Catch the Lightning (21 page)

The plaster must be thick enough to Jill cracks
, I told it.
But thin enough not to interfere with how the sky works.

After a pause, it thought,
I am only able to reconstruct part of my code. Probability of successful operation raisedfrom .04 to 11 percent.

Eleven percent wasn’t enough. But the swarm was so close now. We couldn’t have more than a few—

Estimated time to impact is ninety-three seconds,
the Jag thought.

Think! I told myself.
Jag, the plaster must bend without breaking, if the sky needs to bend, but must be strong enough to keep the sky together. It must be smooth enough so it doesn’t interfere with operation of the—the lattice. It must be— Be what? It must be able to change consistency to adapt to changes in the sky
.

Probability of successful operation raised to 43 percent, the Jag thought. The cracks in the sky went white, filled with putty. Nothing else happened. Estimated time to impact is twenty-two seconds.

The first of the red blips reached the unit cell of the lattice where Althor had stood—

And—?

The missile disappeared.

What happened? I asked
.

Waveform modulation reduced to 13 percent
.

What does that mean?

We cannot withstand another direct hit.

Direct hit!? I had neither seen nor felt anything.

Estimated time to next missile impact is eleven seconds,
the Jag said.

I heaved on the raveled navigation cords, kicking the Jag into a course change. I had no idea where we went, only that acceleration hit us, shoving Althor’s body into my knees. The missiles hurded through space where we had been only a moment ago.

I cannot withstand the stress of our present acceleration,
the Jag thought. Then:
Air-launched missiles from European quadrant.
Another swarm of red blips appeared, coming from the direction of the Euro West.

Jag, I thought.
Sand the plaster on the sky. Fix the damn thing
.

Replacement code applied.

A cloak of darkness fell over the mindscape. The lattice shone gold against black velvet, and the pack of missiles racing toward us glittered like sparks.

Shroud functional,
the Jag thought.

I yanked the nav cords again, kicking us into another course change, gritting my teeth as the acceleration increased.
Can the missiles find us?

Yes. Our exhaust is visible. WARMING: navigation systems failing. WARNING: if we continue to accelerate, the stress will weaken my structure past the point of recovery
.

Fix our course and get rid of our exhaust
, I thought.

Course change implemented
, the Jag thought.

The force pushing Althor against my legs vanished and the navigation cords stopped disintegrating. The most damaged sections of rope began to weave back together.

Are we safe now?
I asked.

No. I estimate the probability of a hit in the range 8—27 percent
.

That’s better than before.

This is an accurate statement.

Let me see Althor.

Commander Selei is discon—

I meant, let me out of this lattice thing.

Released.

Gradually I became aware of the cockpit again. My mind felt bruised. Althor was slumped over the forward controls. Looking around, I saw Daniel wrapped in one cocoon and Heather and Joshua clinging together in the other.

I turned back and laid my hands on Althor’s back.
Jag. Is he alive?

He is discontinued.

I don’t know what that means
.

His processing units have ceased operation. His brain no longer responds to input.

I tensed. You mean he’s brain-dead?

No. His neural activity has not ceased. He is dormant.

Can we help him?

I can reboot his brain.

Will that hurt him?

Each time he overextends himself, it exacerbates the damage. Until repaired, his human/psiber interface should be usedfor no more_ than amplification of his link with you.

Why only with me?

The interaction between the two of you is not synthetically created, the Jag thought. It would exist without his web. Enhancing that link should not further corrupt his systems. It may aid his repair processes.

Why?

Y
ou are a healer. You can exert biofeedback control over your own body and to some extent, through your Kyle centers, over those of others.

Like my mother. How much can I help him?

I do not have enough data to quantify your Kyle rating.

My rating?

I am unable to determine a numerical value.

Oh
. I wondered if Althor had suffered brain damage from what happened in the lattice.

Yes,
the Jag thought.

How bad is it?

He can function. With proper treatment, he will heal.

