Pillar to the Sky (45 page)

Again settling back. What the hell, he had the finest view ever offered to an inhabitant of earth. He wondered just how many billions over the course of history had looked heavenward and would have gladly offered their lives just for a few minutes of the view he now had, especially when facing what he now faced. Far better than the ceiling and fluorescent lights of some damn hospital emergency room with a bunch of strangers staring down at him, he realized with a smile.

No longer locked to one place, and due to the vagaries of the lower part of the tower as it broke apart, he even caught a flash of what he assumed was part of it burning up on entering the atmosphere. He actually found himself feeling light, even free, though the sight of parts of his tower burning up was painful.

He was, of course, weightless, though confined by his EVA suit. Such a wonderful sense of freedom … He spent nearly a quarter of an hour talking with his friend Dr. Bock about the potentials of space for medical treatment in the near future, as a destination for those who were paralyzed or suffering from a debilitating disease who, in lower-gravity environments, could regain the freedom of movement of a child. The hours he had spent playfully somersaulting the length of the station while Kevin, imitating Superman, just glided back and forth, were times of joy and forgetfulness, even if after enjoying the antics one was then condemned to agonizing hours on the exercise machines to keep in tone.

And then word finally came up from Franklin.

“Gary, Eva has just come in with Victoria. I’m clearing the room so you three can talk. Our friends with NASA assure us the comm line is absolutely private, and I am leaving the room as well.”

“Thanks, my good friend.”

“Gary?”

The image of Franklin filled the screen, and he could see the tears.

“What, Franklin?”

A pause.

“Thanks.”

Gary smiled.

“And thanks to you, even now. Thanks, you dear friend. Now keep the dream alive.”

“Give my best to Erich when you see him,” Franklin whispered, and turned away.

A moment later Eva and Victoria filled the screen. He smiled gently, telling them to not cry, and for more than an hour they spoke. At times he asked for Victoria to leave the room so that he and his wife could share a private memory, and then he asked Eva to leave the room so he could offer Victoria some fatherly advice and reassurances.

And then he knew they were dragging it out, that they did not want to let go, that somehow if they kept talking, what was to come would never happen. But in life—everyone’s life, he told them—such a moment does come, and they should consider it a blessing that they had been given the time to share just how much they really loved each other.

“Victoria?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Remember what I said about being afraid?”

She nodded, trying not to sob.

“Don’t be afraid unless I see you’re afraid,” she whispered.

He smiled again.

“I’m not afraid, angel. Now do me a favor.”

“Anything, Daddy.”

“Work with your mother and get this job done. My love will be with you always.”

Before they could see his own tears, he switched the private comm link off, but then switched on the open link—audio only, no video.

He had already depressurized the pod; opening the hatch was easy enough. He bent double, the Parkinson’s making it difficult to control movement, but he felt no frustration that it took a few extra seconds. And then he pushed free of the pod.

His suit had a small, built-in thruster-control backpack, only a few pounds of propellant, but enough to turn him about so he was looking straight down at earth.

Such a magnificent view, a magnificent world.

“Earth is the cradle, but we cannot remain in the cradle forever. It is time now to reach for the stars,” he whispered, knowing that the world below was listening. “My God, it is such a heavenly view.”

Then he unlatched the faceplate to his helmet and raised it.

And it was indeed a heavenly view.

20

Fourteen months had passed since the death of Gary Morgan, the collapse of the tower, the near collapse of Franklin Smith’s financial conglomerate, and all was now coming to a head … at last.

Like the harmonic waves that had set the stage for the disaster, harmonic waves of public opinion, debate, point, and counterpoint had swept the entire world.

As for who had actually launched the two missiles, at least in the realm of public media that was still declared to be a mystery. There were rumors aplenty and more than a few books out on what was called the “mystery of the century.” The focus was on the oil interests in the Middle East and there was evidence that quite a few billion had certainly flowed through various accounts in an unexplained manner to North Korea. At times a good accountant can be almost as dangerous as a commando.

Fragments of the first stage of one of the missiles had been recovered by a deep-diving submersible. The design was Russian, which triggered hot, even threatening denials, with the Russians pointing out that such systems had been built in China as well and that the few identification markers were forgeries; the Chinese responded with equally angry denials. Shortly thereafter, a mysterious explosion in a submarine pen in North Korea destroyed two of their submarines. This caused a new flurry of speculation, with Western sources just shrugging and saying someone over there must have screwed up, while North Korea claimed sabotage. But then, after the usual bellicose rhetoric from that tragic nation ruled by insanity, there had been no further military response to what was apparently a brilliantly engineered strike by forces unknown, at least publicly.

In terms of a potential war, the situation cooled down rapidly, almost too rapidly for more than a few who wondered if there was a deep conspiracy to take out a revolutionary new technology that most definitely would have global economic impacts. As with all such impacts, there would be winners and also some major losers.

There had been other changes in the wind. The moribund issue of the future of NASA had taken a decided upswing in the recent presidential election when one of the two candidates had forcefully declared that she felt it was time to resume the dream of Jack Kennedy and reach for the stars. This time, not as a race against a former foe but as a broader mission for all mankind, to open a pathway to the heavens that any with peaceful intent could use, as well as to seek a source of limitless energy that could transform the world of the twenty-first century.

It was a unique welding of two constituencies that traditionally had been at odds, with those who were “green” and saw global warming as a top priority finding common ground with those who saw high technology, especially space-based technology, as the path to the future. There had even been a super PAC ad of a beloved but aged star of one of the most popular sci-fi series in history standing side by side with one of the remaining Apollo heroes, challenging voters to support the pro-space candidate and thus “boldly go where no one has gone before.”

