Wormholes (32 page)

“Your son will be all right,” she said quietly. “He’ll come back to you.”

“W
e’ve got an anomalous magnetosphere!” Gerald listened for a reply, but there was only static. He repeated the radio message, more urgency in his voice. Still nothing. His breathing was more rapid now, the shivering worse in the enemy cold of space. He pressed three buttons, to check the hole’s heading and speed on the computer screen.

He uttered an epithet through chattering teeth. The data showed that the hole was careening wildly through space on the other side, jerked about convulsively by the vicious magnetic storms spawned by the anti-hole. The screen revealed it veering off wildly in one direction caught in an invisible magnetic vortex, then skewing suddenly away in another. How strange, thought Gerald, to watch such vicious turbulence in his universe, while floating so quietly in this one.

“We knew we wouldn’t be able to communicate,” said Gaston, floating beside him in the enveloping gloom, the glow from the screens reflecting off his faceplate. “We can handle this,” he said through chattering teeth.

“We’ve got to. We’ve got to figure something out. We’ve got to. Maybe if we had access to the ground computers.”

“You’re sure this’ll continue, that the hole won’t hold course?”

“Yes, we figured …” He stopped to work the joystick to battle the effect of another magnetic burst … “that there’d be some variation in the earth’s fields. But not this … not this much. I thought we could just set the hole on a course toward the anti-hole and bail out. But not now. Not now.”

Silence was their shadowy companion for a long moment. Again, Gerald reacted quickly to move one of the joysticks, bringing the errant hole back on course. The video screen showed their target, the anti-hole hanging in space, a burst of blinding flame erupting away from it in a fiery expanding bubble. The explosion yielded no sound, but their minds echoed agonizingly with the horrific prospect it presented; the death of billions, the end of their planet and all its life. The anti-hole’s burst of energy also forced Gerald to a decision.

“There’s only one thing to do,” he said, reaching down with numbing fingers to tighten the straps that held him to the side of the cylinder and putting both hands on the joysticks. “Ralph, I want you to go back through. Take the lifeboat.”

“And leave you here?”

“Yes.” It was a statement weighted with finality.

“
No
,” answered Gaston. He took Gerald by the arm of his suit and turned him so that their faceplates were toward one another. They looked at each other through the thick plastic, across the several inches of icy, airless space. “You’re the one who goes.”

Gerald shook his head. “This is my responsibility. This is my—”

“You’re a logical man, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and it’s logical that I stay. I know this system better than you.”

“Gerald, I’ve got maybe a year left.” He let the statement sink in. “You’ve got a lifetime. And you’ve got to help cope with whatever these things do next. You know that.”

Gerald twisted his body away, back to the control panel. He grabbed the joystick again as the hole deflected violently off course. “I’m staying. That’s it. I’ve got to make sure the collision happens.”

“You know I can do that. And Gerald, there’s another important thing, too.”

“What?”

“You’ve got Dacey. You can’t leave her.”

“She’s strong. She’ll be fine.” But the thought of abandoning Dacey left him as empty as the space around them.

“Besides, I’m going to stay here in any case.” Gaston reached down and cinched his own harness tighter. “And there’s nothing you can do about that. So, no use this costing two lives. How about that for a logical reason for you to go?”

Gerald twisted back around toward Gaston. He stared hard at him, reading his pale face, memorizing the features. After a long moment, he unsnapped his harness with cold-stiffened fingers and floated free, reaching out to Gaston and putting his arms around him and embracing him. The damned suit, he thought. To leave a man to die alone and isolated in a suit, not able to feel anything.

“Ralph, I will never forget you. I …” But he couldn’t finish.

“Go on. Now.”

Gerald waited for a long time, desperate to figure a way for them both to be safe. He could not. He simply could not. Finally, he pulled himself away over the surface of the shell, which now was soft because of the vacuum on both sides. He grabbed the tether attached to the lifeboat and pulled it over to the hatch. He unfastened the hatch, opening a large circular hole in the side of the shell. A hellish red-orange glow greeted him. It was the anti-hole streaming its infernal energy into the silent vacuum. But with it came warmth and he could feel the temperature rise in his suit. He was grateful. He would need all the dexterity he could muster for the next steps.

He turned back to Gaston. They both raised their hands in a silent gesture of goodbye. Tears floated away from Gerald’s face.

Gerald unsnapped the lifeboat from its tether and guided it carefully through the hatch and through the hole. With a precise shove of his booted foot he followed it through, avoiding the edge, and back into his universe.

The anti-hole cast a baleful glow across the darkness, washing out the stars and moon. When he turned, he could see the small, beautiful Earth that was its target. Like a bubble in a gale, the hole sped away on a jagged course, Gaston guiding it unerringly toward the anti-hole.

