A Perfect World





Chapter 19



Sixty-five miles west of the Golden Gate, in the near absolute darkness of a 
moonless night out in the Pacific Ocean, a hair thin periscope poked its way 
upward from the gently rolling waves. Outfitted with visual cameras, 
infrared imaging systems, and one of the most modern passive electromagnetic 
detectors ever fashioned, it spun slowly around, checking the patch of ocean 
from horizon to horizon for the slightest sign of any vessel or aircraft. It 
detected nothing in the danger zone, which had been expected since passive 
sonar sensors in its ship below had already confirmed nothing but biological 
sound sources in the surrounding one hundred kilometers.



"Surface search checks clear within parameters," reported Diffy Kalahari 
inside the landing ship. "There's a flock of seabirds eighteen klicks to the 
northwest, a pile of floating garbage twelve klicks to the south, and an 
airliner cruising at eleven thousand meters 145 klicks southeast. Other than 
that, we're alone."



Cindee Marshall, the pilot, nodded happily. "That's a wet tongue on a hard 
clit," she said. "Let's surface and get our asses off this planet." She 
flipped a switch on her panel and compressed air was pumped into the ballast 
tanks, ejecting the water and changing the buoyancy of the spacecraft from 
neutral to positive. The ship rose up and a minute later they were on the 
surface, bobbing up and down in the waves.



The sickening, nausea-inducing motion roused Ken from the doze he'd been 
enjoying for the past ninety minutes. He opened his eyes slowly and looked 
around the cramped confines of the landing ship. Behind him, Spankworth and 
Bingbutt were coming out of their own slumbers. Behind them, McGraw and Wing 
were still fully awake and keeping an eye on the two recently revived 
WestHem operatives.



"I'm gonna throw up if this rocking doesn't stop," whined the larger of the 
two. His name, they'd learned, was Lieutenant Meckle. "This is against the 
Geneva convention, you know."



"I demand a safer form of transport back up to space," put in the other one. 
He was Lieutenant Plusman. "You can't just put us in some greenie-built 
spacecraft. Section 5-A, subsection 3 of the International Rules of Warfare 
clearly states that..."



"Oh shut the fuck up," growled McGraw, who was quite tired of listening to 
the two WestHems whine. It was virtually all they had done from the moment 
their sedation had been reversed shortly after boarding the landing craft.



"That's abuse of a prisoner," Plusman accused. "Using profanity in the 
presence of POWs has been deemed upsetting and abusive. It can lead to 
post-traumatic stress syndrome!"



"Oh Laura," McGraw said, leaning her head back and closing her eyes for a 
second. "If you two are the best of the best in the WestHem military it's no 
fucking wonder we kicked your asses from Eden to New Pittsburgh during the 
revolution."



"You greenies didn't win that war!" Meckle said. "We simply had to pull back 
for logistical reasons."



"It wasn't a war anyway," Plusman added. "It was a hostage rescue mission. 
The marines were simply trying to rescue all of those citizens that Laura 
Whiting bitch was holding in bondage."



"Holding in bondage?" McGraw said, rolling her eyes. "It's really scary how 
brainwashed you two are, you know that?"



Both of them opened their mouths to counter this statement but Spankworth, 
tired of the whole discussion, stepped in at this point and threatened to 
sedate them again if they didn't keep their fucking mouths shut. After only 
two threats of what their lawyers were going to do and one demand to be 
taken to the nearest friendly embassy, they took his warning to heart and 
kept quiet.



Finally, just as McGraw and Bingbutt were about to reach for the vomit bags, 
Marshall finished the pre-flight check and powered up the hydrogen engines. 
"We're ready for lift-off," she told Sampson up on Calistoga, which was even 
now breaching over the coastline of Ecuador.



"We're down with it," Sampson replied. "We're tapped into all appropriate 
detection satellites. Your thermal plume will show up on all of them but 
they'll never see it in the monitoring stations."



"Laura bless modern technology," Marshall said, advancing the throttle and 
getting them moving.



The ship streaked across the waves, bouncing and shuddering violently until 
it achieved a velocity of 200 kilometers per hour. At this speed the air 
moving past the unfolded wings was sufficient to provide lift and the 
spacecraft rose into the air, smoothing the ride out considerably. Marshall 
turned to a northeasterly heading and leveled off at 4000 meters. She then 
turned control of the ship over to the computer, which already had an 
intercept course laid in for a rendezvous with Calistoga over the Bering 
Straight. A clock ticked slowly down to zero and the engines-which had been 
running at less than ten percent thrust-kicked into high gear. The ship 
nosed up and all inside were pushed forcefully back in their seats at just 
over 3Gs. Higher and higher they climbed, streaking into the stratosphere 
and out the other side, finally clearing the atmosphere altogether and 
achieving orbit. The engines shut down, returning them to zero-G conditions, 
and they drifted along, waiting for Calistoga-which was moving slightly 
faster-to catch up with them.



Catch up it did twenty minutes later. The navigation had been right on the 
mark and Calistoga passed over the top of them at a range of 459 meters. 
Marshall assumed control of the spacecraft once more and used the 
maneuvering thrusters to match velocities. Slowly, inch by inch, she brought 
them in for a smooth docking on the underside of the stealth ship. The 
mechanical arms latched on and pulled them inside the belly. The docking bay 
was recompressed and that was that. They were back safe, another triumph of 
Martian engineering and navigation.



Huffy, Sampson, and two enlisted crewmembers with police tanners entered the 
docking room just as Marshall opened the hatch.



"Welcome back," Huffy greeted, suppressing a yawn. It was obvious by looking 
at her that she was on the verge of total exhaustion.



"Thanks, Huff," said Spankworth, who was almost as exhausted. "It's good to 
be back in what passes for home."



"Good flight?"



"As fine as nine year old pussy," Spankworth assured her, allowing himself 
to float free into the room. "Where do you wanna put our WestHem friends?"



"Take them to sickbay first," Huffy ordered. "We'll have the doc neutralize 
the poison they were given and then Sampson and I have a few questions for 
them about Dr. Lindley."



"Poison?" said Plusman, who had been trying to squirm out of the hatch with 
his hands cuffed behind his back. "What do you mean, poison?"



"Ahhh, you haven't told him yet?" Huffy asked Spankworth.



"We only woke them up a few hours ago," Spankworth replied, grabbing Plusman 
by the upper arm and yanking him free into the room. "They didn't seem to be 
quite in the mood for that yet."