If you reboot him, will it damage him any more?

No.

Do it.

The lattice reappeared around me. Then it blanked completely. No grid, no Earth, no sky, no nothing. Just black.

Althor groaned, stirring against my legs. Hieroglyphs scrolled through the blackness in my mind, white on black. The Jag murmured in Iotic; apparendy Althor had made it the system default The lattice reappeared, along with Earth. The displays again poured through the lattice in a confusing flood of symbols rather than the pictorial input I understood better. Althor’s violet image shimmered into view, this time facing me, directly in front of my cube.

Are you all right?
I asked.

He spoke in his own language.

Resetting language mod
, the Jag thought.

I blinked.
Who was I talking to, Althor or the Jag?

We are the same,
Althor said. With the Jag translating, his English was perfect, or at least as perfect as the odd English the Jag used.
How did you repair the shroud?

I guessed,
I thought.
It did most of the work itself
.

That’s an impressive “guess,” Tina.
His image rippled with violet light.
You should never have been subjected to that battle. I’m sorry.

What about you?
I didn’t want to think what it must be like when he fought people instead of machines. Did he feel them wanting to kill him? Did he feel them die?

Althor’s image dulled.
Yes.

How do you bear it?

There was a time when I wanted so much to be a Jag pilot I could almost touch it. He exhaled.
I fast learned there was no glory in it. But it is necessary.

I spread my hand across his chest, blending my blue with his violet.
I have to believe a better way exists to protect what we love than by killing people.

He answered softly.
Perhaps someday we will find it.

The attack left us subdued. For the rest of the trip, Heather, Joshua, and Daniel floated quietly at a holoscreen, watching space reel by outside the ship. As Althor worked on repairs, I monitored the lattice, letting him see it through my mind. Earth continued to search, but for the time being the shroud managed to camouflage us.

Eventually Althor stopped working. As he put away his tools, I said, “Did you fix the problem that brought you here?”

He shook his head. “I need to do more work. But I want to move away from Earth, find somewhere safer. First, though, I return my hostages.” He touched the exoskeleton surrounding my body and it opened, freeing me to leave the chair. “You can ride in the cocoon on the way down. Once we’re away from here, I’ll fix the co-pilot’s seat for you.”

I pushed out of the seat. Daniel, Heather, and Joshua were floating in the cabin behind us, listening.

“You’re going to let us go?” Joshua asked. Althor nodded and relief flashed across their faces. After the way he had changed the “rules”' of our deal at Yeager, I understood their wariness.

“Your military will debrief you,” Althor said. “Tell them I threatened to kill you if you didn’t cooperate. And that I’ve kept Tina as a hostage. This should protect you.”

Daniel spoke uneasily. “Joshua could never pull it off. He’s a terrible liar.” Joshua scowled at him, but didn’t refute the statement. Anyone who knew him knew it was true.

“It’s not a lie.” Althor spoke quiedy. “If necessary, I would have killed any of you.”

I knew he had never intended to kill them. But they believed him, and that was what mattered. If they believed it, whoever questioned them would as well.

The sun was setting when we reached Caltech. We appeared out of nowhere, hanging next to Milikan Library, washed in a red-gold glow from the sunset. Wind battered the area as we came down, and students ran from the blast, shouting or pointing. Exhaust blistered the grass into oblivion and huge clouds billowed around the craft. Papers and books scattered everywhere, dropped by their owners or torn from their arms.

As soon as we were down, Althor jumped out of his seat and strode to the airlock. We had little time; even if we hadn’t yet been detected, it wouldn’t be long before fighters were on their way here. As we scrambled out of the cocoons, Althor opened the airlock and warm air flowed into the cabin. Outside, several hundred yards away, a growing crowd of people stood watching the ship.

Joshua turned to me, and we reached out together, pulling each other into a hug. “Tina—” His voice caught. “Good-bye.” A tear rolled down my cheek. “I’ll miss you.”

