90_Minutes_to_Live (27 page)

UNSOC Space Station Roger Chaffee, June 17 2082, 1500 EDT

Roque did not even hear Commander Daniels radioing to the suddenly unresponsive Control Room. The decaying orbit of the ERVs had carried them beyond the orbit of the
Chaffee
and beyond the range of their radios.

He turned to the last bottle of Muscat and lovingly worked the cork out of the bottle. Fetching a clean beaker from the locker, he shook out a round ball of the fragrant wine and watched it infinitesimally settle into the beaker. Space was never zero-G, he had lectured countless visitors to his lab throughout the years. Hence, the preferred term
microgravity
. Left alone, the wine would eventually touch bottom in the beaker. Roque leaned forward and sucked a mouthful from the freely floating ball of rich amber fluid, then watched the wavelets chase each other around the remaining sphere.

"UNSOC to Commander Daniels," muttered the radio. Roque, surprised, turned up the volume. "Come in Commander Daniels, over." Roque chuckled at the anachronism. Nobody said
over
in UNSOC. Then he realized he did not hear the automatic
beep
normally signaling the end of transmission.

" here. ing in brok. Over."

"One minute to Entry Interface," said UNSOC. "Entry Interface in one minute. Over." Roque guessed it was Fred Palowicz on the radio. But from where?

"nute. Entry Interface in "

Roque waited until it was clear the ERVs were deep in reentry. Glancing out the window, he saw something that made his skin crawl. Rapidly aiming one of the station cameras on the sight, he keyed the radio.

"Roque to UNSOC. I have the reentry trails of the ERVs in sight."

"Roger, Chaffee. Roque, it was an honor knowing you." The voice was somber but professional. "Your sacrifice will not be forgotten."

"Fred, you better take care of Lisa and everyone else."

"We’re working on it Roque. Godspeed."

"Thanks Fred. Say hello to Gus and a kiss for Gayatri. Roque Zacarías, listening, out." Roque knew they were killing themselves down there to bring the ERVs home. They didn’t need to be reminded of the doomed spaceman circling above their heads.

The reentry occupied a portion of his mind. He had one final orbit before the big stuff would finally punch through the walls of the station. Ninety minutes to live, more or less. He patted the lock of hair in its bag. He would be with Lisa soon.

He carefully sipped more of the Muscat from the ball shimmering in the air. It had drifted closer to the beaker while he had been talking to Fred.
It was a real shame he couldn't swirl it in a thin crystal goblet
, he thought. Still, it was a symphony of taste on his tongue compared to the usual rations. Perhaps letting it air would make it too overwhelming. He sat back and thought of the España of his youth.

The reentry trails had stopped and Roque reported that fact to Fred.
The sleds should be out of communications blackout by now,
thought Roque.

"UNSOC, UNSOC, this is Commander Daniels aboard the ERV Reinhart. Come in, UNSOC."

Roque smiled. It was all over, almost. The impacts of the moon debris on the
Chaffee
stopped as it moved out of the debris plume. Another hour, more or less, before they were back in the thick of it. He selected his favorite music, queued it for play. As soon as the sleds landed he would fill the station with the sounds of the land of his birth.

He replenished the ball of Muscat. It was a shame to drink a wine so quickly, he mused. But the next pass would be his doom and it was a worse shame to let it be lost to space. Another sip of the ball and he was once again in the land of rolling hills and endless vineyards, under the warm Iberian sun.

Roque monitored the descent of the sleds. He laughed out-loud when the CAPCOMs revealed they were using a Shuttle landing simulator video game to assist in the energy management. He sat up a bit straighter as the terminal phase approached.

Here was the moment of truth. He had been able to fabricate nylon from the asteroid material found on the moon. Long experimenting taught him how to sew it into parachutes, now attached to the sleds. He sat, tense, praying they would work and not doom his friends to a watery grave.

In his mind’s eye, he imagined the sequence. Any second now the first chute would fire. A simple ribbon chute, its primary purpose would be to orient the sled correctly as it provided some deceleration. Next, a drogue chute, larger, would be deployed. It was tightly reefed, its bottom tied together so it would not open all the way. Twice, the reefing lines would be cut, allowing the chute to open gradually. After a minute under drogue, the main show would begin.

He followed the ground chatter as the main chute spread its dirty white canopy above the sleds. Never before in the space program had square, ram-air parachutes been used for returning spacecraft. When he was certain both sleds were under full canopies, he sat back, content. It was his crowning achievement, the ERVs. From their very frame, through the heat shield, to the innovative parachutes, all had come from his talented hands.

