Animus Intercept Page 33

  There was something strangely liberating about the idea of dispensing with dating and all the usual romantic ritual bullshit. Zane had believed in those rituals and finding his soul mate for most of his life, and look where that had gotten him.

  "May I ask you something personal?"

  Zane roused himself uneasily from his gloomy reverie. He was tempted to say, "Hell, no!" Patricia smiled as if hearing his thought.

  "Zane, how long has it been since you've been with a woman?"

  "None of your damn business."

  "That long?"

  It was only when his crewmate began undoing her blouse that Zane realized there was nothing – nothing in this world or any other world, extra-dimensional or otherwise – that he wanted more than to end his long drought with this...well, alternative woman.

  "My dad could be back at any moment," he said weakly.

  "He just left. Bayesian second order probability dictates against his return for another thirty minutes."

  Then she tossed her bra on the chair beside him and Zane lost all concern for what Bayes or anyone else dictated.

  Chapter 19

  "WELL, LOOK WHAT THE young filly dragged in," Mallory greeted a somewhat sheepish-looking Horace Kinsley, entering the mission staging room with his red-haired former ensign – now Lieutenant and blushing furiously - Adele O'Brien.

  "I thought you were out of the game," said Zane. "Last I heard you were down on your ranch wrestling 'dogies,' whatever the heck they are."

  Andrea, Dana, and Dan drifted over, looking as surprised as everyone else in the room who'd noticed the Horse's arrival.

  "Yeah, well, they made me an offer I couldn't refuse." Horse's smile had a grim edge. "A promotion plus continued medical benefits."

  "They actually threatened to stop your medical benefits?" Zane had trouble believing Command would stoop that low. While USSC ND-carrying personnel couldn't take the medical nanites with them once they retired from service – all covert technology stayed behind once you entered civilian life – the yearly or emergency checkups employing NDs and other ultra-advanced medical treatments were some of the great benefits of having served with United States Space Command.

  "You've heard the Zhǎo Niǎo and the Ulyanov were launched three days ago and are on their way to Mars?" Horace asked. "Plus the Russians and Chinese just scrambled most of their near-Earth fleet?"

  "Yup," said Mallory. "That put a busy bee in Command's panties, though no one's sure what they're up to. Why – you heard anything new?"

  "Only that it's all hands on deck, and apparently that includes my old, wrinkled mitts."

  "And you're one of the few active space cowboys who actually has battle scars," said Zane.

  "So there you have it." Horse's smile reacquired its usual sardonic edge as he regarded Patricia, who'd been standing by Zane's side. "Turns out there might be a bit of fireworks in space before the fireworks start inside the John Glenn."

  His wink appeared aimed equally at Zane and Patricia, eliciting a puzzled kink in the brows of the four other crewmates. Zane and Patricia had been an item since that day on his dad's back porch, but neither had shared that fact with anyone else. Nor was Zane especially eager to do so. There would be time enough for that later. But he wasn't surprised that his old mentor might've picked up on the new vibe between them.

  "I doubt it," said Dan. "About military fireworks, that is. They have nothing that can compete with our birds. About all they can do is puff up their feathers and appear fierce." He paused, a small doubt shading into his expression. "Unless they've come up with some new tech."

  "Bound to happen one of these days." Horace shrugged. "But then we'll do what we always do: get newer, better tech. We can always count on you for that, can't we Chief Engineer?"

  "I'll make whatever modest contributions I can, sir."

  "Not to mention the creative contributions of Dr. Lance Spencer," Horace said, with an appreciative sideways smile at Patricia. "Your brilliant former boyfriend had the insight that building a thinking machine really meant creating a new form of life – and he figured out how to do that by tapping into the same primal force our insect cousins did when they made Azzizz. I don't see the Chinese or Russians or anyone else accomplishing that anytime soon."

  Dan's reflective smile curdled at the mention of his ex. "They'll figure it out one of these days. It's not as if we have some God-given monopoly on brains, unfortunately."

  Colonel Hurtle tapped the mike on the podium at the front of the room, drawing everyone's attention.

  "Admiral Sanchez is going to say a few words," he said, "and then we'll get into the mission review."

  Hurtle surrendered his position at the microphone to USSC's burly leader. Admiral Frederico Sanchez had a short, stout body, a thick lawn of grey-specked hair he wore at putting green length, and a warm smile. Zane's father had once compared him to the famous golfer, Lee Trevino. But Zane knew from personal experience that much of the Admiral's veneer of affability wore away when his coal-black eyes fastened on you in either disapproval or simple assessment.

  "We've studied other worlds," he addressed them in his soothing baritone, subtly underscored by a steely rasp. "We've established bases on several of them. Now, for the first time in history, we will begin aggressively colonizing them. We've been looking for a way to accomplish that while maintaining necessary security for our programs. Our partnership with NASA, SpaceX, and United Launch Alliance has allowed us to realize that goal.

  "Under the cover of this partnership, we plan to build a Martian city housing fifty thousand or more people – and a colony on Proxima Beta doubling that – within the decade.

  "I want to pause here to view with you the press conference involving your future passengers and our public production team that is livestreaming as we speak..."

