Skies Over Tomorrow: Constellation
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Authors: Kelly B. Johnson
CONSTELLATION
KELLY B. JOHNSON
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold” and or “destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payments for this “stripped book.”
This is work and all works therein are purely fictional. All characters, illustrations, designs, events, and terminology depicted in this book are fictional, and any resemblance and or reference to any real person, actual entity (e.g. a government and or a private organization) and or current event(s) are purely coincidental.
SKIES OVER TOMORROW: CONSTELLATION
Copyright © 2015 by Kelly B. Johnson
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Book design, cover art and illustrations by Kelly B. Johnson.
Photographs used for cover art courtesy of:
NASA Goddard Space Flight Center Image by Reto Stöckli (image of Earth and Mars)
NASA\JPLâCaltech\MSSS\TAMU (image of Mars horizon after sunset)
Chaos Studio Seven
Mableton, Ga. 30126
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015916052
ISBN 978-0-9720791-2-9 (e-book [ePUB]) | ISBN 978-0-9720791-3-6 (e-book [ePDF]) ISBN 978-0-9720791-1-2 (paperback)
Publisher's Cataloging-in-Publication data
Names: Johnson, Kelly Bernard.
Title: Skies over tomorrow : constellation / Kelly B. Johnson.
Description: Mableton [Georgia]: Chaos Studio Seven, 2016. | [Revised edition].
Identifiers: ISBN 978-09720791-2-9 (ePUB) | ISBN 978-09720791-3-6 (ePDF) | ISBN 978-0-9720791-1-2 (pbk.) | LCCN 2015916052.
Subjects: LCSH: Mars (Planet)âFiction. | Science fiction, American. | GSAFD: Science fiction | BISAC: FICTION / Science Fiction / General | FICTION / Short Stories (single author).
Classification: LCC: PS3610.O358S55 S55 2016 | DDC: 813.6âdc23
Revised Edition, Winter 2016
Printed in the United States of America
Like time, a source of inspirationâin one form or anotherâis eternal to
the mind
and to the heart.
For myself, such are the following:
My sons (Bernard, Eric, and Zachery); my parents, sister and brother;
J.J., and all of my kin folk;
Rico, DEXSTAR, Mr. Pounds, and Darius;
Yen, Amber and Elvan, and all those whom I have encountered and
have influenced my existence.
Thank you all for sharing in and rousing this existence of mine.
I give special thanks to Katherine Hyatt, whose previous work on this
project is still very much appreciated, and has taught me a lot.
Looking to Mars
“Hey, Terrance! Terrance! Hey, come help me with this!”
Terrance paused the Tekken bout on his TV, got up and went to the open window of his bedroom, and looking past its screen, saw that his father was having difficulties in assembling his telescope. “You should have done that before the sun went down,” he said, “and it's hot out there.”
“Stop giving me lip, boy, and bring your ass out here and give me a hand.”
“All right, all right.” Terrance withdrew from the window.
“And turn off that light!”
The bedroom light dimmed and blinked off.
Mr. Ilom did not wait for his son's help and further frustrated himself in trying to connect the refractor to its tripod.
The patio door squealed open, and Terrance stepped out and closed it behind him. He clicked on a flashlight and approached his father, and studied the predicament. It was good that he at least had the tools required for the task, as he said, “You should have screwed that in before clamping it on the telescope.”
“Don't tell me what I should have done. I had one of these long before you were around. Now, give me a hand.”
Terrance squatted, setting the flashlight down so that it shined upward. He guided the threaded tines into their respective holes and said, “Where are the screw nuts?”
“Here.”
Terrance reached down for the battery-operated screwdriver. “So, when did you have one of these?” he said.
“Before you were born.”
“You've made that clear already. What happened to it?”
“It was stolen,” said Mr. Ilom. “Some fools broke into our house a few weeks before Christmas. I hadn't noticed that my telescope was missing until later on that night it happened. I was extremely angry when I realized they took that, too.”
Terrance rested the electric screwdriver after securing the telescope to its stand and, as he stood, said, “And almost sixteen years later, you decided to get up and buy another one.”
“Yeah, well, I was busy trying to make a comfortable living for you and your mother.”
“Performing those manly duties you keep telling me about?”
“You'll understand one day when you have a family of your own.”
“Yeah, sure,” said Terrance. “You finished needing my help?”
Mr. Ilom looked at his son. “You're not interested in taking a peek at the universe?”
“No. Didn't know you were into that astrology stuff, either.”
“It's astronomy, Terrance. Give me that counterweight. Besides, you would know my interests if you weren't so busy running over to your friends' houses all the time.”
“Or if you weren't so busy working all the time.”
“Fair enough,” Mr. Ilom said with a few nods. The backyard echoed with cricket chatter, as he completed the telescope's assembly. “You interested or not?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe,” said Mr. Ilom. “OK, what is that?”
Terrance looked up to the night sky and saw the red jewel at which his father pointed. “It's a star.”
Mr. Ilom directed the telescope to the heavenly body in question, as he said, “You sure?”
“Yeah, just like that one and that one. Nothing but stars and more stars.”
“Take a look.”
Terrance looked through the eyepiece, stepped back and looked up at the sky, and then lowered himself to look through the eyepiece again. “Whoa.”
“Yeah, whoa. It beats looking at pictures in books, or satellite images on TV for that matter.”
“How'd you know that wasn't a star? I've never seen Mars like this before. This is too real.”
“Told you, I had a telescope before.”
“Do you think one day we will live on Mars like in the programs on The Discovery Channel?”
“Who knows?” said Mr. Ilom. “Personally, I don't think man will ever be able to live any other place until he gets his act together here.”
AILING HOM
E
“This is not up for discussion,” said Major Burke. “You're dismissed.”
“Sir, we must considerâ”
“That was an order.”
The subordinate officer stood fast.
Burke shifted from slighting his captain to disregarding his review of open filesâif only for a momentâand looked her over. Then he stood and moved from around his desk to sit on its corner edge. Being closer and looking her in the eye, he said, “I understand how you feel. You think you can make a difference just by doing what is right.”
Through her nostrils, the captain took in a deep breath and exhaled.
“At one time, I believed that I could make a difference, and this is the result,” Burke said, as he held up his biomechanical right arm. “Like you, I felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. I questioned my loyalty. I even told myself repeatedly, âjust do the right thing and everything else will take care of itself.' In the end though, doing the right thing cost me my arm.”
“I think you've told me that one before, sir.”
“Of course. Well, let me say this, which you've probably heard as well: You are a United States Army Predator, therefore, you have certain responsibilities you must accept, and you must also accept the consequences if you fail to follow through with those responsibilities.”
“I understand my obligations, sir.”
“Then you also understand the nature of this war. If we lose this one, then the American dream of freedom and democracy will be overâfor good. We're engaged in a struggle we simply cannot afford to lose.”
“Win by any means necessary. I understand that, sir, but this?”
“You must decide what kind of future you wish to live in.”
“Is there really a future for killers, sir?”
“I'm warning you, you're walking a thin line.”
“Sir, part of my responsibility is to follow orders, and if the order is to killâan order everyone in this unit has accepted, including yourself, sirâthen that makes us assassinsâkillers, as our Commander in Chief wants us to be, needs us to be.”
“Cut the melodrama bull, Patel,” said Burke. “This war was a long time coming, even before you were born. The Army knew it was coming, but there was no crystal ball to show exactly who the enemy would be. But they knew. They prepared for it by creating the Predator program, for which you voluntarily trained, if I must remind you.”
“This goes far beyond just hunting down and liquidating enemy troops.”
“Does it really?”
“I wasn't trained to take an innocent life.”
“You've been trained to detach yourself from your purpose, though, and doing so makes liquidating a targetâany target across the board the same.”
“We must draw the line at some point.”
“I agree with you,” Burke said, “but this is a direct order, and once again, we are obligated to carry it out. Believe me, I understand your disposition, but I want you to understand mine: Being a trained killer doesn't mean you give up all that makes you human, and it certainly doesn't make you a monster, either.”
“Sir, am I supposed to accept what I am just like that? A killerâa murdererâplain and simple?”
“It's a perspective that'll keep you focused and ensure your mission goes smoothly.”
“Plain and simple?”
“Plain and simple.”
“That's analogous to our war with China, wouldn't you think, sir?”
“Revenge is best when it's uncomplicated.”
“Can we really justify this kind of retribution, as easy as you say?”
“I believe so,” said Burke, “because every American has in some way been affected by China's preemptive strike on our countryâon our own soil, mind you. There is nothing more that the American people want than to show China a heartfelt reprisal. You of all people are among those hit hardest by the attack. I would think you'd understand.”
“Sir, that's a cheap shot, and two wrongs don't make a right.”
“It sure as hell makes things even. Besides, that'll be for future generations to decide long after this war is over. For now, we are simply the instruments of a wounded country that will use us to avenge itself.” Burke stood and moved back to the worn leather chair of his desk and sat. Patel hoped she would be dismissed at that moment as he resumed his reading, but then he continued, “We do what is expected, and no less. If you are unable to execute your mission, then I will put your discharge papers through and you'll be stateside tonight.”
“That won't be necessary, sir,” she said, noticing movement behind Burke.
“Good. From your briefing earlier, you shouldn't really be having qualms about your particular mission. It's just a man and his wife. Surely, you can carry out this assignment with the littlest effort.”
“Consider China's Minister of Agriculture and his wife liquidated, sir.”
“Excellent,” he said with his head down, flipping an inspected page of a report. “Well, good luck, Captain Patel. You're dismissed.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, coming to attention and presenting arms. She glanced at the cockroach crawling up the wall behind Burke as he happened to look up at her, and realizing the formal gesture, stood and returned the salute with his false arm. Patel took one step back and executed an about-face. She left Burke's makeshift office, closing the door behind her as he instructed, and headed for the locker room, through mission control, to suit up for her two-week mission deep in enemy territory.
A week had passed since Captain Simone Patel held that conversation with her unit commander, and still, as she squatted by the side of a freeway snaking the mountain forest of Guizhou, deep behind enemy lines, cradling a Rapture and carrying the weight of a missile pack on her back, she objected to Operation Dragon Slayer.
Simone exhumed boredom and sleepiness from her body and heaved it out past her full lips in a gaping yawn, wanting to rebury memories that unearthed themselves from the back of her mind during the catnap. The memories of her brother's death were hard to forget, though. The events being studied by her conscience were so focused on the day he diedâthe day America declared war on its “Most Favorable Nation”âthat she did not hear the broadcast of a fellow Predator's distress call.
The plea for help repeated itself twice before capturing her attention. It was Lieutenant Jon Carlston, and a sense of fear excited her body from its reposeful state. She then realized there was nothing she could do. He was in another mission zone several hundred kilometers away. From the panic in his voice and the hail of jackhammer gunfire and thunderous shelling that resonated in her ears, it was obvious he was in serious trouble. His voice carried desperation.
“Oh, Carlston,” Simone said. It was a terrible thing when an Army Predator became the quarry; however, it was not so bad for the inexperienced, which he was, but she knew he brought the soldiers of the People's Republic Guard down on himself. Still, only the experienced were skilled enough to escape the swarming, army ant tactics of the Chinese. If he made it to the shore, then he might survive. It would be difficult. By the constant sound of rhythmical whooping, there was an air unit tracking him. It seemed like an Apache Longbow, modified by the Chinese. “He'd better thank God for Hard Shells,” she then said with another yawn.
Standard issue for an Army Predator, the Hard Shell bettered Carlston's chances of getting away because of its optic camouflage. However, it was an accepted fact that when behind the eight ball, being cloaked by invisibility provided no real guarantees, and Carlston knew this. Once spotted, the Red Guard placed a Predator at the top of their “must kill” list, though they chased an Army Predator with earnest just to acquire the gear. The life of the pilot did not matter. For them to learn the optical technology the United States plagued them with from the shadows was more valuableâeven more valuable than their own lives, as a number of them had died from tracking a Predator.
Simone remembered the two platoons of the Republic Guard that chased her last month. How many were chasing Carlston? He was screaming and swearing, and during his first week out, was learning early the art of eluding the enemy. The sooner the betterâif he survived the hellish marathon.
Simone mastered the skill of elusion during her first tour in Taiwan when the war started, but unlike Carlston, she never did anything to jeopardize her life or the mission. Her training and strict adherence to procedures helped her survive, and if Carlston had done the same, he would not be in such a predicament. She guessed that a scout spotted him pissing by a tree. Carlston was in trouble long before he left base camp. He was negligent of the rulesâa Predator's sacrilegious practices that were like the Quran's teachings to a Muslim.
