Chapter 12
Cory tried to help the preacher over to the comm area across the room. Several of the men assisted him when they realized he lacked the strength to do it alone. When they reached the panel, the face of Isaacson on the monitor changed from sheepish to incredulous.
“Wha– what happened? Reverend, is that you?”
The reverend squinted at the monitor with his left eye since the right one was swollen nearly shut. He kept his broken hand tucked out of the way as he steadied himself with the other. “Yes, Anders, it’s me.”
“But what happened to you?”
“Oh, just a few bumps and bruises along the way. Nothing worth discussing, really.”
Isaacson examined him for a moment and then dropped his eyes. After a protracted silence, he restored his gaze. “Why?” he asked. “Why did you do it?”
“I know it’s hard for you to accept. It’s hard for me to explain. All I can tell you is that after you risked your life to get me into the shuttle, as you locked the door behind us and then collapsed, the Lord spoke to me. He told me that He was reserving the last seat on the transport for the one who could do the most good and change the greatest number of lives. I weighed the options and made the choice. Does that make sense?”
“No. No, it doesn’t.”
“Anders, if you hadn’t intervened, my life would have ended the moment that mob descended on me in the shuttle bay. They would have done to me what they did to the guard we found in the galley. But you acted swiftly and instinctively to save me.
“No one would question my actions if they had been made in a split second. After all, thousands of men throughout history have taken a bullet for a friend or jumped on top of a grenade to save nearby lives. These are instantaneous decisions and no one looks back to ask why they did it.”
“But how many people would take a bullet for a crook like me?”
“We’re all crooks, Anders. Aside from the occasional shining moment of virtue, human history is a dark monotony of self-interest. What sets a few of us apart is that we are acknowledged crooks determined to illuminate a path of hope.”
“Look,” said Isaacson, “I’m just a regular guy that’s never been to college or written books or talked to anybody about anything important. Why would you walk away from all the things you’ve done—all the things you still could do—and leave nobody but a guy like me in your place? I can’t do the things you’ve done. I can’t even talk with the kind of words you do.”
The reverend attempted a knowing smile, but it was lost in the contortions of his swollen face. “As I recall, that was Moses’ excuse when God needed a spokesman. As for not being a scholar, I suspect that’s an advantage rather than liability. Nearly two hundred years ago a man named Billy Sunday, a baseball player from New York, left the game and became a world-famous preacher. I think he put it better than any seminary graduate: ‘The Lord is not compelled to use theologians. He can take snakes, sticks or anything else, and use them for the advancement of His cause.’”
“A snake’s about right,” Isaacson said, and he paused for a long, thoughtful moment. “But maybe a snake that’s shed its skin. I’m not going to tell you I totally understand why you did what you did, or that I think it was a good choice. And if I had it in my power, I’d grab you and throw you on this transport in half a second. But I don’t. The one thing I know is that what you did was a one-way ticket. I can’t undo it, so I guess it’s up to me to make the most of my second chance. That is if they don’t send me back to Earth to be hanged there.”
“They won’t. The Golan station is a safe haven, and I doubt anyone there will be zealous about enforcing Earth laws. I passed through on my way out here and found them even more contemptuous of Earth protocol than the Martian colonies.”
Ramon moved forward and put a hand on the preacher’s shoulder. “Sorry to butt in, but it's not a problem. The dude’s free and clear. Didn’t you hear? Earth pardoned all the cons today. See, as long as they’re prisoners, the government’s got to take care of them. That means they got to evacuate them. So instead they freed them all this morning. Legally, they’re free to go—if they got a ride out. Nobody figured it’d actually happen.”
The dockmen stared at Ramon.
“I guess I’m the only guy who reads the news around here.” He shrugged, nodded to the preacher, and resumed his place with the others.
“There you have it,” the preacher said. “You’re a free man. Free to do what you want to—choose your own destiny. Free to live your life for your own pleasures or for the benefit of others. It’s all up to you.”
Isaacson shook his head. “It’s already been decided. You know that. We talked about it last week when everyone was calling me a jailhouse convert. I guess that’s what I am, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t really changed. I lived a selfish life for 39 years and look where it got me. Now that I’m free from prison, I have no desire to return to that kind of life. That’s the real prison.
“I told you I’d made a real change and you challenged me to prove it. I said if I had the chance I would, but I’d never get the chance, so what’s the point. You said—wait a minute! Oh, man, now it makes sense. Now I see. What was that verse you read me?”
The preacher said nothing, but continued listening, so Isaacson persisted. “You know the one I mean. I know you do, because everything we talked about after that hinged on it. I know you can give it to me word for word.”
