Firebird

EPILOGUE

“Dot, get out of there. It's starting.”

She saw it. The cable becoming transparent, losing substance, coming back, flickering like a light with failing power. The radio filled with frantic voices. Get away from it. Look out. Dot, don't- She grabbed hold of Rowena. Pulled on her arm. “Let go,” Dot said. She knew that Rowena couldn't hear her. There hadn't been time to show the women how to use the radio. But it didn't stop her from trying. “For God's sake, let go.”

Rowena hung on, refusing to release her grip even when there seemed to be nothing to hold on to, even when her arm had gone away.

Then they were back, the cable and the arm, Rowena still holding tight, and the frantic voices.

“What's happening?”

“My God, I knew we shouldn't have done this.”

“What's wrong with the cable?”

Dot's stomach turned over, and she felt momentarily nauseous.

Where was the McCandless? She looked desperately in all directions. The Intrepide was still there, but the McCandless was gone. “Melissa,” she said. “Answer up, please.”

The voices went away.

The Intrepide's navigation lights were growing brighter. As was the glow from the cabin.

“Melissa, are you there?”

No response. Everything beyond the Intrepide was growing dark. The stars were becoming dim. Fading. The Veiled Lady shrank to a wispy glow before it, too, slipped into the all-encompassing night.

“Chase? Please? Melissa?”

She expected no reply. And got none. Only the lights on the ship remained-

Lisa had come up behind her. She took hold of Dot's arm. Tried to say something. Dot watched her bite down on her lips. The cable had been severed. The end that had been attached to the McCandless was gone. “It's okay,” she said, hoping everything would come back. “We're okay.”

The Intrepide looked as solid as ever. “Chase, are you there? Melissa? Somebody?” She gazed unbelieving at the empty sky. The heavens, seen from off-world, are not like what you see from a beach. An atmosphere does not obscure them. The stars are always bright. Now it was as if she were in a dark room, a room that stretched endlessly in all directions.

“Is anybody there?”

She let go of Rowena. Turned to Lisa and would have embraced her had she been able, had the suit allowed it. “We weren't quick enough,” she said. It was irrelevant that nobody could hear her. “Might as well go back inside.”

Lisa kept asking questions. Dot understood. Was the rescue off? What had happened? Her eyes looked out of the helmet, needing an answer.

Dot pointed back toward the airlock. God help me, yes. It's over.

Inside the Intrepide, there was movement. Frightened faces looked out through the ports.

She didn't want to go back, didn't want to join the people she'd tried to help, people she wouldn't even be able to communicate with, to tell them what was happening. And, of course, she was stuck now. She'd ride this thing, this ghost out of a distant past, in its trek toward a highly uncertain future.

Sixty-seven years, Shara had said.

Good-bye, Melissa. Mom and Dad. Harry.

Harry was her husband. Melissa's father. A management consultant currently on assignment at one of the outlying stations. She'd forgotten which one. He'd have a shock coming when he heard-

Damn it. Why hadn't she listened to Alex?

Well, this was not the time to start feeling sorry for herself. She could do that later.

What would her life be without Melissa? She and her daughter had always been close. Melissa was ambitious but not to the extent that she was willing to work hard to achieve her goals. She had talked about becoming a pilot, but Dot did not believe it would ever actually happen. That was one of the reasons she'd brought her along on this mission, to try to light a fire under her.

Melissa wanted to be things, especially, she said, to be a pilot. But she wasn't prepared to put in the effort. We only have one life, she was fond of saying, so why should we spend it working when we have a leisure option? She'd gotten a degree in medicine, but it hadn't really challenged her, and she had made her intentions clear enough: Just relax, hang out, party, meet guys, go swimming-she loved to swim, and she was as proficient in the water as anyone Dot had ever seen-and go for walks in the woods. That was the kind of life she'd wanted. Dot's family had always believed there was something innately virtuous in work. But Melissa saw nothing wrong with a prolonged good time. “I wouldn't want to find, when it came time to die, that I had not lived.” It was the adage she lived by.

And Dot wasn't entirely convinced she was wrong.

Chase, too. Dot wasn't that close to Chase Kolpath, but she qualified as a friend. You could trust her, and the attention Chase had gotten as a result of working with Benedict hadn't changed her. Most people who had gotten into the media spotlight the way she had over the past few years would be full of themselves. But the woman just laughed it off. When Dot had commented on her accomplishments, she'd become visibly uncomfortable. “I've been fortunate,” she'd said. “Always been at the right place at the right time.”

