The Intermediaries: Redemption: The Intermediaries, #2

By Taylor Dye

"We are..."

He paused, thinking.

"We are...Intermediaries."

In Montana, a boy in distress is pushed to the edge. A firefighter holds the lives of both himself and another by a thread in New York. In Georgia, a young man is accused of a terrible crime. A crime boss in Texas attempts to balance a dark underworld with concern for an innocent family, with harrowing results. And an entire nation hold its breath in the midst of unfolding catastrophes in the state of Washington...and another hundreds of miles in the sky.

In Norbury, Massachusetts, Charlize "Charlie" Brown is beginning her first year of high school, but the usual freshmen worries are not her sole concern. Now, she holds the secret that has been hidden and disguised since the beginning of time, a secret almost too spectacular to believe...

...the secret of the Intermediaries.

Welcome to The Intermediaries: Redemption...in a world of over 7 billion people, no one faces their troubles alone.

Book 2 of the Intermediaries series

417 pages

• Language: English
• Publisher: Samanedna Publishers
• Release date: Sep 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516306268

Book preview

The Intermediaries: Redemption

TAYLOR DYE

Samanedna

The Intermediaries: Redemption

Copyright © 2015 by Taylor Dye

Cover Art and Design by Najla Qamber Designs najlaqamberdesigns.com

Map and Graphic Flourish by Streetlight Graphics, LLC streetlightgraphics.com

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner, in any form, or by any means, without the consent and written permission of the publisher.

Samanedna Publishers

samanedna.com

To my family and friends, and their families and friends

To Ben W.

And to you, the reader

Map

Prologue

THE TRIUMPHANT THEME MUSIC began as the Action 23 News intro graphic flashed across the television screen in dynamic overlay. The familiar faces appeared, one news anchor quickly following the other, in earnest, though still eye-catching, poses, complete with striking smiles, their names appearing out of thin air right beside them.

Amy Moynahan.

Roger Steinbeck.

Tyler Shelton.

Leonardo Madrid.

The introductory overlay then dissolved, the viewer’s perspective starting from somewhere in the rafters of the studio before gradually and theatrically zooming down and in.

Roger, straightaway recognizable from his intro and, as always, impeccably styled, was the only one sitting at the main news desk, which seemed big enough to seat at least two more people comfortably.

But the veteran anchor appeared slightly out of sorts as he reorganized the small amount of papers on the tabletop in front of him. The index finger of one hand pressed against his ear, giving away the existence of a small, nearly invisible earpiece.

The television viewer’s angle switched again, this time to a frontal view of Roger at the desk. His unease was even more apparent on his otherwise handsome features as he concentrated on what was being relayed to him through his intercom.

The Action 23 music drifted off. Surrounding lights dimmed.

Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Roger Steinbeck. We will return you to your regularly scheduled programming in a moment, but first…

He struck the classic trusted news anchor pose.

Leaning forward ever so slightly, conveying a special gravity. Sincerity. Trustworthiness.

Both arms resting still on the tabletop, one lying across, overlapping most of his torso onscreen, the other leveled more directly toward the camera.

Face set. Eyes solemn, slightly downcast.

We have some devastating news out of the state of Washington, as the city of Vancouver—and the entire country—has just been touched by a tragedy that will be forever remembered by us all.

Silence. All eyes were on him now.

Waiting.

THE INTERMEDIARIES: REDEMPTION

Redemption

THE BOY.

Even in the dark, she recognized him instantly, her eyes widening even more. The faded light from outside drifted across his hair.

Pale, icy-blond.

Charlie’s gaze moved between the boy and the small, dark-haired girl accompanying him. Reflexively, she drew back, sliding away from her unexpected visitors and closer to the top of her bed.

She could see the boy’s head tilt to the side at her movement, the faintest grin evident on his face. Charlie’s distress immediately diminished.

For seconds, the room remained quiet. No one moved, each party studying the other. The boy and girl watched Charlie in her bed, and Charlie returned their gaze, taking in the mysterious pair.

At last, the boy’s voice calmly resonated throughout the room.

Hello, Charlie. My name is Case, and this is Beat.

He motioned to the smaller girl beside him, whose smile grew wider. Even in the darkness of the room, it was adorable, charming.

We are…

He paused, thinking.

We are…Intermediaries.

"CHARLIE!"

Fourteen-year-old Charlize Brown startled from her place on the floor, her vision once more focusing on the television perched on the wall in Presley’s spacious basement. On the screen, the towering spacecraft sat idle on its launch pad, light, white tendrils of smoke faintly seen escaping from various ports along the vehicle’s body. Charlie turned back to glance at her friend, Trevor, who had been the one to call her name.

