It was the truth, but it was also true that Ben was unobservant when it came to meeting new people. That was Amy’s strength.
“You were incredible,” the man said in awe.
Ben beamed with pride and then thanked the man for reaching out, but really it was for recalling a moment in time when Ben was exceptional. Nothing could take away or change that triumphant piece of the past. It was Ben’s forever. He seemed to breathe easier as they continued down the hallway to an elevator. Their guide used her security badge to gain clearance to the top floor. Amy was able to read “Assistant Director” before it retracted on its lanyard. The elevator doors shut behind the group, forcing them to stare at one another in awkward silence.
“I can’t place your accent,” Amy said to fill the silence.
The woman’s eyebrows lifted and rippled her broad forehead. Amy had a voice like rusty knives that gave strangers pause. She had suffered from croup as an infant and screamed until she scarred her vocal cords. Then she smoked like a fiend from the age of thirteen until she moved to California and dropped the habit cold turkey.
“Dutch,” said the assistant director.
“Ah, I’m sure it’s a pretty language.”
“Not at all.”
The elevator slowed to a stop, but Amy wasn’t giving up.
“Speaking of language,” Amy added, “what does Janus mean?”
Ben was quick to blurt out that Janus was a moon of Saturn, but the assistant director added, “This is the first building in our headquarters facility. We bring heads of state to the meeting room.”
The elevator doors parted with her synchronized exit.
“Janus was the Roman god of gateways…Also of beginnings and endings, and duality. He was depicted with two faces, one young and one old.”
There were closed, double doors at the end of a short corridor. The assistant director opened the doors and nodded to the newcomers. Ben was the first to step into a large conference room with long tables forming a square studded with chairs around the sides, all facing center. Two of these chairs were occupied by men sitting side by side. Both rose, but only the man on the left was quick about it. The man on the right battled gravity as he fought to stand. Photos of him on the internet were all dated by several decades. Amy wasn’t prepared for Professor Ochsenfeld’s current state of steep decline.
“Sir,” Ben said. “I mean Professor. It’s such an honor…”
Ben blathered on. Amy had never seen him offer such respect to the living. The Professor had to be a true legend—not that he looked the part. The dapper cane with mother-of-pearl handle that supported his stooped weight was the only outward sign that he was an eminent Oxford don. Otherwise, his clothes were drab and dated.
“Professor, let me introduce you to Chuck Maes,” Ben said, motioning back to his friend. “Chuck is from my JPL crew.”
Chuck nodded with a nervous smile and fidgeted. Ben looked to Amy next. He had to fight for her inclusion.
“Amy Kowalski,” she said, walking over to the men.
Introductions were important; she always handled her own with a smile, direct eye contact, and a firm handshake—but not too tight. As Amy got close, the smell of sickness hit her nostrils. Some organ or internal process had gone foul, but Amy still took the Professor’s gnarled hand into her own. Old age and sickness were absent from the army bases where she spent the first eighteen years of her life. While these mortal reminders were still strange and frightening, Amy would never let them get the better of her.
“It’s such an honor,” she repeated, following Ben’s lead just as he followed hers in the right situation.
Thick spectacles magnified red-veined eyes draped with lids like unfolded origami. The Professor’s face held no expression but moved with an occasional tremor. It was only his pause that spoke to his momentary surprise; no one would pick her out of a lineup to be Ben’s girlfriend.
The assistant director stood beside Director Durand after securely shutting the doors. Amy found him handsome for his age; sixties with a strong body, thick white hair, and startling blue eyes. It was only as she studied his expression very closely that she sensed danger.
“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately.
The director took a halting breath and introduced both himself and the assistant director as Marcel Durand and Anneke Janssen.
“But what’s wrong?” Amy demanded.
The Professor cleared his dry throat and announced, “The comet is accelerating even faster than expected.”
Ben was no longer smiling, no longer giving deference. He was back in crisis mode. He stood protectively by Amy and stared into the Professor’s unblinking eyes.
“How many years do we have, Professor?”
Ben could well have said decades, that was his hopeful estimation, but the Professor shook his head.
“What do you mean, ‘No’?” Ben asked, raising his voice.
They didn’t have years, the Professor explained. JPL’s Sentry impact monitoring system and the European Space Agency’s CLOMON system had calculated three very approximate, possible trajectories between them. The shortest of these estimated a potential impact as early as June.
“June,” Ben repeated. “As in this June?”
The Professor wrapped his cane on the thin carpeting and yelled back.
“Yes, this June! You must initiate your plan. Now!”
Ben took a breath and made several mental calculations with the speed and accuracy of a pocket calculator. He told the room they needed a February 1 launch for a spacecraft with solar power. Both of the spaceport directors protested at the same time.
“Is it even physically possible?”
“We’ll find that out, won’t we?” Ben said. “Now set the clocks.”
FOUR
The Arctic West Expedition
Seward, Alaska
August 8
T-minus 177 days to launch
SLEEP GRANTED JACK a reset. Worrying was tiresome, after all, and he needed a break from it. The curtain to Gustavo’s top bunk was still fully closed, so Jack quietly grabbed his towel, toiletry bag, and a pair of flip-flops. The shower in the passageway bathroom was the size of a small closet and had a printout taped up on the wall with instructions. All passengers had to make do with a “sea shower” no more than once a day using only two bursts from the showerhead: one to get wet and one to rinse. Jack understood that heated, drinkable water on demand was still a luxury to the majority of the world’s population. On top of that, he didn’t mind getting dirty and smelling like the mammal he was; it was another form of freedom and truth.
At 0730 hours, freshly shaved with his short, light hair gelled up in stylish tufts, Jack found the cafeteria-style galley. Crewmembers and scientists sat in the mess deck at long tables chatting and chewing. It was easy to spot which group was which: the Coasties wore navy sweatshirts or work shirts, and the scientists sported plaid button-downs, jeans, facial hair, thumb rings, and fleece vests.
As a guest passenger, Jack was the odd man out. He helped himself to a stack of chocolate-chip pancakes and sat alone. Flipping open the welcome aboard packet, Jack read an introduction by the ship’s own Captain Weber: