The Season Of Passage Part 3

She picked up a log and walked into the cabin. She came back twice more; the logs were heavy - she could only carry one at a time. But she bet Daniel could have lifted all three at once, in one arm even. She wished Lauren hadn't been joking when she had said that he was sneaking back later on. They could have talked, and maybe have gone for a walk under the stars. It was a shame.

Because now she had no excuse not to read the book.

Why do I have to read it? It's only a story.

Jennifer tossed the third and final log in the fireplace and took hold of two dry sticks from the basket of kindling by the hearth. She seldom needed a match or a lighter to start a fire. Terry and Lauren were always amazed at how easily she got the flames going. Lauren had said long ago that if Smokey the Bear knew of her skills, he would brain her with his shovel. But that had been when Jennifer was younger and believed in talking bears. Nowadays Lauren accused her of being a pyromaniac. Jennifer, however, was always careful with fire. She respected it deeply.

Jennifer began to rub the sticks together, humming a melody she often repeated when she was alone. She did not know where she had learned the song, although she might have heard it on the radio. Quickly the sticks began to heat. In a few seconds she had smoke, and then a tiny orange flame, which she fed with sc.r.a.ps of bark from the sides of the logs. The bark was dry; the logs caught fast. The chill melted off her skin like mud disappeared from her feet in a running stream. Jennifer smiled.

She really loved fires.

Jennifer moved close to the logs and stared at the flames. The warmth that came from them always had a soothing effect on her. She blinked in the warm light and her mind began to drift. There was another funny thing about fire. The longer she stared into it, the more colors she saw. There were greens and blues and purples, pulsating on and off, deep within the yellow flames. Once Jennifer had asked Lauren about them and Lauren said she must be seeing the burn-off of residual chemicals on the logs. Jennifer wasn't sure Lauren was right. Sometimes the pulsating colors took on the faint shapes of faces. They were never people she knew, but they looked like people she thought she should know.

Jennifer s.h.i.+fted still closer to the fire, wanting to touch it. Of course, she knew, the idea was childish and dangerous. Yet she occasionally wondered what it would be like to be immersed in flames, and not burn. She was not certain, even after all this time of growing up, whether fire had to burn every time, or everybody.

Quickly, Jennifer waved her hand through the fire. If you were fast, it missed you. She slashed her hand above the logs again, and then again and again, slowing down a fraction of a second with each try. It was a game she often played. It was fun. The flames never hurt her. Nevertheless, Jennifer suspected there was a limit beyond which she shouldn't slew down. And it wasn't just because she might get burned. Something else might happen. She could feel the something else in the same way she could see the colored sparks and the faint faces - just between what she believed was real, and what might be imagination, in a slippery part of the mind she could never quite grasp. But this something else - she didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Jennifer sat back and looked at the red book waiting on the couch. That was exactly how she felt - it was waiting for her, like a story that had been written for her eyes alone.

Some love story, she thought sarcastically. But she'd had to lie to Lauren. Had she told Lauren the truth, her sister might have told her not to read it. Lauren worried about what Jennifer put in her head because of her nightmares. But the book had to be read, Jennifer felt certain of that. There were things that had to be known, terrible things.

But why? Jennifer thought. She did not know. The colored faces in the fire did not know either, or if they did, they were not telling her. The whole thing had her confused. She knew things she didn't really know; she sensed the knowledge. She felt things no one else seemed to feel.

The colors in the fire began to fade. Jennifer sat back from the logs and tried to think happy thoughts. While Lauren was gone, Terry's new book would come out. A million people would read it, and he would become rich and famous. Jennifer wanted Terry to be successful. She thought it would make him happy. She wondered: if she wrote a book, would it make her happy? Sometimes she felt as if she knew a story, a very old story, that no one else knew. But when she concentrated on the people in the story, they blurred, just like the faces in the fire did when she leaned too close to the flames. One thing for certain, though. The people in her story knew about the power of fire.