Returning her glance from his spot on the couch, Trevor grinned.

You know we’ve still got over an hour before the launch, right? he asked. You completely zoned out there, and you were staring at the TV like they were going to blast off any moment.

Charlie looked at him, confused.

Oh. Yeah, I was just thinking about something, and I must have gotten distracted. Why? Did somebody ask me something?

She looked around the room at the others. Presley, seated on a cushioned barstool, his fingers poised over the strings of his acoustic guitar, caught her eye.

Distracted, huh? he asked. What were you thinking about? We kept saying your name. We thought you might have gone deaf.

No, Raven amended, standing behind an expensive-looking digital keyboard set on a stand. You were the only one who thought that. I’m pretty sure Trevor and I didn’t jump to that extreme.

Ouch, Presley said, causing the others to laugh.

I was just thinking… Charlie started.

Just before one of the others called her name again, she continued.

I was just thinking how crazy cool Trev’s fauxhawk looked.

This brought another round of laughter from the others.

Yeah, the crazy part I’ll agree with, Presley said, but the cool part…eh. Might be a bit of a stretch.

What? Trevor gasped in disbelief, brushing over his hair delicately. When you first saw it, you couldn’t stop talking about how cool it looked.

It is pretty awesome, Pres, Charlie said, looking pointedly at Presley.

Yeah, Raven agreed. You’re just mad you wouldn’t be able to pull that off.

What? Presley scoffed, echoing Trevor’s sounds of astonishment from moments before. Are you kidding? I would look so cool with a fauxhawk. Really, just picture it for a second.

There was a moment of silence in the room.

Then, sudden bursts of laughter.

You would look completely ridiculous! Raven managed to get out between hoots. Promise me you won’t do that.

Hey, Presley said in protest. Just for that, I may do it. Then I’ll be, like, the coolest guy at Norbury High School. Everybody will be, ‘Who’s that?’ ‘Oh, that’s just the coolest guy ever. High five, Presley!’

And you think your parents would let you get one of these? Trevor asked, grinning and pointing to his hair.

Yeah, that could be a problem, Presley said. If I get it, I may have to sleep over at your house for a few weeks until it can grow back in…

FROM HER POSITION ON her bed, Charlie stared at them. Beat and Case, in turn, stared back.

Inter…Intermediaries? she said at last, bewilderment clearly present in her tone. What does that mean?

I’m not really sure, Case answered, a smile still tugging at his lips. I actually just made it up. Not the word, of course, but…well, we’ve never really had to explain before…

Is it like an angel?

Seemingly without her being aware of it, Charlie leaned slightly forward as she spoke.

Close enough, Beat said in her youthful tenor, speaking for the first time. She then looked up to meet her partner’s gaze. See, that wasn’t so hard.

So, you’re both really…angels? Charlie asked again. Like, actual angels?

Her gaze shifted between the two of them.

Angels? she repeated.

It’s actually a bit more…involved than that, Case explained. But I guess it’s a fair description to start.

Charlie simply looked at the two mystifying figures in her room, as if in a trance.

Tell us what you remember, Charlie, Case said. Tell us about the dream you were just having.

It is Charlie, right? Beat asked before Charlie could respond, suddenly skipping over to the foot of the teenager’s bed without warning. Or would you rather be called Charlize?

Charlie, who had flinched back slightly with Beat’s unexpected movement, stared from the younger girl, to a still-standing Case, and back to Beat again.

She’s like that, Case said by way of explanation. All the time. You get used to it.

In response, Beat turned to the older-looking boy and stuck out her tongue, before turning back to Charlie and smiling adorably again. Charlie could not stop her own smile from coming through.

Charlie’s fine, she answered.

What about Chuck? Beat asked. We could call you Chuck.

Charlie began to shake her head, her golden-blond hair gently swaying, reflecting the dim, subdued light coming in through her bedroom windows.

That’s good, Beat replied, because you don’t really look like a Chuck. Or a Charles. Charlie’s better.

For the first time, Charlie laughed softly.

Can you tell us about the dream? Beat asked.

She lay back fully on Charlie’s bedspread, her arms coming up and lying to rest above her head. Her reclined position made it so her sneaker-covered feet no longer touched the floor.

As Charlie’s gaze shifted to Case, who remained standing, his arms behind his back, his tranquil expression centered in on the teenager sitting on the bed.

It’s not the first time I have ever had that dream, Charlie started, but it is the first time that…

"RAVEN, LISTEN TO THIS."

