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BOUNDARY(129)

By:Ryk E. Spoor




The John Carter shrieked, groaned, and bellowed at its occupants as it tumbled. And then a tremendous impact brought silence and darkness to all within.





Chapter 41




Jackie Secord sat at the communications station of Nike. Once more she played the final few seconds, the last voices recorded from



John Carter.



"Give my love to Tammy back home." An Australian accent, heavier than usual.



"—holy SHIT that's a big rock—" A. J., muttering under his breath, like he always does, not even aware sometimes he's doing it.



". . . please, please, please, hold together . . ."



Tears stung her eyes at the voice she'd known since she was a teenager, the voice that had taught her the difference between Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous.



Can't make out the words, but that sharp murmur is Dr. Sakai. Praying, by the sound of it.



"Speed dropping below two hundred. Almost there, Bruce. You're doing great." Madeline Fathom, calm and unruffled, trying to keep anyone from panicking.



Nothing from Rich. I think he must've been holding his breath.



"Please, let her live, even if I don't make it." Joe, worrying about someone else to the end.



The tears came again, as the final moment arrived. A shrieking, shattering, crashing, banging noise, ending with a terrible silence.



"Come now, Jackie. There is nothing more to hear, nothing more except pain." The deep voice was startlingly gentle, as was the hand laid tentatively on her shoulder.



She shrugged Dr. Gupta's hand away.



"He's right, Jackie. It's been almost two hours."



"I'm not leaving!" she shouted, shooting to her feet and turning on Hathaway furiously. "I'm not!" The movement sent her drifting slowly towards the ceiling, as Nike was still turning and her spinning motion had detached her from the floor's grip surface. As the control room was near the center of Nike, it had less than a twentieth of a gravity—and that was focused in the wrong direction, towards the apparent ceiling.



The captain backed up a step when she spun. "Okay, okay. Stay there if you want to. But please stop playing the damn thing over, and over, and over. It's driving me insane."



Clumsily she bounced herself back to the seat. "I haven't played it that—"



"Yes, you have. You've been repeating it the entire time, ever since you sat down."



Jackie stared, eyes still blurred, at the digital readout. He's right. I've been sitting in this chair for over an hour, playing it again and again. She looked around, drawing a shuddering, tearful breath.



Three other people looked back at her with concern and their own shock and sorrow written clearly in their features. Dr. Gupta, dark eyes shadowed with pain over her loss and the loss of the others on John Carter. Jane Mayhew, looking decades older. Ken Hathaway, anger, frustration and resignation all warring for dominance.



"Sorry," she said quietly. "I know you all knew them too. But . . . we started this. Me, Helen, Joe, A.J." A fresh sting of pain threatened to bring tears back.



On the screen shimmered a horrid image of the twisted wreckage of John Carter, as it had been an hour ago before the last imaging satellite fell below the horizon. Her hand tugged at the chain around her neck, the one that held the smooth, shoehorn-shaped replica given to her by Helen just before the presentation.



Suddenly, the radio started talking. With an Australian accent.



"Nike, Nike, this is John Carter, repeat, John Carter calling Nike, come in please."

* * *



Why do I hurt so much? Helen wondered, her mind still dazed. As she shook her head, she became aware that she was in a spacesuit.



Spacesuit? Where . . .



Realization struck, and she sat up suddenly. That was a mistake. Not only did she bang the suit's helmet on something, but her head, already aching, reacted to the jolt by throbbing its protest.



"Ow. A.J.? Joe? Hello, is anyone there?"



Slowly her eyes adjusted. Pinkish light filtered in through a hole in the mostly dust-covered front window. Before moving again, she checked the telltales. Her suit was undamaged, and apparently so was she. The reactive nature of the suit had possibly saved her life, and almost certainly prevented severe injuries. She hoped that the others had been so lucky.



It took considerable force to get her harness to unsnap. Cautiously, she got up.



"Oh, crikey. This wasn't worth the hangover I'm feeling."



"Bruce! You did it!"



"Did I?"



"Well, I'm walking away."



"Well, so you are. Maybe I am too."



"I'd rather have someone else do my walking, but I guess I will be too." A.J.'s voice brought inexpressible relief to her. She'd been afraid that the first lack of response meant there would be none at all.