No time for nostalgia, he told himself firmly. With Oram and Daniels both on board the lander, he was now in charge of the Covenant.
The storm was massive, involving a good swath of the visible atmosphere. The continuous, extensive lightning and the roaring winds put Faris more in mind of Jupiter’s atmosphere than Earth’s. At least, she told herself as she prepared for atmospheric entry, they didn’t have to deal with a gas giant’s crushing gravity, or bands of killer radiation.
“Everything looking good down there?” Upworth’s voice sounded over the lander’s comm, trying a little too hard not to sound concerned.
“All good, Covenant,” Faris replied. “Expect to hit exosphere in five. Ask me again in ten minutes.”
Turning, she called back to those seated in the main crew bay. “No point in trying to avoid the obvious—it’s gonna get rough. Might want to hang on back there. You know how Tennessee likes old music and antiques? Any of you know what a ‘pinball machine’ was?” Silence greeted her query. “I’ll explain in detail later. Right now you’re about to find out what the ball felt like.”
BAM!
Cupping the sturdy lander in its grasp, a stream of superfast air threw it back toward space, then yanked it groundward. Though she was flying via electronics, and not by stick or wire, Faris still struggled with the controls.
Continuing to descend was like flying through the eye wall of a terrestrial hurricane, and a monster at that. Lights within the lander flickered as alarms howled on and off. Being strapped in securely didn’t keep Oram and Walter from grabbing onto the sides of their drop seats. In the crew bay behind them, someone moaned. Someone else—it might have been Rosenthal—started to make gagging sounds.
“Not here,” the soldier next to her yelled, “for god’s sake, not here!” Whether because of the threat or the embarrassment, the incipient puking noises ceased.
Considering the pounding it was taking, it did not seem possible that the lander would hold together. But this was what it had been designed for, and Faris knew it. That didn’t prevent her from being just a tad concerned. Knowing that everyone else was depending on her and was doubtless watching her, she strove to stay calm.
Seemingly inescapable, the song “Country Roads” popped into her head again and she started whistling along. Though it helped to soothe her, the effort was lost to everyone else amid the crashing and banging inside the landing craft.
She was close enough to the piloting console pickup to be heard on the Covenant’s bridge, however.
Each note lingered in Tennessee’s hearing as he focused his attention on the readout image that represented the steadily descending craft.
“You still reading me, Faris?” he said. “Faris?”
Fragments of “Country Roads” crackled from speakers. Taken together, there weren’t enough of them to make up a whole song. Hoping for something more coherent, everyone on the bridge listened intently—until even the barely comprehensible excerpts ceased.
Silence.
Upworth stated what everyone knew. “We lost comm.”
“Goddamn storm. I hate it when electrons don’t behave.” It was the rare occasion when one of Tennessee’s jibes fell flat.
Outside and far below, the crazed ionosphere kept communications between the Covenant and the lander incommunicado. Those on the bridge of the colony ship could only try to imagine what the landing team must be going through.
VII
On board the lander itself, there was no time to imagine much of anything. An intrusive crashing reality kept everyone’s thoughts tightly focused. One jolt after another sent the craft alternately up, down, and sideways. Each shock felt as if they were slamming into a mountainside, when in actuality it was only the wind.
Air had never felt so solid, Oram decided as he manipulated his worry beads.
As bad as the turbulence were the huge bolts of lightning that split the dense cloud cover enveloping the lander. So numerous and close were the strikes that he could frequently see inside the ship without the need of its internal lighting.
Lighting, lightning, Oram thought, trying to take his mind off the conditions. Beside him, a grim-faced Faris worked the controls, fighting to keep the ship level and on course. Not because consistent stability was necessary—the lander could fly just as efficiently upside down. But it would be better for the team’s morale if the craft’s interior remained puke-free.
An especially powerful jolt would have thrown everyone on board head-first into the ceiling had they not been strapped into their seats. It was strong enough to break Oram’s grasp on his low-tech stress-relievers, sending one round bead rolling and rattling across the deck. While he missed its comforting presence in his hand, he had no intention of unstrapping to go look for it.
Noting his partner’s distress, Lopé leaned toward Hallet, trying to impart a bit of reassurance and comfort to the other man’s space. Alone among the team, the sergeant was actually enjoying the chaotic ride.
“Relax, Tom. It’s only atmosphere,” he said. “Nothing to worry about. There’s nothing solid to hit.” He nodded forward. “Faris is the best pilot on the Covenant.”
Hallet gripped the arms of his seat so hard his fingers were turning white inside his gloves. “I hate space.” A quick glance downward showed the captain’s fugitive worry bead rolling past beneath their seats.
“It’s not like we’re flying through a meteor storm.” Lopé’s voice was calm and controlled, no different from the one he would have been using had he been in the middle of a comforting meal in the Covenant’s mess.
“That’s in space, too,” Hallet muttered unhappily.
Lopé smiled affectionately. “This is why you need to do yoga.”
His partner shot him a look, and the sergeant laughed.
A moment later the lander dropped a hundred meters as if it had been hit by a giant hammer, then recovered the lost altitude under Faris’ skilled ministrations. Lopé’s grin turned to a look of concern as Hallet blanched. The other man really was having a tough time. Eschewing any further casual banter or attempts at humor, the sergeant turned his gaze forward. While the rocking, bouncing, and general atmospheric turmoil didn’t bother him, he could not help but wonder—just how extensive was this storm, anyway?
He could have asked, but knew better. Everyone up front was far too busy to respond to casual questions from the cargo.
Then, without any warning, the terrible jolting ceased. It was replaced by an ominous but quite familiar creaking from less-than-stellar joins in the hull. A minute later even the creaking ceased as the lander dropped through the underside of the cloud layer. Pursing her lips, Faris exhaled long and deliberately.
The terrific pounding they had taken was behind them, and both the lander and its personnel were intact. They descended now as smoothly and uneventfully as if they were back in space circling the Covenant in the complete absence of weather. Emergency illumination was replaced automatically by normal lighting. The crew bay was filled with exclamations of relief, laughter, and more than one comment about needing a change of undergarments. But there had been no injuries. Straps and drop seats had done their job.