“You take care of yourself.” He squeezed me, then let go and joined the others at the airlock.

Althor spoke quiedy to them. “I thank you. For my life.”

“Good luck,” Daniel said. “To both of you.” Heather and Joshua both nodded. They all jumped down from the ship and ran across the cooling ground.

As we rose back into the sky, I watched them from a holo-screen. They looked up after us, surrounded by a crowd of people, their upturned faces receding in the twilight.

Saturn wheeled above us, a golden giant banded by butterscotch stripes. Hundreds of rings circled her, like bronzed grooves on a record. Althor put us in orbit around the moon Rhea. I floated at a holoscreen, staring at Rhea’s mother world, turning my bracelet around my wrist as I thought of my own mother.

“Got it!” Althor said. His legs and hips were floating in the air. The rest of him was hidden in an open bulkhead.

“Did you find what’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s the engines.” He maneuvered out into the cabin and floated in front of me, his body at an angle to mine. “Both the inversion drives and shroud were affected.”

“Can you fix them?”

“I think so.” He smiled as he watched me fiddle with my bracelet. “This is much more attractive as jewelry than as a piece of plumbing.”

I hesitated. “I always wanted my daughter to have it.”

He understood what I didn’t say. “Tina, I have wanted for a long time to be a father. But I can’t make promises. It is true, we are similar. But maybe not enough.”

“Is there a chance?”

“I think so. We need to ask the doctors.” He touched a square on a bulkhead and a tall panel slid open, revealing two slinky space suits.

“You’re not going outside, are you?” I asked.

“The Jag’s self-repair functions are degraded. I need to do some work.” He stripped off his clothes, smiling when I blushed, and hung them in the locker. When he put on one of the suits, it molded to his body, far more svelte than any twentieth-century space shuttle suit.

In fact, a shuttle space suit was to Althor’s environment skin what a horse and buggy was to an Indy 500 race car. Shuttle suits needed seven layers, starting with nylon lining, then a garment that removed heat and waste gases by circulating chilled water through tubes. From inside out, the actual suit had a Mylar pressure bladder, a Dacron pressure restraint layer, a Neoprene layer for micrometeoroid protection, aluminized insulation, and an outer protection layer. The helmet was like a fishbowl. Gloves with silicon rubber fingertips made handling tools viable and attached to the suit via metal rings that contained ball bearings to let the wrists rotate. The astronaut wearing it maneuvered using a gas-jet-propelled unit that resembled a big backpack. The suit also had cameras, tethers, lights, solar shield, computer, microphone, and boots. Even without the maneuvering unit, it weighed 113 kilograms.

In contrast, Althor’s suit was like a second skin. Its power module fit into his belt. The hood hugged his head, except for the transparent glassplex in front of his face. Nano-sized robots packed the skin: multiple bonds made robot arms, chemical groups rotating around single bonds acted as gears, molecular spheres served as ball bearings, aromatic groups formed plates, and so on. A dense mesh of fullerene tubes acted as a muscle system, one far stronger than human tissue. Nano-bots converted energy absorbed from contractions into work needed to stretch the skin. The bots’ picochips formed a web that gave the skin a crude brain. A film on its outer surface acted as a solar collector and also transmitted pressure data to the picoweb, which directed bots to manipulate the inner surface so Althor “felt” what he touched. The picoweb also recycled wastes and directed the bots to perform repairs.

Althor’s lips moved inside the helmet. “I’ll be back soon.” He took his diagnostic equipment and went to the airlock. The inner door irised, leaving behind a glimmer, as if a soap bubble hung in the opening. The outer door hissed open as the inner one closed. The timing was wrong; it sounded like the outer opened before the inner closed. Yet I neither heard nor felt any loss of air pressure?

When Althor was outside, I said,
“Jag?”

Attending.

I had expected a verbal response.
“How do you link to my mind so easily?”

The quantum probability distribution of your brain is currently maximized in the same spatial location as that of my processors. As a result, our overlap function is large.