The preacher paused for a moment, wiped a spot of blood from the corner of his lip, and began to recite slowly. “Seldom would anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God shows his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Isaacson said. “It wasn’t enough to read the words in the book, you had to show me.”
“You told me you meant what you said. I knew you would expect me to mean what I said.”
“Okay, enough Sunday school,” Norm said as he shoved his way back into the camera. “You’re no saint for what you did, you’re a fool. Look out for Number One, that’s my motto and it’s served me well my whole life. And in the interest of looking out for Number One, I’m going to insist that this little conversation end so I can tranq John the Baptist here. He’s already breathed up enough oxygen to endanger the flight.”
“Anders,” the preacher said, “there’s your first convert. Teach him to get his eyes off himself and you’ll find that you can teach just about anybody.”
Norm gave him a disgusted harrumph and flipped a switch on the console defiantly. The screen went black.
Ramon had been closest to the comm panel when the message came in from the Golan station. It was brief. The chief astronomer reported that new calculations of the comet’s trajectory indicated a certain collision. Any hope for a near miss, he added somberly, was now out of the question. Their best data predicted an impact in 39 minutes. Adjusting for the twelve-minute transmission lag, that left a mere 27 minutes. If they desired a minister to speak to them, one was standing by.
“Twelve minutes for our reply,” Cory said, “and twelve more to hear back. No point, as far as I’m concerned. If we need a minister, we don't have to look far.”
Ramon nodded and shut off the radio.
A few men drifted out of the room and down the corridor for the last time. Others remained near the windows, transfixed by the growing, glowing orb outside. The remainder formed a small group around Ramon, Cory, and the preacher. Apologies were made to Cory for foolish actions and he replied that life was quite clearly too short for holding grudges. Time remained only for reconciliations and farewells.
One of the men checked on Jackknife back in the scattered cargo and reported he would never regain consciousness. The crew universally discarded his memory, a relic of the past that had little importance against a future rushing to overtake them. Cory asked the preacher to say a few words and most of the men formed a loose-kn
it ring around him.
After retrieving the crucifix from his zippered pocket and reclipping it to his necklace, Ramon propped up one of the preacher’s shoulders while Nijinsky took the other. Ramon crossed himself, forehead to chest, left shoulder to right. Nijinsky did the same like a synchronized mirror image, right shoulder to left in the Russian Orthodox tradition.
After a brief but meaningful prayer, all eyes opened and glanced up at a clock that had no more time left to give. Within the group, two hands clasped in a familiar and unrelenting grip.
“You’ve always been a faithful friend, Ramon. What you did in the decompression bay today—you not only saved my life, but also restored my hope. I needed to see what just happened here.”
“Me too, amigo.”
Cory unsnapped the stripes from his lapel and pinned them on Ramon’s. “I’m forever in your debt for that.”
“Maybe for another minute. After that, I’d say we’re all even.”
The white blur in the sky grew ever larger as it approached the star before them, finally kissing its edge and disappearing into its bright mass. A moment later there was a blinding flash, followed shortly by a shockwave surpassing even the most drastic expectations.
Aboard the transport, Anders Isaacson strained uncomfortably against the straps that tethered him to the bare steel wall. His shoulder still stung from the needle Norm Casper had roughly jabbed into him. Already the drug was taking effect. The distinct sounds of navigation equipment in the cockpit were dissolving into an underwatery murmur. Soon he would sleep deeply, not to be awakened until they arrived safely at the Golan station several days later.
As consciousness began to slip, the details about all that had happened that day drifted into obscurity. Even the meaning of the bright flash he had seen some minutes before grew harder to recollect. Was it linked to the sensation of warmth in his chest and wetness on his cheek?
He could still see it clearly in his mind—a brilliant expansion of white fire in the night sky—but he no longer remembered what it all meant. In the deep recesses of his mind, something told him it was a gift. For what and from whom he couldn’t recall, but he knew it would once again be clear to him when he awoke. Then he would figure out how to share this gift with others.
His breathing slowed and soon his eyes grew heavy. Fighting to keep them open, he watched that area of open space left behind. He said a silent prayer in thanks for second chances.
His eyes finally closed, but not before they caught a glimpse of Tyrell’s shuttle tumbling past the transport, damaged but still intact.
# # #
If you enjoyed this story, please leave a review. Also look for the author's upcoming novel “The Gates of Yoffa” wherever ebooks are found (Amazon, B&N, etc.)
The author may be reached here:
[email protected] http:/www.jbbarnes.com
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends