ESTEVAN BROUGHT IN her senior staff, three men and two women, and introduced everybody. Larry Kleigmann, head of the science department, took the lead in thanking Valya and Eric for coming. “Glad somebody cares about us,” he said, exchanging glances with the deputy director. He was from Ohio State, a physicist, probably unmarried. “After all we went through trying to get the sons of bitches to fund the collider,” he said. “It took us twenty years to persuade them to say yes, and look what happens.”
Angie Sudara was the acting construction chief. Her boss had been at the other tower. She was barely five feet tall, middle-aged, light brown hair, good-looking in an unkempt, windblown way. “Good to see you guys,” she said.
Julie Halper headed the West Tower medical department. Julie was a Nigerian, obviously a woman who worked out, with a good smile, but, at the moment, an intense, scared expression.
And Santos Kerr, tall and lean, in a white jumpsuit. A mathematician who had, Kleigmann explained, been with Origins from its inception.
And finally, the deputy’s chief of staff, Ho Smith. It sounded like the name of an action hero, but he looked scared. Ho had Asian features, but spoke Oxford English.
Without wasting time, Estevan got down to business. “Right now, it looks as if these savages will be here in about three and a half hours. The Salvator is here to evacuate some of us, and Valya tells us it’s ready to go.
“As things now stand, we should be okay. I wish we could do something to stop these idiots from blowing up the rest of the facility. Ho has been trying to contact them, but they’re not talking to us.” She glanced over at Ho. He nodded. Yes, he had been trying, and no, there was still no response.
Did any one have a suggestion?
No one did.
“Okay. Then let’s go talk to the troops.”
ESTEVAN MARCHED THROUGH the somber crowds in the passageways, trying to be reassuring as she went, wearing a smile as if everything was under control.
She strolled into the dining area flanked by her staff and followed by, Valya thought, everyone in the facility.
She signaled for Valya and Eric to stand with her. Then she waited for silence. When it didn’t immediately come, Kleigmann bawled for everybody to “shut it down.”
She climbed onto a chair. It was a bit wobbly, and Santos took her hand to steady her. She started by giving her assurance that everyone was going to get off the station before the aliens showed up. Then she introduced Valya and Eric, who had arrived “in the first of several evacuation vessels.” That brought cheers. “Ladies and gentlemen, you already have a pretty good idea what’s going on. But let me lay it out for you.”
She was good. There’d been a transformation of sorts between the quivering wreck in the office and the woman who now dominated a frightened audience. In a tense but matter-of-fact tone, she explained what had happened and what was being done to rescue them. “I’ll be honest,” she said. “This whole thing is as scary for me as it is for you. But we have every reason to be optimistic. Help is on the way. And the good news is these creatures don’t seem intent on killing us. Apparently, they simply want to destroy the facility.”
“Why?” asked a thick-waisted man standing against the wall.
“We don’t really know, Harry. It may have something to do with Blueprint.” That brought sighs, protests, and a few I-told-you-so’s. “I know there’s been some discussion among us as to whether we should have been proceeding with it. That’s all moot now. All we care about at the moment is getting away from here.
“The way things are proceeding, the aliens are still roughly three hours away. I can’t guarantee that, but so far they’ve been moving at a constant rate. Valya tells me she thinks they want to give us time to get clear. I hope she’s right. We have at our immediate disposal one ship, two shuttles, and a lander. We expect two more ships to be here before these creatures, whatever they are.
“Fortunately, it’ll be enough to accommodate everybody. Some of us may have to wear a breathing apparatus for a couple of hours, but that’s a small enough price to pay.
“We’re going to put twenty-nine people on the two shuttles, the Salvator, and the Salvator’s lander. In addition, we have twenty breathers. That means we can put an additional twenty people on the Salvator, or whatever other ship shows up.”
“Is there room?” someone asked.
Estevan looked down at Valya. “It’ll be a bit snug,” Valya said. “But we can live with it.”
“We could wait for the Granville,” said Estevan, “but we think it’s smarter to get as many people off as early as we can. Just in case.”
“You think the Granville won’t get here?” someone asked. A voice in back.
“We’d rather be safe than sorry. The Rehling can take out nine. It also has two breathers, which we’ll collect. Whoever’s left will be picked up by the Granville. If you look around at the main door, you’ll notice Ho and Angie back there with a box. There are folded slips of paper in the box, numbered one to seventy-two. Take one as you go out. Show it to them, and they’ll record your number. Those numbers will be the sequence of departure. Number one will be out the door first. Seventy-two will leave when the senior staff does.
