Stars Rain Down (6 page)

"Just let me pretend."

"You guys realize I can hear you, right?" Hopkins asked.

Jansen folded his wiring diagram back up and tucked it into a pouch. "Do me a favor and hurry up, would ya? I'm missing a Jefferson's marathon."

"And the whole world wept," Marco said caustically. "Over and out."

Jansen covered his microphone. "Dolt wouldn't know quality TV if it bit him on the ass." A moment later, he began to twiddle his thumbs, hoping that the pressure suit's thick gloves might make the task more challenging. He was sorely disappointed.

Then Nils Jansen heard a noise like none he'd ever heard before. It was so strange that he couldn't even begin to describe it; so strange that he began to wonder if it was a noise at all or some kind of hallucination. He was pretty sure
space madness
only existed in cartoons, but he sometimes had his doubts. This was one of those times.

"Guys, there's something weird going on out here," Hopkins' ever-pitiful voice squeaked, huffing and puffing between words.

Not a hallucination,
Jansen decided. "What is it?"

The response came back fast. "I don't friggin know, Nils. If I knew, don't you think I would've said something more descriptive than something weird? Jesus."

"Jansen, I'm in an access tube right now. Can you see what he's blubbering about?"

Jansen was already moving around to a better vantage point. "Which direction, Hop?"

"Heading... I dunno. Just look towards the moon."

He wheeled around and there it was... whatever it was. There was a slight shimmering in empty space, like photos he'd seen of the aurora borealis, but the pattern didn't match. It reminded him of late summer in the house where he grew up, when the sun would reflect off the pool, leaving undulating patterns on the screen door and the ceiling.

"Do you see it, Jansen?"

He was dumbfounded.

"Jansen?"

He snapped back to attention. "Yeah, I see it. I don't know what the hell it is, either."

He stared at the moving field of light, slack-jawed, while colors played across it in every shade of the rainbow. In another moment, he was sure that it wasn't just one field of light, but seven spaced out evenly.

Then solid shapes began to emerge from within. The lights stretched around them, clinging like latex, until they were whole and complete. The light shimmered and faded away, revealing seven jagged discs like nothing Jansen had ever seen before. There was a lot of that going around.

"You see 'em, Hop?" He asked.

"Sure do. They look like... like bone or something."

"See what?" Marco demanded.

Jansen ignored him. "Oyster shell."

"No, more like coral," Hopkins said.

Hopkins was right. The texture of the discs was remarkably like coral in a brilliant shade of royal blue. Jansen had no idea what that meant, or if it meant anything at all. As he floated there against the window with his mouth gaping open, he tried to find some frame of reference to gauge how big the discs were, but to no avail. He suddenly wished he'd paid more attention in his astronomy courses... like Hopkins had.

"What do you think? Five kilometers across?" Jansen asked.

The line was dead for a moment. "Bigger. Ten, maybe twenty. It's hard to tell."

"You guys aren't making any damn sense," Marco said. "Would someone please tell me what's going on? Use words and sentences."

For a single heavy moment, the discs sat there motionless, and Jansen had a feeling they were studying the Earth, maybe considering their next move. Then they burst into motion, accelerating at a rate Jansen never would've believed if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. They scattered around the globe.

"Maybe they're trying to make contact," Hopkins said. The tone of his voice said he didn't believe it either.

There was a burst of light in the distance. An explosion. The
Sunyaev Observatory
was out that way. Another light flashed, this time from the direction of the
Brahe Array.
A half dozen more explosions appeared in the following seconds. It was the first time Jansen ever found a fireworks show depressing.

"Marco," Jansen finally said into an already dead communicator, "we've got company, and I don't think they brought pie."

The sky was dull grey, and rain was trying to fall in fits and starts. It wasn't a storm yet, but the promise of something awful hid inside the water fat clouds.

Jack Hernandez wasn't pleased. The last thing he wanted to see on his way home from hurricane-ravaged Jacksonville was more rain. He'd been hip-deep in flood waters for so long he could hardly recall what dry underwear felt like, and he spent the entire return flight dreaming about sunny San Jose. He'd planned to lay around outside and dry out for two straight days.

But the Sun was nowhere to be seen... that cowardly bastard,

Jack's train ride was quiet and fast, which he followed with a quick-paced march from the station and a spritely trot up to the door. The apartment unlocked itself as he approached, and he was already half-stripped when the door closed behind him. He tossed his backpack aside, unzipped his jumpsuit and let it hang limply from his waist, drew his tank-top over his head and threw it to the floor. Hopping, he yanked off one boot and then the other, stepped out of the jumpsuit and left it in a damp heap. In another moment, his sponge-like boxers and socks were discarded, and he collapsed on the carpet naked.

The air in his apartment was cool and—to Jack's great satisfaction—bone dry. Without the television on, the room was silent save for the sound of his breathing and the intermittent patter of rain on the patio. It didn't quite measure up to his sun-soaked dreams, but it'd do.

He lost track of time lying there on the floor, staring at the ceiling and listening to a world momentarily at peace.

When his phone rang, he was adamant about not answering it.
Just let it go,
he told himself.
It can't be anything important. The answering machine will get it.
The second ring came and went, the third followed close behind. By the fourth, he started to reconsider. Before the fifth ring came, he was on his feet and moving.

He plucked the handset from its cradle. "Hello?"

"Hey Jack," a sweet voice came back. "You were supposed to call when you landed, dopefish."

"Sorry, Jess. I was so tired, I came straight home and passed out." That was close enough to the truth.

"Good news, then. I'm on my way with an armload of groceries. I'm cooking you dinner tonight."

"What's the occasion?"

"How about because I miss you, silly?"

Jack smiled, and for a second his thoughts wandered to the ring nestled in its delicate little box at the bottom of his sock drawer. "Good reason. How far away are you?"

"Five minutes," she guessed.

"That doesn't give me much time to get dressed."

"Whatever you're wearing is fine," Jess said. "See you in a bit." Then dial-tone.

Jack dropped the phone back into its cradle and saw the message light blinking. It couldn't be good news. It was never good news, but he hit play anyway.

"Don't suppose you recognize my voice, do you? It's your mother. Maybe I'll adopt the answering machine... at least it picks up the phone when I call. Anyway, just letting you know Charlie got promoted to Staff Sergeant. Isn't that great? I know you don't like what he does for a living, but you should talk to him. He worked so hard, and... He'd never say it, but he still looks up to you. He only joined up with Carbon Corp because he wanted to help people like you. He's starting his third tour, Egypt this time, and I'd really appreciate if you'd at least give him a call before he ships out. I guess that's it. Hope you and Jess can join us for Thanksgiving. Love you, and call me sometime."

It never ceased to amaze Jack how much guilt that woman could cram into a one minute recording. He also realized with a heavy heart that she'd never understand the rift between her sons. When Jack joined the ERC, he dedicated himself to helping people any way he could, regardless of race, religion or politics. He risked life and limb for strangers every day, and that just wasn't the kind of work a person could do without believing in the cause. He was a true believer, through and through.

Then Charlie made the most Charlie-like decision possible: he became a damned mercenary with Carbon Corporation. He wasn't helping people; he was putting bleeding holes in them and blowing up the parts that kept moving.

This was nothing new, of course. Charlie had always made messes that Jack had to clean up, and now their childhood was repeating itself, but inflated to a global scale. This was the culmination of that pattern, the last step in making sure everything Jack did was ultimately meaningless.

After a moment of reflection, he suspected that last part might have been a little melodramatic.

The two didn't see each other much anymore, and whenever they did, Jack conveniently forgot he was a pacifist. There'd been black eyes, split lips, and cracked ribs on both sides, until they finally decided that avoidance was the only sensible answer. It turned out to be a great policy, and they hadn't spoken in two years... two wondrous, blissful years.

As Jack stood by the phone, mulling over his little brother killing dissidents in Egypt, he heard the door open and all of his anger and frustration melted away.

