Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(28)

“Commander Matthews is the person I mentioned when we first met. She was on the ISS when the solar event occurred. It destroyed the station, but she made it out alive.”

“How?”

“Instincts. Some guts and smart moves. And a lot of luck.”

“Is she…”

“Still up there? Yes.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Originally, it was to bring her home after your launch.” Fowler pulls over the desk chair and sits. “We’ve had a setback.”

He hands me another folder. This one contains photos, the first of a space capsule leaking atmosphere, the second showing the capsule still against the black of space. Fabric protrudes from a puncture like pillow stuffing leaking out.

“Her capsule was hit by debris.”

I nod. I know where this is going. She isn’t the mission. I shouldn’t be listening to this—for my sake. For the sake of the mission. For the sake of the billions of people on Earth. But I wait, silently. There’s something about her. The innocence in that picture. Her energy.

“James, we’re putting it all on the line for this mission. Once we’ve launched the components for your ships, that’s it. That’s everything. We won’t have a way to get her back. Not before her oxygen runs out.”

Fowler hangs his head and studies his feet. “NASA, ESA, JAXA, Roscosmos, we’ve all put the orders in for more engines, more modules, capsules, you name it. Governments are opening their checkbooks—while they still have a checkbook, and while there are still banks to cash checks. Private contractors are ramping up. We’re doing everything we can to be ready to respond with future launches, no matter what you find. But it’s going to take time. And Emma Matthews doesn’t have time. Bottom line is, we sent her up there, but we can’t rescue her.”

“And you’re here because I might be able to.”

“Maybe. We don’t know what will happen after the launches begin. The entity could scatter our pieces to the wind as soon as they go up. Or it could do nothing. It didn’t react to the capsule we sent, so that’s promising.”

“How would it work—conceivably?”

“Conceivably, we wouldn’t change a thing about our launch plans. We send the ship components into low Earth orbit and wait.”

“And see if any of our capsules end up in a position close to hers.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re having this conversation with everyone on the mission, aren’t you?”

“Yes. There are a lot of risk factors. Docking. Taking on another crewmember. And the obvious: her rescue is not the mission.”

“What happens if we retrieve her?” I quickly correct myself. “After we retrieve her. Do we put her in an escape pod and send her home?”

“It was proposed, but the committee decided against it. There are only two escape pods. Each holds three comfortably, four at the absolute max. Losing one would mean at least two people from one of the ships wouldn’t come home.”

“She’d go with us to the artifact?”

“She’d have to. Look, James, we both know there’s risk here. And it’s not part of the core mission. My job here at NASA is making sure we do everything we can to protect the people we send up there. That’s why I’m here. I have to ask.”

I flip back through the folders, as if I’ll find an answer to my dilemma there, a reason to commit to saving her or declining Fowler’s request.

Intellectually, I know I shouldn’t. The risk-reward profile doesn’t justify it. This mission may well determine whether the human race lives or dies. With that on the line, it simply makes no sense to take unnecessary risks. That’s the scientist in me talking. But the truth is, I can’t leave Emma Matthews behind to die. It’s not how I’m made. It’s certainly not what she deserves.

I hand the folders back to Fowler. “I’m in.”





I awake feeling as though I’ve been sleeping in that dryer in prison—sore, battered all over, and dizzy.

I stumble into the adjoining bathroom, shave groggily, because I don’t know when I’ll be able to shave again, and stare at my bloodshot eyes and weathered face. I bet I’ve aged ten years in the last two days.

A knock at the door, and then two NASA handlers are here, walking me through everything that’s about to happen.

It barely seems real. I’m going into space in a matter of hours. Through my nerves, I try to focus. I’ve often found that fear of what’s going to happen is far worse than the actual event. A long time ago, I came up with a mental hack to calm my nerves: I tell myself this is just a trial run. This isn’t really it. That helps put some distance between my mind and what’s happening.

The handlers lead me to an auditorium, far grander than the briefing room. NASA leadership and some dignitaries are standing on the stage, looking grim. The vice president is there, along with a senator I’ve seen on TV. I’m ushered to the front row, and I stand while the three other Americans on the mission enter and join me. Dan Hampstead. Harry Andrews. And Andy Watts.

The next group to enter is clearly our alternates. I nod to the roboticist who might have taken my place, and she smiles. I know her—or at least I know her work. She would have been a good choice. Better than Chandler.