Her recollection of the last exchange with Carlston, in which she advised him, was just after she left Burke's office. She had passed through mission control into a T-junction, heading for the locker room when she glanced down the perpendicular corridor and saw him. She did not like what he was about to do. It would be best to stop him and remind him of Rule Number Two: always take the Pill. Otherwise, hunger ensued. In Carlston's case, he was thirsty, and the Coke machine standing in the dim corner at the end of the hall seduced him with ease.
“What are you doing?” said Simone.
“What does it look like I'm doing?” Carlston said, as he slipped a couple of silver dollars into the slot of the vending machine.
“You didn't take the Pill?”
“What for?” he said and pushed a button. The dispenser opened and released a Minute Maid orange drink.
“You're deploying on a ten-day mission for the first time in half an hour. By yourself, deep behind enemy lines. You'll probably be on the verge of starving to death by the time you get back here. And that's if you're lucky.”
“Don't worry,” he said, as he popped open the can. “I can live off the land. You know, pick some berries or something.”
“That goes against everything we've trained for.”
“I'm not taking the Pill.” He was adamant in violating the rule as he threw his head back and drank from the chilled can.
“You are so dead,” said Simone.
“Listen, I don't trust the Army. Their history, the cover-ups: Agent Orange in Vietnam and the Gulf War Syndrome, and the list goes on to read like a resumé. I'm not some monkey to be experimented on.”
“That's understandable, but it's better to live today and die tomorrow. Take the Pill.”
“Do you know what's in it?”
“What does it matter? If it kills your appetite and gives your body enough nutrients to sustain itself for a couple of weeks, then all the better.”
“Oh, it does more than kill your appetite. This isn't some diet pill we're talking about.”
“What do you mean?”
Carlston took another gulp from his drink, and then said, “Back home, I had a friend study the Pill.”
“You smuggled it off the base? Are you crazy? You're asking for trouble.”
“Trouble does have a way of finding me,” he said. “Any rate, this friendâhe's a chemist, PhD from Yaleâsaid it's a neural inhibitor.”
“Neural inhibitor?”
“Yeah. He gave some to a lab rat. Came to find out that it not only tricks the brain to think the stomach is full, but it also halts the digestive system. I mean, just shuts it down.”
“Is that all?”
“âIs that all?'” he said. “OK, try this: Two hours later, the rat's heart stops cold.”
“So what? Rodents and humans aren't exactly the same species, you know. And if you remember correctly, the FDA did approve it for us. Without it we might as well be regular troops.”
“It stopped its heart. The side effects of this drug are potentially dangerous. On top of that, the body naturally needs to get rid of waste.”
“That's why we take it after fasting for 48 hours. Anything else the body needs to get rid of, it can sweat it out.”
“You and the Army call it as you see it, but I don't think starving for two days is healthy,” he said, “nor is smelling like a wet dog on a rainy day.”
“Come on, two days. Why are you the only one in this unit that can't fast?”
“Because I refuse to be brainwashed.”
“You're a weak-minded pansy.”
Carlston took another sip, and then said, “You know what your problem is? You're too loyal. Sometimes I wonder if you're being sincere, or just kissing ass.”
“You can be assured that I only kick ass, and I'll kick yours if you don't take the Pill.”
“Anytime you're ready.” The lieutenant then tilted his head back with the can on his lips. “This orange soda is good,” he said after a couple of swallows. “Sure you don't want some?”
“Carlston.”
“Don't say I didn't warn you. When you open your eyes one night and realize you aren't breathing, remember this conversation.”
“You're paranoid,” she said. “Just take the thing.”
“Like hell. Three years later end up with stomach cancer, or some shit like that. No thanks.”
“Better than getting caught taking a piss.”
“I'll take my chances,” he said.
Simone recalled his words and the cheeky look on his face after he had finished off that orange soda. She was sure he now regretted not having taken the Pill; his chances did not seem too good. “You are so dead,” she said again, feeling no sympathy for him, as his disgrace laid a chill down her back. His screams for help were an embarrassment that began to tarnish the image of the Army Predator.
“Oh, kill him already,” she said. “Just shut him up.”
“Why should he die?” a voice said.
Simone paused, remembering that she was not alone. “Attila,” she said, “what have I told you about that?”