In a few long strides, he crossed the floor and intercepted Jess in the open doorway. His arms encircled her, his hands pressed into the small of her back, his head craned down and he gently pressed his mouth to her soft lips. The bag of groceries between them dropped to the floor.

He heard eggs crack.

After a moment, he pulled away and looked into her bright blue eyes, but stayed so close he could feel her warm breath breaking against his upper lip. "I missed you, too," he whispered.

"I noticed," she said with a grin. "And you're naked."

"You said whatever I'm wearing was fine. You, on the other hand, are way over-dressed." He stole another kiss. "And so beautiful."

Before Jess could disagree, Jack's arms cinched around her waist and lifted her up, then he spun her around. She filled the room with laughter, and he attacked her open mouth, hungrily kissing and nibbling at her lower lip.

He lowered her back to the floor with one arm and closed the door with the other.

"Dinner?" She asked.

He ducked his head under her chin and laid one kiss and another on the tender skin of her throat, all the while inhaling her sweet scent, tinged with honeysuckle. "Dessert," he suggested.

Then the moment was ruined. The datapad in his backpack blared out an alert, but Jack was adamant about not answering it.
Just let it go,
he told himself.
It can't be anything important.
He froze in place, savoring the feeling of her warm body against his. The second alert came and went, the third followed close behind. The fourth began, but he wouldn't let himself reconsider. Before the fifth ring came, Jess made up his mind for him.

"You have to answer it," she said.

He reached into the pack, retrieved his pad and looked grimly at the screen. "It's Priority One," he said.

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Well, I've been with the Corps for nine years, and I've never seen anything worse than Priority Two."

He flashed back to orientation and heard his instructor's voice listing Priority One scenarios. "Nuclear strike, nerve or chemical agent, epidemic, asteroid impact."

Jack gestured at the TV and it came on, but the black screen said, "No Signal."

"Fucking storm," he said absently

"You should go," Jess said. Two tonnes of regret weighed down her voice.

"Nuclear strike, nerve or chemical agent, epidemic, asteroid impact," his instructor droned on.

"I'm so sorry," Jack said. "I gotta go."

"I know. It's why I love you, Corpsman Hernandez. You're out to save the world... and someday you're gonna do it."

"Nuclear strike, nerve or chemical agent, epidemic, asteroid impact," the old voice was now chanting.

"There's something I need to ask you when I get back. You'll be here?"

She smiled and kissed him, and there was a tension that hadn't been there a moment before. "Yes," she whispered in his ear, "I'll always be here waiting for you, until the stars rain down from the sky."

And he knew she would.

On autopilot, Jack dressed in fresh clothes, checked his gear and flew out the door. He ran to the train station and caught the mag-lev down to Vandenberg, totally oblivious to everything around him. He didn't notice that everyone in the station was fiddling with their malfunctioning phones, or gossiping about blank televisions. He missed the announcement that the train was being guided manually because of a network malfunction, and he didn't even notice that his GPS was blank.

Jack didn't notice because he was thinking about that question he would ask when he got back. During the trip, he didn't once hear his instructor's voice and the list of possible calamities. All he heard, over and over again, was Jess' promise to wait for him in that voice that was too sweet for words.

The Vandenberg airfield was in a panic the likes of which Jack hadn't seen before. Preflight personnel were rushing everywhere, assembling equipment at a break-neck pace and prepping the massive tranzat carriers at all five gantries. Each spear-like vehicle was flanked by ten of the orange leviathan helicopters, lined up in rows with their blades folded, and waiting to be loaded. The helicopters looked like nothing so much as oversized Easter eggs painted by a terribly unimaginative kid.

The Priority One alert had gone out to everyone: primary squads, secondaries and reserves alike. That added up to five thousand drop-ready corpsmen lined-up in rows on the tarmac, waiting to be briefed, loaded and launched.

Vandenberg was California's primary launch site. More volunteers would be arriving at secondary sites by the thousands, and the same thing would be happening at ERC launch facilities across the globe. The amount of manpower in motion was staggering to consider.