Authors: Jack McDevitt
“No, sir. I’m sorry. We’ve done what we could. We’ve done
everything
we could.” Feinberg again, sounding annoyed, defensive.
The flight deck swam. Charlie had conceived an animosity for the Possum, a personal loathing. He still had an option, he could still nuke the son of a bitch. He took a deep breath and reminded himself to keep his head. “We still have some time. Let’s think about it. There must be
something…
”
“If you can come up with an idea, Mr. President, you’re a better man than I am. Meanwhile, the
Arlington
and your own vessel are chained to the rock. If we don’t get the crews out quickly, including yourself, you’ll all go down with it.”
“We’ll stay put for now,” said Charlie. “Nobody leaves until I give the order. You understand?”
“Mr. President—” Carpenter’s voice. “Please—”
“Be ready to move if you have to. But not till I tell you.”
But physics is not politics. You can’t make something work just by trying harder
.
He broke the. connection and stared into a red haze.
“You all right, sir?” Rachel’s voice.
“I’m fine,” he said. “
We’re
not doing so good, but
I’m
fine.”
“What was it with the
Berlin
? A blown piton?”
“I guess. I don’t know.”
She nodded. The flight deck was silent. “I’ve got all kinds of calls for you, Mr. President.”
“Not now,” he said.
TRANSGLOBAL SPECIAL REPORT.
4:26
A.M.
“…they’ve shut down the rockets. Right now the entire fleet, five SSTOs and the
Percival Lowell
, are still on the Possum, but nothing’s happening. Bruce, I’ve been trying to get through to the command ship, which as you bow is the
Antonio Mabry
, but they’re not responding. I’ve also got a call in to President Haskell. I hove to be honest, at the moment the situation here looks bleak.”
Skyport Orbital Lab. 4:27
A.M.
“They’ve given up.” Windy Cross braced his elbows on his work table, and buried his face in his hands. “It’s over.”
Tory sat paralyzed, listening to the electronic burble of the equipment. Images of the Possum played across a dozen screens, including the main display from Rainbow Mission Control, on which the twin representations of the object, red and white, had drawn hopelessly far apart.
Andrea Bellwether was signaling for her attention. “I have Keith Morley on the circuit,” she said. “He’s trying to find out what’s happening.”
“Hell, we don’t know anything,” Windy said. “Tell him to call Carpenter.”
“He says Carpenter isn’t taking calls.”
“Goddam right. I wouldn’t either.” His voice dropped an octave. “Tell him they’ve thrown in the towel, and you’ll start a panic.”
“You think there isn’t going to be one anyhow?”
“That’s okay. Let somebody else take the heat. We’re out of it.”
Percival Lowell
Flight Deck. 4:28
A.M.
“They’re telling me it’s not possible, Al.”
“For God’s sake, Charlie, what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Rachel was watching Charlie as if she thought he might be on the verge of a stroke. “I don’t know, Al. If you have any ideas, this’d be a good time.”
“Listen, we’re still doing a dance out there with the press. What do you want to tell them?”
So in the end it came down to that. As if it were somehow Charlie Haskell’s fault that the world is about to end.
What do you want to tell them?
A message light blinked on. “Carpenter,” said Rachel’s voice. “He says it’s urgent.”
“Hold a second, Al.” He switched channels. “Haskell.”
“Mr. President. We’ve got to evacuate. Do it now or forget it.”
Charlie stared at the polished black handset. At that moment he’d have preferred to put a knife into his heart.
SSTO
Arlington
Flight Deck. 4:29
A.M.
“
Arlington
, stand by for evacuation.”
George listened to his own breathing, magnified inside the p-suit. Beside him, Mary released her harness.
No one said anything. They got slowly out of their seats. It almost looked as if they were laboring under heavy gravity.
FRANK CRANCALL’S ALL-NIGHTER
4:30
A.M.