Odd that Harry and Melissa occupied her thoughts at a moment like this. And Chase. And Phil Cato, an old boyfriend. And-

The Intrepide became the only reality, the only lights in the world. And the three women who were with her at that moment. They'd all grown quiet. Lisa, Michelle, and Rowena. They were probably wondering whether they'd ever get off that ship. Whether they'd ever see their homes again.

They almost certainly didn't know what had happened to them. No way they could know unless their captain had seen that the stars were out of place. Given thousands of years, that would have happened. She wondered whether he understood, and if so, whether he'd said anything.

She led the way back to the airlock. The hatch had closed when they'd exited. She opened it again and waited while the three women climbed inside. She hesitated about following them. To do that somehow sealed everything. As long as she remained outside, there was a chance that the Belle-Marie would come out of the night, pick her up. Take her home.

She thought about the two girls. Sabol and Cori. She had hoped to include their father in the second group she'd have taken across. He'd spoken to her with a calm intensity. She knew what he'd been saying: Please take them somewhere safe. Get them away from here. Well, at least she'd managed that. Something about him suggested he might be a physician. Maybe it was the way he'd looked into her eyes, as if searching for an abnormality. Maybe it was his soothing, deliberate voice, which-even though she couldn't understand a word he said-had assured her that if she just took the girls, everything would be okay. Pretty gutsy, considering he knew so little about what was happening. But she'd never forget, hov/ever long she lived, his expression when she looked back as she took the kids into the airlock. He'd started fighting back tears, and he was scared to let them go, but he knew they needed to get off the ship, even if they were being taken by a stranger who spoke an unknown language.

So she would have tried to get him off with the second group. Though she sensed he would not leave until the women were clear.

Suddenly the lights came back on.

The stars reappeared, hazy at first. They brightened and became sharp dazzling points of light scattered through the darkness. My God. She was getting a miracle. Still hanging on to the hatch, she turned and looked behind her, searching the night for the McCandless.

She saw the Veiled Lady, which had been behind it. But no ship.

“Melissa, where are you?”

Save for the stars, the sky was empty.

“Chase?”

Keep calm. She checked the time. It had been only nine minutes since they had all gone down the transdimensional drain. Something other than the stars was putting out a lot of light. But the glow was coming from the other side of the Intrepide. She let go of the hatch and rose above the hull. A long, sleek, brightly illuminated vehicle was approaching. It wore the silver and azure colors of the Confederacy. The Fleet was here. Thank God.

She screamed with delight, and waved at the ship.

One set of navigation lights blinked on and off. We see you.

She went back to the airlock, and they all must have understood, because they waved their arms, and Rowena burst into tears.

The visitor became visible. It had angled around and was approaching from the rear. Michelle grabbed hold of the cable and launched herself into a kind of improvised floating dance.

Lisa jumped up, hit her helmet against the overhead, and bounced. But she was still laughing, and her lips carried the message: “Magnifique!”

You said it, baby.

“Melissa,” Dot said, “we've got help. Where are you?”

The visitor was lit up like a summer carnival. It came alongside and took up a position where, a few minutes ago, the McCandless had been stationed. She could almost have reached out and touched it.

“Melissa, answer up, please. Are you there?”

Then, finally, a voice: “Relax, Ms. Garber. You are Dot Garber, right?”

“Yes, it's me.” Oh, Lord, is it ever. She could barely restrain a scream. “Where's the McCandless?”

“Janet,” said the voice. “We've got her.”

She heard applause.

More lights went on, around the main hatch.

“Everything's under control, M5. Garber. Just give us a couple of minutes. We'd like you and the other people to clear the airlock. You can go back inside, if you like. But just clear the area, please.”

The hatch opened, and a transparent tube extended out into the vacuum.

Dot signaled for everyone to grab hold of the cable. Then they stepped out into the void.

The tube crossed the space between the ships and fastened onto the Intrepide's open airlock.

Several people, four, it looked like, in dark blue uniforms filed into the tube and started across. A couple of them looked toward the drifting women and waved. A minute later, they'd disappeared into the Intrepide.

“Hello,” Dot said. “This is Garber. Who are you guys?”