Like the people in the book on the couch.

Jennifer looked over at it again. She knew - it was another one of those things she sensed was true - that the people in the book should have used fire against the enemy, and nothing else. They shouldn't have used the terrible things, those things that made such a mess. Those things didn't work very well. The enemy just kept coming.

Jennifer suddenly noticed the logs were almost all gone. Burned to ash by the fire.

Have hours gone by? That's impossible. I was just sitting here and thinking.

Yet it was true. The flames were dying. The room was cold. It didn't seem fair. Every time she looked at the colored faces and tried to remember the story in her head, she would lose a slice of her life. It seemed doubly unfair to her at the moment because she didn't want to go out in the dark and cold for more logs. She was afraid something would get her. She was in high school, but she still believed in monsters. She often dreamed about them. They always took the forms of snakes and lizards. Except they walked and talked like people.

Jennifer stood and went into Lauren's bedroom, where she put on a warm sweater. Then she returned to the front room and sat on the couch. The last of the flames flickered out. At last she was alone with her book. She picked it up reluctantly. She wondered where the author had gotten his story. That's what she had been trying to ask Terry. Was it from outside? The real outside?

Jennifer flipped open the book and began to read. She wasn't at the spot where she had left off, but the rest did not matter. The doctor was discussing how to destroy the enemy. But did he really know what he was talking about when he lectured the other people on the enemy's weakness? Jennifer had her doubts. He was a good man, but even good men could be tricked by lies, and be lulled into a false sense of security.

Jennifer knew what liars the enemy were.

Jennifer finished the page and began to read the next. Then she began to feel sick. She was having trouble breathing. The full implications of what they were planning hit her with striking clarity. No! She could never do that! She would die first. She would just as soon burn.

Please, G.o.d, no.

Jennifer Wagner began to scream. She screamed, knowing no one could hear her, until she fainted.

FOUR.

The meal had been tasty. Lasagna for him. Swordfish for Lauren. They shared a lemon mist cake for dessert. They were both stuffed. The candles on their corner table burned low. Except for the two of them, the restaurant was empty. Soon it would be time to go. But Terry had yet to unwind. He continued to feel uptight, and he wondered if it was from the day's travels or from the caffeine in the coffee he was drinking. He was on his fourth cup. He couldn't believe this was the last civilized meal they were going to have together for two years. The food had been great, but the dinner had depressed him. He wished Jennifer had come.

A long silence had settled between them.

'What are you thinking, Terry?' Lauren asked finally, playing with the two-carat diamond engagement ring he had given her six months after they had met. The light of the candles quivered in her brown eyes. Terry lifted his coffee cup and took a disinterested sip.

'The usual,' he said.

'It's a long time,' she said. 'For you.'

'Yeah,' Terry agreed. Lauren would be fast asleep during almost the entire voyage to and from Mars. She would only be awake for forty days all told. Terry wished he could find a hibernator somewhere. He had already checked in the yellow pages for one.

'I won't tell you to write,' Lauren said, letting go of the ring. 'Not letters. But I do want to read another one of your books when I get home. Have you decided what you're going to do next?'

He shrugged. 'Something with a happy ending.'

'Ricky had a happy ending. He didn't get stepped on.'

'Yeah. But he was a c.o.c.kroach. They don't live long. He probably died right after my last page.'

'We're cheery tonight,' Lauren said.

'I'm sorry.'

'I read your article this evening. I liked it.'

'Really? Tom told me to write it.' Tom Brenner was his partner at the paper. They had a good relations.h.i.+p: they both hated their jobs. Tom wanted to be president of a Fortune Five Hundred company. He didn't care what the product was, as long as he got to order people around and had secretaries that longed to sharpen his pencil while sitting on his lap. Terry went on, 'I don't know why. It should have just been a filler. I didn't say anything that hasn't been said a million times before. Except for maybe my slant on insanity. What did you think of that?'

Lauren hesitated. 'I got interrupted at that part. How did you develop it?'

'I said the Russians lost their marbles because they were cooped up for too long without women.'

Lauren laughed. She laughed at all his jokes, even the ones that weren't funny. He liked that quality in a woman. 'You're kidding?'

'Well, actually I combined the points of infection and insanity. I said Dmitri and his men got sick and murdered each other.'

'What about Carl Bensk in orbit?'

Terry drank more coffee. 'That guy's always a problem. I said that the infection might have been potent enough to cross the hundred miles of s.p.a.ce.'

Lauren frowned. 'You could have done better than that.'

Terry waved his hand. 'I know all the arguments against it. But I don't think you scientists have any imagination. In my book, if you have an alien infection, anything goes.'

'Life can't exist in a vacuum,' Lauren said.

'Life as we know it.'

'Ah - I love that phrase. It doesn't say anything. But forget s.p.a.ce. Mars itself is hostile enough. The air pressure there is ten millibars. Earth's is a thousand millibars. In such a rarefied atmosphere, water cannot exist. It vaporizes or freezes. No water, no life.'

Terry regarded his half-empty cup of coffee and wondered how much of it was water. Mr Russo could cook, but he had trouble boiling water. 'Your remark doesn't alter my opinion in the slightest,' he said.

'Why not?'

'Because I don't know what a millibar is.'

Lauren laughed.

He went on, 'I thought you said you liked my article?'

'I liked the way it was written. But I've read too much stuff lately that tries to dramatize the situation. Think of all the people who are going to be disappointed when nothing far out happens.'

Terry was not surprised with her remark. Lauren always denied the enigma surrounding the disappearance of the Russians. To her the Russians were simply lousy engineers. t 'I, for one, believe in Martians,' he said. 'You can only find what you're looking for. If you don't know what the aliens look like, they could be standing right in front of you and you wouldn't see them.'

Lauren chuckled. 'Jim said something like that the other day.'

Jim was Professor James Ranoth, world-famous geologist and archaeologist. He was second in command of Lauren's mission. The guy was always nice, which would have annoyed Terry if Jim hadn't been so easygoing at the same time. But Terry thought Jim, at fifty-two, was kind of old to be going to Mars.

'What did he say?' Terry asked.

'He wondered if our guardian angels would become visible to us once we were on Mars.'

'Does he believe in angels?'

'I'm sure he was just joking,' Lauren said.

Lauren was an atheist. Terry had tried to convert her to one of the popular religions - he didn't really care which one - but being a lapsed Catholic himself, he had failed miserably. But even though he joked about the subject with Lauren, her total lack of belief in a higher power disturbed him. He didn't know about Jesus and rising on the third day and that routine, but he liked to think that in the end everything was going to work out for the best. It gave him a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Besides, Lauren was such a mysterious creature, he didn't see how she could deny a grand mystery for the universe and be true to herself.

'I believe in angels,' Terry said. 'I believe in you.'

She smiled at the remark, but then turned thoughtful. 'You know, I'm as anxious as anyone to learn what became of the Russians. Maybe Carl Bensk is still alive. It's possible. Remotely possible.'

'What about those on the planet?'

Lauren shook her head. 'No way.' She paused. 'Did I tell you I met Commander Dmitri once?'

He was surprised. 'No.'

'He was in Florida a year before I met you. He reminded me of Jim - intelligent, warm. It's sad.'

'Does the Nova have room to take Carl home?'

'No, of course not. We only have six hibernaculums. But we can be flexible.'

The talk of death did not sit well with Terry. 'Yeah,' he said with a trace of bitterness. 'Knowing NASA, you'll draw straws.'

'There's no wood aboard the Nova,' Lauren said flatly. She turned away and stared across the empty restaurant, frowning. Terry sensed the source of her trouble before she spoke. 'Sometimes I ask myself how I can just go off and leave her for so long.'

