For a brief while, as they got closer, an automated Tarsalan probe, egg-shaped like most of the alien craft and wrapped in its own shimmering plasma of blue, violet, and pink light, orbited the asteroid, but the PCV’s scans told them it was unweaponized, unmanned, and posed no threat.
“I’m sure they’ve exhausted all their military capability by this time,” said Ian. “Looks like we’re home free, buddy.”
All that needed to be done now was fire Drive Five. This would initiate the slight change of angle needed for the final impact, and bring Gaspra crashing into the lunar surface.
But when Ian tried the modified key box, it was as if the alien virus had at last worked through to his initial fix and he got no response from thrust conduit number five. In other words, the drive that had given them their initial trouble previous to mission countdown was again flickering into the red. Ian maneuvered from his seat over to the navigation console and his fingers clicked over the keys, but he couldn’t regain command of the conduit, nor secure access through some creative rerouting.
He worked frantically on the problem for the next five minutes. Gerry glanced nervously out the big freighter windows and saw the Earth, like a rotting wedge of lime, and the Moon, craters now fully visible.
“So there’s no way to fix the problem?” asked Gerry, because in these most harrowing moments he had no choice but to defer to Ian.
Ian now had full schematics on screen four. The left side of the screen showed diagrams, while text filled the right side—script so tiny Ian had to tap his contact lenses to their strongest setting.
Ian didn’t so much read as skim. He ignored Gerry as he went through the thick, turgid prose of the drive specs, the sweat beading on his shaved head and a thick vein sticking out like a blue worm over his temple. All the while their speed increased.
“I know these specs like the back of my own hand,” he said. “But you never know. Maybe if I review it, something could jog and I might…”
Gerry felt helpless, frustrated, and so anxious to solve the problem that he kept fidgeting in his seat.
“Couldn’t we go to the drive itself and do something to fix it?”
Ian froze. He stopped flicking through the script and turned to Gerry. He looked like a man on a spirit quest who had just experienced the revelation he had been looking for, his blue eyes wide, his lower lip coming out, his ears shifting a fraction on the sides of his head. Gerry thought he had only pointed out the obvious, but Ian looked at him as if he were Moses coming down from the mount.
“You’re a genius, Gerry.” Then he swung to the timer up on the console. “We’ve got to move. We’ve got only a certain envelope to do this and, after that, it’s a no go for good.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to blow Drive Five sky-high. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Am I ever glad you’re on this mission. The resulting explosion will give us the necessary thrust to angle us into a collision trajectory. As I say, I know the specs inside out and I think this can work. Especially because all we have to do is collide with your so-called wide region of effectiveness.”
“You’re going to blow up the drive?”
“Yes.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I’m going to sled to the drive, crawl into its access bay, and manually cross the male and female thrust conduits so they reverse on each other and blow the singularity to pieces.” He motioned at the screen of schematics. “I can’t believe I was looking at a technical solution when all I really needed was the PCV’s fire ax. You’re brilliant, Gerry.”
“But…you’re going to blow up the drive?”
“Right.”
“And then what?”
Ian frowned. “I already told you. The blast should give us the necessary thrust to make it all happen.”
“And then you’re going to come back here to the Prometheus, and we’re going to escape in the survival pod?”
Ian’s brow settled. “Maybe you’re not so smart after all.”
The two stared at each other. It was a pivotal moment for Gerry, because he suddenly understood that Ian was a hero after all.
“Ian… no.”
Ian’s face creased and he now looked irritated. “It’s the only way, buddy. You’ll have the pod all to yourself. There’s no sense in two of us going down for this thing. Now, come on, we’ve got to move. If I leave right now it’s going to take me at least twenty minutes to get there. That’s going to give me only three minutes to reverse the thrust conduits. This is the only chance we have. If this doesn’t work, the Earth dies. Glenda dies. Jake and Hanna die. I got no one. You got your family. This is my moment, Ger, and I mean to go for it. This is the only way I can make up for all the dismal things I’ve done to other people over the years.”
“What about Stephanie?”
“Just tell her what I did. And that I love her, even though she might not love me.”
“It’s not the only way, Ian.”
“God damn it, Gerry. I take back what I said about you being a genius. You’re an idiot.”
“Yes… but you’re going to die.”
“And so’s everybody else if I don’t do something to stop it. Listen to me, buddy. I’m fifty next month.
That’s long enough. I’ve done some interesting things in my life. But this is where I can really contribute.
When this is all done, they’re going to need you back on Earth. ’Cause there’s going to be a lot of problems, and they’re going to need people like you to solve them. There won’t be any need for reformed-alcoholic test pilots. Now, come on. Help me. Before we lose our chance.”
Gerry forced himself to shut down his emotions.
But as they went into the surface access bay and he helped Ian into his CAPS, he couldn’t help thinking that he was aiding and assisting in suicide. Plus he thought of all the good times he had spent with Ian: the time they had gone to Japan together and made a pilgrimage to Hiroshima on the two hundredth anniversary of the atomic bomb; how they had nearly gotten swamped in a hurricane after stealing a boat from the marina near Neil’s place on Trunk Bay; and how, miraculously, they had finally met up at the Buena Vista Hotel and Gambling Casino on the Moon. Now they were here together, old friends, true friends, two men trying to save the world, knowing the stakes couldn’t be higher and that time was running out. What did you say to each other at a moment like that?
“I’ll make sure Steph knows what you did,” he said as Ian finally mounted the sled.
Ian’s lips tightened, and he nodded. “Just tell her how I feel. I want her to know.” Then he checked over the sled’s console, made sure the fire ax was secure in one of the straps, and turned back to Gerry.
“You’re clear on the precise point you have to eject?”
“The angle-of-entry change.”
“When precisely? You have to remember the survival pod’s orbital limitations.”
“When the asteroid’s angle of entry has reached thirty-seven degrees.”
“That should put you ten kilometers outside of Nectaris. The blast event is going to knock out all radios for a while, and control has everybody hunkered down for the strike anyway, so—”
“I know. I have to walk.”
“You’ve got ample life support, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
They said a rough good-bye, gave each other a hug; then Ian went into the air lock.
The air lock opened ten seconds later, and Ian was on his way—on the last journey he would ever make.