“Ms. Garber, this is CVY1411. Do you need assistance?”

“Only to get out of here.”

“How's your air supply?”

“We're in good shape. There are four of us.”

“Okay. We see you. There's a cargo hatch off to your left. It's opening now. Or it will be in just a minute. Can you get in on your own? Or do you require assistance?”

She looked at the three women. They were still celebrating. “Negative,” she said. “We can manage.”

“Very good. Come in through cargo. There'll be a blinking light. They'll be expecting you. And yell if you need anything.”

“Fourteen-eleven, I hate to ask this-”

“Go ahead, Ms. Garber. What's your problem?”

“What's the date?”

“Rimway calendar?”

“Yes.”

“It's 1501.”

She froze. Sixty-seven years. Somewhere, deep inside, she'd known that was what they would say, but she still couldn't accept it. Not really. She'd just come out here a few minutes ago.

There was more movement in the tube. More uniformed rescuers crossing into the Intrepide. Then a surge of people coming back. Filing into the Fleet vessel. Her vision blurred while she watched, and it had gotten hard to breathe. She told herself to calm down. She was okay. That was the critical part. Everybody was going to survive. If it was really true that almost seventy years had passed since she'd come out here, she'd deal with it.

Her head was spinning. Dot had always prided herself on being tough. On being able to make the hard decisions, and to live with the results. But this was too much.

A wave of darkness closed in.

She woke in the arms of a guy in a pressure suit. He was telling her to relax, nothing to worry about, he'd take care of everything. They were still outside, moving along the hull, past large black numbers, a four and a couple of ones. “Thanks,” she said. “I'm sorry I gave you so much trouble.”

“No trouble, Ms. Garber. Glad to help.”

“Where are-?”

“They're fine. Everybody's okay.”

Her rescuer identified himself as Emil Crider. He wore standard Fleet issue: Assuming rank insignia hadn't changed, he was a young lieutenant, solid, efficient, reassuring. Emil warned her about the gravity, and brought her in through the cargo doors. Lisa and Michelle were already there. They looked a bit lost. Several of the rescuers were with them. Rowena was led in moments later. She waved. And provoked another round of cheers.

Dot's weight flowed back. Emil closed the doors and started the pressurization process. They were in a storage area, filled with cabinets and casings and assorted electronic gear.

“When the green light comes on, Ms. Garber,” he said, “don't remove your suit or helmet. We'll be running a check before you get out of it.”

“Call me Dot” she said. “Why the medical check, Emil? I was only out there a few minutes.”

“Really?” He gave her a broad smile. “There's no problem, but we want to make sure your immune system isn't out of touch. And, where you're concerned, ours might be, too. Bear with us. It won't take long.”

Eventually, a row of green lamps, strung along the overhead, blinked on. Emil got out of his gear and looked back at her. He was average size, young, good-looking, sandy hair, sea blue eyes. A door opened, and several others came into the area. One of the newcomers knelt beside her. “Dr. Gibson, Dot,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“I'm okay.”

“Can you stand?”

Gravity was still at about one-third. Standard level in the void. “Yes, Doctor.” She started to get up. Emil made a move to help her, but Gibson waved him back.

“Still okay?” Gibson asked when she'd gotten to her feet.

“I'm good.”

The others were going through the same routine.

When they were all ready, they were led down a short passageway and up two decks. There they were separated, and Dot was taken into a room that looked like an infirmary. Except that it appeared to be airtight. A table supported some electronic equipment. A single chair had been placed at the table. “Okay, Dot,” the doctor said. “I'll be right over there.” He indicated an observation area behind a plate of glass. “Wait until I tell you. Then take off the suit, sit down, and wait for instructions. Okay?”

“Okay, Doctor.”

He went outside and pulled the door shut behind him. “All right. You can get out of that thing now.”

She removed the helmet and climbed out of the suit. Then she sat.

Dr. Gibson appeared in the observation area, joined by Emil. “Ms. Garber,” Gibson said, “you'll notice a cap on the device in front of you. I'd like you to remove the cap and breathe into the tube.”

About twenty of the Intrepide passengers were gathered in the mess hall, where sandwiches, fruit, and donuts had been laid out. More filed in every few minutes. Others connected with the rescue vessel-though only two wore Fleet uniforms-were wandering among the growing crowd, reassuring them, and apparently speaking to them in their own language. That surprised Dot since the information she'd had indicated we knew what the written language looked like but nobody knew what it sounded like. Then she remembered Cori and Sabol.

