been a second one, Endurance could have dealt five-card stud. John made a mental note to kiss each and every (female) Jet Propulsion Lab engineer, then went on to the next hundred-and-fifty vital matters.
Weirdly, Kuiper hardly seemed to be moving. The way that Earth and the Moon appeared frozen in mid-circuit, the ESA ship pushed through space like a dull needle through heavy leather.
Pete paused in his distance-to-target litany.
"This one of those Lorentz effects?" He asked.
Watching the long-range scanner, John nodded absently.
"Ninety-percent certain that's affirm, Pete, but I'll be able to say for sure in… 5.32 hours."
They were still pretty far out, with communications from Kuiper being spotty and slow. But time passed in its various coy ways, and they at last hove within visual range of Kuiper. She hung there like a silvery dragonfly, larger than Endurance, and three-quarters engine, with the tiny, glinting speck of a supply pod close at her side… Earth and Moon glowingin the far background. Beautiful sight, if they'd had the time to appreciate it.
"Lock visors," Pete commanded, followed by, "switching to suit life support… fire reverse thrusters 1 and 2, for a ten-second burn…now:10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… thruster cut-off." (Roar and vibration giving way to still, silent peace.) "Confirm holding position… Position confirmed… and open cargo doors."
A few distorted miles away, on the maiden-voyage-tidy flight deck of Kuiper, Irina Porizkova held her breath. She had commanded much the same things, with only the added concern that Endurance appeared to be hurtling for her ship at insane, impossible speeds.
As planned, she'd waited for visual contact to release the supply pod:
"Devyat… vosem… sem… shest… pyat… chetyve… tri… dva… Odin! Release!"
…Even though earlier contact from Endurance indicated that the Americans had somehow already acquired her cargo. Kuiper's collision alert and master alarms buzzed loud and harsh as a base-attack drill. She ordered them cut off, but refused to change course until the supply pod was well away.
And still Endurance came on like meteor; her gravitational wake bending light from stars behind. Beside her, Gospodin Markov keyed up the micro-thrusters, his dark eyes narrowed with tension.
"Piotr, Ivan, too quickly you are coming…" she murmured. "You will not catch, but collide with supply pod. My friends, slow yourselves."
'A chicken is not a bird, and a woman is not a person,' perhaps; but as mission commander, the decisions were hers to make (all the more so as communication with Baikonur and Moskva became ever less reliable.)
But Piotr Kordovich and Vanya were not slowing, nor responding, either, except in large mass of messages which became unreadable after first two clicks.
"Gospodina…?" Markov asked, his hand taut upon the controls of main thruster.
"We wait."
Piotr was a dear friend (and once, more than that), young Vanya adorable to pinch and tease. Not until last moment would CDR Porizkova turn away from them.
Then came the instant when both vessels occupied the same 'slice' of spacetime, and all at once, momentarily, gained full contact.
On the flight deck of Endurance, the comm screen flashed up. No static or fuzziness at all; just Irina Porizkova's bony, concerned face behind the thick, curving glass of her helmet.
"Endurance, Kuiper," she was saying, "there is not margin for safety with such… Piotr!"
For, miraculously, the NASA ship had shed nearly all of its vast, reality-blurring momentum, slowing suddenly from glowing blur to corroded arrow-head.
"You are very much welcome sight, my old friend!"
(John, she winked at.)
"Same here, sweet thing," McCord's grin was wide and reminiscent. "Sorry we couldn't get together in beautiful downtown Argyre… but thanks for the care package."
From their temporal 'angle', the motionless supply pod had just been retrieved; plucked deftly from space by Roger Thorpe's powerful cargo arm. From Kuiper's perspective, it had simply vanished. Both ships were still moving, and would soon pass from easy hailing range, but what shared time they had was wisely employed.
"Roll vessel, Vanya, and we shall image for you the breach."
"Roger that, Commander," John replied, triggering thrusters 2 and 4. "Initiating 90-degree starboard roll."
Pictures were taken and sent, warnings and information exchanged. The full mission flight log of Endurance was transmitted to Kuiper, whose goal remained Mars.
"We go now to build upon what you have begun," Porizkova told them, doing her level best not to tear up (like many Russians, she was very emotional). "Keep us, my friends, in your prayers, and lift many glasses for success of mission, as we for your safe return."