Gerald realized he had only seconds. He pulled himself quickly along the length of the cylinder, finding the hatch and unfastening its latches. He slipped inside and closed it behind him, grunting as he slammed down the latches as tight as he could. The warmth. The blessed warmth. Feeling began to return to his hands and feet.

He strapped himself into one of two webbed cocoons in the craft, pausing to contemplate the tragic meaning of the empty one. He flipped the switches that brought a flood of oxygen into the lifeboat and when the meters told him the interior was pressurized, unlatched his helmet and twisted it off.

His first breath was a sob of thankfulness and regret and mourning for his friend. He almost put his helmet on and went back, but he remembered the logic. He remembered the cold, efficient equation that told him it would be useless. He found the engine control panel and clicked on the guidance system, hearing its gyroscope hum to life. He took a deep breath of the cool, clean air with the tang of warming electronics and pressed the firing button. A breathy roar filled the capsule and he felt the kick of acceleration. He donned the capsule’s headphones and switched on the radio, wondering how he would tell the Earth that only one person was returning. But static filled his ears. The massive energy flux from the anti-hole overwhelmed any transmissions. There would be time later, after the anti-hole was gone.

He lay there, suspended in the cocoon, waiting. As the roar continued unabated, he wondered: Was this a lifeboat? Or was it a coffin?

• • •

Ralph Gaston floated alone, the only human in this immense, silent universe. He had known loneliness before and he had coped with it. He would cope with this loneliness in the time he had left. He checked the air gauge on his wrist. He had forty-five minutes of air. He smiled at the useless gesture. It was a good joke; one that Jimmy Cameron would appreciate. He thought of Jimmy and of Wayne, and of his parents, and of his sister. And he thought of all his friends and the good things he had done and the foolish things. This would be a good thing.

He turned back to the control panel. The monster was close now, burning and fierce. How ironic that its growing, welcome heat radiating through the shell also heralded his death.

Time to meet it. He pressed the buttons increasing the magnetic fields to their maximum. He reached down, took a last breath and pushed the joystick as far forward as it would go.

And the shimmering bubble reacted instantly, sweeping like a bright, silent comet into the alien throat. For an instant came a burning, consuming strangeness that caused a sensation beyond pain. Then nothing.

• • •

The masses of people standing in the darkness of Earth’s night, watching the sky with desperate hope, saw an ethereal swirling light suddenly erupt from the demon. Undulating, luminous wings spread out from its hellish center to embrace the night sky. The wings seemed to fold upon themselves, enwrapping the violence, dragging it away. Then all collapsed suddenly into blackness, leaving the constant, bright moon and the shimmering stars. On earth, a precious darkness descended.

If answered prayers created light, that night the thankful planet would have been flooded with radiance of a thousand suns.

• • •

Now, the Soyuz space capsule rests on the 321-foot rocket pointed at the cloudy night sky, its frosted external tanks burdened with millions of pounds of liquid oxygen. The rocket’s solid-fuel boosters wait silently, ready for the electric flash that will ignite them like immense skyrockets. Millions of computer instructions course through the ship’s labyrinth of wiring, as the five computers coordinate the massive machine. The streams of data mark a steady progression toward its launch on a vapor-shrouded mountain of orange-red flame.

The one crewman settles into his seat, strapping himself in, lying on his back, methodically going over final checklists with launch control. He anticipates a glorious launch, a gratifying mission. He will capture the small white cylinder speeding toward earth, carrying history’s two greatest heroes. The men had rescued the entire planet, and this spacecraft will have the honor of bringing them home.

Preparations for the flight have been meticulous as usual, and the prospect of the rescue adds a certain excited tension. But the time line is comfortable. The two men in the lifeboat have twelve hours of oxygen. Launch will take place in ten minutes, then fifteen minutes to orbit, two hours to rendezvous and another thirty minutes to attach the lifeboat to the spacecraft hatch and bring the men in. Then the heroes will return safely to a celebrating world.

Five minutes to launch. The pilot carefully checks and then rechecks the myriad of softly glowing lights, dials and buttons surrounding them in the small capsule. He calls up data on the three small glowing screens between them. The pilot checks the squat, black joystick between his knees that controls the maneuvering engines, and the square black knob on the instrument panel that governs the small reaction control jets that will bring him inch-by-inch to meet the lifeboat. All is well.

Nine minutes
. The Baikonaur launch control computer assumes command, running final light-speed checks of the immense system. The computers all work in precise nanosecond-by-nanosecond synchrony. They agree that the thousands of valves, relays and microswitches are operating optimally, and that the Soyuz is ready.

