The Dance Eternal

ch 16

16

“Steve, there you are,” Leslie was leaning on a table in the center of the communications room, hands planted to either side of a computer printout that trailed to the floor, as if it were the tail – or head – of a coiled paper serpent. Leslie turned as Steve entered, John huffing a few feet behind (Steve had run the entire way); her hazel eyes were puffy and red and rimmed with recent tears, and she was sniffling heavily, a wad of unused tissue crushed under her left hand.

John wandered in, panting, and sank into the nearest chair, “Gotta smoke less weed.”

When he neared the table, Leslie came away and threw herself into Steve’s arms, crying anew, the wad of tissue from her hand forgotten and floating to the floor. Suddenly released, the printout slid, slowly at first, then with a quick rasp, over the edge of the table where it draped, and into a growing pile on the floor.

“It’s gonna happen,” she choked out between sobs, “They’re really going to launch.” She was beginning to sag in his arms, as her legs went to jelly with the weight of the news, and Steve guided her toward a small table in the nearest corner. As she plopped into a chair, still clutching Steve by the shirt-sleeves, Jordan came in with a pitcher of water and a small stack of paper cups.

“Thought she might need something to drink,” he said as he set out and filled several of the cups, then set the pitcher aside. Jordan handed a cup to Johnathan, mostly recovered from his run, then he grabbed two more and joined Steve. Dealing cups of water, he said, “Leslie got the message just a minute before she started calling for you – that’s it on the tab… erm… floor.” He pointed at the printout as if the twisted pile were indeed a coiled viper, waiting to strike again.

Haverstad strode over and snapped up the end of the printout, where it had fallen to when Leslie stepped away from the table. As he read, he felt his heart both sink and soar. “Nuclear strike eminent within thirty-six hours. T.S.E. last.” Sadness threatened to overwhelm him. He had never met T.S.E.; Leslie had picked up on his broadcasts two summers ago, apparently a freelance ham radio operator. When things had gotten worse, especially after the governments and military went silent, the operator had been their only source of any information.

In the volumes that the message spoke, Steve noted that it would be the last he heard from the old operator, and silently wished him luck. Letting the paper slip from his hand, he slowly turned to face the others; Jordan was standing by Leslie, who had finally composed herself, while John had stood, and was leaning on the wall next to the door, just watching. “Observing”, Steve thought, “as if watching a test subject”.

Leslie stood, mostly composed but still sniffling, took a deep breath and said, “I guess that means we need to get people moving.”

Steve smiled at her, nodding. “Already got ‘em going. Sam is working on getting final preps on Celeste taken care of – I had a feeling we might want to be ready soon.” He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice, “Did you decide?”

She smiled, but it was a sad one that didn’t touch her eyes. “No, Steve. I can’t. I just… I–“

Steve shook his head, and brushed a lock of hair to the side, “It’s okay, I understand. I know we talked about it, and I know that there was a strong chance you’d say ‘no’, but I… had to ask.”

Steve continued speaking quietly, but John looked away from the pair, feeling a like he was invading a private moment. He spotted Jordan, who was busying himself at the radio; he was tall and lanky, around nineteen, and atypically awkward for his age; just in the couple minutes since he had come in with the water, John had seen Jordan nearly trip three times, and almost spilled his own cup on the radio console when he sat down. He was - perhaps to compensate for his unfortunate ungainliness - rather agile, almost cat-like, as he had avoided both falling and spilling the water, and had done both with a grace that lesser dancers would kill for. His dark hair was clean, but disheveled and wiry like he wore a wig of straw, with a flattened band from ear-to-ear from the headphones he wore that looked like black polished coconut-halves on the sides of his head. He bent toward the console, slowly tuning the dial in search of signals, the tip of his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth for all like it would increase reception.

A sudden realization took John; that he’d been feeling that ‘aura’ from the thing in his head for some time, and not even noticed that it was active. The thought was starting to bother him, when the source whispered, “practice”. The word was accompanied with images, memories, of him lifting objects with his ability down in the cavern earlier.

Great, he thought, I’ve got Yoda in my head. He scanned around nearby, trying to be nonchalant about ignoring the couple – they were sitting side-by-side, talking quietly and occasionally kissing – and instead kept his search to the other side of the room. His eyes fell on a desk in the opposite corner, near one of the five radio set-ups.

Spotting a pencil, he started to focus, but the source hissed, bigger.

He shifted to the pencil sharpener, but again came the protest, more strongly; BIGGER.

He flinched a little, mumbling, “All right, keep your pants on.” The only other thing larger on the desk was an old-as-hell flat screen monitor, so he began to focus on it. He imagined his mind as a force enveloping the monitor, then lifting it into the air. The object shivered for a second, dust sprinkling the desktop, then slowly floated upward. He could feel the weight in his head; the corners of the monitor’s case rubbed at the edges of his mind, as if his brain were carrying the thing itself.