His approaching death now meant very little he realized. All of his techniques had been transmitted to UNSOC; a copy was in Lisa’s hands. When man went back into space, he would be using the same methods Roque had invented. His life was complete.

He listened with half an ear as the sleds drifted to a landing in the ocean. He was surprised when he heard his name on the radio.

"Roque, this is Lisa Daniels, over."

"Roque here, Lisa."

"We’re down safe, thanks to you. I will never forget you." Her voice sounded peculiar, as if she was holding back some great emotion.

"I am glad I could help. This is, in a way, the best way to go. Out on top, not wasting away on a bed. I am content Lisa."

"I still wish you were here. The world owes you a debt of gratitude."

"Then tell my story, if you must. Please don’t forget about Lynn’s grave."

"I have your box right here Roque. Say hello to Lynn for me."

Roque smiled. "I will, my dear commander. Now, you have people that need your help. Goodbye Lisa Daniels." Taking a breath, he declared theatrically, "This is Roque Maximiano Zacarías, on board the UN Space Station Roger B. Chaffee, signing off,” he turned off the radio and replaced the microphone in its clip for the last time.

Roque spent his last hour floating in the center of his lab. The lock of Lynn’s hair was safely zipped into a pocket of his coveralls. He sipped his wine and idly began depressurizing the various compartments of the station. He knew the station would be punctured; he didn’t want the reaction to the escaping atmosphere spinning the
Chaffee
around.

Roque listened without fear as the hailstorm of debris began smashing into the thin skin. His ears popped and he knew that his lab was holed. He sipped the last of the Muscat ball and fingered the lock of Lynn’s hair in his pocket.

It was a small leak, from the sound of it. Roque was glad. He really didn’t want to die from explosive decompression, nor did he want the agony from debris-punched holes in various non-fatal parts of his body. This way, he would slip away from hypoxia, before the really horrible stuff happened.

A figure coalesced in the air before him, her hair streaming away towards the hole in the lab’s wall. She was graceful and smiling and looked quite young.

"Lynn," Roque breathed. He knew she had come for him at last. She held up her hand to grasp his. Roque smiled. He knew this may well be a hallucination from anoxia but he was well past caring. He let go of the empty wine bottle and grasped her hand. He felt her pull his teenage soul from his limp and unresisting body as they flew off, together again at last, in the everlasting dark.

*   *   *

New York Presbyterian Hospital, June 20 2082, 1000 EDT
.

"That smooth-talking bastard!" cried Lisa Daniels. "He put one over on me!"

Shep stirred from his seat at the foot of her bed at New York’s Presbyterian Hospital. "Which bastard is this, love?"

"Roque Zacarías, that’s who. I can't believe I let him do this to me."

"Still in the dark here."

"Oh, Shep. Remember the Reinhart and Pruett?"

"I'll never forget them," he said. "They brought you safely home to me."

"You say the sweetest things. Well, the Reinhart was named for that space hand that died about thirty years ago."

"I remember you telling me about him. And the Pruett?"

"Roque asked me to let him name that sled. ’Point of personal privilege,’ he said."

"So?" asked Shep, still mystified.

"So I looked up the reference. Jim Pruett was a character in a century-old movie at the dawn of the Space Age. Three men were in one of those old Apollo capsules which had just shoved away from a space station. Jim Pruett was the commander."

"Is this history, or fiction?"

"Oh, definitely fiction. Well, their retrorockets wouldn’t fire and they couldn't get back to the space station. They were marooned in space and their oxygen was running out. The ground crew was frantically trying to get a rescue craft up there, when Jim Pruett decided to go outside to fix the engine."

"Sounds unlikely," said Shep.

"Well, the astronauts were all doped up so they wouldn’t use so much oxygen and so forth, so they let him go. Once outside the capsule, he ripped his suit and died. I can’t believe he did this to me!"

"Tricking you into naming the ERV after the gallant man who sacrificed himself to save the rest of the crew? I wish I had met him."

"Roque was such a charmer. You would have liked him. He asked me to do him a favor Shep. As soon as I get out of here, I want to go take care of it."

"After a little time in Ohio I hope," he said. "Eddie and Susan were really unhappy that Aunt Erin moved in to take care of them."

"Of course after Ohio! I’m sure I will be tied up here with all kinds of debriefings and what-not."

And in this, she was absolutely correct.

*   *   *

Dare County Cemetery, North Carolina, October 2, 2082, 1600 EDT.

The leaves on the occasional oak trees were changing glorious shades of red and yellow as Lisa made her way to the little cemetery on the eastern edge of North Carolina. It was a long drive from Ohio, after a much longer summer of meetings, press conferences and even harsher sessions behind the closed doors of the UN bureaucracy.

Over and over she told her story, until the details were graven deeply into her memory. She was accused of every kind of malfeasance, abandoning her station, incitement to mutiny and most cutting of all, deserting Roque Zacarías on the station to die a horrible death.

Without the solidarity of her fellow crew and most especially the testimony of Fred and Gayatri and Gus, Lisa was not sure she would have ever gotten out of the UN alive.

Now, this final request. Roque’s instructions were clear, the grave was easily found with its simple headstone.

Lynn Caren Merriweather, born June 12
^th
2036, died August 29th, 2055. Beloved daughter.

So few words and yet, such an influential life. Without this woman, Roque would never have been in space. That meant no sleds, no tiles, no parachutes and a space station full of dead space hands.

The sandy soil loosened easily, Lisa pulled a flap of it free from the base of the headstone. She carefully dug out a hollow and lay Roque’s box, with its nested tube of seawater from that long ago summer, next to the stone. Gently replacing the turf over the box, she gathered up the extra sand. Standing, she scattered it on the rest of the grave, speaking to the shade of the young woman buried beneath.

"He never forgot you Lynn. Even in death, he loved you and no other. He is orbiting up there now above us, grasping the lock of your hair. I know you and he are probably gazing down here, chuckling at me. But he asked me to come, so come to this place I did, to bring you a token of his fidelity and honor the woman I never met. Farewell."

Wiping her eyes, she saluted the grave and walked slowly away. As she turned to leave, she glanced to the sky, remembering Roque, and was the first to see the evening’s fireballs of the moon, slicing their way across the lowering skies.

THE END

The Glade

(Fantasy)

By

Peter Orr

As they approached the forest, the horses slowed to a canter. Judging by the nervous whinnies, Jacob suspected they could sense something of what lay within the approaching expanse and wanted no part of it. Fortunately, they were well-trained, reliable mounts. They did not panic or struggle, simply coming to a calm halt just before the forest’s boundary. Jacob sighed and dismounted, taking a moment to pat his horse reassuringly before making his way over to Cain. The older man was attempting to move the woman sitting slumped against his back.

“Throw her down,” Jacob called up as he got into position. “I’ll catch her.”

Cain hesitated for a moment and then, apparently giving up on the careful approach, nodded his agreement and pushed her off. Jacob caught her roughly and started setting her to her feet as Cain leapt down to them, agile despite his age.

“Well, at least that was easier than getting her up there,” he muttered gruffly.

With some effort Jacob got the woman upright and to his astonishment, she stayed in place without falling down.

“Those herbs you gave her are quite something,” he stated, shaking his head. “I mean, drugging someone’s easy, but this....”

“They’re rather rare,” Cain agreed. “They keep her in a kind of trance. As long as I pull her along, she’ll keep walking without a thought in her head.”

“And you’ve got enough to keep her like that?”

“No, but even when she wakes up she’ll still be gagged and tied up with the cord.”

Jacob glanced at the cord, wrapped repeatedly around her body to tie her arms to her sides. It looked innocuous enough, although a slight sheen distinguished it from any other piece of rope. Cain stepped over to her and detached the end of it, unwinding a few coils to give himself plenty of slack.

Jacob was skeptical. “And that cord really does everything you say it does?”

Cain smiled his not-quite smile. “Oh yes. I won’t have any problem with her,” he formed the end into a loop around his wrist, which seemed to fuse without him needing to tie any knot.

Jacob shrugged his shoulders but this kind of thing always made him feel uncomfortable. He had no doubts about the potency of Cain’s collection of trinkets and artifacts, having seen the old man use them many times to defy death and destroy enemies. Nevertheless, and despite being a man of very few scruples, Jacob fastidiously avoided any involvement with the power Cain harnessed so readily.

He turned instead to their trussed up captive. Young, fair haired and pretty, he would readily have abused his position as captor, except that Cain had insisted he needed her undamaged. That also meant the headache of guarding the girl from any number of eager men back at their base. But Jacob would not have risen to his position in Cain’s cadre without learning to follow the man’s orders to the letter; he would almost certainly not have lived this long either. Every one of the bandits in Cain’s employ knew the consequences of disobedience, something recently demonstrated yet again with the demise of Ethan, one of Cain’s most trusted lieutenants.