“As you know, we’ve been devoting the show tonight to coverage of the attempt to deflect the Possum. We have a bulletin here, and I want you to listen closely. Scientists at the AstroLab have been quoted the Possum cannot now be stopped. They estimate that the impact site, however, has moved farther east. No one is yet willing to say on the
record where it is likely to fall, but unofficially they are suggesting the southeastern United States or the Caribbean. Bill Plant is at the AstroLab now, and we’ll be going over there in just a moment.
“I want to add that we’re going to be cutting this edition of the show short. As you know, we’re based in Miami, and we want to let our people get home to their families. So after our report from the AstroLab, we’ll be returning you to the network. We’ll look for you tomorrow night at our regular time. I hope.
“This is the Old Trooper signing off.”
6.
Skyport Orbital Lab. 4:31
A.M.
Tory Clark was never sure precisely when she had the idea. It seemed as if it had been flickering just beyond the limits of perception since dinner, since she’d heard about the three ferries that would accompany the SSTOs out to the Possum. The
Kordeshev
. The
Mabry
. The
Talley
. All named for crewmembers on Frank Bellwether’s lost
Ranger
. And Andrea Bellwether, Frank’s daughter, sat just a few paces away.
Bellwether
.
Maybe the problem was that Feinberg and the rest of them were thinking in a box.
There might
still
be a way.
Antonia Mabry
, Mission Control 4:32
A.M.
“No, Tory,” said Feinberg. “It wouldn’t work. It’s too massive.”
“Are you
sure
?”
Of course he was sure.
“What else have you got?” she persisted.
Feinberg had never liked Tory Clark. She was a little too pushy for his tastes, and what was her background anyhow? She was just one more camp follower. “I don’t really have time to argue about this.”
“What
do
you have time for, Professor? Why not
try
it? What’s to lose?”
“
What’s to lose?
I’ll tell you what’s to lose. We’ve already driven it too far. It’s probably going to go down in the ocean. That’s not the best possible outcome. Moreover, to even try your idea, we’d have to sacrifice the people in the ships. Is that what you
want
?”
“If it works, they’ll be okay.”
“It
won’t
work, Tory. What part of that can’t you figure out?” His eyes were damp again. “We’ve already done enough damage. Let it be.” He broke the connection.
Orly Carpenter stared at him. “What did she want?”
“Nothing.” Feinberg bitterly regretted having offered his services for the project. It had failed, it wasn’t his fault, and there was no way anyone could ever say
he
was responsible. But it didn’t matter. His fingerprints were all over it. And somehow he knew he should have prevented this.
Skyport Orbital Lab. 4:33
A.M.
“What did he say?” asked Windy.
“He said
no
.”
“That’s all?”
Andrea’s eyes darkened with anger. “How could he do that? Does he have a better idea?”
“He says it would only make things worse.”
“Well,” said Windy, “we tried. Nobody can say we didn’t try.”
“
Dammit
,” snapped Andrea, “he’s giving up. But it’s not
his
decision to make.”
On one of the TV screens, they watched people gathering outside a church in Boston. They were holding candles, and someone was leading a prayer.
“You’re right,” Tory said. “It’s
not
his decision.”
Windy was shaking his head. “So whose decision is it?”
“Hell,” Tory continued, “the president’s out there.”
“Wonderful,” said Windy. “You going to call him?”
“Why not? We know where he is.” She reached for the phone.
“No,” said Windy. “You have any idea what kind of trouble we’ll get into?”
Tory punched buttons. Colonel Quinn’s voice answered: “
Lowell
.”
“
Lowell
, this is the Orbital Lab. I’d like to get through to the president.”
“Get in line,” Quinn said.
“Colonel, it’s urgent.”
“Everything’s urgent right now. I’ll put you in the queue.”
“I need—” And she was talking into a dead circuit.
Andrea’s small fists clenched. “There isn’t time for this. I might know somebody who can get through to him.” She leaned over her mike and stabbed the keyboard. “
Kordeshev
, this is the Orbital Lab. I need to talk to Chaplain Pinnacle. Right away, please.”
Percival Lowell
Flight Deck. 4:34
A.M.