"What about poison?" asked Meckle, his head appearing in the hatch. He 
turned toward Spankworth. "You gave us poison?"



"Not us," Spankworth told him. "Your government did it. They didn't want you 
lingering around in the past after your mission and botching things up for 
the present."



"That's a vicious lie!" Plusman shouted angrily. "How dare you greenies make 
accusations like that!"



"Remember the inoculations you received before the mission?" Huffy asked. 
"The ones that were supposed to protect you from past diseases? Well they 
had more than vaccine in them. You were given a time release poison that 
will activate and kill you in about ten more days if we don't neutralize 
it."



"Lies!" Plusman shouted again.



"Nice try," Meckle added, although he looked like he might be considering 
the matter.



Huffy simply shrugged. "What makes more sense?" she asked the two soldiers. 
"That your government would allow nearly a hundred people to go down to the 
surface of Earth in the past and trust them not to change anything or take 
advantage of their situation, or that they would take steps to insure that 
any damage caused would be minimal and short-lived? Think about it, 
gentlemen. Is your government really that trusting?"



Both of them gave the standard denials of course. But it was quite clear 
they had been given some fairly nutritious food for thought. As the two 
enlisted crewmen assisted them up the hatch and out of the docking area, 
they exchanged a few troubled looks, as if they'd always suspected their 
release on an unsuspecting past was something a little too good to be true.



"A typical response so far," Sampson said when they were gone. "Some part of 
them has suspected the truth all along. They'll bluster and spout the 
WestHem line for a while, but they won't refuse the neutralization 
procedure."



"So all of the other crewmembers have been neutralized?" Spankworth asked as 
Ken and Bingbutt emerged into the room.



Sampson nodded. "We're keeping them over on the Rumsfeld, all except Captain 
Stanhope anyway. We had to put him into protective custody once his crew 
found out he knew about the poison all the time and had it reversed only in 
himself and the doctor. Our doc spent the day over there shooting everyone 
up with the antidote."



"The reserve team is over on Rumsfeld keeping an eye on them?" Spankworth 
asked.



"Fuckin' aye," Huffy said. "When it comes time to leave, the WestHem crew 
can operate the ship for us under the supervision of you and your people. So 
far they're pretty cooperative. A lot of them weren't too wild about the 
idea of being left in the past, especially not once they found out they were 
all gonna die in a few days."



"That does tend to put a damper on things," McGraw observed.



"So what now?" Spankworth asked. "We still have that doctor down there. Any 
luck in pinning down his whereabouts?"



"Don't worry about that right now," Huffy told him. "I have but one order 
for you and the rest of the away team. Take twelve hours to get yourself fed 
and rested. You've all been up for almost forty-eight hours and you must be 
exhausted. I know I am. So let's all drop everything for now and get 
refreshed so we can think the problem through with clear heads. We'll have a 
staff meeting in the wardroom after lunch tomorrow."



"But what about..." Spankworth started.



"Tomorrow," Huffy insisted. "Nothing is going to change with the situation 
in the next twelve hours. Get some rest. That's an order."



Spankworth cracked a smile. "If you insist," he said. He turned to the rest 
of his team, who by now had all come out of the landing ship. "You heard 
Huff," he told them. "Get yourselves fed and rested. Staff meeting at 1330 
tomorrow."



Ken, who was more exhausted than hungry, decided he would ignore the first 
part of the order and go immediately to the last. He pulled himself through 
the hatch and propelled himself across the staging room toward the 
inter-deck ladder. Using his hands to propel himself, he moved downward, 
toward his berthing area. He passed other crewmembers on his way, each of 
whom took the time to welcome him back. He returned their greetings 
listlessly, grateful when he finally arrived at his room.



Slurry was in the rack, strapped in but not sleeping. He expected her to 
smile as she saw him but she didn't. She looked as if she had been crying.



"I'm back," he said, wondering why she was upset. Was it the thought that 
they might all die in space if the wormhole didn't open? That seemed logical 
but somehow he knew it wasn't the case.



"I know," she said, her tone expressionless. "I've been waiting for you."



He floated over and embraced her, feeling her familiar body against his, 
smelling her familiar smell. She thawed a little at his touch, her arms 
going around him, her face burying itself in his neck. He felt the coolness 
of fresh tears on his flesh.



"Slurry? What's the matter? I'm back safe. We kept the WestHems from 
changing Mark Whiting. Everything is going to be okay."



"I know it is," she said. "That's why I'm sad, Ken. Everything is going to 
be okay."



"I'm not following what you're saying," he said. "Why would that make you 
sad?"



"Never mind," she said. "Just hold me. Hold me while we've got the time."



"While we've got the time? What do you mean?"



"Never mind for now," she said, sobbing a little, but squeezing him tighter. 
"You'll find out soon enough."



"Slurry, what is going on?" he asked.



But she wouldn't answer him.



Soon, despite his worries, despite the strange behavior of his wife, fatigue 
had its way with him and he drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep. He 
would not so much as stir for the next ten hours.



+++++



As was the custom at a Martian meeting in which important information was to 
be discussed, everyone showed up a little early in order to dispense with 
the small talk and preliminaries before the business at hand was mulled 
over. Huffy was the first to arrive. She came floating in the door at just 
after 1300, looking refreshed for the first time in days. She had taken her 
own advice and crashed out in her quarters after the interrogation of the 
two WestHem operatives, finding the time for a solid six hours of slumber. 
Rigger Johannesburg arrived next, floating in the door just ahead of 
Lieutenant Spankworth. Next came Ron Sampson carrying a fresh supply of 
coffee and garlic bread from the galley. The last to arrive were Ken and 
Slurry, both of them freshly bathed, both looking vaguely troubled.



They spent ten minutes complimenting each other's various body parts and 
sexual skills with typical Martian crudity. Spankworth, Rigger, and Huffy 
then engaged in a brief flatulence contest in which the smell, decibel 
level, and duration were the main factors affecting the score. Spankworth, 
who had eaten nothing but processed Earthling food for the past 48 hours won 
quite easily, earning the respect and admiration of all. The preliminaries 
were wrapped up with a discussion period of past experiences with alcohol 
and marijuana intoxication and the bizarre sexual encounters that resulted 
from over-intoxication. Huffy easily took the best story prize here with her 
narration of the time she'd gotten stoned with a group of workers in a 
Martian chicken farm.



"Okay then," Huffy said when her tale was told. "It looks like its 1330. How 
about we get down to some serious cock sucking here?"



