Velocity (21 page)

Disser stares at the horizon. ‘When I was a kid I had a poster of you on my wall.’

‘Oh. Right. Well, this is a perfect example of why you should never meet your heroes. We’re always a let-down.’

Severson grins but Disser doesn’t find it funny. ‘Feel like I’ve been made a fool of.’

Severson resists the urge to roll his eyes and decides to place an empathetic hand on Disser’s shoulder instead. ‘I’m real sorry about this—’

‘Don’t touch me.’

Severson withdraws his hand.

**

22

So they’re going to land
Atlantis
in Central Australia. It makes sense. There’s absolutely bo-diddley out here. No citizenry to look up and wonder why a space shuttle is flying low overhead, no houses for it to roll into when it lands. Just desert. Lots of desert. Judd remembers that one of NASA’s many emergency plans included landing the shuttle in Central Australia if the ‘fit hit the shan’ in this neck of the woods.

Excitement rises in his chest. He’s uncovered a clue that could lead him to Rhonda. While Thompkins and his ‘working group’ sit around in Houston sipping coffee, staring at maps and wondering where
Atlantis
will land, Judd already knows. Of course before he can make the call that triggers the search-and-rescue operation he needs to get out of this damn crater.

Judd pulls out his crumpled Marlboro soft pack and slips the last cigarette into his mouth. He’d really like those seven seconds right now. He flicks the zippo’s flint wheel. It doesn’t light. He tries again. No sale. ‘Christ.’ He returns the pack and the zippo to his breast pocket.

He listens for the thump of the black chopper’s rotor blades. Nothing. Yet. He’s had to move away from the Loach because he can’t hear anything over the Australian. The guy just talks and talks, hasn’t stopped yakking since he began repairs.

‘— so that’s the thing, I’m always thinking. It’s Wednesday and I’m already thinking about Thursday.’ He pauses, unsure. ‘It is Wednesday, isn’t it?’

Judd doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to engage in a conversation that will slow the repair process. Now usually, if you don’t answer someone when they ask a direct question, that’s the end of the conversation. Not with this guy. Oh no. He just keeps on trucking. ‘So are you married or what’s happening?’

Again no answer from Judd and again no problem for the Aussie, who continues on his merry way. ‘Well, you know personally I’ve never done it. I can’t be caged, I need to run free, like a bird. Well, not a bird, I guess a bird could run free if it was flightless, but I’m clearly not flightless ‘cause I have a chopper, though I guess I’m flightless at the moment ‘cause it’s not working —’

‘Would you stop!’

‘What? Stop working?’ The Australian pulls his head out of the rear hatch, confused. ‘But we need to get out of here.’

‘I don’t want you to stop
working,
I want you to stop
talking
.’

‘I’m just trying to make conversation —’

‘It’s not a conversation if the only person speaking is you. Good God, man. I can’t hear myself think. Just concentrate on fixing that thing so we can get out of here. Please.’

Judd breathes out. Corey stares at him. There’s no anger in his expression. Just hurt, good old-fashioned you-cut-me-deep hurt. ‘I work faster if I’m talking.’ He turns back to the Loach.

Judd rubs his face, feels terrible. He needs this guy but instead of being pleasant he insults him. He reaches for the Marlboros in his breast pocket then remembers the zippo’s not working. ‘Jeez.’

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

He hears it. It’s faint at first, then grows louder. ‘Do you hear that?’

Corey turns to him. ‘So now you want to talk —’

‘Do you hear it?’ Judd points at the sky.

Corey listens.

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

Corey does. It’s the sound of rotor blades. ‘Damn.’

Judd nods at the Loach. ‘How long till it’s fixed?’

‘Too long.’

Spike barks.

Corey looks at him and shrugs. ‘There isn’t a plan.’

Judd meets Corey’s eyes, his expression grim. ‘Should we run?’

The Australian gestures to the wide expanse of nothingness that surrounds them. ‘They kill us here, they kill us over there. There’s nowhere to hide and running seems, I don’t know, undignified.’

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

The sound of the rotor blades reverberates within the crater’s bowl, magnifies. They examine the azure sky, await the dark machine, await their fate.

Judd glances at his iPhone, wills it to have magically acquired a signal. It has not. He turns to Corey. ‘Do you have any weapons or - anything?’

The Australian shakes his head.

Judd takes it in with a nod. A moment passes. ‘Sorry I shouted before.’

‘I was just being friendly. Making conversation.’

‘Of course.’ Judd studies the dusty ground beneath his feet. ‘I’m just a little stressed.’

‘These people are trying to kill me too you know.’

‘Sure, but I have —’

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

The sound of the rotors surrounds them.

‘You have what?’

Judd looks at him. ‘The woman I love is orbiting the Earth in the hijacked space shuttle which, I’m pretty sure, is going to land out here somewhere and I need to tell the authorities about it but I’m stuck in the middle of a crater with a busted helicopter and I’ll be dead before I can get to a place that has a working phone.’

Corey takes it in with a nod. ‘Okay, you’re excused. And I did bang on a bit so, sorry about that —’ He stops abruptly.

‘What?’

The Australian points his index finger skyward. ‘It’s going away.’

Judd listens. It’s true. The sound retreats. ‘What happened?’

Corey lets out a short laugh. ‘It flew by.’

‘It flew by? It was so loud.’

‘Sound got caught in the crater, bounced around, amplified.’

Judd can’t contain his elation. He shuffles his feet as he clenches his fists in triumph. It looks odd but has a certain groove to it. ‘It flew on by!’

‘And we ain’t gonna die!’ Corey laughs. ‘You’re dancing like Barry Manilow.’

Judd stops. ‘What?’

‘Barry Manilow. You know, the stutter-step thing, when he sings “Copacabana”.’ Corey imitates the Manilow trot, complete with imaginary maracas. ‘I saw him do it on TV when I was a kid.’

‘I wasn’t doing that.’

‘Sure you were.’

Spike barks.

Corey nods at the dog. ‘He agrees.’

Judd’s mood turns. Nothing like being compared to a seventies cabaret performer to kill the moment. Corey tries his best to walk it back. ‘It’s not an insult. Manilow’s a big star in certain areas —’

‘How soon till we can get out of here?’

Corey moves back to the Loach. ‘I’m on it. Can you pass me stuff from the toolbox?’

Judd nods as Corey slides his head into the Loach’s rear hatch. ‘Hairspray.’ His voice resonates.

Judd searches the toolbox, locates a rusting can of Taft, places it in Corey’s outstretched hand. ‘I hope you’re only using dealer-approved parts.’

‘Hey, if it works.’ Corey extends a hand. ‘Lighter.’

Judd passes over a disposable. He hears the lighter being flicked to life then the roar of a flame. A stream of black smoke billows out as the Australian coughs.

‘Hammer!’

Judd passes it over.

‘Thanks, Mandy.’ Corey proceeds to whack something hard.

‘Did you call me “Mandy”?’

‘It’s your nickname.’

‘Excuse me? Why would you call me “Mandy”?’

“‘I Write The Songs” doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue. You know, Barry Manilow’s song “Mandy” —’

‘Oh, Christ. Don’t call me that. Really.’

‘You don’t get to pick your nickname. I didn’t pick mine.’

Silence.

‘Do you want to know what it is?’

‘Not really —’

‘Blades.’ The Australian says it in a breathy, portentous voice that reverberates in the hatch. ‘I know it’s better than Mandy, but then I don’t dance like Barry Manilow.’

‘I don’t dance like —’ Frustrated, Judd stops and looks up at the darkening sky. ‘How much longer is this going to take?’

‘Settle, Mandy. Precision workmanship takes time.’ The hammering resumes.

**

Twelve minutes later the day-glo-yellow Loach knifes across the burning horizon.

