BOUNDARY(91)

Still, physically, there was nothing to prevent him from going. Indeed, one of the members of the crew—the linguist, Rich Skibow— was sixty-three years old. Glendale had been astounded, and more than a little repelled, to find that he was actually entertaining thoughts of using his reputation and public leverage to force his way onto the crew. He had always detested scientists who tried to advance their personal goals over the needs of science, or over the metaphorical bodies of others. It was one of the reasons he had taken immense pleasure in dissecting that self-centered ass Pinchuk. Yet there he had been, thinking very similar selfish thoughts which would have, if indulged, resulted in shoving aside an undoubtedly more needed somebody off Nike just so he could joyride around the Solar System.



Coming up on visibility . . .



He glanced to the west, where Nike would soon appear, her orbital direction giving her an apparent retrograde motion against the stars.



Not quite yet. A few more moments.



He had managed to get his new obsession under control, finally, and he didn't think anyone else had really noticed anything. Once he had forced himself to accept that he would not be going, at least on this first mission, he had thrown his new fascination some bones. Reading voluminously on space travel—he realized suddenly that he hadn't even glanced at a paleontological journal in three months— and slightly abusing his position and reputation to get himself some actual orbital time and a visit to Nike.



NASA had given themselves, and Glendale, one other special treat, however.



There she was! A glimmer, growing into a brighter light, as Nike continued her orbit. The countdown was now nearing its end. If all went well—if nothing happened to delay or stop the countdown, now in its last seconds—Nike would begin her departure from Earth by firing her engines just about precisely above Glendale's head.



She would not, of course, be driving straight towards Mars. Instead, she would be using multiple short burns to take a more economical route by exploiting the power of the Earth's gravity well, firing subsequently as she approached perigee and building velocity in a slingshot maneuver before heading on a transfer orbit to where Mars would be in about three months. She was going to be showing off what she could do upon arrival, however. The current plans were for her to do what amounted to a brute-force braking maneuver that would park her near Phobos with a single long burn.



Nicholas Glendale would not be on board Nike. But he would watch her leave.



"I see you, Helen!"



Near orbit and increased bandwidth allowed some personal channels. "All go so far," Helen responded. "Jesus, Nicholas, I'm nervous."



"No reason to be nervous. Excited, though, that's just fine."



"That, too. I wish you were coming with us, you know."



"Not as much as I do. Perhaps next trip."



"Goodbye, Nicholas."



"Goodbye—and good luck, Helen."



The voice of Ground Control echoed on another channel. "Thirty seconds to ignition."



"Main engines all show green. We are go for launch."



"Ignition in twenty seconds from . . . mark."



Glendale blinked hard and stared upward. The sparkling not-quite-dot was almost directly overhead now.



"Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One . . ."



Nike suddenly blazed brighter, six NERVA engines hurling superheated gases outward at a rate of tons per second. Nicholas knew that human eyes couldn't possibly see the effect of less than a quarter-g of acceleration on something already at orbital speeds, but his hindbrain insisted that the distant spacecraft had lunged forward eagerly and was already heading towards the horizon at an ever-increasing pace. He kept his eyes fixed on Nike as she silently accelerated on her journey to another world.



He couldn't say exactly at what point he could no longer quite see her. But when he finally admitted to himself that she was truly gone, he became aware of the tears streaming down his face.



Some of them were from keeping his eyes open too long.





Chapter 30




"Gee," A.J. said, fighting to keep his face straight. "That's tough."



"I appreciate your attempt at diplomacy, A.J." Dr. Wu took another deep breath. The paleness of his skin didn't decrease, but the sheen of sweat seemed to be fading. "Even though the attempt is feeble and ineffective."



"It is kinda funny, though. After everything we went through, and now we're on our way and you—the doctor—are getting spacesick?"



Wen Hsien Wu grimaced, holding down his lunch apparently by force of pride. "I suppose if I were in your position I might find it amusing. As it is, I have a very hard time taking it that way."