Stephen Baxter - Ark

“Jealousy. Matt thought he loved Harry, and so he must have been jealous of the others, Zane, Venus, maybe others-I don’t know if Harry had any more victims.”

Gordo shook his head. “If he did, nobody’s talking.”

“Look at it from the point of view of a jealous lover. Harry was sending Matt off into space. But he kept Zane on the ground, close to him.”

“Shit. So Matt read his own crew selection as a kind of rejection by Harry?”

“I think so. He kept it bottled up. These kids of yours seem to have learned to hide their emotions. But when Harry happened to come out to see this bomb test-”

“Matt saw a chance to take revenge.”

“Yeah. He said himself it was easy to have set up the lethal charge, if you knew what you were doing.”

“Well, I’ll be.” Gordo took his cigar from his mouth, cut it and lit it.

“Of course you don’t have a shred of proof for this.”

“No. But I think Matt will confess if you push him. I didn’t want to do that-”

“We’ll handle it.”

“What about Matt’s place in the crew?”

“Well, he’s scrubbed.” Gordo grinned. “Ironically he opens the door again for Zane. The best replacement. Matt Weiss has screwed himself every which way. Miss Gray, you’ve had a hell of a day. But I guess you passed the test I set you.” He eyed her. “We’ll have to let out one of those fancy jumpsuits.”

“I don’t know if I want to become one of your Candidates.”

“OK. I understand that. And there’s no guarantee you’ll make it even if you want to; I guess you can see how tough the selection process is.” He waved his cigar at the Orion. “And there’s no guarantee this ramshackle thing is even going to fly. But look, Miss Gray. I was assigned to this damn project against my will too. I thought I had better things to do with my remaining years than this bullshit, a pack of kids and a dumbass plan. But look where we are now. The flood has washed away every hope of recovery, every other thing we planned. Suddenly Project Nimrod is the only positive hope we have left, the only chance we have to send the memory of what we were into the future.

“That’s why I’ve busted my balls trying to make it work. Banging the eggheads’ big skulls together to make them come up with a feasible design, a ship that we can build and we can test, and will fly. And working my damnedest to turn this bunch of kids into a crew. But that’s all they are-kids. They don’t even know what it is they’re being saved from. I think they need you, and people like you. I remember when I first saw you in that okie city of yours, and you were sixteen years old, and you’d stitched up some old guy’s stomach wound with thread.”

“That was Michael Thurley. And it was fishing line.”

He smiled at her over his cigar, and she saw herself reflected in the twin lenses of his sunglasses, her hands on her belly, her lank hair, her drawn, tired face. “So what do you say? Will you ride to the stars with us?”

November 2041

Holle woke in an empty bed. She could feel it, feel the cold of a pushed-back duvet, even before she began to move. Seven days. That was her first thought. Just seven days to launch, after a lifetime of training, of friendship and rivalry, triumphs and breakdowns, wonder and tragedy. But first she had to get through today.

She opened her eyes slowly. The room was filled with gray light, the light of another murky November morning; the weather had been lousy, depressing for weeks. She rolled on her back, feeling the aches in her stiff muscles, her body’s memory of the hours she’d spent on the centrifuge yesterday. She’d been too exhausted even to make love with Mel. When they’d rolled into the room they shared here in the crew hostel at Gunnison they’d spent an hour on massage, working out the knots of pain in each other’s body, before succumbing to sleep.

Now Mel stood before the window, naked save for a pair of boxer shorts. His body was silhouetted against the sky, and she could see the hard outline of his waist, his muscled arms. After these final intensive months of training, they were all super-fit.

“Mel? Come back to bed.”

He didn’t stir.

She clambered out of bed, wrapped a blanket over her shoulders, and shuffled to the window. They were on the tenth story of this residential facility, a concrete block hastily thrown up to house the Candidates, and the engineers, managers, trainers and other ground-support staff who outnumbered the potential crew many times over. Glancing down she made out the triple fence, ditches, gun towers and patroling dogs that walled her off in this particular haven from the rest of a crumbling world.

And looking out, as the eastern sky brightened over to her right, she had a grand view of the Gunnison valley, cradled by the bulk of the Rockies. Her eye was drawn to the Orion launch stack itself, a complex block bathed in spotlights. She was ten kilometers away from the ship, and she made out the cluster of support facilities around it, ugly, functional concrete buildings with the gleam of gravel roads snaking between them. That was the Zone, as they had come to call it, the two-kilometer-wide launch center with the monstrous spacecraft at its heart. The old town of Gunnison itself was to the east, off to the right of the launch facility. All this was contained by a wider secured perimeter within which lay what the military planners called the Hinterland, a concentration of industrial facilities sixteen kilometers across. Traffic crawled everywhere, the lights of the convoys like strings of jewels, and if she pressed her ear to the glass she could hear the rumble of vast machines. The work went on twenty-four seven, and it had been that way for months.

Mel only had eyes for the Ark itself. “Look at that bird.”

Holle wrapped her arms around his waist. “And it’s all ours.”

“Or will be, in a week.”

It wasn’t like Mel to be up like this. He generally slept like a log; he’d been in the military long enough to learn the trick of grabbing sleep whenever he could. She asked, “You OK this morning?”

“I guess so. Just the tension closing in, I guess.”

“Those damn clocks ticking down everywhere.”

“And something else. Don’t you feel it?”

“What?”

“Euphoria,” he said. “I guess that’s the word. It feels like we’re the center of the whole world. We’re young, fit, ready to go and do what we’ve trained all our lives for. I can’t imagine ever feeling better than this. Gordo Alonzo talks about how it was for a shuttle crew before a spaceflight. Some things don’t change, I guess.”

He was right. Everything was heightened, as if it was all more real-even now, the warmth of Mel’s flesh against her cheek, the prickle of the rough carpet under her feet, the twinkling lights of the sleepless industrial landscape before her. “Yeah. We’re running on adrenaline. I’ll probably sleep for a week once we’re on the damn ship.”

He turned and took her in his arms, his face shadowed as he looked down at her. “Do you have any regrets?”

“Like what?”

“You aren’t sorry we didn’t try for a pregnancy?”

Many of the female Candidates had done so, getting themselves knocked up in the final weeks. Some had succeeded, including Susan Frasier, who was bearing the child of her long-term boyfriend Pablo Mason, an eye-dee who had turned out to be a math whiz and, through Susan’s persuasion of Gordo, got himself a place on the project ground crew. But there were others who had ended up getting too sick to complete the training program, and had washed themselves out.

“It might have boosted your chances.”

“No,” Holle said firmly. “We’ve been through this.” If she had got pregnant with Mel’s kid, his genes would have become redundant. “I wasn’t about to leave you behind. We can have kids on Earth II.”