Lift Off

He rubbed the tiredness from his eyes with the back of his hand and blinked several times.

"Dad?"

The man at the table looked up. For a moment, the look in his eyes was so intensely wild the boy instinctively took a step back across the threshold. A lock of the man’s brown hair, normally pushed up so it stayed neatly in place, hung limply. The shadows cast by the kitchen’s dangling light gave it the appearance of a deep gouge in his forehead, cleaving straight down to his eyebrows. He clutched a glass in one hand. His other hand was pressed palm down on the table as though he was about to get up, but the boy knew he wouldn’t. There was still nearly a third left in the bottle.

"What?"

"I couldn’t sleep." The boy paused expectantly, then looked down at his bare feet. "Mom used to–" He stopped when he heard his father’s irritated snort.

"Just fucking go to bed. You’re almost seven years old, for Christ’s sake! Leave me alone." In a swift motion, the man backhanded the tumbler toward him and it shattered with a crack against the doorframe.

Hawke’s eyes opened. The motion detector in his bedroom captured even this small movement and brightened the lights in the room perceptibly. The chronograph flashed four-forty-two. He stared at the ceiling as the memory from his dream swirled like mist through his mind. It had been the last time he ever approached his father for comfort.

He rose and dressed, arriving at hangar four at 07:10, twenty minutes earlier than Langolier ordered. Despite his interrupted sleep, and the feelings that memories of his father evoked, he felt charged with excited energy.

Security on the base was unlike anything he’d ever seen. In addition to the Base MP’s, the National Guard were present, as were the Secret Service. Hawke wondered whether the disparate protective agencies were being coordinated by one centralized intelligence directorate, or if they were acting independently. Most likely the latter. The Government generally believed redundancy of effort would prevail over less costly and wasteful planning and execution.

Hawke was issued a special badge by a no-nonsense sergeant and ordered to wear it in plain sight at all times, especially while within the secured perimeter. Failure to do so could result in his being shot, accidentally. Hawke asked him whether he could get a new one if it accidentally fell into the john when he was taking a piss. The sergeant’s stone-faced glare was his only response.

On the hangar floor, guards watched the movements of everyone, civilian or otherwise. Hawke ventured over to where a roped-off barrier cordoned off the VX-90. Aside from security, only a few technicians were present, performing last-minute checks of the software and hardware. The main crowds, VIP’s, and news crews wouldn’t start filtering in for at least another ninety minutes. For now, Hawke enjoyed the peaceful serenity of the nearly empty hangar bay. He walked all the way around the ship, admiring her sleek lines. Her dominating presence was made even larger with fewer people scurrying around her. There were fresh Chinese characters painted on her sides. They hadn’t been there when he had seen her the first time.

"Commander, glad to see you actually showed up early for once." Behind Admiral Langolier was a regal-looking man Hawke had never met but immediately recognized. His hair was gray, cropped in military style, and a deep cleft ran down his razor clean cheeks.

"General, this is Commander Nathan Hawke, one of the finest pilots I’ve ever had the privilege of commanding. Commander, I’d like to introduce you to General Joseph Armstrong, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff."

Hawke snapped to attention and saluted. "General, it’s an honor to meet you, sir."

The General returned the salute crisply. "Likewise, Commander. Admiral Langolier has been telling me quite a few stories about you and some of your ah...escapades. Make us proud out there, son. There are a lot of people counting on you."

"I’ll do my best, sir." Hawke held up two fingers. "Scout’s honor."

General Armstrong frowned. The Admiral gave Hawke a hard stare before leading General Armstrong away, taking him around the VX-90, pointing out certain features and droning on about their function. Hawke thought they made an odd couple – the short, balding, overweight Admiral and the tall, elegant General, who even at sixty-plus years sported a trim, svelte physique and had a quiet, authoritative charisma – a natural leader. The Admiral’s chest was puffed up with self-importance, like a peacock showing off its plumage as he shepherded the Chairman of the JCS around the launch site.

"Good morning, Commander," said a deep voice. The Indian professor was dressed in a sport jacket and tie.

"Good morning, Dr. Bhattacharya." The name rolled off his tongue with all the grace of an elephant wearing tap shoes.

Dr. Bhattacharya winced. "Please. Call me Victor."

"I will, believe me, once we’re out of orbit. For now you’re just going to have to endure it."

Dr. Bhattacharya gazed upward in mock prayer. "May Vishnu grant me strength," he intoned. "Is all in readiness for our journey?"

"As near as I can tell. It should be a flawless lift-off and a smooth, uneventful ride."

"I certainly hope so. I am not overly fond of space travel. But for all the anticipation of the going, it is the returning that should prove most...interesting." Perhaps it was the inflection in his voice, but Hawke cocked his head at the geologist, who held a faraway look in his eyes.

Two hours later, the hangar was packed to the greatest capacity he had ever seen. People lined the mezzanines and viewing platforms all the way up to the twelfth level. Designated areas of the hangar floor were roped off with sections for the press, foreign diplomats, VIP’s, and high-ranking members of the United States Government and their spouses.

