Day Twenty ∞ Wednesday morning

 "I DON'T SUPPOSE you'll be going on this mission, Mister McGahn," Dr. Kruger said.

Danny snapped his gaze to him, startled. He'd been following Mickmi's progress closely as she spoke to each of the 22 airmen standing in formation in the middle of the hangar. "What?"

"Will you be going on the mission? I'm inclined to believe you're a mere earthbound earthling like myself." Kruger's mustache lifted in a smile.

"Oh." Danny hadn't thought about that. But the idea of flying into space with Mickmi didn't feel half as disconcerting now as when he boarded that flimsy plane or her ship to get here. Maybe that had something to do with the nanites in his system or—no... it probably had to do the new knowledge in his head. Certainly traveling in her ship would be a lot safer than on his bike. "I've no idea. I don't think I'm qualified." Letting her go without him did not sit comfortably with him. At the same time, he didn't want to be in her way on such a critical mission—and that was more important.

—You would not be in the way. Mickmi circled away from the last volunteer and met his gaze across the floor before facing the group of men again.

—You sure? Maybe he could join her in his dream like he did when she was testing in the gym. Or... would that distract her too much during the mission?

"The rest of you may leave," Mickmi said. "Thank you for your time."

Selina joined her as the contingent broke up, leaving eight men. When the others exited the hanger, Mickmi spoke again. "We will only need four of you. My advisor here will determine the final selection. Please, remain relaxed through this process. No harm will come to you."

The officer who'd been overseeing the exercise approached Mickmi. "Excuse me. Exactly what will she be doing?"

"Major Kerr," she turned to him, "Blanc Aave will probe their minds. It is solely to determine the candidates with the most suitable mindsets to work with us on this mission. She will also ask," she exchanged glances with Selina, "two simple questions. No information will be accessed. May we proceed?"

∞

Weaver waited three seconds. When the girl remained frozen with furrowed brows on her bike, he turned to look outside, stooping. A gap between a deuce truck and the temporary command center gave him a clear view of the rising horizon and the jeeps halting near a hill a klick away.

"They've—" A sudden headache and nausea interrupted him, forcing him to swallow. Damn... What's wrong with me? Sweating, he backed inside and leaned against the curved wall as he massaged his temples. The pain was worsening, pulsating—his heart pounding faster than normal in his head. Grimacing, he looked up. Lora was staring past him through the opening, eyes glinting yellow, knuckles whitening on the handlebars. And yellow and orange light dots flickered on her choker.

"Hey!" He swallowed again. "Snap out of it. What are you—" Then it was all he could do to keep the bile from rising. Fuck.

Artemae jumped up from her workstation and approached the bike. "L'or Aug. You're hurting our friend. Mind your noos. You're," she touched Lora's wrist, "very red."

Startled, Lora glanced at her, then looked at Weaver in alarm. "Oh no."

The nausea settled as quickly as it began. Weaver drew deep breaths, and the pounding slowed and faded as she dismounted and rushed forward.

He pointed at her to stop.

"I am so sorry... for my lapse in attention... in self-control. Please... forgive me." She looked genuinely upset but that made no difference to Weaver.

"You keep your distance," he said when she tried to step closer. Frowning, he wiped his forehead and pressed his temples. The headache was slower in receding.

Lora pointed her palms at him.

"And keep whatever you're doing with your hands to yourself."

"But I can h—"

"I'm fine. I don't want your help." He straightened himself. "There's one person I deal with here... and that's your queen."

She sighed. "I – am – sorry." Pressing her hands together as if in prayer, she dipped her head at him.

"Yeah, well, that's your problem."

Lora gazed at him, flashed a sad smile, then turned to look outside. After a while, she exhaled. "My friend is safe. They bring him here."

"Well... They're not going to bring him to you." Damn, now he really needed a cig.

He passed her and the bike, heading for his seabag. The Kawasaki engine was still purring but, oddly enough, he couldn't smell the exhaust. "You're going to leave that running?"

She swiftly cut the engine. "Artemae, please have it returned to holding. I will not be needing it."

"Of course."

Weaver stooped by the bag and pulled out the lighter from an outside pocket. Then on second thought, he dug in the main section for some C-rations. He'd finished the last Tiger Milk last night.

"Atlas," Artemae said. "Are you ready for your supper? I'll heat it up for you."

Grunting, he straightened himself. That did sound more appetizing. Especially with the nausea completely gone.

"It's a lot better than puffing smoke." She tilted her head. "Besides, you might get busy soon, so you might as well eat while you can."

He agreed wholeheartedly. "Might as well."