Terry sighed to himself. It was a good question. But he had a good answer. Lauren was driven to go Mars. It was her destiny to go - so the atheist believed - and she didn't care what it cost to fulfill it. No, that was not fair. She did care, yet she was willing to pay the price anyway. But Terry kept his thoughts to himself. Making her feel more guilty than she already did would solve nothing.

Terry knew Lauren often wondered why she had been picked in front of so many other qualified doctors. In fact, of the five finalists for the job, she had been the least qualified. Although a board-certified surgeon - a remarkable feat for a thirty-two-year-old female who had been raising a baby sister - she had few years of clinical experience; she had begun chasing her dream of being an astronaut at the very beginning of her residency. But Terry had another good answer for why NASA had chosen her, although it was another thing he kept to himself. She was capable - he had no doubts in that regard - but more important from his cynical point of view, she was attractive and personable. She did more for NASA's public relations than the rest of the crew combined. At a time when the public was b.i.t.c.hing about the expedition's price tag - in the neighborhood of two hundred billion, depending on who you believed - Lauren was worth her weight in gold. Since she had done the talk-show circuit two months ago, she had been overwhelmed with fan mail. He had read some of it. It was nice to think he had a girl so many guys wanted, But he was looking forward to the day he got his own fan mail.

Dear Mr Hayes, I'm a c.o.c.kroach in Fairfield, Iowa. I live in the wall of a farm house, just outside Des Moines, behind the icebox. I can't tell you how much it meant to me when Ricky's lover didn't step on him. You've changed my life, Mr Hayes.

'Jenny and I will be together the whole time, and she'll get by,' he said. 'She's got more going for her than either of us know. How many thirteen-year-old girls have a boyfriend?'

Lauren smiled faintly. 'Daniel.' It was a brief smile. 'She's a strange girl, Jennifer.'

'That's good,' he said.

'You think so? I don't.'

'You want her to be like everyone else?'

'Yes,' Lauren said. 'Everyone else is fine.'

'So is Jenny. She's just sensitive. All us geniuses are.'

'She's been having nightmares.'

Terry sat up. 'They've returned?'

'Yes,' Lauren said.

'Are they bad?'

'I don't know. I don't think so.'

'What kind of nightmares are they?'

Lauren shook her head and plucked a white rose from the vase at the center of the table. 'She doesn't talk about them. I don't think it's a big deal. I don't know why I brought it up.'

Just then, Mr Russo, the owner of the restaurant, walked over. Terry had known him for years. He was a character. He had been born in northern Italy, but had only come to the United States in his mid-thirties. Since then he had been trying to deny his heritage, although everything about him - his accent, his mannerisms, even his business -advertised the fact of his Italian origin. Terry would talk to him about something, and he would start to get all excited and animated, gesturing with his hands, practically spelling out mama mia! in the air. Then he would suddenly realize what he was doing and press his hands to his sides, and lower his voice, and only then continue the conversation. Indeed, he named his restaurant Russo's, and told everybody that was his name, but he was really a Giovanni. Terry figured he must be hiding out from a Sicilian G.o.dfather. He looked like a G.o.dfather himself. He was big and round. He liked his own cooking.

'Mr Hayes! Always a pleasure to see you.' Mr Russo shook Terry's hand enthusiastically. 'How was your meal?'

'Great,' Terry said. 'We ate it all and feel... great. Are we keeping you from locking up?'

'Nonsense. The waiters - they have already gone home. So I am here alone, and for me, there is no late hour.' He turned to Lauren, bowing slightly and taking her hand in his, just like they did in the old country. 'And tonight is, after all, a special occasion. Miss Wagner, my sincerest > wishes for the success of your long journey, and especially for your safe return.'

Lauren blushed. Despite being in the national spotlight, she was shy around strangers. 'If only we had your cooking aboard the Nova, Earth would not seem so far away,' she said.

'You're so kind,' Mr Russo said graciously. He began to remove something from the inside of his coat. 'Miss Wagner, if I may be so bold.'