Presley started to play the guitar again, his fingers nimbly picking out the sounds he wanted, the melody that sprang forth both nostalgic and mournful at the same time, though with a faint, uplifting note laced throughout. The tune sounded as though it belonged in a delicate, ornately built music box, even with Presley alone on the guitar. Charlie could distinctly hear Presley’s melody easing its way through the notes that he strummed.

I’ve been playing around with it in my head for a while, Presley explained as he continued to play, but I’ve only just been able to work out how I want it to go. I think it starts off kind of subtly with just one instrument—either piano or guitar—but it shifts on every phrase, before they all join together for the rest of the song.

Play that beginning part again? Raven asked, and as Presley began anew, Raven started to accompany him on the keyboard, her notes seamlessly working their way into Presley’s melody as though they had been practicing the song for weeks on end, accenting the sorrowful, melancholy chords perfectly.

Yeah, that’s it, Presley remarked. And then…

He broke away from his established melody, deftly picking the guitar strings to produce even more of a music-box effect, bringing the tune back to the initial notes of the song, which he then started to play slightly louder. Raven joined in again, echoing his efforts and complementing the sounds. On the couch, Trevor had his eyes closed, his hands weaving through the air in the fashion of a musical conductor.

The composition became more insistent as the notes grew louder. More determined. More purposeful.

More inspired.

BUT WHAT ABOUT MY parents?

Charlie’s bedroom remained just as dark as before, though the weak, almost ethereal lighting coming from outside her windows, along with her acclimation to the shadows, allowed Charlie to see the two figures in her room relatively clearly. Case, now sitting on the floor, appeared only a few years older than Charlie did, with a shock of whitish-blond hair that seemed nearly silver in the faint light.

His face appeared flawless, as did Beat’s. Beat looked just a tad younger than Charlie’s younger brothers, Caleb and Colby, and her dark hair was long. While her companion’s features were lean and handsome, Beat’s were adorable and childlike, endearingly elegant.

At Charlie’s question, Beat slowly arose into a sitting position once more, though she did not meet Charlie’s gaze, instead looking downward. Case, meanwhile, raised his legs into a folded arrangement, his arms coming to rest easily over his knees. He continued to watch Charlie, though he did not immediately respond. Instead, he waited.

I mean, I’m not…

Charlie hesitated, as though seeking the correct words.

I guess…

It’s okay, Charlie, Case offered softly. It’s okay to ask.

Charlie breathed a quiet sigh, and then started again.

Why did it happen? I mean, I know it was a car crash, an accident, I guess, but…

Charlie’s thoughts flashed back again, to the original accident and her dream, her recurring nightmare of nearly six years that she thought she had escaped.

Her father’s abrupt change in tone…

She, only eight years old at the time, startled awake in the backseat…

Cool, grey eyes…

Then, BOOOM! Loud. Bone-jarring.

Still in bed, Charlie blinked, shaking her head slightly, willing the images away.

You—both of you—were able to save us…it was just in time…but my mom and dad…

As though on cue, a fleeting vision of her now-deceased parents fluttered through her mind, leaving just as quickly and quietly as it entered.

The bedroom was quiet and still again. Beat, her usually cheerful mood now solemn, raised her eyes away from her lap and toward her partner.

I don’t know, Case responded to the question Charlie had been trying so hard to ask. He fell quiet again.

PRESLEY HAD RETRIEVED ANOTHER guitar, this one electric, and was now playing through the composition again, while Raven, still on keyboard, and Trevor, who had joined in on a drum kit Presley also kept downstairs, provided appropriate accompaniments. Trevor’s sound on the percussion was slow, patient, appropriately subdued, but still resonating with a pulsing, echoing, almost grandiose air. The somber melody Presley had started with remained clearly present, but with the stronger, more vibrant sound and the matching accompaniment, the tune had adopted a more rousing character, showing just how much the feel of a melody could be altered with a shift in the chosen dynamics and a few added instruments.

Charlie listened as her exceptionally talented friends weaved their way through the composition, virtually all of it improvised, before coming to an obvious culmination.

And now the piano would start to fade out, going back to the opening phrase… Presley directed, Raven following his instruction almost simultaneously. Trevor had already stopped his play, instinctively realizing that the role of the percussion had been fulfilled.

And then, this…

Presley echoed Raven’s notes on his guitar softly.

And…

He gave a final strum of the strings, which Raven mirrored on the keyboard.

Brilliant! Trevor exclaimed in a dramatic voice.

You should have recorded that take, Charlie commented.

Oh, please, Raven replied, looking at Charlie, though she could not fully hide her grin. Don’t even act like you were listening. We all know you zoned out again. We saw you.

What? Charlie declared, feigning the same surprised expression that Trevor and Presley had adopted earlier. No, I didn’t!

The others laughed.

So, what were you thinking about that time? Trevor asked, not buying Charlie’s assertion for a moment.

Presley chimed in.

Maybe you were thinking about—oh, I don’t know—providing some type of vocal accompaniment?

His tone was innocent, but leading, with him smirking all the while.

Oooh, did you ask her yet? Trevor asked, looking over to Presley excitedly, the drumsticks in both his hands poised in midair as though he were about to start playing again.

Ask me what? Charlie inquired.

Now, Charlie… Raven started.

Oh, no, Charlie said.

Before you start saying no— Presley began.

Before I start? Charlie cut in. I’m saying no right now.

—I think you need to hear us out, Raven said, finishing Presley’s thought and ignoring Charlie’s retort in the same breath.

That’s interesting, Charlie said, smiling, because I don’t think I need to listen at all.

Charlie, we’re your friends, right?

Trevor’s syrupy, meager tone caused Charlie to roll her eyes, her head coming to rest in her hands.

Oh, no, Trevor, she moaned. Not you, too.

Charlie.

Trevor’s voice grew more pitiful.

Nope. Nope, I’m not looking.

Charlie.

No.

Charlie, he’s not doing it anymore, Raven said.

Presley snickered.

I heard that! Charlie said loudly, though her voice was somewhat muffled as she kept her head in her arms.

Presley! Raven admonished. Okay, Charlie. He stopped for real this time.

Really? Are you being serious or are—aww!

As Charlie raised her head, Trevor’s devastatingly heartbreaking pout came into view.

That’s not fair! Charlie objected. You can’t use that against me! That’s cheating!

It’s for your own good, Charlie, Raven remarked, grinning.

Curse you with your puppy-dog pout! Charlie declared.

But Charlie, don’t you like us anymore? Trevor asked in the same sorrowful tone. Don’t you want to go to Tanglewood with us?

Didn’t you all just get back from that last month? Charlie reasoned. Now you’re already thinking about the next one? And anyways, why—

Wait, Presley interrupted, grinning as he looked to Trevor and Raven. Did you guys just not hear something?

I definitely didn’t hear it, Raven stated.

Trevor’s pitiful pout suddenly transformed into a joyous smile.

What? Charlie asked, perplexed. Didn’t hear what?

You didn’t say no, Charlie, Trevor replied in a singsong voice. He and Presley gave each other a high five.

Argh, Charlie growled. What about all the nos I said before that?

You’re wavering, Raven supplied. Admit it!

And, Trevor added, since we did just come back from it, we’ve got a full year to convince you.

Can we just make it through our freshman year of high school first? Charlie asked.

She then looked to Raven.

And remind me to kill the Tweebs for telling you guys about the puppy-dog pout.

Raven just grinned, shrugging.

Puppy-dog pout rules! Trevor exclaimed. He banged the sticks against the drums, delivering a loud drum roll.

Trevor! the other three teenagers shouted at once. Trevor grimaced sheepishly, swiftly silencing the percussion.

IN THE DIMLY LIT bedroom, Case was standing once more, his eyes aimed toward the carpeted floor as he reflected.

It is not a choice of ours of who lives and who dies, Charlie. It’s not up to us. It can’t be. Honestly, it’s over our heads—a part of something that we cannot begin to understand by ourselves. But I think, when it comes to those things, we are, in part, missing the most important point. Instead of obsessing over the thing that we cannot control, perhaps it is best to fully concentrate on the things we can. That is where we are most destined to leave our fingerprints on the world. That is where our true value lies. The moment at which you begin to think about dying is the moment at which you begin to stop living.

He looked up at Charlie again.

I can understand if that answer doesn’t make too much sense right now, but I think it’s the answer you’re looking for.

Charlie nodded faintly.

Actually, she assured him, I think I do understand…a little. It’s just that…Miss Sandy, the woman who began to take care of us after our parents died—

Case nodded.

We’ve met her before.

Charlie did not seem to catch the admission.

Well, she continued, she kind of said the same thing. I mean, I don’t really like to think about it—or ask, really—but I guess having the dream again after all this time, and this time with you in it, I thought maybe you…you knew…

Charlie’s voice trailed off as she faintly shook her head. Then, surprisingly, she began to chuckle.

And now, both of you are here, in my room, after I was just dreaming about you. Why didn’t I realize it before? I’m still asleep, aren’t I? I’m still—

She quickly cut her words short, her giggle also interrupted, as she stared at her two visitors again.

Wait.

Her movements slow, Charlie slipped out of her bed, her nightwear coming into full view in the diffuse lighting of the room. Case and Beat watched her closely.

Charlie? Case said, his voice holding a trace of concern.

Still slowly creeping forward, Charlie scrutinized both youthful-looking figures. Reaching Beat first, who had not moved from the foot of the teenager’s bed, Charlie bent down, her face drawing closer to the dark-haired girl’s. Charlie’s eyes roamed across Beat’s features, taking in every perfect detail.

The corners of Beat’s lips curled up in a grin.

You both look…

Charlie’s voice trailed off again as she rose away from Beat, her attention turning to Case. His eyes remained on her as she came closer.

You both look exactly the same, she whispered, her face drawing as close to Case’s as she did with Beat’s. From the crash, I mean. How? That was five, almost six years ago.

Charlie’s eyes focused on the older boy’s again.

Your eyes really are grey, she said quietly.

Like Beat, a faint grin ghosted across Case’s lips.

Charlie, he began, the two of them still standing very close together—face-to-face—with his voice just as hushed as hers, I know it seems—

He stopped speaking as he sensed Charlie raise her hand, her fingers edging closer to him. From her place on the bed, Beat could be heard trying to muffle her giggle.

Charlie’s fingers came into contact with delicately soft skin, and she slowly, little by little, traced downward, coming across Case’s cheek and toward his jaw. She lifted her hand just before she reached his lips. She then moved her fingers slightly, her palm turned upward so that she gently grasped the bottom part of his face.

Then she squeezed.

Chuurlie.

Her name came out slightly garbled as Charlie manipulated Case’s face, pinching his mouth together, then moving her hand upward so that he appeared to smile, then bringing it down, transforming it into a frown.

Beat, able to witness Case’s changing expressions, giggled again. As though once more realizing that Case’s companion was also in the room, Charlie’s hand abruptly fell away.

I’m still not so sure I believe this, the teenager remarked, shaking her head again. How do I know this isn’t just another dream? But both of you were there. I saw you. I remember it all now. But how…

As Charlie continued to speak her thoughts aloud, Case stretched and retracted his jaw muscles, as if he was feeling some discomfort.

Which was impossible.

Beat spoke up from the bed.

Do you know why you remember us, Charlie?

Charlie looked to Beat, and then to Case, before turning back to Beat once again.

I thought you would tell me, she replied. Why, after all this time, why is it that now—tonight—I remember you were there, that you two were the ones who rescued me and my brothers?

Beat glanced to Case, which drew Charlie’s eyes to the boy as well.

Case remained silent, only gazing back at her.

MARIANA, LAUNCH CONTROL.

Launch, this is Mariana.

T-minus twenty minutes and holding. From all of us over here at Launch, we just wanted to officially wish you guys and gals a safe and pleasant trip. Of course, seeing that we are all adults and so very professional, absolute enjoyment is out of the question. But, just between you and me, I don’t think any of the higher-ups are gonna get too bent out of shape if you all find time to have a little fun up there.

Laughter was heard through the radio communications channel.

Copy that, Launch, and thanks. You’ve got everyone crackin’ up in here. Anyway, we’ve got our esteemed mission payload specialist recording this whole thing on camera right now, so it’s safe to say she’s already started in on the fun.

Heh, heh. Roger that, Mariana.

IN THE COCKPIT OF Space Ride Vehicle Mariana, nearly two hundred feet and twenty stories above the swamp and wetlands interweaved with lush green throughout northern Merritt Island, Florida, SRV pilot Teresa McIntyre tried to turn her head toward the back row, where Mission Payload Specialist Sally Silvion was strapped in tight, but her own straps and constraints, along with her cumbersome full-pressure spacesuit, prevented her from doing so.

I’ve trained in these suits for years, Teresa muttered over the SRV’s crew cabin intercom radio affixed to her ear and mouth in her helmet, and I still forget I can barely move around in this thing.

Mariana Commander Ronald Beeson, who had noticed his pilot’s awkward movement alongside him, chuckled.

Picture looking good, Sally? Ronald asked.

All systems go back here, Sally answered, checking the camera display again. She grinned. I’m going to enjoy watching this later.

I’ll enjoy watching it, too, said Mack Horwath, the mission’s flight engineer, as long as you make sure to get my good side.

I guess that means we won’t be seeing you in the video at all, then, Justin Choi, Mariana’s international mission specialist, said. Your good side went AWOL a long time ago.

CHARLIE’S CELL PHONE RANG and vibrated beside her, startling her from her thoughts once again.

Tweebs, she greeted as she saw that it was one—or both—of her younger brothers calling. What’s up?

T-minus twenty minutes and counting, Charlie! Are you watching it at Presley’s? Tell him to turn to it!

Charlie identified the speaker as Caleb. She was one of only a few able to differentiate between the twins by voice alone.

Of course I’m watching, Charlie replied. SRV Mission 21, liftoff at 13:42:10 Eastern Standard Time, 18:42:10 Coordinated Universal Time. Quote, ‘The mission to launch the Dionysus Space Telescope and rendezvous with the International Space Station,’ unquote. As much as you and Colby have talked about it, how could I forget?

While Caleb answered, Charlie glanced at a digital clock overhead on one of the basement walls.

Hey, she remarked as her brother finished speaking, why does the countdown on TV say 19:40? It’s only 1:05.

There are holds scheduled into the launch countdown, and they stop the clock so Launch and Mission Control can run tests and checks. The ten-minute hold at T-minus twenty minutes just ended. There’s another ten-minute hold at T-minus ten minutes, and a seven-minute hold at five minutes. If none of the holds goes over their time limit, the launch will go as scheduled at 13:42:10, 1:42.

Well, why don’t they just add that into the countdown time? What’s the purpose of stopping the clock?

A lot of the procedures are automated and started by a computer at a specific time in the countdown. Some of the sequences are time-sensitive, so if B doesn’t happen within sixty seconds of A, then they would have to start everything over or else A will explode. Ideally, a scheduled ten-minute hold will last ten minutes, but that’s not always the case. It could last thirteen minutes. Or thirty if they’re working on something. So pausing the countdown allows for a cushion without affecting time-sensitive procedures or the overall schedule.

For a moment, Charlie was quiet, but then she laughed.

What’s so funny?

Is there anything I could ask you about this launch—or about NASA and space in general—that you wouldn’t know the answer to?

Before she could listen to Caleb’s retort, Presley, sitting on the stool and picking at his acoustic guitar, said, Charlie, ask him if he knows why it’s called a space ride vehicle. I bet he doesn’t know that one. I don’t think anyone does.

Caleb, Presley wants to know if—

The SRV, or space ride vehicle, Caleb interjected, was the designation chosen in a national poll amongst elementary and middle school kids when the program first started. That’s super easy.

You could hear him? Charlie asked, looking to Presley in slight surprise. I didn’t even have it on speaker.

No, I didn’t hear it, Caleb said, but every time we start talking about space around Presley, he always asks that same question to try to stump us. I think he keeps forgetting that he’s asked us, like, five thousand times already. He’s going to ask if there’s life on Mars or other planets next.

While continuing to hold the phone to her ear, Charlie shook her head. She looked at Presley again, this time with a knowing grin.

What? Presley asked, beginning to grin as well. They didn’t know it? Heh, heh, heh. I knew that would stump them. It’s all up here, Charlie.

He tapped his finger against his temple with confidence.

Oooh, and ask him if there is life on other planets—like Mars or something. He definitely won’t know that.

"COPY THAT, LAUNCH CONTROL. Beginning seven-minute hold and expect to recommence countdown clock at 13:37:10."

Ending his transmission with the Launch Control Center nearly a thousand miles and half a continent away, the flight director at the Mission Control Center in Houston, Texas, stood from his chair, nearly knocking over his fifth cup of coffee in the process.

Ah, shoot, he muttered to himself, low enough—and sans radio—so that no one else could hear. That was a close one.

After gathering himself, he looked out into the wide, busy, expanse that was Mission Control Room - White. Long rows of tables featured complete, state-of-the-art workstations and sleek computer displays, along with assorted stacks and packets of paper. Many of the workstations were manned by NASA and contract employees standing or sitting nearby, with many more analysts and experts milling about. In all, Mission Control Room - White held most of the brain trust for SRVM-21.

Five more of that brain trust were strapped in tight aboard Mariana.

The flight director activated the small radio headset affixed to his ear.

All right, all right, all right. Attention. Attention, everybody. We’re in the seven-minute hold here, so let’s get ready to get this show on the road. This is for all controllers; I want a go/no-go for launch. Any problems or concerns or restraints that you’re looking at or that you think you may face in the next few hours—anything at all—let’s raise it and deal with it now. That SRV isn’t going anywhere until we give them the green light, so I’ve got no problem holdin’ this thing to make sure every system is running one hundred. Okay? All right, here we go…booster.

Go, a booster systems engineer replied from his terminal, his voice coming across clearly through the radio.

PROP, the flight director said next.

PROP is go, came the reply.

GNC.

We’re go, Flight.

EECOM.

Go.

INCO.

INCO’s go.

Ground Control.

GC is go.

FAO.

Go.

Payloads.

Go.

MMACS.

Max is go.

Surgeon.

Go.

DPS?

