Exodus Nebula

Chapter Six

The rocket's crawl had been a recessive thought in her mind, manifested as a subtle acknowledgement of its timely launch tomorrow, a fact which gave explanation for her preparations of physical and mental exercises throughout the day. And throughout every moment of the day, the rocket inched onward upon its own motile, mechanically-stable platform.

Shisula knew at the current moment she was meant to review and rehearse with herself the exercise plan. She knew its significance by how thoroughly the flight directors had stressed each minute detail of it, scrupulous components of the operation so small that they teetered on the verge of insignificance. They only had so many minutes, they only had so many windows of opportunity, they only had so many seconds of delta-v, they only had so many fail-safes and backups, and they only had one opportunity to get it perfect. Perfect. She had read through the exercise plan earlier as part of her preparations. She could get it done quite perfectly all right, and that, without the air of bureaucratism that had--sometime after her prior visit--swept the offices of the Institute, breathing stressors into everyone's ears.

Presently, she sat stilled in her darkened office, rotated from her desk, facing in the direction of the traveling rocket. Positioned evenly along the perimeter of the mobile transport platform, spotlights shone on the white exterior of the rocket which in turn magnified like a gleaming sword. Seven kilometers distant, resting at the end of the headland, was the launch site and its distinct umbilical tower, illuminated by spotlight much the same way as the approaching rocket. She didn't know exactly when the two towering structures converged--great distances and the eye's sharpness had been known to fight on end--but they appeared to meet nevertheless. Two slivers of light had become one misshapen, pointed form. She couldn't see it, though, she knew that the umbilical tower had begun embracing the rocket, men deploying cables and service gantries to the appropriate ports and sections of the one-hundred and ten meter tall rocket.

"Is it there?" Coi asked from across the room, noticing her breakage from her two hour trance.

"I think so," she answered. Coi didn't seem to change his own orientation much over the last two hours. Still, he was reading the exercise plan--taking notes on it, in fact--sitting in his own chiaroscuro painting, surrounded by darkness, shrouded in yellow-orange lamp light. He had undone the metal-ringed binding on the exercise plan, setting aside pages he had completed on the centerpiece table, of which now bore a neatly aligned matrix of papers stacked at varying heights, presumably sorted by the information they contained.

Coi set aside another paper onto the table, rightmost top stack, and checked his wristwatch, leaning a little toward the lamp to get a good reading. "Record time."

"I don't think it was ever about getting the rocket there the fastest."

"It was this time."

She gazed out at the rocket for some time more. In the general airspace of the bright, beaming spotlights she saw flecks of illumination hover and soar by, exposed in the ambient illumination for a time, like insects buzzing about a torch. They were helicopters and other flying craft patrolling the sky, ground, and immediate area for signs of anything hostile. The idea of attacking or sabotaging a Positivist Commonwealth launch operation must have been attractive to some of the nation's enemies.

"I don't understand how you complete these things so fast," Coi said, breaking the silence of her gaze. "You give those of us with ordinary capacities a bad name. Were you by any chance considering a career change lately? I think you'd make a great analyst."

"Does that not concern you?" She said, absently.

Coi glanced, recognizing that the context was based on their earlier conversation. "Does what not concern me?"