Her headache had subsided the instant she stopped trying to answer questions. “Not sure. The word temple doesn’t mean anything to me—”
She stopped in midsentence because she saw Tea Nowinski shuffling past Zack and sliding her hand across his shoulder. She might as well have kissed him, because that brief tell was enough to convince Megan that her former husband and Tea were lovers.
Zack knew Megan had seen it. The instant Tea was around the rover and momentarily out of sight and earshot, he came to her. “I’m sorry.”
Megan was surprised at how annoyed she was at the thought of Zack and Tea together. “Feel free to tell me this didn’t start until after I was dead.”
“You know me better than that.”
Fortunately the burst of jealousy was as short-lived as it was bizarre. She had been dead, right? Was this second chance at life—thank you to the Almighty or these Architects or some combination of the two—a real second chance?
Was she still married? Her Mormon friend Robin had believed that she and her husband were “sealed for eternity” . . . right up to the time they got divorced. By her own much looser standards, Megan had no claim on Zack, legal or moral.
She had to ask herself, was she still in love with him? But she would also have to ask, what difference did that make? What possible life could they share? What could she expect from her own, under the circumstances?
Was Zack convinced he had discovered the real Megan Doyle Stewart? His actions and words gave that impression, though Megan felt he wasn’t fully committed to the idea. (For that matter, was she sure? How would she know?)
One thing Megan felt with great certainty was that she was still a mother. “Zack,” she said. “I want to talk to Rachel.”
Zack got that worried look on his face, one she had come to know. “Wish we both could, but we don’t have real-time communication here.”
Taj said, “I can do it.”
Zack seemed surprised. “You can do what? We’re in LOS for hours yet.”
“I can communicate with Earth in real time as soon as I can get close enough to punch a signal through the membrane.” He held up the Zeiss unit. “This will transmit to Brahma and then to a relay satellite.”
Zack considered this. “Being able to do it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea—”
Megan knew that voice; Zack was about to dig in. “Look,” she said, “I realize you aren’t quite ready to accept me. Fine. So let’s put it in terms everyone can understand.
“Unless I talk to my daughter, I’m not telling you another damn thing.”
. . . The Destiny flight director is the operations agent for the NASA Launch Package Manager and Mission Manager. He or she is a member of the board responsible for assuring that the mission-specific operations document meets the defined requirements, and that associated operational risks have been adequately addressed. He or she is also responsible for arranging necessary Mission Operations Directorate expertise and support. . . .
FLIGHT DIRECTOR TASKS, JSC MOD, JANUARY 2019, REV. G (EXCERPT)
“If her father says it’s okay, then it’s okay.” Josh Kennedy delivered his judgment, then turned away.
After returning Rachel to the family room, Harley had headed directly for mission control. Wanting to avoid any immediate contact with the great minds of the Home Team, he made sure to go around the building, rolling up to Josh Kennedy, who was preparing to hand flight director duties to the Stay-3 leader, Lee Shimora. “Got a sec?” Harley had said.
Kennedy looked at Shimora, then back to Harley. “Do you see any activity here? We’re just warming chairs until we get data.”
Harley showed him Rachel’s Slate. “Someone’s got data.”
That gesture triggered an energetic response from Kennedy and Shimora. Both men began e-mailing and phoning their counterparts in Bangalore.
Within half an hour, prodded by Harley’s disclosure of the Brahma-dropped relay satellite, Bangalore mission control managed to acknowledge that they (a) did indeed have a relay satellite and (b) would be willing to bring Houston into the communications loop. “Generous of them,” Harley said acidly, “given that they leaked everything to the planet, anyway.”
To the surprise of the Houston team, Bangalore was in the process of reestablishing contact with Taj and his crew inside Keanu. Bangalore leader Vikram Nayar—who apparently never slept or left the center—claimed that Bangalore had not had contact for the last six hours, that this was a new and welcome resumption. “Whatever,” Shimora snapped, “their default setting is lies and bullshit. Nayar hates us. As long as they’ll give us comm, I don’t care if they claim to have seen the Easter Bunny.” He was even younger than Kennedy, who often struck Harley as an undergraduate, but considerably more worldly.
Most of the immediate take from the session was data and imagery. “They’re gonna go apeshit back in your cave, Harls,” Shimora said.
“I’m going a little ape-like myself here.”
The team at the Keanu end of the link was Taj and Zack . . . to Harley’s horror, neither one in pressure suit. They had apparently taken up position just inside the so-called membrane, feeding communications through its cable up to Brahma, thence to satellite, Bangalore, and Houston.
There was a third person with them, too.
Even knowing about the so-called resurrected ones—what the Home Team called Revenants—and having seen the initial image of Megan Stewart, Harley was still stunned senseless at seeing her “alive,” hearing her voice.
She had even waved at them. Had called out for Harley by name!
In spite of the confusion—Taj was talking to Nayar in Bangalore while Zack was trying to get word directly to Houston—Megan had made a public request: “Harley Drake, get my daughter on the line!”
Shimora said, “That’s way up the list of terrible fucking ideas.” He pointed to the screen. “We don’t know who or what that is!”
But Kennedy stepped in. “Josh for Zack,” he said, “this is your call.”
After five seconds, all three could see Zack nodding, his verbal assent following: “Do it!”
Harley rolled out to fetch Rachel for the strangest conversation any human being had ever had.
He had returned Rachel to the family room, now almost empty, since Pogo Downey’s family had departed, and other relatives and friends had dispersed rather than ride out the long silence from Destiny.
With the flexibility of youth, Amy was asleep across three folding chairs when Harley arrived. Rachel looked up from a new Slate—obviously Amy’s—when the door opened.
The girl acted as though she wanted to run. “Fuck you, Harley, you better not be here to tell me bad news.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her close. “Far from it, kiddo. You saw that picture of your mom?”
“This won’t be HD quality,” Kennedy said. “Don’t freak out if we lose contact, either. Comm is ratty in the extreme.”
“As if I care,” Rachel snapped. Her face held a perfect mix of fury and terror. She looked over at Harley, who could only nod with a reassurance he most certainly didn’t feel. “Will she be able to see me?”
Kennedy pointed to one of the cameras that gave the public a live feed of mission control. “We’ve linked that camera to Bangalore.”
Rachel put on the headset, and walked toward the screen. “And there’ll be a lag,” Kennedy said.
But no one cared, because the screen came alive.
The camera angle on Megan was looking up, too close and definitely low-def, but still Harley could see the moment when mother recognized daughter. Signal quality be damned, the woman’s eyes went wide and her hand suddenly covered her mouth. Then: “Daddy was right,” the voice from the screen said. “You got bigger.”
Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. Harley knew what the girl was thinking . . . the last words she’d exchanged with her mother were angry ones. “Oh my God, Mommy!” She could barely get the words out.