Chapter 13

“On the fifteenth, Admiral Schirra initiated a nine-line and within an hour a team came and picked me up. As they did someone hit your house with a rocket and blew it apart. My extraction team engaged the shooters and put them down.”

“Oh my god,” said Pandora. The Marine Colonel allowed herself the luxury of feeling sorry for herself. She and Alan loved that house. They looked forward to spending the rest of their lives there when she retired in three years.

“It’s worse, ma’am.”

“Worse?”

Marcy sighed, then said, “Thundering Waters is gone. The APC was taking me there, we were five miles out when it was bombed without warning. It’s all gone...” The tough Marine Gunnery Sergeant finally broke down in tears. As far as she knows, she’s the only survivor of her entire company. Good friends, good Marines, good Spacers ... she suddenly realized that she’s alone and wailed her anger and sorrow. This was the second time Marcy escaped a cowardly slaughter.

Pandora hugged Marcy and let her cry for a long time. Pandora too had friends at Thundering Waters, and she was heartsick. Not only were the military slaughtered by cowards, so were their families. Marcy finally pulled herself together. “The APC team set me on the NSS Conrad and took off, I don’t know if they had fuel to make it to shore.” She started trembling again and said, “I immediately launched in Greyhound One Nine and they tried to bomb the Conrad ... ma’am, we’re at war...”

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Space, January 18, 2163
Location Classified

Alan Scarlett did not have a window or external camera, so the only clue he had that he reached a destination was when Ed said, “Admiral Scarlett, we have arrived.”

“Arrived where Ed?”

“I am sorry Admiral, that is classified.”

He felt the capsule being banged around. It felt like it was sitting on something solid.

“Admiral Scarlett, your message was answered, the reply was 128.”

Alan smiled. Her answer also meant, “I love you.” Both 44 and 128 in their private code meant ‘I love you’ and also implied “all is well” but both Pandora and Alan were lying, and they both knew it. If they had sent 43, 45, 127, or 129, it would mean there were problems, and they would drop whatever they were doing to respond. 44 and 128 meant everything was fine, and to stay away.

Alan heard noises that sounded like the capsule was being worked on, wrenches turning, things being loosened, then what had been his roof for over half a month opened wide and he was surrounded by curious faces. A technician reached in and removed his helmet, and Alan took a deep breath of the sterile air and looked around at the faces that surrounded him. He was afraid they were planning to cook him. Finally, one of his onlookers said, “Welcome back!” and everyone began applauding.

“Welcome back?” asked Alan, as four men helped him out of the capsule. “Where am I?”

“Welcome back to the MSS H. G. Wells. This is a top secret station so that’s a waste of a name. During construction we called it the MSS Nunnya and the nickname stuck.”

“Ok, funny name. Lots of laughs.” He chuckled with mock joviality, then snapped to an angry, “Where the hell am I?” if his muscles weren’t so weak from a multi-week journey, he’d have beat the hell out of someone. “Where is my wife? Where are my children?”

The four men planted Alan on a recumbent exercise bike, and he began exercising his legs and arms out of habit. It’s the traditional “welcome” after a long flight in a fighter or small bomber. “I am Doctor Charles Devens. I am the head administrator of the Nunnya, a top secret research station. We are currently at Lagrange point 3 on the earth/sol orbit.”