  The space behind him lit up showing images of the conference. The camera panned over a sea of young, shining faces – highly educated, fit, and fertile. Zane felt suddenly old and obtuse. Not an I.Q. in the bunch below 120, and most in the 130 – 150 range, with nearly matching Emotional Intelligence Quotients. These were very smart, motivated, and emotionally balanced individuals. Amazing to Zane how willing, even eager, these allegedly brilliant and well-balanced people were to cast their fates on such tempestuous winds.

  They'd signed the same draconian non-disclosure forms that he and all USSC personnel signed – forms that practically threatened medieval dismemberment for violations of their terms – along with agreeing to the conditions of a one-way ticket, possible relocation to "another planetary location," and obeying all "rules and regulations" set forth by "governing authorities" under penalty of death. Zane would've thought that such terms would've given these eager beavers slight pause.

  NASA Administrator Avery Cullens was delivering a rousing speech about the "limitless possibilities" of space colonization while lavishing praise on the 989 volunteers who'd made the maiden-voyage cut. These courageous young people, Avery Cullens declared, "pave the way for those brave, indomitable spirits who will populate the cosmos in the decades and even centuries to come."

  Zane wondered how these "indomitable spirits" would act when they learned the truth. Would they feel like dupes, resentful of the deception? Would they demand to be returned to Earth? Would they panic when they learned about the aliens? Be outraged that a whole world of life-altering technology had been withheld from them and everyone they loved? Lose their belief in the authority that had lied to them and most of the people of Earth for the better part of a century?

  Or would they feel mostly grateful for the historic opportunity to travel in a real starship instead of a craft that wasn't even designed to make it safely through the Van Allen Belts?

  Command psychologists had of course taken a long look at the would-be pioneers' possible responses. Zane and his crew had received the watered-down analysis and its nutshell summary: the overwhelming majority of volunteers would go through a period of shock and then come aroun
d. Those few who didn't would receive plenty of therapy, followed by incarceration and even elimination if they posed a threat to the mission.

  Both Proxima Beta and Mars had their own governing bodies – including a governor, police force, and a judiciary. But on the ships, Zane was in command. If someone didn't fall in line, dealing with them was his call. He didn't believe that would come down to "eliminating" anybody, especially with these wide-eyed adventurers, but that wasn't impossible. If it came to that, would he be willing and able to make that call?

  As if they didn't have enough to worry about with the Sino-Russian space fleet deployment. No one was certain what they were up to, but that it would happen now, when the USSC was embarking on an historic drive to populate other worlds, stretched coincidence well past the breaking point for Zane.

  On the holoimage, NASA Administrator Cullens concluded his speech by urging the youthful colonists to "go boldly forth, carrying the torch of humanity to the stars!" The passengers cheered and applauded as if their lives depended on it.

  Admiral Sanchez made a gesture and the images ceased.

  "Quite inspiring," he said with a slim smile. "Those are your charges, ladies and gentlemen. It will fall on your sturdy shoulders to keep them safe and, if need be, keep them in line. There will be one hundred and fifty of you and nearly one thousand of them – minus a few of our own USSC volunteers lurking within their ranks. Do not underestimate the challenge of managing that many civilians. Yes, they did sign away their rights to a point and agreed to follow our rules, but bear in mind – with the few aforementioned exceptions – these are not military personnel. They are not accustomed to taking orders or operating in a strictly disciplined environment. My advice is to go easy on them at first, but to tighten the reins steadily as you go. I'm sure Major Kinsley" – he paused to give Horse a droll smile – "will appreciate the metaphor."

  Muted laughter followed. Horse responded with a dry nod.

  "That's it, then," said the Admiral. "I commend you to the capable hands of Colonel Hurtle and our other fine officers for your final briefing. Good luck and Godspeed."

  Zane and Patricia headed over to Hurtle's table, along with Mallory, Horace, Adele, Andrea, Dana, Dan, and several other officers. Mallory would be commanding the Cheyenne, and Horse the resuscitated Journeyer, leaving Zane and Patricia as number one and two on the John Glenn. Major Gillian Slayton, previously slated to command the Journeyer, would now serve as second in command under Horace. An attractive, no-nonsense woman in her early forties – awarded an Air Force Cross medal as a pilot in the Iran Conflict – Major Slayton was a force to be reckoned with. Her tightlipped, cool-eyed expression suggested she wasn't overly thrilled with her demotion. Zane could see some serious sparks flying between her and Horace in the upcoming voyage – and not of the romantic kind. Though with Horse involved, Zane reflected, one never knew.

  "So here we are again," Colonel Hurtle greeted them, shutting off his tablet with an air of regret. Zane glimpsed an NBA game in progress before the screen went blank. "I trust you all have had an enjoyable vacation and are eager to get back to work?" He smirked at Horace. "Or should I say back in the saddle?"

  Horse's smile was even thinner than the Colonel's.

  "First order of business once you've locked and loaded your ships is to keep the docking area clear two thousand klicks out on all sides," Hurtle continued. "Right now the Chinese and Russians are staying back one thousand klicks, with the Ardent riding shotgun near the JG, but by launch time tomorrow Command wants them pushed back another thousand."

