The Veil (16 page)

“Interlocks to safe,” she announces. “Rapid purge.”

Launch bay airlocks close around the Mombasa, sealing if off from the rest of the garage, the air around it sucked out in a matter of seconds.

“Opening outer bay doors.”

The launch gantry extends out to blue glow of the Earth, ready to slide the Mombasa into its detach position.

“Releasing docking clamps.”

The launch gantry takes hold of the Mombasa, pushing it down along its rails—
to a juddering halt
. The Mombasa has only partly exited the garage.

“Christ. What now?”

“The launch clamps have not fully released,” observes Lucy. “The garage still has us. We cannot launch and we cannot return.”

* * *

Landelle is quick to find an unrepentant Blake.

“They must not be allowed to return to Earth!” Blake shouts out to all. “Don’t you see? It’s a trick! A Trojan horse!”

“You’re
insane
,” Landelle says, desperately turning her attention to the Pegasus feed up on the big board.

“Docking in ten,” Panchen says.

“We’ll have to release the clamps manually,” Bebbington says. “And allow the launch to complete. It’s their only way out now.”

“It’s
over
,” Blake shouts up at the big board. “They won’t be able to get far enough away before the reactor blows. Save yourselves!”

Landelle’s on him, ready to beat the living—

“You’re going to drop a radioactive wreck right across Europe!” she screams at him. “Thousands will die.”

“It’ll be
worth it—
”

The swipe of her balled fist is caught by one of the MPs.

“I think there’s a way a way to delay the self-destruct,” says Panchen, all heads turning her way. “No use before, but if we
can
get on board…The protocol only overrides the start of the plasma injection sequence. Manual ignition of the Star Light drive and full thrust. That’ll keep the reactor in operational limits until the propellant is exhausted. But we will still need to get the Mombasa away.”

“Manual ignition can only be done from the flight deck,” counters Bebbington. “The Mombasa must be released first—she can’t launch under full thrust.”

* * *

The Pegasus was specifically designed to be the Afrika’s Earth transit vehicle and as such has a dedicated airlock forward of the garage, designed to allow the space plane to dock without obstructing garage operations. Blake had been careful to disable it.

Bebbington checks the seals on Toor’s slim-fit body-form suit, a couple of raps on her helmet signaling she’s good to go. The Pegasus’s docking airlock is topside, and Panchen has them sliding along under the Afrika. Through the docking view port they can see the Mombasa’s belly pass overhead, trapped in the garage.

A rapid sequence of thrusters matches the Pegasus with the Afrika.

“That’s our song,” says Bebbington.

Toor hauls herself into the airlock, Bebbington closing the hatch after her. With time running out, Toor initiates an emergency purge. Five seconds and she has the outer hatch open. Panchen has parked them right under the Afrika’s docking station—a wide cylindrical stub protruding out of the hull by five meters. To dock the Pegasus automatically its guidance systems must be active, but Blake’s actions have denied them that—and with the garage launch gantry deployed, pilot docking is too risky. Toor will need to spacewalk across the gap and board the Afrika manually.

The Pegasus’s outer airlock hatch is recessed into its upper hull—in flight it is covered by a retractable cowling, but now it provides a means by which Toor can traverse the void. With the outer hatch closed she attaches a lengthy tether to one of the grips around the inner lip of the recess, grabs two more either side of her and plants her feet against the hatch.

Crouch, push, release. Toor is away with a
grunt
, her aim good enough.

A few moments of blissful serenity pass by all too quickly.

Too much thrust—she hits the Afrika hard, scrabbling to get a hand hold, a successful grab whipping her body around to slam it against the top side of the docking station. A moment to calm herself and she reorients to find the airlock control panel.

A recessed handle, which she pulls outward.

The outer hatch unlocks, sliding open to reveal a cavernous, brightly lit chamber within.

Floating inside and tether discarded she pulls down on a large red lever—emergency pressurization closing the outer hatch and flooding the chamber with air. The turbulence is enough to tumble her in the zero gee. Ten seconds and she is safe—
as safe as you can be onboard a giant bomb
.

“Main airlock secure. Opening inner hatch.”

“Copy that,” Panchen says “Reactor at eighty-three percent.”

A vestibule and beyond that the Afrika’s main corridor. Toor finds the moment to be somewhat surreal, hardly able to believe where she is. She pulls herself forward.

“Heading to the garage.”

The airlock is nearer the flight deck than the garage, but she needs to get to the garage first—and no time to sight-see.

It’s hard work pulling herself along in a spacesuit—even a cutting-edge body-form one like hers, designed for flexible movement. Her breathing becomes increasingly labored.

“Pace yourself,” Bebbington calls out over the radio. “Is your visor closed?”

“Oh, yeah.” She pauses to open her helmet’s face plate, adjusting to the Afrika’s atmosphere. She’s just outside Lucy’s room, the entrance to the garage a short distance away.

The Mombasa is clearly visible through the bay observation widows, sunk down in its partial release position. Toor can see Robert and Lucy—and they can see her. But this is not the time for sentimentality. She needs to locate the manual release.
Should be in a recess right about—

“Okay. Have found the release mechanism.”

A long bar with a grip at one end, resting in a groove cut into the garage deck forward of the launch bay.

“Pull it through one hundred eighty degrees.”