He’d managed to lift it near a foot, when Jordan shattered the entire room with his voice, hysterically squeaking, “Holy s**t, what’s doing that?!”

The monitor, now unsupported, fell to the desk, tipping as it went and landing on its corner; it cartwheeled over the edge and crashed to the floor screen-first. The sudden shout and crashes brought a scream from Leslie, and a curse from Steve.

John spun, abashed but trying desperately to look surprised, and looked at Steve; by his expression, John looked more like a deer caught in headlights. Steve gave John a quick, almost imperceptible nod, then said to Jordan, “It’s okay, Jordan. Calm down.”

“I’m sorry to scare everyone,” the kid said, “but seeing things randomly floating is just-a-lot weird, you know?”

The intercom started to beep, a signal that someone was calling from a different department, in time with a blinking red LED on a panel a few feet to the left of the door to the hallway.

Steve stepped over to the panel and pressed the button, “Haverstad.”

“Ah, Steve; Samuell, here,” the older man’s voice was thin and tinny through the intercom speaker, but he sounded excited, “Thought you’d like to know, we are ahead of schedule. I would like to speak with you at your earliest – there is a bit to discuss.”

“That is good news, Sam. Yes, there is a lot to discuss. I will be along shortly.”

Steve turned from the wall panel, releasing the button. “John, let’s head down. I need to talk with Samuell, and you should be there. Leslie, head to Residential, and make sure people are prepped. Jordan, I need you to head out and let General Drover know that they need to prepare for the worst.”

“What about the people outside? Aren’t they coming in,” John asked, straightening from his lean.

“They didn’t want to,” Leslie said as Steve opened his mouth to answer, “they were all invited, and we have plenty of room and supplies… they just… won’t.”

“Some are ready to go, I guess,” Steve said vaguely with a slow shake of his head.

Several minutes later, Johnathan and Steve were in the cavern, looking up at the shroud around Celeste with Samuell.

“She is truly a wonder,” Sam was saying, “she makes me nervous, but still…”

“Nervous?” John’s eyebrow was up, and even when sober, Steve could barely suppress a giggle. Sam just looked between the two, confused for a moment.

Steve took up the explanation, “I mentioned that Celeste is an AI, right,” John nodded, “Well, she is already learning, and has been improving on her programming.”

“Immensely,” Sam added sourly.

Steve continued, stabbing a thumb toward Sam, “Sam, here, is not a fan of artificial intelligence, especially where it gets to a level of full sentience, or self-awareness.”

Sam grunted his assent, “I think it’s dangerous, but he thinks we can ‘deal with it’.” He imitated Steve, quoting the air, and the other rolled his eyes. John could sense a strong camaraderie between the two men, and wondered how long they’d known each other; they reminded him of how he and Tommy used to banter.

“Anyway,” Steve said after a moment, “Sam, I need you to show John how to put on the suits, then take him to the bridge and introduce him officially to Celeste.”

Sam glanced at John, then said to Steve, “So, he is the last one? I kinda thought so, since you brought him in.” He looked at John again, and after a moment gave a slight nod, as if in approval, then said, “This way, John. Let me introduce you to the ship.” He paused as he finished the comment, trying to work out what he’d just said, then shook his head and turned toward the shroud-lift.

Later, Sam and John stood, once again outside the ship, discussing John’s newfound abilities.

“So, that thing in your head makes you do it,” Sam questioned, clearly not understanding.

“No, more the case that it… coaches me. I just figure out how to tap into it with my understanding… I guess.” John chuckled a bit nervously, not fully understanding himself. He was figuring it out, though; how to focus more quickly had been his foremost goal, and he seemed to be advancing rapidly. He was also beginning to work out how to do other things with the ability, but it was still in “development”, as he would put it. He kept that to himself, though.

After a bit of pause, Sam said, “Well, I just can’t imagine. I saw a few of Craig’s… fits… and those got intense. A few months back-“ John suddenly got a sense of urgency from the ‘Yoda’ in his head that grew as Sam mentioned Craig, and grew as he continued, “he had an episode – poor kid was at a computer terminal, working on some algorithms. It was the last time he came down here.” Sam shook his head with the memory, “He started saying something – nobody who heard it could figure it out, but that was pretty normal. It was when he picked up the entire console – desk and all – and threw it across the cavern.

John’s mind raced, the presence highly agitated at the telling of the account. “Do you remember what it said,” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Sam shook his head, “Not really. Sa-avi-bore… something like that.” His face screwed with the attempt at what he remembered of Craig’s speech at the time. “It was guttural and halting… made me think of Russian… or Klingon.” He chuckled softly at the last, and John recognized the reference.

They talked for a while longer, discussing old television shows, when, following a lull, John politely excused himself, saying he was tired and going for a nap. Sam watched him board the lift, and a thought occurred to him. He had read Jakob’s research numerous times, and only now did he make the connection between John and the old researcher.

“That,” he said aloud to no one, “explains a lot.”