DPS is go.

Guidance.

Guidance, go.

FDO.

FIDO is go.

PAO.

Go.

CAPCOM, how we doing?

CAPCOM is go, Flight.

With that, the flight director reached down, pressing a highlighted button on his computer screen.

Launch Control, this is Houston. No holds, all green—we’re good to go here.

ON THE LARGE TELEVISION on the wall in Presley’s basement, the analyst glanced down to his wrist.

Well, according to my watch, we have a few more minutes before this final hold is lifted, and, barring anything that Mission or Launch Control would want to check out further that would delay us, this launch is going to be right on time to within a few hundredths of a second.

Another person at the desk on-screen, the female news anchor, Suzie, spoke up. As she did so, she leaned in, the television camera clearly picking up the excitement—feigned or otherwise—on her features.

"And what about the astronauts in the cockpit at this time, Bill? As I am sure most of our viewers will recall, at about this time only last year, you were the one strapped in one of those seats on board the space ride vehicle Galaxy, readying for lift-off. What was going through your mind last year at this point? What are these astronauts doing? What are they thinking about?"

I used to want to be an astronaut, Presley said casually, drawing the group’s attention away from the space launch coverage on the screen.

What’s stopping you? Trevor challenged. You still can, you know. And you’re pretty good at science and stuff, so that could be a perfect fit.

Raven looked over, her face conveying skepticism.

Aren’t you afraid of heights? she asked.

Presley nodded, grinning bashfully.

Yeah, that’s when I kind of stopped wanting to be an astronaut as much.

That could become a slight issue, Trevor conceded. Outer space is pretty much as high as it gets. When you look down, that’s, like, hundreds, maybe even thousands, of miles above the ground. You’ll be falling forever.

Yeah, I don’t think it’s thousands of miles, but thanks, Presley said with much sarcasm. That really inspired me.

Trevor grinned, shrugging his shoulders in apology.

But that won’t matter, Charlie reasoned, because you can’t fall in space. There’s no up or down. There’s no gravity. All you’ll do is…float.

Charlie slowly stood, moving her arms and body in a dreamy, floating fashion, mimicking the weightlessness of outer space. The blond teenager brought her hand to her mouth.

"Krrrssshhh…Houston, she said, masking her voice to sound as though she were speaking through a choppy radio feed, we are officially weightless."

The others laughed before joining in, floating throughout the basement.

"…KRRRSSSHHH…"

Static. Then,

Copy that. Clock restart in thirty seconds.

Commander Ronald Beeson flexed his gloved hands and fingers, and then rolled his head around, stretching his neck in his helmet. He then glanced out of one of the forward cockpit windows. Because the SRV was pointed straight up, he could make out a clear and cloudless blue sky, though the sight was somewhat obscured by various launch pad contraptions still connected to the top of the space vehicle and its auxiliary fuel tank and rocket boosters.

Ladies and gentlemen, he began, his words now only broadcasting through Mariana’s crew intercom, this is the flight deck. We ask at this time that you return your seats and food trays to their upright and secured positions, as we will be taking off momentarily.

Through his earpiece, he heard the others chuckle.

I can’t wait until I’m back in my upright position, said Mack Horwath, seated behind and to the left of Ronald. Like the others, Mariana’s upright stance on the launch pad, perpendicular to the ground, caused his seat on the SRV to be tilted straight back, as though his chair had fallen over backward with him still in it.

Anybody else need to go to the bathroom besides me? he added.

More laughter from the rest of the space crew onboard.

"AND FOR NOW, SUZIE the news anchor remarked, we will listen in to the NASA public affairs officer—or PAO, as he is called—who is in Mission Control Center, along with the conversations between Launch and Mission Control, and the astronauts onboard the spacecraft."

One of the images minimized on Presley’s basement television expanded on cue, giving a full-screen view of Mariana standing on its launch pad along the cape in Florida. Excluding the hulking piece of modern machinery, the scene appeared to be straight out of a nature program, a picturesque illustration of any imagined Florida coast, complete with tropical foliage in the immediate foreground.

Thirty seconds to launch, now.

The NASA commentator’s voice was broadcast across the national—and international—airwaves.

"THIRTY SECONDS BEFORE THE pedal hits the floor," Teresa McIntyre murmured from her pilot’s seat in Mariana, just beating another transmission from Launch Control.

"Mariana, Launch. You have a go on CAMSTOP One and Two."

Copy that. Go on CAMSTOP One and Two, Ronald Beeson acknowledged, while beside him, Teresa flipped the corresponding switches on the dazzling control panel. Ronald glanced toward a gauge display to see that the computer was responding accordingly.

