Part 4 (1/2)
One such flashy mission it amounted to little more than another photo op of the rings of Saturn was underway now.
About the only thing positive to come out of the loss of the Cristobal Colon Cristobal Colon was that any number of astronomers and physicists had turned their attention to the area in which the probe had disappeared. There was a theory on the subject. was that any number of astronomers and physicists had turned their attention to the area in which the probe had disappeared. There was a theory on the subject.
Based on the presence near the area of microwave variance that the physicists described as ”lumpy,” it seemed that the area concerned was very similar to conditions believed to have existed when the universe was virtually brand new. The theory was that the speed of light was not the same in that area as it was more generally.
This theory, by the way, was not exactly correct.
An a.s.sistant Flight Director, bored and contemplating a night with a couple of cold beers, a hot shower and a hotter woman suddenly saw something on his screen that ought not no way in h.e.l.l be there. He fiddled. He even faddled. But there it remained.
When in doubt, delegate. When delegation is impossible, buck it up to higher.
”What the...? Skipper? Skipper, you've got to come see this!”
Impatiently, the 'Skipper' a retired naval officer ent.i.tled Mission Director for the Saturn mission made his way to the terminal. His face was old, weather-lined, and leathery, but he walked erect. A careful observer might have noticed a certain swaggering gait that told of a life at sea now confined to the land.
”Yes, what is it?” the Skipper asked.
”The Cristobal Colon Cristobal Colon just sent us a distress signal, sir.” just sent us a distress signal, sir.”
”That's not possible. The thing disappeared three and a half years ago and never a peep.”
”Look for yourself,” the a.s.sistant Flight Director insisted, indicating his monitor screen with a pointed finger.
The Skipper fumbled in his s.h.i.+rtfront pocket for gla.s.ses bifocals, dammit! and, placing them low on his nose, craned his head to look at the screen.
”I'll be dipped in s.h.i.+t,” the Skipper muttered, then continued, a growing excitement in his voice, ”Don't just sit there with your teeth in your mouth. Answer it!”
A little shamefaced, the a.s.sistant Flight Director began typing on his keyboard. A series of protocols appeared on the screen. He scrolled through them at practiced speed. But which is...ah, there. But which is...ah, there. Selecting one, and hitting return, the a.s.sistant Flight Director sent a signal down the line. The signal reached a largish antenna somewhere in the Rockies and was promptly beamed into s.p.a.ce. Then came the roughly one hundred and four thousand second wait about thirty-one hours while the signal went out to the Selecting one, and hitting return, the a.s.sistant Flight Director sent a signal down the line. The signal reached a largish antenna somewhere in the Rockies and was promptly beamed into s.p.a.ce. Then came the roughly one hundred and four thousand second wait about thirty-one hours while the signal went out to the Cristobal Colon, Cristobal Colon, was received and returned. was received and returned.
From that point until the s.h.i.+p was recovered the Colon Colon sent an almost continuous stream of the most absolutely, most amazingly impossible data Mission Control, Earth for that matter, had ever received. sent an almost continuous stream of the most absolutely, most amazingly impossible data Mission Control, Earth for that matter, had ever received.
There were those who came to wish that the s.h.i.+p, the data, and the program had or would disappear. They had their reasons, and some of those reasons were very good ones.
Chapter Four.
Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.
-Mathew 5:4
Cochea, 11/7/459 AC She glided through his dream like a G.o.ddess on a cloud; glowing with her own inner light. The halo of her hair shone with semi-divine vitality. Her perfume was the lightest fresh mist in his nostrils. Perfect rounded b.r.e.a.s.t.s danced thinly veiled before his eyes, enflamed aureoles outlined in the fabric that covered them. As ever, his eyes were dazzled.
She came to her husband, pressing herself against him and inclining her head to be kissed. Her lips opened slightly, dreamily, in invitation.
As they kissed, Pat ran his hands over her back, skin so smooth that but for the seam of the pajamas he couldn't tell where silk left off and equally silky skin began. No matter that she had borne him three children, no mark showed anywhere on her body. Hennessey buried his face in the junction of her neck and shoulder, reveling in the richness of long flowing hair the color of midnight; savoring her warmth, her wondrous scent.
She backed up, pulling and leading him towards the bed. At the bedside, G.o.ddess-fingers deftly removed his s.h.i.+rt, undid his belt. As she began to kneel, most un-G.o.ddess-like, she whispered, ”I love you, Patricio. Only you. Ever...forever.” Her husband groaned, fingers flexing involuntarily in her hair, as sweet soft lips and roving tongue found and teased.
Sensing the right moment, one of Linda's feet replaced a knee. She arose gracefully, kissing her way upward.
How they moved onto the bed he did not know. Where their clothes went he did not know. One moment they were standing, she in pajamas and he half in working clothes. The next, he lay atop her, the two naked together, her back arched, face flushed with desire. A greedy, grasping hand guided him into her. A small gasp escaped her lips as he began to fill her body as he filled her heart.
For his part it was as if he had entered heated honey. He reveled in the wet heat. His hands roved and stroked, caressed, squeezed, fondled with more than fondness.
Together, they began the age old dance; long slow strokes together. Her moans were more than music to his ears. They inflamed him, drove him on and on, faster and faster. With her moans turning to cries of ecstasy, he groaned, shuddered, spent himself inside her.
Patrick Hennessey smiled in his sleep.
Columbian Airlines LTA Flight 39, Federated States of Columbia One of the distinguis.h.i.+ng features of Terra Nova, with only its three small moons rather than Old Earth's single large one, and its lesser axial tilt, was that the weather tended less to extremes than had the world of Man's birth. This had made certain technologies that had proven suboptimal and unreliable even dangerous on Old Earth rather more compet.i.tive on the new. One of these differences was that lighter than air aircraft, blimps and dirigibles, were somewhat more practical and safe.
LTA aircraft still had a number of limitations. They were slow, and so since the development of large, fast and efficient propeller and jet powered pa.s.senger aircraft not generally used anymore for intercontinental pa.s.senger service. Materials for building them both light and strong were either expensive or lacking and so they were not generally used for heavy freight. (Though several companies, notably in the Kingdom of Haarlem, the Republic of Northern Uhuru, and Anglia, were working on this.) For war purposes, though the LTAs had been used extensively early on in the Great Global war, they had been found to be simply too big, too slow, too easily spotted and, because of this, altogether too vulnerable. As helium was relatively expensive, and since the weather was so much less of a threat, Terra Novan airs.h.i.+ps had stuck with using hydrogen for lift. This, too, made them less suitable for military use.
Instead, LTAs kept a niche in local light freight drayage, regional and infracontinental pa.s.senger service, and naturally sightseeing. There was nothing quite so good as a mid-size LTA for touring the ice fields of southern Secordia, the Great Ravine that roughly bisected the Federated States of Columbia, the Balboa Transitway, or the First Landing skyline.
The five men sat up in First Cla.s.s, Yusef playing on his guitar and singing in Arabic...much to the annoyance of the other pa.s.sengers and the flight crew. He played his new song, happily unconcerned that the song referenced airplanes and they were actually on an airs.h.i.+p. That was the sort of trivial detail only the infidels worried about. That was the sort of trivial detail only the infidels worried about.
”I've been dreamin' fait'f'ly Dreamin' about the jihad to come I know deep inside me The holy war has begun”
The other four men of the team unbuckled themselves and stood in the aisle, clapping their hands, dancing, and singing along: ”War plane getting nearer; RIDE on the war plane!”
One of the other, business cla.s.s, pa.s.sengers rang for a stewardess. ”Miss, can't you get those bearded heathens to please shut up and sit down?”
”I'll try, sir,” she answered, smiling. She walked up to one of the dancers and asked, politely, ”Sir, could you please...”
And then the ceramic knives came out.
Cochea Hennessey sliced off a bite of ham as he, Parilla and Jimenez took their breakfast in the courtyard, not far from the statue of Linda.
The sun was up, a pleasant breeze blowing. The head of the waterfall was just visible from the spot they sat. The air was fresh and clean, washed by the previous night's rain. The mosquitoes were vanquished by day. Nor was anything allowed to gather anywhere near the house that might draw or breed flies. There was only the smell of the flowers, Linda's carefully nurtured garden in the courtyard, and of the repast: bacon, ham, eggs, corn tortillas, some cheese Lucinda made herself from the few score cows the Hennesseys owned, mostly for the sake of Linda's family tradition. Above all was the smell of strong Balboan coffee, grown by one of Hennessey's in-laws in a high, cool mountain valley halfway to the southern coast.
The courtyard was doubly screened in, overhead. The finer mesh was intended to keep out mosquitoes and flies. The courser, steel wire mesh was prevention against entry of the unsavory antaniae antaniae, nocturnal flying lizards with batlike wings and highly septic mouths. Like tranzitrees, bols.h.i.+berry bushes, and progressivines, antaniae antaniae were neither terrestrial in origin nor Terra Novan, but showed evidence at the cellular level of being artificial creations. were neither terrestrial in origin nor Terra Novan, but showed evidence at the cellular level of being artificial creations.
A portion of the screen, a panel of perhaps four feet by six, had receded when light sensors told it the sun had risen enough to drive off the bugs and the winged lizards. Just as Hennessey took the bite of ham an emerald, blue, red and gold reptilian bird or flying reptile; it was somewhere between the two, though most called them birds appeared at the opening, circled almost incredibly slowly twice, then descended to land in front of Linda's statue. There it squawked several times before twisting its head to cast an accusing glare at Hennessy.
”She's still not back, Jinfeng Jinfeng,” Hennessey called to the bird. ”Come over for your breakfast.”
Hennessey picked up a still warm corn tortilla and held it down between the level of the table and the level of the courtyard's ground. The bird looked at the tortilla, then looked with vast suspicion at Parilla and Jimenez in turn. Hennessey wriggled the flat fried corn cake to distract the bird.
”My friends won't harm you, Jinfeng Jinfeng. Come get your chow.”
The bird opened its beak wide, wide enough to see that it was lined with teeth. A warning? Possibly. Jinfeng Jinfeng and her kind had not survived so far on Terra Nova by failing in the paranoia department. Then she waddled over, her long boney tail sc.r.a.pping along the stone walkway that ran the length, also the breadth, of the courtyard while the claws on her partially reversed big toes went and her kind had not survived so far on Terra Nova by failing in the paranoia department. Then she waddled over, her long boney tail sc.r.a.pping along the stone walkway that ran the length, also the breadth, of the courtyard while the claws on her partially reversed big toes went click-click-click. click-click-click.