Charlie was on the line with Al Kerr, who was on the brink of panic. And Charlie had nothing to tell him.
Rachel looked at him and tapped her earphone. Another call. He’d instructed her he didn’t want to talk to anyone except Carpenter and Feinberg. “Hold on, Al,” he said. Then he glanced over at her, irritated. “Who is it?”
“Dr. Hampton wants to talk with you, sir,”
My God
. “Tell her, later.”
“She says it’s urgent. Says you need to talk to her.”
Charlie nodded. “Put her on.”
Antonia Mabry
, Mission Control. 4:37
A.M.
Nineteen minutes to import.
“Yes,” Feinberg admitted. “It
is
possible. But it’s a long shot. God knows what—”
“Do it.”
“Mr. President—
“
Do it, God damn you
.”
“We’re not prepared. We’re going to have to guess the firing sequence. If we get it wrong, and we probably will, we may lose
everybody
on the planet. Do you really want to take on that kind of responsibility?”
Images flashed through Charlie’s terrified psyche: sundrenched slaves hauling blocks through Egyptian deserts; men inventing religions to give meaning to disease-ridden, violent, pointless lives, and then becoming subjugated by the religions; women trying without much luck to civilize their hunter-husbands; everyone trying to control rulers. All the battles, the plagues, the rise and fell of the rivers, the inquisitions, the futility…. Sacrifices had been made by millions of individuals, most of whom never understood where the race was headed. Now, finally, the common effort was bearing fruit. To let the rock fall was to see it snatched away, to put everyone back in caves, to refight all the battles against war and disease and superstition, to do everything again.
“I understand,” Haskell said. “The responsibility is mine.”
SSTO
Arlington
Passenger Cabin. 4:38
A.M.
Eighteen minutes to impact.
George Culver opened the airlock hatch and Mary stepped inside. She looked weary and frightened. On the screen they could see the
Christopher Talley
, which was moving in to take them off. Curt leaned his helmet against the bulkhead, reluctant to leave. George put a hand on Curt’s shoulder and eased him toward the lock.
“Look,” said Mary. Her eyes were fixed on the monitor. The
Talley
had begun to move away.
“They’re adjusting attitude,” said George.
Curt shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“
Talley
” said George, “We are ready to leave.”
“Roger,
Arlington
. Change in plans.”
Another voice, quiet, intense, the president’s voice, broke in on the common channel. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “this is Charles Haskell. I need your help.
“You’ve seen the size of this thing, you know its velocity, and you know what will happen if it goes down.” He paused, and they could hear his breathing. “We still have a chance to stop it. But it requires us, all of us, to stay out for a while longer. I’m sorry to ask you to do this, but I’ve no choice.
We
have no choice. Everything we’ve ever cared about, everyone we’ve ever loved, is at terrible risk. And there simply
is nobody else to step in and do what has to be done
.”
Antonia Mabry
, Mission Control. 4:39
A.M.
Seventeen minutes to import.
Feinberg opened the common channel. “Everybody go to manual,” he said.
The Possum continued to rotate around its own axis, once every fifty-three minutes and eleven seconds. The strategy required that the Plain be on the downside as the object hit the ionosphere.
Unfortunately, as things stood now, that wasn’t going to happen. In eleven minutes the Plain would be in perfect position. Then it would begin to turn away. He needed to accomplish two objectives: to accelerate the Possum, so that it would arrive on the outskirts of the atmosphere as quickly as possible; and to slow the rotation.
“Everybody,” he said, “go to full thrust and maintain. All vehicles adjust port-side attitude jets to perpendicular along the rotational axis, and fire.” That was going to achieve very little, but it
would
create a rotational drag, and he’d take whatever he could get.
He’d thought there were other things he might try:
manipulate thrust among the three vehicles
—Lowell, Moscow
, and
Arlington—
which had been sited directly parallel to the axis, and the others, which had been placed at offsetting angles. But there was simply not time for sophisticated maneuvers.