Three minutes
. The pilot stows his ring-bound notebooks and readies himself for the bone-tingling roar and the thundering ride into space.

Thirty seconds
. The massive pumps whine to spinning life, sending a cascade of liquid oxygen toward the main engines.

Seven seconds
. Thousands of gallons of the cryogenic liquid courses into the combustion chamber. It meets the liquid fuel and ignites. The gargantuan craft, flame erupting from its giant nozzles, shudders in anticipation of vaulting from the Earth.

Three seconds
. A sliver of metal shears off a turbine blade deep within a pump and slams into a fist-sized valve buried inside the booster’s jungle of machinery. At first it clogs the opening, but an instant later it escapes to slash a hole in a fuel line.

The ground-control computer reacts instantly, shutting down the valve, halting the launch.

A flurry of frantic communication takes place between the crew and ground controllers. The ground controllers tell the engineers. The engineers tell the managers. Then, the managers tell the hopeful world of the damage and its tragic consequences.

The fuel tanks must be emptied of their explosive fuel; the giant spacecraft returned to the Baikonaur complex hangar; the intertwined tangle of machinery disassembled to reach the damaged pump and the torn fuel line, and replace it.

The world learns to its horror that four days will pass, before the Soyuz can reach the small white cylinder, now orbiting earth, containing the two heroes. Four days until their suffocated bodies can be brought home.

“N
O!
” Dacey bellowed the word, her jaw set, her eyes gleaming with frustrated anger. “
GODDAMNIT, NO!
”

“It’s done, Dacey,” said George, gently placing his hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes darted accusingly around the briefing room, taking in the crowd of Deus engineers, the long table piled with papers, the glowing computer screens, the telephones, the lists of options covering the blackboard. “No, it’s not. We will not give up.”

“Look at the list,” said Mullins, his round face pale and somber. “No other spacecraft up there. No way to get the space station into position. No way to resupply with an unmanned rocket. No way for them to reenter the atmosphere.”

“Dacey, the whole world’s trying,” said George. “Everybody wants to bring them down. They just don’t see a way. We’ve just got to prepare ourselves for the worst.”

“There’s a way! Do you remember how Gerald always found a way? Now you’ve got to find a way!
Think!
” She paced the room, turning to declare, “There’s the Chinese hole! A hole got them out there; a hole can bring them back. You already got the equipment.”

“Dacey, we’ve ruled it out,” said Mullins. “We’ve got seven hours left. It’ll take twelve just to get the equipment to China.”

“Well, then get it the hell on the airplane and get it going.”

“Then there’s the fact that the Chinese don’t give a damn who’s up there,” continued Mullins. “They won’t let their hole be used. Last time we checked, negotiations between the governments were stalled. Chinese government just ruled it out.”

“Well, then, I’ll take care of the fucking Chinese government,” growled Lambert, waving his hand at Van Alston. “Who’s the guy in charge of this Chinese hole?”

“Li Chang,” said Mullins. “He’s head of the People’s Army Nuclear Research Lab. They’ve got it.”

“Get him,” Lambert instructed Van Alston, who began punching numbers into the cell phone. “Get the ambassador to put you in direct touch.”

“But there’s the time,” said Mullins. “There’s still the time. We’ll just be bringing them back—”

“
Dead
?” asked Dacey, her voice breaking. “Well, maybe, but if we don’t try, there’s no chance. At least we’ve got a chance if we try.”

They argued on for ten minutes, when Van Alston handed the phone to Lambert. Lambert stood, staring at the group as he talked. His face assumed an intense expression.

“Doctor Chang, this is Calvin Lambert. Do you speak English? … Good. Do you have authority over your country’s wormhole? … Sure, I know there’s a chain of command. But this is between us. This is business, Doctor Chang … Fine, then.” Lambert looked over at Van Alston, signaling him with a glance that he was to carry out what would come next.

“Doctor Chang, I will give the People’s Army one billion dollars for the use of your wormhole … Yes, one billion. And the hole will be returned.” Van Alston coughed and went pale, and there was a collective gasp throughout the room.

“And Doctor Chang, there is an agent’s fee involved in this deal,” said Lambert. “If you can give immediate access, I will give you personally one hundred million dollars. Between you and me. Check with the embassy. They know me. I want your answer now. When I hang up this phone, the deal is off.” He paused, his gray eyebrows knit in concentration. Then, his expression relaxed in a faint smile. “Fine, Doctor Chang. Our equipment will arrive in twelve hours. I expect immediate assistance from your people.” He handed the phone to Van Alston who began a quiet conversation in Chinese.

“Well, that takes care of the Chinese government,” said Lambert.

