Scott Mackay - Phytosphere

“So there’s no way to fix the problem?” asked Gerry, because in these most harrowing moments he had no choice but to defer to Ian.

Ian now had full schematics on screen four. The left side of the screen showed diagrams, while text filled the right side—script so tiny Ian had to tap his contact lenses to their strongest setting.

Ian didn’t so much read as skim. He ignored Gerry as he went through the thick, turgid prose of the drive specs, the sweat beading on his shaved head and a thick vein sticking out like a blue worm over his temple. All the while their speed increased.

“I know these specs like the back of my own hand,” he said. “But you never know. Maybe if I review it, something could jog and I might…”

Gerry felt helpless, frustrated, and so anxious to solve the problem that he kept fidgeting in his seat.

“Couldn’t we go to the drive itself and do something to fix it?”

Ian froze. He stopped flicking through the script and turned to Gerry. He looked like a man on a spirit quest who had just experienced the revelation he had been looking for, his blue eyes wide, his lower lip coming out, his ears shifting a fraction on the sides of his head. Gerry thought he had only pointed out the obvious, but Ian looked at him as if he were Moses coming down from the mount.

“You’re a genius, Gerry.” Then he swung to the timer up on the console. “We’ve got to move. We’ve got only a certain envelope to do this and, after that, it’s a no go for good.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to blow Drive Five sky-high. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Am I ever glad you’re on this mission. The resulting explosion will give us the necessary thrust to angle us into a collision trajectory. As I say, I know the specs inside out and I think this can work. Especially because all we have to do is collide with your so-called wide region of effectiveness.”

“You’re going to blow up the drive?”

“Yes.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to sled to the drive, crawl into its access bay, and manually cross the male and female thrust conduits so they reverse on each other and blow the singularity to pieces.” He motioned at the screen of schematics. “I can’t believe I was looking at a technical solution when all I really needed was the PCV’s fire ax. You’re brilliant, Gerry.”

“But…you’re going to blow up the drive?”

“Right.”

“And then what?”

Ian frowned. “I already told you. The blast should give us the necessary thrust to make it all happen.”

“And then you’re going to come back here to the Prometheus, and we’re going to escape in the survival pod?”

Ian’s brow settled. “Maybe you’re not so smart after all.”

The two stared at each other. It was a pivotal moment for Gerry, because he suddenly understood that Ian was a hero after all.

“Ian… no.”

Ian’s face creased and he now looked irritated. “It’s the only way, buddy. You’ll have the pod all to yourself. There’s no sense in two of us going down for this thing. Now, come on, we’ve got to move . If I leave right now it’s going to take me at least twenty minutes to get there. That’s going to give me only three minutes to reverse the thrust conduits. This is the only chance we have. If this doesn’t work, the Earth dies. Glenda dies. Jake and Hanna die. I got no one. You got your family. This is my moment, Ger, and I mean to go for it. This is the only way I can make up for all the dismal things I’ve done to other people over the years.”

“What about Stephanie?”

“Just tell her what I did. And that I love her, even though she might not love me.”

“It’s not the only way, Ian.”

“God damn it, Gerry. I take back what I said about you being a genius. You’re an idiot.”

“Yes… but you’re going to die.”

“And so’s everybody else if I don’t do something to stop it. Listen to me, buddy. I’m fifty next month.

That’s long enough. I’ve done some interesting things in my life. But this is where I can really contribute.

When this is all done, they’re going to need you back on Earth. ’Cause there’s going to be a lot of problems, and they’re going to need people like you to solve them. There won’t be any need for reformed-alcoholic test pilots. Now, come on. Help me. Before we lose our chance.”

Gerry forced himself to shut down his emotions.

But as they went into the surface access bay and he helped Ian into his CAPS, he couldn’t help thinking that he was aiding and assisting in suicide. Plus he thought of all the good times he had spent with Ian: the time they had gone to Japan together and made a pilgrimage to Hiroshima on the two hundredth anniversary of the atomic bomb; how they had nearly gotten swamped in a hurricane after stealing a boat from the marina near Neil’s place on Trunk Bay; and how, miraculously, they had finally met up at the Buena Vista Hotel and Gambling Casino on the Moon. Now they were here together, old friends, true friends, two men trying to save the world, knowing the stakes couldn’t be higher and that time was running out. What did you say to each other at a moment like that?

“I’ll make sure Steph knows what you did,” he said as Ian finally mounted the sled.

Ian’s lips tightened, and he nodded. “Just tell her how I feel. I want her to know.” Then he checked over the sled’s console, made sure the fire ax was secure in one of the straps, and turned back to Gerry.

“You’re clear on the precise point you have to eject?”

“The angle-of-entry change.”

“When precisely? You have to remember the survival pod’s orbital limitations.”

“When the asteroid’s angle of entry has reached thirty-seven degrees.”

“That should put you ten kilometers outside of Nectaris. The blast event is going to knock out all radios for a while, and control has everybody hunkered down for the strike anyway, so—”

“I know. I have to walk.”

“You’ve got ample life support, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

They said a rough good-bye, gave each other a hug; then Ian went into the air lock.

The air lock opened ten seconds later, and Ian was on his way—on the last journey he would ever make.

As the air lock finally hissed shut and Gerry was left standing there by himself, he felt the sudden change, the quietness that comes with solitude; but also the shedding of the particular persona he used whenever he was around Ian, as if Ian was someone he not only embraced but also a man he had to guard against, a reminder of his own alter ego. He turned from the sled access bay and yanked himself along by the handholds, essentially in free fall except for the weak pull of Gaspra that settled him groundward with the slowness of a dust speck. He went to his bunkette and packed a few personal items: his A.A. two-year medallion, photographs of his wife and children, and a bag of rocks from Gaspra. He then suited up in his CAPS.

He got a red light on his fresh-water valve, which meant he was going to be awfully thirsty by the time he got to Nectaris, but he knew he would survive.

He took one last glance out the big freighter windows, looked around the operations area, and had the same feeling a castaway might have when leaving his island; that here, in this setting, momentous events had unfolded, and that the place had made an indelible impression. He turned away and stepped into the void of the companionway hatch. He sank—with the slowness of a dust speck—down to the engineering level. He pulled himself to the back, where the corridors bifurcated and continued in a large circle. He took Corridor A until it joined with Corridor B, way at the back of the PCV. From here it was into the survival pod launch unit, an area much like a missile bay on a nuclear sub, housing two projectiles, the primary and the backup, like huge bullets standing next to each other.