"Mariana, Launch. Go on CAMSTOP Three, Four, and Five."

Roger. Green on One and Two. Go on CAMSTOP Three, Four, and Five.

And, a moment later, "Launch, Mariana. Green on CAMSTOP Three, Four, and Five."

In the row behind Ronald and Teresa, Justin Choi held up his left hand, enclosed in the glove attached to his space suit. His hand was curled together, his thumb extended up. Mack, seated to Justin’s left, acknowledged the thumbs-up by mirroring the action. Justin then repeated the gesture, this time with his right hand. Sally Silvion responded by playfully shoving his hand away.

AND, AS YOU JUST heard there, the off-screen NASA public affairs officer assuredly intoned, "the pre-launch checklist has been completed, so now Mariana’s onboard computer—nicknamed Quality—will take over more of the work in the final seconds, performing its automatic procedures."

The network camera zoomed in, yielding a close-up of the massive exhaust bells of both the space ride vehicle and the solid rocket boosters. White smoke was thinly escaping from the bells, the wisps quickly dissipating into the humid Florida air.

Fifteen seconds.

Charlie and her friends watched the proceedings, transfixed. The clock at the bottom corner of the screen counted down.

Thirteen…

Twelve…

Eleven…

Charlie’s phone began to ring again.

Ten…nine…

The NASA commentator counted down with the clock.

Charlie, are you still watching?

It was Colby, Charlie’s other younger brother and Caleb’s twin.

…Seven…and a go for main engine startup…Four…

Yeah, Charlie answered, not taking her eyes away from the television.

A sudden, tremendous plume of gas, smoke, and fire exploded from under the SRV, shooting out the bottom of the launch pad and then billowing mightily, instantly creating a giant cloud of white smoke that began to conceal the lower half of the spacecraft and completely obscured the launch pad it stood on. Though the distance separating the cameras from the actual launch site did much to lessen the sounds, the thunderous, deafening roar was still unmistakable.

"…Two…one, and liftoff of SRVM-21, Space Ride Vehicle Mariana, destined for the beautiful heavens of outer space as we seek to gather more…"

On the television, the arms and mechanisms of the launch stand that were attached to the SRV could be seen disengaging automatically within a few seconds of each other, with the connecting dome at the top of the SRV’s external fuel tank also smoothly lifting up and away. Gone undetected by the cameras, strong latches and bolts pinned to the bottom of the SRV also disconnected with small explosions, freeing the spacecraft from any further constraints.

As the countdown clock struck 0:00:00:00:00, denoting that the number of days, hours, minutes, seconds, and milliseconds before the scheduled launch had expired, Mariana began to ascend.

ALREADY SHAKING WITH THE intense power of multiple rocket engines ignited beneath them, the five astronauts seated in the SRV heard the countdown through their headsets, with Ronald and Teresa up front able to follow along with the computer display screens.

…Three…two…one…

Are we there yet? Mack shouted above the noise.

Even though he had some difficulty hearing himself over the thunderous uproar of blastoff, he knew the crew intercom would pick him up clearly enough.

The forceful shaking of the space ride vehicle was enough to dislodge and fling about loose objects, including human beings. Fortunately, the astronauts and all necessary equipment were strapped in and secured super tightly. Sally had taken the precaution of fastening the handheld camera to her gloved hand.

Quality’s alive! Ronald called as he saw the Mariana computer showing that they were indeed lifting into the sky.

With all the shaking going on at the moment, it was difficult to tell.

CHARLIE WATCHED AS THE spacecraft slowly started to gain altitude, seemingly forcing its way into the clear blue sky, a massive trail of swirling smoke and fumes in its wake.

Woo-hoo! she heard Colby exclaim over the phone she still held to her ear.

"WE HAVE LIFT-OFF CONFIRMED," an analyst said through the Mission Control channel, though everyone present in Mission Control Room - White in Houston, Texas, had visual indication of the same on one of the floor-to-ceiling displays that covered the front of the room.

Roger liftoff, the flight director replied. He was again standing up, his eyes fixed on the giant screen, while occasionally glancing down to one of the monitors in his console.

Then his eyes were drawn back to the screen at the front.

Okay, guys, he said into his headset. She’s with us now.

Houston was now in control.

"YOU FEELING THAT?" TERESA asked over the Mariana intercom, a small thread of exhilaration escaping into her voice. She’s digging in!

"Houston, Mariana, Ronald transmitted to the Mission Control Center. We’re rolling."

"Roger, Mariana. Roll program."

Through the see-through portals on the front portion of the space ride vehicle, the light blue sky above them torqued and twisted—though the astronauts were not able to distinguish