And with those words, everyone put on a serious face and settled in. The 
official meeting was begun. Huffy immediately turned the floor over to 
Sampson.



"Thanks, Huff," he said, allowing himself to float a bit above his chair. 
"As you all know by now, we have ourselves a bit of a clusterfuck in the 
making down on the surface. Spanky, you and Frazier and the rest of the 
interdiction team did an ass-kicking job down there, especially considering 
the twist of events with the native police officer. What you didn't and 
couldn't know, however, because we didn't know either, was that the WestHems 
sent three people down to the surface in that escape pod, not just two. The 
third person was this man..." He clicked a few spots on his PC and a 
holographic face appeared above the display. "This is Dr. Stephen Lindley-a 
career naval physician for WestHem, which means he's more than likely a 
pretty shitty doctor, since career naval physicians in that system tend to 
be as such. Shitty or not, he managed to discover that everyone sent back in 
time aboard Rumsfeld had been inoculated with a time release poison."



"How did he discover this?" Spankworth asked.



"According to Captain Stanhope, whom we've spent a considerable time 
debriefing, it was entirely accidental. One of the engineering crewmembers 
was infected with a case of gonorrhea prior to the mission and did not 
manifest symptoms until after they were underway."



"Gonorrhea?" asked Spankworth. "Isn't that a sexually transmitted disease?"



"Fuckin' aye," Sampson said. "We, as you know, have wiped out all forms of 
STD long ago, but such things are allowed to exist in WestHem culture 
because they believe it is a punishment from God for immoral sexual 
activities. Those who contract it are routinely arrested and charged with 
violation of the Public Morals Act."



"Barbarians," Spankworth hissed, appalled at the thought of allowing a 
disease nicknamed "the drip" to exist when you could prevent it.



Sampson-who had spent his entire career studying Earthling culture-simply 
shrugged. "The practices of WestHem culture are not important to this 
discussion," he said. "What is important is that this disease does exist and 
this crewman did contract it before leaving. By the time he began to show 
symptoms of it, they were halfway to their Lemondrop reactor site. Since 
this crewman was somewhat vital to the engineering department and it was 
unfeasible to replace him, the decision was made to treat him on the ship 
and forget about any formal charges.



"During the routine blood work Dr. Lindley discovered a strange protein in 
the crewman's blood-something that turned out to be synthetic," he 
continued. "That was the time-release coating for the poison. After 
analyzing it and making the determination of what it was, he tested the rest 
of the crew and found everyone aboard had been infected. From there, the 
thought that their release into an unsuspecting past was too good to be 
true, finally hit home.



"Dr. Lindley told Stanhope about this discovery and they decided to keep 
their findings secret from the rest of the crew. Lindley reversed the poison 
innoculations in both of them and they began to plot with all the zeal that 
two men who discovered their country had betrayed them could muster. Their 
plan was to proceed with their mission and then allow the crew to succumb to 
the inoculations. At that point, they would set themselves up as wealthy 
investors using computer hacking technology that, while nowhere near as good 
or intrusive as ours, is efficient enough to penetrate the most secure 
systems of 2007. Their plans were nothing short of complete world domination 
within a decade of the end of World War III."



"Ambitious little fucks, aren't they?" Ken said.



"Indeed," Sampson agreed. "Dr. Lindley was sent down to the surface with the 
interdiction team. This was ostensibly to monitor the medical aspects of the 
genetic manipulation process, but in reality his job was to begin setting up 
a safe haven for the crew while they underwent their "orientation."



"Their orientation?" Spankworth asked.



"They were told they were going to be held in this camp for a few weeks so 
they could be indoctrinated in life in the past before being released into 
it," Sampson said. "After the indoctrination they would be given forgettable 
identities and enough money so they would never have to work and they could 
then settle wherever in the world they wished."



"They told the crew exactly what they expected to hear," Ken said.



"Fuckin' aye," Sampson said. "In reality, the property Lindley was working 
on purchasing was an old campground in the remote Sierra Nevada Mountains. 
The plan was to take the entire crew there, put them through some bullshit 
indoctrination classes just to pass the time, and just wait for the poison 
to kill them all so they could bury their bodies in secrecy and then go 
about their own plans. Lindley assumed an identity under the name of Stanley 
Stevens, complete with good credit rating, lots of money in reserve, and a 
first-rate cover story to dump on the real estate agents involved. He was 
actually well into the acquisition process on the day the WestHem team made 
their attempt to alter Mark Whiting's genetics."



"But we screwed that all up," Huffy said.



"We did," Sampson said. "They abandoned their plot the moment it became 
apparent they had been followed into the past and intervention had been 
done. Lindley fled the motel room the moment he got word, though he didn't 
change his identity until we bracketed the WestHem ship and Stanhope sent 
that second message, telling him to disappear. It would seem he took that 
advice to heart. The Stevens identity has been erased from existence and 
Lindley is now presumably operating under a new alias, complete with 
financial and personal background. We do not know what this identity is, nor 
does Captain Stanhope."



"And therein lies our problem," Huffy said. "We must leave orbit and start 
heading back to deep space in eight days in order to be in position for our 
wormhole opening. If we disregard our safety cushion and assume that 
absolutely nothing will delay our return trip, we could stay as long as 
eighteen more days. Either way though, it seems unlikely that we will be 
able to locate and neutralize Lindley in that time period. If we leave 
without doing that, logic tells us that the time stream will be altered 
enough that the wormhole will not open because in the present time there 
never would have been a mission sent back in the first place."



"That would be bad," Ken said.



"That would be the worst thing imaginable," Huffy said. "As I told Stanhope, 
we would be effectively stuck out there. The fuel tanks do not hold enough 
propellant to get us back to Earth quickly enough to avoid starving to death 
out in space. Not that we would come back to Earth even if they did. We have 
no place in this time period."



Everyone considered that unpleasant thought for a few moments. Finally 
Spankworth spoke up. "We have to find him then," he said. "That's all there 
is to it. We need to scour that fucking planet until he turns up."



"Easier said than done," Sampson said. "He knows we're looking for him. He 
has already changed his identity and is unlikely to do anything in the next 
few months to draw attention to himself. I have my people using our 
computers to pour through every Earthling database in search of some anomaly 
that will shed light on his new identity, but I fear we're doing nothing 
more than pissing up a flagpole."



"Do we know anything?" Spankworth asked. "Anything at all Stanhope or one of 
the Rumsfeld crew told you that will help us find him?"