A good grip and a yank get the lever out of the groove and through eighty degrees, only to stick fast. Toor straddles it so as to dig her boot heel into the recess. Another forty degrees or so, but no amount of tugging and shoving gets it any further.

“Who the hell designed
this
?”

“He’s sitting ten yards away.”

Toor grunts out one more shove—she just can’t get the grip she needs in the zero gee.

“
Aaargh!
” and a really good kick to underscore her frustration.

All Robert has for her is a pair of shrugged shoulders.

Catching her breath she releases her helmet, tossing it to one side.

It bounces off the deck.

An idea.

Using the lever to steady herself, she pushes off the deck to float to the ceiling above. The garage overhead rail system provides good anchorage, allowing her to position herself directly over the lever. Elbows bent, really good push.

Her boots slam down on the side of the inclined lever. It’s enough to put it down into the recess with a satisfying
clunk
from the release mechanism, but sends her flying at the same time.

* * *

The garage and a flailing Toor slide
up
as the Mombasa slides
down
the launch gantry, to be caught by latches, readying it to detach. Ahead of them is the Pegasus.

“Secondary release,” Lucy says.

The Mombasa floats free of the gantry, the latches giving it just enough of a shove to achieve the separation.

“Push us out one hundred meters,” Robert says quietly, “and take us forward of the Pegasus by five hundred.”

Lucy gives the maneuvering thrusters a couple of taps to start them gently on their way.

“We’re approaching the terminator,” she says.

“What?”

“Earth’s night side—”

“I know what the terminator is,” he says. But his mind is elsewhere, lost in some train of thought.

“Robert? What is it?”

“Doesn’t this strike you as all a bit odd, Lucy?”

“Senator Blake trying to kill us both? No, not really.”

“I smell a rat. Something’s not right…Lucy, I want you to remember something for me.”

“What do you want me to remember?”

“Our time at the house. Inside the dome.”

“What about it—?”

“Did you see any dates? A calendar, a clock…anything.”

Lucy ponders the request, her face expressing how odd she finds it to be.

“There was a calendar in your study. It showed the month of July, but no year. Why do you want to know that?”

“Something Ramani said to me.”

“Why would there be no year? I could work out—”

“Because it isn’t just one year, Lucy. It’s many years. A decade in fact. The decade they built. The house, the car. New York City. All of it…except the tower.”

“Is there something special about that time?”

“Yes…there is….”

“What?”

“It’s not over,” he muses to himself, before turning to look wide eyed at her. “
It’s not over.
”

* * *

A few bounces and Toor steadies herself.

“The reactor’s at criticality,” Panchen calls out.

Toor swings herself round, launching her body at the main corridor. The flight deck is at the far end—she might as well be a mile away. No time to go from grip to grip. She sails straight into the corridor, boosting herself along it with anything she can shove off.

* * *

Caught in the moment the Pegasus crew had not noticed the Veil feed change—Panchen had thrown her entire flight console over to telemetry parking the space plane, and Bebbington was glued to what he could see through the airlock view port and the back channel video feeds from the Afrika.

The Veil was with Toor, relaying her every action as she boarded the Afrika and sought to release the Mombasa from its grip. And a transfixed mission control didn’t think to mention it to the Pegasus—they’d surely seen it for themselves.

It wasn’t the only thing they’d missed.

“Everybody!” Montroy shouts. “You need to take a look at this.”

It’s a rolling news channel up on the far side of the big board, the audio muted.

They don’t need the sound. The images and captions say it all. Right across the North American continent there is some kind of exodus from towns and cities in the middle of the night. Traffic tailing for miles, hundreds—maybe thousands—on foot. People heading in all sorts of directions.

“Christ…what’s happening?” Landelle says.

Chief Justice Garr is back at her side, the White House seemingly placated with what now looks to Garr to be short-lived reassurances.

“Oh no—”

“Panic is setting in,” Blake shouts. “They’re fleeing the cities.”

* * *

Robert tumbles down the rabbit hole, his mind threaded with a myriad of thoughts.

“
What
isn’t over?” Lucy demands.

“The empathy test.”

“What do you mean?”

“It might have only just started.”

“Robert, I don’t understand—”

“They peered into my soul, Lucy,” Robert says, unable to look her in the eyes. “They found the one button worth pushing, and…pushed it. That
time
…was the last when I was truly free. When life away from the world meant something more than an escape. When I knew who I was. When I was
happy
.”

“I still don’t see—”

“It’s my reward, Lucy. The treat at the end of the experiment.”

“What’s my treat?”

“Time, I think, to change the parameters of this tedious exercise.”

* * *

Amidst deafening klaxons Toor hauls herself over the crew seats to the flight deck’s central console. The lower section houses a nondescript panel held in place by safety latches either side, which she releases to reveal the manual flight system—being not actually manual, but a fully independent means to engage the Star Light drive for testing purposes. Isolated from the rest of the ship’s systems, it is a simple affair comprising two grab handles either side of—

“Zoe! Have you got the thrust vectors for the flight computer?”

“We’re out of time, Sharanjit. You must fire the drive
now
.”

Toor places her boots either side of the console, crouching down to get a firm grip on the two handles. A twist inward on each unlocks the system, sounding yet another klaxon.

Reverse brace and one good shove inward.

The flight computer acknowledges the request—
plasma injection sequence commencing
. There’s enough automation in the drive itself to keeps things orderly, taking only a moment—