For a wide variety of reasons she had won the election, and those who had been frustrated supporters of NASA for so many years again felt some hope for the future.

But there was a countercurrent as well: those who supported Garlin. She had actually made a bid for elected office as a congresswomen and gained a seat, then pushed for a position on the committee that oversaw the NASA budget in the house. She became one of the agency’s fiercest critics. Garlin appealed to all those who believed that the problems of earth had been created on earth, and until such problems were solved, it was all but obscene to carry such problems to other worlds.

A private venture to reach Mars had been launched with great fanfare, and had actually succeeded in touching down with ten on board, five couples who were to establish the first permanent base on that planet. It had been a one-way trip, their ship named
Mayflower One.
It was a wild venture and ended in disaster. Only one was still alive, but would not be for much longer. Plans for hydroponic food raising, and the conversion of subsurface water to oxygen and even fuel, had not worked as planned. The European firm that had sent them up continued to praise their spirit of discovery—which it indeed was—pointing out they had all been volunteers … But the firm was already bankrupt, and a rescue mission costing tens of billions of dollars to save the last survivor, who would most likely perish before help arrived, had long since been abandoned. The daily broadcasts from this dying “Martian,” unlike Gary’s, were profoundly bitter and now distinctly anti-exploration; he asserted that Mars was useless for humanity other than as a fantasy to waste huge amounts of money on that would merely be scooped up by a cynical few back on earth while the idealists they sent out died.

A sick reality show had even been built around the experience and had millions of followers. There was something perverse about watching a person slowly die, although Gary Morgan’s final hours, by contrast, had been marked by quiet dignity, and the utter refusal of his wife and daughter to make a single comment about his passing had drawn universal admiration and respect … and woe to the reporter who tried to seek an “exclusive” with millions in hand. More than one got the same treatment as the heartless fool who had tried to corner Victoria as she set off from Purdue to Kiribati on the day her father died.

As for Franklin’s venture, Pillar Inc. tottered on bankruptcy. No one was willing now to venture the many billions necessary to continue the project. There had been speculation about sending another strand down from geosynch, first using the nearly 14,000 miles or more of wire already in place, which the space-based crew had carefully reeled back in, and then building from there. But there was no longer financial backing for it.

The fate of the three astronauts—or “Pillar Builders,” as someone had tagged them—had drawn global interest as well. It was assumed in the days after the disaster that they would simply board their descent capsule, depart the station, and return home, and that the entire project would be abandoned.

Their reaction had been the exact opposite, and when Franklin, in a despondent moment, had ordered them to return to earth, it was fortunate that the conversation was on the private secured link that NASA had kept open for him. Singh and Philips’s “Hell no!” had been relatively polite compared to Malady’s far more graphic response.

Gary had been right when it came to which of them would be of far greater service after the disaster, and his words seemed to act as a goad for Kevin Malady, who in the ensuing months raked up more EVA time than nearly every other astronaut combined since the start of space exploration. Though each venture was fraught with the potential of death, he made it almost look easy, like a “roustabout” of a century or more ago, manhandling empty reels into place, spinning up their deployment motors in reverse to crank up the “wire,” then anchoring them to the first deployed stretch of ribbon extending a dozen kilometers out from the station.

Dr. Bock had more than one private consultation with the crew on their exposure to radiation, which exceeded any other man’s six times over; Kevin’s response was that, given the close but decidedly professional relationship with the “two ladies” on board, he had abandoned any thoughts as to the possible long-term effects.

The idea of a crew transfer had been abandoned at their insistence as well, and besides the money to send a transfer crew aloft had dried up. There was just enough still in the bank to fund the resupply missions to the three, but nothing beyond that. They soon clocked and then far exceeded a year in space. As Jenna put it: “Gravity sucks; we prefer it up here.” Much better to send up supplies and, in an act of supreme optimism, that they should loft up the ribbon and a newly designed pod instead, given the cost of nearly a billion dollars a launch.

Franklin finally agreed, and more than a few in the media went straight at him then, claiming that he was putting some mad dream of actually trying to build a second tower ahead of the safety of the three still up there. The entire concept was dead anyhow.

Singh, with Philips and Malady floating by her side, had killed that argument in a most memorable broadcast back down to earth. In no uncertain terms she read the riot act to all of humanity that the decision was theirs, not Franklin’s or anyone else’s. They were volunteers, and in the tradition of volunteers they had elected to stay and decide their own fates, in the same way Gary Morgan had volunteered for his fate, knowing the odds better than any of them. That the three of them were leading the project from above meant it was not over yet, and they would be damned if they would follow what anyone told them to do from the ground.

Then Kevin spoke, starting off with a classic New York “Now listen, youse guys, I got somethin’ to say about my own life and what I’m gonna do with it!” There was a pause as he looked off screen to Singh, who was whispering some sort of warning to keep his language G-rated … and then emotion hit hard when he said, “Gary went instead of me. I loved that guy as I would my own father. He had guts and I’ll be…” He paused, his words carrying such power because such a tough-looking guy had tears in his eyes, his voice near to breaking … “I’ll be damned if I back off now from what I know is right. We’re up here to stay, so all you down there, get some guts as well and make a future for your kids…”

Jenna, with her distinct North Carolina accent, threw in that her ancestors had settled the mountains of her native state, knowing the odds, and as Americans had fought to defend what they believed in, in revolution and civil war; that she had Cherokee heritage as well from her home state and believed the spirits of her ancestors were with her and she was following their tradition, and any who tried to tell her different—Her features darkened and she fell silent, closing with “My parents taught me never to say what I want to say to some of you right now trying to tell us what to do with our own lives and this project we believe in” before she signed off.