  "Any new news about what they're up to?" Zane asked.

  "Not that I'm privy to."

  "They obviously know what we're doing," said Mallory. "They're just letting us know that they know."

  "I'm inclined to agree." Hurtle shrugged his thick shoulders. "Whatever the case, keep the area clear until the three loading sessions are complete. Then you'll be on your merry way. You'll take your sweet time in getting there – arrival at Mars is scheduled for three weeks. Time to settle in, get the lay of the land, work out the kinks."

  "Now you're talking my language," said Mallory with a broad grin. "Do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight..." He swiveled his hips with mock sensuality.

  "Thank you so much for putting that song in my head," Andrea groaned. "Now I'm going to have to spend the next five years in therapy getting it out."

  "Glad to be of service," Mallory laughed.

  "Captain Mallory, despite his crude ways, has the right idea," said Colonel Hurtle. "But a word of caution. While there will be no formal constraints on fraternizing between officers and the colonists, bear in mind that your primary duty is their protection and well-being. While I'm no authority on relationships and the softer sex – something my wife reminds me of on a daily basis – even I can see the dangers of letting your love life come between you and your duty. But you'll learn more about that in your Mission Statement and Summary."

  Colonel Hurtle slapped the table as if to close that subject with prejudice. Glancing at Patricia, Zane felt a small relief that he'd be spared the "arduous labors of ardor," as his dad sometimes called it. Not only spared the song and dance of wooing someone, but also the struggles involved in forging a new relationship.

  Patricia was perfect in that way. Too rational for drama, too devoted to him for any conflict. She cooked for him from her near-infinite cookbook recipes, made love to him at any time and in any way he wanted. She was a fantasy come to life, yet sometimes he missed arguing – was even crazy enough to look back longingly on a few fights with Valerie that had ended with sizzling sex. He remembered how he'd ached for her to accept him.

  Patricia accepted him unconditionally. Her love – if it truly was love in the human sense – was a constant. No matter what he said or did, she had only a smile and affection for him. He couldn't seem to make her angry. If he acted like an asshole, she just laughed it off. If he didn't feel like talking to her, she gave him his space without a complaint. She might've been a Stepford wife, except she definitely had her own opinions and no shyness about expressing them. But when he argued with her she stayed unwaveringly reasonable and affectionate, calmly stating her position and listening to him in respectful silence. She was the girlfriend from heaven. Yet sometimes he remembered what Mark Twain's Huck Finn – a childhood favorite of his – said about heaven. He couldn't remember the quote, but the gist was that heaven's perfection tended to be boring.

  Zane felt a little guilty about that thought, but then he had little doubt Patricia would cheerfully forgive him if he told her about it.

  She sidled up against him now as Colonel Hurtle outlined some of the mission specifics. Several eyebrows shot up – Mallory's the highest. Zane considered creating some distance between them, but then thought fuck it. They had to learn the truth sometime. Both Hurtle and his old mentor were smiling as if their union was old news. Maybe it was just instinct with Horse, but he suspected Hurtle knew because Zane was under 24-hour surveillance. He just hoped they didn't have a mic in his bedroom. Or on the beach that day with Valerie for that matter.

  After Hurtle finished with them the group broke up. Mallory and Horse tagged along with Zane and Patricia on their way to the drinks and hors-d'oeuvres' tables. A departure feast was being set up in the adjoining multi-purpose room.

  "You've been holding out on your old pal," said Mallory, snatching a bottle of beer from the table and raising it in a grinning toast. "When did you two get down and dirty?"

  Patricia wrapped an arm around Zane's waist and beamed up at the Marine. "In my mind, from the first moment I woke up in a human body."

  Horse laughed. "A breach in the hull and you're in a vacuum dying. Doesn't get much more romantic than that."

  Zane smiled gamely, but what was going on between him and Patricia was not something he wanted to crack macho jokes about or discuss with David or Horse or even his dad. This was something he wanted to talk about with someone like, well
...Keira.

  Then the room dimmed to a sedate shade of red, pulsing in rhythm to a humming sound pitched just short of eardrum-bursting.

  "Sorry to interrupt the festivities," Colonel Hurtle's voice carried over the room's speakers, "but we have a situation. Chinese and Russian space fighters have just crossed into our one thousand kilometer no-fly zone around the John Glenn."

  "Are they targeting it?" Mallory shouted.

  "Don't know. You'll be briefed on the way up. Afraid you'll have to take a rain check on the feast. I'll try to save some for you."

  Everyone headed toward the south exit. Getting off the ground in an emergency was a well-practiced drill. All of them could do it in their sleep.

  "So much for the Love Ship," Horace grumbled as they started into a jog.

  Patricia smiled at Zane, taking his hand for a moment in mid-stride before releasing him. Apprehension rolled through him, but so did relief. He was back to doing what he was trained to do – his life defined by the simple imperative to reach a fighter ship and fly toward the stars.

  If they lived through the next hour, he thought, this could be an interesting next six years.

  * * *

  [BC1]?! Should be at least some kind of nod to Star Trek!

  [BC2]Seems a bit abrupt?