"Yes, there are a few things we know," Sampson said. "First and foremost, we 
know what he looks like and have digital images of his face. We're now 
tapped into multiple databases that will inform us if that face walks in 
front of any one of more than a million security cameras throughout the 
United States. The problem here is that unless Lindley is a complete and 
total moron, he will have anticipated us doing this and will stay away from 
any place that has an Internet linked security camera.



"Another thing we know for sure is that Stanhope did not completely trust 
the man. For that reason, he was sent down with only a single PC and a 
single battery to power it. Once that battery dies-something that likely has 
already happened-he will no longer be able to manipulate the Earthling 
databases."



"Won't he be able to recharge the battery?" Ken asked. "I mean, can't he 
just get an AC adapter and plug in to an outlet like everyone else?"



"No," Sampson said. "The electrical delivery system is completely different 
in this time than what is used for a modern WestHem PC. While a modern 
electrical engineer would probably be able to construct an adapter of some 
sort to convert primitive electrical delivery to a modern device, Lindley is 
not an electrical engineer, nor would he dare trying to enlist an electrical 
engineer from this time period to help him. It would reveal his futuristic 
status and the engineer from this time period probably wouldn't be able to 
help him anyway since the principals would be far too advanced."



"So he's stuck with the identity he has," Spankworth said. "That's good 
news, isn't it? Even if we can't find him, it limits how much damage he'll 
be able to cause to the time stream."



"It limits it," Sampson said, "but it certainly doesn't eliminate it. 
Whether he has the ability to manipulate computer data or not, he still has 
his pre-knowledge of history. That is his most valuable possession. Even the 
dumbest, most unresourceful person could take tremendous advantage of such a 
thing and we already know that Lindley has every intention of doing so. My 
guess is that by the end of World War III he will already be a 
multi-millionaire. All he'll do from there is get richer and more powerful. 
Each share of stock that he acquires is a share that won't go to someone 
else. Each contract whatever corporation he sets up is awarded is a contract 
that won't go to someone else. The reverberations won't seem like much here, 
but they'll have exponential effect further down the time stream."



"You're describing a hopeless situation then," Ken said. "You're saying we 
won't be able to find him before its time to leave. If we can't find him 
before we leave, there will be no wormhole to open for us. If there's no 
wormhole to open for us, we'll all die out in space."



"And be crashed into the sun," Spankworth added helpfully. "Don't forget 
about that part."



Ken shot him a sour look. He had been trying to forget about that part.



"There is one thing that nobody else is considering here," a voice said. It 
was Rigger Johannesburg, who had not fastened his Velcro and was therefore 
hovering just above the table. Until this moment, it was the first time he'd 
spoken during the meeting.



"What's that, Rigger?" Huffy asked him.



"There is a solution to our dilemma," he said. "There has to be."



"What do you mean there has to be?" Sampson asked, irritated. "There doesn't 
have to be anything. The only sure things in life are death and 
masturbation."



"And ordinarily that would be true," Rigger said. "But we're not dealing 
with mere life here, are we? We are dealing with metaphysics-specifically 
time travel. All of you seem to have forgotten that what is going on here is 
not just a quirk of fate. It is something that was meant to be, something 
that, in our time, has already happened and was already solved long before 
any of us-with the exception of Ken Frazier-were even born."



"Huh?" Spankworth said.



"We have established that everything else that occurred down on the 
surface-the encounter with the Roseville cop, the burning of the WestHem's 
car, the pursuit and the perimeter-are things that were written into the 
history of time before we even left Mars. So why is it that you all seem to 
think that this situation with Dr. Lindley is not something that is meant to 
occur, too?"



Everyone exchanged looks as they considered this possibility.  Huffy looked 
at Rigger and said, "If you know something, you old fuck, how about you get 
to the point? We don't have time for any mysterious Buddha-figure shit."



"Old fuck?" Rigger said, feigning bruised feelings. "My my, Huff. Did we 
forget that this old fuck was able to give you sixteen orgasms in a 
twelve-minute time period? I recall you telling me that was a record 
breaking event for you."



Surprisingly, Huffy blushed, something that many would have said was an 
impossibility. "Forgive me," she said. "I think perhaps the pressure is 
getting to me."



"Sixteen?" Sampson said, raising his eyebrows. "My Laura, Rigger. That is 
impressive, even for a Martian."



"Never mind the sixteen orgasms," Huffy snapped. She took a deep breath and 
calmed herself. "Rigger, you seem to know something. Please enlighten us."



Rigger smiled mysteriously and then nodded. "Since you asked politely," he 
said. "I believe that Slurry and I already know how this problem is to be 
solved. Before we left on this mission, before we even heard of it, in fact, 
Slurry uncovered some rather startling facts while doing personal research 
in the WestHem history databases."



"What did you find?" Huffy asked.



"We'll get to that," Rigger replied, answering for her. "One orgasm at a 
time here, shall we?"



Huffy gave him another sour look but said nothing.



"There is a location and a time," Rigger said, "where we know Dr. Lindley 
will show up, correct?"



"You mean at the Washington Monument on June 1?" Huffy asked.



"Correct," Rigger said. "The day he is supposed to meet up with Captain 
Stanhope so that the two of them can begin their bid to rule the world. Now 
I suspected at first that Lindley would have no intention of keeping that 
appointment. Why should he? He already has his own identity and he probably 
realizes that Captain Stanhope was either killed or captured trying to make 
good his escape. However, this information about the PC battery has made me 
re-think this supposition. I now believe that he likely will show up at this 
appointment just on the off chance that he'll be able to acquire more 
batteries or another PC. Having a functioning, modern computer would make 
his plans so much easier and faster to accomplish. Lindley also has no 
reason to believe that we monitored the communication that sent him to this 
appointment. As you found out from Captain Stanhope, our decryption 
technology was quite a surprise to the WestHem mind."



"I really don't see how this is helpful in any way, Rigger," Huffy said. 
"June 1 is eight Earth months from now. Our wormhole is scheduled to open 
April 15. We'll be long gone by then."



"Yes," Rigger agreed. "We will be long gone by then, hopefully approaching 
Mars in our own time."



"So please explain how knowing that Lindley will be at the Washington 
Monument two and a half months after our wormhole opens is going to help 
us?" Huffy asked patiently.



"I would think that is quite obvious by now," Rigger told her. "We must 
leave someone behind to make contact with Lindley on that date and 
neutralize him."