It was thanks to Ethan that this woman had first come to Cain’s attention. No one really understood the nature of the boss’s interest in her and no one had questioned it. But the whole band was thrust into disarray the day after her arrival and then Ethan’s outburst, when Cain made his unexpected announcement.

“Still can’t believe you’re retiring.” Jacob shook his head now. “I didn’t think anyone in this job got to retire.”

“Well, I’ve lived longer than most.”

Jacob paused. “Is there any chance of you telling me why?”

“No.” Cain’s expression was steady, giving nothing away. “You wouldn’t understand, in any case.”

“Okay,” his lieutenant nodded, accepting this. “And would the answer be the same if I asked why you’re taking her into this forest?”

“It would. I will just have to take my secrets with me,” he paused for a second. “But there
is
something that I wish to tell you, Jacob.”

Jacob met his gaze and furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. “Oh?”

“As you know, you have impressed me greatly over the years. I have decided to leave you as my heir, as leader of the whole operation.”

Surprised, Jacob felt a thrill of victory wash over him and allowed it to register on his face. He had harboured desperate hopes for this, since Cain had picked him to help transport the girl. Now he would have the power he long craved.

Only one small concern marred his joy. “What about Gideon?” he chanced. Most of the lieutenants had marked
that
brute out as the natural successor.

“I’ve spoken to Gideon and he knows my choice. Don’t let him say a word otherwise.” Cain nodded. “Now, I will leave you. We have a long walk ahead of us.”

Jacob nodded and coming down from his high, wondered vaguely whether to wish the old man goodbye. Expressions of sentiment were rare between them.

Instead, he asked a question. “Will we see you again?”

Cain stopped, looked back and smiled wanly. “It’s possible. But I hope not.”

And with that, the boss turned and set off into the mass of trees. Jacob frowned but recognized he deserved no better from the old man. He saw him pause just beyond the first row of trees, take something from his pouch and swallow it whole before continuing in. Jacob wondered, but dismissed the action as just another of the older man’s little mysteries.

Now alone, he climbed into his saddle and prepared to take both horses back to the base but then paused and grinned. Dismounting, he strode instead to the slightly grander horse that had so recently been Cain’s and mounted it instead. As he rode into the night, he reflected on this glorious turn of events. He decided he would be a leader no less successful and just as merciless as Cain himself had been.

Eleven days later, as a direct result of Cain’s words to him, Jacob was killed in a particularly violent manner. No one mourned his passing.

*   *   *

It had been dusk when he left Jacob behind but soon moonlight illuminated the forest and only the sounds of chirping insects interrupted the windless calm. In such conditions, any forest in the world would feel otherworldly; but Cain knew this was
that
forest, the one about which stories are told. Raw power hung in the air like a heat haze.

His captive walked five steps behind, trudging soullessly along. At first, Cain found this pleasing but at length he came to wish the effect of the herbs would wear off so he could say his piece to her.

Just as he began to worry that he had given her too much; that she would be useless for the entire night, her footsteps grew halting. Finally he turned to see her desperately attempt to run away. The cord was taut but he felt barely a tug at his wrist. Realizing she was getting nowhere, she slowed to a halt and Cain took the opportunity to place thumb and forefinger on the cord and yank it. She flew towards him, falling to the ground.

“I’m afraid this cord is rather special,” he explained as she tried to get to her feet, not an easy task with her arms bound. As soon as she succeeded he set off again and watched her struggle to keep up so she was not pulled over. He smiled, knowing if he wanted, he could quite easily drag her along the ground on her back. The cord had been a worthwhile investment.

He
could
have brought some men along to manhandle her but he was determined this should be an intimate affair, just the two of them.

She was making indignant noises through her gag and Cain briefly considered removing it, before thinking better of it. Instead, he retrieved his pouch and took from it another beetle, desperate and struggling. He held it between thumb and forefinger, making sure that she was watching as he pitched it into his mouth and swallowed it whole. He suppressed a shudder as its legs scratched at his gullet and saw his captive watching, entranced with disgust.

“They make me sensitive to the power,” he explained. “That’s how I know where we’re going.” The effects of the last one had not yet worn off but time was getting short and he wanted his sensitivity to be at its peak when they arrived at the Glade.