Judd surveys the orange sky, searches for the black chopper. He sees nothing so he takes in the sunset, remembers the last time he witnessed a view so vivid. He was standing on the Kona Coast, holding hands with Rhonda, eight years ago. He remembers how different, how much better, they’d been away from Houston. Spontaneous. Happy. He can’t remember feeling that way since .. .

Jesus H! He can feel moisture at the corner of his eye. He pokes his index finger under his Ray-Bans to check. Yep, wet. What the hell’s gotten into him? He’s about to Costner
again.
He takes a breath and reins in the emotion, stops it before it begins.

The dog barks.

Corey replies: ‘Well, you’ll just have to man up and deal with it, won’t you?’

Judd turns to the Australian. ‘Deal with what?’

‘Your crying. It embarrasses him.’

Judd flushes red. ‘I’m not - there’s no - I just - I got some dust in my eye.’

The Australian nods with an I-don’t-believe-you face and Judd turns away, notices the collection of old cassette tapes strewn across the cabin’s floor. He picks up a couple, studies them. ‘Billy Ocean, Richard Marx, Def Leppard. I love this stuff. This is the music from when I was a kid. I’m surprised we have the same taste.’

‘I use them to scare the cattle when I’m mustering.’

‘Oh. You don’t like any of these?’

‘Billy’s okay. I guess after the Pacific he’d be my favorite ocean. Not that I’ve ever seen the Pacific. I mean I’ve seen pictures, of course, but never, you know, the real thing, in its full watery-ness. I’m not sure that’s a word.’

‘It isn’t.’ Judd places the cassettes in a rusty metal bucket that sits in the passenger’s foot well.

‘Don’t put ‘em in there. That’s my lucky bucket. Just put ‘em on the floor.’

Judd nods and does as he’s told. A moment passes then curiosity gets the better of him. ‘Why is the bucket lucky?’

‘It’s always where I need it. It never leaks. It’s useful for carrying stuff.’

‘Does that make it lucky or just doing the job is was designed for?’

‘Both, I think.’ Corey glances in the side mirror, checks for signs of the black chopper. He doesn’t see anything. ‘So, you’re an astronaut, huh?’

‘Yep.’

‘Cool. Ever fly on the space shuttle?’

‘I piloted it.’ Judd doesn’t include ‘once’. He doesn’t want to be that guy here. In Houston there was no choice, he was a one-hit wonder, but he didn’t have to be here.

‘What was the best bit?’

Judd’s surprised to realise no one’s ever asked him that before. Even so, he knows the answer straight away. ‘The view.’

‘Really? What was so good?’

‘There’s so much of it.’ Judd takes a breath, stares out at the sunset contemplatively. ‘When I was looking at the Earth from up there, well, I’ve never really believed in a god but that was the closest I came.’

‘You’re not gonna cry again, are you?’

‘It was dust!’

Spike barks, lifts a paw, points out the windscreen. On the ground in the far distance a cluster of lights blink and twinkle.

Judd focuses on it. ‘Is that the dish?’

Corey nods. ‘Sure is, Mandy, sure is.

**

23

‘Where the hell is it?’

Henri stares out the shuttle’s windscreen at the black void of space. It’s not where it should be.

Beside him Nico works the rotational controller, fires the external thrusters, swings
Atlantis
to the right. ‘It should be right here.’

It should be but it’s not. Henri glances at the screen in front of him and confirms what he already knows: they’re low on fuel. They’re burning through the thrusters’ helium supply at an alarming rate. There’s barely a quarter left in the tank. If they don’t find it soon they’ll have to abandon the search and the mission will have failed because they cannot run out of helium. If they do they won’t be able to position
Atlantis
for re-entry and the spacecraft will burn up as soon as it hits the Earth’s atmosphere.

Henri studies the MacBook and the tracking program that tells him it should be right here, that
Atlantis
should be parked on top of it. He looks out the windscreen again, scans the infinite blackness.

‘There.’ He points at a glint of light in the distance.

Nico pushes
Atlantis
towards it.