Huffy stared at him in disbelief for a moment and then rolled her eyes to 
the ceiling. "Oh Laura," she said in disgust. "That's your brilliant idea? 
Well thanks for wasting three minutes of our valuable time here, Rigger. You 
know as well as I do that we can't leave anyone behind on Earth. My orders 
are quite clear on that point and my common sense agrees with them. What 
would be the point of eliminating one person with pre-knowledge from the 
time stream just so we can replace him with someone else who will fuck it 
all up?"



Rigger seemed unfazed by her harsh words. "What would be the point, you ask? 
The point is that you are once again missing the point. We will leave 
someone behind when we go. I know this because we have already done so. It 
is written in the history and is as meant to be as the encounter with the 
cop outside the hospital. It is something that has to be done in order to 
insure the time stream remains true so we will do it."



"You're telling me," Huffy said, "that I'm going to disregard the one order 
in this mission that had absolutely no room for negotiation? That I'm going 
to disregard a specific instruction given to me personally by Governor Mitsy 
Brown before we boarded this ship? Is that what you're trying to say to me?"



"You're down with it," Rigger said. "You're going to disregard the order 
because it makes sense to disregard the order. Huff, we can argue about this 
all day long if you want and it won't make any difference. I already know 
we're going to do it. I've known this the entire mission-even before the 
mission in fact. I have documented proof that we do it. I didn't understand 
how or why we were going to leave someone behind until today, but I knew we 
were going to. As I said, Slurry figured this out before we even knew about 
the Lemondrop reactor, before we even knew we were going to be going 
anywhere."



"Who?" Sampson said. "Who is this person that we're supposed to trust enough 
to stay behind on Earth, that we're supposed to trust not to take advantage 
of his or her pre-knowledge like Lindley is planning? Do we have a saint 
among us that I'm not aware of? Because he or she would have to be to avoid 
the temptation."



"It's me," Ken said slowly, his eyes locked onto Slurry's. "Isn't it?"



Slurry nodded, a tear forming in her eye. "It's you," she confirmed.



"Oh, that's just fucking brilliant," Huffy said. "Leave Frazier here, the 
one man who can actually pass for a native because he is a fucking native. 
The man who has a wife and child down there. The man who-no offense, 
Frazier-was raised with twentieth century morality instead of Martian 
morality. I'm sorry, Rigger, but no sucky-fucky on this one. Frazier is the 
last person on this ship I would allow to remain behind."



"Again, Huff," Rigger said, "you're missing the point. Frazier is supposed 
to remain behind. It's meant to be."



"Uh huh," she said. "And what happens when he goes and meets up with his 
wife down there? Don't even try to convince me that he won't. Frazier, I saw 
how many times you looked down at her house through the cameras, how many 
times you looked up her vital statistics on the various Internet sites. I 
saw you looking through her grocery store records and her bank account. You 
still love her. If I sent you down there you would end up interfering with 
her next marriage and your entire history would be altered."



Ken opened his mouth to deny he would do this but then closed it again. He 
knew he would be lying if he did. He loved Annie, deeply and thoroughly. If 
he were sent back to Earth to live, there would be no way he would be able 
to stay away from her, even if the entire history of time were at stake. 
Slurry saw this in his face and another tear formed, drifting off into the 
room. He tried to take her hand but she refused it, pulling her own arm 
against her chest.



"I think Huff is right," Ken said. "I'm not fit to be left on Earth. I like 
to think I wouldn't try to rule the world or anything like that-ruling the 
world seems like a headache-but I wouldn't be able to stay away from Annie. 
I would end up screwing up her next marriage."



"You won't screw up her next marriage," Slurry said, her voice barely under 
control. "You are her next marriage. Ken, you are David Brown."



This time everyone-with the exception of Rigger-looked at Slurry in 
open-mouthed surprise.



"I am David Brown?" he asked. "What do you mean? How is that possible? I've 
seen pictures of the guy on the Internet. He doesn't look anything like me."



"Thanks to Martian technology," Slurry said.



"What are you talking about, Slurry?" Huffy demanded. "Start making some 
sense."



"Pictures of David Brown in the databases are rare," Slurry said. "Ken 
noticed that himself in his early days on Mars. While there are hundreds, 
even thousands of pictures of just about everyone else, David Brown seemed 
to be somewhat camera shy. There were no personal pictures of the man at 
all. The only ones available were various bureaucratic shots such as 
driver's license photos, ID card photos, the occasional newspaper photo, and 
a few shots taken from security cameras. All of those photos showed this 
man." She whispered a few words to the computer and a second later an image 
of David Brown appeared, showing him at about age forty. "This is an 
identification card photo. The Texas Department of Homeland Security took it 
just after World War III. As you'll note, David Brown is a rather handsome 
guy and he looks nothing like Ken. He also doesn't exist. The photo is a 
fabrication, manipulated by a Martian computer program."



"What do you mean?" asked Sampson.



"A program was inserted into the Earthling databases. It was difficult to 
find, but it permeates virtually every computer in the world because it was 
inserted into the software that each computer uses by means of a silent 
virus. This virus has but one purpose and one purpose only. Whenever a 
picture of Ken Frazier's face is encountered after November 2, 2007, the 
computer in question will change the digital files that make up the 
photograph into a date-appropriate shot of David Brown."



Huffy was shaking her head. "I can't accept this," she said. "What you're 
telling me is insane."



"More insane than going back in time in the first place?" Rigger asked. 
"More insane than finding out that every quirk of the mission we've 
seemingly randomly encountered was already pre-recorded in our own history?"



"Laura," Huffy said, rubbing her temples. "I need more information. Tell me 
how you know all this, how you discovered it."



All eyes turned to Slurry, who seemed to have gotten her tears under control 
for the moment. "It was right after I started working at the MHAD," she 
said. "I was in my office after hours one day, using the hacking technology 
to probe through Earthling databases. I was searching for something personal 
that day, old photos of Ken from his previous life. I wanted to make a 
collage." She sniffed a little and wiped at her eye. "I had the computer 
perform a facial recognition analysis on a current digital image of Ken and 
then told it to search through the WestHem Internet for any matches. It sent 
me back almost seven hundred pictures from various points in his life. 
Mostly they were family shots taken by his parents, or by his wife before he 
was shot. Toward the end there were a bunch taken from news service 
files-pictures that accompanied stories about his funeral or about the park 
they named after him. The pictures were listed chronologically, by the date 
they were stored in the database in which they were found. Just before I 
shut down for the day I took a look at the very last picture and I saw 
something I couldn't quite believe."



"What was it?" Ken asked.



"It was a picture taken from some place called the Bull Valley Indian Casino 
and Bingo Parlor," she said.



