Read Online Heaven's War by David S. Goyer, Michael Cassutt - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David S. Goyer, Michael Cassutt
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acting weird since we got scooped.”
“Before that,” Harley said.
Harley grinned. “Maybe he thinks that running around flapping his arms will restore his authority.”
“What authority?” Gabriel said.
“Exactly.”
As they reached the cluster, they saw the cause of the problem.
It was a human female, likely Indian, perhaps thirty years old, wearing khakis and a faded sky-blue shirt. Her long hair was sun-streaked, and she wore an expression of puzzled annoyance, as if she had been interrupted at some important work. In fact, she was engaged in what appeared to be an argument with Bynum, and with another of the Houston group, a sleepy-eyed young African American Gabriel Jones recognized from the trip. He had been one of the few who kept poking his nose—and entire body—into the RV.
“She says we can’t go past her!” the young man said. Xavier was his name; Gabriel was good with names, eventually.
“I said no such thing!” the woman said, as the crowd pressed around her. “I only said you should be careful, that there are a lot of other people right outside—”
Gabriel realized that he ought to take the lead. Before Bynum could open his mouth, he said, “Excuse me, I’m Gabriel Jones of the NASA Johnson Space Center.”
“I’m Makali Pillay. Welcome to Keanu.” More startling than her surfer girl manner…Pillay had an Aussie accent.
Everyone soon saw what the problem was: Just beyond the opening was another opening, off to the right, and out of it an even larger group of humans had emerged…and this group had not dispersed. They were collapsed in a collective heap, sick, frightened, paralyzed.
“Who are these people?” Rachel said.
“Folks from Bangalore, I’m guessing,” Harley said. He turned to Sasha. “Your other Object.”
In this half-lit space, crowded with unwashed, uncounted bodies, it was impossible for Gabriel to see beyond the few people in front of him. He had to concentrate on Miss Pillay. “Are you in charge? Is there someone I can talk to?”
“Come on,” Pillay said. She seemed unusually serene for the circumstances. Gabriel wondered if that was her nature or some Eastern meditative state.
Or drugs. Gabriel would have happily accepted the last two.
She led him through the crowd, few of whom bothered to move.
ARRIVAL DAY: RACHEL
Rachel noted that several members of the new group were eyeing Weldon’s cooler, which he’d set down. “You might want to keep that thing closed,” she said.
Weldon looked up. “Good point.” He sat on the cooler. “You’re awfully suspicious for your age.”
“Yeah.” For once in her life, she had no smart reply. Well, she didn’t know Shane Weldon; he was just one of her father’s space friends.
For another…nothing seemed funny right now. Whatever compulsion she had felt to go to the Object, then stay put as it expanded to absorb them all…that was long gone.
She had insisted on being taken to the Object because she believed that she would be seeing her resurrected mother. She had even been silly enough to think Megan Stewart might be aboard the Object when it landed. Why else would it have set down where it did, within walking distance of the Johnson Space Center?
Why else would her mother have told her—not in exact words, but still—to go to it?
These past two days, the worst in her life aside from the day her mother was killed, had forced Rachel to question everything.
It was probably natural, once you spent forty-eight hours in a space bubble, being hungry when you weren’t throwing up, feeling filthy (she’d had to simply find a relatively private area of the Object and pee, which was unbelievably gross even if all the other women were doing it!), and basically keeping close to Harley and Sasha.
Now…Rachel had reached another planet. She felt as happy about that as she had on the family trip
“Before that,” Harley said.
Harley grinned. “Maybe he thinks that running around flapping his arms will restore his authority.”
“What authority?” Gabriel said.
“Exactly.”
As they reached the cluster, they saw the cause of the problem.
It was a human female, likely Indian, perhaps thirty years old, wearing khakis and a faded sky-blue shirt. Her long hair was sun-streaked, and she wore an expression of puzzled annoyance, as if she had been interrupted at some important work. In fact, she was engaged in what appeared to be an argument with Bynum, and with another of the Houston group, a sleepy-eyed young African American Gabriel Jones recognized from the trip. He had been one of the few who kept poking his nose—and entire body—into the RV.
“She says we can’t go past her!” the young man said. Xavier was his name; Gabriel was good with names, eventually.
“I said no such thing!” the woman said, as the crowd pressed around her. “I only said you should be careful, that there are a lot of other people right outside—”
Gabriel realized that he ought to take the lead. Before Bynum could open his mouth, he said, “Excuse me, I’m Gabriel Jones of the NASA Johnson Space Center.”
“I’m Makali Pillay. Welcome to Keanu.” More startling than her surfer girl manner…Pillay had an Aussie accent.
Everyone soon saw what the problem was: Just beyond the opening was another opening, off to the right, and out of it an even larger group of humans had emerged…and this group had not dispersed. They were collapsed in a collective heap, sick, frightened, paralyzed.
“Who are these people?” Rachel said.
“Folks from Bangalore, I’m guessing,” Harley said. He turned to Sasha. “Your other Object.”
In this half-lit space, crowded with unwashed, uncounted bodies, it was impossible for Gabriel to see beyond the few people in front of him. He had to concentrate on Miss Pillay. “Are you in charge? Is there someone I can talk to?”
“Come on,” Pillay said. She seemed unusually serene for the circumstances. Gabriel wondered if that was her nature or some Eastern meditative state.
Or drugs. Gabriel would have happily accepted the last two.
She led him through the crowd, few of whom bothered to move.
ARRIVAL DAY: RACHEL
Rachel noted that several members of the new group were eyeing Weldon’s cooler, which he’d set down. “You might want to keep that thing closed,” she said.
Weldon looked up. “Good point.” He sat on the cooler. “You’re awfully suspicious for your age.”
“Yeah.” For once in her life, she had no smart reply. Well, she didn’t know Shane Weldon; he was just one of her father’s space friends.
For another…nothing seemed funny right now. Whatever compulsion she had felt to go to the Object, then stay put as it expanded to absorb them all…that was long gone.
She had insisted on being taken to the Object because she believed that she would be seeing her resurrected mother. She had even been silly enough to think Megan Stewart might be aboard the Object when it landed. Why else would it have set down where it did, within walking distance of the Johnson Space Center?
Why else would her mother have told her—not in exact words, but still—to go to it?
These past two days, the worst in her life aside from the day her mother was killed, had forced Rachel to question everything.
It was probably natural, once you spent forty-eight hours in a space bubble, being hungry when you weren’t throwing up, feeling filthy (she’d had to simply find a relatively private area of the Object and pee, which was unbelievably gross even if all the other women were doing it!), and basically keeping close to Harley and Sasha.
Now…Rachel had reached another planet. She felt as happy about that as she had on the family trip
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