He turned and squinted at the moon. When he glanced down at her again, she had been struggling with her bindings. He regarded her critically.
About ninety minutes to live,
he thought.
I suppose
it’s time to start explaining things.

“You’re a rare woman Maria,” he sighed. She ceased her struggle, eyeing him warily. “My men have been holding your village to ransom for close to a decade. Under my command, they’ve destroyed your houses, killed your friends and raped your neighbors. All quite deliberately. To keep you all terrified and delivering your goods and gold to us. You must hate us Maria.” She refused even to nod in agreement and he found himself respecting her for that.

“So by rights, when you found one of my men wounded, you should have left him to die or even sped up the process. I would never have found out and you wouldn’t be here now,” he let that sink in and almost felt a pang at the cruelty of punishing her for her kindness. Almost.

“Instead, you saved Ethan’s life and he told me all about you. He was in awe of you, in fact. He requested I leave your village alone. I considered killing him on the spot for his weakness but I didn’t. I’m an old softie at heart, you see,” he flashed a ruthless half-grin. “After all, he had a point. We didn’t need your village anymore. It was just a relic of simpler times, when all I had were a few cut-price thugs. Now I run the largest, sleekest band of criminals this side of the world,” he paused to take a mock bow.

He noticed she had ceased her futile resistance, appearing warily interested in what he had to say.

“So I decided to let your village go. In fact, I decided to retire. I know, it sounds unlikely, doesn’t it? But I’d finally found what I’d been looking for and it was you.”

He wasn’t surprised to see her eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Yes, you. Before announcing my retirement, I had my men capture you and bring you to me. Of course Ethan protested. Between you and me, I think he’d grown rather fond of you. But he was starting to annoy me, so
then
I killed him. There’s only so much insubordination I can take.”

He heard Maria’s forlorn groan through her gag and her eyes lowered. “Oh dear, were you fond of him too? That
is
a shame.”

He was starting to feel the increased sensitivity the beetle had brought and his rather hazy awareness of the correct direction sharpened. Now he could feel how close their destination was. To his relief, they would reach it with time to spare.

“You have no idea where I’m taking you, do you?” he asked and she lifted her eyes to meet his again, resigned. “Have you ever heard of the Glade?” No glimmer of recognition appeared in her face. “Did your parents never tell you the stories? Maybe not.”

He sighed happily. “This is a cursed forest; all manner of devilry is reputed to take place here. Don’t worry; I have charms to ward away the worst of it. I’ve been here once before, to confirm the Glade really exists. I was only able to find it thanks to these damned beetles. I don’t think the forest would have let me get there otherwise.

“The Glade is just as it’s described in all the children’s stories; I knew they were true as soon as I saw it. And so here I am, ready to offer the required sacrifice.”

At this, Maria stiffened and stood stock-still. He played along, pausing his step. “Come now, what did you think this was about? Did you really think we would both be walking out of this forest?”

She began to whimper but her eyes remained defiant, the tears resolutely held back. He was impressed but having too much fun to give her a break.

“I needed you because you’re special Maria. You saved Ethan’s life even though you must have hated him. You’re good, kind and pure. Exactly what I’d been looking for.” Now tears were flowing down her face, although she was refusing to break down and weep. He drank it in, then tugged at the cord and set off again. She resisted initially, before recalling how pointless that was.

“You see,” he explained, not bothering to turn around this time, “the stories say that with the right sacrifice at the right time, the Glade can do something extraordinary. They say it can bring back the dead,” he allowed that to hang in the air for a while, as he felt that unfathomable place come closer and closer.

“The sacrifice must take place at the height of a bright blue moon,” he continued and nodded upwards. “Not long now, not long at all.”
Just over an hour left
.

“In order to bring someone back, you need a lock of their hair.” Absently, he fumbled in the inner pocket of his coat, producing a tarnished tin case and flicking it open. Maria did not bother to look inside before he closed it again. “The catch is that it must have been cut off before their death. They are revived exactly as they were at the moment of its severance.” Carefully he replaced it next to his heart.

 “As a young boy, I saw people that I loved die and I was somewhat taken with this story,” he was in full flow now, recollecting personal memories in a way he never could among his men. “I started collecting locks of hair from those I cared about, just in case. And then the war happened, I had to grow up quickly and I had no time for stories.” He laughed quietly and shook his head. “But in the last few years, I had reason to think of it again, to use my considerable resources to locate this place. It’s funny, of all of the locks of hair I collected; I never thought I’d use this one.”