There really are miracles.

Rowena and Michelle came in, and they all embraced. They thanked her, then were quickly swept off by their fellow passengers. Lisa showed up minutes later, and there was another minor celebration.

When everybody from the Intrepide finally was present, a woman in a commander's uniform spoke to them, again in French, welcoming them formally to the Christopher Robin. She passed out guides, in French, of course, which laid out information on compartments and menus and code numbers to be used by anyone needing help.

Two women, dressed in jumpsuits, stood off to one side. They were considerably older than Dot, but were still on the right side of middle age. One of them caught her eye momentarily, and smiled.

Dot raised a hand in acknowledgment. Then Emil appeared beside her. “You okay?” he asked.

“I'm fine. What's going on? Are they trying to explain to us what's happened?”

He nodded.

Dot saw disbelief, anger, tears. The people from the Intrepide would never see their friends and relatives again.

Several became hysterical. Some stared out through the viewports at the stars as if confirmation lay in that direction. They embraced one another, pleaded with the uniformed officers, no doubt to tell them it was all a misbegotten joke. But they knew that it was true, that their rescuers were not kidding, were not lying, were not deranged. They had arrived in the far future.

Lisa was staring at Dot. Her teen eyes were wet, and she was trying not to break down. Had this really happened?

Dot walked over to her. Embraced her. “I'm sorry,” she said.

A French-speaking lieutenant commander, a man who'd trained more than a year specifically for this mission, told her later that the question most asked, after how did it happen, was this: Is there any way we can go home again? Are our homes still there?

They also, many of them, swore they'd never ride an interstellar again. Not ever.

Many of the passengers came over to thank Dot, to embrace her. One or two seemed to think it was her fault. And the Fleet people also took her aside and shook her hand. Several asked her to sign copies of the French guide.

The ship's captain literally beamed when he introduced himself. “If you need anything at all-” he said.

The world was spinning. It was too much. The emotions were running too high, and she couldn't sort out how she felt. It was a roller-coaster evening.

A door opened, and the father of Cori and Sabol entered. He was carrying a drink. “His name,” said Emil, who was more or less functioning as an escort, “is Chaveau. He is a police inspector.” He looked dazed, and one of the women who'd been performing translator duties went over to speak with him. Chaveau listened, and the appearance of disorientation intensified. The translator smiled gently and looked toward a side door, where the two women in the jumpsuits were engaged in a conversation. They were being screened from Chaveau's view by two officers. A signal passed between the translator and the officers, and they stepped back out of the way.

The women saw him immediately. They both waved and hurried in his direction, laughing and crying out as they went.

Chaveau gasped and seemed momentarily paralyzed. He shook his head violently, no, no, until suddenly he stopped and a smile dawned. And they were screeching with joy as they fell into one another's arms.

Emil put a hand on my shoulder. “You know who they are, Dot?”

“Hard to believe. But yes. I know.”

Emil also seemed emotionally caught up in the moment. But he was watching Dot. “You okay?”

“I'm fine,” Dot said.

“Good. Something else you should know: This isn't the first rescue we've done.”

“Wonderful,” she said. “I'm glad somebody made it happen.”

“I'm sure you are. I should mention that the initiative came from an effort mounted by the Dot Garber Foundation.”

Everything was moving too fast. He had to repeat what he'd said, and even then she wasn't sure she understood.

“It's okay,” Emil said. “Hang in there. You're a hero, you know.”

“I don't think heroes get as scared as I was.” Then, finally, the question she'd been afraid to ask: “How's Melissa? My daughter? You have any idea?”

He nodded. But those eyes told her everything. “I'm sorry,” he said. “She passed away about ten years ago.”

Her knees buckled and Emil eased her into a chair. “I'm okay. I-”

“It's all right. Just relax.”

More people came in. Some brought more donuts. Somebody else was handing out fresh clothes.

Dot sat in her chair, staring at the table.

“If it's any consolation,” he said, “she knew you would be rescued. She had a lot to do with it.”

“Thank you.”

“And there's something else.”

“What's that?”

“When you're ready,” he said, “a couple of your friends just got here.”