The ceremony was in full swing, although to Hawke it seemed more like a celebration. "The President’s Own" Marine band was playing a rousing ensemble while the United States Marine Corps Silent Drill Team executed perfectly-timed, precision acrobatics with their plasma rifles to the delight of the crowd.

Hawke stood alongside Jim and the flight crew in single file alongside a retractable staircase which led into the StarCruiser. The team of scientists followed in line. Behind them stood the general crew and the research assistants in neat orderly ranks, all meticulously choreographed ahead of time. A red carpet had been unrolled and the flags of the leading nations flanked its path. Owing to the beautiful day outside, the roof of the hangar had been opened early, allowing sunlight to stream into the stadium-sized building.

Hawke surveyed the premiere VIP section. The President and Vice-President were both in attendance, flanked by a cadre of Secret Service. He spotted several members of the President’s Cabinet, the Speaker of the House, and what looked to be nearly all the senior members of the Senate and House of Representatives.

To one side of them was the media. With sophisticated microphone guns and telescoping cameras, they resembled a crack SWAT team. Flashes popped incessantly as they transmitted real-time coverage of the event, hoping their microphones picked up some juicy tidbit of information that could be used in the story – or better yet, a tip for a new story.

When the fanfare and the parades came to a close, the Speaker of the House serenely walked down the red carpet to a raised dais. He had a specially amplified UCD attached to the lapel of his suit linked wirelessly to an array of overhead speakers so his voice could be heard clearly throughout the building. Even the acoustics had been tested beforehand. The Speaker opened with several gracious remarks about the entertainment and a few cleverly inserted jokes undoubtedly scripted, reviewed, and pre-approved by members of his staff.

Hawke’s concentration wavered. After what seemed an interminable amount of useless dialogue, the Speaker finally reached the end of his discourse and introduced the man who was going to officially sanction the launch of the VX-90.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce the President of the United States of America, Mr. Martin Jefferson Hernandez."

Amid overwhelming applause, the President and Vice-President, strategically escorted by four Secret Service agents, approached the platform. The President was a tall, distinguished man in his late fifties with graying hair and a dark complexion. He waited with practiced theatrical poise for the noise to die down before speaking.

"Ladies and gentlemen." He had a pleasant, but firm voice – fatherly, but not patronizing. "People of the free world. For every generation there is a destiny. Right now, on this day, we stand at the brink of that destiny. Throughout our troubled history, we have competed against each other, conspired against each other, and even fought against each other. Yet, when faced with a crisis affecting us all, we have time and again put aside our differences and worked together to meet common challenges head-on. Ladies and gentlemen, the biggest crisis facing us today is ourselves. For years, we have been consuming Earth’s natural resources wastefully. Our global population is approaching the point of critical mass. Yet just as we were reaching that breaking point, a sign came to us, perhaps from God, Himself – a sign of hope."

There was a smattering of cheers.

"As this StarCruiser transports the pearls of our scientific community toward Eden M51, it is this hope that shall sustain us. And for the generations to come, as we discover new lands on new worlds, we shall not make the mistakes our ancestors made. We shall not squander what might be used. We shall not hesitate to conserve the exceeding bounty of nature, provided to us by the Lord, without which all the technical achievements we are so proud of, and upon which our very lives depend, would not be possible. And hopefully, future generations will look back at what we did here today and in the days to come and be assured, knowing we took history’s lessons to heart and did all we could for those who came after us."

More applause.

"It is for this reason that we have the moral obligation to reach out to each other, man to man and woman to woman, to embrace our fellow human beings across borders, mountains, oceans, and especially political ideologies – to assemble the finest team of experts and scientists our world has ever known, so they may carry our hope with them like a badge. Let us reject any among us who seek to reopen old wounds and to rekindle old hatreds. For after all, we are one people, united under God. The fate of our world and the future of our people rest not upon one nation, but upon all nations – not upon one man, but upon all men."

There was an eruption of whistling and clapping. The President waited for it to quiet before continuing. The Secret Service agents on either side of him stood impassively, their eyes continually scanning the crowds for any sign of threat.

"This discovery is not a victory of one nation, but a celebration of the freedom of all men. It symbolizes an end to our way of life as we know it, but also, it points to a new, brighter beginning. It signifies a renewal, of hope and dreams and achievement, as well as monumental change to the way we have lived our lives in the past. We hold in our hands the power to forge a better life for ourselves and our children. Yet, we must do so with the firm belief that the rights of man come not from the generosity of governments, but from the hand and will of God."

"Let us all jointly pledge: we shall begin this journey as a quest for peace. Let us proceed from this moment unified by the common concerns we all share. Just as our forefathers before us came together when the oceans rose and the very climate of our planet changed forever, so now do we come together as one. This is not a day of triumph; it is a day of dedication – dedication to the power and perseverance of the human spirit. Here muster not the forces of one party of scientists, but the forces of humanity. People of the planet Earth, we go forth on this day not as Americans, or Chinese, or Indians, or Europeans, or any other nationality. We go forth as emissaries of the human race."

The audience leapt to its feet and cheered its approval. They waved flags from at least twenty different nationalities. Many people openly wept.

