“All of our identified crew has trained for over a year on operating and developing the combat and engineering systems aboard the Sword, and each crewmember has undergone extensive cross-training so they each know the others’ jobs. The whole crew has been through a private version of NASA’s astronaut training program, and they’ve gone through the full space station psychological battery. When it comes to having an expert crew able to handle any eventuality or casualty, I’d go with this one over any other.”
“One of your veterans is a double amputee, Mr. Kelley.”
Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “That particular gentleman has gotten by quite ably for the last thirteen years on prosthetics, and in microgravity that handicap should be a moot issue. In addition, he’s a tactical and technical wizard, a decorated former Senior Chief in the US Navy, and I’d trust him with my life anytime, anywhere.”
Sykes shook his head. “Would you trust him with every life on this planet?”
“Yes.”
Sykes grunted and looked back down at his briefing. “And who is the commanding officer of this ‘expert’ crew?”
Nathan said nothing and looked down. He sighed and scanned the crowd. A few followed along in their briefs, but most simply stared at him and Sykes.
He turned back to the antagonistic Secretary of Defense. “I’m the captain of this mission. I had a major hand in designing the ship, in determining the tactical mission parameters, and in assembling the crew. My past naval experience and my skill-set in particular were sought out by Mr. Lee. I was his first and last choice to lead this mission. There may be someone out there with more battle experience than I, or more sea time in command, but no one has more experience aboard this type of ship on this sort of mission. Gordon Lee wanted me to be the CO, and I plan to carry out his wish.”
Sykes nodded and looked around at the audience. Now all eyes were on them. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t your last seagoing assignment as a mere lieutenant department head, an assignment that ended with your ship sunk and half your crew killed?”
Lydia shot to her feet. “That’s a damned low blow, Carl!”
Sykes raised placating hands. “I’m not disputing the valor with which you served, nor the medals you justly received for your actions off the coast of North Korea. I merely want everyone here to realize to whom they’re entrusting the wellbeing of our nation and the entire human race.”
He turned completely around, looking up from his seat in the first tier to address the joint House and Senate committees. “I would be the last person to disparage a seasoned, bloodied hero of our Navy, but I also won’t allow them to capitalize on my honor and respect in order to steer this body onto a dangerous course. What LT Kelley did in 2031 is far removed from what he’s proposing to do now. Years can change a man.
“See it this way, if you will. Do you feel safe entrusting first contact to a man who has already lied to our government? Who lied for the purpose of building his own nuclear arsenal for use against an alien presence that has not definitively proven itself hostile? Who will be far beyond the systems of checks and balances and controls that our own trained, vetted ballistic missile sub captains operate under? Who may, possibly, be suffering from the effects of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or who may have something to prove for past blood and lost glory?”
Lydia began to step out from the table, held back only by Nathan’s firm grip on her wrist. “God damn you, Carl! There’s not one bit of truth to anything you just said! You’re twisting things!”
Nathan surveyed the room, purposely avoiding Sykes’ eyes. To their credit, several senators and representatives looked appropriately shamed, unable to lock gazes with him. Eventually, Nathan forced himself to focus upon Sykes. “I suppose you have an alternative plan, Mr. Secretary?
Sykes smiled slightly. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
February 24, 2045; Kelley residence, Vista Del Mar Condominium Village; Santa Cruz, California
Nathan slammed the door on his car and looked toward his front door with a mix of dread and relief. At this, the tail end of the longest, toughest day he had ever endured, all he wanted was to lay down, shut his eyes, and sleep. But surrendering to sleep also meant giving up the fight, even though he had already lost before he even knew he should be fighting.
Gordon predicted this, he thought. He saw this coming, he warned me with his dying words, and I still failed him.
Nathan shouldered his overnight luggage and trudged up the path to his first-floor condo. Looking at the cement walk, fumbling for the key on his key-ring, he failed to notice Kristene sitting on his porch until he almost fell over her.
“Hey! Kris!” He smiled down at her, momentarily glad despite how the day had gone. “What are you doing here?”
She looked up at him and slowly rose to her feet, her wildly disarrayed phosphorescent red hair offset by the dark expression she wore. She stepped forward to block his access to the front door. “Anything you want to tell me about your trip, Nathan?”
He sighed. “There’s a lot I want to tell you, that I need to tell you, but not right now, okay? I was up at five AM East Coast time and it’s been a hell of a long day. All I want to do now is get some sleep.”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “Yeah? Well I want some freakin’ answers! Why is all my access cut off?! Why are there Army types crawling all over the shipyard and the dock? What the hell did you do in DC today?!”
“Army types? Damn, he works fast.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I called Lydia and she said she couldn’t tell me over the phone. She told me to go and ask you. So here I am. I’m asking! Why have you two cut me off from my work? Am I not on the team anymore, now that you’re in the big leagues with Washington?”
Nathan shook his head, confused for a moment, and then he looked at her and grinned slightly. He laughed, but choked it off when he saw her expression turn fiery. “Okay, all right. Let’s go inside so I can put this shit down. I’ll tell you everything, but it’s not what you think.”
She stood her ground for a few seconds and then stepped to one side. “It’s not?”
“No,” he said, “it’s much worse.”
Nathan unlocked and fumbled through the door, dropping his gear on the other side with relief. The place was pristine, ordered, but not because he himself was. He was virtually a stranger in his own apartment. All his time, his devotion, his passion was spent at the shipyard. This place was furnished out of Swedish catalogs, updated with all the latest electronics, cleaned and maintained by a service, and enjoyed by virtually no one.
Kris entered behind him and shut the door. She looked uncomfortable, the heat of her anger cooling slowly. Nathan favored her with as welcoming a smile as he could muster, given how tired he was, but he could not help it coming off more melancholy than friendly.
Realizing he could not make her feel any more at ease, he dropped the smile, and meandered through his place. He felt unaccountably nervous. It had been a long time since a woman had been in his apartment, but this was Kris. That was a non-starter. It could not be that.
He wandered over to the one area of his apartment that he truly thought of as “his”. A wall entirely devoted to bookshelves was filled to overflowing with paperbacks, hardcovers, UV-ROM movies—science fiction, thrillers, and military all, with a few engineering and speculative science texts thrown in for good measure. Interspersed among the books-stacked-upon-books were bits and pieces of his former life. Ball caps, signed pictures of the three ships he had been on, photo albums, cruise books, memorabilia—snapshots of a time when he had served something greater and nobler than his own interests. Nathan had hoped to add another ship’s icons to those shelves.