She took a lunch box from the ledge and cradled it in her hands as a bench and table grew out of the wall and floor. "There you go." She set it on the table and reached for a covered paper cup. "And I thought you might like a shot of caffeine."

Weaver lifted a brow in appreciation as he sat down. "Thanks." It had been three days since he'd sipped a cup of Joe—and eaten a decent meal.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to join you this time but... L'or Aug?" She waved at Lora. "Why don't you keep Atlas company? You can have my supper."

Steaming grilled chicken breast, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and sauce. And three tantalizing strips of crisp bacon on top—that was the icing on the cake. Curious, Weaver threw Artemae a glance as she placed the other lunch box on the table. For a 'not-a-human'—whatever that meant, the girl certainly wasn't doing too badly.

He didn't look up but he sensed Lora's hesitation before she sat down at the other end of the bench.

They spent several minutes eating in silence. Weaver had almost finished his when Artemae turned from the holographic displays.

"Atlas, my queen would like to speak to you."

"Sure." Weaver downed the last of his coffee and stood up. "Where?"

The fore of the ship faded into another screen and the face that reminded him so much of his daughter appeared with a wistful smile. He couldn't help but feel relieved to see her looking well.

"Atlas... How is my Sword?"

"Not as good as you, princess."

She appeared to be in a large, gray space. He couldn't see any details behind her but, if he were to hazard a guess, he'd say she was in a hangar. If that were the case then she must be making progress.

"We prepare for the mission. We have volunteers... but I could use someone I trust. Would you join us? You are aware, the mission is not without danger."

Finally... something to do. He stepped closer to the screen. "Count me in."

Charlie Mi seemed pleased. Glancing off-screen, she nodded once at somebody. "Then I look forward to you joining us here. We commence a brief orientation and training shortly. A helicopter will pick you up."

"Roger that, princess."

She smiled. "Thank you, Atlas. L'or Aug?"

Lora stepped next to him and dipped her head.

"Artemae will release Paulux to you now. Work out how we are going to transport the antimatter safely. It is critical they travel without disturbance. Use the resources of both vessels to print whatever equipment we need to achieve this."

She nodded again. "Will do."

"Confirm with Artemae when you have calculated the logistics. Artemae, are the training cylinders ready?"

"Deymos completed them ten minutes ago."

"Thank you. I will indicate when we are ready for them. Please program both vessels to sustain a crew of five for seven days. I expect not the mission to last that long but... we can not be sure."

"Affirmed." Artemae turned to Lora as the virtual screen vanished, "Operator control has been returned to you."

"Thank you."

Weaver pulled the M1911 out his shoulder holster and automatically inspected it, checking its lock. There was no point in him carrying it with him. Security checks would confiscate it. He threw a glance at Lora who watched him impassively, before heading for his bag. As he stashed the pistol away, a faint sound of thrumming approached from the distance.

He grunted. Charlie Mi wasn't wasting any time. Did that mean she was still at the nearby Air Force base? It wasn't for him or anybody to know but he wouldn't be surprised if she'd ended up at another secret base cross-country.

∞

—You're going into space, Danny thought as the group of ten approached the plain double doors, so why a— Oh. Best available environment to simulate weightlessness.

Mickmi flashed him a smile. —Correct.

Major Kerr led the way into a large, vacant hall dominated by a swimming pool. "I hope this meets your requirements. It's half the length of an Olympic pool, twenty-five meters." He spoke with pride.

"This is fine, thank you," Mickmi said.

"Will you be needing anything else?"

"Nay, this is all we need, thank you."

Kerr excused himself and left, closing the door behind him. They halted at the end opposite the starting blocks. Danny placed the stack of packages he'd been carrying on one of the benches and sat down next Kruger and Bogdanov, while the volunteer pilots stood at ease. Mickmi regarded them for a moment, then swung her hand to the side. Within seconds, two metal cylinders appeared standing upright beside her, reaching the height of her knee. The pilots stared at them, gaping.

Before she could continue, the sound of a door opening interrupted them. A soldier held one side open and a man entered with brisk strides. Danny recognized Atlas' familiar figure with relief, still wearing jeans and olive drab Army blouse—buttoned up and tucked in this time—and a several-days'-old stubble. Atlas nodded at him as he passed, casting his sharp eyes around.

"I am glad you could join us, Atlas. This is my," Mickmi thought for a moment before turning to the others, "right hand, who will be part of the mission. These are the volunteers we selected. They are experienced test pilots... and have some astronaut training." She gestured at the eldest of the four men, "Eckstein..."