The President spoke again. "It is with great pride that I christen this ship Xī Wàng, meaning ’Hope,’ in honor of the esteemed Chinese people who graciously donated her for our cause. May she and her crew take that hope with them to the stars. And may she carry all of our hopes as well, and deliver unto us a new Eden. The future birthplace of a new type of humanity – one filled with promise, free from want and need. May her hope shine with the aspirations and expectations of the billions of human beings who want nothing more than the opportunity to provide for themselves and their families. And finally, may her hope be a beacon, a beacon announcing to the universe that the spirit of the human race cannot be extinguished. No matter what adversities we face, when we as a people stand united, we will always prevail."

The crowd stood and once again a stentorian wave of applause thundered through the building. People on the upper railings stomped their feet adding the clang of battered metal to the already ear-shattering din. The President and Vice-President came forward and shook hands with the scientists and flight crew, offering words of praise, congratulations, and optimism. The applause continued unabated while the ship’s general crew boarded the spacecraft, followed by the scientists and their assistants. Last to board were Commander Hawke and Lieutenant Commander Jim Starling. At the top of the steps, Hawke waved to the people, creating a resurgence in the deafening roar of clapping and cat-calls. Then he turned and disappeared inside. When the door hatch slid shut, the muffled cheers of the crowd could still be heard.

Hawke wasted no time settling into the spacious command chair and strapping himself in. Next to him, Jim did the same. From the windows and built-in cameras, Hawke could see people being herded off the hangar floor and upper levels and into the private viewing chambers. When this was done, a veritable army of petty officers and ensigns came out and scoured the launch area for debris which might have been left behind and to securely fasten any loose pieces of equipment that could FOD the engines.

After what seemed an interminable amount of time, Hawke heard the Flight Boss’s voice over the radio. "This is Master Chief Petty Officer Goodman. Do you copy?"

"We read you loud and clear, Master Chief. Go ahead," Hawke replied.

"Affirmative. Launch area secured. Start warm-up procedure."

"Affirmative." The cockpit was exactly like the simulator they had trained in for weeks. Hawke felt, rather than heard, the engines coming to life. He and Jim kept their eyes carefully on the gauges in front of them and on their monitors. They both knew the inherent dangers in piloting a spacecraft on its first flight. The assumption that everything would run smoothly because it was brand new did not always ring true. And while there were generally mild repercussions with most items that might malfunction when you took them out of the box, the same could not be said of a StarCruiser.

The voice of the Master Chief rang clearly over the droning of the idling engines. "Sensors indicate all engines functioning within normal parameters. Do you concur?"

"Affirmative, Master Chief. Our sensors read the same as yours. Over."

The six massive turbolift engines, each capable of providing over eighty-thousand pounds of thrust, generated a thundering rumble that reverberated through the building.

"Activate teleportation drive generators."

"Activating."

After another minute. "Teleportation system appears normal. Please verify."

This time it was Lieutenant Johnson’s voice they heard over the radio. "System verified. Teleporter main generator functioning properly. We’re good to go."

"Affirmative. Sensors indicate the following systems are all active and operating within normal parameters. Please verify as I state them. Life support."

Hawke read a gauge on his monitor. "Check."

"Gravitational Field Generator."

"Check."

"Communications."

"Check."

"Navigation."

Hawke looked over at Jim who nodded. "Check."

"Auxiliary power."

Hawke pressed another switch. "Check."

"Weapons."

Hawke didn’t answer. Jim shot him a questioning but faintly amused look.

"Weapons," came the voice of the Master Chief again, slightly impatient. More seconds of silence. "Weapons." Hawke ignored Jim’s raised eyebrow.

"Check." Hawke heard the irritated exhalation on the other end of the COM.

"All systems check. Commander, you are cleared and ready for take-off. Currently awaiting authorization from the senior commanding officer on site. Please stand by."

Some shuffling about could be heard over the COM. Then came the unmistakable voice of President Hernandez. "Authorization granted. God bless and have a safe flight, gentlemen."

"Thank you, Mr. President. We will. Over." He switched off the COM, rechecked his gauges, and leaned back comfortably into his seat. "No time to count what I’m worth. I’ve just left the planet Earth," he said softly in a sing-song tone under his breath, quoting his favorite Jimmy Buffet song. He uttered the words reverently, like a prayer. Hawke recited this verse every time before leaving planetary orbit. Next to him, Starling flashed a thumbs up.

"Here we go."

Hawke pulled back on the throttle and felt the craft teeter slightly as its huge bulk overcame the force of gravity, riding gently on a turbulent cushion of air. He pulled back even further and the ship rose and stabilized itself. In moments they were even with the third story mezzanine, then the fourth, then the fifth, sixth, and still they rose higher. People waved and cheered at them at every interval they passed.

"All right. Time to give it all she’s got."

With a steady pull on the throttle handle, the Chinese spaceship, christened Xī Wàng, piloted by Commander Nathaniel Hawke and Lieutenant Commander James Starling, emerged through the open roof of the hangar into the sky headed for the M51 galaxy thirty-seven million light years away.

Next Chapter: Chapter 9: Bugs In Space