"The Bull Valley Indian Casino?" Ken asked. "I've never been in anyplace 
with that name."



"Not yet you haven't," Slurry said. "The picture I found was taken August 
21, 2019."



Ken, along with everyone else, was stunned. "2019?" he asked. "Was there 
some mistake?"



"Oh there was a mistake all right," Slurry said bitterly. "But it wasn't on 
our part. The Bull Valley Casino is located just outside of Corpus Christi, 
Texas. When they opened in 2017 they tried to cut costs by using a South 
American computer company to set up their electronic security apparatus. 
This company was experimenting with an operating system for their computers 
that had been developed by one of their own programmers instead of the 
system nearly every other computer of the time used. As such, the virus that 
changed shots of Ken Frazier into David Brown was not part of its 
programming. And, as fate would have it, the alleged David Brown, for 
whatever reason, decided to visit and play a little blackjack one August day 
in 2019. Apparently he was doing well enough at the game that the people 
monitoring the camera system decided to snap a screen shot of him and save 
it in the database. Then, 180 years later, Ken Frazier's new wife Slurry 
happens across this photo when looking for collage shots."



"Do you have a copy of the shot?" Ken asked, his mind trying to come to 
grips with what she was saying.



A sob escaped from her mouth. She hiccupped once and got herself back under 
control. "Yes," she said. "Computer, display image 08212019a from file 
Slurry Frazier History Photos."



The shot of David Brown disappeared and was replaced by a grainy, color 
image of what could only be Ken Frazier. He was slightly older looking, but 
not much. The shot was from the mid-chest up. His hair was short and neatly 
styled, his face clean-shaven. A drink stood on the blackjack table before 
him. Standing behind him, resting her hand on his shoulder and smiling, was 
an older, though still quite attractive Annie Frazier.



"Oh my God," Ken whispered in awe, staring at the image almost religiously. 
It was true. No wonder Slurry had acted so strangely toward him since that 
day. She had known all this time that he was going to leave her, that it was 
fated to happen.



"Is this the only shot?" asked Huffy, who seemed more than a little stunned 
herself.



"It's the only one that slipped through the virus," Slurry said. "But that's 
all it took for me to start digging around. That very night I started 
looking through the other shots of David Brown and discovered the virus 
itself. A little more back checking and I was able to see when it was 
inserted: November 2, 2007-tomorrow. And once we actually made the trip back 
in time I was able to get absolute proof that David Brown and Ken are the 
same person."



"What proof is that?" Sampson asked.



"If you search through the Earthling Internet right now, at this moment, you 
will find that there is no David Brown. At least there isn't one with the 
date of birth and social security number and other vital statistics that 
match those of the man Annie Frazier will marry. There's no record of his 
birth, no record of his parents even, no trace whatsoever of him in the 
computer system. David Brown doesn't exist right now because we haven't 
created him yet."



"But you think we will create him tomorrow?" Sampson said. "That we'll 
create him and insert a custom computer virus into the Earthling Internet to 
change all pictures of Ken Frazier?"



"We don't think that," Rigger said. "We know it."



Huffy lit a cigarette and blew a plume of acrid smoke out into the room. 
"I'm not sure I'm convinced on this," she said. "Your argument is very 
persuasive, Slurry, but you're asking me to violate a direct order and set a 
man with pre-knowledge of the future loose on Earth, to come and go as he 
pleases, to do any number of things that could screw up the time stream as 
bad as, or even worse, than just leaving Lindley down there."



Slurry snorted, a sound that was half bitter amusement and half disgust. 
"For Laura's sake," she said, helping herself to one of Huffy's cigarettes. 
"In all the thinking and agonizing I've done since finding out that my 
husband was going to abandon me for his dead wife, I never thought I would 
be the one who would have to defend the fucking idea in the first place!"



"Slurry," Ken started. "I haven't..."



"Not now, Ken," she said. "We'll talk about this later if you want, but 
don't interrupt me now."



"Sorry," he mumbled.



"Look, Huff," Slurry said. "If you use a little logic and common sense here, 
you'll realize that Ken is the perfect person to put down there on Earth to 
take care of this Lindley problem for us. You're worried about him changing 
the time stream. He won't do that. He can't! He's supposed to be down on 
Earth. He is part of the time stream you're worried about interfering with. 
His own future and the future of his descendents are tied up in him 
completing the mission of stopping Lindley and then keeping an extremely low 
profile afterward. If he starts making radical changes to history he will 
interfere with the process that had him awakened in the first place. If he 
does that... who knows what might happen?" She looked at Ken directly. "You 
will have to go down there and convince your wife that you really are her 
dead husband returned to her from the future. You will have to do that and 
then make sure she never tells anyone. You'll have to move her away from her 
home and everyone who knew you in your previous life. You'll have to lie to 
your own child, tell him you're David Brown and let him die still believing 
that, so his children will carry on the obsession that will eventually wake 
you up. If you fail in any of this, you will likely never be awakened in the 
first place. If you are never awakened in the first place... what happens 
then? Will you simply disappear from existence? Will everything you've done 
disappear as well? We don't know, we can't know, but it's certainly a 
possibility, isn't it?"



"This is too much for me," Ken said, feeling a stress headache forming in 
his shoulders. "Way too much. Slurry, you should've told me about this a 
long time ago."



"I couldn't," she said, reaching out and taking his hand now. "When Rigger 
and I realized we were dealing with time travel we had to consider the 
ramifications of it. We knew you were going to end up back on Earth in 2007 
but we didn't know how or why. Telling you might have done something to 
upset the process."



"Well what if I refuse to go down there?" he nearly screamed. "Wouldn't that 
upset the fucking process?"



Slurry seemed taken aback by this response. Clearly she had never considered 
that he would refuse to go.



"Do I have any free will here at all?" he asked. "You keep telling us that 
this is meant to be, that it's written in history, that it's already 
happened. What about me though? The me right here and right now? Are you 
telling me I'm incapable of deciding not to go? Suppose I do? Will Huff load 
me into that transporter at gunpoint and force me to go down there?"



"No," Huffy answered for him. "I wouldn't do that. The decision to let you 
go down or not will ultimately rest with me and I must say that Slurry is 
doing a good job of convincing me that this is the right thing to do, but I 
will not force you. If you decide to stay, Ken, then you stay, and the 
consequences be damned."