• • •

“I’m going after them and that’s final,” said Dacey. She sat back in the leather chair in Lambert’s 767, but her body had remained as tense as a coiled spring since they had taken off from the Deus base three hours ago.

“Dacey, we’ve got other people with us who—” Mullins started to say, but Dacey turned away from him to Lambert, who sat next to her.

“Calvin, who would you rather have go after Gerald and Ralph? An engineer who may just bail out if something happens? Or, somebody who would give her life for your son.”

Lambert regarded her with cool calculation. He knew sincerity when he saw it. He’d seen little enough of it in his years. “All right,” Lambert said. “You’re the one. But there has to be two going out there.”

“And the second one is me,” said Mullins. “I know the system better than anybody.” He hoisted himself out of the chair and knelt beside Dacey. “We’ll do it, Dacey. We’ll do it together. I know I’ve been negative. I was just trying to be realistic. But I’ll be with you, no matter what.” He put his hand on hers and she smiled and patted it. “I’ll go call George and the others.” He rose and made his way to the office area in the front of the plane to contact the Deus base, where George and a team of physicians and engineers waited to support the mission. He would also check on the cargo plane that preceded them with the equipment.

They were still nine hours from Zhengzhou and the sprawling Chinese physics laboratory that harbored the wormhole. That would be five hours too late. They were acutely aware, as was the rest of the world, that in four hours, the lifeboat’s oxygen would be depleted. Not until a minimum of six hours too late could Dacey and Mullins capture the small craft.

The scientists had unanimously agreed that it would be wiser to wait for the Soyuz spacecraft to recover the bodies. Lambert’s advisors had told him spending more than a billion dollars was a useless investment. The President had asked the world to prepare for a time of mourning.

But Dacey would not give up. Her own utter tenacity drove her on. And she knew that Gerald possessed that same tenacity. Her instinct told her Gerald was alive and would somehow find a way to survive. She didn’t dare voice this sense of a connection with him. She would only be accused of drawing on women’s intuition.

Dacey saw that Lambert’s face was haggard. He sat hunched over, stroking his moustache and staring into space. But he was just as stubborn, never hesitating to give most of his wealth to save his son.

“Calvin, I’m risking my life, even though … he may be gone. Maybe it’s time you tell me what happened between you two. And with his mother.”

Lambert took a deep breath and looked appraisingly at her, deciding whether to tell her. “Well, you’ve figured some of it out, I suspect. See, I was just this kid when I met Katy. Just this Texas redneck kid with big dreams. I fell in love with her harder than I ever knew possible. I courted her. Her daddy thought I was after her money, but God how I loved that girl! And she loved me, bless her foolish heart!”

“And so you married her?”

“Yes, I married her. Her daddy — who by the way wasn’t exactly the kindest old man in the world — hated me. But we were happy. We had Gerald right off, and God did I love that little boy, too! Well, my oil deals were falling through left and right. Just couldn’t get a good well to come in. I was broker than ever. Finally, her daddy called me into the library at that big old house and told me if I stayed with her, he’d cut her off. He’d cut Gerald off. In the damned
library
, no less!”

“What was so significant about the library?”

Lambert peered down the length of the cabin to see if anybody else was near. “He found out something about me I thought I hid pretty well. It was kind of a wedge he used, proof of why I wasn’t good enough for his daughter.”

“Proof?”

Lambert looked her in the eye, as if to judge her reaction. “He found out I couldn’t read or write.”

Dacey started slightly. “But you’re—”

“Rich? Oh, yeah, I’m richer than six foot up a bull’s ass. I’m damned good at what I do. But I never learned to read and write, at least not well. I had to work the oil fields as a kid. I kept it secret from most everybody. I don’t think even the kid over there knows it,” he gestured at Van Alston, who was laboring over a laptop computer.

“So, you left them?”

“Well it was either that, or Katy and the boy would’ve had to live poor and cut off from their family. I didn’t have much of a family … my daddy was a drunk and died early … and I didn’t want them in the same situation. I figured I had to become a son-of-a-bitch. Otherwise, she’d turn against her mama and daddy. And Gerald would keep trying to contact me. So, I became a first-class son-of-a-bitch.”

“You cheated on her.”

“Yeah, well, I’d taken to drink, so I just added women to my repertoire.”

“You think you did the right thing?”

“Hell, don’t know. I did what a poor redneck kid thought was right at the time. I wanted them to be as happy as they could be. Now, I’m not even sure my boy …”

Dacey saw tears well in Lambert’s eyes. He turned away and fumbled for a handkerchief, wiping them away. He sat with his head bowed, one hand on his forehead.

“Calvin, we’re just going to do what we can. We’re just going to go ahead. Even if we can’t … save him.”