CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
FIVE MINUTES
Texas, April 1981. The same launch, seen from Céleste’s couch.
Céleste knew the hatch was about to close before the technician touched it.
He had finished the last restraint check. The loose equipment was stowed. Nothing remained on his list that required him to stay inside.
Across the cabin, one couch was still empty.
“T minus five minutes. Prepare for final hatch secure.”
Tobias saw the technician turn.
“Anja Keller. She hasn’t boarded.”
The man stopped in the opening. Céleste watched him hesitate and understood that he had been given information none of them possessed.
“Sir. The orders changed.”
“What orders?”
“She’s not going.”
Tobias reached for his harness release.
“I’m getting out.”
Daniel turned. “Tobias.”
“Stop the count. Open the hatch.”
The technician shook his head and stepped through.
“ANJA IS SUPPOSED TO BE HERE.”
Céleste looked toward the speaker. No hold was announced. She knew where the flight controls were, and she knew she could not reach them from a passenger couch. Her backup qualification gave her a task if she was called upon. It gave her no authority to cancel this launch.
The door swung shut.
The locking dogs engaged.
For a few seconds Tobias kept fighting the restraint. Then he stared at the hatch as though somebody might still open it from the other side.
“She was supposed to be here.”
Nobody answered.
“T minus four minutes. Passenger cabin secured.”
Céleste followed the sound of the air moving above her.
During training she had learned this cabin by its noises. Now the familiar sequence continued while a man two rows away discovered that the future he had agreed to enter had been changed without him.
Daniel’s jaw tightened. He watched Tobias, looking for something he could do.
Serena reached toward Daniel and waited until he took her hand.
“T minus three minutes.”
The ventilation changed pitch.
Céleste checked her breathing against it. A slow breath in. A longer breath out.
She thought of the Big Room in the settlement plans. Tables beneath a transparent roof. A place where people could walk without needing a reason. Somewhere beyond the journey, ordinary life had already begun.
She had studied those drawings as a pilot studies an alternate airfield. They were evidence of a destination.
For Tobias, the empty couch was evidence of something else.
“T minus two minutes.”
Vibration entered the frame.
Burton opened his eyes. His hands rested loosely over his harness. He gave the closed hatch a brief look and settled his head back against the support.
Layla held her pendant so tightly that its chain had stopped moving.
Mike looked through the window.
Céleste could see only a narrow strip of the afternoon beyond him. The people outside would hear the launch before most of them understood who was leaving.
“T minus one minute.”
She tested her shoulder straps with a small movement.
Nothing shifted.
On Mars, there would be people checking pressure gauges and clearing landing equipment. Someone would be finishing a meal. Someone would be asleep before a night shift. They were leaving one inhabited world for a foothold on another, built by hands that had kept working after the first celebration was over.
She returned her attention to the cabin.
Twelve passengers.
One vacant couch.
The final count began.
“T minus thirteen.”
Serena Thunder held Daniel’s hand as far as the restraints allowed. For once, she let the remark she had ready remain unsaid.
“T minus twelve.”
Daniel Justice checked the cabin with his eyes. Every restraint was secure. The one thing he wanted to fix was beyond his authority.
“T minus eleven.”
Kumiko Takahashi listened to the speaker’s faint hiss. The voice remained clear. The link was holding.
“T minus ten.”
Rafael Costa watched the strip of sky beyond the window. Soon there would be another landscape to measure.
“T minus nine.”
Meera Rao swallowed against a dry throat. The water allotted for the journey was already aboard; the familiar tap at home was not.
“T minus eight.”
Ama Mensah kept her head against the support. She had checked their course in training. Now she had to trust the people flying it.
“T minus seven.”
Patryk Kowalski followed the engine sequence by sound. From this couch, he could listen and wait.
“T minus six.”
Céleste Varenne drew a slow breath. The straps held her exactly where they should. She wished certainty could extend beyond the hardware.
“T minus five.”
Anja Keller’s couch remained empty. Its harness lay open beneath the reading lamp. Nothing moved there when the cabin trembled.
“T minus four.”
Tobias Nightglass stared at that vacant place. His hand closed around the restraint. He was leaving, and she was not.
“T minus three.”
Burton Trouble settled his head against the support. “Well. Here we go.”
“T minus two.”
Layla Azadi held the pendant in her palm. She turned toward the man beside her before the vibration made turning difficult.
“T minus one.”
The engines were almost at full power. The roar swallowed the cabin. Everything began to shake.
“Liftoff.”
Everything faded to black.