"But you will decide to go, Ken," Slurry told him. "I know you will. You'll 
do it because you love Annie, but that's only part of it. You'll do it 
mostly because you're a moral person with good common sense and you know 
this is the right thing to do. Lindley has to be stopped and you're the only 
one who can do it. That's why I'm sitting here trying to talk you into it, 
trying to talk Huff into allowing it. This is what is supposed to happen, 
what will protect the ninety million people who live on Mars and allow them 
to keep living the life that our founding parents fought and died for. You 
may be reluctant now because of some sense of love and loyalty to me, but 
ultimately your common sense is going to force you into that landing craft 
much more effectively than any gun could. Mars is depending on you, Ken. 
Your descendents are depending on you. My ancestors who brought my family to 
Mars are depending on you. As much as I love you, I know you have to go down 
there and I'm willing to accept the broken heart that goes along with it."



Ken didn't know how to respond to this. His emotions were tearing him in two 
directions at once. He loved Slurry deeply and the last thing in the solar 
system he wanted was to see her hurt, to know he had caused the hurt. But on 
the other hand, he was being offered a chance to not just see Annie again, 
but to be with her, to live with her as her husband, to raise his child as a 
father should. He was David Brown! The man he had envied from afar, that he 
had felt insanely jealous of at times. It had been him all along. They 
wanted him to abandon new love for old. Was it the right thing to do? Was it 
selfish? "I can't make a decision right now," he said. "There's too much to 
think about, too much to consider."



"I agree," Huffy said. "This is a decision that has far-reaching 
implications. It should not be made under the influence of strong emotions 
or impulsively. Ken, think it over, talk it over with Slurry, with Rigger, 
with whomever you need to. I'll do the same and we'll get back together 
tonight, okay?"



"Okay," Ken said. "Sounds like an ass-fuck."



+++++



The weapons room at Calistoga's bow was the largest compartment aboard the 
ship. It was also the emptiest since they were not currently in battle 
conditions. Since privacy was not the easiest thing to come by on a stealth 
ship, Ken and Slurry found their way to this cavernous section to discuss 
the situation facing them. They floated face to face near the forward 
bulkhead, just under the ventilation shaft. Storage racks on both sides held 
antimatter torpedoes-each six meters long by a meter wide, painted dull gray 
and marked with the universal danger symbol-that were fastened with magnetic 
security straps. To their left and right were the forward torpedo tube 
hatches, their airlock doors sealed shut.



"I almost died when I found that picture," Slurry told him. "When I figured 
out you were going to leave me, that you were going to end up on Earth with 
Annie again, I wanted to rip your head off. I hated you for a while, Ken, I 
really did."



"I know," he replied softly, his eyes downcast. "And you never quite 
recovered from it either."



"No, I never really did." She sighed. "It hurts, Ken. I've gotten used to 
the idea, I've been braced for it this entire trip, but it still hurts to 
know..." She hitched a little as a sob broke out. "...to know that this is 
the final day for us. That we'll be heading back without you."



"That hasn't been decided yet, Slurry," he told her.



"Yes it has," she told him.



He didn't contradict her. The words had sounded like a lie, had felt like a 
lie even as they left his lips. "I'm sorry," he said instead. "I don't know 
what to say, what to tell you to make this better. What I do know is that if 
you ask me to stay with you, I will, and I'll do it happily. I do love 
Annie. I won't even try to convince you I don't, but I love you too. When we 
got married I promised to spend my life with you. I don't break my promises 
lightly."



"You can't stay, Ken," she said. "Mars is depending on you going. So is the 
rest of this crew, including myself. If you stay with me we'll all die out 
in deep space. Even if Annie wasn't a factor in this, you would have to go. 
It's the only thing that makes..." A hitch of the chest, a slight sob. 
"...That makes sense. I see that. I'm pretty sure Huffy sees that. Surely 
you see it as well."



He nodded. "I do," he said.



"I'm actually glad that this Lindley quack is the reason you have to stay," 
she said. "It eases my mind."



"What do you mean?"



She wiped a tear away from her eye and took a breath. "I didn't know Lindley 
was going to be what made you stay behind until yesterday. I thought... I 
thought you were going to... you know... sneak away while you were down 
there. That being so close to Annie was going to make you... just decide on 
your own to stay."



"You thought I was going to sneak away from the landing team?" he asked, 
shocked. "That I was going to violate my orders and put the entire time 
stream at risk? You really thought I would do that?"



"I'm sorry," she said. "It did seem out of character for you, I will admit. 
But with the information I had before yesterday, I didn't see any other 
reason why you would've been left here other than... you know... just 
slipping away."



He was dismayed that she would think such a thing of him. He was also 
surprised about something else as well. "You thought I was going to slip 
away from the landing team while we were down there, that I was going to 
hide somewhere for a month until you were forced to leave without me, that I 
was going to endanger everything, yet... yet you didn't tell anyone about 
it? You didn't warn Huffy or Spanky?"



"I didn't warn them," she admitted. "Partially because I knew it was meant 
to be anyway-that's why Rigger didn't warn them either-but mostly because I 
love you, Ken. I love you and all I want is for you to be happy... whether 
or not that includes me."



Now a tear escaped from Ken's eye. He wiped at it. "I love you too, Slurry. 
I wish you could come with me."



She actually giggled. "Somehow, I don't think Annie would be down with 
that."



"Maybe not," he admitted.



"And I don't think Huffy would be down with it either. Besides, I have my 
life on Mars. I'll get over you eventually, Ken. I'll never meet another man 
like you, but I'll meet someone else, someday. I'll move on. I'll have my 
children and I'll have my career in history. You belong in this time, on 
this planet. I don't."



"No," he said. "I suppose you don't."



"Your job is to make sure I have a planet to go back to. I think maybe 
that's why you were brought back in the first place."



He considered this. "Maybe you're right," he said. "Maybe you're right."



"Make love to me," she said. "One last time?"



"Right here, in the torpedo room?" he asked.



"Fuckin' aye," she said. "I bet you and Annie have never done it against a 
two gigaton missile before."



He laughed. "No," he told her. "I can't say that we have. Nor are we ever 
likely to."



"Then I got something that she don't got," Slurry said. "Come on. Let's do 
the nasty. One more time pays for all."



He smiled and held out his hands to her. "I find you make a good argument, 
dear," he said.



+++++



The meeting with Huffy that night took place in her quarters. It included 
Sampson, Rigger, Slurry, Ken, and Huffy herself. It was short, sweet, and to 
the point.



"I reviewed everything we know about this incident," Huffy announced. "I've 
poured through every computer file we have on hand to support the argument 
Slurry made. I've talked it over with Sampson and his team and with Rigger. 
What I've found is that the most sensible thing to do is to utilize my 
constitutional duty to violate an order that doesn't make sense and act on 
my own initiative. Ken, we need you to stay behind on Earth and take care of 
Lindley for us. I will not compel you to do this. You must do it of your own 
free will."



"I've talked it over with my wife," Ken said. "And I agree it makes sense 
for me to stay. I will do so."



"Okay," Huffy said. "Now let me drop the euphemisms and make sure we're down 
with the same sex act here. Do you understand that you're going to have to 
kill him?"



"I understand," he said.



"And are you prepared to do that?"



He nodded. "I'm prepared."



"That's that then," she said. "Our next window to get you down there is in 
six hours. I'll have Sampson set up the David Brown identity for you as soon 
as we adjourn. Be ready to board the landing ship at 2330 hours. You will 
take nothing but yourself and your clothing down."



"I understand."



She smiled. "That means we have a few hours to kill. There's a botch party 
going on in the wardroom. Anyone care to join me?"



It turned out that everyone cared to join her.



+++++



2330 hours came quickly but Ken managed to say a fond farewell to just about 
everyone on board Calistoga. They wished him good luck and wet dreams. More 
than a few thanked him profusely for volunteering to stay behind in a 
primitive culture so they might live. There were a few tears shed for him, 
both from men and women. There were many hugs and kisses. There was even a 
farewell blowjob from Sergeant McGraw, who just didn't know how to say 
goodbye any other way.



At last, with Slurry in tow, he reported to the docking compartment, where 
Marshall and Kalahari were inside the landing ship performing their 
pre-flight checks. Spankworth, Huffy, and Sampson were there to see him off 
on what was likely to be the last space voyage of his life.



"Thanks again for what you're doing," Spankworth told him, his voice steady 
but his eyes full of gratitude.



"It wasn't an easy decision," Ken told him, "but I'm glad to help out." He 
held out his hand. "It was an honor serving with you, Spanky. Thanks for 
putting up with an amateur all this time."



"Oh, take a flying fuck at Phobos with that shit," Spankworth said as he 
shook hands with him. "You were bad-ass. If it wasn't for you we'd be stuck 
in some jail cell down there. You're welcome on my team anytime."



Ken released his hand and gave him a hug. "Take care of yourself, Spanky. 
Have wet dreams."



"Wet dreams," Spanky repeated, his voice not quite steady. As he floated off 
he was wiping his eyes.



Sampson came over next. "Nice clothes," he told Ken with a smile. It was his 
department that had manufactured them for him.



"You like them?" Ken asked. He was dressed in a pair of blue jeans, tennis 
shoes, and a sweater. He had a wallet with newly printed identification in 
the name of David Brown in the back pocket. "I had a good tailor."



"Nothing but the finest for our operatives," Sampson said. "I just wish we'd 
had more time to brief you on your new identity."



"I know everything I need to know about David Brown," Ken said. "I looked 
him up enough times back on Mars."



"You're all set to make the move to Texas then?"



"Fuckin' aye," he said. "I'll rent a hotel room until I can buy my house in 
Corpus Christi. Once I'm settled in, I'll head back to San Jose and meet up 
with Annie. That's gonna be kind of interesting for both of us I think."



"Interesting in a good way, I hope."



"Me too," he said. "Although I must be successful at convincing her since we 
already know she ends up married to me." He shook his head. "This time 
travel shit is confusing sometimes. I don't think we're really meant to be 
screwing around with it."



"I think you're right," Sampson said. "Good luck to you down there, and 
thanks for what you're doing for us."



"No skin off my ass," Ken assured him. They shook hands and Sampson floated 
off.



Huffy floated over next. She was stoic in appearance but it was obvious she 
was quite emotional as well. "I guess this is it," she said, reaching out 
and twirling a piece of his hair affectionately. "You have your landing 
clothes and your ID and that's all you get. I trust you remember the date 
and place of your rendezvous with Dr. Lindley?"



"You know it," he said. "And as I told Spanky, it's been an honor serving 
under you, Huff. You do the Martian Navy proud."



"Thanks, Ken," she told him. "And it's been an honor having you along as 
well. And you're not a bad fuck for an Earthling either."



"I'll take that as a compliment," he said.



"That's how it was meant," she said. She drifted forward and embraced him, 
giving him a tight, squeezing hug that nearly drove the breath from his 
lungs. She kissed him on the side of the neck and then on the mouth, her 
tongue darting against his for the briefest of instances. She tasted 
strongly of McGraw's vaginal secretions, which she had been feasting on 
during the botch party earlier.



"Bye, Huff," he said when she released him. "Get these people home safely."



"I'll do my part," she said. "You make sure there's a wormhole open for us 
when we get there."



"Deal," he said.



She floated off, leaving him alone with Slurry. Her swollen eyes were 
already leaking tears as they turned to each other.



"I didn't want it to end this way, Slurry," he said.



"I know," she said. "You're doing what has to be done."



"I'm gonna miss you terribly."



"I would hope so," she said, chuckling the slightest bit. She then sniffed 
and a few more tears broke free of her eyes and drifted off into the room. 
"I'm gonna miss you too, Ken. You're my first love, the first man who 
understood me, who really listened to me. I'll never forget you."



"But you promise to move on?" he asked. "You won't become the Martian 
equivalent of a spinster?"



"I promise," she said.



Ken felt the tears spring from his own eyes now, felt the pain of departure 
in his heart. He pulled her against him, holding her firm body one last 
time. She returned the embrace, burying her head in his shoulder, her hot 
tears soaking into the synthetic material of his sweater. They held each 
other like that for almost three minutes, until Huffy floated over and told 
him their window was approaching and he really had to go now.



"Goodbye, Slurry," he said before he let her go. "I'll always love you."



"Goodbye, Ken," she said. "I'll always love you too."



He boarded the landing craft a minute later, pulling himself in through the 
metal hatch. He gave her one last look, blew her one last kiss, then ducked 
inside and shut the hatch behind him.



Five minutes later, the air was evacuated from the compartment and the 
landing craft drifted slowly away from the Calistoga. A few minutes after 
that, the engines were fired. To an observer, it seemed as if the landing 
craft was streaking away from its mother ship. In reality, it was just the 
opposite. Calistoga was staying on its pre-determined course. The landing 
craft and its very special passenger was slowing down, being pulled by a 
universal force towards the deep, blue planet below.