“You emigrated to Mars in 2140. Why?”
“No profound reason, just good opportunities here.” And after so many years off Earth, no way did she want to retire to that gravity.
“For the twelve years since relocating here you’ve done lots of work as a pilot. For the past seven years, you’ve been a test pilot for Percival Lowell University.”
Clermont was a typical inner-system runabout, suitable only for short-range jaunts, and that’s what the university bought her for. The university operated field stations around the world, most often under contract to the Terraforming Authority, facilities to and from which she and Blake carried supplies and people. They also provisioned bases on Phobos and Deimos and, now and again, outposts in the Inner Belt.
Basically, Clermont was a delivery truck.
When the Astronautical Engineering Department requisitioned a ship on which to test fusion-drive enhancements, some green-eyeshade type in the provost’s office determined that a ship the university already owned averaged only three days a week in use. Why buy a ship for occasional engine trials, when another ship more often than not sat idle?
Five flights later, it was the DED that came up for trial. And from that series of tests, without a clue why, Dana found herself here.
“Close enough,” she said.
“Has anyone ever had to rescue you?” the governor asked.
“No, Governor. Nothing has ever come up that my engineer couldn’t fix. He’s good.”
“Hawthorne, what do you think?” the governor asked.
“I’m sold,” he said. “But as for Westford…”
Dana squared her shoulders. “Do you have a problem with my colleague?”
“Something of a Don Juan, don’t you think?” Hawthorne said. “A bit immature?”
Shipmates, especially aboard a vessel as small as Clermont, don’t keep secrets. Dana knew all about Blake’s shipboard affairs and the girl on every world, but those days were past.
To Dana’s way of thinking, her friend had met the right woman and grown up. By the time Rikki’s ship had landed on Mars, she a passenger in steerage returning home from a graduate program on the Moon, the two were engaged. He had quit his job for the cruise line, filed to immigrate, and taken a position with Dana, set for happily ever after.
Nothing about this situation had the feel of happily ever after.
Dana had kept her tone neutral. Now she put an edge in her voice. “Even if that were true, how is that relevant?”
Governor and adviser exchanged a look. “Perhaps it’s not,” Dennison said. “Neil, bring in Westford.”
Blake started at seeing Antonio, but sat beside Dana without commenting.
“I appreciate your patience, Mr. Westford,” Dennison said. “If you wouldn’t mind reviewing a few details for me?”
“If I can,” Blake said.
“Born in Boston, 2120. Spacecraft engineer by training. Five years as ship’s engineer aboard commercial space liners, servicing—”
“Is this a job interview?” Blake interrupted. “Respectfully, what’s this about?”
“It’s about deciding whether to tell you what this is about,” Hawthorne shot back.
“If everyone will be patient just a little longer,” Dennison said. “Commercial flights among Earth, Earth’s moon, the L4 and L5 habitats, and Mars. Certified to maintain life-support systems and fusion drives. Promoted to senior engineer in 2145. Demoted ‘for a poor attitude’ within the year. Reinstated in 2147 just in time to resign.”
“And we’re done here.” Blake stood.
Dana almost went with him. Instead, wondering if it was curiosity or deference to authority that held her, she ordered, “Hear them out.”
“Do you trust this man, Captain?” Dennison asked.
“With my life,” Dana said. “Every time we launch.”
“Then he’ll do,” Hawthorne said.
“Gee, thanks,” Blake said.
“I respect the captain’s opinion,” the governor said. “Sit, Mr. Westford.”
He sat.
“If you hadn’t guessed,” the governor said, “what you’re about to hear is classified. You can’t discuss this with anyone. Not with your loved ones or your closest friend. Not with your doctor, psychiatrist, or priest. Not with your goddamned cat. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” Dana said, experiencing Space Guard déjà vu. The longer superior officers put off the bad news, the iffier the mission would be.
This mission would be bad.
“Understood,” Blake said.
“Dr. Valenti?” the governor prompted. “Will you bring everyone up to date?”
Antonio had shrunken in on himself. He mumbled something Dana couldn’t make out.
“A bit louder,” the governor encouraged.
“I can’t,” Antonio said, barely above a whisper, fingering the scar on his chin. “Not…again. I’m…tired.”
Dennison sighed. “I know how you feel.”
“An imminent GRB,” Jumoke said. Her face had gone slack, and her shoulders slumped. “That’s what Antonio found, after he deployed his new observatory. I swear, I first heard about it today.”
Blake translated. “Gamma-ray burst. Cousin to a supernova.”
(He had once told Dana that the cruise line insisted its officers chat up the passengers, even the quiet ones. And laughed: most shipboard hook-ups began that way. The schmoozing must have become habit, because she’d seen him chatting up Antonio on their flight. She guessed the two had talked astronomy.)
“But the sky is full of GRB’s,” Blake went on, turning toward Antonio. “Astronomers see them across billions of light-years. That’s what you said when we deployed your probes. Is this particular GRB somehow special?”
Antonio’s head bobbed jerkily.
“Christ, yes,” Jumoke said.
“If I may summarize, Governor?” Hawthorne said. “I’ve done research since Dr. Valenti first came to us. He can correct me if I misspeak.”
Dennison nodded.
“Picture it,” Hawthorne said. “As though someone threw a celestial switch, a star blazes in the sky. It’s too bright to look at directly. Even at high noon, if that’s when this happens, the star casts its own crisp shadows. But the light fades after only a minute or two.
“As intense as that visible light was, what you couldn’t see was fiercer. The atmosphere blocked the event’s gammas and X-rays—and in the process emitted an electromagnetic pulse that fried every computer, electric motor, power grid, and satellite on that side of the world. Only the collapse of civilization is the least of your worries.”
As Antonio rocked in his chair and Jumoke slumped in hers, as the governor, grim-faced, watched Blake and Dana, Dana understood that—somehow—this was the future foretold.
Hawthorne had not finished. “Hours later, moving at a hair under