Commander McCord nodded. Sometimes… once past the old flame stage… former lovers made the best and most trustworthy of allies.
"Day and night, beautiful. And just as soon as I can hijack command of another prime crew, I'll be there to join you."
She laughed.
"Very well. I am… eh… 'holding you in that', Piotr… and Vanya, also. Go with God's peace."
Then there was static, and a sleekEuropean spear of a ship vaulting away as crazy-fast as Endurance had seemed to arrive. John had a sudden bad feeling, which he did his best to quell.
Other than her constant pats and innuendo (which he'd become quite adept at redirecting), Gospodina Porizkova was a good person. He wished her, and Kuiper, well.
With collision no longer a concern, Commander McCord gave the 'all clear' for helmet and glove removal, whereupon the comm became a 3-way party line. Had to get everyone quiet again to transmit their status to the 'receiving station' (Thunderbird 1, actually, though no one was openly calling it that).
"Good job, Tracy," Pete remarked afterward, unstrapping to leave the deck. "Nice to see you focused up and hauling your weight, again."'Cause, for awhile there..." The mission commander grinned again, "you were pretty f-ing worthless."
Fair enough. But John had been able to broaden his focus lately, because four separate irons were slowly reddening in the Earthside fire, each prepared for a different aspect of the business to come. Not just Penny; sneaky as ever, John had fail-safes to his backups to his 'just in case's. (Plus a few wildcard contingency plans.)
He, too, unstrapped and rose, gliding smoothly up and away from his seat.
"Thanks, Pete. I do my humble best."
McCord snorted, seized the back of John's neck and gave him a fond shake.
"Humble, my ass. And why you didn't join the Navy I still can't figure out."
John shrugged apologetically. Pete had given all three of the elder Tracy boys recruitment literature for each oftheir christenings and subsequent birthdays.
"I don't look good in white, and I've never been into that 'Sir, yes Sir!' shit. Sorry."
McCord sighed.
"Too bad. You'd have made a damn fine Naviator, Tracy."
Back to business, though.
"Okay. Visit the head, get us back on course and keep a listen out for MCC's reply. They're probably shitting themselves, over there."
No doubt.
There was a line outside the bathroom (7 hours strapped in and suited up would do that to you, as would pregnancy). John drifted up behind Linda, who turned a little sideways to snug herself against him. Automatically, he reached out to steady them, one arm around his wife, handcovering her faintly moving belly. She could have cut to the front of the line, but refused to pull pregnancy any more than she would have abused rank.
"How's it going, Doctor?" He inquired, wondering if Junior could hear him. Everyone had an opinion on the name issue. This was officially Roger's week to choose, and he'd selected 'Hokulea'… Star of Hope. Better than 'Elvis', at least… especially since all that John had come up with each week was 'Jane'.
"Mmmm…" Linda replied sleepily, eyes closed, face nestled against his chest. "Ask me again in five months, Sunshine."
She was tired a lot, lately, and had gone sort of puffy.
"You'll be okay," he told her. "You kind of got… I mean… you'll probably feel better in your last trimester."
"I hope so," Linda whispered, too exhausted to jump on his time lapse.
'John…?'
He was floating there, embracing a curled-up wife, when something seemed to… touch him. Pale and faint as Eurydice in the shadows, TinTin's voice combed through his mind.
He'd have thought he was going crazy (-er), except that he saw her, reaching from the distant end of a very long tunnel, asking something about Russian. But how…?
The fact that his head hurt, that Hackenbacker and Linda's combined drugs left him much weaker than he let on, slowed John's responses. The contact smeared like a handprint drawn along an endless mirrored hall.
She… it was the Oriental girl; French accent. The one who'd patched him up back on…
Two days, then three. He was intensely aware of TinTin's presence in his about-to-burst head. For three days he blundered into bulkheads, had difficulty concentrating and kept trying to speak Russian. She needed his help; but, again… too far.
When it ended, when the mountain of anxious-confused-m'aidez pressure was at last rolled away, John lost consciousness. Another item that Linda 'forgot' to note in her edited med log and everyone else seemingly missed. After all, a pilot with fainting spells was no worse than a pregnant doctor, an amputee engineer or a pre-cancerous mission commander. Like everything else, they'd deal with it in-house.
...And the child was born in due time; a healthy, very beautiful and amazingly alert baby girl.