Music of the Spheres (The Interstellar Age Book 2) Page 4

  Rather than relocate to Canada Station Three and administer a team of theorists, Michael decided to let them release him from his contract. Although Alliras Rainier had offered him his old position with the Space Mining Division, Michael and his wife opted for retirement. He had enough savings for him and Melanie to live comfortably for the rest of their lives.

  But what Michael hadn’t expected was that the rest of Melanie’s life was cut short a year ago when a city autobus’s brake line failed and slammed into her one-seater automobile while she was out on a shopping excursion. She had died instantly. A day did not go by that Michael didn’t miss her fiercely.

  Over the following months, Michael fell into a deep depression, let his beard grow out, and spent most of his days wandering from room to room in his empty apartment. The only times he ever emerged was for the monthly family dinners his brother held.

  No wife, no job, no purpose.

  The only thing that held Michael together was the weekly call he placed to Alex Manez; but it was getting harder and harder for Michael to maintain his hope that something would be done to help the boy and his deteriorating health. Without his political contacts, Michael was helpless to prod the medical staff on Canada Station Three to figure out a cure for Alex’s condition.

  During their conversations, Alex invariably told Michael not to worry; that it would all work out in the end.

  “Are you all right?” a voice said, breaking Michael out of his reverie.

  He looked up to see Andrea, David’s wife, fixing him with two very concerned blue eyes. She was a slender woman with smile lines at the corner of her mouth and eyes. Streaks of silver had begun to flow through her raven-black hair.

  Andrea and Melanie had been very close friends, and once in a while she would drop over to Michael’s apartment and look in on him, do his laundry and try to clean up the place.

  Michael realized he had just been standing in front of the picnic table with a stack of disposable plates in his hand.

  He gave her a smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Just lost in thought.”

  Turning around, he brought the plates over to the barbeque.

  In addition to David and Andrea, Michael’s two nephews, and their wives and kids, were also in attendance. Andrea’s sister and her family were also there. David’s son was out of town, but his daughter-in-law Debbie and her two children were spending the weekend. All told, David Sanderson’s backyard held over twenty people.

  Michael was grateful for the crowd. Not just for the company, but because, with so much hustle and bustle, he could blend into the background and not have to interact. He loved his family, but lately he had found himself detaching from human contact. It was good to be around people—it reminded him of his humanity—but he just didn’t have the energy to cultivate any kind of relationship with anyone.

  David looked up when Michael approached. “Good timing; the steaks are ready.”

  “They were ready fifteen minutes ago,” Michael said, lifting the corner of his mouth in a half-smile.

  “Just…” David mimed scraping the burned parts off with a knife. “And smear it with sauce.”

  Michael laughed. While David put steaks on the plates, Michael carted them over to the tables. While he trucked back and forth, he noticed he had picked up a little shadow.

  He looked down to see his six-year-old grand-nephew staring up at him with a grin. “Hello, Carl,” he said.

  “Hello, Great-Uncle Michael.” Carl waved his hand in a sweeping motion.

  “Just call me Uncle Mike—I haven’t felt great in a long while. Did you want to be my helper?”

  “Sure, Great-Unc—sure, Uncle Mike.”

  Michael handed him a plate with a thick steak hanging over the lip, and watched while Carl balanced it and carried it over to the tables. All the while, he stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.

  Michael and David smiled while they watched him go.

  “Grandkids,” David said. “They’ll keep you young.”

  Then his smile faded. “Sorry, Michael. I know you and Melanie tried hard.”

  “I guess it’s for the better,” Michael said after a while. “I was always working fourteen-hour shifts. Barely had enough time for Melanie. If I had kids they’d probably have grown up strangers, full of resentment.”

  When Carl came back for his second load, Michael said, “You okay, sport?”

  “Yeah. Aunt Ginny says she only wants a half. And one that isn’t a burnt offering.”

  With a laugh, David quickly sliced a steak in two and put the slightly smaller portion on a plate, which Michael handed to Carl.

  “There you go. Steady now,” he added when Carl overbalanced the plate.

  “You know,” David said, and there was an uncomfortable quaver in his voice, “if you’re not doing anything, why don’t you swing by next weekend? Andrea and I are going to a bridge tournament. There’s a lot of single people our age there.”

  “I’m not ready.”

  Dave held up his hands. “Hey, don’t mean to push.”

  Michael shook his head. “I’m just not sure what to do with myself is all. I always thought this would be my chance to travel the world with Melanie.”

  “You can still travel.” David prepared another steak for Carl when the young boy returned. “There are chartered tours for practically every destination.”

  “Wouldn’t really be the same.”

  “You’ve got to get out of this funk,” David said. “I’m saying this as your brother and your friend.”

  “I know. I appreciate it, really. I guess I just need to figure things out. I can’t explain it.”

  David put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. “You don’t need to explain a thing. Just know we’re here for you.”

  “Thanks, bro.” Michael didn’t need to force the smile he gave David.

  When Carl came back for the last time, he said, “It’s just you and Grandpa left, Uncle Mike. —And me.”

  “Well,” Michael said. “Looks like your grandfather saved the juiciest steak for you, a reward for all your hard work.”

  Carl beamed as he took his prize back to the picnic tables, shouting at his mom, “Look what I got.”

  David served the last two steaks, and he and Michael headed to the table to fill their plates with potato salad, pickles and buns.

  While everyone ate, they shared jokes, gossiped, and just basked in the familiarity of family.

  Michael’s appetite wasn’t what it used to be, and when he had only finished half of his supper, he excused himself from the table to use the washroom.

  “Don’t fall in!” someone joked, and Michael waved a hand in the air as he went into his brother’s house.

  On the way to the facilities, he passed by David’s front room. A large DMR casement was playing the highlight reel of the last Roughriders football game. At the bottom of the flat screen was a scrolling newsfeed, and it was one of the sentences there that caught his attention.

  He quickly moved in for a closer look, but only caught the last part of the announcement:

  “…NASA spokesman discounts the impact of the missing Mayan scroll.” Then the newsfeed went on to other political matters.

  Michael sat on the couch next to the control pad and typed in a command to flip the screen to his favorite bulletin board. He cursed when he had to physically toggle back and forth between pages.

  Within a few minutes, however, he had the entire story—the kidnapping of Yaxche and the theft of the ancient scroll—and his face grew dark.

  “What’s wrong?” asked his brother from the doorway.

  “Who uses a damned DMR casement anymore? Why don’t you upgrade to a holoslate with an organic user interface?” Michael asked. “You know, haptic consoles have been around for five years now.”

  “I really don’t need to multitask while watching the Jays get beat by the Cubs,” David said matter-of-factly. “I’m fine with one screen at a time.”

&nbs
p; Taking a deep breath, Michael said, “Sorry.”

  “Hey, no problem. You okay?”

  Michael looked up. “Looks like the Cruzados kidnapped that Mayan translator, Yaxche. He was the one who helped us interpret the Mayan text from Pluto.” He flipped a page on the casement. “And they also stole the scroll that was supposed to help us figure out how to use the Kinemet.”

  “Oh?” David blinked. “I thought they had given up on that.”

  “Yeah. They had.” Michael glanced back at the casement. “And it looks like they won’t be doing anything about this either.” He sighed.

  “Well, if NASA and everyone else thinks the document is a dead end, why would the Cruzados go to all this trouble?”

  “I don’t know.”

  David spoke again, and Michael could tell his brother was trying to make it sound casual. “Why don’t you call up that Calbert Loche fellow? Get your info straight from the horse’s mouth.”

  For a moment, while Michael had read the boards, there had been a spark there, a hint of the passion that had fired him throughout his forty-year career. David was obviously trying to fan those flames.

  Michael had to admit that his natural curiosity had gotten the better of him for a moment.

  He said to his brother, “You know, I think I might do that.”

  ∞

  Most nights Michael couldn’t sleep. His thoughts troubled him: how much he missed Melanie; his lack of purpose; his growing disconnection with everyone who had been a part of life.

  That night, however, he couldn’t sleep for another reason. His mind kept working over and over again about why, after so many years and after NASA and Quantum Resources had devalued the worth of the Mayan scroll, that anyone would go through the trouble to steal it. Or kidnap Yaxche. Did they want to hold him for ransom? Who was going to pay?

  Unable to sleep, Michael threw on a thin robe and went to his computer. Although many of his files were classified and confiscated when he ‘retired’ from Quantum Resources—both as director and as a consultant—he maintained a folder of his own collected data and musings. Shorthand notes that held no meaning to anyone but himself were added to various documents he had downloaded off the mesh. He also kept a copy of all the declassified material that had been on his computer when he left the company.

  Michael began the long and arduous task of sorting and filtering through every file on his computer. He hoped, somewhere in the morass of information, there might be something they had missed. Maybe someone else had stumbled on a vital piece of datum that would reopen the doors to interstellar travel.

  It was three in the morning when Michael finally noticed the time. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. He needed a couple of hours sleep to process all the documents he had read, and he had only gone through a small percentage of the notes.

  Michael laughed to himself about how much his brother would applaud the change in him, the sudden purpose. He went to the refrigerator and poured himself a tall glass of milk. There was no way he was going to get to sleep with a full mind and an empty stomach. At least if there was something in his gut he had half a chance of getting a few precious hours before morning rolled around. He wanted to be alert when he contacted Calbert Loche.

  No—he thought suddenly to himself—when he met with Calbert. Michael decided right then and there that he needed to speak to his former colleague in person.

  He went to his computer and logged onto his travel account and purchased a ticket for Toronto, where Quantum Resources maintained their earthbound administrative offices.

  Calbert would see him; Michael’s strong endorsement had launched him into the director’s chair. And if anyone in the industry had an inside track on what was really happening, it would be Calbert, who always had both Raymond Magrath and George Markowitz nearby. The trio were an intellectual powerhouse when they put their respective heads together. Since the restructuring of Quantum Resources, the three had been delegated to more of a public relations and administrative role.

  Satisfied in his plans, Michael headed for his bed. His empty bed…

  He had an unexpected pang of loneliness and loss when he approached the bed he had shared with his wife for more than forty years, and he had to choke back the tear that welled in his eye.

  Melanie…

  He lay down and was on the cusp of sleep when the comchime sounded and gave him a start.

  Looking at the clock again, he willed his lungs to pump air in and out once more. Every time someone called unexpectedly, Michael had a flashback to when he answered the phone to a somber but officious voice asking him if he was the husband of Melanie Sanderson.

  Regaining his composure, he said, “Who is it, Hucs?” to his apartment’s home-unit computer system.

  was the answer.

  “Oh?”

  That was odd. Usually it was Michael who initiated contact with Alex. Michael hoped there was nothing wrong.

  “Put him on.”

  The call came through, and at first Michael thought the link had been disconnected because all he got was static.

  “Hucs, can you amplify?”

  But there was no need because Michael heard Alex speak then, and the boy’s tone sent a chill through him.

  “Michael.” Alex’s voice was hollow and haunted.

  Michael asked, “Alex, are you all right?”

  “It’s getting harder,” Alex said. “The Song is in my head but I can’t hear it because it’s too loud. They want me.”

  “Alex? What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know how much longer I can hold out,” Alex said, and Michael wished he could look at the young man. Over a year ago, Alex had disabled the video feed on his communicator. He had said he didn’t want anyone to see him looking the way he did.

  “Alex, do you need me to come up there?” Michael hadn’t been up to CS3 since before Melanie passed away.

  “No,” Alex said. “But I do need you to do something for me.”

  “Anything. What do you need?” Michael asked.

  A silence stretched out for an impossible length of time and for a moment Michael thought they had been disconnected. But then Alex said, “Find him.”

  “Find him? Find who?”

  “He has the answer. He’s always had the key; he just never knew it.” Alex’s voice was becoming thin, and Michael could sense that the conversation would not last very long, and neither would Alex.

  He said, “Tell me who you mean, Alex. You need to help me if I’m to help you.”

  When there was no immediate answer, Michael barked out a command. “Hucs, get the communications officer of Canada Station Three—”

  “Yaxche,” Alex said, interrupting Michael. “You have to hear him tell you the story.”

  And then the link went dead.

  Michael repeated his command to Hucs to reestablish communication. After several minutes, he managed to connect with a CS3 operator.

  “This is Michael Sanderson,” he stated. “Former Director of Quantum Resources. I need to get in contact with Alex Manez. It’s an emergency.”

  “Right away, sir,” the woman said.

  While he waited, Michael pondered the emotions running around inside him.

  In the space of a day, he had gone from a lost soul to someone with purpose. Was it the thrill of a scientific mystery, was it the promise of untold wonders, or was it the concern he held for this young man who was at the heart of the matter? Or a combination of all three?

  The operator came back on. “I’m sorry, sir, but Alex Manez has been admitted to our care facility. He’s had some kind of episode. I’m afraid he will be unable to take your call.”

  “Of course,” Michael said. “Who is attending him?”

  “Dr. Amma. She’s the top neurologist in her field.”

  “I’m sure she is. Listen, I know it’s not really your job, but if you could do me a favor and transmit updates to me at this link, I would appreciate it.”


  “Yes, sir. I understand your concern.”

  Michael hung up. He sat on the bed.

  Find Yaxche?

  How odd that earlier in the day Michael had learned about the old man’s kidnapping, and now he’d received a message from Alex—almost four-hundred-thousand kilometers away in space—telling him to get to the bottom of this mystery.

  One option Michael had was to chart a flight with Lunar Lines and go see Alex. The rational side of him knew that there was nothing he could do except stand vigil beside his young friend, and in the end that might be the only course of action that would do either of them any good.

  But Michael had to hold on to the hope that there was, indeed, something that could be done. If finding Yaxche and figuring out why the Cruzados had kidnapped him—and what key he unwittingly possessed—gave Alex any chance of surviving his disability, then Michael really had no choice when it came down to it.

  Resolved in his sense of purpose, he slipped inside the bed sheets and forced himself to fall asleep.

  He had a very busy day ahead.

  8

  Canada Station Three :

  Lagrange Point 4 :

  Earth Orbit :

  When Alex came out of his trance, a nurse hurried over to him, looking concerned.

  “What happened?” he asked her in a groggy voice. He couldn’t focus. The lights hurt his eyes.

  “It’s going to be all right, Alex,” the nurse said. Her voice was muffled, as if she were speaking to him from a great distance.

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  The nurse put a cold pack on his forehead. “You had a minor cerebrovascular attack—probably just a side effect of your condition coupled with stress. You’ve developed a fever, but Dr. Amma told me you would be fine in a day or so. Just rest.”

  He lay back and closed his eyes, not to sleep, but in an attempt to get back to that superconscious state and figure out what it all meant.