The two nodded at each other.

"Tillman..." Mickmi indicated the blond man sporting a chevron mustache.

Tillman nodded back.

She turned to the last two. "McDonnough... and Muzzy."

They exchanged nods with Atlas.

Danny studied them from his seat. Those two were younger—he wouldn't be surprised if they were in their late twenties. Muzzy was the slimmest of the four, almost lanky, and McDonnough probably was a jock during his college days.

Mickmi waved Danny over and touched his arm. "This is Daniel, my left hand."

Left hand? Danny glanced at her, confused, but kept poker-faced.

"And this is Blanc Aave, my advisor. You saw my assistant earlier. She shall rejoin us at the vessels—and there will be one more member on the team whom you will meet soon. You may call me Wamba. These," she gestured to the cylinders, "represent our mission. We will intercept Nightstar, a failing manufacturing plant, and lift it into temporary orbit. It has already entered your exosphere. It contains over 350 of these electromagnetic containers—each with a gross weight of thirty kilos—which we must remove carefully, for they each contain 27 kilos antimatter."

She turned to Danny. "Please bring the suits."

When he returned with his arms full, Mickmi was offering what looked like tiny black pills to Atlas and the pilots. They pressed the communication devices behind their cheekbones as she explained how to operate them. Then she handed five of the packages out.

"These are – smart – spacesuits. One size fits all."

She took the last pack from Danny and pulled off the cover, releasing sleeves, dangling gloves, and booted legs. Danny collected the covers from everybody and put them aside.

"They adjust to the environment you are in and support your body with inbuilt servomotors. Antigravity belt. Power cells," she turned the pearl-gray suit to show a flat, square box on the back, "hydration pouch, air reserve-and-recycler."

"Question," Tillman said, inspecting the material. "How far are we going?"

"First stage, around 900 kilometers. Second stage, the Moon. That is where we will deposit the containers. It is too risky storing them here on your planet."

He shot a glance at Eckstein who looked as doubtful. "Excuse me but... are you sure these suits can withstand—protect us out there? This is too light... too thin... Should be like 300 pounds with the tanks and— Where's the helmet?"

"Well, let us find out, shall we? We are here not only for your orientation and training, but also to test the integrity of the suits. But out there, our working environment will be contained within a shield that will protect us from radiation and any impacts." Mickmi gave Danny the last spacesuit. "Try it on."

—Whoa... wait. You sure?

She smiled. —All suits must be tested. Are you okay with diving in the pool?

"Okay, sure." Turning the garment around, he looked for a way to get into it. He found a long tab hanging from the metal neck ring and pulled it down, exposing a broad, toothless zip.

"You can choose to wear them over your clothes, but you must remove your shoes. The suits will keep you at a comfortable temperature, so you need not worry about losing body heat or overheating. They will also keep you dry and repurpose your excretions."

Danny decided he'd remove his shirt and pants as well, and keep the undershirt. As Atlas stripped down to his boxers at the next bench, Danny pushed his feet into the supple legs and had no problem fitting into the built-in boots with thick soles. The material felt smooth against his skin like the outfit Mickmi changed his clothes into yesterday. He stood up, pulled the zip up to his neck and buckled the fat belt. But when he pulled on the gloves something shifted into activation. The boots tightened to a comfortable fit, clasping his calves, then his thighs. The suit firmed up like a support belt around his waist, extending along his spine to his shoulders and the back of his arms, ending with the tightening of his cuffs and hands.

O...kay. Flexing his fingers, Danny drew a deep breath and took a few steps. This thing felt awkward like it was restricting his movements. He paused and stretched slowly, up, back, and down, then crouched. Then he walked to Mickmi. That's better. Now it actually felt light and comfy. He lined up beside the other men and waited for the last one to rejoin them.

"As you have noticed, donning the gloves activates the servomechanisms reinforcing arms, hands, legs, and back, so you can work heavy loads without straining. The non-sentient artificial intelligence is also live. It reads your neuro-pulses, interprets them to guide your motions through space—or any difficult environment."

"You mean, it has a built-in computer like NASA's spacesuits?" McDonnough asked.

"In a manner of speaking. It is more accurate to say, the computer is the suit." Mickmi looked at each man, then met Danny's gaze. "It monitors your vitals and takes verbal commands, but there are also eye and cuff controls. Daniel, can you demonstrate?"

—Demonstrate?

—You already know – how this works. You just need to experience it.

—Right... Danny inhaled and stepped forward to face the line of men. Then he touched the neck ring.

— ∞ —

©2019 by kemorgan65