“Any questions?”
“Yes, Terri. When do we expect the Granville?”
“We don’t know. Actually, there are several ships en route. We’re waiting for them to complete their jumps, which should come at any time.
“We’re going to wait until the last minute to launch the Salvator. That way we conserve oxygen. The senior staff and I will be riding out on the Granville. Along with the highest numbers.”
She answered a few more questions, mostly repetitious, and decided to close it out. “You’ve been a good team to work with,” she said. “I know some of you had friends on the East Tower. You’re aware only sixteen people survived over there. But they didn’t have the advance warning we do.” She got down off the table and moved confidently through the room. Everything was going to be fine.
WITH TWO HOURS remaining, good news came in. “This is WhiteStar II,” said a woman’s voice. “Just made our jump, and we are on target. We’re about two and a half hours out. Maybe a bit more.”
Wonderful. “Thank you, WhiteStar II,” said Valya. “We’ll put the beer on ice. Be advised it looks close whether you get here first, or the crazies do. Recommend you lose no time. How many breathers do you have on board?”
There was a delay while the signal crossed. “Hotfoot,” said the pilot. “Will be there soonest. Have two breathers.”
She passed the news to Estevan, who nodded as if she’d known all along. “No sweat,” she said.
They collected four breathers from the two shuttles, loaded eight people on each, and launched them.
THE MOONRIDERS WERE still an hour and a half away when the Rehling arrived. It already, unfortunately, carried two passengers. Mark Stevens was first off the ship, striding into the reception area where about twenty people waited with a scattering of luggage. He was a good-looking guy, dark hair, quiet. You could see the concern in his eyes. There were comments from the crowd. Good to see you. Thank God you got here.
Valya met him at the airlock. He reacted with a pained smile, and they embraced. “You okay?” he whispered.
“It’s been scary.”
“I know. Hang in there. Everything’ll be all right.”
One of Stevens’s passengers emerged. His expression suggested he should be treated with deference. He had white hair, thin lips, narrow eyes under enormous brows, and what appeared to be a permanent frown. This was Charles Autry from Seaside University in Sydney. Valya had transported him to Nok some years earlier. He’d been obnoxious throughout the voyage. Immediately behind him came Marcus Cullen, tall and lean, an aristocrat by inclination, born into money and influence and never recovered. He was the president of Duke University. “It’s just been one thing after another,” grumbled Autry. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Stevens smiled at Valya. “We’re not happy at being delayed,” he said.
“Typical screwup,” Autry said. “Bureaucracy at work.”
Cullen looked directly through Valya as though she did not exist. His gaze swept around the room without reaction and came back to Stevens. He sighed and made a point of checking the time.
Valya resisted the temptation to ask whether either of them would volunteer to stay for the Granville. “Mark,” she said, “do you have some breathers on board?”
“We have two.”
“How much oxygen?”
“A two-hour supply for each. Why?”
“We’re going to steal them.”
“Okay,” he said. “You’re welcome to them.”
“Could we please move this along?” said Cullen.
Estevan appeared. “One through nine,” she said. Nine people picked up their bags and began to move forward. She stepped back to make room for them. “Enjoy your flight,” she said. “I’ll see you at Union.”
There was some shuffling in the crowd. A few sighs. Some guilty looks. Somebody in back said she had a child at home. Someone else explained he hadn’t intended to come out here in the first place. He’d been pressured.
There were handshakes and embraces.
Autry wondered aloud whether they were ready to leave yet.
Valya glared at him, but he never noticed. “Stazoun meli,” she said.
Stevens put a hand on her shoulder. “They’re okay. They’re not used to this. They got detoured, and now they have to ride home in a crowded ship.”
“I’m sympathetic.”
“I can see that.” His jaw muscles worked. “You going to be all right?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t wait too long to get clear yourself.” His new passengers filed through the airlock. Then Cullen and Autry, and finally Stevens. Minutes later, as the Rehling was pulling away from the dock, they heard that the WhiteStar had not gained any time. If nothing changed, it would be several minutes behind the the moonriders.
Bill broke in. “Transmission from the Tanaka.”
“Salvator, jump is complete. We estimate TOA three hours ten minutes.”